He was drowning. He had no idea how he came to be into the lake, only that he was drowning and there were faces on the shore, but no matter how many times he called out to them, they wouldn’t move to help him. He saw Ron and waved, trying to get his attention, and his friend turned and-

He froze. It wasn’t Ron. It was Wormtail. The short man’s grubby face sneered at him, and he recoiled, falling below the surface. He flailed, trying to stay upright, trying to keep his head above water. The water was red. Blood. He gasped, tried to get out without swallowing any, and he sputtered, feeling ill when he tried to figure out why the lake was filled with blood.

A hand encircled his arm, and he grabbed at it, making a choking noise that he hoped conveyed that he needed help, needed to be taken to shore, before it tightened and he realized it was trying to pull him under. He tried to get away but it wouldn’t let go, and he was drowning and panicking and-

“…be okay, Harry,” said Snape, and he took a gasping breath and searched the faces on the shore, but he couldn’t find his professor, and he was sinking again, and he scrabbled at the hand, breath coming in pants, before Snape’s voice murmured, “somnium pace,” and he had enough time to wonder if it was a curse, if he was going to die under the water, before the lake ebbed away and he was near dry land and the faces on the shore drifted away and his mind retreated into the peaceful nothingness of nightmare-free sleep.

The next time he came to any sort of awareness, it was to a pleasant warmth and a low crackling of fire. He stretched and yawned, lingering in the fuzzy almost-awareness of a peaceful night’s sleep. He felt rested, and he hardly ever felt rested these days, and he burrowed deeper under his blanket, trying to hold on to the nice feeling for as long as possible. Despite his best efforts, his mind drifted further and further toward alertness until he had little choice but to blink his eyes open into the quiet room.

Why was it so quiet? Had he overslept? He was still wondering why Ron had left for breakfast without him when he registered the barely familiar room in which he found himself.

He bolted upright as the events of last night came to him all at once. A quick survey of the room confirmed that he was alone, and he dropped his face into his hands, groaning at the memories. Snape must be livid. Sure, he hadn’t seemed angry last night, but now that he’d had time to process, time to think through what Harry had done, there was no way everything could go back to how they’d been before, was there? Snape had trusted him. In his private stores, something he trusted almost no one to access alone, and he had trusted Harry. And then Harry had disturbed his sleep only to leak tears and snot all over his night shirt. He took a bracing breath and looked around the room to distract from his depressing thoughts.

The room was quite small and even cozy, and yet managed to be very…Snape. The green sofa he sat upon was opposite a worn brown reading chair. A low table sat between them, and several books were piled atop a smaller table next to the chair. There was no decor on the walls, save for a clock that Harry was certain told perfect time - surely Snape wouldn’t allow a clock to be so much as one second fast in his quarters - which hung over a small stone fireplace. The fire, a pair of dim mismatched lamps, and the colorful spines of the books on a pair of overflowing bookshelves provided the only bit of brightness in the room.

His attention was caught by a piece of paper on the table between the chair and sofa. He leaned forward and, seeing that it was addressed to him, grasped it nervously.

Harry,

I am in class. Wait for my return. Confine yourself to the sitting room and the facilities, first door on the right. You will find a toothbrush and a change of clothes and may shower if you wish. Call a house-elf to provide breakfast. I believe your Dobby is in residence.

You have been excused from Herbology.

Sincerely,

Professor S. Snape

That wasn’t so bad, he thought even as he tried to calm himself at the thought of the conversation they’d be having once Snape returned. He traced his finger over the Harry. Snape had called him by his given name a few times, but he’d never before put it into writing. There was something about seeing it on the top of the letter that felt so…deliberate. Not like a casual slip of the tongue, but like it meant something. Like Snape knew it meant something. Surely Snape wouldn’t have addressed the note so casually if he were furious. He set down the note, slightly reassured, and carefully straightened the sofa and folded the blanket.

He found the loo, no problem, and though it was modest in size, he was fascinated by every detail, from the large porcelain bathtub to the fact that Snape’s toothbrush was red. It was such an inconsequential detail, and yet knowing that Snape used a Gryffindor-colored toothbrush made him itch to give him a hard time about it.

But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t overstep again. He resisted the urge to glance into the cabinet or to even look around longer than he already had. Snape, for some unknown reason, was trusting him in his personal, private quarters after finding out only hours ago that Harry hadn’t been at all trustworthy in his office. He showered as quickly as possible and changed into a shirt, a pair of tan trousers, and a red jumper that had been neatly folded alongside a towel next to the sink. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how Snape had managed to retrieve his clothes, down to a pair of socks and pants, so he decided to not think about it.

He nervously shifted from one foot to the other when he returned to the sitting room. Snape was teaching Sixth year Potions right now. Harry knew, because he and Ron had a free period on Wednesday mornings before Herbology, and Hermione was always happy for the brightness and fresh air of the Herbology classroom after having spent her previous class in the dungeons. Snape wouldn’t be back for at least twenty minutes, and now that he was faced with talking to his teacher in the light of day - figuratively, of course, as there were no windows - he wasn’t so thrilled to be excused from Herbology. Having to go to class would be a rather convenient excuse to put off any discussion of what Harry’s punishment might be.

