He was a grenade. A Harry-shaped grenade. If he exploded, he would take the entire Quidditch team with him. A moment of hysterical dark humor broke through his panicked mind at the thought that Slytherin might soon be unrivaled after all.

Nobody was touching him. They had tried, but he had screamed, trying to get them far away from him without having the words to say it. He knew they weren’t far enough away. Were something to happen, they were too close to be spared, and he clenched his teeth as the thought sent a shock wave of unreleased power through his body.

People were too close. Too close, and he didn’t know if anybody had gone for Snape. They had to have gone. They had to have understood who he needed.

They had to have. Right..?

He had stopped saying the professor’s name. He figured if they didn’t understand after he’d said it a few dozen times, then they never would. He needed to focus his energies on holding in the magic.

The world was far away and yet in sharp focus. He hadn’t known anything could feel like this. He was entirely disconnected from the activity surrounding him, though he knew that it was there. He rolled himself up into a tighter ball, hiding his face in his knees and clenching his fists tightly. The rough fabric of his jeans was like sandpaper on his forehead.

His senses…

His senses were on fire. It was almost like being under Snape’s mind melding potion again, only more. He felt every blade of grass rubbing against his cheek, felt the slight shifts and vibrations of the ground beneath him as feet and broomsticks hit the field. He smelled everything all at once. The sweetness of grass and the earthy dirt near his nose combined with the scents of sweat and fabric to overwhelm his senses. His nostrils felt rubbed raw, soothed only by the faintest whiff of rain. It was so slight, just enough that though not a cloud was in the sky, he somehow knew that it would rain tomorrow.

The ground vibrated with the pounding rhythm of running feet, and there was a subtle shift in the air around him. Snape didn’t have to speak for Harry to know he was there. His scent was so familiar, but mixed with something that smelled distinctly medicinal, and he wanted to reach out, but he was afraid of uncurling, of exposing his magic-filled hands.

“Potter,” his teacher said, his voice echoing too loudly in Harry’s sensitive ear. A hand touched his shoulder and he gasped and instinctively flinched away. He was trembling. How had he not noticed before how badly he was shaking? The hand on his shoulder was unrelenting where it grasped him. It didn’t let him shy away. He gritted his teeth as another hand pried his knees away from his head and smoothed back his fringe, and he knew Snape was looking at his scar.

He tried to ignore how the small bits of contact chafed at his skin, and he unclenched his teeth enough to gasp, “M-m-my magic. Not-not him.” The hand on his shoulder tightened, and Harry was frightened and comforted by the unpleasant pressure all at once. He wanted to yell at Snape to get away before he exploded, but he needed Snape to stay and figure out how to help him out of this mess. “H-help,” he stuttered, though that was probably unnecessary. It was fairly obvious that he needed some help here.

Snape yelled something, and Harry flinched again, not registering the words for how loud they were. The professor must have told the Gryffindors to leave, as the sounds and smells of people gathered around grew fainter. All except one - Ron, he somehow knew - but he sensed his friend moving farther away as well after a barked order from Snape. Harry could only imagine the mutinous face Ron would be wearing as he was forced to leave, and he felt a sense of relief that his best friend was finally in less danger of being caught in a Harry-grenade explosion.

“Harry,” Snape’s voice was softer, and he softened it even more after Harry shuddered. “Can you understand me?”

Harry jerked a nod and hissed at the friction that caused between his cheek and the grass. He listened intently, trying to focus on Snape’s voice while containing the magic in his hands. It was harder than it should be.

“I am going to need you to do something for me,” Snape said in a calm voice, like Harry writhing on the ground about to explode was nothing to fuss over. Harry wanted to shout at him for it, except that the calm helped. It soothed his nerves, the idea that Snape thought this situation was manageable, and he took a deep, slow, even breath. “You need channel the magic in your body toward your mind. Use it to Occlude. Build your mental wall and strengthen it. Understand?”

Harry grunted and tried to do as he said, but no sooner had he reached inside his mind, than he felt his hands shudder with a near-release of the magic. He cried out and shook his head. “C-can’t.” It was too hard while he was trying to not explode, like trying to juggle while keeping balance on a tightrope.

