Harry slowly opened his eyes. He was lying flat on his back on the attic floor. His head was pounding, and his muscles and limbs felt heavy. The world that had been muffled by his mind’s struggles came into sharp focus. A worried cry. A girl’s voice asking if he would be alright. Rough but gentle hands on either side of his face. Snape’s hook-nosed face hovering over him, calling his name.

Odd that out of everything, his first conscious thought was that Snape was calling him Harry, and his second thought was that it didn’t sound as strange as he’d have thought it would.

“Harry, are you with me? Are you in your own mind?” The professor said, his brows pinched together in what Harry could only describe as worry. Why did that also not seem strange? Had things really changed so much in so short a time?

Harry stared blankly for a moment before nodding, and he could see the relief on Snape’s face. But he didn’t think the man would stay relieved for long. Harry remembered the last words he’d gleaned from Voldemort’s mind, and it was anything but cause for relief.

“He knows,” he said numbly, looking up at his professor. “Grimmauld Place. He knows.”

Snape froze in place at those words. “He…knows,” he repeated, as if willing the words not to be true. He immediately shook his head, the action seeming to gather his wits. “He can’t possibly know where you are. Headquarters is secure. Only the headmaster could tell its location, and he would never. You must be mistaken.”

Harry shakily pushed himself up to a sitting position and Snape let him, removing his hands and backing up to give him space. Both girls were sitting on his other side, eyes wide in alarm. He lifted a hand to gingerly rub a sore spot on the side of his head where must have bumped it when he’d fallen over.

“Yeah, yeah I know,” he said quickly, swallowing his fear. There would be plenty of time to give in to fear later, but not now. Now was the time for action. “He shouldn’t know. But he does. Somehow he knows. I saw it. He told his Death Eaters they were going to attack Grimmauld Place at dawn. Because he knows that’s where I am.”

Snape shook his head again. “That’s…impossible.”

“He’s getting ready to attack, professor,” Harry said desperately. He reached out and grabbed hold of Snape’s arm, willing him to believe. “I saw it.”

A squeak of alarm came from Ginny, and she placed her hands over her lips. Hermione looked just as frightened but looked to Snape, waiting for the professor to decide what they should do.

But Harry’s mind was already racing ahead, thinking of the implications. “Professor…” He squeezed Snape’s arm, afraid to know the answer to his question but needing to ask it. “If he’s planning his next move, that means…the Order? Remus? Did they…is he..?” he whispered, pleading with his eyes. If the Order had been successful, if they’d rescued Remus and nobody was hurt, then Voldemort wouldn’t be so happy, would he? Something must have gone wrong, and Harry was frightened to hear what that might be.

Snape shook his head. “They have yet to return, but they have not been gone long enough for concern.” He didn’t let Harry dwell on that. He grasped him by the shoulders and said, “I need to see.”

By the way Snape was looking at him, intently and like he was asking permission for something, Harry understood immediately. Snape wanted to Legilimize him. He nodded, forcefully pushing thoughts of Remus out of his conscious mind. He knew that one couldn’t see memories as clearly through Legilimency as through use of a Pensieve, but they didn’t have time to get a Pensieve. He looked Snape in the eyes, willing him to see what he’d seen. He’d learned over their lessons of the past week how difficult it could be to detect Legilimency. He could feel Snape’s mind entering his when under the influence of the potion, but the first few times Snape had Legilimized him without use of a wand or potion, he hadn’t felt a thing. Only after quite a bit of practice was he beginning to be able to detect the slightest wisp of something brushing his mind, something he now recognized as Snape’s mind looking into his. Even so, if he hadn’t known he was being Legilimized, he might have discounted it as his imagination.

He brought up the vision exactly how he had seen it. As brief as it had been, it didn’t take long for Snape to view Harry’s recollection in its entirety, break the connection, and push to his feet. He held out a hand to Harry. Surprised at the gesture, Harry only hesitated a second before grasping it and allowing the man to help him up from the ground. Snape watched him for a moment, probably making sure he wasn’t going to fall over again, then headed for the stairs. “Wait here,” he instructed over his shoulder.

“No!” Harry cried and made to follow, but Snape turned sharply, his hand catching Harry square in the center of his chest and holding him in place.