He sat on the sofa and tapped his fingers against his legs. He didn’t think he could eat, but Snape had told him to summon a house-elf. He might be angry if Harry didn’t do as he was told, and Harry didn’t want to do anything that might make him angry…more angry.

“Dobby?” he called, hopeful that the familiar face might at least distract him from the terrible waiting.

The little house-elf appeared with a pop, and he immediately jumped, squeaked, and cast adoring eyes on Harry. “Harry Potter! Dobby is happy to see Harry Potter again! Dobby is hearing terrible things…” His ears drooped, even under a small tower of hats, and he said mournfully, “Dobby hears how Harry Potter was disappearing, sir, and taken by evil wizards. But,” the house-elf perked up, “He is back, and not sick, and Dobby is so happy, sir!”

Harry grinned. “Thanks, Dobby.”

“Dobby should bring food?” asked Dobby hopefully. “Professor Snape is telling Dobby to feed Harry Potter, sir.”

Harry scrunched up his nose, but he figured he’d better eat something, and within minutes of being sent for food, Dobby had returned with a plate piled high with eggs, sausage, bacon, potatoes, beans, fruit, and toast. It made his stomach turn, to be honest, but he settled on the floor next to the table and shoveled some eggs into his mouth. He wondered if Snape had broken some rule by letting him stay, and he wondered if his friends were worried about him. He had too many questions, and he wasn’t sure they really even mattered right now.

“So you left Grimmauld Place?” he asked Dobby, who was happily delivering a glass of pumpkin juice.

Dobby nodded his head so fast that one hat fell from the top, but the little elf deftly picked it up and held it in his hands. “Dobby is wanting to live where Harry Potter lives. He is a hero who is freeing Dobby and punishing bad wizards.”

Harry flushed, still caught off guard sometimes by the house-elf’s hero worship. “Er. Okay. So…” he sipped his juice and took another quick look around. “Have you been to Professor Snape’s quarters before?”

Dobby nodded. “The house-elves is happy to clean for Professor Snape. He is never leaving socks on the floor.”

Harry snorted. He believed it. The professor was so exacting, he probably had a strict sorting system for his laundry. On the other hand, he considered, the bookshelves were overflowing, with books stacked on the floor in crooked piles. So maybe Snape wasn’t meticulous in every area.

Now that he was in his professor’s private quarters, he found himself more curious than ever about the man. But, as curiosity sounded like just the thing to get him into trouble, he studiously focused on chewing a bite of sausage. Fortunately, Dobby was happy to chat with him about anything he could think of asking, until far too soon, they were interrupted by the click of an opening door.

Harry stiffened and took another sip of pumpkin juice to have an excuse to not look up.

“You ate. Good,” was all that Snape said as he entered the room. He could feel the man’s gaze, so he reluctantly set down the glass and glanced up. The professor eyed him with an unreadable look, but Harry couldn’t hold his gaze. His eyes dropped to his plate and he nervously nibbled at a piece of toast. Snape didn’t comment, only said dismissively, “Dobby, you may go,” and removed his teaching robes, hanging them on a hook Harry hadn’t noticed on the wall by the door, then sat in the chair opposite Harry.

Dobby cast a furtive glance at Snape and quickly threw himself at Harry, squeezing his arms around his body in a parting hug. Harry gave the elf a wobbly smile before he Apparated away.

The room was silent for several minutes, and as nervous as Harry was, he wasn’t about to be the one to break it. He continued to nibble on his food and tried to hide the tremor in his fingers.

He jumped when Snape finally cleared his throat and said, “I see you found the facilities.”

He nodded.

“Good.” Another minute went by, and Snape abruptly motioned at Harry’s hand. “The ring? If I may.”

It took him a moment to register the request, but when Harry did, a chill swept through him. Snape wanted the ring back. Of course he did. He wouldn’t want Harry to keep it now, would he? Not when he couldn’t trust him. Three strikes, you’re out. He woodenly removed the ring from his finger and handed it over. He watched as the professor aimed his wand at it and muttered a few spells under his breath. Removing the charms that tied it to Harry, no doubt. He swallowed hard and studied his plate. Sausages were disgusting, he decided. As were toast and eggs. How he had managed to eat any of it mere minutes ago, he didn’t know.

Without looking up from the ring, Snape cleared his throat and asked evenly, “Is there anything you wish to add to your confession of last night? Before we begin.”

Harry gulped. Before we begin sounded so ominous. And the way Snape outright asked for a confession made him feel like a spotlight had come out of the ceiling and fixed on him, and he wondered what else the man thought he might have done. It hadn’t occurred to him that Snape might think that stealing the adder’s fork was only the tip of the iceberg, and he felt a sinking feeling that the professor would be quite justified in thinking it. He tossed the remnants of his toast on the plate and mutely shook his head. He couldn’t stomach even trying to pretend interest in food anymore. He felt like a criminal.

