Harry takes a sip of his tea, using the movement as an excuse to study Snape. The man's hair is curtained over his face, hiding it from view. Everything about the man is hidden, really, Harry thinks. Not just the things he deems important. Which, apparently, includes Harry. A warm feeling spreads through Harry’s chest that has nothing to do with the tea. He doesn't stop the smile threatening his lips and wonders if Snape has noticed, as he is staring at Harry with an unnerving intensity.

"What?" Harry asks.

"Nothing," Snape murmurs. "It's just I rarely catch you looking so unguarded."

"Oh." Harry does feel rather relaxed, and looks askance at his professor. "You didn't drug me, did you?"

"No," Snape drawls. "But the tea does have chamomile in it, which is a calming agent."

"Oh." Harry stretches like a cat on the sofa, twisting his back until it pops. "That’s alright."

"I usually try and drink something of the sort before I begin to mark essays," Snape continues. "It stops me from ripping them up."

Harry can't tell if Snape is kidding. "Do you need to work? I can go."

"You need not leave on my account," Snape says. "Didn't you say you had homework to do?"

Harry glances at his lumpy book bag, tossed in the corner. "Yeah."

"Why not do it here?" Snape says. "I will not interfere unless you ask my assistance."

"Okay," Harry says, agreeable after the tea. He goes to the bag and sifts through his stuff. For a moment he feels overwhelmed. He has missed a week of classes, after all, and he's not quite sure on the best way to catch up. Finally he decides to tackle it subject by subject. He mentally rejects Potions as too fraught and Transfiguration as too taxing. Finally he settles on Charms, and takes his book and parchment back to the couch. But it's rather chilly, and anyway if he lies down he might fall asleep. So, as he tends to do in the Gryffindor common room, Harry sprawls on the rug in front of the fireplace. He props up his chin in his hands and begins to read up on the Charm to make a Wizarding photograph change from black and white to color.

For the next two hours, everything is quiet except for the sounds of pages turning and quills scrawling. Harry finds it easy to concentrate, filled with the drug-tea, as he has privately dubbed it. Snape does not say a word the whole time, which makes Harry rather uneasy about the marks those students must be receiving. He shifts to a sitting position and leans back against the couch, craning his head around until he catches Snape’s eye. "How's the grading coming?"

"Disgustingly slow.” Snape observes Harry over his long nose. "You've been quite diligent."

"You don't need to sound so surprised," Harry says. "My marks aren't bad."

"Your Potions work leaves something to be desired."

"Well, so do your teaching skills," Harry says, the words tripping out of his mouth before he can stop them. He regrets them instantly, even as he marvels at how quickly he can anger this man. Snape has gone from looking nice and calm to looking like he would enjoy eating Harry for breakfast.

"Even if that is true," Snape says after a tense silence, "It is not a student's place to criticize his teacher." He looks pointedly at Harry. “Especially a mediocre Potions student.”

Harry shuffles his papers together, trying to stop the objections boiling up inside of him.

"Did you hear me?" Snape says, an edge of sharpness to his tone.

"Yes, I heard you," Harry says. Then he sighs. The serenity of the afternoon has already been spoiled; he might as well say what’s on his mind. "But I don't understand. You told me you were a terrible teacher. Those were your words exactly. You said you didn’t have the patience for teaching. I happen to agree.”

"It is my prerogative to critique my teaching skills, Potter. Not yours."

Harry once again tries to quell the arguments rising up inside of him. Why does he find it so hard to shut up around Snape? You’d think after so long with the Dursleys, he would have developed some sense of self-preservation. But there’s something about Snape that makes Harry plow on, ignoring all the danger signs, all of the time. And so, he cannot help but point out, “I’ve called you far worse things and you haven’t batted an eye.”

”Perhaps you have the right to voice certain opinions to me as Lily's son,” Snape snaps, glaring at Harry as though he loathes making this admission. “But I fail to remember when you, as a student, earned the right to criticize me, a professor, to my face."

