Even in his sleep, Harry knew this was no dream. He had dreamt of the Burrow many times, but this was different – and familiar.

The night was cold, but not bitterly so. A stiff breeze rustled the trees and an owl hooted somewhere. A wisp of cloud floated across the full moon. Harry took a deep breath, drinking in the scents of the night.

A woman’s scream ripped through the silence and Harry smiled. He savored the sound of pain and terror. The whole wizarding world would cower before him. Slowly, he made his way up the steps and entered the house. Four Death Eaters stood over the crumpled form of their victim. One brandished a wand.

“Crucio!”

The cold, cruel voice of Bellatrix Lestrange was unmistakable. Mrs. Weasley screamed again in agony.

“Enough, Bella,” Harry said. “We want her coherent.”

Bellatrix Lestrange gave her wand a flick and the screams died away into ragged breathing.

Harry stepped past his Death Eaters and regarded Mrs. Weasley, who was now staring at him in utter horror.

“Good evening, madam,” he said easily. “We’re looking for your husband.”

Mrs. Weasley seemed to snap out of her shock. She raised her chin defiantly.

“Then you’re wasting your time,” she said. “He’s not here.”

“Where is he?” Harry asked with polite boredom.

“With the Ministry tracking down some of your Death Eaters, I imagine.”

“And when do you expect him home?” Harry continued, unfazed by her comment.

“I’ve no idea,” Mrs. Weasley answered. “Often he doesn’t get home before morning.”

“Well, well, that is unfortunate,” Harry said, sounding mildly disappointed. “For you,” he added. He raised his wand.

---

Harry bolted up in bed, gasping in panic. He glanced automatically at Ron’s bed, but he couldn’t wake his best friend. Not yet. He had to get help. Harry scrambled out of bed, grabbed his dressing gown and slipped out of the room, down the stairs and out of the common room. Then he ran.

A detached part of Harry’s mind wondered why it was that when he was trying to sneak around the castle, there always seemed to be someone waiting to catch him, yet now, when he was desperate to find help, he could run headlong through the halls and encounter no one. But at last he skidded to a breathless halt at his destination and pounded on the polished oak door in front of him. Though it seemed like an eternity, it couldn’t have been more than a few moments before the door was yanked open by an obviously just awoken Severus Snape.

“Potter? What the –?”

“They're at the Burrow!” Harry blurted out. “Ron's house! Mrs. Weasley… They…”

All trace of sleep vanished from Snape’s face. He grabbed Harry by the arm, dragged him into the room and shut the door.

“He’s there now?”

Harry nodded.

Snape pulled Harry farther into the room and shoved him into an armchair by the fireplace at the same moment that he pointed his wand and said, “Incendio!”

A fire instantly sprang up in the grate. Snape took a pinch of Floo powder from a box on the mantelpiece and threw it into the flames.

“Headmaster?” he called. “Albus!”

“Yes, Severus, I’m here,” said Dumbledore, whose head had just appeared in Snape’s fire. “What is it?”

“Mr. Potter is in my quarters. He just informed me that there are Death Eaters at the Weasley residence.”

Harry saw Dumbledore’s expression darken.

“Do you know how many there are?”

Snape glanced at Harry.

“Four, at least,” Harry answered. “And Voldemort’s there, too.”

“Did you see any of the Weasleys?” Dumbledore asked gently.

“Mr. Weasley isn’t home. I think Mrs. Weasley was the only one...”

Harry trailed off, overwhelmed by the memory.

Dumbledore nodded compassionately and turned his attention back to Snape. “I’ll contact the Aurors. You’d best keep Harry there with you, until you hear from me.” The next moment, he was gone and Harry was left staring at the fire.

A movement caught his attention. He looked up to find Snape standing in front of him. The Potions Master handed him a small cauldron.

“If you’re going to be sick, use this,” Snape said, then turned away.

Harry stared down at the cauldron. He felt vaguely nauseous, but decided he was too numb to actually be sick. Snape appeared at his side again and handed him a cup. Harry seized the familiar potion and gulped it down. He felt his head clear almost at once and the shock began to fade. But unlike in the past, this didn’t help. It was one thing to witness atrocities committed against total strangers. Harry could pretend those weren’t real. But to be at the Burrow and to see Mrs. Weasley –

Harry sprang out of his chair and began to pace feverishly, as though hoping the movement would banish the pictures seared into his mind. He dug his fingernails into his palms, but it didn’t distract him from what he’d seen. Mrs. Weasley had stood up to Voldemort, bravely. She’d been afraid, but she’d also been defiant and hadn’t even flinched when he’d raised his wand.

“No,” Harry moaned. He stopped pacing and pressed his hands hard against his eyes to stop the scene playing out in his mind. “No!”

Snape caught him by the shoulders and shook him, “Potter, stop it! Look at me.”

“No!” Harry repeated desperately, still caught up in the memory.

Snape shook him harder. “Look at me!”

“No!” Harry screamed and tried to pull away. He didn’t want Snape to see the memory in his mind. The guilt and pain were already more than he could bear.

“It wasn’t your fault!” Snape said, refusing to release Harry. “You know that!”

Harry ignored Snape and only struggled harder. He tried to shove the man away, but Snape’s grip was like steel.

