Harry awoke to the sound of conversation. Still half asleep, he couldn’t quite make out what was being said. Then the voices died away and a familiar face came into view.

“Remus?” Harry said, coming fully awake. “What are you doing here?”

Remus Lupin smiled down at Harry. “I was one of those who crashed Voldemort’s little party tonight. Best raid we’ve had in a year, Harry. I hear we have you to thank for it.”

“I suppose, but what about Professor Snape?” Harry asked anxiously.

“We found him. Dumbledore brought him back and they’re with Madam Pomfrey now.”

“Then he’s alive?”

Remus hesitated fractionally. “Yes, Harry, he’s alive.”

“But?” Harry asked, sensing the unspoken thought.

Remus let out a slow breath. “He’s in awfully bad shape. I’ve never seen anyone...” Remus seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. He smiled again. “Well, I’m no mediwizard, so what do I know? I’m sure Dumbledore will come and see you as soon as he knows something.”

“Lupin, we can’t hang about here all night!” growled Mad-Eye Moody as he came stumping into the ward. “We still have work to do.” He spotted Harry and grinned lopsidedly. “Potter, well done! We took down eight Death Eaters tonight. Best raid since the Ministry last year. Keep giving us information like that and we’ll turn the tables on those scum.”

“I don’t think Harry’s going to be giving us any more information any time soon, Moody,” Lupin said sternly. “He needs to concentrate on his studies.”

“I think Potter here knows exactly what he needs to concentrate on, Lupin. We all have to do what we can in this war if we plan to win it.” He turned to Harry. “There are plenty of people who’d be grateful for any help you can give, Potter. Just remember that.” He turned and walked away. “You coming, Lupin?” he called over his shoulder.

Remus glared after the old Auror. “Harry, listen to me,” he said. “Ignore Moody. Your job is to keep up with your studies here at Hogwarts, not to play mental chess with Voldemort. Promise me you’ll stay out of his mind unless absolutely necessary.”

Harry was reluctant to give his word despite the concerned frown Remus wore. If he could help fight Voldemort –

“Lupin!” Moody called from the doorway, impatiently tapping his wooden leg against the floor.

“I’m coming!” Remus called back. “Promise me, Harry!” he said urgently.

“All right,” Harry relented, nodding. “I promise.”

Remus clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder and smiled, obviously relieved. “Good. Take care of yourself. I’ll talk to you soon.” He turned and walked away, following Moody from the ward.

Harry watched them go, lost in thought. Could he use Legilimency to find out about Voldemort’s plans? All the time he’d been studying Occlumency and Legilimency it had been strictly for self-defense, but if he could use it to fight Voldemort, so much the better. Of course, there was the danger of Voldemort reading his mind, too, or even planting false images as a trap. Harry still didn’t know how to tell the difference between a true vision and a false one. He’d have to ask Snape if there was a way. Snape!

Harry’s stomach dropped as he remembered the ordeal his professor had endured that night. No one had bothered to come and tell him what was going on.

Naturally, Harry thought irritably.

Well, he wasn’t going to wait any longer. He got up and walked determinedly past the rows of beds to the smaller ward at the rear of the hospital wing usually reserved for staff or the gravely ill. As he reached the door, he could hear quiet voices and snatches of conversation.

“…St. Mungo’s?”

“…nothing they can do…”

“Is there any family?”

“No.”

“Harry? Please come in.” This last was from Dumbledore, who had spotted him hanging around outside the door.

Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were standing with the headmaster. All three looked unusually grim.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Dumbledore said, seeing him hesitate.

“I just wanted to find out how Professor Snape is doing,” Harry said, coming into the room.

Madam Pomfrey looked away and Dumbledore exchanged a quick glance with McGonagall, none of which helped to dispel the lead weight that seemed to have lodged in Harry’s stomach.

“Is he going to be all right?” Harry asked.

“No, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “I’m sorry, but he’s not.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore, trying to digest what the man had just said. “You mean… he’s… Is he…?”