“You’ve criticized me loads of times. Just now you did!”

“I’ve earned the right as your professor.”

“And I’ve earned the right as your mediocre student,” Harry says loudly, clenching his fists.

“I have no qualms about giving you detention,” Snape says pleasantly, and, to Harry's way of thinking, completely without cause.

“When have you ever treated a student as badly as me?” Harry barks back, more stung than he would like by Snape’s threat. He’d sort of thought they were past all that. “If I don’t have the right to complain, then who does?”

”None of my students would ever dare to voice such an opinion,” Snape growls. “None but you.”

“Right,” Harry says. “And you would never bring a student to your quarters. None but me.”

“And so you think you deserve special treatment in all matters?” Snape demands. “There is a time when I would not have found that surprising in the least.”

“No,” Harry says, standing up in his agitation to make himself understood. “But you and I have been through enough together that it seems ridiculous to treat me like just any other student.”

“So you do wish for special treatment.”

“No, but I don’t see why you can call me mediocre and say my work stinks and I can’t say anything back to you!”

“It’s called respect, Potter,” Snape grinds out between his teeth. “Perhaps the concept is beyond you.”

"Or perhaps you really can't resist putting me in my place," Harry snaps. "Maybe you haven't changed at all, and you're still as stunted and twisted as ever!"

Snape flinches. Then his voice turns cold. "Very well. Detention, tomorrow at seven. Perhaps scrubbing cauldrons will curb your tongue."

"Fine!" Harry yells. To his horror, his voice cracks, and he spins toward the fireplace, trying to get himself under control.

A long pause follows this outburst. Then he senses Snape coming up behind him. “Potter, what on earth is the matter with you?”

“Nothing, sir,” Harry says stonily, still staring at the orange and blue flames flickering the grate.

“Harry…”

“Don’t call me that!” Harry whirls around now, his emotions re-engaged by the use of his first name. “I don’t understand you! I call you Snape to your face—would you ever let another student do that? I punched you in the Room—more than once. Would you really let another student get away with that?” He takes a deep, ragged breath. “I told you about the gun! Would another student ever come to you with something like that?”

“No,” Snape says softly. “All of my students hate me."

"All but me," Harry snarls.

"Yes," Snape repeats. "All but you."

”Then why can't you treat me like a normal person?” Harry says tightly. “I understand that you have to act one way when we are in class. But here? When there’s nobody around?”

Snape purses his lips. “I cannot treat you like a ‘normal person.’ You are fifteen.”

“But half of the time you talk to me like we are the same age,” Harry grinds out. “You tell me things I know for sure you would never tell another student.”

“That is not true,” Snape says, too quickly.

Harry leans forward, pressing his point. “Yes, it is. I know things about you. I know that you actually kind of hate yourself. I know that you carry around enough guilt for an army. I know about your father and about my mother and how much you loved her and how much you hated him.” Harry pauses. “And it isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. To me. You can’t just tell me all these things when you feel like it, when it makes you feel better. You can’t treat me like that and then give me detention the next second. You just can’t. You should treat me like a normal person.”

“I don't know what you mean by normal, Potter. Treat you as a peer? As a friend?"

“Yeah.”

“It is not for you to set the rules of our interactions.”

“So that’s it, then?” Harry asks. “When it’s convenient for you, or you don’t want to hear something from me, then you are just going to give me detention or take away points to shut me up?” He pauses. “You couldn’t do that in the Room. Is that the only reason you ever treated me differently at all?”

Snape folds his arms over his chest. He looks carved out of granite. “I am prepared to indulge you in some matters, Potter, but not in others. I’m afraid you will just have to learn to live with that and adjust your behavior accordingly."

"You got my parents killed," Harry says, in near disbelief. "What gives you the right to decide anything at all about how I should or shouldn't behave?"

"The one has nothing to do with the other," Snape says quietly. "If you think I'm going to pander to you because of my history, then you are deeply mistaken."

