“So. Flitwick?”

“You disapprove?” Snape asked as he scowled at the sand sticking to his shoes. They had rather inconveniently had to take a Portkey to the beach, as Kneader’s home was not connected to the floo network.

“No,” Harry shook his head with a smile. “Flitwick’s perfect, actually. Wouldn’t intimidate a fly, not like you or Professor McGonagall, but he manages to keep his classes in line anyway. Probably the best one to show Professor Brooks a thing or two, and without scaring him half to death, which…you know. Is a plus. Can’t believe I didn’t think of him myself.”

“You are not required to think of everything yourself,” Snape pointed out distractedly. He turned and made his way through the slippery sand toward Kneader’s home, clearly expecting Harry to keep up.

He shrugged to himself as he followed. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to think of everything himself. Old habits and such. “Anyway. He needs a lot of help, but I think Professor Flitwick’s helping him already. So thanks.”

Snape inclined his head but said no more.

Harry aimed a half exasperated, half amused eye roll at the professor’s back. The man had been in a foul mood ever since Harry had met him at his office that morning. Fortunately, now that he liked Harry, that translated to alternating between being short and silent rather than being outright nasty. He could at least tell that he wasn’t the object of Snape’s ire, and so he let it slide without comment.

Besides, Harry was in a good enough mood for the both of them. He smiled as he breathed in the fresh salt air and felt the cool ocean breeze against his cheeks. He half wished he could stay here on the beach, take off his shoes, and squish his toes in the sand. But then he wouldn’t have as much time to see Hunter, so he pushed that thought out of his mind and rushed to catch up with Snape’s long strides.

By the time they reached the stone path leading up to the house, Harry could see Kneader seated on the front porch. The older man was sipping a cup of tea as he casually watched their progress.

When they reached the porch, Harry watched closely as the men greeted each other. He was still fascinated by whatever friendship the two men had, but there were no big smiles or how-have-you-been’s, only perfunctory hellos and familiar nods. When Kneader’s eyes turned to Harry, he couldn’t help but fidget under the sharp gaze.

The man inclined his head. “Welcome back, Mr. Potter. I was quite relieved to hear of your escape. You gave us all a bit of a fright.”

“Sorry,” he said automatically, and Snape snorted.

“You’ll have to forgive him, Ephraim,” Snape said in a dry tone. “Mr. Potter here lacks proper discernment over which situations do or do not require an apology. We’re working on it.”

Harry wrinkled his nose at Snape and said cheekily, “It’s called being polite.”

Kneader humored them both with a kind smile, and when his gaze next settled on Harry, it contained a warmth that he hadn’t seen before. At least not when directed at him. He couldn’t help himself; he did a double-take, and then gave the man a small, tentative smile in return. Perhaps Kneader wasn’t dead set on disliking Harry after all. Whether it was because Harry’d shown himself to be likeable before or because Snape no longer disliked him now, he supposed it didn’t much matter. Being the object of Kneader’s warm gaze was much nicer than squirming under his sharp gaze.

Still, it didn’t distract him from his mission. Kneader invited them inside, but Snape must have caught Harry’s glance at the meadow, for he motioned for him to go. “Find your friend. Stay within sight of the porch.”

Harry grinned and took to the meadow at a run. Which turned out to be a bad idea, as he nearly tripped over a rock and had to surreptitiously look behind him to make sure his ungraceful stumble hadn’t been seen. He slowed to a brisk walk after that.

After having walked the length of the meadow twice, giving the tree a wide berth - he shuddered at the memories that patch of ground raised - he sat down on a particularly large boulder in clear view of the house and waited. He figured it would only be a matter of time before Hunter smelled his scent in the air and came to find him. The first time they’d talked, Harry had been fascinated by Hunter’s explanation of how he could differentiate between all of the humans and animals in the area by smell alone. Without even looking at them!

He sighed and looked up at the blue sky. Not for the first time, he wished he could talk to other animals too. Think of the things he could learn! He smiled, thinking that he sounded like Hermione. No, not quite like Hermione, he decided. He didn’t want to build up a compendium of knowledge in his head; he simply wanted to know some of the cool things that animals knew that he didn’t.

Like what must it be like to have wings and fly anywhere one wanted to?

Or to burrow down deep underground?

Or to have a built-in fur coat to ward off the cold?

They all sounded nice. He would have loved to have had the ability to fly or burrow away from the Dursleys, or to have built-in warmth all those times they left him with one threadbare blanket in the cold cupboard.

