Severus Snape was not a man given to self-doubt, but discovering that Lupin's firm convictions about Harry were entirely different from his own had left him strangely shaken.

It had never occurred to him that he might be wrong, urging Harry forward in his quest for revenge. Stoking Harry's rage had preserved the boy's life at a critical moment, and seemingly allowed him to deal with the fallout of the untimely demise of Nymphadora Tonks. He hadn't questioned guiding the boy down such a dark path; the progress, after all, had been so smooth.

He had always known that Lupin would coddle Harry, approach his loss with weakness and sentimentality… Perhaps he hadn't been entirely opposed to the idea; in a way, the other man complemented his own approach to the boy, catered to the part of his son inclined towards those softer tendencies, the side of Harry that Snape could never influence.

But the werewolf's unwavering conviction that nurturing Harry's destructive impulses would only be destructive for Harry had caught him off guard. However wholeheartedly he despised Lupin, he knew the other man understood what lurked in Harry's heart. Lupin would know why the boy had felt wretched, believing he'd killed a mere house-elf, why he'd assisted the injured Snape even at the height of their enmity… Lupin could explain why witnessing one act of charity towards Draco had entirely changed the boy's view of him.

Lupin knew Harry. And Snape could no longer vouch with certainty that he did as well.

His thoughts were drawn relentlessly to Harry's reluctance to poison Lestrange. The boy's conviction had seemed so firm that morning out in the woods, when a kinship curse had been his only weapon, yet days later he had not jumped upon the opportunity to simply murder the woman.

At the time, Severus had believed him to be dissatisfied with his passive role in such a scenario; he'd believed the boy was holding out for his original promise-- a face-to-face killing curse.

But Lupin was right. Harry was not vindictive; he was not waiting to see the look on her face, or reserving an excruciating death for her. It was not malice or hope of a more vicious plot that stayed his hand. It was something else entirely.

And for the life of him, Severus could not figure out what.

Snape stalked away, aware of the werewolf's bemused expression as he left them to their mourning. He did not go far, however much he wished to part with their distasteful company; Merlin only knew what might happen if he entrusted the werewolf with getting the boy back in one piece.

He prowled around the perimeter of the cemetery, starting to attention at every imagined movement. He half-expected Lucius to appear, a wraith slinking out from behind one of the towering tombstones, or a dark figure emerging from the depths of a mausoleum. The shadows played tricks with his mind, sliding as the sunlight swept out from between clouds, and five minutes of his torturous surroundings found his heart racing furiously in his chest.

In desperation, he cast his gaze over to Lupin and his son. His irritation flared at the sight of Lupin's arm draped over Harry's shoulder.

Oh, yes, he'd told the werewolf to go comfort the boy, but really, this was too much.

He wanted to march over and force the two to leave with him, but even amidst his disgust he was aware of his own inadequacy. This was something Lupin could offer that he never could; he simply wasn't capable of nurturing.

He stared in morbid fascination at Lupin's hand, running soothingly up and down Harry's arm, and like a sharp pain, he realized suddenly what his son had seen in that office.

Harry had witnessed him comforting Draco. He probably believed that Severus truly was the man he'd seen then, that he was no more of a monster than Lupin or Minerva and the rest… Perhaps he believed Snape had only been pretending to be cruel…

And maybe he was wondering right now why Severus was not draping an arm over his other shoulder.

Snape stared at the distant figures, reeling with the thought. That new look in Harry's eyes-- as though possibilities were only now being opened up before him-- it would die away once he realized this was all a lie. And he would have to; Severus could not be the man he was expecting him to be.

He had no scruples about a relationship based upon a lie. But he knew in his heart that eventually Harry would see right through it, through him.

A fluttering in the corner of his eye nearly sent him jumping out of his skin. He considered hexing the bloody bird for a full three seconds before it launched itself back into the air.

Snape lowered his wand, glowering at it as it disappeared into the distance.

He glanced back towards Harry, and reflected with a humorless smile that it probably wouldn't matter anyhow. Malfoy could kill them both tomorrow… Or the Dark Lord, depending upon just how Lucius chose to take his revenge.