“You will stay here,” the man hissed, “where you are safe. Where all of you are safe.” He jerked his arm up to gesture toward the girls, who were silently watching their exchange.

“No,” Harry repeated indignantly. He drew himself to his full height, even though he wasn’t very tall. “If he knows where I am, then he’s coming for me. And if he’s coming for me, then that puts everybody else in danger. I know I need to stay safe, not do anything rash, alright? But I’m not going to just sit up here in the attic, hiding out like a little kid, while the adults decide what to do about the evil murderous maniac who’s after me!”

Snape studied Harry with a long, measuring gaze. Finally, he said, “Fine. Stay close,” and hurried down the stairs.

It took him a several seconds to process that Snape had actually given in. Elated through his frazzled nerves, he scrambled to catch up with the professor, and he heard Ginny and Hermione trailing closely behind.

It didn’t take Snape long to reach the drawing room, three teenagers in tow. They could hear Moody’s voice as they entered, saying in his familiar suspicious tone, “Too easy, I tell you. It was-” He was pacing the floor but stopped as they entered. He barely cast a glance at the teens before he eyed Snape with his usual distrust.

Snape ignored him and headed for the floo where Mr. Weasley stood with one of the twins - George, Harry thought. Mrs. Weasley was on the sofa bandaging a nasty cut on Tonks’s wrist, and the room was otherwise conspicuously empty of Order members. It seemed that everybody was tired lately, Harry mused as he took in the scene, but Mrs. Weasley in particular had grown more haggard over the past week. He wondered if she’d been sleeping at all or spending every night keeping vigil over Ron’s bedside. She was there almost every time he visited Ron.

“Oh, Severus, you’re here. Good,” Mrs. Weasley said, barely looking up. “Alastor’s alerted us that the others are on their way back. We’re going to need more healing balm-” she cut herself off as she noticed Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. “Children, out!” she ordered, color returning to her face, and Harry almost didn’t mind being ordered about, so happy was he to see her animated about something. Not that he had any intention of obeying her.

Ginny protested before Harry or Hermione had a chance to, but Mrs. Weasley stood and squared her shoulders. “People - injured people - are on their way here, and we’ll be discussing Order business while we get them seen to, and an Order meeting is no place for children. To the kitchen, now!” She pointed to the door, her tone brooking no argument.

Harry looked to Snape, ready to argue his case, but as it turned out, he didn’t need to. Snape waved him toward one of the sofas and said, “Mr. Potter will be staying.” Mrs. Weasley only had time to put her hands on her hips before Snape added in a tone of finality, “Miss Granger and your daughter are under your purview, Molly. Albus specifically entrusted Mr. Potter to my care and my authority, and I have decided that he will stay.”

Harry could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to find a way to win against that argument. She finally huffed, “Fine. Girls, out!”

“Mum!” Ginny began to argue again, and Hermione looked to Harry, eyes pleading. He didn’t know what sway she thought he had with the adults. Sure, Snape had let him stay, but he knew the man well enough to know he’d better not push it. He gave her an apologetic look and tried to communicate with his eyes that he’d tell her everything later. She seemed to understand, though Harry knew she didn’t like it. She gave a loud sigh and let Mrs. Weasley usher her out the door alongside a still-protesting Ginny.

Harry made his way over to the sofa opposite Tonks, where George had taken a seat to watch his mum and Professor Snape go toe to toe. Harry figured he’d better sit down and blend in with the furniture before Snape decided he was being too much of a pushover and made him retreat to the kitchen after all.

“Harry, mate,” George clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder as he sat next to him. “Welcome to the ranks of the illustrious Order of the Phoenix.”

Harry quirked his lips. “Right, thanks,” he mumbled, eyes on Snape as the man spoke in low tones to Mr. Weasley. “Though I’m still not a member, you know.”

“You practically are if Snape invited you to pull up a chair,” George replied and leaned back into the sofa. Harry thought he seemed entirely too relaxed for the occasion.

“So…what’s going on then?” Harry asked quietly. “Your mum said the Order’s on their way back? Is it over then?