Which brought a less pleasant question to his mind. He hadn’t thought of the Dursleys overly much lately, with everything else going on. He wondered if he would have to go back there ever again. Now that Snape and Dumbledore knew what they knew, surely they wouldn’t make him. It sounded like maybe they wouldn’t. For the first time since the night he’d met Sirius, he had real hope that he was finally done with his relatives. For good.

Maybe. He still had doubts. He couldn’t help himself. He’d had to put up with his relatives for fifteen years, and every time he’d had a little bit of hope that either he’d be taken away from them or they would begin to be nice to him, he’d been disappointed. He’d given up on asking adults for help long ago. They never came through. But this time…

This time, he had a bit more hope. Even if he couldn’t give in completely to that hope, he thought he might have finally found somebody with the guts and motivation to come through for him. Snape hated his relatives, and not only because they were annoying Muggles. Snape was familiar with the fear and self-doubt that came with being raised by spiteful people. He was no stranger to the kind of life Harry had with them, and despite their past, despite the hate that used to exist between them, he knew that Snape didn’t want Harry to go back to the Dursleys.

He felt unbelievably silly for so much as thinking it, but he felt almost as if he had found a…well, a champion. Snape would fight to keep him sane, would fight to help him defeat Voldemort, and he would fight to keep him from going back to the Dursleys.

He smiled. And then he thought of what Snape’s reaction would be to being called a champion, and his lips broke into a face-splitting grin. Snape would hate it. He snickered. If the shoe fits...but he made a mental note to block it from his mind during future Occlumency lessons.

Before he could dwell any longer on that thought, his ears caught on a wisp of a sound and he sat up straight, eyeing the direction he thought it had come from. He caught sight of a black and white length slithering through the grass, and his grin grew impossibly wider. “Hunter!”

“Sssnake-wizzzard-human,” Hunter hissed as he drew closer.

Harry almost corrected him, but he supposed it didn’t matter all that much if Hunter couldn’t understand that he wasn’t part snake. At least he was starting to get the wizard part.

The snake stopped next to Harry’s boulder and began to slowly coil in place.

“I missed you,” said Harry. He reached out, and Hunter obligingly moved his head forward so that Harry could run his fingers along the smooth scales behind his eyes.

Hunter slowly bobbed his head. “Sssnake-wizzzard-human is not dead. I am glad.”

Harry let out a low laugh. “Yeah. You and me both. How has the hunting been since I left?” It felt like he’d been here only yesterday talking to Hunter, but it had been six weeks now since he’d been captured. Six long weeks.

“The frog wasss delicccious.” Hunter bobbed his head behind him, which Harry took to mean that he had eaten only a little bit ago. “It isss growing colder. Food isss harder to find. I will sssleep sssoon.”

“Oh.” He guessed the snake meant hibernation. It occurred to him that he still didn’t even know what kind of snake Hunter was, and he’d had no idea that he hibernated during the winter. Maybe if he found out how long this type of snake hibernated, he could talk Snape into taking him here to visit again soon after he was due to wake up. He could maybe even ask Snape all about Hunter. As a Potions master, he probably knew a lot about different kinds of snakes.

“I slept for a while too,” he heard himself say before he quite knew it was on his mind. “Only for a week. But it felt longer. Well. Okay, it felt like no time had passed, really. But it also felt like a long time. Because somebody made me sleep. I didn’t want to.” He shook his head to clear it. He hadn’t talked to anyone about that part of what had happened, not more than the basics, anyway. He didn’t realize until now how much he needed to.

“A lot happened to me while I was away,” he explained because Hunter was cocking his head in a way that said he wasn’t sure what Harry was talking about, but he was willing to listen. “A bad wizard took me, and he hurt me. And I know it doesn’t make sense, but even though a lot of bad stuff happened, sleeping was the worst of it. At least when the bad wizard hurt me, I knew what was happening and I could do something about it. Even if the only thing I could do was to scream or kick, at least I was in control of my own body. When he made me sleep…” He swallowed, hard. “I knew he could do whatever he wanted to me and I couldn’t stop it, wouldn’t even know. And I didn’t know when or if I would wake up. It was scary.”

“I do not mind sssleep,” hissed Hunter. “I can teach you how to do it better.”

Harry smiled and let out a sigh. “Thanks. Maybe next time I see you.” He’d known the snake couldn’t fully understand, but it still felt nice to unload his thoughts out loud. He moved from the boulder to lie on his back in a smooth patch of ground. He stared at the sky as Hunter coiled up closer to his side and partly onto his chest. “I think maybe it’s okay to not have control all the time, but it’s different when you can choose to give up control, isn’t it?”