“You can,” said Snape in the same calm voice. “I have seen into your mind. I have seen you Occlude, seen you build a barrier around your thoughts. You have a natural talent. Use it. Abandon conscious thought of Occluding and rely upon your instincts.”

Harry shook his head and whined low in his throat. He was only just getting better at Occlumency! He didn’t know how to do it without thinking about it yet!

“Pull up the element of air,” said Snape. “Pull it up as you have in practice. Imagine the wind and follow where it leads. Siphon a small amount of magic to the task. Use the magic, rather than merely containing it.”

Air. He’d no sooner pulled up the image of a mental breeze than he felt a slight calming shift of magic flowing through his mind. He took a deep breath and latched onto it, feeling like a kite in the wind for a split second before he let go and simply was. He mingled with the magic and with the wind until he was certain it wasn’t going to blow him over. It took ages, but when his soft mental breeze finally laid the first brick in his mental wall, he nearly cried. It was easier after that to let go of conscious thought and simply feel his way through the exercise. Little by little, minute by agonizing minute, his mental wall was constructed and strengthened with memories and emotions that he hardly registered for the weightlessness of his mind. His hands were still burning with repressed magic, but as the minutes went by, he could begin to flex them, could feel a lightness in his fingers, like they were still full but no longer about to explode. That in turn made it easier to Occlude, for he could direct his conscious mind to the task now as well.

Snape must have sensed the change. His hand let up slightly where it still held onto his shoulder, and he softly directed, “Good. Keep working at it. Fortify your mental wall. Build deeper and higher.”

Harry did, and he thought he might cry in relief when his body stopped shaking from terror and explosive magic, and instead trembled from exhaustion. He was still filled with magic, but he was no longer in danger of exploding. He kept going, kept trying to siphon the magic into his mind. He felt confident enough to use a bit more now, channeling it into the fortification of his mental defenses, and then still more. It was working. He could feel it working as he gave himself over to it, allowing the power to flow through his mind, instinctively Occluding more powerfully than he ever had before, and a surge of joy swept through him-

His mental vision went white. He felt himself suddenly slipping, slipping, slipping as if off a cliff, and he let himself, too curious and too startled to do anything else. The white turned to dark, and cold, and-

Hatred ran through his veins. Pure, unadulterated hatred.

No. No, it wasn’t his hatred. It was someone else’s. He could feel it as if it were his own, but he could separate himself from it.

The traitor was not yet dead, but he would be. He could not withstand his lord. He had marked himself his. He belonged to Voldemort, not to Dumbledore, and not to the boy.

He knew where he was, knew he was in Voldemort’s mind, but it felt so…different. He felt an element of control, as if he could come or go as he pleased, that he had never before felt when assaulted by visions.

Loathing. Anger. Frustration.

He felt a surge of revulsion and pity, which he knew as his own, for did Voldemort ever think of anything beyond hate and revenge?

The traitor belonged to him.

In death, if not in life.

His blood ran cold as he saw a barrage of images in Voldemort’s dark mind, and he knew more of the wizard’s vindictiveness than he ever wanted to know. He grasped at something, anything, that would help him to withdraw from this cesspool of vengeance and horror. And to his pleasant surprise, it worked.

Maybe too well. With barely more than the wisp of a thought, he came to himself quite suddenly and winced as a frantic “Potter!” hit his ears in Snape’s voice. He groaned and drew his hands up to cover them.

“Open your eyes.” The man eased one of his hands away from his ear and shook him slightly from where he cradled him on the ground, and huh, when had that happened? His body was limp, which was rather pleasant in comparison to the tenseness that had preceded it, and he allowed himself a moment to breathe in the air that smelled like normal fresh air, and soak in the sounds that were at normal volume again. He was so exhausted, relaxed even, that he thought he might fall asleep right then and there if not for Snape’s annoying insistence to “Harry, open your eyes.”

He obeyed, because Snape was using his worried tone, which Harry sort of liked because it meant that he cared enough to worry over him. Not that he wanted to cause anyone worry. He squinted in the brightness of the midday sun, blinked, and looked up to meet Snape’s relieved black gaze.

The professor let out a sharp huff of breath. “Do you enjoy shaving years off my life?”