Severus shoved his wand back into his pocket; he felt like a fool.

* * *

Snape was very cold and distant after the visit to the cemetery. Harry couldn't quite pinpoint why. The behavior was hardly unusual-- it was classic Snape-- but the abrupt change bothered him.

He hadn't noticed how much gentler Snape had been around him until now, when Snape was suddenly back to an icy authoritarian.

It nagged at him. He arrived early for an Occlumency lesson, hoping to demand an explanation, but he found Snape occupied in brewing a potion.

"You will wait while I complete this," Snape said in a cold, formal tone.

"Fine," Harry agreed mildly, seating himself across from Snape, trying to think of what he should say.

He distractedly picked at a seam in his robe, and at length Snape's dark eyes drifted up to him through a light curtain of smoke.

"You seem in good spirits," he sneered. "I suppose Lupin's foolish gesture quite cheered you up?"

Harry peered up at him suspiciously. Was that why Snape was angry with him? Was he upset because Harry was being friendly with Lupin again?

Snape's odd moments of jealousy usually galled Harry to no end, but since witnessing the scene with Draco, Harry wasn't sure what to think of them. Should he resent them? Or were they a sign in some twisted way that his father actually cared about him? He wished he could ask Ron.

"I guess it was… not nice, I suppose, but, er, it doesn't hurt quite as much about Tonks," Harry said carefully. His thoughts drifted to Sirius, and he felt a stir of unease as he admitted, "Or Sirius. It felt sometimes like he wasn't really dead. There was no body." He'd managed to pull out a thread from the seam of his robes, and he tugged at it, feeling distinctly awkward under Snape's intent gaze. "I guess it doesn't feel now like he simply disappeared into a void."

"But that's exactly what he did, Potter," Snape said malevolently. "There's nothing behind that veil. By any definition, Black did simply disappear into a void."

Harry flinched, the words cutting deep. In his mind, he could see Sirius's startled face as he tumbled back through the veil and into nothingness; he was momentarily reeled with an awful feeling like the contents of his stomach were boiling up into his throat.

"Why do you even ask?" Harry said, swallowing it down.

"I have observed that you are exceedingly sentimental," Snape said in that ruthlessly distant tone, his attention back on his potion. "You of all people," he said with disdain, "would likely derive some pleasure from dwelling upon your vast world of woes. Perhaps I was remiss in not taking you to visit your dearly departed grandfather. He's buried there…" he waved his hand carelessly. "… somewhere. What a pity you had no chance to know him. He might have enriched your life as gloriously as Black himself did."

Harry clenched his fists, anger washing over him. He'd seen Snape's memories; he knew just what a slur that was against Sirius.

"Yeah, we should have seen him," Harry said, giving into a malicious impulse. "You should take me back sometime, Dad. Maybe tell me some stories from your childhood."

Snape's gaze snapped up to his. Harry instantly wished he could take back his words, remembering that little boy he'd witnessed in Snape's memories, crying as his father shouted at his mother. He felt sick, like he'd just done something terrible.

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry--" Harry blurted out.

Snape snorted. He watched Harry over the cauldron with what seemed like a mix of irritation and reluctant amusement. "You know, boy, for several seconds I pondered awarding you points for a fitting retort. Thank you for apologizing and quelling that unwholesome impulse."

Despite his harsh words, Snape's expression had relaxed somewhat when he whirled away from Harry to slice several stalks of gillyweed.

Harry stared at him for several moments, trying to figure out just what he'd done to please Snape. Was it the apology? Was it hitting Snape's sore point after he'd so accurately targeted Harry's? Some combination of both?

He peered at Snape suspiciously, wondering if he'd mentioned his father for a reason. Had he been hoping to draw Harry into an attack? Or was he trying to lead him somewhere?

Testing the theory, Harry said casually, "When did your father die?"

Snape sent him an odd look, and Harry immediately wondered if he'd made a mistake continuing the conversation.

"If it's not too personal--" he added quickly.

