Harry blearily opened his eyes. The entire world was fuzzy, and he reached automatically for his glasses. His hand fumbled blindly a moment over the cold wood of the bedstead, then a warm hand pressed the glasses into his palm. Harry shoved them over his nose, and his vision sharpened around the form of Severus Snape.

Harry yelped, his entire body lurching with shock. He cried out again when the movement sent needles of pain jolting through his limbs, and squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the agony of it.

"Drink this," Snape said quietly, pressing a cool goblet to his lips.

His body throbbed too painfully for questions. Harry downed the wretched-tasting concoction, desperate for the pain to recede. He slumped back to his pillow as warmth filled his stomach. The needles slowly crept from his awareness and the edges in his vision grew softer; he relaxed into the mild buzzing of his mind. The boy sprawled there a while, forgetting that his most hated teacher loomed by the bed, drifting pleasantly through a drugged haze.

The memories from the previous day began to float gently into his thoughts. His eyes crept open and locked with Snape's accusingly.

"You should have warned me you were giving me that potion," Harry said. "You didn't need to sneak it to me like some poison." His voice sounded very raw and scratchy, and he unconsciously reached up to rub at his throat. He paused the movement halfway. His arm felt... wrong.

He shot Snape a quick glance, and saw that the man's brow was furrowed in some confusion. Almost gently, Snape reached out and took Harry's wrist in his hands, studying it intently, pulling the sleeve of his shirt down before pushing it up again.

"What's wrong?" Harry murmured, gazing at his teacher questioningly.

Snape released his wrist and lowered himself onto a chair near the bedside, still studying Harry's prone form in obvious confusion. He rubbed his hand across his mouth in deep thought.

"Professor?"

"Quiet, Potter. I can think better without you pestering me."

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded, voice stronger now. He looked down at his form and raised his arms up with straining muscles to figure out what Snape was looking at. They shook with exertion, but otherwise didn't look...

Wait.

"Your bloody potion shrunk me!" he bellowed. With a sudden burst of energy, he began frantically shoving the blankets down to get a look at the rest of his body. He kicked up first one leg and then the other, horrified. They both were shorter, he'd swear it! The pants that yesterday reached his ankles now touched the bottom of his heels.

"It didn't shrink you, Potter," Snape said, still mulling over the dilemma. "This is your natural skeletal structure. The glamour charm merely distorted your physical dimensions."

"What happened to 'everyone in my family stands over six feet'?" Harry demanded snidely, feeling a mounting panic. He'd already been on the shorter side of average. Now, he was just plain short.

"Evidently, you're an exception," Snape sneered with his customary malice.

"This is great," Harry said, and laughed wildly. "This is just perfect. Thanks a bunch, Snape. I really appreciate it."

"Oh, come off it, Potter," Snape snarled. "You're only two or three inches shorter at most." He tapped his finger thoughtfully on his cheek. "It's simply not what I would have expected."

"Maybe something's wrong with your potion," Harry sniped

Snape's face darkened. "My potion is perfect. My potions are always perfect." He rose to his feet and began to pace. "I don't have one relative of your pitiful stature, I'll admit... But I didn't have one relative who was a Gryffindor until recently, either."

Harry buried his face in his pillow, unwilling to listen to another word. He was irritated, depressed, and damn angry. Whatever the hell Snape was saying, he didn't need to hear about it... He didn't need to hear about the various ways Harry Potter was disgracing the proud line of Greasy Gits. With his luck, he'd lose out on the family height but get a full dose of that bloody beak of a nose, and dollops of family grease in his hair.

"You're clearly very tired," Snape noted clinically. "That's to be expected. Sleep for now, and we'll discuss this later."

Harry lolled his head back. "No thanks. I've had about enough of your insults this week without you making fun of my height now, too. Just make sure you have some way to undo this when we cast the other glamour next week."

Snape gazed at him for a moment more. He sucked in a breath, and after a moment released it, as though some question had suddenly died on his lips. By the time Harry glanced curiously up at him, he was already walking out the door.