“Yes, Harry. He’s dying. Madam Pomfrey has healed all of his injuries that can be healed. The rest require time and he has neither the stamina nor the will to endure it. He will not live the night.”

Harry inhaled sharply as the weight in his stomach suddenly transformed into a knife. Dumbledore was at his side in a moment and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Harry, you did everything you could and more,” Dumbledore said kindly. “And it was not in vain. You spared him considerable suffering. He will die in peace among those who care for him, rather than in agony surrounded by his enemies.”

Harry nodded numbly. “Can I see him?”

“Of course.”

“Headmaster,” McGonagall began to protest.

“He has earned the right, Minerva.” Dumbledore said.

He led Harry forward and pulled back the curtains on the nearest bed. Snape didn’t look nearly as bad as Harry had expected; Madam Pomfrey had clearly done a heroic job of healing his injuries. He was terribly pale, but mostly he looked as if he were simply asleep and might open his eyes at any moment. His brow, usually furrowed in a scowl, was smooth. His whole face, in fact, was relaxed. He looked younger and more at peace than Harry had ever known him.

Harry swallowed and found himself blinking rapidly. Even Dumbledore’s presence beside him did nothing to stop the ache that was building in his chest.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said gently. “There is nothing more you can do here.” She took his arm. “Please. Madam Pomfrey has a dreamless sleep potion for you.”

“No,” Harry said. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“You need to rest. You’ve been through a great deal tonight,” McGonagall insisted.

“I know what I’ve been through tonight. And I don’t need to be patted on the head and sent to bed like a child. Just leave me alone, all right?”

“Mr. Potter, you can’t stay here,” said Madam Pomfrey.

“Why not? He’s dying, so what possible harm could I do?”

“It’s against the rules and even if it weren’t, keeping vigil here is not going to help,” McGonagall said.

“So you want me to just go to bed and not worry about it? I can’t do that! I don’t care about the rules. You can expel me tomorrow, if you like, but I’m not leaving!”

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Minerva, Poppy, perhaps it would be best to allow Harry to stay. I don’t imagine a few more hours without sleep will make a difference, under the circumstances.”

“Albus!” McGonagall was clearly horrified.

“He has seen far worse. I believe that Harry knows what he needs at the moment better than we do. We can make an exception, this once.”

McGonagall pressed her lips firmly together, clearly displeased. But she looked from the angry determination in Harry’s eyes to the quiet decisiveness in Dumbledore’s and sighed, obviously knowing she’d been beaten. “Very well.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded as well.

“If you need anything at all, Harry, please don’t hesitate to call any of us.” Dumbledore said, then he ushered McGonagall and Pomfrey out of the room and Harry was left alone in the empty ward. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down, running a hand across his eyes. McGonagall was right, of course; he was exhausted. Sitting here in the quiet semi-darkness he could feel the weariness settle over him.

Why was he here? Why had he insisted on staying? Did he feel responsible, somehow? No, he thought. He didn’t feel guilty. Then why does this hurt so much? Don’t I have enough people to grieve for already?

Harry rested his elbows on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands as he tried to sort out his confusing feelings. He felt someone drape a blanket around his shoulders and looked up in surprise to find Dumbledore standing beside him.

“Our emotions can be quite confounding at times like this,” the headmaster said. “Sometimes feelings surface that we never realized we had.”

“He always told me that I’d learn to control my visions the way I did tonight. He gave me his word that he’d see to it.”

“Severus has always been a man of his word. There is no shame in caring for him, you know.”

“I know,” Harry said. “I just don’t know why I do. I shouldn’t care this much.”

“Shouldn’t? Harry, there is never a time when we shouldn’t feel compassion for those who have sacrificed everything in the fight against evil.”

“Is that all I’m feeling then, just sorry for him?”

“You tell me. Only you can answer that question.”

Harry looked away.

“You don’t need a right to grieve, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

Harry glanced sharply back at Dumbledore, who smiled sadly. “Yes,” the headmaster said. “Even Severus knows that. It is grief, then, is it not?”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I will miss him too, Harry,” the old man said gently.

