He couldn’t move. The chains were too tight. He twisted, trying to tell somebody, but his words died in his throat. Bellatrix Lestrange’s face hovered above him, too close, and he flinched.

“Wittle baby Potter,” she laughed.

He struggled, but the chains- No, they weren’t chains. They were arms. Nott’s arms! He gasped, trying to catch his breath as they constricted around him. He twisted, trying to get away from the larger man, but it was no use.

“Crucio!” he heard and cowered, waiting for the wave of pain to hit, but it didn’t.

“Why would it hurt?” Voldemort smiled, a dark, hungry smile, from where he stood next to Bellatrix. “We have not yet begun. You will know when we’ve begun,” he laughed, and a chorus of Death Eaters joined in.

“B-begun what?” he asked, but Voldemort and his Death Eaters were gone. It was dark. He was alone. Waiting. He tried to remember what he was waiting for, but he couldn’t remember, couldn’t think.

“No surprise there,” came Vernon’s voice, and Harry flinched into the darkness, listening for the direction of the voice. “Stupid as his father, that one. Not worth a lick. Should’ve tossed him out when we had the chance.”

Harry scowled, determined not to cower before his uncle, even if he couldn’t be seen through the darkness.

He no longer liked the dark. Not that he’d ever liked darkness, exactly, but he’d never been afraid of it either. Long days in his cupboard, he’d found the darkness a respite from what awaited him outside the locked door. The spiders didn’t bother him. But now, after the cell, after Voldemort, after his potion… He cursed Voldemort for making him afraid of the dark.

“Don’t be a coward,” came Snape’s voice, and Harry raised his chin hopefully at the familiar voice before the words registered and his stomach dropped.

“I’m not a coward,” he argued pitifully. Was he a coward?

Snape snorted. “Afraid of the dark. Afraid of nightmares. Are you afraid of the boogeyman, Potter?”

“I’m not,” he protested weakly, but Snape went on.

“You were afraid of me for years, and you still are, aren’t you?” he scoffed. “Afraid of losing me, as if I were yours to lose.”

“No-”

“Tell the truth, boy,” came Vernon’s voice again, and he flinched.

“Afraid of your own family,” mocked Snape. “Is there anything you aren’t afraid of?”

Harry struggled against the chains…no, arms…no, ropes. They started to shake. Not knowing what held him increased his frustration, his fear. “I’m a Gryffindor,” he said feebly through choking gasps. “I’m brave.”

Snape snorted in derision.

“Yeah, Harry. You’re brave,” said Ron, and Harry drew in a deep breath. He was. He was afraid, but he was brave too. He could be both. He could. The chains shook him again, as Ron added, “Harry, wake up.”

“Choose,” barked Snape. “Afraid or brave? Afraid or brave?”

“Both,” he gasped. “I’m both.”

“Both what?” came Ron’s voice again. “Wake up. It’s a dream.”

“Afraid of dreams,” scoffed Snape.

“Am not!” Harry yelled even though he was.

The chains shook him sharply and he opened his eyes with a startled gasp. He jerked and stared confusedly at Ron’s face, lit up by the glow of a wand, before he started struggling anew.

“Hold it- Wait, stop!” rasped Ron, and he stilled. Ron slowly, tentatively reached behind him, and looking down, Harry saw that he was in bed and his blanket was twisted around his torso. Ron began undoing it. “You’re tangled,” said his friend gently, as if he were cornering a wild animal. “I’ll just…like so…aaaand you can move.”

He sat back and settled on the foot of the bed while Harry gingering scooted so that he could sit up against the headboard. He took a deep breath, and oh did that feel nice. For several long moments, he simply breathed in and out, the remnants of his dream leaving his mind, but his mess of emotions slower to fade.

“Harry…” Ron bit his lip and gave him a probing gaze. “Are- are you alright? No, I mean it!” he cut off Harry’s automatic response. “You always say you are, but Hermione and I aren’t idiots, you know. You’ve been jumpy ever since school started, and you’re tired and rubbing your head all the time, and this isn’t the first time I woke you from a nightmare, and I thought Hermione was crazy when she said you weren’t eating much, but then I watched you yesterday, and she was right, and…” He trailed off, then said stubbornly, “Just…don’t lie. If you’re gonna lie, don’t bother answering.”