“Let me go!” Harry screamed.

“Not until you do as I say!” Snape shook Harry once more. “Look at me!”

Harry looked up and met Snape’s eyes, which burned with a feral intensity.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Snape insisted. The man’s fingers dug into Harry’s shoulders painfully, but Harry didn’t care. It was nothing compared to the pain tearing at his heart.

“I killed her,” Harry whispered.

Snape’s features softened and his voice was gentler than Harry had ever heard it. “I know.”

The room was terribly quiet. Harry could hear the fire crackling in the grate and his own ragged breathing as he and Snape stood staring at one another. Neither of them spoke; there was nothing to say.

Snape made no move to release his grip on Harry’s shoulders, for which Harry was suddenly very grateful. He could feel Snape’s presence in his mind, but he sensed no revulsion or horror, only weary regret and a quiet determination. That calm presence stood in stark contrast to Harry’s own distraught emotions and provided unexpected solace.

“Severus?” Dumbledore’s voice called from the fire.

“Yes, Headmaster,” Snape replied, not taking his eyes off of Harry’s.

“The Aurors just notified me that two Death Eaters have been captured at the Burrow. The rest escaped. I have spoken to Arthur Weasley. He is on his way to Hogwarts now. Minerva has gone to wake the Weasley children and bring them to my office. If you would bring Harry as well, I believe he should be here.”

“Is that absolutely necessary?” Snape asked.

Dumbledore hesitated. “I’m afraid so. It must be faced at some point and it is better to get it over with now.”

“Very well.”

Snape still hadn’t broken eye contact with Harry who was fairly certain the unwavering gaze was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“I can’t,” Harry pleaded desperately. “I can’t see Ron and Ginny right now.”

“Yes, you can. You have faced worse than this.”

“But – ”

“You were an innocent witness, Potter.” Snape said. “You bear no responsibility for what happened. In fact, you likely saved Arthur Weasley’s life tonight. Do you realize that? No one else could have done as much and you have no cause to expect any more of yourself.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.”

---

Snape ushered Harry out of his quarters and through the halls towards Dumbledore’s office. It felt to Harry as though he were on his way to his own execution. What could he possibly say to Ron and Ginny? They arrived at the gargoyle too soon and Snape gave the password. As the door swung open, he stepped back to allow Harry to enter, but Harry froze.

“You’re coming with me, aren’t you?” he asked shakily.

There was the barest flash of surprise in Snape’s eyes as they met Harry’s, but he answered without hesitation.

“Of course I’m coming with you.”

Reassured, Harry stepped onto the staircase and Snape followed him.

They emerged in Dumbledore’s office to find McGonagall sitting on a loveseat with her arm around a sobbing Ginny. Ron sat in a chair with his head buried in his hands. Dumbledore stood next to him with a hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder.

“Harry, do come in,” Dumbledore said gently.

Harry stepped forward hesitantly and Ron looked up at him. Harry nearly broke down at the sight of the anguish in his friend’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Harry’s voice was barely audible.

“You saw it?” Ron choked out.

Harry swallowed hard and nodded.

“What happened?” Ron asked. “Did they…? Did she… suffer?”

Ron’s eyes bored into Harry’s looking for some kind of comfort and Harry wished desperately that he were somewhere else. Ginny was watching him too, waiting.

“No,” Harry lied. “She… she didn’t suffer. They… broke into the house and… took her by surprise. She tried to fight, but there were too many of them. She was hit from behind. She never even saw it coming.”

Ron looked away as tears welled up in his eyes and Ginny sobbed. Both were relieved. It was a small comfort, but it was something.

There was a soft knock at the door and Harry turned, grateful for the distraction. It was Mr. Weasley. As hard as it was to see Ron and Ginny’s naked grief, the stunned, helpless sorrow in Mr. Weasley’s eyes was even worse.

Ron and Ginny were at their father’s side in an instant. Mr. Weasley hugged his children close as they clung to him for comfort. Harry looked away, embarrassed to witness such a deeply personal moment. Dumbledore stepped forward and laid a hand on Mr. Weasley’s shoulder.

“Arthur, I am so sorry,” Dumbledore said. “Is there anything I can do?”

Mr. Weasley shook his head. “No, not right now.”

“Let me know if there is anything at all,” Dumbledore persisted.

“I will. Thank you. We just need some time,” Mr. Weasley said, blinking back the brightness in his eyes.

Dumbledore nodded in understanding and smiled sadly.

“Our thoughts will be with you all,” he said.

Mr. Weasley nodded. “Come along then, let’s get your things,” he told Ron and Ginny. He ushered his children from the room, followed closely by Professor McGonagall.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said. “If you’ll wait here, I need to speak with Arthur alone, but I’ll be back shortly.” With that, Dumbledore also left.

Harry stared at the door for a moment and then sank into the nearest chair. He took a long shuddering breath, then buried his face in his hands as his own tears, at last, began to flow. They grew rapidly to wracking sobs that echoed in the lonely silence of the office. In this dreadful quiet, the touch on Harry’s shoulder came as such a surprise that he practically leapt out of his chair. He’d completely forgotten that Snape was in the room.

“Here, take this,” Snape said, offering him a handkerchief.

