(Flashback, mid-October)

Harry stumbled along Hogwarts’s dim corridors without any real idea of where he was headed. His mind was hazed with pain and he clutched one bleeding hand tightly to his chest.

The Boy-Who-Lived had survived detention with Dolores Umbridge (the new DADA professor)---barely. It had seemed really pretty harmless at first, one hundred times writing “I will not tell lies” on a piece of parchment.

Then he made quite an unpleasant discovery---as he wrote, the quill wrote on him. In blood. His *own* blood. And by Merlin---it *hurt*!

Cradling his wounded hand, Harry blindly continued on his way, swiftly becoming dizzy from blood loss and pain. /If Umbridge were a little more careful,/ the boy mused bitterly, /then she’d have made it so that the cuts healed up before anyone saw me. Or better yet, healed after every period./

Understandably, his train of thought was not the most pleasant of things. Nor did it remain very coherent for long.

He did not notice as his path brought him closer to the dungeons, not until---

“Oof,” someone grunted softly.

Harry was mildly shocked to find himself colliding with a broad, black-cloth-covered chest.

Then: “Potter,” growled.

Harry immediately jumped back six inches and quickly glanced up at the towering, black-clad form of Severus Snape. “I-I’m sorry, sir,” he stuttered, weaving on his feet.

The Potions Master, who previously had been scowling down at the boy, now frowned slightly at how obviously unsteady his student was.

Misinterpreting the look, Harry hastened to explain, “I-I was just heading t-to my dormitory…from my detention w-with Professor Umbridge.”

Severus frowned even more at the mention of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. “I was unaware that your dormitory was located in the dungeons, Potter.”

The boy blinked confusedly at him before glancing around, for the first time noticing their surroundings. “Oh,” he mumbled.

Concern crept into Severus’s eyes. Potter did not notice it, too dazed really to make sense of expressions. He had never known his student to be so disoriented before and that, although he would never admit, concerned him to no end.

Then he noticed Potter turning to head towards Gryffindor Tower. “I-I think I’ll head…back now. G-G’night, P-Professor,” this said shakily.

The teenager took one faltering step…and promptly toppled over backwards. Only lightning quick reflexes on Severus’s part saved him a nasty fall.

The Potions Professor surged forward, catching Potter as the fifteen-year-old collapsed into his arms. “Easy,” he murmured. Then, “I believe, Mr. Potter, that you shall be spending tonight with me.”

All the response Harry managed was an incoherent grunt and a startled gasp as his Professor carefully swung him up into his arms. Once held, Harry found, to his great surprise, that this was actually…well…soothing.

Only then did Severus catch a glimpse of Potter’s hand. A horrified gasp was torn from his lips. “What on earth *happened* to you, Potter?!” he demanded.

“Umbridge,” was all Harry managed to ground out.

He missed the protective fire which flashed in the eyes of the Potions Master. “*She* did this to you? In detention?” hissed out through anger-clenched teeth. Again, the boy missed the deadly softness of his teacher’s voice.

No, right now he was too preoccupied with the pain and wondering why in the world (or worlds) Professor Snape’s arms had suddenly tightened around him as they began to briskly walk towards the older wizard’s private quarters. He would never have thought the man to be of the gentle sort, but something in his manner was different than normal. Then again, ever since they had *started* with the extra lessons, the Potions Professor had sometimes acted downright nice towards Harry. In a Snape-ish sort of way.

The teenager sighed. He did not know what to think. One minute the man was sneering at him and the next he acted…protective, almost.

Not knowing the boy’s current train of thought, Severus—unsure what to think himself—merely stepped up his pace, holding his student securely. Within five minutes of finding Potter in the hall to the dungeons they had arrived at Severus’s quarters.

A portrait of Salazar Slytherin graced the entrance. The man in the painting nodded gravely to the current Head of his House and the man’s charge.

“Phoenix,” Severus spoke firmly and quickly, giving the password to his private chambers.

“You may enter,” the portrait conceded, swinging open.

