"Keep moving, Potter…""Don't trip over that cloak, boy…"

"Mind the log!"

The words barely registered in Harry's brain. It wasn't until he'd stumbled over the fallen tree trunk and sprawled across the ground that he realized Snape had been speaking to him. Pale hands descended upon his shoulders and hoisted him back to his feet, then briskly swept the twigs and dirt from his invisibility cloak.

"For Merlin's sake… you're in danger of making Longbottom seem vigilant."

Harry mumbled an apology, watching as though from a great distance how Snape ran his eyes critically over Harry's form before adjusting the invisibility cloak back around his shoulders. He endured the attention passively, reminded for a surreal moment of Uncle Vernon fixing Dudley's tie. Snape finally yanked the cloak back over his head and fumbled with potion-stained fingers to grab his invisible shoulder.

"Get going. We haven't much further."

When still he didn't move, Snape steered him forward with the hand on his imprisoned shoulder. Harry fell into step, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. A thick, merciless fog had descended over his mind in the minutes they'd been walking. He remembered Snape's earlier observation that he was very likely in shock, and he wondered now if it could be true. He certainly felt like his mind had simply shut itself off, too overwhelmed with the last twenty-four hours to function on a conscious level.

As soon as they entered the school, Snape removed Harry's invisibility cloak and restored the glamour.

"You'll need to go to the Headmaster again for a stronger spell," Snape informed him. "This is the best I can do for now."

Harry nodded absently, running a hand lightly over the familiar features of James Potter's face. It felt good enough to him… But then again, he was hardly the authority on the matter of the glamour Dumbledore and Snape continually added and removed.

"Go back to your dorm now, Potter," Snape ordered briskly.

Under Snape's unflinching black gaze, Harry's legs started automatically in the directionof Gryffindor Tower. It occurred to him only when he reached the next bend in the corridor that Ron might be there. Ron…

Harry trailed to a stop. His eyelids drooped closed. He was so tired… But Ron's expression in the hospital wing, the way his eyes had burned with rage, scorched Harry's mind, and he knew he couldn't face the other boy. He just couldn't.

He tried briefly to think of what else he could do, where else he could go, but his mind was still hopelessly blank. Perhaps he could just stay right where he was… Maybe put on his invisibility cloak, or disillusion himself, and sleep on the floor--

"Have you forgotten the way to Gryffindor Tower?"

He wasn't exactly startled by Snape's voice, but he was mildly surprised Snape had followed him, if only at a distance. When Harry still could find no adequate reply, Snape made an irritated noise and stalked the length of the shadowy corridor to descend upon him.

"Why are you standing here, Potter?" Snape's tone was biting. His black eyes bore into Harry's.

"I--" Harry couldn't decide. His mind simply wasn't working right. "I'm sorry," he finally said, feeling hopelessly stupid. "I'll go now."

Snape grabbed his collar before he could wander dazedly off. "You will tell me first where you plan to go, since you are clearly disregarding my instructions!"

Harry don't bother trying to throw off the grip. An oppressive feeling closed around him; Snape wanted an answer, and he was utterly unable to supply one. He wasn't sure where he could go.

Maybe just somewhere to sit for a while… sort out his head…

Snape at last released him from that relentless scrutiny. "Come along, then. Don your cloak. It will do no good for us to be seen together."

Snape's dark form glided past him in the hallway, and then paused expectantly. The command implicit in the gesture overwhelmed Harry with relief. At least he didn't have to think… not right now. Not when he felt so empty.

He followed Snape as if in a dream, the corridors growing dark and cold around them, winding into the depths of the castle. It wasn't until Snape had uttered a password, transforming a Slytherin tapestry into a heavy wooden door, that Harry realized Snape was leading him to his personal chambers.

Once inside, he was struck by an overpowering wave of déjà vu. The damp chill of the dungeons had retreated, replaced by an inviting warmth. Glancing around at the ornate chamber, he felt as though he'd been miraculously transported from the Hogwarts dungeons to the stately chambers of Snape Manor. For one bizarre moment he even entertained the delusion he had somehow stepped back in time and undone the horrible events since his sojourn at Snape's. But the spell was quickly broken by Snape transfiguring a couch into a bed, and gesturing with an impatient wave of his arm for Harry to claim his place.

"To sleep, then, boy. You look as though you need it. Will you require a potion to induce slumber?"

Harry shook his head. Snape lingered until he'd clumsily kicked off his shoes, then withdrew soundlessly to give him some privacy.

Harry settled between the covers. His gaze wandered to the front door.

He wasn't sure he could face what lay on the other side. At least this way, he wouldn't have to try.