“Yeah, mate,” George answered with a grin. “It’s done. We won. There were some injuries, I gather, and they’re still waiting on an all clear in some safe house or other, but Dad talked to them through the floo and they seemed in too good a mood for anything terrible to have happened.”

“Really?” He wanted to be happy, to breathe a sigh of relief, but it seemed too good to be true. Especially since Voldemort was so pleased. “Did they get Remus? Is he okay?”

George had no sooner opened his mouth to reply when the floo flared to life. Harry waited with bated breath, hoping against hope to see Remus’s silver-brown hair and patched jacket. He tried not to be disappointed when a short, stocky blonde in his forties stepped through instead. Harry had seen the man around but couldn’t remember his name. And he didn’t really care at this moment to learn it.

Kingsley Shacklebolt flooed through next, followed by a handful of other familiar faces, before finally Harry got his wish.

Remus was alive!

The man looked weak, like he hadn’t eaten in days, and he had to be helped to a chair. He had dried blood under his nose and fingernails, and Harry was pretty sure from the makeshift sling and the angle of his arm that it was broken. But he was breathing okay, if a little bit shakily, and his legs and torso seemed to be free of serious injury. Harry finally took a long, deep breath and released it, giving in to the urge to grin. It was either that or cry, and he wasn’t about to cry in front of the Order.

It took all of his willpower not to rush through the now crowded room to give his dad’s old friend a bear hug, but he managed…partly because Snape was watching and he wanted to prove to the man that he was grownup enough to be in an Order meeting, but mainly because of Remus’s injuries. He tried to catch his eye instead, and he grinned when the man’s eyes made contact with his. Remus gave a small smile in return, though his gaze was hollow and slightly pained. Harry held in a cringe at what the man must have suffered.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat and drew the attention of the room with a call for order. With a flick of Snape’s wrist, the rest of the whispered conversations in the room fell silent.

To Harry’s surprise, Mr. Weasley, not Snape, opened the meeting. And he didn’t mince words. “It has come to our attention that You-Know-Who may know the location of our headquarters and, as we speak, is gathering his followers to attack.” The room broke out into alarmed murmurs, but Mr. Weasley went on as if uninterrupted. “We do not think it likely that he knows our precise location, but that he knows we are somewhere on or near Grimmauld Place is certain.”

Surprised, Harry swung his head to look at Snape, but the man was watching the other occupants of the room. Harry almost spoke up to correct Mr. Weasley, but he ran through his vision and realized…Voldemort never had thought or said Number 12. So maybe he didn’t know exactly which house they were in? But he might. Shouldn’t they act as if he did know? How could he know they were near here unless he knew they were here here? After all, he wouldn’t be planning an attack unless he knew exactly where to attack.

“Impossible!” piped up Moody. “Albus is Secret-Keeper! He would never betray-”

“No one is suggesting that he has,” Mr. Weasley interrupted Moody. “Which is why we do not believe You-Know-Who knows our precise location. But somehow, he is close. Someone may have been followed to this part of London, perhaps. Due to the timing, however, we must consider the possibility that he somehow discovered some information during this evening’s raid.” There was a clear question in his voice.

Moody broke in again. “I told you it was too easy. We went in, saw Lupin, retrieved him with no more than a token resistance, didn’t lose a single man. How else do you explain their retreat? They wanted something from us, and Merlin knows how they got it, but they did!”

“But how?” asked Shaklebolt reasonably. “They didn’t even get a good look at any of us except for Lupin. They did not obtain any information from us. Even if they could have interrogated us, even if we wanted to share the location of headquarters, it is protected by the Fidelius Charm. They could not even have obtained it from Lupin in the time they had him.”

Several faces swiveled to Remus, and he weakly shook his head. “I told them nothing.” His throat was scratchy, and Harry didn’t want to think about how Voldemort may have tortured him.

“We know that Dumbledore hasn’t been compromised?” piped up a voice from the crowd.

“I spoke to him mere minutes ago,” said Mr. Weasley reassuringly. “He is safe and well. I assured him we’d been successful and that he should continue his business abroad, or he would have joined us.”

“How did you come by this information about headquarters?” Moody asked again, suspicion in his voice.