“I’ve spoken with the headmaster-”

“He knows?” Harry squeaked, looking up in alarm.

“Of course,” answered Snape with a lift of his eyebrows. “He is responsible for the wellbeing of all Hogwarts students and has a particular interest in seeing to your safety.” Harry didn’t bother to hide his mortification. It was surely written all over his face as Snape went on. “Madame Pomfrey will make arrangements for a Mind Healer. You will be informed of the time.”

Harry froze. He didn’t want to go to a Mind Healer, obviously, but even more than that, he didn’t want to be shoved off on one so that Snape wouldn’t have to deal with him. Not that he blamed the man for not wanting anything to do with him, but the thought made him feel empty inside. No, not empty. Hollowed out, like a pumpkin right before Halloween. And not the funny or happy-looking kind. The droopy, sad-looking, about-to-be-tossed-out kind.

Snape was still talking, and Harry tuned in mid-sentence. “…be served with Professor McGonagall-”

“Huh?” he croaked, finally interrupting. “Sorry. Serve…serve what?”

“Your detention. I believe a consequence is appropriate, despite the circumstances, albeit a minimal one.”

Of course. He should be happy to only be escaping with a detention, not expulsion. Well, detention and being offloaded off by Snape onto McGonagall and a Mind Healer. He felt sick. He knew he shouldn’t have eaten the eggs. He hadn’t even been hungry for the stupid eggs!

His mind barely registered Snape’s moving toward him before he flinched violently, hitting his ankle against the leg of the table, and Merlin did that hurt! Snape drew back, and Harry registered his face, like he had been slapped, at the same time that he realized the professor had been reaching for Harry’s empty plate, He jumped to his feet, pausing only to rub his aching ankle. “Sorry,” he blurted. “It’s not like I thought you- I mean, you wouldn’t. I only…it’s just-” he gave up and repeated, “Sorry.” He hadn’t meant to flinch, certainly didn’t expect Snape to do anything to him, not even after last night, but his mind was filled with uncertainty, which was making him jumpy, and and- “Can I go?” Maybe he could still make the last half of Herbology. Or not. Not, probably. The Room of Requirement was sounding like a better place to spend the rest of his morning. Or the rest of his life. Between the room’s magic and Dobby’s help, he could probably create a comfortable little home for himself.

Snape slowly stood, eyeing him uncertainly. “Do you not wish to talk?”

“Um. Mind Healer. Detention. I got it. I won’t do it again, I promise. And…and I’ll stay out of your hair.” He picked up his bag and began inching toward the door, one hundred percent regretting confessing to Snape last night. No, that was a lie. He was only about ninety percent regretting it. He knew it would have only continued to weigh on him if he hadn’t. It had seemed so important, something that couldn’t wait, and now he wanted to be anywhere other than here.

“Stop,” said Snape softly, pointing at the sofa. “Sit.”

“I really-”

“Sit.” Snape’s tone was gentle but firm, and seeing no way out of it, he sat, unable to drum up the effort to keep his misery off his face.

Snape collapsed into his own chair and drew a hand across his face. Whatever shields he’d had up before seemed to crumble, and Harry could see the tiredness in his eyes. “I am making a mess of this, aren’t I?” he asked, though it was obviously meant as a rhetorical question, as he didn’t wait for a response. “I don’t know how to do this, you know.” He threw out his hands, frustration in the lines of his face. “I know how to brew, how to teach, and to discipline. I know how to maneuver as a spy and how to uncover relevant information. I do not know how to help a traumatized sixteen-year old boy!” He leaned back with a huff and brought a hand up to rub at his temples.

Harry swallowed and his hands fidgeted in his lap. He wanted to ask what sort of help Snape was talking about wanting to give, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to speak at all. Maybe if he stayed silent, sank back into the sofa cushions, Snape would eventually forget he was there. Like a ghost.

“I don’t suppose you’d be able to assist me here?” Snape said with a huffed laugh that didn’t sound like a laugh at all, and glanced up at Harry with a wry look. “Tell me what you need from me?”

Harry bit his lip. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to. I believe we’ve established that.” He shook his head and stood, beginning to pace. “You weren’t supposed to get under my skin, not like this. But you have!” he barked, almost accusingly but at the same time…not. “You’re not merely Potter anymore, and not only…his son. Hers, yes, but not only hers either. You’re…more.” He gestured with agitated hands. “You’re…you’re you, and I wasn’t supposed to see you, or to care to this extent. About anything, really, but especially not about you! Do you have any idea what it is to worry, to finally understand the concept of a child having the capacity to turn one’s hair gray merely by existing in a less than safe world?”

He paused as if for an answer, so Harry obediently shook his head no, watching his professor with wide eyes.