* * *

It was sometime later that he awoke, slightly confused about his surroundings. His glasses had been removed at some point or another, and Harry looked blearily up at the dark form looming over his bed.

"Drink this, Potter. Quickly, now… I have class."

Was it Monday already? Had he really slept the entire day on Sunday?

I must have class, too, he realized. He squinted at the vial, and recognized it as a sleeping draught. Didn't Snape realize he was supposed to be in DADA?

With Remus. And Ron.

Harry shuddered, and downed the vial quickly before Snape could force him to leave. The older wizard removed the vial gingerly from his fingers and swept from the room, while Harry sank back into his pillows, his muscles relaxed as though they were melting into goo.

Harry's eyes closed as a wave of exhaustion swept back over him. Snape must be letting him skive off classes. He was too relieved to make sense of why.

* * *

The next time he woke up, Harry remembered immediately where he was, and that he'd been here at least a day and a half. The realization made him feel distinctly uneasy.

"I'm feeling better now."

"Good for you," Snape said coldly from across the room where he was writing on a parchment. He didn't sound like he particularly cared.

Harry felt exceedingly awkward. Why was he still here?

His mind grew steadily clearer, and suddenly the blankets felt far too heavy and rather sweaty.

He was surprised Snape hadn't simply kicked him out, but now he felt incredibly uncomfortable with the idea that he'd spent a significant portion of time here. These were still Snape's chambers, and he was probably not the most welcome of guests…

"Well, er, thanks for putting me up. I'm going to go now," Harry announced, and he flung off the blankets and started to his feet.

Snape waved his wand, and an invisible hand propelled him back down.

"Not yet." Snape lowered his wand and fixed Harry with an assessing gaze. "Not until I'm sufficiently assured you are prepared to resume your daily activities."

"I'm fine," Harry said. Inwardly, he still felt himself cringe at the thought of facing Ron, Remus, a world without Tonks… Hermione lying there in a coma… All the students injured in Hogsmeade…

He found himself clawing at the bedsheet and made his hand go still, lest he betray his anxiety… He was ready to get out of here.

"I'm fine," Harry repeated, "Really."

A smirk curled Snape's lips. "Drink the sleeping draught, Potter."

"I've been sleeping since yesterday morning. I don't want to sleep anymore," Harry insisted.

"A pity it's not your choice, then. Drink up." A wave of Snape's wand sent the vial floating into Harry's hand.

Harry stared at the draught, then at Snape, feeling the first prickles of anger. "You can't force me to say."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I disagree. Drink, Harry."

Snape was really going to do it. He was going to make him sleep.

"People are going to wonder about me," Harry said angrily. "Dumbledore will ask about me. My friends--" he swallowed hard, and had to force the words out, "They'll ask about me."

"Oh, not they won't," Snape countered silkily. "The Headmaster is fully apprised of the situation. He understand the need of a father to spend time in the company of a son, crippled with sorrow over a comatose friend. As for your housemates, well… I let it be known you are currently indisposed in Saint Mungo's after flying your broomstick into a goalpost."

An image of flying into one of the goalposts passed through his mind. Harry was appalled at the thought. How stupid would he have to be to fly into a goalpost? And Snape had told everyone that!

"People are going to think I'm an idiot!" Harry cried. "They're going to make fun of me for the next two years!"

Snape smirked. "Yes, I rather think so. Drink up, Harry."

Harry glared at him furiously. He hated Snape. He hated him. Everything in him was tempted to simply fling the sleeping draught in his professor's smirking face…

But suddenly his anger drained away. Harry's gaze dropped bleakly to the vial, and he wondered what he'd been rushing out to do. So what if Snape was forcing him to stay here? At least he wouldn't have to face those horrible things out there. Here, he could just sleep.

He swallowed the sleeping potion in one gulp. Glancing up at Snape, expecting to see triumph in his Professor's eyes-- he'd won, after all-- he instead saw that Snape's face was entirely devoid of expression. He wondered at that fleetingly before his exhaustion consumed him; maybe his surrender wasn't what Snape had wanted after all.

* * *

When Harry opened his eyes again, he was already angry. Why was he here, simply idling his time away? And Snape-- goddamn Snape-- was already there, waiting for him to wake up simply to put him back to sleep again, almost as though he'd timed this.

"More potion, then, Potter?" he inquired dryly. He was perched in a chair right next to Harry's bed.

Harry whipped to his feet, glaring at Snape. "No. I've had enough."

Snape's eyes narrowed, and he reached into his robes for another vial of the hated sleeping draught. "You still look shaky." His tone positively dripped with condescension. "Drink--"

"NO!"