“The source is reliable,” Mr. Weasley answered, his tone telling them that was all they needed to know. From the way Mr. Weasley’s eyes flickered to Harry before drifting around the room, Harry knew that Snape had told him about the vision. “We don’t know how he knows we are on Grimmauld Place, but we know that he does, or at the very least that he suspects it, and that he plans to attack at dawn. We must decide how to act.”

That they all accepted Mr. Weasley’s words, albeit with grumblings from Moody, made Harry realize how much the Order was used to being given only as much information as they needed to do their jobs. It was as Snape had once told him: to entrust even the most trustworthy of Order members with every last piece of information would be foolhardy.

Harry didn’t know if Snape and Mr. Weasley were protecting him by not telling the rest of the Order about his vision, but he was grateful. He didn’t fancy having to talk about it, and he never liked the looks people gave him whenever it was suggested that he was somehow connected to Voldemort more deeply than as just the Boy Who Lived. He didn’t want the Order to look at him like he was possessed or like he might have the makings to be the next Dark Lord.

“So we wait, we evacuate, or we fight,” Shacklebolt listed succinctly. “Which will it be?”

“All of the above,” came another voice. “Evacuate Potter and the Weasley children. Wait for Voldemort to show his hand. Fight if we must.”

Harry felt several pairs of eyes on him when he was mentioned, and he tried not to squirm. He was also acutely aware now of Voldemort’s name being spoken in Snape’s presence, and he held in a wince of sympathy for the physical pain that it must have caused the professor.

He felt Remus’s tired eyes on him and he smiled in his direction, whether to reassure Remus that Harry was fine or to reassure himself that Remus would be, he wasn’t sure.

“I volunteer to take Harry and the other children to safety,” croaked Remus. “I am of little help elsewhere at the moment. Your expertise will be needed here until headquarters is either deemed safe or evacuated,” he said as if to Mr. Weasley but pointedly glanced at Snape. “We have several unplottable safe houses that would be perfectly safe for the short term.”

“But-” Harry started, intending to argue that he wanted to stay, but he cut himself off at a murderous look from Snape. He sat back in the sofa with a halfhearted glare at the professor. He didn’t have to be a genius to know that while Snape might allow him to attend an Order meeting, he certainly wouldn’t let him stay at Grimmauld Place if it was compromised. It was a losing battle. He’d still fight it, of course, but he’d fight it later when nobody except Snape was around to see him lose.

“I will go with them,” said Mrs. Weasley in a surprisingly strong voice. “R-Ron will need to be moved as well,” she said with only a slight tremble and a lift of her chin. “He’ll need looking after.”

Remus tiredly frowned. “Are you sure it is wise to move him? Perhaps you and your son should wait here until we know more.”

“No,” Mr. Weasley chimed in. “Molly is right. It will be safer to move him now.” He and Mrs. Weasley shared an understanding, sorrowful look, and Harry looked away, feeling as if he was intruding upon something private.

Remus didn’t seem fully convinced. He looked as if he might argue, though Harry couldn’t imagine why. If they had to go, then Harry, for one, would feel better were Ron to go with them, and Ginny would appreciate having her mother along. But after a brief hesitation, the man nodded his agreement and smiled in Mrs. Weasley’s direction. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Harry wished they were alone so that he could reassure Remus that Mrs. Weasley and Ron would be safer with them. Or perhaps he was worried that Mrs. Weasley was too emotionally involved to adequately protect them. If it was the latter, Remus was quite mistaken. Harry had no doubt that Mrs. Weasley would make the most formidable enemy in the room if one of her children were threatened.

Mr. Weasley looked to Snape, who looked over Harry with his inscrutable gaze, taking in Harry’s defiant glare and Remus’s haggard form. He couldn’t seem to resist a sneer at Remus before giving Mr. Weasley a single, sharp nod.

“That’s decided then.” Mr. Weasley looked to Remus. “We’ll discuss the location after the meeting.”

“Why not evacuate everyone?” Tonks spoke up for the first time, though her hair turned pink at all the faces swiveled toward her. “Why wait here for a possible attack? If You-Know-Who might know where we are, why not just leave altogether?”

“Abandon headquarters?” Moody asked incredulously, as if she had suggested they forfeit the war. “Give ground to that murderous maniac?” His eye swiveled to her as if sizing her up as a possible spy.