Harry nervously looked around at his bed hangings, and Ron gestured to his wand. “They can’t hear. I put up silencing charms,” he explained, and Harry sighed. He’d forgotten to put up his own silencing charms again. He rubbed his eyes and looked anywhere but at Ron, and after a few seconds, his friend sighed and muttered, “Fine, okay. Whatever,” and shifted to the side of the bed.

“I don’t know,” said Harry quickly, to stop Ron from leaving, and the redhead paused, watching him. “I- I mean, I’m okay, I really am, because I’m here, with you guys, and I’m alive, which is huge, and Snape’s teaching me again, which is also huge, and I’m happy to be back. But- but-” he swallowed hard, and next thing he knew, everything poured out in a rush: “I’m also not okay because I keep seeing…them, every time I close my eyes. I can’t get their voices out of my head, that awful laugh that Bellatrix Lestrange…every time she…and Nott’s angry eyes, and the way Voldemort looked when he…all smug and evil…and, and so much happened, Ron. So much. Not just Voldemort. And now I’m here and I’m supposed to pretend it didn’t happen? And I think I’m pretty good at it, until I go to sleep, and then I’m not.”

He bit his lip to stop it from trembling, but there were too many words in his head, so he kept going. “I’m scared that he’s going to capture me again, but at the same time I’m not scared at all, only angry, and I want to shake my fist at him for even trying, because I’d fight, Ron. I’d fight tooth and nail. I’d never cower or roll over. But what if fighting makes it worse, or what if the fighting never ends, or what if people get hurt in the crossfire? And now Snape is in the crossfire, and what if he dies because I put him there? He doesn’t seem to blame me but he should. You all should, because you were attacked because of me, Ron. Because you’re friends with me! Ginny was hit by something! What if she’d died or been seriously hurt? You almost died, and I couldn’t…if you…I couldn’t-” He couldn’t go on, not unless he wanted to start crying.

He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until a hand on his shoulder made him flinch. He was glad that Ron wasn’t deterred by the flinch, just moved closer to put an arm around him, and the contact was soothing. He should feel embarrassed, but this was Ron. They’d already seen each other at their worst, most embarrassing moments. He rested his head on Ron’s shoulder, soaking in the comfort that his friend offered, all the more precious because such displays were rare between them.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Harry steadied his breathing, then Ron said, “I’m alive ‘cause you figured out how to save me.”

Harry lifted his head a bit. “And S-”

“And Snape. I know.” Harry could practically feel Ron rolling his eyes. “Point is, it wasn’t your fault some psycho murderers went after me, but then it was you who figured out how to get me out. So quit being stupid.”

“Are you-” Harry huffed a laugh as he pulled away from Ron. “You’re trying to make me feel better by calling me stupid?”

“Well, it’s true,” said Ron. “You’re being stupid. I bet if you stop, you’ll feel better.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Ron smiled back and then asked seriously, “Have you told Madame Pomfrey? About the nightmares? Maybe she’d give you more potion or something. She won’t give me anymore,” he complained. “Being all stingy. But you went through worse, so maybe…”

“No,” Harry shook his head, not meeting Ron’s eyes. He was glad his friends didn’t know all about the Dreamless Sleep debacle, and he’d rather keep it that way. “She’d just make me see a Mind Healer or something.”

Ron pulled a face.

“Exactly,” Harry agreed.

“Maybe…um, you should ask…” Ron swallowed and couldn’t hide the sour look on his face when he mumbled, “you know…S-Snape.”

Harry stared, and his lips quirked up in a smile. “How much did it hurt to say that?”

Ron slumped and let out a whoosh of air. “So much.”

He let out a laugh. “Do you mean it? You really think I ought to go to Snape with this?”

Ron shrugged with one shoulder. “No. Yes. I dunno. He’s a git, but I guess I don’t think he’ll kill you under Dumbledore’s watch. So long as he’s playing at being all nice and helpful, why not make him work for it and actually fix something?” He waved at Harry’s head, and Harry pulled a face.