Hunter scooted his head under his hand, and he ran his fingers lightly back and forth over the snake’s scales.

“Like, I didn’t used to like it when my teacher made decisions for me. Okay,” he admitted with a wry grin, “I still don’t. But sometimes it’s nice to let somebody make the hard decisions, isn’t it? Not the kind that the bad wizard makes for people, but the kind parents and teachers make for kids. Those aren’t so bad, some of the time.”

Hunter hovered closer so that he was peering down at Harry’s face. “You are still in the nest,” he reminded simply, as if that explained everything.

Harry’s lips quirked up into a grin. “Yeah. Still in the nest. Sort of.” And still without a nest, he added mentally, but no. That didn’t seem quite right. Maybe Hogwarts was his nest. He didn’t know how he’d have made it through this year without his friends and professors around him.

“Not in Teacher’s nessst,” said Hunter as if still doubtful.

“No,” Harry confirmed. “Not in Teacher’s nest.”

“You left and he came. He looked for you. And you are here,” Hunter explained as if that settled something.

Harry smiled. “Yeah. He found me. He saved me from the bad wizard.”

“I ssshowed him your ssstick. It upssset him. I wasss afraid, but he did not hurt me.”

Harry rubbed Hunter’s neck comfortingly. “I told you he wouldn’t. He knows we’re friends. He won’t hurt you. Just…don’t make any sudden movements when you see him, okay? He might still be a little nervous around you.”

“I did not bite him.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Hunter bobbed his head and confessed, “I bit dog-human.”

Harry barked a laugh at the gravity of Hunter’s confession, but he sobered up quickly. “I know. It’s okay.” He’d hate to think what could have happened if Remus hadn’t been brought to a Healer right away, but that wasn’t Hunter’s fault. All he’d known was that Remus had been the bad guy that day. Harry thought about explaining more, but it would only confuse Hunter, and it was highly unlikely Remus would ever be back here anyway. “You did well to stop him,” he assured the snake.

Hunter seemed reassured and rested his head on Harry’s chest. They lay like that until the sun was high in the sky, and he learned more about the snake’s life. He’d had no idea how difficult it could be to catch wild mice, nor did he think he ever needed to know such a thing, but it was fun to hear Hunter tell the tale of his last hunt gone awry. He listened in turn as Harry explained more about his friends at school. He thought Hunter would rather enjoy meeting Ron, though he wasn’t sure he could say the same about Ron.

He knew they were no longer alone when Hunter went completely still and gazed at a point beyond Harry.

“Is it Teacher?” Harry asked.

The snake lifted his head slowly and hissed, “Yesss. He isss ssstill. Isss he afraid?”

Harry grinned. “Probably. I’m going to sit up now, okay?”

Hunter obligingly scooted his weight from Harry’s chest and coiled himself up in the dirt, never taking his eyes away from where Snape presumably stood.

“I will not bite,” Hunter said.

“I know.” He lifted himself into a sitting position and turned. Sure enough, Snape had stopped several paces away and was watching them warily. “You can come closer, if you want,” Harry called. “He promised he won’t bite. I bet he’ll even let you touch him if you want. I think he trusts you after you didn’t hurt him before.”

Snape cleared his throat. “As tempting as that offer is…”

“Come on, you’re not afraid, are you?”

Snape shot him an unimpressed glare. “We are not all Gryffindors, mistaking recklessness for bravery. I am quite sensibly wary of placing myself within biting distance of a pair of venomous fangs, particularly as I have now had occasion to see the result of those fangs in action.”

“He won’t bite you, I swear.”

“And he very well won’t bite me from a distance either,” Snape snapped back, his bad-mood-day patience obviously wearing thin.

Harry sighed and muttered, “Fine. I only wanted him to meet you for real, is all,” and pet Hunter himself. The little snake must be feeling the tension in the air and not know how to interpret it, for he was coiling up more tightly. “It’s okay,” he assured in Parseltongue. “We weren’t arguing, not really. Humans can disagree but still be friends.”

Hunter dipped his head under Harry’s hand, almost like he was nuzzling it, which Harry was fairly certain was the most adorable thing he’d seen all year. The snake went still again at the rustling of dirt and grass, and Harry looked up in happy surprise to see Snape inching forward, a resigned but determined look on his face.

“Give me your word that I am not committing suicide, or so help me Merlin, my ghost will haunt you until your dying day.”