Tonks looked as if she wished she hadn’t asked.

"If You-Know-Who is planning to attack, it is not this house alone that is at risk," answered Mr. Weasley more gently. "Muggles may be harmed, especially if he does not know our exact location. We cannot leave and do nothing to protect them." 

The Order meeting continued like that for some minutes, questions and arguments about what to do, and while he listened, Harry found himself studying Snape. The professor was the picture of calm, standing to one side with arms crossed as if he were a casual observer. Harry knew that Moody, and probably others as well, distrusted Snape. Perhaps that was why he’d had Mr. Weasley lead the meeting? Maybe he knew that any information about Voldemort wouldn’t have been as well received coming from the only ex-Death Eater in the room.

Harry wondered if staying in the shadows was something that Snape liked to do or if he did it out of necessity. He could think of several times when Snape had actively sought recognition - like when he’d thought he’d captured a guilty Sirius and had an Order of Merlin award in sight - but far more often, he played his part well out of the light. Harry was positive that even the Order didn’t know quite how much he had to have done to fight Voldemort while in the dark wizard’s service. Probably only Dumbledore knew. What Harry didn’t know was whether Snape preferred it that way or did it out of necessity.

Well, he could add it to the ever-growing list of mysteries about the professor that Harry was only just beginning to notice and sift through.

The meeting didn’t last long enough for him to dwell on those thoughts. Before he knew it, it was wrapping up, their wait-and-see approach agreed upon and several individuals assigned to covertly watch the street outside for any sign of danger or attack.

As soon as the meeting disbanded, Harry made his way over to Remus. He awkwardly stood to the side while Mrs. Weasley saw to a cut on Remus’s face, but the man raised a weak hand to wave Harry closer.

“How…how are you feeling?” Harry asked quietly as he knelt next to his former professor’s chair, hands grasping hold of the armrest. It was a daft question,considering his injuries, but it’s all he could think to say.

“I’ve had worse,” Remus said tiredly and winced as Mrs. Weasley dabbed bit of healing balm on his cuts.

“Shall we discuss your safe house destination, or are you not done playing the martyr?” Snape sneered as he and Mr. Weasley joined them.

Harry frowned. Snape could be so nasty sometimes. The man knew Remus had just been held captive for days and very likely tortured, and still he was mocking and cruel. Harry knew how awful Snape could be, of course…but it felt different now somehow. In light of their growing closeness over the past weeks, he found himself expecting more out of Snape. For him to be better, maybe? He knew it was silly to expect any person to change overnight. Just because he was offering him Occlumency lessons and advice and protection didn’t mean that he would suddenly turn into a kind, patient, or caring individual.

But apparently it meant that Harry would begin to want him to. And wasn’t that just a recipe for dashed hopes…

He opened his mouth to defend Remus, tell Snape that he was clearly injured, couldn’t he see, and for once in his life to be nice even if he hated somebody, but Remus spoke first. “I’ll take them to the Luftwhite cabin,” he said, giving Snape a pleasantly blank smile as if his dig hadn’t bothered him in the slightest. “It is secluded, and Marla Luftwhite is not a widely known supporter of the Order. It will be more than sufficient to hide away for a few days or until headquarters can be deemed safe again.”

“Sufficient?” sneered Snape before Remus had quite finished. He crossed his arms and stared right back. He didn’t so much as glance Harry’s way. “All that old cabin is sufficient for is getting Potter killed. It may be adequate as an Order way station, but it is hardly warded enough to protect a dog for long.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Snape, trying to decide if he was being compared to a dog, but the man still ignored him.

“Severus does have a point, Remus,” said Mr. Weasley reasonably as he handed a length of gauze to his wife. “Might I suggest the med station near…near the woods.” Harry was certain he had been about to mention a specific wood, but his eyes had shifted to Harry before he’d corrected himself. Harry held in a sigh. Would he never be treated like the near-adult he was? Wouldn’t he ever be entrusted with Order information?

“No,” said Snape so authoritatively that Harry thought for a second that he had read his thoughts. His heart settled down when he realized the man was turning down Mr. Weasley’s suggestion. “They will go to Kneader’s Point.”