“Way to treat me like a head case,” he griped, but he didn’t mean it. It helped, knowing his friends cared, even if he didn’t appreciate knowing they were talking about him behind his back.

He didn’t add that he didn’t want Snape to treat him like a head case either. It had been a week since they’d started Occlumency lessons again - two per week, they’d decided - and the first two lessons had gone really, really well. Snape had asked about his nightmares both times and had seemed almost proud of Harry for managing fine without the Dreamless Sleep Potion. He liked the feeling of Snape being proud of him. He didn’t want to mess it up with the truth. He sighed. “I’ve only been back a few weeks. It’ll get better soon, I swear. And- and if not, then I’ll…well, I’ll think about it. Yeah?”

Ron nodded slowly, like he doubted Harry really would ask for help but wasn’t going to harp on it. Not yet, anyway. Or maybe he would delegate that to Hermione. She was better at pestering him to do things. Ron preferred to sit back and suggest flying as the best therapy for any variety of ills. “It’s almost morning,” he said instead. “Want to get ready and head to the common room? We can beat the rest to breakfast.”

Harry nodded back and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, fully preparing to face the day. It’s not like he could go back to sleep anyway.

It was a typical Tuesday. His first and last classes of the day - Charms and Herbology - were fairly dull. He only wished DADA had been dull as well.

“Nicely done, Mr. Potter!” Brooks beamed after he demonstrated his Patronus Charm for the class, again. He smiled, or he tried to anyway, on his way back to his desk. One or two Slytherins were scowling at him, and several students of both houses wore smirks, and he knew he’d better nip Brooks’s blooming favoritism in the bud if he wanted any peace in Defense this year.

“Did everyone see how he held his wand? Excellent form. And a fully corporeal Patronus! Many grown wizards can’t even manage that, but if you practice, you may someday come close!”

On second thought, it might already be too late. He sank in his chair, cheeks red as a few snickers reached his ears. Unfortunately, Brooks had caught on to the fact that, despite the few snickers and scowls that Harry got for his trouble, he still commanded more respect than the professor did. Nobody passed notes or disrupted the class while Harry was up front - even Malfoy, surprisingly - and so Brooks began pulling him up more and more often. Harry hated it. The end of class couldn’t come soon enough, and he bolted out the door as quickly as he could, pretending not to hear Brooks call out his name.

So all in all, a typical Tuesday, but also an exhausting Tuesday. Harry and his friends joked around in between classes, and he was pretty sure even Ron thought his heart was in it. Hermione still watched him too closely, but she didn’t pester him, so he considered that a win. He made as much effort to eat plenty at mealtimes as he did to ignore his near-constant headache, and by the end of the day she was genuinely smiling in his direction. It was all so tiring that even though Occlumency required a lot of effort, he was glad that evening when the time for his lesson rolled around. So much so that he arrived a full ten minutes early.

“Wand out and on the desk,” directed Snape without preamble.

Harry closed the door and smiled. “Hello to you too.”

Snape waved his hand in the air as if to say that hello was implied. “Today we will work on guarding your mind from external distraction.”

“Again?” Harry made his way to the front of the classroom and deposited his wand on the professor’s desk. He knew it was so that he could get used to being defenseless, but he thought it was kind of silly to give up his wand. It’s not like he was going to use it against Snape if he wasn’t supposed to.

“Yes, again. One can only progress so far in the mental arts by clearing one’s mind. Other skills must also be cultivated. Focus. Inner calm. Endurance. And so on. You have many skills and attributes that will serve you well, but you still lack a sufficient level of focus.”

“Inner calm sounds more fun to work on,” he observed with a raised eyebrow. “Light some candles, play some music, zone out a bit… Can I do that instead?”

Snape harrumphed. “Not quite the type of inner calm that shall serve you well when faced with mental invasion. But by all means, light as many candles as you wish, so long as you do it on your own time.”

“Maybe you should burn some candles too,” Harry suggested in an overly innocent tone. “Might help you relax.”

He smiled when Snape fixed him with a long-suffering stare and said, “Sit.”