Harry laughed in delight. “You really want to spend your afterlife following around a Gryffindor?”

Snape pulled a face but his eyes were focused on the black and white snake as he drew closer.

“Can my teacher touch you?” Harry asked the snake. “It would show him you’re friendly, if you would let him.”

“Yesss,” Hunter hissed and moved his head slowly toward Snape, who froze.

“It’s okay,” Harry insisted. “He said he won’t bite.”

Snape hummed as if to say he didn’t believe he was about to do this and then knelt next to Harry. He cautiously held out a hand, as Hunter regarded him, equally cautious. He flicked his tongue at Snape, and to the professor’s credit, he didn’t draw back. Of course, he didn’t move his hand closer either.

“He’s just sniffing you out,” explained Harry.

“Yes,” murmured Snape. “I am aware.” Still, he took another deep breath before moving his hand the rest of the way. Hunter ducked a bit, allowing Snape to run his fingers lightly over his neck.

Harry beamed. “See? He likes you. Or, at least, he doesn’t dislike you.”

Snape hummed noncommittally and withdrew his hand. Hunter coiled up loosely next to Harry and rested his head in a crook of his own body, curiously watching Snape.

“You can pet him more, if you want.” Snape shot him a look that spoke volumes, and Harry laughed. “Next time, then?””

Snape shook his head. “Of all the skills you could have mastered, snake taming had to be on the list?”

Harry shrugged and ran his hand over Hunter’s scales. “It’s not taming if you can talk to the snake. It’s only… making friends.”

“You don’t have enough friends already?”

“Life doesn’t have a friends limit, you know.”

“Neither is there a quota to aspire to.”

“Well maybe there should be,” said Harry stubbornly. “There are a lot of miserable people in the world who might be happier if only they had more friends.”

“And you intend to befriend them all, do you?” Snape said, and even though Harry knew the man wasn’t in the best of moods, the sneer in his voice rubbed him the wrong way.

“Of course not,” he snapped. “But there’s nothing wrong with making friends where I can. Maybe if you tried making friends once in a while, you wouldn’t be so serious and grumpy all the time!” He bit his lip, already regretting being so rude after Snape had helped him out so much.

Snape sniffed and said, “I came to retrieve you for lunch. Mr. Kneader has no doubt been required to break out the warming spells by now.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Can I have a few minutes to say goodbye?”

“Of course.” Snape stiffly rose to his feet, and Harry caught him rubbing at his left arm as he walked away. He frowned, wondering if that was the reason for the professor’s foul mood. He wished he had a way to take his pain away. In time, maybe he would. If Snape and Dumbledore would ever let him try… In the meantime, maybe he shouldn’t be too hard on him for being out of sorts.

“Professor?” he called after him, and Snape half turned to look back. “I’m sorry for saying you’re serious and grumpy all the time and have no friends.”

Snape lifted his eyes to the sky, but the corner of his lip curled in a way that told Harry he was already forgiven. “Potter. I am serious and grumpy all the time and have no friends. It is hardly an exaggeration, and you are hardly the first to point it out.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s nice to say,” Harry murmured. “And anyway, it’s not really true. You’re not grumpy all the time, and you have at least…three friends.”

“Three, hmm?” Snape turned completely and folded his hands over his chest. “Pray tell, who made the cut?”

“Dumbledore, Kneader, and me,” Harry listed on three fingers. “And before you say I can’t count Dumbledore ‘cause he’s your boss or myself ‘cause I’m a student, I beg to differ. There are all kinds of friends, and I’m putting us both on your list, like it or no.” He lifted his chin. “And I still don’t believe you’re not friends with at least some of the other professors. Flitwick, maybe. I still dunno about McGonagall. You’re probably both too hard-headed to be really good friends with each other. But maybe you chat sometimes? Or maybe…uh…” Come to think of it, he still wasn’t sure who else he could name. Hagrid probably drove Snape crazy, and he always treated Pomfrey with simple professional courtesy. Sprout didn’t seem like the type Snape would buddy up to…

“I had hoped your interest in my personal life was a phase,” Snape interrupted his thoughts. “It seems it is doomed to be forever in your sights.”

Harry shrugged, unconcerned. “I’m on your friend list now. Makes me even more curious ‘bout who I’m sharing the list with. Madame Hooch?” he asked doubtfully.

Snape shook his head at Harry, though he didn’t seem as irritated as before. “The dubious concept of a friend list aside, I do not think such ‘lists’ operate as exclusive clubs, wherein everyone is thereby entitled to a standing social invite to mix and mingle.”