* * *

After a day of recovering from the after-effects of the potion, Harry barely moved except to drag himself to his meals and then back to his bed, floating in a dazed stupor. He was depressed. Snape was his father, he'd shrunk, he was stuck in this monstrously dull manor, Remus wasn't writing him, Tonks would think he was short, Sirius was still dead, Voldemort was still out to murder him, the Headmaster had lied to him, and Snape was his bloody father.

The Potions Master did not immediately resume his work towards breaking the glamour, though Harry sniffed each of his drinks suspiciously. Snape seemed almost leery of undermining the charm any further; it was as though he feared another negative result. He'd been certain before the potion that Harry would be taller as a Snape than as a replica of James Potter, and he seemed to take it as a personal affront that James Potter had trumped him yet again. The brief periods of time they spent in the same room, Harry would catch Snape watching him through narrowed, black eyes, as though trying to unravel some grand conspiracy perpetrated against him, plotted by his delinquent son.

Snape one day surprised him by lifting the wards to give him access to the manor library. Harry had one triumphant afternoon to research the topic that had been tugging at his mind since he'd learned of his blood relation to the woman who murdered Sirius. However, when Snape came to collect him for the evening, he sent Harry a suspicious glance, and cast some spell that made the books Harry had perused glow in an ethereal light. One glance at Kinship and Related Curses was all he needed to ban Harry from the library, grab him by the arm, and haul him back to his room.

"I wasn't going to curse you!" Harry protested as Snape slammed the door closed on his face. He tried the knob; Snape had warded the hallway against him yet again.

That night, the house-elf, Minky, escorted him to dinner, and he found Snape waiting like some giant, black bat, his sharp, assessing gaze peeling away Harry's skin.

"Sit, Potter," he said, gesturing to Harry's usual chair across the long table. The boy noticed that there was no food laid out.

Nervous, Harry sat.

Snape stood up and circled around the back of Harry's seat, reminding Harry uneasily of a police interrogation.

"Why were you looking at that book, Potter?"

"It had nothing to do with you," Harry said, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "And I don't see how it's your business."

"It is my business," Snape said from behind his shoulder, "because you clearly did so with intent. Those were dark curses, Potter. I assumed you would be doing homework."

"I was just curious," Harry said airily. "You know, library of a Death Eater and such, probably lots of depraved things lying around there."

Snape came to a stop in his line of sight now, lips pressed in a thin, irate line. Harry sent the man a challenging glare, daring him to take issue with the answer. After all, he only had access to those books because Snape owned them.

As if he'd suddenly realized Harry's game, a cold, predatory smile crossed Snape's lips. "You're very right, Potter... Harry," he amended. His name from Snape's lips always seemed like a veiled insult. "It's not my business after all."

Harry stiffened. Snape's tone sent unease prickling through him, and somehow, he knew the man had already decided upon a crueler avenue of attack.

"It's just occurred to me, Harry, that we never continued your Occlumency lessons."

"I don't need them," Harry replied snappishly, turning a glare on Snape. The man was just looking for an excuse to plunder his mind, he could tell.

"You don't need them? You mean you've mastered Occlumency on your own?" Snape said silkily, drawing his wand from his pocket. "If that's true, why don't we put your skills to a little test?"

"You don't understand!" Harry fired up, looking from Snape's wand to his face. "My scar hasn't been hurting. At all. I haven't had any visions. At all. It just all went away this summer. Occlumency always made things worse, and I don't want to take the risk of things being like they were last year!"

Snape stared at him a long moment, as though he'd been introduced to the village idiot. "Have you actually deluded yourself into believing the Dark Lord is through with you?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

"Of course not," Harry replied fiercely. "But the lessons last year, they made things worse. I don't want my scar to act up again. I want to leave well-enough alone." He rubbed said scar unconsciously.

"'Well-enough,'" Snape spat the words like an insult, taking a rapid step forward to tower over Harry. "Well-enough will not suffice once the Dark Lord attempts to possess your mind again! You may have forgotten about your vulnerability to him, Potter, but I assure you, he has not!"