Harry bit his lip hard, but it was no use. He couldn’t hold back the tears. Dumbledore gathered the young man into his arms.

“It’s not fair!” Harry cried. “Why couldn’t he have died when I didn’t care? Why did he have to wait until now?”

“Harry, would you truly prefer not to care? Would it be better to hear the news at breakfast and feel nothing but surprise?”

Harry could imagine the scene in the Great Hall, Dumbledore announcing solemnly and cryptically that their Potions Master was dead. He could almost hear the shocked speculation, How had he died? Who would take over his classes? All discussed breathlessly over eggs and sausage.

“No,” Harry choked out. “I wouldn’t want that.”

“Then I’m afraid your only alternative is grief. That is why you stayed.” Dumbledore pulled back and looked Harry in the eyes. “Allow yourself to grieve, Harry.” He gripped the young man’s shoulder comfortingly. “I will see you in the morning.”

The headmaster left quietly and Harry was once again alone. He looked at Snape and tentatively reached out and touched the man’s arm. His scar erupted in pain and Harry snatched his hand away. He rubbed his forehead as the pain faded then reached out once more, cautiously, and pulled up the sleeve of Snape’s nightshirt. The Dark Mark was clearly visible, burning almost black against Snape’s pallor.

Harry felt a sudden, intense hatred for Voldemort. He had no idea if Snape could feel the Dark Mark burning, but it was an abomination for him to bear the mark of the monster who had tortured him so mercilessly.

Harry reached out instinctively and grasped Snape’s bare arm where the Dark Mark burned. He could feel the unnatural heat from the mark, but it was nothing compared to the searing pain in his scar. Still, Harry refused to let go. He clutched Snape’s arm as if to protect his professor from the evil that had overshadowed both their lives for so long. He closed his eyes and used all the skills he’d learnt to fight the connection to Voldemort. He’d done this before, but never had Voldemort’s presence been so strong and deeply rooted. Harry’s breathing was ragged, but he refused to give up. He was more determined than ever before to drive Voldemort out.

I won’t leave you, Professor, Harry thought. I won’t let him touch you again. At the thought, Harry felt the pain diminish. It shrank away until it was completely gone. Harry opened his eyes. Snape’s arm no longer felt fevered and the Dark Mark had faded to a grayish outline. Harry sighed in relief and looked at his teacher who hadn’t stirred once.

“I hope that helped a little,” he told the unconscious man. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. And I’m sorry that I never thanked you for everything you’ve done for me. I don’t think I could have made it through this year without your help and I don’t just mean with my lessons. My visions have been so bad and between them and the prophecy, there’s just so much that I can’t talk about with anyone. But I’ve never had to explain any of that to you. You always understand what I’m feeling, sometimes better than I do myself.” Harry swallowed hard.

“I’m scared, Professor. I feel trapped and I can’t see any way out. I don’t know how to defeat Voldemort and I know I’m probably going to die. But at least when I’m with you I feel like I won’t have to face him alone.” Harry’s voice broke on a sob. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

---

Severus Snape was floating in perfect blackness, in perfect peace. He had never known such peace and he longed to give himself over to it, completely. He’d be able to very soon, he knew.

Except that it wasn’t entirely perfect, he realized. Someone was crying. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would be crying here in such a tranquil place. He tried to ignore the sobs, but they only became more insistent and took on a beseeching quality. Someone was in terrible pain and they were calling to him. Snape sighed. He could feel his peace shattering and the blackness slipping away.

---

Snape opened his eyes and squinted in the early morning light that filtered into the hospital ward. He slowly registered where he was and frowned. What was he doing in the infirmary? He tried to lift his head and immediately gave up. Whatever had happened, it must have been bad. He felt as if he’d been run over by a herd of rampaging Hippogriffs.

He lay still, trying to muster the energy to lift his head again when he heard it. There was a strange sound coming from near his left elbow. Curiosity succeeded where willpower alone had failed. He raised his head and looked down. At first glance, there appeared to be a blanket draped across a chair and onto the side of his bed. He blinked and realized that the blanket seemed to have a shock of unruly black hair attached to it. And it was snoring.