"No," Snape said absently, returning his attention to slicing the gillyweed. "It's hardly personal. He was killed two years before the Dark Lord's fall. By a Death Eater."

Harry caught his breath, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with this entire thing. His curiosity, though, propelled him forward like a relentless master.

"Was that, er, why you switched sides?"

The question hung tentatively in the smoky air for several moments, leaving him to wonder if Snape had even heard it. But at length, the Potions Master replied.

"I had several reasons," Snape said gruffly, glaring down at the gillyweed as he dug into it with his knife. "But I will admit that his demise was the deciding factor."

The knife nicked Snape's thumb, and he cursed, dropping it to the table with a clatter. He raised his hand to stare at his bleeding finger as though mystified by the sight; from his detached scrutiny, it might have belonged to someone else.

"I hated my father," he offered, unasked, uttering a quick healing charm. "And there were many times when I wished for him a most excruciating death. But what happened that day was not in accordance with my wishes."

Harry barely dared to breathe, suddenly starkly aware that Snape was baring one of his darkest secrets… From Snape's distracted manner, perhaps he was doing it without any awareness himself of the monumental nature of what he was revealing.

"The Dark Lord viewed it as a gift," Snape said, his tone still very dispassionate as though they were discussing the composition of a remedial potion. "He was rewarding me for my loyal service. After all-- he had gleefully murdered his own father, and quite enjoyed doing so. Why should I not welcome the death of my own? Our mutual hatred of our forbears was one of those factors that most endeared me to him. Had I refused, well… I could not refuse. He only trusted me on his terms, and once a servant loses the Dark Lord's trust…"

His voice trailed off ominously, and a chill crept up Harry's spine as he understood what Snape was saying.

"You let him die."

Snape's gaze drifted up to Harry's. "Yes. I let my father die." A horrible smile curled across his lips, rendering his thin face menacing. "And what would you have done?"

Harry shivered under Snape's intent scrutiny, knowing that anything he said here could be wrong. Snape watched him for a long moment in which he felt like the man was peeling off his skin.

"Unfortunately, I can hazard a guess," Snape sneered. "Gryffindor nobility." He swept his eyes derisively over Harry. "More fool you be."

He turned suddenly back to his gillyweed.

"I valued my life more than I valued my father's. And by retaining the Dark Lord's confidence, well…" He resumed slicing. His movements-- clumsy before-- were again steady and practiced. "I have damaged the Dark Lord far more with my obedience than I would have with a show of noble defiance."

Harry squirmed uneasily, wishing he could relieve the strange tension that had crept up between them like a tangible barrier. "Er, well… You can also get payback this way, too. I bet your dad would be glad of that. You're making it up to him."

He'd thought maybe he could cast Snape in that comfortable light where they didn't seem all too different. But his words didn't seem to have the intended effect of easing the tension crackling in the air. Snape's fingers curled tightly around the handle of his knife, and his relentless gaze again found Harry.

"Oh, you misunderstand me, Harry," Snape said, watching him through glittering black eyes. "My father's death did not turn me because I was heartbroken over his loss... I betrayed the Dark Lord because he took it upon himself to kill my father in my place. I should have ended his life; I should have been the one to destroy him. I earned it. The Dark Lord had no right to take that from me."

Harry stared at him, wondering if he'd misunderstood. Snape read his expression and a smile stretched across his lips as though he truly enjoyed Harry's incredulity.

"I served the Dark Lord believing I would be more powerful than man or wizard. But when he stole my father's death from me, all that supposed 'power' was a farce. Not merely in my eyes. In the Dark Lord's…" Snape's expression darkened impossibly. "And ultimately, in my father's."

Snape stared down at the knife in his hand. "He begged for his life before he was killed, but he did not respect me. I'm certain he looked down on me even as he writhed at my feet."

Harry felt a dull throbbing in his hands; he realized that he was digging his fingers into his palm. It took an effort to unclench his fists.