Harry licked his dry lips and swiveled his head around. He took in the peacefulness of the day, the clear sky with no cloud in sight, and did a double take at a cluster of students a moderate distance away, near the castle. The Quidditch team hadn’t gone inside, then, and he appreciated that they too were worried about him, even while he felt embarrassed that they’d had to witness his breakdown.

A hand at his cheek drew his eyes back to Snape’s. The professor frowned. “Are you with me?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Yeah. I… Why didn’t you tell me about your Dark Mark?”

Snape flinched and drew back, though he didn’t let go of Harry. “How…?” he asked faintly.

“I um…” he cleared his raspy throat and paused, not sure how this was going to go over. “I just Legilimized…You-Know-Who.”

Snape’s mouth opened in a shocked “o” before he promptly shut it. He was silent for so long that Harry thought he’d made him speechless, but then he asked, “You’re certain?”

“Yeah. Positive.”

“And you…share no current connection?” Snape’s eyes flicked to his scar.

Harry shook his head and winced at the soreness in his neck. He reached up to rub at it, and Snape helped him to sit up, then supported him with an arm around his back when his body proved too floppy to stay upright. “Yeah. I mean, no. No connection. I got out. I don’t think he even knew I was there.”

“Okay.” Snape nodded with his eyebrows lowered into his thinking-deep-thoughts face. “Okay. We’ll figure that out later.”

Harry wanted to ask him if that meant he’d still be around later, and that he would actually be willing to talk to him. But he didn’t want to hear the man say no again. Instead, he asked again about the Dark Mark. “That’s why you’re in pain, isn’t it? He’s more powerful now, so he can make it hurt all the time. I saw it in his mind. He’s trying to drive you mad, and he figures it will kill you slowly.”

Snape let out a long breath as if considering whether to lie before he visibly gave in and said, “yes.”

“That’s…that’s awful,” he understated and grimaced in sympathy.

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“What’s your personal project, then? Is it trying to figure out how to make him stop?”

“Of a sorts,” the man said cryptically. “Do you think you can stand?”

“Can I help? Now that I know what it is?”

“Can you stand?” Snape repeated firmly, and Harry knew he wasn’t going to get anything more out of him now. Which was okay, because despite his curiosity, he was getting sleepy. His eyes began to grow heavy, and it was becoming difficult to keep them open. Maybe a little nap…

“Oh, no, you don’t,” said Snape with a gentle shake. “I am taking you straight to Madame Pomfrey to get checked out, and then you can sleep to your heart’s desire.”

“And then I can help?” he yawned.

“And then we will talk.”

“’Kay,” murmured Harry with a smile. Talking was good. His eyes drifted closed.

Snape harrumphed. “It is obvious you are in no condition to walk. I can carry you or conjure a stretcher. Your choice.”

“Um…” Harry wanted to argue that he’d try to walk, but even his Gryffindor stubbornness couldn’t combat the way his body was utterly, completely zapped of energy. With a heavy blink of his eyes toward his teammates in the distance, he answered, “stretcher,” and a minute later felt himself lifted onto a firm expanse of flat fabric, which then hovered in the air and began to move.

Ron apparently took that as his permission to come barreling back, as he was alongside the moving stretcher in an instant. He gave his friend a once-over, and Harry could tell by Ron’s face and the finger trails in his hair that he had been beyond worried. Harry smiled to reassure him. “I’m okay now. Thanks for getting Snape. Er…” He shot a glance up at the man in question, “Professor Snape.”

Snape didn’t say anything, merely continued guiding Harry’s stretcher with his wand toward the entrance to the castle. They passed by his other teammates and Harry gave them a small wave to assure them he was fine. They looked concerned and a few of them waved back, but Snape’s presence must have convinced them to save any questions or conversation for later.

Ron wrinkled his nose when he looked at Snape, but thankfully he didn’t say anything stupid. “I can help Harry to the tower, professor,” he said with thinly disguised distrust.

“That will be unnecessary, Mr. Weasley,” sniffed Snape. “Mr. Potter is on his way to the Hospital Wing.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay, well I can take him there.”

“Again, that will be unnecessary,” said Snape dismissively.