Harry snorted. “I know you’re out of practice, but that’s exactly how it works. When you have friends, you invite them together and they meet each other. It’s called having a social life.”

Snape grimaced. “I have no desire to cultivate a social life.”

Harry was tempted to laugh at Snape’s obvious disgust with the idea, but he hid his grin with a duck of his head and another pat on Hunter’s back. The snake bobbed his head, content to watch them with the occasional tongue flick.

He opened his mouth to wheedle the professor for more information, but Snape cut off his attempt before he could make a sound. “Finish up and come inside. If you don’t take too long,” he added with a long look, “I may be inclined to be moderately forthcoming about some one or other inconsequential and wholly unexciting detail of my personal life.”

“Really?” Harry beamed.

“Really,” said Snape softly before he spun on his heel and continued on his way to the house.

He turned back to Hunter. “Sorry I’ve been ignoring you.”

“It isss fine,” Hunter replied as he slowly threaded his body under one of Harry’s arms and over the other. “It is peaccceful to lisssten to you ssspeak wizzzard-language.”

“Do you understand any of it?”

“No,” he said, and Harry ran his fingers over his back as he wove back and forth.

“Thank you for letting Teacher touch you. I think he likes you.” He decided the exaggeration was for a good cause. Hunter and Snape may never be friends, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t make good allies.

“Will I sssee Teacher again?”

“Maybe. Probably. We have to leave now. I won’t be back before you have to sleep, but maybe I can visit again sometime after you wake up. If I do, Teacher will probably be with me.”

“Then farewell, sssnake-wizzzard-human.” Hunter began to uncoil and slither away. “I mussst prepare to sssleep.”

“Farewell.” Harry stood, brushing pieces of dirt and grass from his clothing as he did so. He felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. It was nice to talk to someone like Hunter, who accepted him without any expectations of him as the Boy Who Lived, and who let him talk about anything that was on his mind. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply of the fresh salt air, and grinned as he headed to the house.

He was still grinning when he saw Snape sitting on the porch, waiting for him. Maybe he could wheedle out some small morsel of information about his professor before they headed in for lunch. He figured a good place to start was by following up on the question about Snape’s relationships with his fellow teachers, since Harry had bothered him about it several times now. It couldn’t take him too long to heave a long-suffering sigh and admit that yes, Mr. Potter, Flitwick and I regularly chat over tea and crumpets or no, Mr. Potter, Hooch and I haven’t said two words to each other in the time that I’ve known her. Okay, so the last one definitely wasn’t true. Harry had seen Snape speak to Madame Hooch before. But…he must have something interesting for Harry!

He was pretty sure his eagerness was written all over his face as he got closer, but then he got a good look at Snape, and he faltered. Something wasn’t right. The man’s head was bowed, and his legs were folded underneath him like he’d sat down suddenly once he’d reached the porch. Harry took the last few steps at a sprint.

“Professor?” He dropped down next to Snape, his hands ghosting over the man’s back. He was breathing heavily, obviously in pain, and his arms were shaking where they supported his weight. Correction: where his right arm supported his weight. His left was curled up close to his body. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Never better,” he said through gritted teeth, and well, Harry didn’t have to be a genius to know that was a lie.

“It’s the…it’s the Dark Mark, isn’t it?” he said, unable to keep the tremble from his voice. Voldemort was upping his torture, attacking Snape’s Mark even more, he was certain of it.

Snape dipped his head, and Harry couldn’t tell if it was a nod or if it was getting harder to stay upright. “Get. Kneader,” he grunted, and Harry didn’t have to be told twice.

“Mr. Kneader!” he yelled, then cringed, as the front door slammed against the wall. He’d probably worry later that he’d dinged Kneader’s wall and hope to Merlin that the man didn’t hate him for it. He’d already destroyed his lamp the last time he’d been here. He ran for the kitchen. “Mr. Kneader!”

He nearly ran head-first into the older man, who caught him by the shoulders as they met in the doorway to the kitchen. The man seemed surprised but alert, and Harry figured he had to be used to sudden emergencies after so many years as a mediwizard, and now as the keeper of an Order safe house. He didn’t wait for Kneader to ask, only gasped, “Snape,” grabbed his arm, and dragged him toward the front door. To the man’s credit, he didn’t hesitate or resist, only allowed Harry to pull him along.

Snape had managed to move so that he was leaning against a porch railing. He was still clutching his arm to his body, and he looked pale. Too pale. Kneader knelt next to him and Harry dropped to his other side, trying to hide how much he was trembling.