Snape let his head fall back on the pillow again and considered. He recognized Potter’s hair and it had to be attached to the rest of him. Snape reached out with an arm that felt like lead and poked the blanket. Definitely a body under there, he decided.

“Potter,” he croaked.

He was rewarded with some barely comprehensible mumbling. “I’m up, Ron. Go ‘way.”

Snape poked harder. “Potter! Wake up!”

Potter opened his eyes and looked blearily at him, then frowned in confusion. The boy clearly had no idea where he was or why he ought to be staring up at his professor, but a moment later realization seemed to dawn. Potter’s eyes widened in shock and he bolted out of his chair so fast he nearly knocked it over.

“Professor! You’re… you’re… you’re…”

“Potter, stop stammering at me!” Snape commanded.

Potter swallowed visibly. “I… I think I’d better go and get Madam Pomfrey,” he said weakly. He stumbled through the curtains surrounding the bed and Snape could hear him take off at a dead run towards Madam Pomfrey’s quarters at the back of the ward.

Snape was furious. It was bad enough to wake up in the hospital wing with no memory of how he’d got there, but to find Potter asleep by his bed wasn’t only a violation of school rules; it was an invasion of his privacy. He was going to have some choice words for whoever had allowed it! Though perhaps no one had. It would be just like Potter to sneak into the ward. And that would also explain why the boy had looked so shocked when he’d been caught.

That had to be it, Snape decided, more relieved than he would have admitted. Potter’s behavior had disconcerted him considerably and it was good to have a reasonable explanation for it. Snape’s relief was short lived, however. He heard footsteps approaching and the curtains around his bed were drawn back to admit Madam Pomfrey and Potter. Though the matron was far more adept than the boy at masking her feelings, her shocked gasp was unmistakable.

Snape’s heart sank. Do I look that bad? he wondered.

It didn’t help that Pomfrey turned to Potter and said, “Get the headmaster. Use the floo in my office.”

Potter nodded once and was off at a run again. Then Madam Pomfrey fixed Snape with her best professional smile and began to examine him.

“Well, Professor,” she said too cheerfully. “It’s good to see you awake.”

“What happened to me?” Snape asked. “Why am I here?”

“Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine,” she said, ignoring his questions. “You just need a great deal of rest.”

Snape was irritated but didn’t have the energy to repeat himself. After a few moments, the curtains were pulled aside once more. Potter was back, this time with Dumbledore. Mercifully, the headmaster didn’t jump at the sight of him.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, “It’s good to see that you’ve decided to rejoin the waking world.”

He turned to Pomfrey. “How is he, Poppy?”

“He still has a good deal of healing to do, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Excellent!” Dumbledore said then turned to Potter. “Harry, the rest of the school will be stirring soon, so I suggest you return to Gryffindor Tower.”

Potter looked as though he were going to protest, but Dumbledore continued.

“I’m certain Mr. Weasley will be beside himself if he wakes to find you missing, and I’m sure you’re anxious to see your friends.”

Potter nodded and with one last glance at Snape, he left.

“Poppy, would it be possible to have a few words alone with Severus?” Dumbledore enquired.

Madam Pomfrey hesitated, but then nodded. “He does need rest, Professor, so do make it as short as possible.” She slipped out through the curtains and Snape and Dumbledore were alone.

“What happened?” Snape asked immediately.

“You don’t remember? Well, I suppose that’s hardly surprising.” Dumbledore sat down in the chair that Potter had vacated and laid a hand gently on Snape’s arm. He looked at his Potions Master gravely and said, “You were summoned last night.”

Summoned? Yes, Snape remembered the Dark Mark burning. He’d left the castle and Apparated and then…

“Oh my god!” Snape gasped as the full memory returned. Dumbledore’s grip tightened on his arm.

“It’s all right, Severus. You’re safe here.”

Snape was shaking his head. “It’s not possible. I couldn’t have survived that.”

“You very nearly didn’t. If we hadn’t found you when we did, you would have died.”

“You found me?” Snape asked incredulously. “How?”