Harry swiped at the vial and sent it shattering to the floor. He shot Snape a furious, defiant glance, waiting for an outpour of fury.

He was surprised, then, when Snape immediately rose to his feet and retreated from Harry's bedside, his eyes glinting with something like satisfaction. "I take it you are quite yourself again?"

Harry stared at him, thrown off by the mild tone.

Snape pointed his wand at the shattered vial. "Reparo."

"You were just… waiting for me to stop you?" Harry demanded, watching the shattered glass coalesce into its original form.

"You were very clearly in no state to resume classes two days ago," Snape replied coldly, studying the vial carefully before pocketing it again. "If you're back to behaving like an impertinent brat, I can trust you not to crumple at the first taunt from a Slytherin."

Harry closed his eyes heavily, trying to bite back his anger. "Why didn't you just tell me you were waiting for me to recover? Why did you have to manipulate me?"

"It's proven exceedingly effective in the past." Snape smirked. "You're angry. That's a far more liberating feeling than crippling despair, is it not?"

It was. But Harry was irritated he'd needlessly spent two days in bed, just because Snape was trying to provoke him. The greasy git was just playing around with him. He didn't care--

A horrible realization struck him.

"Were you lying about Bellatrix?" Harry said, wondering what he'd do if Snape admitted that he was. If Snape had been manipulating him again--

Snape shot him a long, hard look. "No. If you still plan to destroy her, I intend to assist you."

Harry's shoulders sagged. He didn't want to fight Snape in this.

"You must be hungry," Snape noted. "The potion contained nutritive elements, but they hardly substitute for a wholesome meal. Come into the dining area. I'll summon food."

Without waiting for his assent, Snape glided past him and disappeared into the nearest chamber. Harry set about searching for his socks.

As Snape's voice rumbled through the doorway, clearly asking for food from the kitchens, Harry's eyes settled upon a bookshelf. He knelt down in front of the collection of dark volumes and removed the first one of interest.

Spellcasting for the Ethically Unsound.

He flipped through the pages, and the door to Snape's dining room swung open.

"There's more menace in the title than in the entirety of that book."

Harry clutched the book defensively to his chest, his gaze creeping up to where Snape stood in the doorway.

"If you wish for appropriately dark spells to employ in offensive spellcasting, this one is preferable." The slightest wave of Snape's wand sent another of the volumes sliding into Harry's grasp.

Harry looked at the title, and felt a burst of something between anger and hurt.

1001 Virtues of Muggle Cooking

So Snape was making fun of him. He thought Harry was so inept he couldn't possibly handle darker magic.

"This whole Bellatrix thing just a joke to you, isn't it?" Harry said flatly. "You don't think I'm serious--"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Look inside, Harry."

Without waiting for Harry's response, he flicked his wand, and the book snapped open.

Harry caught a brief glimpse of the text, "… will therefore instantly liquefy the victim's intestines…" He flipped back to the cover to stare incredulously at the title again.

"Far more efficient than kinship curses," Snape said. "And no rebounding back upon you."

Harry flipped through a myriad of equally threatening spells, then back to the front cover to stare at the title again. "Why is it called that?"

"A Dark Wizard will hardly advertise his… proclivities, Mr. Potter," Snape said. "More often than not, a title of, say, The Darkest Magics, would be instantly confiscated in an impromptu raid by the Ministry of Magic. This, however, will arouse no suspicion, whilst alerting the true dark wizard about the nature of its contents."

"I don't get it," Harry said, glancing over the title again. "Why would a book about cooking-- Oh. 'Muggle cooking', right? Those are keywords? Kind of like-- er, burning Muggles alive or something?"

"Well done," Snape said, though it sounded grudging.

"But it's a bit obvious, then," Harry protested. "It's pretty easy to see a double-meaning--"

"If you look for it," Snape countered softly. "And you will find that Aurors are hardly the most flexible thinkers."

Aurors.

Tonks.

Harry stared at the page, the words blurring. He suddenly couldn't care less whether the title had two meanings. But before he could properly wallow, Snape wrenched the book from his hands.

"You will examine this later. Eat now."

* * *

Dumbledore's poisonous words from that fateful night three months earlier played relentlessly in Severus's mind.

"She did not believe you were ready to assume responsibility for the well-being of a child. I agreed…"

However furious those words had made him, on some level, he, too, had always agreed with them. He wasn't suited for fatherhood; he wasn't even a suitable instructor for those brats in his Potions classes. Just a few days earlier, it had struck him how profoundly dangerous it would be to even indulge in playing the father to his son.

He'd realized, though, after the close call in the woods--

a pale body on the ground, glassy eyes staring into the open sky--

how dreadfully dangerous it was not to play father to his son.