“Kneader’s Point?” asked Remus and both Weasleys at the same time and in equally surprised tones, which Harry would have found hilarious had he not been hanging onto every word to understand where exactly each of these locations were.

Snape lifted his chin and adopted his don’t-argue-with-me stance, and Harry couldn’t help a small grin at seeing it used against adults, for once. “It is unplottable, untraceable, warded within and without with various protections, including anti-Apparition wards within a large perimeter. And while remote, it is not so far from civilization that children without Apparition skills could not seek aid if needed. Not to mention that sending the young Mr. Weasley to a safe house overseen by a retired medi-wizard has an obvious advantage. He may be able to find something about the boy’s condition that we have overlooked.”

Harry saw Mrs. Weasley perk up at that suggestion, though she didn’t speak. She moved on to Remus’s unbroken arm, patching up a few cuts.

“But…Kneader?” Remus questioned, frowning. “I’ve never met the man, but I understand him to be rather...set in his ways. Can we trust him?”

“Yes,” answered Snape so unequivocally that Harry found himself wanting to meet whoever this Mr. Kneader was. He’d probably be beyond curious to meet anyone whom Snape trusted, so rarely was that trust given.

Mr. Weasley scratched his chin, deep in thought. “Well. He does have a point, Remus. I’ve never met him myself, don’t even know where his place is, but Albus has mentioned him and thinks highly of him. And if the location is as difficult to get into and out of as Severus says, then you’d have plenty of warning to evacuate or to fend off an attack.”

“We would also have plenty of warning at the cabin,” Remus argued insistently. “If anyone-”

“You would have no warning at that blasted cabin!” Snape spat. “You will not be taking Potter to that dotty woman’s death trap. It is one of the least defensible properties you could possibly select. If you want to go there, be my guest. In which case, I will be taking the boy to Kneader’s Point, where he will be safe. Mrs. Weasley and her brood may accompany whom they wish.”

Remus’s lips set in a thin line, and he shot Snape a quick, rather un-Remus-like glare. But judging by the slump of his shoulders, he knew that he was beat. Okay, well…his shoulders were already kind of slumped from weakness. And he probably felt like hell, so Harry figured that if the usually calm man wanted to give into the urge to glare at Snape’s rudeness, it was completely understandable. Harry glared at Snape on a daily basis, after all. But by how determined Remus had been to win the argument, Harry could only imagine that this Marla Luftwhite must be a friend, or perhaps that he didn’t care for what he knew of this Kneader fellow. Which naturally made Harry want to meet both mysterious allies all the more.

The standoff between the men was fascinating Harry, even though it was his fate they were deciding. The adults were all taking very seriously the fact that Dumbledore had charged Snape with Harry’s care. It felt odd, knowing that they all viewed Snape as Harry’s temporary guardian or something…but at the same time, it wasn’t an awful feeling. Sometimes, like right now, his resentment at being talked about and ordered about like a child fell aside and he soaked in the feeling of safety that he’d longed for when he actually was a child. The Dursleys never fought for him, never cared about him enough to argue with anybody else about the best or safest path for him to take. It was kind of nice - in an odd sort of way that was still vaguely insulting - to know that an adult tasked with his care was actually taking his safety and well-being seriously enough to fight for it. He’d never admit it to Snape, of course, but it made him feel sort of warm and cozy inside.

Of course, it also made him want to bristle and argue that he could take care of himself. So there was that.

“Very well,” Remus said finally, reluctantly conceding. “Kneader’s Point it is. We should send word-”

“No,” Snape cut in, and Harry was beginning to feel sorry for Remus, being constantly overruled. “Messages can be intercepted. Kneader is prepared for the random Order guest to drop by unannounced. He has his ways of detecting friend versus foe.” He crooked a finger at Harry to stand and then placed a hand at his back and gave him a small shove toward the door. “Pack your things,” he instructed. “Quickly. Grimmauld Place is most likely still safe, but there is no use tempting fate.”

“Will you be coming too?” Harry asked. “After you’re done here, I mean?” He didn’t like that twinge of knotted emotion that was starting to spread in his belly. It was worry, he knew, and he wasn’t used to worrying about Snape. Maybe about himself when he was faced with Snape, but never worry for Snape. He didn’t want to start the habit now, but his mind and body weren’t cooperating.