Dumbledore smiled slightly and his eyes lit with their usual twinkle.

“Harry.”

Oh no. “Potter saw that?”

“Actually, I believe he saw very little, though of course it was more than enough. However, it would seem that he has made considerable progress in his study of Legilimency. Not only was he able to break free from the vision, he was able to search Voldemort’s thoughts to find your location.”

Snape was stunned. “How?”

“I would assume that desperate need pushed him to exceed his previous limitations.”

Snape groaned. “Wonderful. Is there ever going to be a time when I’m not indebted to a Potter?”

“I doubt seriously that Harry is keeping score on that account.”

“Why was he here this morning?”

Dumbledore looked keenly at Snape. “I will answer that if you will answer me a question.”

“Of course, if I can,” Snape said, not sure how many useful details he could remember from the evening. But Dumbledore’s question took him completely off guard.

“Why are you alive?” Dumbledore asked simply.

“I beg your pardon?”

“When we brought you back to Hogwarts, you were in terrible condition. We didn’t think you would live the night. You shouldn’t have lived the night. Have you any idea how you managed it?”

So that’s why Potter and Poppy Pomfrey were so shocked to see me awake, Snape realized.

“I don’t know, Headmaster. I’m afraid I have no explanation for my survival.”

Dumbledore looked at him appraisingly. “Did you dream last night?”

Snape was once again startled by the unexpected question. Not just because it was odd, but because he had indeed dreamt and his dream had been… unusual.

“Yes,” he answered.

“May I ask what it was that you dreamt?” Dumbledore continued.

Snape looked away, unaccountably ill at ease. “I dreamt that someone was calling me, that’s all.”

“Did you recognize who it was?”

“No, of course not, Albus,” Snape said irritably. “It was a dream.”

“A dream, even though Poppy gave you a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion last night?” Dumbledore retorted mildly.

Snape regarded the headmaster a moment then asked cautiously, “Are you telling me it wasn’t a dream?”

“I don’t believe it was, no. Tell me, Severus. Who was calling you?”

Snape felt an inexplicable sense of dread as he thought back to the voice he’d heard. It had been grief stricken and choked with tears, but even so, he knew he recognized it.

“It was Potter,” he said wearily.

Dumbledore nodded. “I suspected as much. It is the only thing that makes sense.”

“How so?”

“Severus, you are an accomplished Legilimens. Nevertheless, you have always ignored the more benign aspects of the discipline. While that may be understandable, you need to remember that Legilimency, like most magic, can be used for good or ill, to pillage or to comfort, to harm or to heal. Last night, Harry must have instinctively used it to prevent you from slipping into death, though how he managed it, even I can only speculate.”

“Instinctively? Then it wasn’t intentional?”

“No, I’m certain he has no idea of what he did.”

Snape sighed in relief. “Good.”

Dumbledore’s expression became strangely guarded. “Severus, I do hope you’ll think carefully about how you intend to respond to these events.”

Snape frowned. “Albus, I really do feel dreadful. If you’re trying to tell me something, just say it.”

“Don’t punish Harry for caring about you.”

“I’m not going to berate the boy for saving my life.”

“Perhaps not, but you have a tremendous talent for pushing people away. Don’t do it. Not this time.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order. Dumbledore’s words were hard and there was none of the kindly old man in his expression.

Snape was taken aback. Dumbledore had chided him in the past about his enmity with Potter, but the headmaster had never spoken to him like this and Snape felt a chill of foreboding.

“What exactly are you asking of me, Albus?”

“Just don’t push him away. For now, that will be sufficient.”

There was the sound of footsteps approaching and Madam Pomfrey appeared through the curtains. “Headmaster, I have to ask you to leave,” she said. “Professor Snape really must rest now.”

“Of course, Poppy,” Dumbledore said. “I’ll come by to see you later, Severus. Get some sleep.”

Madam Pomfrey followed the headmaster out and Snape was left alone. The memories of the night before vied for his attention with all that Dumbledore had told him. It was too much. He shoved all thought out of his mind and by the time Madam Pomfrey returned to check on him, he was fast asleep.