Ron’s ears were turning red, and Harry asked, “But he can come with us, right professor?” before his friend could say or do anything regrettable.

Snape wrinkled his own nose, though he was far more subtle than Ron had been about it, and said, “If he must.”

Harry tried to tell Ron with his tired eyes that it was all going to be okay, but Ron was too busy casting suspicious glances at the professor and sticking as close to Harry’s other side as he could. Which really wasn’t helpful. The feeling of being boxed in made Harry all the more eager to close his eyes again. He sighed. He really should have confided in Ron more about the events of this summer, because this was shaping up to be a very long, very awkward walk through the castle. Well, unless he fell asleep…

His stretcher jostled a bit, and he opened his eyes to glare at Snape, but the professor kept right on walking to the Hospital Wing.

Madame Pomfrey didn’t even have the courtesy to act surprised that he was back. “You can take him to the first bed, Professor Snape,” she said after looking him up and down and apparently deciding he wasn’t about to die. “What seems to be amiss?”

“Magical exhaustion,” said Snape as he practically lifted Harry onto the bed, “accompanied by shock and…” he looked critically over Harry and waved a hand over him. “A full diagnostic might be in order.”

Harry scrunched up his face. “I’m fine. Jus’ need a nap,” he said around a yawn. He was so tired, he wasn’t even much worried about nightmares. Surely he’d sleep in pleasant darkness until next week.

“Nonetheless,” Snape said simply with crossed arms.

Pomfrey shifted her attention to Ron. “Are you here as patient or spectator, Mr. Weasley?”

“Um.” Ron shuffled his feet. “Spectator?”

“Then you can wait outside,” instructed the mediwitch as she came closer to Harry and pulled out her wand.

Ron began to argue, “I want to stay-” at the same time Harry insisted, “I don’t mind-” but they were interrupted by Snape’s, “He can stay, Madame Pomfrey,” which stopped both their protests. Ron stared at Snape incredulously.

Pomfrey put her hands on her hips, though Harry thought she looked more amused than upset. “You are aware that this is my domain, professor?”

“Of course,” Snape nodded his head deferentially. “As you are perfectly aware that the headmaster has given me complete authority to approve medical decisions for Mr. Potter. I do believe that encompasses not only treatment, but seemingly inconsequential details such as approved visitors.”

Harry stared incredulously at Snape. “When did Dumbledore do that?” he asked but was ignored. And why was Snape using it to argue for Ron to stay? He didn’t even like Ron.

“Very well,” Pomfrey tutted as she gave in. “Why don’t you make yourself useful, Mr. Weasley, and retrieve a spare blanket for your friend? There, against the wall.”

Ron was sneaking long glances at Snape but hurried to obey.

Harry lay still, flat on his back on the bed, while she hovered over him and waved her wand in a figure eight over his body a couple times. She muttered a few spells that Harry didn’t recognize, though he figured them for diagnostic spells, and then she hummed and clucked a few times, which made him nervous.

“Have you been sleeping, dear?” she asked absently and tacked on, “And eating properly?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately, not making eye contact with Snape.

She made a “hmm” sound, which he didn’t like, and shone a light from the end of her wand at his eyes, directing him to look every which way. “Depression is nothing to be ashamed of, dear. You have been through a trying ordeal-”

“I’m not depressed!” Harry objected.

She gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm and soothed, “Like I said, there is no shame in consulting a Mind Healer.”

“I don’t need a Mind Healer!” he snapped and tried to sit up, which was difficult with how his arms felt like tree trunks and his legs felt like noodles. Snape’s hand easily shoved him back onto his pillow, and Harry didn’t dare look at the man or he’d give away his embarrassment. He was rethinking inviting Ron to stay too, though his friend looked fairly distracted trying decide where to set down the blanket in his hands. He settled on laying it on a chair, then awkwardly shifted from one leg to another, obviously wary of Professor Snape’s presence on the other side of Harry’s bed.

“What about my magic?” Harry redirected the conversation. “I didn’t, um, damage it or anything?”

Pomfrey gave him another reassuring pat on the arm. “Professor Snape was right about that, dear, just a bit of magical exhaustion. Some rest and it’ll be fine.”

Harry sank into the mattress in relief.