“I think it’s his Dark Mark,” he whispered, as if now that help had arrived, saying it any louder would give it too much power.

“Severus?” prompted Kneader as he placed a hand to his forehead and then checked both eyes.

Snape squinted against the light and grunted what Harry thought was supposed to be a yes. With effort, he put out his left arm. When Kneader pulled up the sleeve, Harry sucked in a sharp breath. The Mark was jet black and writhing furiously on his skin, which was an angry red color and clearly inflamed. It looked so painful that Harry had to look away.

Kneader calmly replaced the sleeve and gently pulled Snape’s arm around his own shoulder. “Will you please assist me, Mr. Potter? I think Professor Snape will be more comfortable inside.” Between the two of them, they managed to help Snape move to a bed in the infirmary room. If anything, that frightened Harry more, for the professor could barely help them move him.

The moment they got him to the bed, he curled up slightly on his side, breathing shallowly through his mouth.

Kneader reached for a few potions and sat at Snape’s side. “How long has it been like this, Severus?”

Snape took a deep, shuddering breath before answering tightly, “Few minutes. Has been…getting worse…past week. Never this bad.” His eyes darted to the potions vials. “Those…won’t work.”

Kneader was examining his arm again. “Perhaps not,” he agreed. “But what’s the harm in trying, eh?”

“I’ve tried--” He broke off with a grunt, then ground out, “everything you can think of, old man. It won’t work.” He drew in a sudden breath and let it out through his teeth, and his eyes darted around the room, catching on Harry. He paled even more, which Harry hadn’t thought possible.

Harry fidgeted in place, moving from one foot to the other, and hesitantly stepped closer to the bed. He felt entirely useless right now, not sure what he should be doing, but he wanted to do something to help. “Should I maybe…get some water? Or something?” he asked to the room in general.

“Go,” grunted Snape. “Wait…outside.”

“But--”

“Go!” Snape yelled and then winced as if that had physically hurt. Which it probably had.

“Water would be a fine idea, if you please,” said Kneader politely. He didn’t look up as he carefully rubbed a small amount of ointment on Snape’s arm. The professor flinched but didn’t draw away. “Leave it inside the door, then wait in the living room. I will be out shortly.”

He hurried to the kitchen and back quickly, and it only took one more glare from Snape to hasten his retreat to the living room. He only thought about eavesdropping for a split second before the sinking feeling in his stomach convinced him not to. Snape deserved his privacy, especially on his sickbed. And if he didn’t want Harry there, well…it was hardly surprising. The man didn’t like to show weakness. He’d been hiding the pain of his Mark for weeks in front of Harry, even when it was so bad that he didn’t do it very well. It was no surprise that he didn’t want Harry to see him now, at his very worst.

Despite still trembling, he couldn’t sit, so he paced the room until after about fifty million minutes, Kneader was there. He stopped his pacing and eyed the older man nervously. He was afraid to ask if Snape would be okay, so he stood in silence, waiting for Kneader to speak first.

The man watched him in return for a few seconds, his sharp eyes taking in Harry’s wrecked state. “You must be hungry,” he finally said calmly, as if Harry wasn’t worried out of his mind, and made his way to the kitchen, waving for him to follow. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

“I’m not…” he started, but Kneader was already gone, and so he followed obediently. He stopped inside the door and watched as Kneader cast a warming charm on a bowl of soup and a sandwich on the table, then gestured for Harry to sit. He didn’t sit. “How is he?”

“He is resting,” came the brief reply. Harry narrowed his eyes, ready to be as stubborn as he needed to be to get some answers, but Kneader only took a seat across the table. “Why don’t we eat while we talk?”

And okay, Harry could aim for civility while he grilled the man for information. He sat and took a quick bite of his sandwich, not tasting it one bit. The second he swallowed, he repeated, “How is he?”

“He is in pain,” Kneader answered simply. “I’ve done what I can, but there are few remedies available to me to combat such dark magic. He may be incapacitated for some time.”

“But he isn’t…I mean, he’s going to be okay eventually?” He didn’t know why he asked. Even he knew the answer to that question. As long as Snape was marked and as long as Voldemort was powerful enough to affect him through it, he wouldn’t be okay. Not by a long shot. He sighed and didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he asked, “He’s not in danger of…you know.” He couldn’t say dying. The word was too awful to ask aloud. He swallowed hard. “Is he?”