"You bullied me for five years because of your history with my parents," Harry growls. "You're saying you can't do the opposite now?"

"I have no desire to."

"Well, I have no desire for you to give me detention or yell at me!"

“Why are you so worked up about this?" Snape asks. "I seem to remember assigning you two detentions after the Room without it devolving into such histrionics."

“Those weren’t real detentions,” Harry grumbles. “I didn’t think you meant it either time. The first was really for the Unbreakable Vow and the second was to fix me up from Umbridge.”

“So you thought after the Room that I would never discipline you again?”

“I don’t know what I thought,” Harry says, embarrassed and frustrated. Snape makes him sound so stupid. “I guess I thought that because you liked me, we were friends now, and that any time you got all teacher-y it would just be for show.”

“I do like you now,” Snape says firmly. “But I do not think my role is to be your friend." He pauses. “You have Weasley and Granger. You do not need more friends.”

“Then what do I need?” Harry says, frustrated. “What are you, Snape?”

“I am neither father nor brother, neither sinner nor saint.”

“Are you quoting from something?”

Snape, infuriatingly, does not clarify. “You cannot bear the thought of an unequal relationship, can you?”

“We’re equal!” Harry says, feeling almost wild. “I saved your life! I taught you how to relax in the Room!” He thrusts a finger in Snape’s face. “If I’m mixed up, it’s your fault! You’re the one always trying to make me see how we’re the same! Miserable childhoods? Check! Lily as Achilles Heel? Check! Effed up over Dumbledore? Check effing check!”

”But I don’t think you are mixed up about this,” Snape says, his voice as smooth as silk. “You keep blustering, Potter, because you are terrified of any relationship that differs from a friendship or romance." He peers at Harry. "Anything, in fact, that resembles the sort of relationship you might have had with James."

"James would've been like Sirius," Harry says thickly, giving voice to a long-cherished notion. "He would have been my best friend."

"He would have been your father," Snape counters. He purses his lips. "But I can easily envision him spoiling you rotten."

“Friends are the only good things,” Harry says, inarticulate in the swell of his emotions. “If you aren’t a friend, Snape, then you are with them.”

“Them?”

“Them!” Harry growls. “Uncle Vernon! Aunt Petunia! Professor Dumbledore! Them!”

"People put in charge of you, you mean.”

Harry scowls.

“I’m not your friend,” Snape says. “But I am on your side.” He looks Harry straight in the eye. “You really feel that if I correct you in any way—if I stop you from doing anything—then I am against you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says miserably. “Everybody else was.”

“This is a new concept to you,” Snape observes.

“My friends,” Harry says haltingly, “were not just my friends. They were people who were not my enemies.”

“I understand,” Snape says quietly. “I also understand now that my behavior has been confusing to you. You are right. I have told you things I have never told another person, let alone a student.”

“Are you going to stop now?” Harry asks.

“Do you want me to?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says. “When you tell me things like that, it helps me to understand you.”

“I still cannot believe that you want to understand me,” Snape mutters.

“Like that,” Harry says suddenly. “That’s something you probably wouldn’t admit to Ron.”

“Heaven forbid,” Snape says, shuddering delicately. Then he shakes his head. “Listen to me, Potter. I want you to be honest with me as well. That helps me to understand you. But I reserve the right to—how shall I put this—squelch you when you warrant squelching.”

“So I just have to take my chances?” Harry demands.

"A detention is not the end of the world,” Snape says mildly. "You need to decide whether some adults can discipline you without that signifying the end of your relationship with them, that's all.”

This still feels like an utterly alien concept to Harry, and it shows plainly in his face. “I don’t know what to say to you now.”

“You need not act differently,” Snape says patiently. “We will talk, you will cross the line at times, and I will correct you. And then we will carry on. It is nothing extraordinary.”

Harry can’t help but feel a shiver go down his back at those words. He doesn’t like the idea at all of being corrected.