“Thank you,” Harry mumbled, taking the plain white cloth without looking at his teacher. Harry wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked calmly. He stood with his arms folded, watching Harry solemnly.

Harry glanced up at Snape and then away, “I… I’m not sure. I just… I know I shouldn’t… I mean I just can’t believe she’s gone. I saw her at Christmas. She made me a jumper, a brown one with my initial on it. She makes them for all the Weasleys every year, even Bill and Charlie. Mr. Weasley, too.” Harry had no idea why he was telling Snape all this, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“She made me a green one my very first year at Hogwarts. It was the first time anyone had ever… given me… anything… And I know she only felt sorry for me, but she’s always treated me like family, and… and I know she’s not my mother and I don’t have the right…”

Harry knew he was making no sense. Worse, his tears were flowing again and he couldn’t stop them.

Snape knelt down next to Harry. “Potter, you don’t need a right to grieve for someone,” he said softly. “There is no reason for shame.”

Harry swallowed hard and wiped his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

The door opened and Dumbledore came in. Snape immediately stood up and stepped away from Harry. The headmaster bent down and took Harry’s hand in his.

“Harry, I am so very sorry. If there were anything I could do to ease this pain, I would do it.”

“I know, sir. Thank you. I just feel awful for Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys.”

“They will take care of one another. We must take care of you. This has been a hideous night for you, Harry. I want you to spend the rest of it in the hospital wing.”

“I’m all right, sir, really,” Harry protested.

“Be that as it may, I would prefer that Professor McGonagall had the opportunity to speak to the rest of your house about tonight’s events, before you have to answer any questions. You will be excused from all your classes tomorrow and I urge you to take the time to rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Severus, if I might impose upon you to take Harry down to Madam Pomfrey, since you are going that way?”

“Of course, Headmaster,” Snape answered. “Come along, Mr. Potter.”

“Get some rest, Harry, and remember, my door is always open to you, whatever you should need,” Dumbledore said.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Harry replied.

Harry followed Snape from Dumbledore’s office and along the corridors to the hospital wing. He felt empty and exhausted and there was a single sharp pain that seemed to be buried deep in his chest. Snape left Harry to wait in the front ward, while he went to wake Madam Pomfrey. The two of them returned shortly and Harry knew immediately that Snape had filled her in on the night’s events by the way she fussed over him. She bustled him off to the back ward and found him a bed and extra blankets. Surprisingly, Snape followed them, keeping a silent watch as if to make certain that everything was in order. When Harry was in bed, Madam Pomfrey produced a dreamless sleep potion and at last, Snape spoke.

“A half dose only. He’s already had a powerful dream-blocking potion tonight.”

“Yes, Professor.” She adjusted the dose and gave it to Harry. “Drink it all down, Mr. Potter, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

Harry did as instructed and fell asleep almost instantly. The last thing he remembered was Snape watching him.

---

Severus Snape sat staring into the fire in his quarters. It was very late, or more accurately, very early. Daybreak couldn’t be far off and Snape hadn’t slept at all since Potter had come pounding on his door at midnight, pale as death and stammering about Death Eaters at the Weasleys’s. Potter. Why did everything have to happen to that boy?

Snape had witnessed a great many horrors in his life, many of his own making. But murdering his best friend’s mother wasn’t among them and he was fairly certain it would trump anything on his list. It didn’t matter that Potter hadn’t actually killed her; he felt as though he had. Snape had seen it all in the boy’s mind, the horrible memory and unbearable guilt. Potter’s emotions had been almost overwhelming, even though Snape had braced himself for them. And for one terrible moment as he’d looked into the green eyes, Snape had been genuinely afraid for the boy’s sanity.

It was clearly imperative that Potter learn to block these visions as soon as possible. However, the boy was already doing his best to learn Legilimency; Snape was certain of that. Potter’s mounting frustration and anxiety were proof enough that the will was there, and it wasn’t as though he didn’t have the raw talent. Snape had never encountered a more naturally adept mind. Not that he had told Potter that, of course. But even for the gifted, it took time to master the intricacies of the mental arts.

Unfortunately, time was the one commodity Snape felt certain they were running out of. Many more shocks like the one he’d had tonight and Potter would wind up catatonic in St. Mungos. The conversation in Dumbledore’s office hadn’t helped, either.

Regardless of the fact that his mother had just died, Snape could have strangled Ron Weasley when the idiot boy asked Potter what he’d seen. As if a description of his mother’s death would make him feel better. Snape had watched Potter comfort the boy with a lie and had felt an overwhelming respect for a young man he had never believed deserved any. He’d been wrong. In fact, if there was one thing Snape knew with crystal clarity it was just how wrong he’d been about Harry Potter.

Even though he had seen endless memories of Potter’s miserable childhood, Snape hadn’t really understood how alone and emotionally deprived the boy had been. Or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to understand. And Potter hid it well, always so confident and defiant, but tonight had been different.

The pale, distraught boy in Dumbledore’s office had been a total stranger. Potter had truly believed that he didn’t have the right to grieve for Molly Weasley, that somehow he wasn’t worthy. Snape hadn’t needed Legilimency to read Potter’s churning emotions. The shame and loneliness on the boy’s face had been almost unbearable to witness. Not least, because they were far too familiar to Snape. How did I ever mistake him for James?