“Well, I do!” Snape threw up his hands and sagged against the wall. “I do now,” he repeated more quietly and met Harry’s gaze. He stared for several breaths before saying, “I will not abandon you. I should have led with that. Or discussed my plans for expanded lessons, to include evening Occlumency techniques, as well as non-addictive sleep aids that you can try. Perhaps assured you that I am not angry. That would have been preferable. Put you at ease?”

Harry opened his mouth but couldn’t think what to say. Snape was asking him? For advice in how to talk to him? He didn’t think an adult had ever asked him such a thing. But…that pit in his stomach wasn’t quite so heavy anymore, and his chest felt lighter. It was easier to breathe. He let out a breath as if to test it out and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. All of it. Do that next time.” His heart skipped a beat and he added quickly, “Not that I’m planning a next time! I’m not, I swear.”

“I know,” said Snape, not looking away. He seemed calmer now, less agitated. “I know you. Better than before, at any rate. You do not always exercise perfect judgment, but you are not cruel or self-serving. You are…suffering. Desperate. Believe it or not, I am familiar with both concepts.”

Harry swallowed at the unexpected understanding in Snape’s gaze, and he averted his eyes to blink away a rush of almost-tears. Out of the corner of his eye, he tracked Snape as the man came closer and held out the ring to him. He took it automatically and looked at it questioningly.

“I have altered the charm. Press the ring for three continuous seconds if you are in danger. Tap it three times should you require assistance but are not in mortal peril. I may live longer if we can keep the heart attacks to a minimum.”

That might have been Snape’s attempt at lightening the mood, he thought, but he was too busy rolling the ring over between his fingers to respond. He didn’t know when exactly he had started to feel safer with the ring on his finger, but he definitely felt its lack now. He slipped it on and twisted it around to study the small engraved vines. “Is it…” he looked up to gauge Snape’s mood, whether it was okay to ask a random question, and went ahead at Snape’s nod. “Is it really a family heirloom? Like You-Know-Who said?”

“More or less,” said Snape noncommittally.

“Oh,” Harry said quietly and looked away.

Snape sat back in the chair and drummed his fingers on the armrest. After a moment, he relented. “Yes. My mother was descended from a pureblood family. She…” He averted his gaze. “My mother forfeited her inheritance when she married a Muggle. This ring was one of the few items that belonged to her - and then to me - by birthright, regardless of inheritance law.”

Harry watched Snape with interest. He was always fascinated when the man volunteered more information than he had to, and it almost never happened when the topic was his own past.  “Do you…I mean, are you sure you want me to hold on to it? If it’s worth something…”

“Keep it,” said Snape without hesitation. “The charm will not be as effective on an item with less magical tie to me. And besides…” He hesitated, and his cheeks flushed as he resolutely studied the fireplace. “I’ve no…family of my own to leave it to.”

Harry politely looked away, twisting the ring around and around his finger. He could hear what Snape implied but left unsaid, that he was giving Harry something that would have gone to his own son if he’d had one, and the longer he dwelt on that thought, the more overwhelmed he felt. It was a good kind of overwhelmed though, like a big warm blanket on the inside, so he tried to memorize the feeling for later, for when he was feeling down or scared and needed something pleasant to bring him out of it.

“I am not angry,” Snape said firmly, bringing the conversation back around. “Not at you, at any rate. I should have noticed, should have realized that you were handling it too well. I was overconfident. Also….distracted.” He ghosted a hand over his sleeve, then returned his fingers to drumming. “I do not wish to overlook such things again, and yet I know that one cannot force a confidence. Either you trust me enough to confide in me, or you do not. Perhaps a Mind Healer will-”

“I do trust you,” said Harry quickly, and at Snape’s grimace, insisted firmly, “I do. I came here in the middle of the night, didn’t I? I know I didn’t come to you before, but…well, it’s not because I don’t trust you, okay? I just…I-” He hesitated, then forced himself to admit, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.” Snape’s furrowed brow betrayed his confusion, and Harry explained, “You seemed so proud of me, of my progress. I…well, I- I liked it.” He ducked his head to hide his embarrassment. “It was nice, for once, having somebody - having you - be proud of me, and I didn’t want to lose it. It’s dumb, I know, but I swear it wasn’t that I don’t trust you.”

After a few beats of silence, Snape murmured, “It is not…‘dumb.’” He didn’t say anything more and looked like maybe he was a bit overwhelmed too.

“Um, about the Mind Healer,” Harry said tentatively. “Can I…not?”