"By murdering my father," Snape said, watching him, "the Dark Lord gravely insulted me. I would have preferred he outright declare me too weak to complete the task myself before circumventing my will under the guise of friendship. I was utterly powerless; I could not express my displeasure, I could not refuse his gesture of goodwill… That was the day I realized the power of a Death Eater is meaningless. And that was why I returned to the Headmaster."

He turned away from Harry and set about lining the gillyweed stalks in a neat set of rows. Harry stared at him disbelievingly, and Snape sent him a sly look.

"Were you imagining heroism?" Snape said contemptuously. "Or some noble reason behind my actions? Love for your mother, perhaps-- or a desire to make up for all the terrible wrongs I committed? It was nothing more than pure spite that motivated my turn, Potter."

Harry couldn't meet his eyes. He supposed on some level he always had thought there was some… well, compelling reason Snape was on their side. Maybe because Snape had saved his life even before he'd known they were related. Or maybe because Dumbledore had so much faith in him.

He couldn't imagine Dumbledore believing in a monster. He just couldn't.

"Dumbledore would never have trusted you if that was the only reason!" Harry objected with a heat that surprised him.

Snape raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Is that so, Potter? Do you truly believe the Headmaster is so blind as to overlook a potent ally simply due to petty moral scruples? Why do you think he concealed you from me? He clearly did not want one such as I raising a son."

Harry held his gaze with fierce green eyes. "Don't call me 'Potter'," he said. "I told you to call me 'Harry'."

"Your willful blindness is touching," Snape said, not sounding particularly appreciative. "Did my display with Draco move you so deeply? Do you love me now, Harry?"

Harry couldn't speak; he felt as though the breath had been knocked from his body.

Snape's eyes narrowed into slits. "You're a fool to trust what you see, Potter."

He swallowed hard, but held firm under Snape's glare. "Call. Me. Harry."

Snape made a disgusted noise and turned away.

"Clear your mind, Harry."

He was back to saying Harry's name like a swear word, but perhaps that was still better than the disavowal inherent in 'Potter'. Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and pulled out his wand.

* * *

He was in a restive mood that night. He couldn't sleep, but he couldn't bear to stay awake in bed thinking about what Snape had said. His scar pounded relentlessly from Occlumency-- it was in Snape's words, one of the most 'spectacularly unsuccessful' sessions in the last month.

In a desperate attempt to at least accomplish something with his time, he hauled his Transfiguration and DADA books down to the Gryffindor common room in a futile attempt to catch up in all his classes. Strangely enough, though, the books succeeded in doing what class alone could not. As soon as he applied himself to work, his eyes grew heavy.

At some point he must have drifted off to sleep on the couch. The only thing that broke through his waking dreams was a distant voice.

"Potter..."

He tried to shut it out, but it nagged at him relentlessly.

"Potter. POTTER!"

Confused and groggy, Harry forced his gummy eyelids open, his gaze drifting over to the Gryffindor fireplace, where he could make out the vague shape of a face-- or was he imagining it?

"Potter, for Merlin's sake, I can't say here all night…"

Harry snapped to full alertness then, recognizing the snide, aristocratic voice echoing out of the fireplace.

"Malfoy!" he blurted out, shocked to his core by Draco's face gazing at him from amidst the flames. He practically stumbled off the couch and over to the fire. "What the-- what are you--"

"I don't have time," Draco said brusquely, watching Harry with unveiled dislike. "Refoveo. That's all you need. Use it on Granger."

Harry blinked at him sleepily. "What?-- Refoveo. Why..?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "It will get the Mudblood back to her usual irritating self, okay?"

The realization that Draco had just offered the cure for Hermione shot like lightning through Harry's mind.

"How do you--" he stopped.

How did Draco know? Because he was probably friends with the Death Eater who had felled her.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry demanded. "How can I believe you? You hate Hermione. This will probably make her worse!"

"Trust me," Draco sneered, "I'd be all too happy to finish off the Mudblood. But I owe you a Wizard's Debt. We purebloods respect that. You use this, you fix her, and our debt is off, you understand? I owe you nothing. Are we agreed?"

It was dawning on Harry that this might be for real, that this truly might cure Hermione.