Snape gave him an odd searching look, and Harry worried the man wouldn’t answer, but he relented. “Yes. I must stay for now. I know the Dark Lord and his modes of attack. If I stay, then the headmaster need not be pulled away from his work. I will follow when I can.”

“What is the headmaster doing that’s so important, anyway?” he pressed his luck.

“Order business,” Snape said exasperatedly, pointing toward the stairs. “Nothing to do with you. We are in the midst of a war. We have allies abroad. He has things to attend to, as do the rest of the Order when they are not here, and he trusts those of us who remain to hold down the fort, as it may. Now get your things.”

Harry hesitated, considering his resolve to argue with Snape about leaving Grimmauld Place. He also wanted to ask him more about his visions, about whether it really was wise to block them all the time after all. What if they could have obtained more information from Voldemort if he hadn’t been in a rush to leave his mind? But one look at the man’s resolute expression changed his mind about arguing or questioning. Well, that and his curiosity over Kneader, the mysterious medi-wizard who’d gained Snape’s rarely given trust and who might be able to help with Ron. Oh alright, and that nice warm feeling of being protected that he’d deny until his dying day that he’d liked.

So even though he willingly obeyed Snape’s order, he did so with an exaggerated air of reluctance.

A boy - practically a man - had to have his pride, after all.

All right, so he didn’t obey right away. He figured he owed it to the girls to stop by the kitchen first. They’d want to know about Remus’s safe return, after all. And the adults were so busy patching each other up and chatting about the success of their rescue mission and the threat of Voldemort’s possible attack that he wondered when they’d pause to remember that Ginny and Hermione needed time to pack as well.

“When are we leaving?” Hermione asked with wide eyes after he’d filled them in and reassured them that Remus was fine. “Now?”

Harry shrugged. “Snape told me to pack my things, so I assume we’re leaving soon after we’re ready to go. Voldemort isn’t planning to attack until dawn, but there’s no use tempting fate,” he said, liking how Snape’s words rolled off his tongue.

“Just when this house started to get interesting…” grumbled Ginny as she stood from the table.

It didn’t take them very long to gather their things, though Harry admittedly wasn’t very careful about tossing his belongings into his trunk. He had been at Grimmauld Place for almost three weeks, after all, and he had thought he would still be here when they left for the Hogwarts Express in another week and a half. Even while sharing a room with the twins, he’d spread out his belongings rather more than he’d thought. One last glance under the bed, a request for a shrinking spell from Dobby, and he was jogging down the stairs with his trunk safely stowed in his pocket.

Most of the adults were gone when he returned to the drawing room, though Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys were likely upstairs preparing Ron for travel. Only Moody and Remus remained, and Remus hardly counted, as he was fast asleep in the same chair he’d been deposited in earlier, his head lolling forward and slightly to the side.

It was obvious to Harry that Remus wasn’t going to be much good at protecting them on this journey. But then, Moody seemed ready and waiting for something. Maybe he was going with them too?

Before he could ask, Snape was in the doorway. Seeing he had Harry’s attention, he crooked a finger and whipped around toward the stairs. Harry followed him, shaking his head with a wry grin. One of these days, Harry was going to insist on a proper summons. Something along the lines of, “Mr. Potter, I humbly request your presence upstairs, if you would be so kind,” complete with a “please” and “thank you.” Not this constant finger crooking and assuming that Harry was jumping into step right behind him.

When they reached the laboratory, Snape led him to the counter where several potions vials were lined up.

“Dreamless Sleep,” Snape said straightaway, pointing at two purple vials. “Extra, in case I am unable to join you for a while. I will trust you to ration them out appropriately.” He looked at Harry, waiting for acknowledgment, so Harry nodded. No problem. He’d already been doing that, after all. He still had several doses left in his trunk.

“You think you might not follow us to the safe house?” He asked, hoping that he’d kept any trace of disappointment out of his voice. “You said you were only staying here until after the attack.”