---

Harry wandered back to Gryffindor Tower in a daze. Ron and the other boys didn’t question him as he came into their dormitory. They were just beginning to stir and Harry had no trouble slipping into the usual morning routine. He said nothing as they dressed and headed down to breakfast, uncertain how to tell his friends of the night’s events. Fortunately, Dumbledore gave him the opening he needed.

“I have an announcement to make,” the headmaster said when most of the students were assembled in the Great Hall. “Professor Snape has taken ill and, therefore, Potions lessons are suspended until further notice.”

A cheer went up throughout the hall, which was only slightly muted when Dumbledore added, “You will, however, be receiving homework assignments to ensure that you don’t fall behind in your work.”

The delighted murmurs running through the hall only made Harry cringe.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Ron asked. “You ought to be jumping for joy.”

“I need to talk to you and Hermione,” Harry said.

Ron frowned, instantly concerned. “Is everything all right?”

Harry nodded. “We just need to talk.”

Harry got up and headed for the door, as Ron whispered urgently to Hermione. They followed Harry from the hall and the three headed back to Gryffindor Tower and the boys’ dormitory where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Hermione asked once they’d arrived.

Harry took a deep breath. “Voldemort found out that Snape has been spying on him. That’s why Snape’s in hospital. Voldemort nearly killed him last night.”

Hermione gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth as Harry went on to explain how he’d gone to Dumbledore and about all that had happened afterward. Harry didn’t go into detail about what he’d seen in his visions, nevertheless by the time he had finished, Hermione was pale and even Ron looked shaken.

“Are you sure that Professor Snape is going to be all right?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“Madam Pomfrey said so.”

“Yeah, but she’s also the one who said he was going to die,” Ron pointed out, “so I’m not sure I’d put much stock in her diagnosis.”

“He was awake when I left, so I really think he’s going to be okay.”

“Well, that just goes to prove it then,” Ron said. “Snape’s too mean to die.”

“Ron!” Hermione said, scandalized. “How can you say such a thing after what he went through?”

“Well, I can’t imagine anyone else surviving that. Besides, I’m more concerned about what Harry went through.” Ron turned to Harry. “Poking around in Voldemort’s thoughts can’t be a good thing, mate.”

“I had no choice. I couldn’t just let Snape die,” Harry said.

“Yeah, and I’m sure he’s going to be really grateful,” Ron said sarcastically.

“Ron! What is wrong with you?” Hermione demanded.

“I just think Snape would probably rather have died than have Harry here save his life, that’s all,” Ron said. “Harry, you said the one thing Snape never forgave your dad for was saving his life. I doubt he’s going to be thrilled with you.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s something Harry needs to worry about just now, Ron,” Hermione said angrily. “Harry, you ought to try to get some rest. We’ll see you later.” She gave Ron a stern glare and headed for the door. “Come on!”

Ron grimaced and with a nod to Harry, followed her out.

Harry shrugged out of his school robes and threw himself dejectedly onto his bed. He was glad that Snape had survived; more than glad, he was immensely relieved and thankful. But nothing involving Snape was ever easy and this was no exception. Ron might be tactless, but he was right. Snape surely wouldn’t be happy that Harry had saved his life. The fact that he’d found Harry asleep by his bed wasn’t going to improve matters, either. Harry was certain he’d be hearing about that!

But it wasn’t the impending row with Snape that bothered Harry most. The truth was he didn’t know how he felt about his professor anymore. Harry stared at the ceiling and tried to unravel his conflicting emotions. He didn’t like Snape; he was certain of that. But there was also no denying the overwhelming sense of loss he’d felt the night before. It had been as bad as when Sirius had died and that was the problem.

Harry felt like a traitor. How could he possibly feel for Snape what he’d felt for Sirius? He had loved Sirius, still loved him, and he knew that Sirius would have done anything for him. He had died for him. Didn’t that demand his highest loyalty? It might have been different if Sirius and Snape hadn’t hated each other, but as it was he couldn’t care for both of them, could he?

