Evening was laboriously slow to arrive for Harry. He'd done nothing all day except read, think, and stare at the wall whilst having mute and mindless conversations with the inanimate objects in the room. What else was there to do? Dobby had been and gone with lunch and a promise to come back later with dinner. The poor House Elf couldn't have escaped swifter as he hastily exited the room before Snape had had a chance to curse him.

Believe it or not, Harry could see the bright side of the circumstance Dumbledore had impressed upon him; he was being fed. The Dursleys had never been too generous when it came to regular meals. That was just about the only bright side. The rest was a dull, dark oblivion – not unlike his fate in this room. The Headmaster might one day feel the urge to visit them and find Harry's mangled corpse stored in sections in the many glass jars on the shelves among the other pickled items of the room, whilst Snape, having gone mad with cabin fever, gnawed on one of Harry's pickled toes.

Perhaps not quite what Dumbledore had in mind for this little venture.

He sighed as he skimmed through the pages of a tattered, old novella that had been lingering on one of the rotting shelves for (or so it appeared) centuries before Harry's birth. It was entitled, 'A Midnight to Remember – The sordid tale of Merlin Thistlefoot and Cavillera the Betrayer' by Francesco Logshack. He was sure Ginny would have been in her glory with such a story – not Hermione. It was far too fictional for her taste. And Ron didn't read. Nevertheless, Ginny would adore it.

He had arrived at the part of the tale where Merlin (unrelated to the Merlin) had discovered a book of the Dark Arts in Cavillera's travel pack as they journeyed to Stonehenge for an ancient gathering of magical folk. Quite the scandal really, Harry thought, Cavillera had told Merlin that she was more or less a Squib.

The book wasn't really Harry's taste, but he'd ran out of things to say to his old, second-hand Mickey Mouse watch and the potion vial on the desk next to him. As he read, something occurred to him. What was he going to do if he wanted to have a shower, or go to the bathroom? Harry's stomach seemed to clench at the thought of actually having to ask Snape. Bloody Dumbledore had to bloody meddle in everyone else's bloody life! Harry cursed to himself.

How would Snape react if he asked? The would-be murderer might have a coronary, or could simply curse Harry into next week. Either way, it would not be a pleasant experience. Harry glanced at the Potions Master currently sitting by the door, as though it would suddenly unlock itself if he continued to intimidate it. Harry guessed that Snape had passed the stage of anger, and was currently wallowing in denial.

Bloody Dumbledore, as Harry had become accustomed to calling him, hadn't specified the length of their sentence. What if they were here for a month? That was an awfully long time without a toilet. And without a shower? The thought was enough to make Harry physically blanch. It strengthened his resolve, if nothing else – he had to ask Snape. The image came to him again of Snape gnawing at his toe and Harry was left a little more hesitant. Maybe...maybe he should ask the potions vial for advice first?

“Professor?” Don't do it! He could practically hear Mickey shouting at him.

Snape leered in Harry's direction for a moment as though the Gryffindor had disturbed him whilst he was discussing tactics with an important member of the Order, when in reality he was discussing tactics with a door. The Potions Master quickly returned his gaze to said object. Harry interpreted this to mean that he should continue, according to the Slytherin-Gryffindor translation dictionary.

“Erm ...-” Oh, suck it up, Potter! “Where's the bathroom?”

Harry cringed, waiting for either the annoyed explosion, made ten times worse thanks to bloody Dumbledore, or the scathing look that made him feel like an imbecile. Blessedly, neither was distributed.

The Potions Master didn't so much as move. He didn't blink, and didn't seem to be breathing at all. Odd, Harry thought. But then, under Harry's scrutiny, Snape did move. He closed his eyes. Ah, Harry realised. Containing predicted explosion. Well, Harry couldn't fault Snape at least attempting to spare him. Harry actually thought the the Potions Master had taken Dumbledore's spell as a personal challenge, and was therefore doing his utmost to act rationally. Well, as rational as a Snape could be.

“Professor?” Harry insisted, throwing caution to the wind. Snape was containing himself after all, why shouldn't Harry attempt to get an answer?

“Is it urgent?” asked Snape through horribly clenched, yellow teeth. Harry could practically hear the grinding noise.

“Well, no -” began Harry but Snape swiftly cut in before he could get another syllable out.

“Then for the moment, I don't know.”

“You don't know?” repeated Harry blankly. Snape didn't grace him with a reply. “But what if -”

“You said it wasn't urgent, Mr Potter,” snapped Snape irritably. Honestly, didn't the man have any other emotion? Harry wondered angrily.