He could tell by Snape’s expression that he wasn’t going to like the man’s answer, so he held up his hands. “Just hear me out! I’m not saying no, like I’ll never go. I mean, maybe it’s a good thing down the road, I dunno. I’ve been through a lot, yeah, okay. But I’ve also got lots of people looking out for me. Ron and Hermione both knew I wasn’t doing so well, and even Ron said I should go to you. Ron! Yeah, I know,” he said in agreement at Snape’s highly raised eyebrows. “The Quidditch team is great, and they all watch my back when I’m in the air, and my friends in Gryffindor, they have my back on the ground. And I’m pretty sure you’re going to be watching me like a hawk all the time now, whether I like it or not, and my point is that I’ve got people. I’m not alone, and I don’t feel alone, and maybe you and Dumbledore could give me a chance to see how things go with those Occlumency techniques and sleeping aids you were talking about before throwing me at one more stranger who doesn’t know anything about me except my name and how my parents died!” He was talking fast by now, trying to get it all out, and took a breath. “Just give me a chance first? Please? I can do it, I swear, and if I can’t, I’ll tell you this time, because we saw how well it went when I didn’t.” He half-heartedly rolled his eyes. “And down the road, if you want me to see somebody, I will. Just, for now…please?”

He watched Snape expectantly as the man considered his words. He knew the moment he won, because Snape gave a little half sigh and said, “Your word. You come to me. And if you don’t, or if I have the slightest suspicion that you are having difficulty with anything - anything at all - and decide you need a…more professional hand, you will go. Without complaint.”

Harry nodded, then stopped to consider. “Well. I can’t promise the without complaint part. But I promise the rest.”

Snape quirked his lips. “I accept your revision to the terms.” He held out a hand. Harry grinned and shook it. Before letting go, Snape added, “And you will still serve a detention.”

“With you,” Harry negotiated.

Snape shook his head. “You will be spending enough evenings in my classroom as it is. I think it better to delegate disciplinary activities so as to not further disrupt the Occlumency teacher-student relationship. For the near future, at least.”

“Oh,” said Harry, surprised. “That’s why you assigned it with Professor McGonagall?”

“Yes. Are we in agreement?”

Harry pursed his lips, then gave a decisive nod. “Yes.”

“Good.” Snape shook his hand firmly and let go. No sooner had they both settled back into their seats, than Snape waved a hand and directed, “Talk.”

“Huh?”

“We made an agreement. You will not be compelled to see a Mind Healer, with the understanding that you trust me enough by now to confide in me. So talk.”

“Talk…um. Okay.” Harry bit his lip. He had no idea what Snape wanted him to talk about, or even what he himself wanted to talk about. Snape already knew about the nightmares, already knew he was having trouble dealing with them. He really didn’t think that discussing every detail of his dreams was going to help him, not that Snape would be interested in hearing every detail anyway. “I saw the sparks again,” he settled on, as that seemed like a big deal.

“The sparks,” Snape repeated, prodding for more.

“Yeah. The magic? I think I see the magic around me whenever I’m feeling out of sorts, when I’m reaching for it without meaning to. And I’ve been really jumpy lately, and I’m sure it’s ‘cause I’m not sleeping enough, but I’m always worried about next time I see them. Maybe it’ll be like the Quidditch pitch again, you know?”

Snape tapped a finger on his chin. “Did you attempt Occlumency? You seemed to have success directing the magic inward.”

He shook his head. “Not this time. I didn’t need to. It didn’t get that bad.”

“We will continue to work on that in our lessons. And if you feel about to lose control again, use the ring. I will coach you through it.”

He nodded and tugged the corners of his mouth into a grin. “The heart attack signal?”

“Yes,” Snape agreed, completely serious. “Without a doubt, use the heart attack signal.”

They fell silent while Harry tried to think of anything else he wanted to talk about, but he thought that maybe he was alright for now. Snape was going to help him, and that right there eased plenty of his worries. He could only think of one thing…

He cleared his throat. “Could I… I wonder if I could maybe ask a favor?”

Snape inclined his head.

“A big favor,” Harry added, and Snape quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. “I just…wondered if maybe you could take me back to Kneader’s sometime? I never got a chance to say goodbye to Hunter. The snake,” he clarified, trying to remember if he’d ever told Snape his name. “It’s only, he was my friend, and he saw me get taken, and he tried to help, and he’s probably been really worried about me, not knowing what happened. Nobody else can tell him I’m okay, you know..?” He shrugged, feeling silly for requesting such a thing. It seemed important though. Hunter deserved better. “And I think it’d make me feel better too,” he added, because it had the benefit of being both true and useful in getting his way. “It’s peaceful there, and it’s nice talking to him.”

To his pleasant surprise, Snape easily agreed. “I will speak to the headmaster. I am certain we can arrange a weekend visit.”

Harry smiled as another weight lifted off his chest. There was really only one other thing he wanted to know. “So…am I allowed to be in here?” He took in his professor’s sitting room with fresh eyes, twisting around now that he was more relaxed and no longer worried about being tossed out of the man’s life.

Snape seemed fine with the lighter turn in conversation. “Technically? No. In general, professorial quarters are restricted from students. But I knew the headmaster would allow an exception. He has given me a considerable amount of latitude in how I choose to deal with you.”