Harry sat, and for the next hour and a half, he closed his eyes and cleared and fortified his mind while Snape’s wand threw at him a variety of distractions - voices chattering, then yelling at him; a strong wind that almost blew him off his chair; the clawing and snarling of a wild animal. He did fairly well up until the last one, when he couldn’t help opening his eyes wide. His heart pounded at the thought of being torn apart by a lion or tiger, even though he knew that it wasn’t real, and it completely broke his concentration. Snape made him try that one over and over, wanting him to get to point where he could effectively ignore it.

“Don’t see why I should,” he complained. “It’s not like I’d ignore something attacking me. If I did that for real, I’d be dead!”

“Yes,” agreed Snape, “but you must be able to see to the danger while simultaneously maintaining your shields. Maintaining it here amidst distraction is the first step. Once you have mastered that, we will graduate to multitasking and you can practice defending yourself against attack lions to your heart’s content.”

He tried his best to do as Snape said, because he’d much rather get on to learning how to defeat the danger than practicing how to ignore it. He thought he’d done pretty well, too, if not perfectly, for when they wrapped up, Snape had that satisfied look on his face that Harry had already started looking forward to seeing at the end of each lesson.

“Remember to practice clearing your mind every night before sleep,” Snape instructed. “At least once per day, also work on doing so in the midst of distraction. In your common room, perhaps. Or while listening to some of that obnoxious music your friends listen to.”

Harry nodded. “Or in class,” he said in mock seriousness.

“You will not use Occlumency as an excuse to not pay attention in class,” clipped Snape, and Harry grinned at how easy the man was to rile up.

He stood and stretched, then eyed the cauldron and a few potions vials on Snape’s desk. “D’you need help?”

Snape made his way back to desk. “No. I finished earlier.”

“Oh.” He stood awkwardly. He didn’t want to go, but he didn’t want to admit he didn’t want to go. Snape was too perceptive. Sooner or later he’d figure out that Harry was avoiding the Gryffindor common room because he was tired of pretending everything was fine in front of his friends, and avoiding his bedroom because he was tired of being afraid what would happen when he closed his eyes. Working with Snape was nice, because the professor let him set the pace. He didn’t seem to mind lately if Harry was in a talkative mood, and he also didn’t seem to mind if Harry simply wanted to be silent with his own thoughts for an hour or so. This would have been a silent night, he knew. His headache was worse, and he’d have a harder time hiding it if they kept on talking.

“You do realize that you are under no obligation to assist me?” said Snape, his head cocked to study Harry. “This is not an exchange of services. I require nothing in return for teaching you Occlumency.”

“Yeah. Of course. Yeah, I know. I just…” He shrugged. “It’s nice here. Calm. I like it.”

Snape smirked. “Gryffindor Tower is not the epitome of calm? I am truly shocked.”

Harry smiled as he made his way to the desk and pocketed his wand. “No. Uh…I mean, it’s calm after most people go to bed. But yeah…otherwise not so much.” He made no move to leave, even though he knew he should, and Snape fixed him with a probing stare. “You sure you don’t need any help?” He held in a cringe, hoping he didn’t sound as pathetic as he thought he did.

If he did sound pathetic, Snape’s face didn’t betray it. The professor merely waved a hand at the potions vials on his desk. “If you are so desperate to be useful, you may return these to their proper places. I trust you know where each one goes?”

Harry nodded eagerly and gathered up a few vials. It was only on his second trip into Snape’s private stores that his eyes were unavoidably drawn to the unassuming jar on the middle shelf that seemed to have developed a life of its own. He was getting used to the way his heart beat faster when he saw it, and to the images in his mind of simply pocketing it - it would be so easy - and brewing up the end to his nightmare-infested nights and tired, headache-filled days. Just one jar of adder’s fork, and he could brew up enough Dreamless Sleep Potion to last him at least two months. He knew - he had double checked the recipe.

He bit his lip and shook his head. No. Stealing from Snape…he couldn’t recover from that. Well, unless the man never found out…

He liked this, the way things were going, with Snape being proud of him for being strong and seemingly nightmare-free. He didn’t want Snape to find out that Harry was a head case who couldn’t get over the summer, who had developed a fear of the dark and jumped at loud noises. Snape had been through far worse, and he certainly didn’t stand around flinching or complaining about nightmares. He’d only tell Pomfrey, and they’d send him to a Mind Healer, and everybody would know that Harry Potter was broken.