Severus dashed through the threshold and the portrait swung back into place behind him. “Lumos,” he muttered. His rooms lit. To the child in his arms he murmured, “You would do well to remember that password, Potter.” He strode quickly through his quarters to his bedroom.

Too exhausted and dizzy to fathom *exactly* what such an offer spoke of, Harry merely nodded and rested his head against Severus’s chest.

The Potions Master paused, still, in spite of what they had been through, rather shocked by Potter’s obvious declaration of trust. “Potter?”

Harry nodded again, but did not speak. The man’s voice rumbled soothingly in his ear.

“Potter,” Severus advised him again, once more starting to walk. “I need you to stay awake.”

Harry’s eyes were starting to grow heavy. In some distant corner of his mind, he knew the Potions Master was right…but he was so tired! His eyelids started to slip shut.

“HARRY!”

The alarmed cry coupled with the utterly unexpected usage of his first name caused the young Gryffindor to snap his eyes open. The vivid concern in Severus’s---it was all right to think of him as “Severus” now, wasn’t it?---coal black eyes blazed at him.

Harry’s heart rate sped up. Was it as he hoped? Did the Head of Slytherin actually care about him?

Then he blinked and the look was gone, pulled beneath the mask of neutrality Severus usually wore.

However, “Stay awake,” was all the man growled, none of the snide remarks as everyday routine would have it. *If* that was everyday routine for Severus, and as of right now, the teen was not so sure.

The Potions Professor strode swiftly through all his rooms until he reached his bed chamber. Once there he laid the boy on his bed with a gentleness that took Harry *completely* by surprise.

“Try to stay awake, Potter,” Severus murmured gruffly, resting the back of his hand lightly against the young Gryffindor’s cheeks and forehead before turning and heading towards his private potions storeroom.

Harry watched him go and sighed once the man left. So, he was “Potter” again. He wondered if he ought to inform the Head of Slytherin that he had succeeded in being the only person in the entirety of Hogwarts---aside from Headmaster Dumbledore---that could so thoroughly befuddle him. Then again, he had probably *learned* that from the Headmaster.

Gazing up at the ceiling, trying hard to ignore the pounding pain infiltrating his mind and trying hard to resist the urge to shut his eyes against it, Harry let his thoughts wander, eventually choosing to focus on the memories he had of the recent months. For a while now Severus had been teaching him how to pry through another’s mind as well as sort through their memories like photo albums. Needless to say, the memories Severus allowed him to be privy to were *rarely* happy. At the very least, they certainly explained why the man had initially turned to the Dark Side. At first---once or twice---he had considered requesting that Severus show him happier memories, but, as he found out soon enough…there were not any.

That day, the day he had reached that conclusion, his entire perspective on the Potions Professor quickly and drastically had begun to change. After that particular “remedial potions” lesson, he had gone straight to the Astronomy Tower…and cried. He had cried for the innocents killed, cried for those they left behind, cried for the pain and the anguish and the grief that followed in murder’s and war’s wake; cried for the years of torment and suffering, cried for the lives never lived, cried for the life Severus never *had*…The tears had never seemed to stop, but they did eventually. All things had to end one day.

Harry had come to an important decision that evening. He would meet Destiny head on---not for the fame he had always hated, but for the chance to set those people *free*, for the hope that no more would have to suffer like Severus, for *Severus* at last to be free.

A wistful smile flitted across Harry’s face as he came back to himself. He doubted the man knew the true extent of his care, *if * he was even aware of it at all, and Harry did not plan on telling him.

That had been the subject of many recent arguments with fellow Gryffindors---Ron and Hermione especially. Unsurprisingly, the two were *dreadfully* suspicious of Severus, even going so far as to walk Harry to the Potions Classroom and back any chance they received. Of course, they knew nothing of Severus’s role in this war and Harry would not tell them. It was not that he did not trust them, nor even that *Severus* did not trust them, but were he to tell them, there was always, *always* the chance that someone could overhear the three of them discussing and Harry intended to protect Severus as long and as well as he possibly could.