“I’m not going to torment you like your relatives,” Snape says, reading something in Harry’s face. “Nor am I going to treat you as I did before.” He lifts his chin haughtily. “I’m not going to be vicious, Potter.”

Harry takes a step back from Snape. He cannot help it. It has not been conscious—but he’s gradually come to think of Snape as a friend rather than as one of them. And now Snape is dismissing that. “I don’t know where the lines are with you,” Harry says warily. “You used to be my enemy, and you say you aren’t my friend. What else is there?”

“There is me,” Snape says simply.

“I don’t like the idea of being unequal.”

“I don’t blame you,” Snape says. “But do you think your friend Ron feels he is on equal footing with his parents? Don’t you think he would find it remarkably unsettling to be so?”

“You. Aren’t. My. Parent.” Harry grinds out. “You got them killed, remember?” He stares at Snape, daring him. “There, did I cross a line?”

“Probably.”

“Going to give me another detention?”

“I think one is sufficient."

Harry throws up his hands. “You are impossible to understand!”

“I apologize,” Snape says, and he sounds sincere. “I'm not doing a good job of explaining my position. Let me think on it and then we will revisit the subject."

"Yes, sir," Harry says, making his voice extra-polite on purpose.

Snape looks like he doesn't love that response, but, really, he can't have it both ways.

“What subject are you studying?” Snape asks, clearly determined to distract Harry.

“Charms, sir.”

“Ah, yes. Flitwick mentioned you were doing a unit on wizard photography.”

“Yes, sir.”

Snape frowns. “Would you like a photograph to practice on?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry says again, pleased that his Best Boy manners appear to be irritating Snape.

Snape considers him for a long moment, eyes hooded. He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I will retrieve one for you. You will not be shocked to learn my photographs are hidden." He gets up and disappears through one of the doorways, coming back with a small wooden box.

It looks like a treasure chest to Harry. "Don't give me anything too important," he says quickly, his rigid politeness forgotten in his anxiety. "I might screw it up, I've never done the Charm before."

"I was going to make a copy and give you the duplicate to use."

"Oh," Harry says, relieved. He watches as Snape carefully sifts through the box, and wonders what kind of photographs a man like Snape would possess. He runs through the possibilities in his mind. Lily?

Finally, Snape selects one. He waves his wand over it, murmuring things, until a duplicate pops into view. He plucks it out of the air and hands it to Harry. "There you are."

Harry doesn't even pretend that he isn't giving the photo a close examination. To his surprise, it is not of his mother. Nor of Snape. In fact, Harry doesn't recognize either of the people in the photograph. It's an older couple, arms around each other, smiling wide, blinking in the strong sunshine.

Harry looks up. "Who are they, Snape?"

"You don't know?"

"No. Should I?"

"They are your grandparents. Lily's mother and father."

Harry leans forward, suddenly much more interested, almost more interested than he can bear. He doesn’t notice Snape smirking at the success of his plan to distract Harry. No, he is too busy staring at the Muggles, trying to remember if he saw them in the Mirror of Erised. He can't be sure, but as he studies the photograph, he begins to see similarities between Lily and her parents. Not the green eyes--but Lily's mum has red hair. The dad has the same tilt to Lily's chin, the same wide smile. Harry squints closer, searching for similarities to himself. There isn't anything obvious--he already knows he resembles James much more--but there is something about Lily's parents that resonates within him. The set of her jaw, the way he is standing. Something familiar.

"Didn't the Dursleys have pictures of them?" Snape inquires. "They were Petunia's parents too."

"No. Actually, I don't think my aunt had much fondness for her parents." Harry cocks his head, remembering. "After I got my Hogwarts letter, Aunt Petunia said something about when Lily got her letter--how proud they were to have a witch in the family. I don't think she had much use for Mum and Dad after that."

"I see."

"Besides, I think Petunia was mad at them for dying," Harry continues. "If they were alive, she could have foisted me off on them. How did they die, Snape? Do you know? Was it--"

"No, it wasn't Death Eaters," Snape says. "They died in a car crash."