He didn’t realize he had reached out to touch the bottle until he heard Snape calling for him from the other room, asking if he’d gotten lost. He jumped and fumbled for the jar as it toppled off the shelf, letting out a breath as he kept it from breaking. And…now it was in his hands. He breathed out in a whoosh, and in the next second, almost without thinking about it, the jar was secure in his pocket, hidden by the fabric of his robe, and he was walking quickly back into the classroom.

“Find everything alright?” Snape asked with a quirk of his eyebrow, and Harry thought he had never felt so sick to his stomach in his life. He had had a burst of temporary insanity, that’s what that was, and he had to put the jar back before Snape found out and decided he never wanted to speak to him again. He’d already violated the man’s trust twice. He was certain they wouldn’t survive a third time. What was that Muggle saying Dudley liked repeating? Three strikes, you’re out. He swallowed back a rise of panic.

“Uh…” he squeaked and cleared his throat. “I think I…I put something in the wrong place. I’ll just go move it-”

Snape waved a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. It will wait. I actually…” The man trailed off and fumbled with a small brown paper-covered package on the desk, as if he were nervous about something, and Harry might have wondered more about it if his life weren’t currently flashing before his eyes. “This is for you. To keep,” said Snape haltingly as he awkwardly shoved the package at Harry.

He took it automatically and tried to hide how his hands were shaking. Moving them to open the package seemed the best way.

“No,” Snape’s hand jerked up as if to stop him, then fell back to his side. He cleared his throat and busied himself with some papers on his desk. “Open it later. In your room.”

Harry nodded automatically, too relieved to worry about offending the man as he made a quick exit. He wasn’t even sure he had remembered to say thank you before he bolted from the classroom.

He barely acknowledged his friends’ greetings and he hurried through the common room, only saying enough to not worry them too much, and threw open the lid of his trunk as soon as he made it to his room - his empty room, thank Merlin. Without looking at it, he buried the offending jar in the farthest corner of his trunk, under a layer of odds and ends, and then closed the trunk and sat on it. He wouldn’t use it. He wouldn’t. He would bring it to his next lesson - hidden, of course - and he would bring it into Snape’s stores with him and replace it without Snape being the wiser. Surely the man didn’t use adder’s fork on a regular basis. He wouldn’t notice it was gone.

Because if he did, it was a very short mental leap to make to Harry, the only student with regular access to his stores, and the only one with a pressing need for a potion whose main ingredient was the ingredient that happened to be missing.

He let out a shaky breath. Only two days until Thursday. He could do this. He could act natural, and Snape wouldn’t notice, and then his mistake would be fixed and Snape would never know.

He didn’t realize he was still holding the package from Snape until the paper crinkled in his hands. Sighing, he moved to settle on his bed and slowly unwrapped it with fingers that were still shaking. He couldn’t imagine what his teacher would give him that he wouldn’t want opened in front of him. The paper fell away, revealing a small rectangular box with a hinge on one side. He carefully opened it and stared at its contents.

Glasses. Snape had given him glasses. Hands trembling for a different reason now, he ran his fingers reverently over the dark frame. It was almost identical to his current pair, only new and maybe a little wider. Probably meant for a teen or an adult, not the child’s glasses he still wore and hoped nobody could tell. He removed his glasses and carefully placed the new pair on his nose. They went in and out of focus for a couple seconds, and then the world swam into crystal clarity. His mouth fell open. Self-adjusting glasses! He stared in awe at the numerous wrinkles in his bed hangings and the small chips in the wood of the bed frame that he could see in minute detail. They swam out of focus for a different reason now, as his eyes welled up with tears.

He carefully replaced the glasses in the box, set it on his bedside table, threw himself onto his stomach on the bed, and cried himself to sleep.

Snores echoed through the room, but that wasn’t what woke him.

His guilty conscience woke him, for the third time tonight. Or at least, that’s what he assumed was the horrible nausea churning in his stomach, alongside the painful ache in his chest. His conscience was not very subtle.