How many days had it been, since he'd mentally surrendered the boy to the care of Dumbledore, Lupin, McGonagall, and those stalwart adults he'd believed would fulfill his role beautifully? He'd trusted them. He'd believed they could prevent something like that from happening.

Well, they bloody well hadn't!

He'd found Harry mere minutes… perhaps mere moments before a catastrophe. And those responsible parties hadn't been anywhere near the blasted boy.

Then again, why had he trusted the Headmaster with the young idiot's safety? Hadn't he been forced to step forward and save the blasted boy's life during that Quidditch match several years back? Hadn't he been the only one who expended effort towards governing the boy's sheer recklessness, while the others only encouraged it? Rewarded it, even?

Well, no longer. He wouldn't-- no, he couldn't trust them with something so precarious as the welfare of his son. Not anymore.

He would take Harry in hand. And if he had to guide him down the path of murder simply to exert some control over him, well, then, he would do it.

He was hardly one to quibble over morality, after all.

Snape found himself staring at the boy from across the dinner table. Meals at the manor had always been silent, solemn affairs, with the boy glaring in one direction and Severus in the other. Occasionally Harry voiced a question or complaint, tone replete with his animosity, and sometimes Severus condescended to give him a blistering reply. Today the boy stared grimly at his food, clearly unable to muster an appetite, and Snape watched him, fumbling for the proper thing to say or do.

Harry didn't appear nearly so beaten or cold as he had two days earlier, but he still wasn't quite himself. Every so often, some dark thought would grip the boy and his green eyes would grow distant, and far too introspective.

What would Lupin say at a time like this?

Snape regretted now so readily ejecting Lupin from his chambers several hours earlier when the werewolf had stopped by unannounced, clearly worried about Harry, and unappreciative of the mystery surrounding his presence in Snape's rooms. Perhaps Lupin could have made this easier, or told him what to say.

Lupin would have said something tactful. Something fatherly. Something that would make Harry feel good about himself. Bloody werewolf.

"Your beloved friend Lupin came by to see you," Snape said. "I sent him on his way."

He waited for an outburst from Harry, but if anything, Harry grew paler. His hands balled into fists on the tablecloth. "Oh."

"He surmised you'd be in my chambers," Snape continued, watching him closely. "Quite astute… for Lupin, that is. Then again, I suppose he was alerted to the possibility by your little slip."

Harry looked up at him uncomprehendingly. "What slip?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You told him." He tapped a yellowish fingernail on the tablecloth, trying not to vent his irritation and squander the boy's precarious goodwill. "I suppose it's fortunate you did, or I might not have thought to question your state of mind… but I warned you it would be unwise to tell him the truth about us."

Harry rubbed at his forehead, avoiding Snape's eyes. "Well, I didn't think it was a problem. I wasn't going to see him again."

Snape felt a flare of unease, reminded of that image-- a body in the woods-- "He seemed to take it well," Snape said, forcing his mind from it. "I suppose Lupin was always the least repulsive of James Potter's cronies."

"It's not like it was going to make him think worse of me," Harry muttered, staring at his goulash. "I bet he was glad to hear it. He doesn't have to bother anymore…"

He trailed off, and occupied himself with spearing a piece of pork.

"Bother with what, Potter?" Snape asked, watching Harry's pinched expression.

"Nothing. This soup's pretty good." Harry stuffed the meat into his mouth and made a show of chewing.

Snape folded his arms and waited until Harry swallowed. "If I'm to help you with your foolhardy venture against Bellatrix Lestrange," he said coldly, "then you can at least tell me what transpired with that blasted werewolf."

Harry stared grimly at the tablecloth for a long moment, as though having an internal debate. Severus knew it was risky, using his tentative agreement with his son as leverage… but Harry gave in and sagged down in his seat. "Remus thinks it's my fault. What happened to Sirius, I mean."

Snape looked up sharply. "He said this to you?" he asked in a chilly voice.

I will MURDER that bloody werewolf.

"He's not the only one," Harry muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, come on, Snape!" Harry cried, furious green eyes raising to Snape's. "Don't you remember? 'Such an exploit, killing Sirius Black…' You know it's my fault, too!"

Harry's eyes suddenly glinted with tears. Before Snape could so much as feel awkward, the boy rapidly blinked them away.

"You told me it made me 'worthy of the family name,'" Harry said roughly. "You said it!"

Snape's mind trailed back to that bitter day, the boy's bungled attempt to obliviate him, his scathing attack in return… The way he'd nearly suffocated Harry with a spell… How he'd used Harry's guilt over losing Black to hurt him.