Snape sighed. Sleep deprivation was getting him nowhere. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was 4:30 am. His first class was at nine, which meant he could still get four hours sleep. He’d often functioned on less. Snape rose and retrieved a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion from his private stores and retreated to his bed.

---

Harry awoke in the Hospital Wing to a gray, dull morning and didn’t even bother to reach for his glasses.

“Harry, how are you feeling?”

Harry glanced up at a blur that had Hermione’s voice.

“Hermione? What are you doing here?” he asked, belatedly fumbling for his glasses.

“I thought you might want some company.”

With his glasses on, Harry could see that Hermione had been crying.

“Professor McGonagall told us what happened,” Hermione continued.
But I still can’t believe it. And you dreamt about it?”

Harry nodded.

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

“It’s Ron and Ginny you ought to feel sorry for. They’re the ones who lost their mum.”

“I know and I do,” Hermione said. “But it must have been awful for you, too. No one else knows, by the way. About your dream, that is. Professor McGonagall just told us all that word of the attack had come late last night. But she pulled me aside and told me what really happened.”

Harry lay back on his bed, immensely relieved that he wouldn’t face a flurry of questions from the rest of the school. At that moment, Madam Pomfrey came in.

“Mr. Potter, how are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, sitting up. “I should be getting back to Gryffindor Tower. What time is it?

“Nearly ten,” the matron answered. “Miss Granger, shouldn’t you be in class?”

“No, Madam Pomfrey, I was excused from class this morning,” Hermione answered.

The nurse gave Hermione a skeptical look, but didn’t press the point. “Mr. Longbottom brought you a change of clothes, Mr. Potter. They’re on the chair at the foot of the bed. If you need anything throughout the day, don’t hesitate to come back.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. He watched Madam Pomfrey leave then turned to Hermione.

“Snape excused you?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well, no,” Hermione said, blushing. “Actually, I skived off. But I wasn’t going to let you wake up here alone.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks, Hermione,” he said, gratefully. He drew the curtains and changed quickly, then he and Hermione headed back to Gryffindor Tower. While they walked, Harry gave Hermione a quick overview of what had happened the night before. He didn’t give any details of what had happened at the Burrow, saying only that he had known Mrs. Weasley was dead. Likewise, he didn’t say much about what had happened in Snape’s quarters or Dumbledore’s office.

When he finished Hermione was frowning in concentration. “It’s a good thing you raised the alarm before Mr. Weasley got home. He wouldn’t have been a match for four Death Eaters plus Voldemort. You know, you probably saved his life.”

“That’s what Snape said. I wish it made me feel better.”

Hermione looked at him oddly, started to say something then stopped.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Why did you go to Professor Snape?”

The question surprised Harry. “I had to get help.”

“Yes, but Professor McGonagall is a lot closer and she’s our Head of House. Professor Dumbledore’s closer for that matter. Why didn’t you go to either of them?”

Harry blinked. He had no answer. Why had he gone to Snape? Until that moment it had seemed the most natural thing to do. But Hermione was right, of course, it made no sense at all.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking. I guess I just spend so much time with Snape that he was the first person that came to mind.”

They had arrived at Gryffindor Tower and Hermione gave the password to open the portrait hole then turned to regard Harry with a worried frown.

“I’ve got to get to class, Harry, but you try to get some rest, all right?”

“I will,” Harry said. “Don’t worry about me.”

Hermione bit her lip then startled Harry by stepping forward and hugging him tightly.

“I’ll see you this afternoon, then.”

Before Harry could say anything, Hermione turned and hurried back down the hall. Harry watched her go, feeling suddenly very alone and wishing Hermione would stay. He fought down an irrational urge to call after her and instead climbed into the common room. It was deserted since the rest of the Gryffindors were in class and Harry didn’t linger, but went straight up to his room. His bed was still the rumpled mess he’d left it, though he noticed that someone had neatly made Ron’s bed. Harry’s memories pressed in on him and he knew he couldn’t bear to stay in the room alone. Fortunately, he wasn’t tired: he’d slept well in the hospital wing and for once, felt well rested. Harry quickly made his bed as though covering it up would somehow cover up the tragedy he’d experienced there. Then he grabbed his broom along with some biscuits he’d had in his drawer and left.

Harry didn’t return to the castle all day. He spent some of his time flying, but mostly he wandered the grounds and sat out on the far side of the lake. Finally, at dusk, he returned to the castle for dinner. The Great Hall was bustling as usual, but the Gryffindor table was noticeably subdued. Harry sat down across from Hermione and Neville.

“Hi Harry,” Neville said. “Haven’t seen you all day, how are you doing?”

“I’m all right,” Harry said.

There was an awkward silence then Hermione chimed in.

“I’ve got all your homework assignments, Harry, and I made copies of all my notes from class for you, too. I also got Parvati’s notes from Potions, so we should be all right there.

“That’s good,” Harry said.

“My Mimbulus mimbletonia is doing well,” Neville offered. “It’s much healthier since I began the tonic and music therapy. I should be finishing up my paper for Professor Sprout soon.”

“That’s wonderful, Neville,” Hermione said.

They subsided into silence again which suited Harry fine. He was famished, having eaten next to nothing all day, and was happy to devote his attention to his meal.