Harry snorts, finding something darkly ironic in that. "At least someone did."

Snape cocks his head at the odd comment but does not pursue it. "They were very nice people, you know."

"What were their names?"

"To me, they were Mr. and Mrs. Evans."

"You knew them?"

"Yes. I went round there quite often, whenever I knew Petunia to be out. They welcomed me. They were fascinated with magic and they wanted their daughter to have playmates of her kind. They knew I was poor, but they never looked down on me. I always made an effort to look my best when I visited the Evans."

"They look like nice people," Harry decides, studying the photograph. "Hey, I didn't know Muggles could move in a Wizarding photograph. Look, he's waving!"

"If a wizard or witch takes the photograph, and develops it under certain conditions, then, yes, the Muggles will move just as Wizards would."

"I'm glad," Harry says. Mr. Evans is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, just like Harry does sometimes. Mrs. Evans stretches and leans to the side, and Harry can just glimpse the house behind them. It has a white picket fence in front of it, and a robust, unkempt garden. For some reason the wild, overflowing, untidy flowers give Harry a warm feeling of belonging. It's odd to think that Petunia was likely the odd one out in her family, just as Harry was at the Dursleys.

"So," Snape says. "Would you like assistance with the Charm?"

"Let me experiment for a bit first," Harry says, taking the hint that he has scrutinized Snape's photo long enough. He sort of wants to ask how this picture found its way into Snape's possession, but he doesn't want to pry. So instead he starts murmuring the incantation to make the photograph change colors. He turns the photo bright blue and gives it polka dots before he starts to get the idea. Finally, he manages it, and sits back on his heels, pleased. I wonder what I would have called them, he wonders. Granddad? Grandmum? Would they have spoiled Dudley? Maybe they would have spoiled me. Maybe they would have liked me more than Dudley.

"You may keep the copy if you wish," Snape says, interrupting Harry's musing. “To practice on.”

"Thank you, sir," Harry says formally, remembering his earlier plan to kill Snape with kindness, or at least politeness. He carefully slips the photograph into his bag. He can't help but glance at Snape's wooden box, curious what other treasures it might hold. But Snape stands up and puts the small chest away without looking at Harry. Clearly the mystery will have to remain for another day. When Snape returns, Harry is on his feet, putting his things away. "I think I need a break," Harry says. "Anyway, Ron's Quidditch practice is over by now, and..."

"You do not need to explain yourself," Snape says. "I hardly expect you to spend your entire Saturday here."

"Er, yeah," Harry says. He shuffles his feet on the floor, trying to get up the nerve to say something.

"What is it, Potter?"

"Did you mean it? About the detention tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," Harry offers, not expecting that to matter much.

Snape just looks at him, his expression unreadable.

Harry resumes shifting from foot to foot, but still makes no move to leave.

"Was there something else?"

"Um...if I ever wanted to come down here again...should I?” Harry mumbles, unable to stop his great uncertainty from coloring his tone.

"Yes," Snape says, almost too quickly. He clears his throat. "To access my quarters, you need to tap a certain bottle in the Potions classroom with your wand and murmur the incantation."

"Which bottle? What incantation?"

"The incantation is Abririum. And it's the fourth bottle on the third shelf. The one filled with lily leaves."

Harry nods. "Okay. I mean, yes, sir."

Snape purses his lips but says nothing. Harry fairly scampers out of his quarters, eager for company with someone who cannot threaten him with punishment. He quickly finds Ron in the Common Room, inhaling some Chocolate Frogs after his practice. Ron is still in no mood to work, and so the two of them spend quite a long time poring over Ron's new Quidditch magazine. To Harry, it is bliss.

"So," Ron says, finally setting the magazine aside, "Did I tell you Umbridge came and watched our practice? I don't know what she wanted, she just stood there watching with that horrible little smile on her face."