“Yeah, but what if it was?” Harry continued.

“Then I would suggest you make good use of the many vials in the room,” said Snape icily. Harry gawked at him a moment, a look of pinched disgust on his face.

“Pee in a bottle? Are you serious?” inquired Harry sceptically.

“Quite serious, Potter,” replied the Potions Master, who was now wringing the sleeve of his robe in one hand.

“There is no way -” began Harry desperately but an angry Snape interrupted yet again.

“Of course not, Master Potter,” sneered Snape sarcastically. “We wouldn't want the great Harry Potter to do something remotely unpleasant in a situation he has neither a choice nor control over.”

Harry couldn't help himself.

“Is that sarcasm, Professor?” he asked, as he feigned affront. Snape growled at him furiously. “Did you know that's the lowest form of wit?”

Snape crossed his arms over his chest, as though immobilising them will stop them from doing something particularly gruesome to the teen currently baiting him. He was glaring fiercely and seemed to be debating in his head what to do, much to Harry's annoyance. The Gryffindor didn't really know what he wanted, simply a reaction. Something that made the Potions Master less than an authority figure or a Death Eater. Something that made him human.

A human was something Harry could deal with in this situation. A Snape on the other hand ...

Snape turned away from him, his hands gripping the fabric tightly in each white fist. He was beyond furious now, having had enough of Harry's antics over the last two days. Harry guessed he hadn't been around a singular person for such length a time in his life without a moment to himself. It must've been quite maddening, Harry thought, with or without the Senex Charm.

The Potions Master wasn't the only one who'd had enough of his companion. Harry needed people. Despite his fame he was a relatively social creature, especially with Ron and Hermione as his two best friends. He had become accustomed to companionship, to someone he could talk to. The Dursleys were another matter entirely. Harry could live with them because he knew it wasn't permanent. Dumbledore had had no idea what he was forcing upon him.

Harry was about to discover just how human Snape could be.

“Legilimens.”

He had whipped out his wand with numb fingers and aimed it at Snape's back. Without a thought he'd muttered the spell and it rushed towards the Potions Master, uncontrolled and unrestrained. The primitive, raw energy collided with its ignorant target and before either of them knew it, Harry had broken through Snape's nearly adamantine defences.

Waves of pictures and undistinguishable sounds that didn't belong to him soared through Harry's thoughts, an indistinct blur of tumultuous colour. He concentrated all of his efforts upon the images and exposed one from the infinite chaos. It was like being absorbed into a Muggle film, where the edges of reality faded to black and nothing but the footage on the screen had your undivided attention.

Harry watched, entranced as a room came into focus. A poorly decorated, deprived hovel. A sickly woman stood by a sink, wiping at an already shining plate. Her pallid son sat at a rickety, dilapidated table, furiously writing. There was a thunderous rumble from an adjacent room before a man entered, drunk, disorderly and frenetic.

He roughly grabbed the woman by the shoulder and screamed at her furiously. She did nothing. Only what she dared to. She begged him in French. The young boy had ran from the table and huddled in the corner furthest away from the lanky haired man.

Before Harry could full register the rest of the events he felt himself being roughly wrenched from the memory and being hurtled out of Snape's mind. He hit the floor and couldn't comprehend any further. An oblivion much as he'd feared encompassed him.

---

Harry was suddenly slithering on the ground, finally free of his master for a time. The tall grass hid him well as he languidly wormed his way through the forest of vegetation, following the tantalizing rat that teased him as he followed. He wanted nothing more than to rupture the vermin's soft underbelly with his toxic fangs whilst indulging in its' delectable insides as they spewed from the mortal mutilation.

But no, he had orders from his master. He was to pursue him only, “keep a sharp watch”. They were his instructions. And so he did, as silent as the gloom of the approaching evening. The rat knew he was near-by of course, but where? That remained a mystery to his quarry, much to Harry's delight. It made the hunt that more enjoyable.

They were close to Hogwarts now. Harry could feel the vibration of the many humans stomping around the castle from here. Soon his freedom would be over and he'd have to return. The gates of Hogwarts loomed over him, a frigid black in comparison to the cool blue of the dusk. Further in front was the slightly illuminated orange of Wormtail, passing swiftly along the castle's many defences without a hint of detection.

The rat crawled without hesitation as only a rat could towards the brightly lit castle. It was as though he knew exactly where to go and how to get there without alerting anyone to his presence. Harry glared suspiciously at his prey. The rat reached the out wall of the castle and began to twitch and scratch at the soft, slightly damp ground.