“It is your physical health that concerns me,” Pomfrey tsked. “You’d best stay here tonight so we can spread out some restorative potions.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered.

“I know you’ve been through an ordeal,” she said placating. “It’s been the better part of a week, so if you feel you need a dose of potion to sleep tonight, you let me know, alright?”

He hoped his eagerness wasn’t obvious as he nodded. He truly thought he might be able to manage without anything today, he was so exhausted, but if he could talk her into some doses for the rest of the week…

At the thought, he felt like he could breathe easier.

“Uh,” Ron spoke up, “I almost forgot, I’m out too. Don’t suppose I could have some more?” he asked with what was supposed to be a sneaky glance at Harry, and Harry nearly groaned. Could Ron be any more obvious? In front of Snape, who rarely missed a thing? He glanced at the professor out of the corner of his eye, and sure enough, while Madame Pomfrey agreed to the request, Snape was glancing suspiciously between the two boys.

Harry closed his eyes. His life was over. In about two seconds, Snape would put two and two together, realize he’d had Ron sneak potion for him, and in the best case scenario, give him detentions for the rest of the year. And then he’d never see another dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion again. Snape would see to it.

The only thing that made him feel better was that he was so tired, he didn’t have to dwell on it for more than the minute or two it would take for him to fall asleep.

Pomfrey nudged him. “Open up. Potion first, then you can sleep.”

He obediently drank down the potion, barely tasting whatever it was, and cracked his eyes as he felt his shoe being pulled off. He watched through heavy lidded eyes as Snape removed the other one and pulled a blanket over him. Their eyes met for a moment, and Snape gave his arm a reassuring tap, then motioned Pomfrey toward her office to talk.

“You’ll be back?” Harry murmured.

“Later,” Snape turned around to promise. “I have some matters to attend to, but I’ll be back later.”

“’Kay,” he said sleepily and heard the adults close the curtain around his bed and walk away.

He’d almost forgotten Ron was still there until he heard the sound of a chair being moved and his friend saying, “Harry? You still awake?”

“Mmhmm.”

“What Snape and Pomfrey said, about your magic…”

Harry forced his eyes to open a crack. “Yeah?”

“Is that what happened out there? It went wonky or something?”

“Um…yeah?” he murmured. “Kinda…complicated. Tell you later?”

Ron nodded, biting his lip.

“Wha’s wrong?” Harry prodded around another yawn.

“I think you might have hit Snape with something.”

Harry blinked, and tried really hard to keep his eyes open.

“I mean, you’re kind of out of it, so maybe you didn’t notice how he was acting, I mean, how he was looking at you just now, like…or just now, when he… It’s only, he was acting like…like a…” Ron looked around as if checking for eavesdroppers, leaned forward, and whispered, “like a dad.”

Tired or no, Harry burst out laughing.

“I’m serious!” Ron insisted. “He’s not right, and it’s way creepy! I think you might have cast some sort of spell on him! Like a paternal spell or an opposite personality curse. Those exist, right?”

Harry giggled so hard that he had to wipe away a tear. He didn’t even know why it was so funny. He blamed his tired mind and the idea of what Snape might really be like as a dad. He couldn’t quite picture it, but he thought the man might not be too incredibly bad at it if he could only get his head out of his-

“All I’m trying to say is, are you sure you should sleep yet? Maybe you should, you know, reverse the spell first?”

Harry’s giggles were fading but he grinned. “I didn’t curse him, Ron.”

Ron looked skeptically at the curtains, as if he could see through them into Pomfrey’s office, where she was no doubt speaking with Snape.

“I’ve got,” Harry yawned, “a lot to tell you ‘bout this summer. Later. Promise. Yeah?”

Ron still was skeptical, but his features softened. “Yeah. Go ahead and sleep. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

He thought he murmured “thanks” but couldn’t be positive, for sleep claimed him almost immediately.

He dreamed.

The nightmares stayed away for once, and he dreamed. He dreamed of soft pillows and of being held. He dreamed of snow, and of flying on his broom, and of chocolate and of magical hugs. And as he dreamed, it shifted to memory. The memory of a dream. Or a dream of a memory. Whatever. All he knew was that it was real, these moments that he remembered of Snape caring for him and talking to him and comforting him when he was scared.