Harry almost asked why. Because of the prophecy? Because Snape was teaching him Occlumency? Because he’d been friends with Harry’s mum? Probably all of the above and more. He supposed he already knew enough to not need to ask. Dumbledore had made it obvious that he wanted Snape and Harry to get along, and it was no secret between the three of them that the headmaster was pleased with the progress they’d made over the summer. Harry found he was not at all surprised that Dumbledore would allow certain liberties in order to encourage them on that path.

And anyway, now he was distracted by the vast number of books on the bookshelves behind the sofa and the stacks of books on the floor nearby.

“Looks like you need another bookshelf,” he observed.

Snape smirked. “That or I need to reduce my collection. I keep intending to, and then I purchase more…” He waved a hand as if to explain that that is the way it goes.

Harry grinned. Snape sounded so human, here in his living quarters with his admission to not being perfectly neat and orderly in at least this one area. He found that he quite liked seeing his professor this way, comfortable without his teaching robes, sitting in a well-worn armchair and talking to him while several books littered the small table beside him. Snape seemed comfortable here in his home in a way he hadn’t at Grimmauld Place. Even in the midst of present circumstances, Harry could see a slight difference in Snape’s posture, a relaxing of the lines on his face. It occurred to Harry, not quite for the first time, that Snape wasn’t really all that old, was he? Old, yes, but not old. The young kind of old. Or the old kind of young? Whatever. Young enough to not worry about going gray yet, with or without Harry in the mix.

“I spoke to Professor McGonagall this morning,” Snape’s deceptively mild voice interrupted his thoughts. “I inquired about your progress. She indicated that you were caught up in your Transfiguration studies but did not seem to know how you fared in your other classes.”

Well, Snape could forget about whatever scolding he had in mind, Harry thought, because he finally had some good news to share. “All caught up! I even turned in a huge Herbology essay yesterday. Although…I mean, I’ll need to get today’s-”

Snape smoothly reached into his pocket and handed over a small piece of parchment. It contained a new Herbology assignment, along with instructions to review his friends’ notes from today’s class. Harry grinned. Of course it did. Snape had probably hounded Professor Sprout for the assignment the minute he’d decided to excuse Harry from class.

“Well. Got that taken care of then.” He shoved the assignment into his book bag.

“While I am pleased to hear that you have caught up to your classmates,” Snape crossed his arms and said in his soft, borderline dangerous voice, “you failed to inform your Head of House of your progress…why, exactly?”

Harry’s grin fell at the shift in mood, and he fidgeted under the professor’s stare. “Um. ‘Cause I didn’t know I was supposed to?” he asked uncertainly.

Snape let out a breath of exasperation. “How else is she to monitor your progress?”

“Uh…” Harry scratched an itchy spot on his cheek. “I didn’t know she was…um, monitoring my progress..? Really!” he insisted when Snape gave him a look. “She only talked to me about it that first week, then she told Hermione to help me. She didn’t say anything about me telling her when I’d finished, or I would’ve. I swear!”

Snape uncrossed his arms and pursed his lips like he’d eaten something sour. “Once? She spoke to you about your studies once?”

“Er…yeah?”

Snape sniffed and muttered something under his breath about Head of House and have words.

Harry shifted, not certain if he was in trouble or if maybe he’d gotten his Head of House in some sort of trouble. Not that McGonagall couldn’t hold her own against Snape. She most certainly could. Before he could worry too much over it, Snape was asking, “And are you encountering any difficulties in your studies?” He added darkly, “Since your Head of House has apparently yet to inquire.”

Harry scratched his cheek again, just to have something to do with his hands while under Snape’s scrutiny. “Uh…no?”

Snape sat back, crossed his arms, and waited.

And, okay, Harry didn’t have a choice, then. Snape didn’t need Legilimency skills in order to be able to wring confessions out of students. “Uh, Herbology’s more challenging this year, but nothing too bad. Not Ron’s favorite, but then none of our classes are really Ron’s favorite. Hermione loves ‘em all, so it balances out…” He cleared his throat at Snape’s raised eyebrow and got back on track. “Charms was the toughest to catch up on, ‘cause Professor Flitwick didn’t even have the decency to start with a review of last year, but he says I’m doing fine considering what I missed. History of Magic, is…well, it’s boring.” He shrugged. “But I’m doing the work.”

“And Defense?” Snape prodded after Harry fell silent.

“Oh, it’s…good. You know,” he answered vaguely, “I’m caught up and we’re learning some new defensive spells next week.” He was proud of the fact that he kept his mild annoyance with Brooks off his face, but Snape knew him too well by now. His eyes were already narrowing. Harry beat him to the punch. “You know, it wasn’t very nice of you to embarrass Professor Brooks in front of a student that day,” he pointed out. “Just because he’s a new teacher and you were in a mood, you didn’t have to be nasty to him.”

Snape gave an unamused snort.

“I mean it. I know he’s really young, and he used to be in your class, but it’s not easy being new. He’s trying.” Well…he was trying and sort of failing, but Harry didn’t need to be the one to bring that up.

“So you have decided to champion your favorite professor’s cause,” Snape said with a pinched expression. “How magnanimous.”