The mood in the common room after dinner was also quiet, but Hermione immediately cornered Harry and began filling him in on what he’d missed in class. She shoved a stack of notes at him and launched into a recital of which homework assignments they needed to complete that evening. For once, Harry didn’t mind Hermione’s insistence on studying and obediently set to work on his Charms homework. By the time he finished his History essay it was very late and even Hermione’s eyelids were drooping.

“We should turn in,” Harry suggested.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Hermione agreed.

They packed away their books and went up to their respective dormitories. Harry paused outside his door. He remembered the oppressive weight he’d felt in the room that morning and wondered if he’d be able to sleep in his own bed. He slipped into the room quietly since the other boys were already asleep and went straight to his bed, peeling off his clothes as he went and trying to avoid looking at Ron’s empty bed.

A small bottle sat on his bedside table. It was unfamiliar and Harry knew it hadn’t been there the night before. He picked it up and saw that it was labeled ‘Dreamless Sleep Potion’. Harry felt a surge of relief. Of course, this was exactly what he needed, but it hadn’t even occurred to him to go to Madam Pomfrey for the sleeping draught. Obviously the matron had thought ahead and sent some up, for which Harry was deeply grateful.

Harry climbed into bed, uncorked the bottle and gulped down its contents. He barely had time to lie down and pull his covers up before sleep overtook him.

---

Harry awoke the next morning to the sight of Ron’s empty bed and immediately felt a pang of grief. He got up and dressed quickly, needing to move to keep his memories at bay. He went down to breakfast, but had no enthusiasm for eating. Hermione soon arrived and sat down across from him. She hardly touched her breakfast either, but kept casting furtive glances at Harry. Once or twice he was sure she was about to say something, but she seemed to change her mind.

“Hermione, is there something you want to talk about?” Harry finally asked.

Hermione started guiltily, then collected herself.

“I’m leaving for the Burrow this afternoon,” she said.

Harry stared at her a moment, digesting this information.

“You’re going to the Burrow?”

“Yes,” she said. “Ron asked me to come. I owled my parents yesterday and they’ve sent their permission. Bill’s picking me up and I’ll be staying through the funeral.”

Harry was silent, not knowing what to say.

“I wish you could come too, Harry,” Hermione continued. “I know Ron and Ginny would want you there, only –”

“Only Sirius is dead and my aunt and uncle would never give their permission,” Harry finished.

Hermione bit her lip. “Harry –”

“It’s all right,” Harry interrupted. “You go and give everyone my regards.”

He stood up and left the Great Hall feeling even more lonely and miserable than he had before. He was glad that Hermione was going to be able to go to the Weasleys’s, but he was bitterly angry that he couldn’t go, too, when he desperately wanted to be with his friends. What really hurt, though, was that Ron hadn’t even asked him to come. Of course, Ron knew he wouldn’t be able to leave Hogwarts and might simply have thought there was no point in inviting him, but in the back of his mind, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Ron didn’t want him there. Ron might not entirely understand what Harry’s visions were like, but he knew generally that Harry wasn’t simply a witness to the events. Maybe Ron didn’t want the person who had killed his mother attending her funeral. Harry pushed that thought away and dragged a sleeve across his eyes, then hurried to class.

The day passed slowly in a kind of surreal haze. Harry wandered through his classes out of habit, but learnt nothing. Fortunately, all of his teachers were understanding and asked little of him. That evening, however, as he made his way to the dungeons for his usual lesson with Snape, Harry felt a rush of anxiety. He hesitated outside the Potion Master’s office. The memories from the other night were still too fresh and, for the first time, it wasn’t the ones from the Burrow that were bothering him.

He’d been in a terrible state that night. Harry wouldn’t have wanted his best friend to see him in that condition; for Snape to have witnessed him blubbering incoherently was utterly humiliating. But even more troubling, Harry knew he’d crossed a line between himself and his teacher that he shouldn’t have. He hadn’t meant to do it; it had simply been automatic. He had been so desperate and Snape’s presence in his mind had been so calm and steady. How could he not have reached out to it for support? Snape had flinched in surprise, but he hadn’t pushed Harry away and with that solid presence to cling to in his mind, Harry had managed to overcome his panic and wrestle his emotions back under control. But now he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

Harry was fairly certain that Snape would ignore the incident as he did most of Harry’s unseemly emotional outbursts. Still, Harry was concerned about what effect his breach of decorum might have on his lessons. If ever he needed the familiar routine of his exercises with Snape, it was now and he didn’t want anything to interfere with it. Harry sighed. Hanging out in the hall wasn’t going to solve anything, so he braced himself and went in to face Snape.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter,” Snape said in his usual no-nonsense manner as he stood up to face Harry.

“Good evening, Professor.” Harry responded with the same polite formality.

“We’ll start with Occlumency,” Snape said. “If you’re ready?”

Harry nodded wordlessly and almost at once felt the familiar sensation of Snape’s mind. A memory sprang up.

He was ten years old and Dudley and his gang had him cornered in an alley. Dudley shoved him up against the brick wall and aimed a meaty fist at his face.

Harry gave a quick mental flick to banish the memory and another appeared.

It was pitch dark and Harry lay on his mattress in the cupboard under the stairs. He was probably no more than six and he was terrified, alone in the dark.