“Not today.” But the man’s eyes didn’t hide the truth, that Snape’s future wasn’t guaranteed very far beyond that. Harry almost looked away at the pity in Kneader’s eyes, but he appreciated that the man didn’t lie to him. Kneader went on, “I’ve alerted Professor Dumbledore of the situation. He should be here soon to see Professor Snape. I reckon he’ll be taking you back to Hogwarts before dinner.”

“Is Snape staying here?”

“For now.”

“Then so am I.”

“Mr. Potter--”

“I know I should ask. It’s your place, and I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not leaving him like this. So if I have to be the world’s rudest house guest and chain myself to the living room sofa when you try to kick me out, then you should know that that’s exactly what I’m prepared to do.” He stared down the mediwizard, hoping that conveyed that he meant business.

Kneader’s lips lifted into a soft smile. “You are rather more like Severus than either of you would care to admit.”

Harry let himself relax minutely. That wasn’t a no.

“Eh. Pardon,” Kneader said, chagrined. “Professor Snape. I rarely see him around students, you know. The formality takes some getting used to.”

“You can call him S- um, Severus with me,” said Harry. The name sounded strange on his tongue, but not so strange as it would have last year. “At least until he gets up and chews you out for it.” He tried to smile, but it came out wobbly, so he stirred his soup to have something to do and offered, “And, um, you can call me Harry if you want. I don’t mind.” He was surprised that he didn’t. He still didn’t know Kneader well, but he liked the man’s honesty. And he liked that unlike most adults who had formed opinions about Harry before meeting him, Kneader was open to forming new opinions after actually getting to know him. Harry wasn’t sure that the man liked him per se, but he was being nice to him, which is more than he’d expected the first time they’d met. He added lightly, “I’m thinking it might be harder for you to kick me out, if we’re on a first name basis.”

Kneader chuckled softly, and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

“So…are you? Going to kick me out when Dumbledore gets here?” Harry asked.

Kneader studied him for a minute. “No. No, I don’t think that I will.” He answered Harry’s grateful smile with one of his own, but he cautioned, “You still must convince your headmaster. Should he decide that you must return to school at once, I daresay that no chains will hold you here against his will.”

Harry wrinkled his nose at the snag, but he figured he stood a good chance. Not only did the headmaster like that Snape and Harry were closer now, Harry was getting pretty good at arguing his case. Worst case scenario, he could pull out the guilt card. Dumbledore had a lot of things to feel bad about where Harry was concerned. He didn’t want to use that to his advantage, but he would. There’s no way he could go back to Hogwarts tonight, not knowing whether Snape was going to be okay.

“You have been good for him,” Kneader commented.

Harry looked up, surprised. “Who? Snape?”

“Yes.”

Harry watched him for a few moments, but Kneader was casually eating his soup, giving nothing of his thoughts away. He finally said, “He’s been good for me too.”

Kneader nodded and leaned back, satisfied.

He played with his spoon for a minute before leaning forward. “Mr. Kneader. Just tell me. Out loud. Is he…is it going to kill him?” He swallowed. “I promise I can handle it,” he lied.

Kneader cocked his head at Harry, studying him, before he answered, softly and gruffly at the same time, “I can’t know for certain how long. But…yes. Sooner or later. His body can only take so much of this.”

Harry swallowed hard, trying to ignore the buzzing in his ears. “I thought it was only his arm.”

“Dark magic does not contain itself, not as we might wish,” said Kneader gently. “The Dark Mark is localized, yes, but the magic of the Mark has spread throughout his body. Even amputation would not reverse the damage.”

Harry shuddered at the thought, but asked hopefully, “But you could…do that? Cut it off? Keep it from getting worse?” Snape might well rather die before losing an arm, but Harry, for one, would rather keep a one-armed Snape around than lose him altogether.

Kneader shook his head. “You Know Who anticipated that, I’m afraid. It may halt his ability to cause localized pain, but he’ll still be able to attack Severus through the Mark’s residual magic in his body. It might buy some time, but it will not save him.”

Harry blinked fast against a rush of emotion, and he looked away. He might sort of like Kneader now, but that didn’t mean he wanted the man to see him cry.

After a couple minutes, he cleared his throat and asked, “Does he… Does Snape know?”

Kneader shook his head. “You should probably ask him that question.”

Harry studied the man’s schooled expression and sighed. “I don’t have to, do I? He’s the smartest wizard I know, and he knows Voldemort better than anyone. Of course he knows. Has known for a while.” He noted that Kneader didn’t shudder at Voldemort’s name or make a fuss over it, which made Harry respect him even more. But that pity was back in his eyes, so Harry looked away again.