They were soothing dreams, soothing memories, and he didn’t want them to end.

And yet, it was glorious, this feeling of lightness that came with waking up slowly from peaceful dreams to the soft sounds of knowing that someone else was at his bedside. He could hear the barest of sounds - breathing, the turning of a page, the faint scratch of a shifting body on the seat of a chair. All he’d known over the past several nights was the quick jolt of terror-fueled wakefulness. He nestled further into his covers, holding on to the last threads of peaceful sleep for as long as possible.

The breathing paused and then started again, and that disruption drew him closer to alertness. Finally, he blinked his eyes open into the dim room. He was in a bed. The Hospital Wing, he remembered as he looked around at his half-drawn curtains and focused on Professor Snape reading a book in a bedside chair.

Unnoticed, he watched the professor for several seconds. He could see even more clearly now that Snape’s guard was down, the lines etched into his face that betrayed the constant pain. He was tired, and Harry wondered when the man had last had a decent night’s sleep.

He had only seen images in Voldemort’s mind, but he knew what they meant. He knew that Voldemort had been making Snape’s Dark Mark burn constantly ever since he’d rescued Harry. Two weeks of constant, burning pain. It must be pure torture. It was torture. Honestly, Harry was impressed Snape hadn’t murdered any students yet.

He swallowed, and he was unprepared for how dry his throat was, as it caused a coughing fit. He rose to his elbows and tried to stop, and he felt a glass of water press into his hand. He gratefully shifted his weight to one arm and drank greedily from the glass. The cool water felt soothing on his parched throat.

As soon as it was empty, a hand plucked the glass from his hands and another hand felt his forehead.

“I’m fine,” he said automatically.

“Potion,” was Snape’s response. He held up a vial and Harry obediently drank it, shuddering at the vile taste. He didn’t even care to ask what it was, so much else was on his mind. Only, he couldn’t decide where to begin. He started with the easy questions.

“Where’s Ron?” he rasped and cleared his throat.

“In bed, if he knows what’s good for him,” answered Snape. “He stayed until curfew. As did Miss Granger, when she found out what happened. They will return in the morning.”

He licked his lips. “What time is it?”

“Near midnight. Your body needed the rest.”

He nodded. “Thanks for helping me out there. I didn’t know what to do…” he shuddered.

Snape waved off his thanks and eyed him critically. He must have been reassured by what he saw, for he settled back into the chair. “I would have arrived sooner if I’d known. I was in my personal quarters at the time. Fortunately, your classmates encountered Professor Sinistra, who alerted me of the summons.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Snape wrinkled his brow. “What for?”

“For disturbing you,” Harry said in a tone that said obviously. “It’s Saturday. Your day off.”

Snape stared. “You are welcome to summon me whenever you have need. I believe I already told you that.”

“Yeah…” Harry looked away. He might have told him that, and Harry knew he meant it, but he wasn’t positive he’d really wanted Harry to have to take him up on it.

His emotions must have been plain on his face. “I left the ring with you for a reason, Potter,” Snape said slowly, as if talking to a child. “You may call me anytime you have need.”

Harry clapped a hand to his forehead and moaned, “The ring! I forgot about the ring! Professor, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about using it out there-”

Snape suddenly snapped, “For Merlin's sake, stop apologizing!” which surprised Harry into silence. The man got up from his chair and began to pace. “You do it entirely too much, and very often for things that are not in the least your fault. Do you have any idea how maddening it is to hear you apologize to me for things entirely outside your control, or for things that you have a completely justified excuse for doing or not doing, while I know full well that I am currently committing wrongs against you?” he ranted. His eyes were jet black and he waved his hands in a frustrated gesture. “And I know that you know that. You are quite intelligent. Perhaps more intelligent than I am in certain respects, and you know me well enough to know how rare an admission that is coming from me! I keep making mistakes with you, and you know that I do, so why do you persist in apologizing to me instead of condemning me?”

Harry didn’t realize Snape wanted a response until a few seconds of silence had passed. He chewed his lip, not sure how to respond. He settled on, “Do you want me to condemn you?”

“Yes!” ground out Snape.