That had been a common occurrence when Harry was little and he dismissed the memory easily. Harry’s anxiety fell away as he felt himself relax and his mental focus sharpen, but the next memory was completely unfamiliar. He saw what seemed to be a contemporary image of himself sitting at a desk hunched over a stack of parchments. Except that Harry was certain he’d never been in this room before.

“Come on Harry, it’s time to say goodnight to daddy,” a young woman said as she rose from a chair with a child in her arms.

Harry recognized his mother at once and as the young man at the desk looked up, Harry realized that what he’d taken to be himself was actually his father. But this wasn’t the swaggering teenager he’d seen in the past.

James had the look of someone burdened by too many worries, but the smile he gave his son was radiant with love and pride. The baby laughed delightedly and reached out for his father. James took Harry, hugged him tightly and kissed him while Lily smiled affectionately at both of them.

Suddenly, Lily glanced sharply towards the door and frowned.

“James, did you hear something?”

“No,” James said, frowning slightly as he followed her gaze. He sat Harry down on the floor and stood up to put his arms around his wife.

“Lily, it’s all right. Don’t worry,” James said. “We’re safe here. No one can find us now.”

Baby Harry had no idea what his parents were saying, but the sixteen year old watching did and a horrible suspicion was taking hold in Harry’s mind.

Oh, please no! Harry thought frantically. It can’t be.

As if on cue the front door exploded. Lily screamed and James shoved her behind him as he drew his wand.

“Lily, it’s him!” James yelled. “Take Harry and go!”

Lily stood frozen for an instant, then snatched up her son and ran. Harry could hear the sounds of a fierce duel behind them as his mother raced down the hall. A curse exploded against the wall to their left. Lily screamed and darted into a room on the right, slamming and warding the door behind her. It didn’t help. An instant later, the door splintered and Voldemort stepped into the room.

“Stand aside, you silly girl,” he said.

“No! Not Harry! Please not Harry! I’ll do anything!” Lily cried.

Voldemort raised his wand and Lily turned her back to him, shielding her son with her body.

The memory was gone and Harry found himself on his knees, shaking violently. Snape was staring at him in horror.

“I should have stopped that,” Harry said, numbly. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

In one fluid motion, Snape stepped forward, knelt down, grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook him hard.

“Stop it!” he said angrily. “You have suffered more in sixteen years than most people do in a lifetime! Don’t ever apologize for that, not to me, not to anyone!”

Snape stood up and dragged Harry to his feet. He pushed the young man towards the door, wrenched it open and shoved Harry into the corridor beyond.

“Go! You’re in no condition to learn anything! We’ll continue when you have yourself under control.”

Snape slammed the door in Harry’s face. The sound echoed through the empty corridor as Harry stood gaping in disbelief. Anger replaced the grief he’d felt only moments before.

What a git! Heartless didn’t begin to describe Snape. The man was incapable of even the simplest human kindness or decency. Harry turned and stormed away towards Gryffindor Tower muttering a few very descriptive phrases about Snape under his breath.

---

Snape sat at his desk with his head in his hands and willed himself to stop shaking. He should have pulled Potter out of the memory sooner, but he’d been too shocked by what he was seeing. James and Lily had been so young. They had all been so young and all of their lives had been ruined that night. Seeing Potter’s memory had brought his own flooding back and for a horrible moment he had thought he was going to break down in front of the boy.

Instead, he’d thrown Potter out. Snape felt a brief pang of guilt for that, but it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t let Potter see just how deeply he’d been affected by that memory. But perhaps there was a way to make up for it. Snape ran a hand across his eyes and went over to the fireplace. He threw a pinch of Floo powder into the flames.

“Headmaster?”

Dumbledore appeared in the flames a moment later. “Yes, Severus.”

“Mr. Potter has just relived a very old and disturbing memory here in my office. I believe he is on his way back to Gryffindor Tower now.”

“I see,” Dumbledore replied, looking closely at the Potions Master. “And is there anything else you need?”

“No, sir,” Snape said.

Dumbledore hesitated, but then nodded. “Very well, I will see to Harry.”

---

Harry had taken his time returning to Gryffindor Tower. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone and Ron’s conspicuous absence wouldn’t let him forget Mrs. Weasley’s death even for a moment. He was shuffling down the last corridor when Dumbledore appeared around a corner.

“Harry,” the headmaster said kindly. “Just the person I was hoping to find. How are you this evening?”

“All right, sir. Better than yesterday. Have you heard from the Weasleys?”

“Not directly, however Remus Lupin is with them and he sent word that Charlie arrived yesterday evening. Everyone is still in shock, of course. But they are a close-knit family, Harry. They’ll survive this.”

“I know they will,” Harry said.

“And is there a reason why you’re wandering the halls alone, this evening?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry shrugged. “It’s too hard staying in the common room.”

“Did you have lessons with Professor Snape tonight?”

Harry’s voice hardened. “Professor Snape said we’d continue my lessons another time.”

“That is probably for the best. After the shock you’ve had, I’m sure you will need time to recover. The memories are too fresh and may resonate especially deeply for you, Harry. The Weasley children are not the only ones who have ever lost a parent. It is only natural that you may feel your own loss quite acutely at this time.”