He turned over, staring at the fuzzy outline of his bed hangings in the dark, his mind reviewing what a horrible, awful, terrible, no good human being he was. He had messed everything up. Even replacing the jar wouldn’t fix this, because he’d always know that he’d betrayed Snape, even if Snape himself never found out. And then Snape had to go and give him something his own relatives hadn’t cared to give him, and his friends hadn’t noticed he needed, and it was one of the best presents he’d ever got, and…and…he was a horrible, awful, terrible, no good human being. He sniffed.

He couldn’t accept the glasses. Every time he wore them, he’d think about how Snape wouldn’t have given them to him if he’d known what sort of person Harry’d turned out to be. If he knew, he’d kick Harry to the curb. He’d never talk to him again, just like before, except far worse because Harry would know he was back to hating him again.

Because three strikes, you’re out.

He shuddered and curled up on his side. He closed his eyes but knew that this time, sleep wouldn’t come. It served him right, he decided. This had all started because he wanted to get rid of nightmares. Well, if he was cursed to sleepless nights for the rest of his life in penance, it was only fair.

Three strikes, you’re out.

He curled up tighter, but the words kept repeating, over and over, through his head.

Three strikes, you’re out.

Three strikes, you’re out.

Three strikes, you’re out.

He felt a tingling in his fingers, and he opened his eyes to see a spark drifting upward, then another- No! He bolted upright and out of his bed, putting on his glasses - his pair, old as they were - on the way to his trunk. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t. He couldn’t live like this until Thursday, stomach churning over whether Snape would find out, heart pounding in horrible anticipation for the man to declare he was done with Harry forever, not to mention worried that at any minute he was going to lose control of his magic like he was losing control of his mind. If it was over, then he had to know it was over. What was a little curfew breaking and professor hassling to the looming demise of any trust he’d built up with his professor over the longest summer of his life?

He quickly and silently emptied his book bag and filled it with the glasses case and potions jar, then grabbed his invisibility cloak. He put on shoes but didn’t bother to change out of the pajamas he had only changed into about an hour earlier. The Tower was silent and the Fat Lady merely yawned as he made his way out and down the maze of corridors until after an eternity - and far, far too soon - he made it to the dungeons and turned the corner to the Potions hallway. He stood in front of Snape’s office for another eternity while he considered his next move. He realized that he didn’t even know where Snape’s private quarters were, and even if he did, what was the plan? To knock down the door and demand the man wake from his sleep to hear a confession that was going to make him hate Harry again?

He removed the invisibility cloak and stuffed it in the book bag, then sank down against the door, legs drawn up, bag cradled to his chest. He could wait out here until morning, he supposed. Snape was an early riser; surely he would be the first to venture down the hallway. But what if he wasn’t..?

He shivered. It was cold at night in the dungeons. He should have brought a coat. He hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face in the bag. But that was too uncomfortable to last, and he finally raised his head and stared at his right hand. Well. He was screwed anyway. May as well give Snape as many reasons to be angry with him as possible, he thought numbly as he pressed his thumb to the small silver ring and felt it heat up on his finger.

It only took a few seconds. He heard the bang of a door slamming open, and he whipped his head to the side, watching as his professor barreled out the open door at the end of the corridor. So that was where Snape’s quarters were, he thought in a strange, detached sort of way. He didn’t feel quite so detached the instant after Snape saw him. Before he could brace himself, the man was upon him, and he was squinting into the bright end of a lit wand. Hands were on his face, checking his scar and his scalp for injuries, and Snape was saying something, but Harry couldn’t tell what over the pounding of his heart in his ears, only that his voice sounded worried.

Harry tried to say he was okay, but it came out as a sob. He shoved the hands away and pushed to his feet. Snape wouldn’t want to worry over him if he knew.

A frantic “Harry” made it through his pounding ears, and that brought him to himself. Snape called him Harry sometimes, and he liked it when he did, and that was the very worse thing for him to call him right now, when he was about to find out what a horrible, awful, terrible, no good human being Harry was. There really was no reason to put it off any longer, he knew, and he opened the bag with shaking hands and shoved the jar of adder’s fork into Snape’s chest. The man’s hands caught it, and Harry couldn’t meet his eyes, but he knew when Snape realized what it was, for his body went completely still.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m sorry.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve, and it occurred to him that if by some miracle Snape weren’t completely disgusted by Harry’s stealing, he most definitely would be at the soggy, snotty mess he was making of himself. Or that he’d lost the first gift he’d given to him. The confession poured out of his lips. “And I l-lost the stone. My mum’s s-stone, the-the one you gave me.”