“Okay,” Harry shrugged and threw caution to the wind. “You’re being an idiot.” Snape looked taken aback, as if he hadn’t truly thought Harry would accept the invitation to rip into him, and Harry took advantage of the moment to pour out everything he’d been keeping bottled up over the past two weeks. “You’re the one who told me I had to start trusting adults more, and I told you why I can’t, that they always leave or let me down, and then what’s the first thing you do? Leave and let me down!” He sat up and could practically feel his eyes flashing as he got into it. It was exhilarating, finally giving vent to his feelings. “You’re an idiot and a hypocrite and a stubborn arse! We were good, things between us were good, and then you go and pretend like it never happened, but it did happen! It happened, and you can’t erase it. I like you and I want you to teach me, and I think you want to teach me too, and you know you’re the best person for the job! So you’re an idiot for pulling away just because it’s your MO. So what if it’s all you know how to do? You’re at a school - so learn a new skill!”

The professor stayed silent, letting him vent. Harry took a deep breath, thinking if there was anything else to add, but he thought that about covered it. He felt calmer with that off his chest, and he cocked his head. “How’s that? Do you feel better now that I yelled at you?”

Snape quirked his lips. “Yes, actually. You?

Harry thought for a moment. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good,” he said, and Harry thought they must be the strangest two people on the planet, because they’d just chewed each other out, and apparently that’s all it took to break the ice these days.

“You’re right,” Snape admitted gravely. His hands were clasped together in his lap, and Harry had an image of a penitent younger Snape waiting for the headmaster to decide punishment for some infraction. “It only took me a few days to realize I’d made a mistake in removing myself as your teacher. You had no one, something Dumbledore took great pains to remind me. Even he, who may wish to assist you, could not be available as much as you need. He has not had a spare moment, between the Order, and the war, and all that he must see to.” Snape cleared his throat. “And I began to think…perhaps even with all my failings, I could at least be better than no one. But by then…” He hesitated.

“The Mark,” Harry filled in, guessing. “It was getting worse.”

“Yes.” Snape heaved a resigned sigh. “I will be of no use to you in learning the mental arts while my attention is diverted to keeping myself both alive and sane.”

“I can help,” Harry said quietly. “I meant it before. I want to help.”

Shape shook his head. “There is nothing you can do.”

“It’s because of You-Know-Who’s increased power, right?” Harry pressed. “He couldn’t keep it up this long before, when he was just a normal wizard, could he? If I try to Legilimize him again, and take away more of his powers-”

“And now you see another one of my reasons for not wanting to involve you!” scowled Snape. “That is not an option. I told you how dangerous such an endeavor can be.”

He leaned forward, excited. “Yeah, but that was before I did it! I already Legilimized him today! All I have to do is try it again and-”

“No,” barked Snape with a glare to match.

“Fine.” Harry crossed his arms. “A compromise. We go to Dumbledore. Let me make my case, and we’ll let him decide if he thinks I can do it.” Snape kept right on glaring, and Harry stared back until the man looked about ready to start growling, and he thought it best to change the subject. “What did you mean about the headmaster letting you make medical decisions for me?”

It was an effective transition, even if Snape’s look said his decision on the previous matter was unchanged. Still, he answered frankly, “You have no family to speak of and the headmaster is frequently unavailable. He thought it best to officially entrust a member of the staff with such authority. I am one of the few people aware of your unique needs. Hence…” he gestured to himself.

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yes,” Snape said immediately. “Especially now that I can see you’ve gone and turned yourself into a potions addict.” At that, Harry blanched and stuttered out a denial, but Snape set his jaw and pointed a finger straight at him. “Acute observation to physical symptoms of multi-day withdrawal is not an area in which your intelligence exceeds mine!”

Harry snapped his jaw shut and looked down in shame. “I only took it for a week,” he mumbled.

“A week and a half,” Snape corrected. “And probably on a higher dose for half that time.”

“I feel fine now,” he protested.

“Because I gave you a temporary symptom-suppressing potion to aid in easing your withdrawal,” countered Snape.