Harry nodded, but he really didn’t want to think about the memory he’d seen in Snape’s office. Instead, he seized the opportunity to address the issue that had been nagging at him all day.

“When do you think the funeral will be?” Harry asked.

“Within the week, most likely. They haven’t set the date yet.”

“Can I go?”

Dumbledore looked at Harry appraisingly. “I will do everything in my power to make certain that you are able to attend. I will be more than happy to have you accompany me.”

Harry felt his spirits lift. “Thank you, sir. I’d really appreciate that.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Harry. Now, you’d best get back to your dormitory.”

Harry nodded and hurried back to Gryffindor Tower. The prospect of being able to attend Mrs. Weasley’s funeral had improved his mood considerably and he spent the evening doing homework with Neville, Dean and Seamus. When he finally went up to his dormitory, he was surprised to find another bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion on his bedside table. Harry found it odd that Madam Pomfrey would continue to send this to him without so much as leaving a note. He didn’t think he needed it, though on second thought, given the memory he’d seen in Snape’s office that evening, it might not be a bad idea to take it. He undressed, got into bed and downed the potion as he had done the night before.

---

Harry was feeling almost himself again the next morning as he headed down to breakfast. He had recovered from the shock of seeing the attack on Godric’s Hollow. After all, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t already known how his parents had died and his experience with the Dementors in third year had been much worse. He actually felt grateful at being able to see his parents as they had been when he was a child. They had seemed to be a loving family and Harry wished for the first time in a long while that he could have known them.

Harry’s reverie was interrupted as he spotted Eleanor Branstone and her sister leaving the hospital wing. He smiled to himself, happy to see the younger girl up and around. Madam Pomfrey was standing with the girls.

“Now remember, you may feel a bit lightheaded for the next few days. It takes a while for the side effects of the potion to wear off. If you feel faint, come and see me.”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” Alice agreed. “Thanks.”

The two girls walked away and the matron turned to go back in the hospital ward.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Harry called hurrying up to the nurse.

“Mr. Potter. You’re looking unusually well today. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to thank you for the Dreamless Sleep potion you sent up. I don’t think I’ll be needing anymore.”

Madam Pomfrey frowned slightly. “I beg your pardon?”

“It really helped the last couple of nights, but I don’t think I need it anymore.”

Madam Pomfrey’s frown deepened. “Mr. Potter, I haven’t sent you any Dreamless Sleep potion.”

It was Harry’s turn to frown in confusion. “You didn’t send me a small bottle of potion last night and the night before?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t send a potion to a student without seeing him first. If someone is sending you potions, perhaps we ought to speak with Professor McGonagall.”

“No,” Harry said slowly. “No, that’s all right. I think I know who sent it.” He turned and walked away, leaving Madam Pomfrey to stare after him in bewilderment.

---

Snape hated staff meetings. He could think of any number of things he’d rather be doing than sitting around the staff room with his colleagues discussing the minutia of running the school. Snape rarely contributed to these meetings. In truth, there were few matters he cared about. Any issue that did concern him he always took straight to the headmaster.

“There is one last item,” Dumbledore said, grabbing Snape’s attention with the hope that the meeting might soon be over.

“As most of you know, Molly Weasley’s funeral is tomorrow. The Weasley children will be returning to school Sunday afternoon and I am certain that I can count on all of you to be sensitive to their loss.” Dumbledore looked pointedly at Snape who only scowled in return.

“You will give Arthur our deepest condolences, Headmaster?” Professor Flitwick asked. “He and Molly were such fine young people.”

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “I have already spoken at length with Arthur and given him all of our deepest regrets. Unfortunately, I will be unable to attend the services myself as I have an urgent meeting with the Ministry that cannot be rescheduled.”

“Who’s taking Potter then?” Snape asked.

Everyone in the room turned to look at him and Snape shifted under the sudden scrutiny and cleared his throat.

“That is, I assume he’s going. The Weasleys have practically adopted him.”

“I’m glad you brought that up, Severus,” Dumbledore said with a slight smile. “I gave Harry my word that he would be able to attend Molly’s funeral, but alas, I’m afraid I shall have to disappoint him. With Voldemort’s Death Eaters so active, I am loath to allow Harry outside of Hogwarts without an escort who is well versed in Defense.”

“Minerva could take him. She’s more than capable of protecting the boy,” Snape said.

“I am also Deputy Headmistress,” McGonagall said. “In the current climate, I can’t be away while the headmaster is gone.”

“I hardly think an army of Death Eaters is going to storm the gates of the school while you’re away,” Snape sneered.

“I’m relieved to hear you say so, but I doubt many of the parents would take your word for it,” McGonagall shot back.

“Then arrange something!” Snape snapped. “He’s in your house. So are the Weasleys for that matter. If he were in mine, I would take the boy myself.”

“Would you, really?” asked Ryan who was watching the Potions Master slyly. “Why not do it then?

“I hardly think that would be appropriate,” Snape said with contempt.

“Why not? You’re certainly an expert in the Dark Arts.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed in pure hatred, but before he could reply, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“Actually, Severus, Comyn does have a point,” he said.

Snape looked at Dumbledore in disbelief. “You can’t be serious?”

“It does make the most sense. I can think of no one with whom I would trust him more and you do understand the need. I would consider it a personal favor.”