He's too forgiving, Snape thought, feeling an unpleasant sense of unease, remembering how just days later Harry had helped him when he was in pain.

"I said that because I knew it would hurt you, you stupid boy," Snape said harshly. "You wear your heart on your sleeve. I warned you that would render you vulnerable, and I was right. I did not-- I do not truly hold you responsible for Black's death…"

He stopped then, knowing it would be inappropriate to finish, "Not that I would particularly mind if you were…"

Harry stared darkly at some point over Snape's shoulder, clearly not believing him, looking far too cynical for his years. He adopted another tactic.

"In any case, boy, we are both fully aware that Black was a fool."

Harry's hands clenched with fury. His fierce green eyes snapped back to Snape's. "Don't you dare say that about him!"

Snape smiled cruelly; he made a show of enjoying his soup before speaking again. "It's that damned mutt's own fault that he died. He was in the midst of a duel with the Dark Lord's most dangerous lieutenant, and he decided to play with her." His tone dripped with contempt. "Sirius Black was an idiot, and he brought his own death upon himself."

Harry practically leapt to his feet, looking ready to hex him. "So you're saying Sirius DESERVED IT?"

Oh, yes, that worthless bastard had. But voicing that would hardly be productive, so Snape allowed his tone to grow softer.

"No. I am not saying he deserved to die, but it's quite obvious his death was the result of his own stupidity and impulsiveness rather than anything else. The man would have gotten himself killed at some point or another with or without the Dark Lord's machinations, or your subsequent actions."

Harry still looked affronted on Black's behalf, but apparently his guilt reasserted itself. He sank back into his seat and stared miserably into the distance.

Snape sighed, and rose from his chair to circle around the table, sensing that was the only way he could fully capture the boy's attention. "I told you once before that it's presumptuous of you to claim responsibility for the actions of others. Black chose to play the hero that night, and Black chose not to disable Bellatrix while he had the chance in favor of goading her on. Bellatrix is the one who struck the final blow; she killed him, and you underplay those factors when you choose to pin blame upon yourself. You do Black a disservice, to attribute those actions solely to yourself. And besides that," Snape leaned back, surveying Harry through glittering black eyes, "You fail to mention the disservice he did you."

Harry looked genuinely taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"He was your godfather," Severus said in a soft, lethal voice, "For all intents and purposes, you were an orphan. He was entrusted with your welfare, and he squandered his responsibility by needlessly throwing his life away. And for what? To ease his boredom with the arrangements taken to ensure his safety! If anything, you are in your rights to resent him."

The boy stared at him as though Snape were speaking a foreign tongue he couldn't quite comprehend.

"Has this never occurred to you?" Snape demanded impatiently.

Harry shook his head, more out of denial of Snape's words than in answer to his question. "It's-- you're wrong. It's not his fault. It was-- it's not--" He practically sprung from the table, as though it were on fire. "I'm going now."

"You haven't finished your meal," Snape pointed out coldly.

"I'm not hungry."

Snape felt a flare of that familiar irritation, but he made an effort not to show it.

Patience… patience…

He needed to take the boy in hand. He couldn't send Harry in the proper direction if the boy stumbled out of Snape's chambers, consumed by the same guilt and loss that had crippled him just days earlier. Although it was clearly asking too much to simply detach the boy from his guilt over Black, perhaps he could cultivate more fertile ground in other aspects.

"You may leave, then." Snape allowed Harry to reach the door before adding, "But we will speak tomorrow after your Occlumency lessons about your plans for Lestrange."

Harry froze. He turned slowly back to face Snape, watching him suspiciously.

"You promised me you'd help me kill her… I'm going to hold you to that."

Snape inclined his head. "As you should."

Harry's green eyes swept around the room, finding 1001 Virtues of Muggle Cooking. The haunted look on his face had been supplanted by a glint of determination.

"Can I take that with me?"

"No you may certainly not!" Snape snapped. "Merlin forbid if the Headmaster or any of the luckless spawn of my cohorts notice you carrying it!"

"Oh," Harry said, crestfallen. "That's a good point, I guess."

"You may, however, return to peruse it here, if you wish," Snape offered. He instilled the proper degree of reluctance in his tone, but he knew that the more time Harry spent under his watchful eye, the less he himself would have to worry about the boy doing something reckless or phenomenally stupid in his absence.

"Fine," Harry returned with a note of challenge in his voice. He shot Snape a fierce look that dared him to retract his offer before disappearing under his invisibility cloak.

"Tomorrow night at seven, Potter. You know the way to my office."

His only answer was his front door swinging open and slamming back shut.