“I’m not championing any causes,” Harry protested. “And I never said he was my favorite.” He pulled a face at the thought and smoothed out his features a second too late.

Snape’s eyes shifted and took on a contemplative gleam. “You don’t like Professor Brooks,” he observed, though he didn’t sound upset about it.

“I didn’t say that,” Harry argued. He did like the new professor. He did. Mostly. He was maybe losing respect for him, which was a whole different matter.

“Hmm,” hummed Snape, his too-knowing eyes trained on Harry.

“I like him,” Harry insisted. “I do. He’s nice. And he likes me.” Which was true too. He just wished the professor would like him a little bit less.  But how could he possibly complain about a professor liking him too much? Especially to Snape, a professor known for hating his guts for so many years?

Snape watched him, and Harry decided that Snape would indeed make an excellent interrogator, because he didn’t even have to say anything to make Harry need to spill.

“He just- He’s too nice!” he finally burst out, throwing up his hands in annoyance.

Snape stared at him for a long moment and then blinked. “I must admit that I have never heard that particular complaint about a professor before.”

Harry huffed a laugh and threw up his hands again. “I know! I’m mental!” He looked around the sitting room for a way out of this conversation and his eyes alighted on the bookshelves. “How many of those books have you actually read?”

“I have not kept count,” answered Snape smoothly. “Define ‘too nice.’”

He groaned. “Forget I said anything. Brooks is fine. He’s trying, you know? The last thing he needs is for you to yell at him again.”

Snape hummed. “Fair enough.”

“Fair enough?” he repeated. It wasn’t like the professor to so easily drop something that caught his attention.

“Yes.” Snape’s fingers drummed away casually on the air of his chair. “Have you any other concerns in your classes?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What are you going to do?” he demanded.

“Do?” Snape fixed him with an innocent look. “Why, I am going to continue our discussion, listen to anything you have need to say to me, discuss a few alterations to our upcoming Occlumency lessons, and then consume my lunch. In my quarters, most likely. Perhaps with a book. It is an excellent way to recuperate from the stress of averting numerous potions disasters in yesterday’s classes alone.”

“You know what I mean! With Brooks! You’re going to do something, aren’t you? Just because I complained that he’s nice. Seriously. Forget I said anything. Please.”

Snape splayed his hands in a further show of innocence. “What precisely do you think I am planning to do?”

“I have no idea,” Harry admitted, “and that’s what worries me.”

Snape smirked, and Harry did not like the gleam in his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” he gave in. If he was going to feel guilty about getting Brooks into trouble, he may as well spin it in the man’s favor. Maybe he could talk Snape into getting the poor man some help rather than taking it upon himself to terrorize him. “He’s not a bad teacher. Or- or at least he could be good. He knows his Defense, he’s just…not got a lot of experience teaching, you know? And all the students know it. They walk all over him. So just…maybe you could hint at Professor Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall to give him some pointers.”

“You doubt my ability to give pointers?” Snape asked with a raised eyebrow, and Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought that maybe the man was teasing him. Snape was at least self-aware enough to know precisely why Harry thought his dealing with Brooks himself was a bad idea.

“I doubt his ability to survive an extended encounter with you,” Harry shot back. “He’s nice, remember? Not a bully, or a git, or a murderous maniac like some of the past Defense professors. He doesn’t deserve whatever you’ve decided he deserves, simply by existing. So be nice.” He supposed it was a testament to their evolving relationship that he could give Snape a direct order like that without consequence. The man merely sat back and lifted his hands in acquiescence, and Harry hoped Snape really would listen to him and not terrorize poor Brooks. Despite his failings, he really was the nicest teacher they’d had since Remus.

Remus. He couldn’t stop a frown at the thought and decided to ask, “I don’t, um, suppose you’ve heard from Remus lately?” He couldn’t quite manage to keep the hurt out of his voice, but there wasn’t much to be done about that, was there? He was hurt by Remus’s silence.

“No,” Snape answered simply, studying him for a long moment, but didn’t say anything more about it, for which Harry was grateful.

“Oh. Okay.” He shrugged, but his shoulders were too heavy to make his show at nonchalance convincing, and he didn’t care to anyway. He was tired of pretending he was fine all the time. If it showed through that he was hurt or annoyed by Remus’s absence, then so be it. Not that he wanted to dwell on it. So he change the topic. “What…um, what changes are you making to our Occlumency lessons?”

Snape’s fingers tapped out a beat on the chair. “I have researched a few techniques that may aid in filtering out excess thoughts and emotions prior to sleep. I thought we would add that to our lessons, assess their benefit to your evening routine.”

Harry squished his eyebrows together. “When did you have time to do research? Do you ever sleep?”

“Not as much as I used to,” Snape said dryly. “My own sleeping habits aside, the techniques have merit. I should have looked into them before, truthfully, the moment I realized you had begun to over-rely on the potion. I…well. No use looking back. We are where we are.”