"Yes! Yes-- of course!" Harry blurted, unable to believe his good fortune. "If this saves her, it's off."

He stared at Draco's head, wreathed in flames, lost for words. If this was truly the cure…

"Thank you," Harry whispered. "Thank you so--"

"Don't thank me. It makes me ill thinking I saved a Mudblood," Draco said as he drew back, but Harry jerked forward quickly, suddenly remembering that Draco was supposedly missing.

"Draco!"

The other boy paused, watching him warily.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked softly. "I heard-- people are saying you disappeared. Do you need help?"

Draco stared at him for a full second.

"Such a bloody hero!" he sneered. He vanished back into the flames, and Harry was left alone in the common room once again.

* * *

It was late; Madame Pomfrey had to be sleeping now. A part of him was tempted to simply cast the spell himself, but he dared not take Draco on his word. If it made Hermione worse…

He considered the corridor leading to the library for a long moment, wondering if he should simply research the incantation himself. But that could take weeks. And he didn't know how long Hermione had left.

In the end, he found himself approaching the man who seemed the most logical choice for any number of reasons. Snape knew Draco; he could gauge the sincerity of his desire to make up for the wizard's debt. And he might recognize the incantation. If Draco had lied to him to try to hurt Hermione further, Snape might very well know it.

Somehow he was unsurprised to find Snape awake. Harry closed the tapestry behind him, waiting for the older wizard to lower the wand from his face.

"I trust you have an urgent reason for disturbing me at so late an hour?"

Harry nodded quickly. He wondered idly if Snape ingested his own concoctions to keep himself awake; it seemed sometimes like he never slept.

"It's a concoction called coffee, Potter," Snape said sourly, his dark eyes locked on Harry's, clearly picking the surface thoughts right out of his mind after their intensive Occlumency session earlier in the night.

Harry didn't bother correcting him on the name.

"Have you ever heard of Refoveo?" he blurted out.

Snape stared at him. "It sounds familiar… One of a relatively obscure class of revival spells that have long been in disuse, I believe." He peered at Harry questioningly. "Why?"

"Draco told me it would save Hermione."

Snape gripped his shoulder suddenly, intent. "You've been in contact with Draco Malfoy? How?"

"The floo-- in the Gryffindor Common Room." Harry shifted his weight, uneasy with Snape's odd urgency. "He said he was paying me back. He owes me a Wizard's Debt."

"Draco owes you a Wizard's Debt," Snape echoed in a quiet voice, his fingers tightening on Harry's shoulder; his eyes were suddenly distant. "That's right-- he owes you his life. I entirely overlooked that."

Harry shrugged out of his grip, sensing that Snape was missing the point. This wasn't about Draco's Wizard's Debt. It was about whether he could save Hermione!

"So you think this is for real?" Harry demanded. "You think this incantation can save her?"

Snape considered him for a long, calculating moment, and Harry realized suddenly the man was trying to decide how best to maneuver him.

"Probably not," Snape said repressively. "If Draco Malfoy supplied you with the incantation, it will very likely kill her."

He drew back a step, gazing down at Harry from his greater height.

"I suggest you refrain from using it," he advised. "At least until we've had time to research it."

There was a long pause, then Snape added:

"And no need to simply throw away a perfectly viable Wizard's Debt."

Harry understood instantly that Snape wasn't worried about Hermione at all; he just wanted to keep Draco indebted to Harry. Probably so he could use it in his game against Lucius Malfoy.

But Harry didn't care about that. He just wanted to save his friend. He looked down quickly to hide his thoughts from Snape.

"That sounds like a good idea. We'll do more research," Harry said, his tone light. "It's good we have some idea of where to start now."

After an endless moment, Snape stepped back to let him pass. His gaze lingered heavily on Harry's back as he walked to the door.

Harry could barely hide his elation. He'd learned what he needed-- it was a legitimate incantation, and Snape clearly believed it would save Hermione, however much he wanted Harry to think otherwise.

As for whatever move Snape was planning with this information, well… he would have to be disappointed. Harry was going to save Hermione.