On the other hand, Snape had saved his life too, not to mention his sanity. Harry had no doubt that he’d have been a raving lunatic by now if it hadn’t been for Snape’s endless efforts this year. Didn’t that demand gratitude and loyalty as well?

But Sirius had been Harry’s godfather as well as his father’s best friend, even if he hadn’t been particularly well suited to the role of guardian. Harry frowned. Where had that thought come from? Sirius was a wonderful guardian!

But even as he thought it, Harry knew it wasn’t true. Harry had spent as much time worrying about Sirius as Sirius had spent worrying about him. Besides, in many ways Sirius had still been like a kid himself. Actually, Harry realized, Sirius was more like an older brother whom he’d adored and idolized. The sort who was fun-loving and a little reckless and who sent you the best Quidditch broom in the world for your birthday. Harry grinned affectionately at the memories, then sighed.

Unfortunately, reminiscing about Sirius didn’t solve Harry’s problem with Snape, a man who certainly wasn’t fun-loving or reckless, who had never given him anything but grief for every little mistake, who was demanding and critical, who hated him yet had somehow been there to protect him when he needed it most, who had spent night after night teaching him when Harry’s own frustration made him want to give up, and who had helped him find the strength to endure some of the worst experiences of his life.

Harry sat up in bed. Had he really depended on Snape that much in the last year? I don’t want to need him that much! Harry thought desperately. More to the point, Snape wouldn’t want him to. At least Snape didn’t know how he felt. While Harry had sat crying by his teacher’s bedside, the man had thankfully been unconscious. Harry didn’t think he could face the mortification if Snape had known about that.

There was a knock at the door which made Harry jump. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Come in.”

Dumbledore opened the door and smiled at Harry. “Ah, Harry, I thought I’d find you here. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Of course not, sir,” Harry said as he jumped off the bed and began to pick up his robes off the floor. “I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a mess at the moment.”

“Leave it, Harry. It’s not important. I’m far more interested in your condition.”

“I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“I do want to make sure, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “You had a rather eventful night. Is there anything at all you’d like to talk about?”

“How’s Professor Snape?”

“Sleeping at the moment, but have no fear he will make a full recovery.”

Harry sat back down on his bed and considered. “So what’s going to happen now? He obviously can’t be a spy anymore and Voldemort is going to want him dead.”

“Professor Snape is safer here than he would be anywhere else,” Dumbledore answered. “And he is certainly not the only person Voldemort wants dead.” Harry smiled slightly at Dumbledore’s pointed look.

“How badly is it going to hurt the Order to lose him as a spy?”

“Not as badly as you might think. It is a blow, certainly, to lose that access to Voldemort’s inner council, but there are less direct alternatives. Voldemort’s supporters are arrayed like a spider’s web, far flung, and with many interconnections. For one who knows that network well and how to interpret its movements there are many possibilities for gleaning information. It would have been a far greater blow had we lost Professor Snape. That we did not is thanks entirely to you.”

Harry blushed. “I think you and the others had a lot to do with it.”

“We played our part, certainly,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “But we could have done nothing without you. You have made astonishing progress at Legilimency. Professor Snape was quite impressed.”

“You told him?” Harry asked, horrified.

“Harry, he is well aware that we had no way of finding him. He asked, of course.”

“Did he ask why I was there this morning?”

“Yes.”

Harry swallowed. “What did you tell him?”

“I do believe he managed to deduce your purpose himself.”

Harry closed his eyes.

“Harry, it’s not as bad as all that and surely you didn’t imagine he wouldn’t realize.”

“I had hoped he wouldn’t,” Harry said miserably.

Dumbledore smiled. “It will work itself out, I promise you.”

For once, Harry had no faith in Dumbledore’s optimism. Clearly, the headmaster didn’t know Snape the way he did. But there was no point in contradicting Dumbledore. Harry smiled as convincingly as he could and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Get some rest, Harry.” Dumbledore patted Harry on the shoulder, gave him one last encouraging wink and left

Harry flopped back onto his pillow again. He was furious with Snape and furious with himself and most of all furious that life never seemed to give him a break. He had no idea how he was going to face Snape and he could think of any number of humiliating comments the man was likely to make to him. Then again, Harry realized, Snape might say nothing at all. As tempted as Snape might be to ridicule him, that would mean acknowledging what Harry had done and Harry was certain his professor wouldn’t want to do that.