A sardonic smile, not too unlike the Head of Slytherin’s, took the place of the wistful one. Had he known Harry’s thoughts at this moment, Severus would probably scoff at them, but that was simply how the boy felt. Somehow, in some way, the Potions Master had come to mean as much to Harry as Ron and Hermione did, and that was saying a lot.

Part of Occulmency was the controlling of dreams, as was it a part of meditation. In fact the whole reason he had begun meditation in the first place was to keep from having nightmares and night terrors, thus avoiding his uncle’s wrath. When Severus had taught him further in that area, he had been extremely grateful. Several skills were involved, including that of actually being able to move *around* in a dream. His dreams proved to be a prescience of a sort, occurring simultaneously whenever those meetings took place, and by his own choice, Harry decided to live through them at least once during the week. More often twice, or even three times.

It all depended on whether or not Severus went out to spy for the Headmaster that particular evening. And if he did…well, Harry made sure he was not alone. Although he could not be there physically, he *could* witness the entire meeting in his dream. And that is usually what he did.

He also normally kept tabs on the man until he reached his quarters after such a meeting, making sure that he received the proper care for his injuries. Most of the time he did not, and Harry often found himself wanting to strangle the Potions Master for so stubbornly disregarding his own safety and health.

It had not been until last night’s meeting that Harry had discovered that Severus felt he deserved it.

Often he had considered sneaking out underneath his invisibility cloak and seeing what he could possibly do to help Severus, but uncertainty of how the man would react to such actions prevented him from doing so. Now, however, it would be a miracle if he could keep himself from going.

He quickly glanced up, startled out of his thoughts as Severus swept back into the bedroom, carrying a tray with a number of liquids on it. Three were obviously potions---pale green for blood replenishing, lavender for aid in healing, and clear for Dreamless Sleep. On it also were a small silver tea kettle and a dark blue tea cup. Harry grimaced as he recognized the aroma of the tea from his many forays to the Healing Ward. Willow bark. For fever.

Severus gave a barely-there-smile as he caught the Gryffindor’s reaction. He was well-aware that none of the liquids on the tray he now placed on the nearby nightstand were exactly tasty. Dreamless Sleep potion had no taste and the others were rather vile, but…“You are to drink *all* of them, Potter, in spite of their taste. They will help you heal.”

“Harry,” the teenager corrected with a sigh, deciding he was just downright tired of the use of his surname, especially when it wasn’t necessary.

Severus stared. “I beg your pardon?”

“My name is ‘Harry,’ Professor. Please, if it’s not too much trouble, could you just *call* me ‘Harry’?”

There was a long moment of silence during which Severus contemplated the boy, a thoughtful expression in his obsidian eyes. Harry gazed back unflinching.

At last, he replied softly, “I will call you by what I deem necessary, Mr. Potter.”

It was all Harry could do to not groan aloud in frustration. Now what did he mean by *that*? “Potter” in public and “Harry” in extra lessons? *What*?

He was spared further thought on the matter when Severus---very gently---slid an arm around his shoulders and helped him lean against the larger man’s side. He bit his lip to stifle a moan as his head abruptly spun. A cool phial was placed against his lips and a glance down told him it was the healing potion. “Drink it *all* in one gulp, that way the taste will not linger long.” Emphasis was placed on the “all” part of Severus’s statement.

Trusting the man without question, Harry did as he was bid, his hand coming up to curl around the Potions Master’s wrist. He made a face as the potion hit his taste buds and hurriedly swallowed down all the contents. No sooner had he done so than the second phial was put against his lips and he followed suite. The same of the willow bark, though he had to endure a cup and a half of that. In due time, however, he had finished it.

Harry was rather startled in the next minute to discover another glass container against his lips. A glance down told him it was a cup of water. Shooting a surprised (he had not seen it) and grateful glance up at the stern man, the teenager gulped it down greedily and as the last traces of the potions and willow bark were washed away, he found he felt much better already---though he remained drained and exhausted.