“I plan to join you once we determine that headquarters is secure,” Snape assured him. “However, in times of war, it is best to be prepared.” He pointed to a clear vial. “A new variation on a standard headache draft. If it works properly, it should target the pain caused by your curse scar. I only had time to experiment with the one variation, so I cannot be certain it will be wholly effective. At any rate, it will do no harm.”

“You made it for me?” Harry asked, surprised and also touched. “When did you have time to do that?”

“I brewed it this afternoon,” Snape said, waving it off as nothing to fuss about. “I can offer you nothing to ward off another vision or intrusion into your mind. Only Occlumency can do that. Keep Occluding, from the time you wake until the time you go to bed,” he told him so sternly that Harry immediately nodded his agreement. “If, however, such a thing happens again, this draft may alleviate the resulting pain caused by your scar.”

“Thank you,” Harry murmured. Nobody had ever spent the time to invent a remedy specifically for him before. Maybe he was strange for thinking so much of it, but it went on the list of one of his favorite presents. Not quite up there with his photo album or Firebolt, or even his mum’s letter and rock. But it was still on the list, because it was so useful and it was just for him.

Snape put all three vials into a small drawstring bag, which he handed to Harry. He then reached into his robe and drew out a small silver ring. Harry eyed it curiously.

“This is charmed,” Snape explained, holding it out to Harry and waiting for him to take it. Harry pocketed the bag of potions and cautiously turned the ring over in his hands, examining it. There was nothing very special about it except for a thin decorative line of green. It looked almost like ivy encircling the band, and it didn’t escape Harry’s notice that it was in Slytherin colors. “I expect for you to wear it until term starts,” Snape went on. “Should trouble arise, press your thumb to the band for three seconds. I will be alerted that you have need of assistance.”

Harry nodded, his eyes still on the ring. He hadn’t expected Snape to go out of his way to see to Harry’s welfare like this - he’d thought the professor would shoo him away to the safe house and that would be that - and he was feeling a little overwhelmed. He didn’t know how to respond, so he covered his gratitude with a joke. “You were all out of red and gold rings, then?”

Snape gave a half snort, as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh. “Fresh out.” He smirked. “Try some more elegant colors on for size, Potter. You may find that they suit you more than you think.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Is this one of your attempts to make a Slytherin out of me?”

“Are you refusing to wear the ring?” Snape raised an eyebrow in return and no doubt to better effect.

“No,” Harry answered. To prove it, he started to put it on, but then he realized he had no idea on which finger one was supposed to wear a ring. Jewelry wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. He looked up. “Does it matter which finger?”

Snape shook his head, watching him with that steady, unreadable gaze.

Okay, then. He put it on his right ring finger, supposing that if it was called a ring finger, he may as well go with it. The ring must have been charmed to fit any wearer, for it tightened comfortably around his finger the moment he put it on. He studied it for a few seconds. It was a small ring, too small to be considered manly per se, but it was plain and unobtrusive in a way that didn’t make him feel too embarrassed to be wearing jewelry. Especially as it meant he had a way to call for help if he needed it.

“Thanks, professor,” he said, looking up at Snape. He grinned, deciding it was okay to let some of his gratitude show. “It’s great. Really.”

Snape gave him a brisk nod and gestured toward the door. “The others should be ready to leave by now.”

Though Harry wasn’t one to gush, he was glad that he hadn’t made more of a deal about the gifts. Snape didn’t look too uncomfortable at the moment, but he also didn’t look as if he would know what to do with effusive thanks. But then, maybe he didn’t have much experience being on the receiving end of gratitude. Dumbledore probably thanked him for things, and maybe his Slytherins or the occasional professor, but those were mainly niceties, weren’t they? Most other people had understandable reasons to either hate or distrust him, not to thank him. When it came to real, personal gratitude, maybe Snape was uncomfortable with it for the simple reason that it was so foreign to him.

Well, the man might have to get used to it if he kept surprising Harry with these small moments of unexpected kindness.

Harry grinned and shook his head exasperatedly at the professor’s back as they made their way down the stairs. Snape wasn’t fooling him, he decided. Yes, he could be downright nasty when he disliked someone, and sure, he still didn’t know all the ins and outs of human emotions and social interactions, but deep down, Harry was realizing, the man had a heart. For some reason, he just didn’t want anyone to know it.