Harry sat up, opened his window and gazed out at the broad, unbroken, blue sky above him. It was a lovely day; the scents of spring wafted in the window and Harry inhaled deeply, then let out a melancholy sigh. He didn’t know which was worse, having his feelings mocked or ignored, but either way, he was sure that his next meeting with Snape was not going to be pleasant.

---

Harry was grateful when it was finally time to head down to the Great Hall for lunch. At least it would take his mind off Snape for a while. But no sooner had he joined the rest of his classmates at the Gryffindor table than Dumbledore rose to address the Hall.

“May I have your attention, please?” the headmaster said. “Since Professor Snape is likely to remain in the hospital wing for a number of days and given the uncertain times in which we find ourselves, I have decided to appoint an interim Head of House for Slytherin to ensure that any needs the Slytherin students may have can be addressed in a timely fashion. Professor Ryan has gamely consented to serve as acting Head of House while Professor Snape is indisposed.”

An almost universal cheer went up in the hall accompanied by applause, whistles and shouts of approval. Ryan, himself, was grinning delightedly and looked thoroughly self-satisfied.

You’d think the man had just been named Minister of Magic, Harry thought sourly. He felt indignant on Snape’s behalf. It wasn’t even noon and Dumbledore had already assigned a new Head of House!

Dumbledore raised his hands to quiet the students and smiled. “I was also going to ask that you give Professor Ryan your full cooperation, but clearly that request is unnecessary.” Dumbledore resumed his seat and there was a clatter of cutlery as everyone tucked into lunch.

“It’s good to see that Dumbledore has finally done the right thing and appointed Ryan as Head of Slytherin,” Seamus said happily.

“Maybe if Ryan does well, Dumbledore will keep him on,” Ron added. “We can hope, anyway.”

Harry gritted his teeth and turned his attention to his lunch, stabbing viciously at a potato.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd, though?” Parvati asked. “I mean, it seems strange that Professor Snape should be ill that long.”

“I wonder what’s wrong with him, anyway,” Lavender said.

“Probably drank one of his own potions,” Dean said and was rewarded with general laughter from his fellow Gryffindors.

Harry didn’t join in, and Parvati, sitting opposite him, asked, “Harry, are you all right? You don’t look too well, yourself.”

“Yeah,” Neville said. “You’d better be careful. You don’t want to end up getting the same thing Snape’s got.”

Harry stared at his classmates, then gave a wry smile. “No, you’re right. I wouldn’t want that.”

“Potter, don’t even think of getting ill!” Katie commanded, looking utterly horrified. “It’s less than a week until our match against Hufflepuff.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Katie, can’t you give it a rest?”

“Don’t worry,” Harry assured Katie dryly. “I’ll try to live long enough to win the match.”

Harry went back to poking at his lunch and Ron leaned over to talk to him. “Harry, what is it you’ve got against Ryan? You scowl every time anyone mentions him.”

Harry glanced around to make sure no one was listening to them and spoke quietly. “You know what Snape went through. I just think it’s a bit soon to be appointing a new Head of House, that’s all.”

“And you don’t like Ryan.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Look, if any house needs watching, Slytherin does. Who do you expect Dumbledore to appoint? Binns?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then give Ryan a break.”

Harry knew Ron was right; there was no one else for the job. Maybe he was being unfair to Ryan.

“Okay, you’re right,” Harry agreed. “Somebody’s got to keep an eye on Malfoy and his gang. I suppose nobody could do a better job than Ryan.”

Ron grinned in satisfaction then turned the conversation to the Chudley Cannons who had managed to win their latest match. Ron’s enthusiasm was infectious and Harry was happy to let his friend’s detailed descriptions of the Cannons’s plays dispel his resentment towards Ryan as well as his lingering worries about Snape.