Severus placed the empty cup on the tray and picked up the phial containing the Dreamless Sleep potion. However, now Harry was faced with a predicament.

When Severus attempted to place the phial against his lips, the young Gryffindor gently pushed his hand away.

Severus raised an imposing eyebrow. “Potter.”

Harry shook his head, locking his emerald gaze with the Head of Slytherin’s obsidian one. “Are you going out tonight?” he wanted to know.

The other eyebrow rose. “And of what concern is that to you---?”

Harry was not in the mood for a battle of wits right now, not where Severus’s safety was in question. Surprising both the Potions Master *and* himself, he cut his teacher off impatiently, “I just *made* it my concern. It’s *been* my concern since school began!”

And immediately flushed as his mind caught up with his mouth.

Half-flustered and half-terrified, he ducked his head. Nothing was said for a few minutes and Harry could feel the weight of the older man’s gaze as it rested on him. As the seconds ticked away, Harry came to the conclusion that he had either shocked the Head of Slytherin senseless or made the older man so mad that he could not speak. Still not looking up, he turned his head away and mumbled, “I’m sorry, sir.”

A beat of silence, then, “Potter…”

Was it his imagination or did Severus actually sound choked?

“Sir?” He as yet had not raised his head or meet the Professor’s eyes.

A callused hand gently gripped his chin and turned his face to the Potions Master. “Child, look at me,” the man commanded him softly and…was that *tenderness* he heard?

Startled by the tone, as well as by being called something other than his surname, Harry did as he was bid. “Professor?” breathed in bewilderment. The man looked so stunned…

Gently running his thumb over the sleep-deprived skin underneath the young Gryffindor’s right eye, Severus demanded gruffly, “Is that why you haven’t slept well? Because you were watching my meetings in your dreams?” This child…

Cheeks flushing again, Harry nodded wordlessly.

*Badly* startling the teenager, the Slytherin abruptly clasped his dark, tousled head to his chest. The young Professor’s voice was *definitely* thick as he growled, “Damn Gryffindor.”

Harry could only remain as he was, eyes wide and shimmering. What the *hell* had just happened?

All too soon, the older man released his charge. About that time, Harry suddenly found himself feeling exceedingly tired. But…he had to make sure: “You…(yawn)…You’re not going? To your meeting, I mean?”

Severus watched his face a moment, shaking his head. “No, I am not. That I am aware of, anyway.”

Sleepily, Harry nodded again, relaxing imperceptibly.

“Potter, I need you to drink the potion,” Severus advised quietly, once more picking up the phial.

“(Yawn) All right. So…so long as you promise,” the teen acquiesced at last.

An imperceptible smile of amusement tugged at the corners of Severus’s mouth. “So damn stubborn, too. All right, Potter, you hold up your end of the bargain and I promise to hold up mine.”

“You’d better,” the boy muttered.

Another eyebrow raise and Severus placed the phial against the boy’s lips. As with before, Harry drank the Dreamless Sleep potion all in one gulp.

Almost immediately, the concoction took effect. Within seconds, the young Gryffindor had slumped against Severus’s shoulder, sound asleep.

The Head of Slytherin did nothing for a moment, merely replaced the now-empty-phial on the tray. Turning back to his charge, he smiled sadly down into the peaceful countenance of the “bloody Boy-Who-Lived,” a *real* smile, and spread the silver throw from the end of his bed over him. He carefully laid Harry down, making sure his head rested on a pillow, before straightening and standing. Gently, he removed the teenager’s glasses and placed them on the nearby nightstand, within easy reach. Then, in a display of affection that he would sooner die than exhibit during the day towards his student, Severus tenderly brushed a few stray strands of raven hair away from the boy’s face and, leaning down, brushed a warm kiss against Harry’s forehead.

Coming upright once more, the Slytherin murmured, “Good night, Harry.”

(End Flashback)