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.” Snape at least sounded relieved when he said, “It obviously hasn’t gone too far yet. You are still in the beginning stages of over-reliance. However, you may not have lost control over your magic at all today, had you been in possession of all your faculties. I will therefore from now on be overseeing any and all potions that you have access to. You will be in possession of only one vial at any given time, and you will be consuming them in my presence.”

“What! But-”

“Oh, please do argue,” interrupted Snape dryly. “I hardly have a reputation of bending to the whims of my students.”

He faltered but protested, “What about bedtime? I can’t go down to your office, drink potion, and make it to my dorm in ten seconds!”

“We will find alternative ways to deal with your nighttime ailments. And should you necessitate a bedtime draft, I will personally deliver it to your bedside.”

Harry gaped, torn between worry at what was meant by “alternative ways” and being appalled at the thought of his dorm mates’ reactions to Snape in their bedroom. “You can’t-”

“I can and I will.” He shut down Harry’s next argument with a stern look. “As you have chosen to apply your aptitude for cunning to a less than ideal pursuit, I will also be informed by Madame Pomfrey of any and all potions being given to your friends and dorm mates. You do not want to know what will happen if you attempt to circumvent these safeguards.”

Harry looked away, trying to hide his rapid blinking. He felt too much all of a sudden. Hopeless. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Afraid. He had always had nightmares, but they became worse every year. How could he face them every single night? Even when he’d known he couldn’t keep up his nightly doses, he’d hoped he could look forward to the occasional dreamless night. And he really didn’t like his weaknesses being out on open display in front of Snape. He felt naked and exposed.

He sensed Snape stand, and his hand rested on the bed next to Harry. “I am not…unaware of the trials you have faced over the past year alone,” Snape said quietly. “The Dark Lord has attacked you multiple times. Tricked you, possessed you, kidnapped you, tortured you, murdered people close to you.”

Harry swallowed hard and stared at the wall.

“You have shown yourself able to be astute and cautious in the past. I therefore know that you are not unaware of the danger you have been courting. I do not fault you for finally succumbing to the temptation to block it all out with a potion, addictive or no. I…I have done so myself.” Snape’s eyes were averted when Harry glanced over at that admission. “I do not fault you,” he repeated. “I fault myself.”

Harry frowned in confusion. “Why-”

“Because I knew,” Snape said in a self-berating tone. “I knew that you would have a difficult time adjusting in the aftermath, and I did nothing, assuming that someone, anyone else would aid you. I…It is I who should apologize,” he said stiffly.

Harry couldn’t help but notice how, despite Snape’s discomfort, the words came easier than the first time they’d exchanged apologies to each other. He looked down to hide a small smile at the thought that Snape was getting better at this. “So…” he swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Does all this mean you’re going to start talking to me again?”

Snape looked chagrined as he answered, “My ‘avoidy’ approach does not appear to have been very effective, does it?”

That drew another small smile from Harry. “No. It was a sucky approach.” He looked up and pointed a finger. “And that one is a word! Look it up in the dictionary.”

Snape huffed a laugh and reached out to give Harry a gentle shove back onto the mattress. “Time to rest. You may not feel tired, but your magical core is still exhausted from today’s strain. You will feel it tomorrow if you do not sleep as much as possible tonight.”

Harry nodded obediently. “You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay,” Snape answered softly. He settled into his chair and pulled out his book, dimming the light for Harry but hovering a light in front of his book to read by. It illuminated Snape’s face, and Harry watched him for a long time before drifting off to sleep. He marveled that he could feel so raw and nervous and happy at the same time. Things might get rough, what with the nightmares and Snape’s new commitment to monitoring Harry’s every move near potions…but he thought that maybe things would be better, too.

He was lulled by the sound of turning pages and fascinated by the man’s concentration to his task. Especially when the flickers of pain crossed his face, though he was obviously trying to keep the pain from showing. Once more, Harry was awed by Snape’s courage as well as by his ability to hide certain aspects of himself when he wished to. He had almost forgotten while they talked that Snape’s arm was practically being burned from the inside out, and yet the man had managed to pretend the entire time as if he weren’t in pain.

He was going to help, he decided. He only had to get Dumbledore on his side, and then he was going to figure out how to alleviate Snape’s pain.

That decided, he smiled as he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of warm blankets and comforting arms and humming and the promise of snow.