Kneader relented. “He believed he had time. He would not have wished to worry you when you’ve had enough on your plate.”

“You’ve talked to him? About me? Since we’ve been back?”

The man’s lips quirked up. “No. Not as such. Severus is quite tight-lipped, as you’ve probably noticed.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “No, hadn’t noticed. At all,” he drawled.

“Unfortunately for him, I am quite perceptive.”

Harry raised his pointer finger in the air. “Now that I have noticed.”

Kneader smiled. “I reckon you’d like to know what I’ve noticed, eh?”

Harry pushed his half-empty soup bowl to the side and leaned his arms on the table expectantly. Kneader chuckled again, and Harry thought it was a nice sound. Warm but rough, like he was somebody who liked to laugh but didn’t do it very often.

“Severus has consulted with me over the Mark,” he said. “Dumbledore too. I’m afraid I haven’t been of much help.” He shook his head sadly. “He was reaching the end of his rope. I reckon Dumbledore was considering yanking him from his duties.” He eyed Harry, probably considering how much to share with a student, and Harry tried to put on his best you can trust me face. It must have worked, for he continued, “He was giving up. Very nearly had. Then…” He snapped a finger. “Like that. He regained his focus. His fight. A man like Severus? I reckon the only thing that does that is being needed. By somebody he cares enough about to stick around for.” He took a sip of water and eyed Harry over the rim. “Know anybody who fits that bill?”

Harry felt warm, and he wasn’t sure if it was due to embarrassment or to the warm-blanket type of feeling he got at hearing that Snape thought he was somebody worth sticking around for. Maybe both. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Kneader didn’t wait for a response. “That boy in there,” he jabbed a thumb in the general direction of Snape’s room, and under less serious circumstances, Harry would have snickered at Snape being called a boy, “likes to dance around his feelings. And I’d wager you’re accustomed to fair bit of dancing yourself. So in the interest of being a nosy busybody, which, quite frankly, I so rarely get to be, I’m going to tell it to you straight. Severus cares about you. And he wants you to know it, but he doesn’t want you to know how much, and now that You Know Who has got his hooks deeper in him, he’s going to be mucking about in that muddled head of his waffling over whether to cut you loose now so you don’t have to see the end of him. Don’t let him. Do that stubborn thing you do. You’re the best chance I’ve got of keeping him fighting this thing.”

Harry blinked at what was definitely not wetness behind his eyes. Nope. He blinked harder. “You… You think he can still fight it? You said…”

“I think the longer we can drag this out, the more time we have to come up new ideas. And you never know when the latest new idea could be what fixes the problem. Even long shots have got a shot, eh?”

Harry nodded, grasping onto that hope. And also clinging to the hope of an idea that wasn’t exactly new. An idea that was swirling around and around in his mind, that Snape would murder him for so much as thinking…

Kneader lifted his head at something that Harry couldn’t hear, then abruptly stood. “That’ll be Dumbledore. I’ll be wanting to chat with him for a bit. Call on Mimsy if you need anything, yes?”

Harry nodded. He didn’t bother asking if he could come. Kneader clearly wanted to talk to Dumbledore alone first, and Snape clearly didn’t want Harry to sit in on them talking about his Dark Mark. He tore off a piece of bread and nibbled on it distractedly.

“Mr. Kneader?” he called to the man’s retreating back. “Um, thank you.”

Kneader paused to glance back, that warm look in his eyes. “You are very welcome, Harry Potter.”

And like that, he was alone again. Which was fine. The other reason he didn’t ask to talk to Dumbledore just yet was that being alone gave him time to think.

Because to hell with this curse that seemed to have permeated his entire life, that made him lose any grown-up he started to really care about! He was through with being left all alone in life because Voldemort decided it would be cool to orphan him, and then Bellatrix had decided he could stand to lose even more, and now Voldemort wanted to take away his last lifeline, one that Harry had found in the most unlikely of places. If Voldemort thought he could take one more person away from Harry, he had another thing coming! He narrowed his eyes, resolved to do ‘that stubborn thing’ he was good at doing, only not in quite the way Kneader had asked of him.

He only needed a plan.

Namely, the plan of how he was going to convince Dumbledore to let him help. And if that didn’t work, then the plan of how he was going to convince Dumbledore that he’d given in so that he could sneak behind his back and do it anyway.

One way or another, Harry was going to Legilimize Voldemort.

Tonight.