Yes, they were, weren’t they? He leaned back into the sofa, appreciating that despite it being old and worn, it was quite comfortable. He felt quite comfortable. It was like a breath of fresh air had run through his body, and he felt exponentially better. Better than he had any right to feel after having stolen from Snape. But then, Snape wasn’t angry. He’d been forgiven, even if Snape hadn’t said those words exactly. He felt such relief, such a sense of hope for the future that he could cry. Not that he would, he decided resolutely. He’d already cried plenty last night.

He wasn’t expecting Snape to ask, “Were the glasses not to your liking?” and his gaze shot up in surprise. Snape was composed, but he knew he wasn’t imagining the nervousness in his voice when he added, “You are not obligated to use them, of course. I did not… It was not my intent to… You needn’t use them,” he concluded quickly. “If they are not to your liking, there are other options.”

Harry stared for a long moment before remembering his manners. He grabbed for his bag and fished out the glasses case. He set it on the table while he tried to think what to say.

Snape reached for the case. “There are others. I have a catalog. You can-”

“No!” Harry slapped both hands down on the case, visibly startling Snape in the process. “No. That’s not- I mean…I love them,” he said honestly. “No one’s ever…and it’s great, it’s really great, and thank you. They’re perfect. I just-” he broke off, frustrated at his own inability to come up with the right words. “I only mean, you don’t have to. If you didn’t want to anymore, if you want them back, I- I’d understand.”

Snape seemed relieved and even pleased as he leaned back in his chair. “Do not be ridiculous. A gift does not come with a return policy.”

Any remaining bit of tension he’d held in his shoulders seeped away at that. He bit his lip against a smile at the thought that he could keep the glasses. Snape knew about what he’d done, and he still wanted Harry to have them. It occurred to him to offer to pay him back. After all, he could have purchased them himself long ago if he had thought of it or known anything about self-adjusting glasses. But his gut told him that offering payment was the wrong thing to do. Snape wanted to buy them for him, and Harry liked knowing that he wanted to. So he kept silent, and he carefully opened the case and switched out his old glasses for the new. Again, he marveled at the tiny details that were clearer than before. He could see a piece of lint on the rug, and the fire was so crisp. It was nice. Really nice. He sat back in the sofa, fully at ease.

“Speaking of gifts…” Snape watched him closely. “You needn’t concern yourself about the stone. I assume it was lost during our recent…calamity?” He paused long enough for Harry to nod apologetically. “It was only a stone.”

“You kept it for more than twenty years,” Harry pointed out skeptically.

“And I realized in gifting it to you that it had served its purpose in my life,” said Snape easily. “It was yours. If you can come to terms with its loss, you need not worry about its impact on me.”

Harry bit his lip. That was a relief, but he still missed it.

“Your mother’s memory was not encapsulated in a piece of rock,” said Snape softly. “It took me many years to realize that. You can remember her without a physical object that she surely forgot about soon after she sent it to me.”

Harry’s mind caught on Snape’s admission that the letter and stone had indeed been intended for him, and a smile ghosted across his lips. “I…I know,” he agreed. “I only wish I had something else of hers. That was it, you know?” He shrugged heavily. “I have something of my dad’s, but that was the only thing of hers I ever had. It really did mean a lot to me. That you gave it to me. I don’t know if you knew how much. So. You know. Thank you.”

Snape looked away. “You are welcome,” he said so quietly that Harry almost missed it. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Snape stood abruptly. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, already on his way out.

A few minutes later, he returned and held out a hand, gesturing for Harry to hold out his own. Something light and smooth was dropped into his hand, and it took a moment for him to recognize it as a small silver charm in the shape of a flower. The small circle that should have attached it to a chain for a necklace or a bracelet was broken. He looked up in surprise. “It’s a…”

“Lily,” said Snape softly, and Harry pretended not to notice how his voice broke around the word. “The bracelet was a gift from her grandmother. Your great-grandmother. She was upset when she discovered the charm missing. I searched for it, found and intended to return it, and then…” He gestured, and Harry knew by the pain on his face that he was referring to the end of their friendship. Snape’s jaw clenched, then he let out a long, deliberate breath. “It can be repaired. If you wish to put it on a chain to secure it against loss, I can…help you to do that.”

Harry closed his hand around it. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I’d like that. Thank you.” His voice was rough, but Snape returned the favor by pretending not to notice, only dipped his head in acknowledgment.

They fell into an easy silence then, broken only by the fire crackling in the fireplace. Snape studied the fire, lost in his own thoughts, and Harry studied Snape. He revised his earlier opinion. He was one hundred percent glad that he had come here last night. He’d never in a million years have thought that he’d feel such gratitude and hope and even, dare he say, affection for the professor he had so fervently hated for so many years. He almost laughed out loud at the weirdness of it all and the happiness that bubbled up inside him, but he held it in, not wishing to disturb the quiet. He liked the quiet. It was peaceful.

It felt a little like…home.