Harry watched him thoughtfully for a moment before vibrations through the ground alerted him to another presence. He glanced over the grass and saw the warm red of a human striding quietly and swiftly towards the rat. He knew this scent; Albus Dumbledore. Harry cautiously kept silent and hidden in the foliage of the castle grounds.

“Stupefy.” The frantic burning of the spell soared too quickly for Harry to see in the direction of the rat and hit its' target without fail. Wormtail instantly stilled, unconscious and helpless upon the ground. The headmaster quickly conjured a cage of sorts and placed the Stupified rat within it.

Another came out of the castle. McGonagall, Harry recognised. She joined Dumbledore and peered at his newly achieved captive, Harry could do nothing but watch. How he wanted to pierce their flesh with the deadly knife-like fangs in his mouth. Nothing but the blood in his mouth could be sweeter.

“You have him then,” McGonagall commented dryly.

“So it would seem,” said Dumbledore. He didn't sound any more pleased then she.

“Surely He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will know of his capture?” she inquired warningly.

“Of course, sooner than we could anticipate, I imagine,” the Headmaster remarked. “It's all in hand, Minerva.”

“Perhaps, but what of Potter? Surely you don't intend to keep him trapped in the dungeons further? You've gained what you needed -”

“Yes, Minerva, I have. But Severus and Harry have not, and they will be kept in such a state until they do. Achievement is the path to success,” twinkled the old wizard.

“Not if it kills them first,” scoffed McGonagall sternly. “It isn't humane, Albus.”

“We must all make a choice, Professor, between what is right and what is easy. I believe that this is correct way of dealing with their issues.”

“Unless it all goes horribly wrong. The two can't stand each other! They'd sooner chew of their own limbs,” said Professor McGonagall angrily.

“Did you not say yourself the two would benefit -”

“Yes, but not by such harsh means! Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental!” she scolded in a harsh whisper. Dumbledore could only chuckle.

“My dear Minerva, one would think you didn't trust me,” the Headmaster jested patiently. The Gryffindor Head of House huffed impatiently and stalked away. She turned and called back to him;

“The fact that no one understands you doesn't make you an artist, Albus. Do try to restrain yourself from painting the destinies of those who may actually be beyond your control.”

The picture faded and Nagini turned away from the two humans and slithered back the way she came.

---

A penetrating fog seemed to swirl around Harry's brain as he was trapped between unconsciousness and awakening. Two forces were pulling in opposite directions in his mind, one towards a perpetual nirvana, the other in the direction of concious soul. Slowly, he struggled and swam towards the latter despite his misgivings. The current of cognizance tugged him faster and with more haste before he was finally thrown back into reality.

Harry blinked an opened his eyes, at least he tried to. Small led weights were upon his eyelids, keeping them shut as he struggled meekly against them. He heard someone call his name, and he could only groan in response.

“Potter?”

The voice called again, one that was all too familiar. Harry still couldn't place it, and so he gave in to the desperate sleep his body was forcing upon him.

---

Harry didn't know how much time had passed before he finally woke up and felt more like himself again. Once again, he wrestled with his uncooperative eyelids and managed to pry them open a minuscule slit. He turned his slightly throbbing head that beat in rhythm with his heart and was met by the penetrating glare of the Potions Master.

Harry jumped slightly at their intensity but didn't lower his gaze, he couldn't have lowered them any further if he'd tried. Neither of them said anything for a moment as Harry collected his memories.

“'m sorry,” he muttered feebly, to which Snape sneered.

“A simple apology won't fix the damage you've done,” barked the Potions Master. Harry flinched more at the loud tone then the scathing remarks and managed to shut his eyes against both. He didn't know what to say, his brain didn't seem to want to make the rest of his body work and so he said the only thing he could.

“'m sorry,” he repeated again, more insistently. Snape sighed but didn't press the matter further. Harry was sure he'd be hearing a lot about it later, anyway.

“How are you feeling?” Snape inquired seriously, though some of his animosity still shone through despite the nearly caring words. Harry's mind still wasn't responding as it should have, he could only glance up at Snape in confusion.

“Y- you soun' reasonable,” mumbled Harry tiredly. “Time for your medication?”

Snape glared at him impatiently.

“Must you be so immature? This is no a laughing matter. Do you not realise the danger you placed the both of us in?” Snape scowled sternly at the teenager.

“S'rry. It sounds li'e English, but I can't un'erstan' a word you're sayin',” slurred Harry toilsomely. The Potions Master sighed irritably at this.

“Fine, Potter. Rest. I'll deal with you in the morning,” Snape bit warningly. Harry muttered an affirmative before he was swiftly claimed by a most natural sleep for once in a very long year.