He kept his eyes focused on the man’s long gray nightshirt and his hands where they gripped the jar, so when after a full minute, the man’s hand reached out, he flinched back. The hand paused, then reached out again. Firm fingers curled round his arm, propelling him down the hallway. He was certain he was being taken to the headmaster’s office until they reached the open door at the end of the hallway and Harry halted in his tracks. There was no way he was allowed to step foot in a professor’s private quarters.

“Go in,” Snape said quietly and pushed with a hand on his back, and Harry found himself in a small sitting room, furnished by a worn green sofa, a reading chair, and a large bookshelf. He was shoved onto the sofa, and the man disappeared through another door.

He took advantage of Snape’s absence to try to stop crying, drawing in several shallow, gasping breaths. He jumped as Snape abruptly returned through the door and placed a pillow on the end of the sofa, then handed Harry a blanket.

He looked up at Snape dumbly. He couldn’t tell a thing the professor was thinking, his spy mask firmly in place, and he croaked out, “I- I don’t…what..?”

“Are you injured? Hurt?” asked the professor softly, and Harry shook his head mutely. “Then sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He then moved back to the door, and Harry bolted to his feet. “No! No, I-I need-” he cut himself off, because he really wasn’t in a position to demand what he needed, was he? “Please,” he pleaded, “just tell me now.”

Snape watched him with an inscrutable expression. “Tell you what?”

Harry furiously wiped at his face. “You- You know what. I- I’m so sorry. I know I…and you’re probably…and I deserve it, I know. If- if you want to stop t-teaching me. And-” and hate me, and ignore me forever, he mentally added but couldn’t say out loud. He was pretty sure his miserable face said it for him.

Snape breathed in deeply and let it out, and Harry counted himself fortunate that the man was at least calming himself before laying into him. He forced himself to not flinch as Snape rounded the sofa, even when he didn’t stop. Before Harry quite knew what had happened, his snot-filled nose was pressed up against Snape’s shoulder, and strong arms were pinning him in place.

They stood still, both of them barely breathing, and Harry was positive this must feel as awkward for Snape as it did for him. He finally managed to stutter, “W-what is this?”

“A hug,” said Snape stiffly. “They...provide comfort."

It was probably a good thing that Harry was so distraught, because under any other circumstances he might have laughed. Snape sounded like he was explaining a foreign concept - which hugs probably were to him - or like he'd stumbled upon a parenting book and decided in a purely clinical way to put one of the concepts into practice.

Snape stiffened and began to pull away, and Harry quickly wrapped his arms tightly around the man’s back, forcing him to stay. This was one of the most uncomfortable hugs he’d ever received, and it was one of the best, and he wasn’t ready to have it taken away. He closed his eyes and buried his head in the gray fabric covering his professor’s shoulder, not caring that his glasses were digging into his skin. He was crying again, but it was the quiet, shuddering kind, and Snape relaxed into the hug instead of pulling away, and it was more comfortable now, so Harry held on. He still felt awful, but he felt a deep relief too, because surely Snape wouldn’t bother to comfort him if he were getting ready to kick him to the curb. He had hope now that maybe he hadn’t ruined everything after all, and he clutched at the man even tighter. Only when he was no longer crying and his shudders were few and far between did he realize that Snape was going to wait for him to pull away, and he reluctantly let go and stepped back, wiping his face as he did so.

He glanced at Snape, but the man didn’t give him time to be more embarrassed than he already was. He pushed him gently onto the sofa and covered him with the blanket. “Sleep,” he repeated in a low voice. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He plucked off Harry’s glasses and barely touched his fringe, then dimmed the light on his way out.

Harry curled up, toeing off his shoes as he hiccupped and breathed in the scent of potions and books that lingered in the air. His eyes fluttered closed, and he had the brief thought that all that crying was good for something, as he drifted off to sleep almost immediately.