Snape began to protest, but Dumbledore cut him off. “We can discuss the details later, of course. Now, if there is no other business, I believe this meeting may be adjourned.”

Most of the staff rose and began to file out of the room. McGonagall gave Snape a particularly stern glare, before leaving. Dumbledore rose as well, but Snape blocked his path.

“Albus, I am not taking Potter to the Weasley woman’s funeral!” he insisted angrily.

“We can discuss the matter in my office, Severus, but at the moment I really must have a word with Peeves. He’s been stopping up the drains in the third floor boys’ lavatory and Argus is furious. If you would like to wait in my office, I will be along shortly.” Dumbledore swept out of the room, leaving Snape fuming.

“Oh, come now Snape, it can’t be all that bad.”

Snape whirled around to face a grinning Ryan who was still lounging in his chair in the otherwise deserted room.

“This is all your fault!”

“Temper, Severus. I’m not the one who insisted the boy needed to go to the funeral. You have a thing or two to learn about how not to volunteer for unpleasant tasks.”

“And you need to learn to keep your nose out of my affairs!”

“Well, I would if you knew how to handle them yourself.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Ryan rose from his chair to face Snape and his grin vanished. “You know, for a clever man, you can be awfully thick. If the headmaster orders you to take Potter to Molly Weasley’s funeral, then you’re going to do it, like it or not. Surely anyone would understand that.

“On the other hand, while it’s admirable that you’ve chosen to champion Potter’s cause, I gather it’s not something you’re known for; not from the way everyone was looking at you as if you’d just grown another head. If it were me, I’d be more concerned about that juicy bit of information getting back to my friends, rather than worrying about who gets tapped to attend a funeral.”

Ryan walked out leaving Snape alone in the staff room. The Potions Master wanted to be furious with the insufferable man, but at the moment all he felt was something uncomfortably close to fear. Ryan was right; he should never have spoken on Potter’s behalf. But what really troubled him was that he hadn’t meant to; it had just slipped out. That kind of incaution could get him killed. What’s more, it wasn’t like him at all.

He’d have to be more careful, particularly around Ryan. The man saw far too much, far too clearly and Snape didn’t trust him at all. Snape was sure that Ryan wasn’t trained in Occlumency or Legilimency, nevertheless, the Defense teacher was quite adept at concealing his thoughts and feelings and Snape had yet to determine where the man’s loyalties lay. But there was one thing Snape knew for sure. Ryan was definitely hiding something.

---

By the time Dumbledore returned to his office, Snape was pacing impatiently.

“I am sorry, Severus. Peeves was more obstinate than I anticipated. I had to summon the Bloody Baron to convince him to desist in flooding the lavatory. Now, what was it you wished to discuss?”

“How can you expect me to take Potter to the Weasley funeral?” Snape demanded, irritably. “I hardly knew the woman and I can’t imagine I’d be welcome.”

“Nonsense, Severus. Arthur respects you and you will be there to represent Hogwarts in my stead as well as being Harry’s escort. Surely that is official enough for you.”

“Why me?”

“You did broach the subject.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in amusement and Snape scowled as the headmaster continued.

“But as I said at the staff meeting, my primary concern is for Harry’s safety. I am certain that Voldemort will take any opportunity to get to him. There will no doubt be a great many people at the funeral. I want to be sure that nothing untoward occurs. As much as I respect the talents of our staff, none are as capable at fighting Death Eaters as you are.”

Snape shook his head impatiently. “Albus, Death Eaters are not going to attack Potter when there are dozens of people standing around, half of whom will be Aurors and members of the Order.”

“It is a long way to Ottery St. Catchpole. A great deal can happen along the way.”

“And if it does come to a fight, are you willing to risk losing my other services?”

“If Harry is lost, I do not believe the rest of our efforts will matter.”

“Then why not keep him here?” Snape asked testily.

“I believe you know the answer to that as well as I do. He needs to heal and move beyond this tragedy. I can think of no better way to push him along the path to recovery. And Molly’s funeral, I believe, will heal more than one hurt. But I need you with him, Severus. I am asking you as a personal favor to do this.”

Snape sighed. He hadn’t really expected to win this argument. “All right, I’ll take him,” he said grudgingly.

Dumbledore beamed, “Thank you Severus. I do appreciate the sacrifice.”

---

Harry was in the middle of picking at his lunch when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to find Snape looming over him.

“Potter, I need a word,” he said and turned on his heel, not bothering to wait for Harry. Harry sighed, gulped down the last of his pumpkin juice and hurried after Snape.

The man was waiting for him just outside the door and began speaking the moment Harry appeared.

“Mrs. Weasley’s funeral is tomorrow. The headmaster has asked me to escort you. You will meet me here at ten o’clock. Wear something decent and don’t be late.” Snape turned to go, but Harry stopped him.

”Professor, wait! You’re taking me? I thought Professor Dumbledore –”

“He will be in a meeting at the Ministry and has already sent his regrets. However, you obviously cannot leave school alone, so someone must escort you. My time appears to be the least valuable of any of the staff since I was appointed the task. Any other questions?”

“What do you mean by ‘wear something decent’?”

Snape scowled and looked Harry up and down. “Just wear your school robes, Potter. That will suffice.”