"This is not about him," Harry said harshly, meeting Snape's angry expression with one of his own. "You just want to do this now because you want to find out what I was doing with that book."

Snape sneered at that. "Potter, you're here for another ten days. I will have ample opportunity to slip you another potion and hear all about your interest in that book." He retreated a step, studying Harry like a strange species of insect. "I intended to unnerve you with the prospect of an Occlumency session, but now I see one is entirely necessary."

"You don't think it's significant at all that I haven't had any visions? That my scar hasn't hurt?" Harry demanded

Snape ran a long, white finger over his lips. Harry shifted uncomfortably as the man gazed at the dark bangs concealing the scar. "It is curious," he admitted at last. "I'm rather surprised your connection to the Dark Lord has not been further exploited."

Harry rubbed his forehead again.

Snape abruptly retreated to his side of the table and took his seat, sending Harry one last, odd glance. "Be sure to eat. You'll need your energy." He clapped his hands, and dinner appeared before them on the table.

Harry hadn't realized how hungry he was. He dug into the roast eagerly, and it was only when he glanced up that he realized Snape was looking at him through narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"What?" he demanded impatiently. He was sick of Snape looking at him strangely when he didn't think Harry noticed.

"You have a healthy appetite," Snape noted in an odd tone of voice.

"Yeah." Harry ran his eyes over Snape's gaunt form. "Food really is a good thing, Snape. You should try it sometime."

Snape's black eyes flashed with irritation, and Harry hid his smirk in his pumpkin juice.

* * *

"One... two... three... Legilimens!"

Harry was recoiling from Umbridge's hand as it groped in the fire... Cedric Diggory was staring at him with blank eyes... Bellatrix Lestrange was laughing as Sirius fell through the veil...

Harry came to himself huddled on the ground, pain radiating up his joints. His breath came in panicked gasps, his mind refusing to let go of the horrific image of Sirius's death.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter," Snape said from above him, looking angry and rather short of breath. "I would not have thought it possible for you to grow worse. Evidently your incompetence knows no bounds."

Harry remained crouched on the ground, fighting back the tears threatening to reach his eyes. How long had it been since he'd let himself think about Sirius? Snape had already attacked his mind a half-dozen times tonight, and each time, no matter how Harry tried, his thoughts inevitably strayed back to Sirius falling to his death. Last year his anger had rendered him vulnerable to Snape's intrusion. This year, his grief carried the other man into his mind.

He heard a long-suffering sigh from above him, and realized with a modicum of surprise that Snape was offering his hand to help Harry up. When Harry only blinked at it dumbly, Snape dropped it to his side.

"Get up!"

Harry forced himself up onto shaky legs.

"We'll try this once more, Potter. I've had to lift it from you these last two times. See if you can repel me once tonight. Clear your mind. Let go of all emotion."

Harry closed his eyes and attempted to clear his thoughts. He raised his wand towards Snape and nodded shakily.

"Prepare yourself... Legilimens!"

Uncle Vernon was hammering the letterbox shut... Remus was dragging him back from the dais. "There's nothing you can do, Harry. He's gone."... A big black dog was watching him from across a field... He was stammering an apology, but Tonks reached out to caress his cheek. "I don't mind."...

Harry felt a moment of panic, and nearly shoved Snape out, but Snape pushed back harder.

... Tonks's fingers were playing through his hair. She smiled invitingly as he crawled up to kiss her...

He tried again with frantic urgency to expel Snape from his mind, but the powerful legilimens held onto the memory, and Harry squirmed as it played out before his eyes.

..."Liar!" her voice was husky and breathless against his lips. "You have done that before!" Harry grinned impishly. "Natural talent. Like... parseltongue." Tonks laughed, and slowly pressed him onto his back. "Speaking of natural talents..."

"POTTER!"

The spell was lifted so abruptly Harry took a moment to realize that he was here with Snape and not back in Grimmauld Place with Tonks.

Snape's cold, imperious form loomed above him, a dark, furious look on his face.

Tonks.

In Grimmauld Place.

Oh, shit.

Snape knelt down to glare right into Harry's eyes. "What in the hell, Potter, did I just see?"