Harry represses a shudder. "I'm glad I didn't go watch. She would have found some reason to give me detention."

"Yes, and your arm still hasn't recovered from the last one," Hermione says, coming up from behind them. “Come on, Harry, let me fix you up before dinner.”

Harry does not much feel like arguing, and truth be told he could use a little sympathy right now. His arm is mostly healed from the blood quill, but it still rather twinges, and he makes no objection to Hermione's gentle ministrations.

Once he is settled, one arm dunked into murtlap essence, Hermione takes out her Charms book. "Have either of you started on the essay yet? It's a bit tricky."

"I finished it," Harry says, rather smug.

"Oh is that what you did today?" Hermione asks, surprised. "I must have missed you in the library."

"No," Harry says. He casts a Silencing bubble around them. "Actually, I was in Snape's quarters." He takes out the photograph of his grandparents. "And look what Snape gave me so I could practice the Charm."

Ron and Hermione both lean forward. Any mention of Snape these days, good or bad, tends to make them pay close attention.

"Who are they?" Hermione asks, examining the photo.

"My grandparents. Lily's mum and dad."

"He gave you that? That was decent of him," Ron says, sounding impressed. Then he pauses. "Wait, you were in Snape's quarters? Why did he bring you there?"

"I'm not really sure," Harry says. "I think he wanted a place we could talk without having to worry about someone overhearing."

"What are his rooms like?" Hermione asks.

"I only saw the living room. It was...I don't know, bare. No personality, just furniture."

"Snape does like to play things close to the vest, doesn't he?" Hermione asks.

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "He told me he likes to keep all the important stuff hidden." He pauses, not sure how to put this next part. "And then, he kind of said I'm important to him, too."

"Huh," Ron says. "I'm not sure I'd want to be important to Snape."

"Why?" Harry asks.

"I don't know," Ron says. "Lily was important to him, and look what happened to her."

"Well my parents were important to me, and they died." Harry points out, apparently feeling the need to defend Snape despite his presently mixed feelings about the man. "But you don't think I'm unlucky, do you?"

"The Boy Who Lived?" Ron snorts. "No, mate, you aren't unlucky."

"I'm glad Snape finally said something like that," Hermione muses. "I could tell he felt it from the way he was looking at you during that detention. He looked like he would kill anybody who tried to hurt you."

"Harry, he's not becoming obsessed with you or anything, is he?" Ron blurts out, as if he knows he's in dicey territory. "I mean, I'm glad Snape is being nicer to you, but...he's an odd one. He has dark edges. What if he decides he fancies you or something?"

"I said something like that to Snape, about how it might be improper to have me in his quarters. He got mad over that. He got really mad at me today, period.” He snorts. “But he doesn’t fancy me. Gross.”

“I think Snape feels rather paternal towards you,” Hermione says gently. “But I doubt he can admit it.”

This sounds unnervingly close to what Snape brought up earlier. "Maybe,” Harry says slowly. “I don’t know if I want to open that can of worms.”

“Would it be so bad?” Hermione presses.

“Hermione,” Harry says. “If he’s paternal towards me, then what am I to him?”

”Well, you aren’t his son,” Ron says bluntly.

“I know,” Harry says wearily. "I know that, believe me. He could never be that to me. My father is dead."

"But...?" Hermione prods.

"But," Harry admits, "I think he's acting fatherly more than anything else. He doesn't want to be, like, friends."

"Friends!" Ron snickers. "Imagine being friends with Snape!"

"I know it sounds stupid," Harry says sourly, "but what else was I supposed to think when he started being nicer and, you know, telling me stuff? I don't want him to start treating me like--I don't know, like a kid!"

"Harry," Hermione asks, "What brought all this on?"

"I don't know," Harry gripes. "We were talking, and he started needling me about my Potions marks, and I kind of told him he was a bad teacher. He got all mad and gave me detention."

"That sounds like the old Snape to me," Ron says, whistling. "You're braver than me, mate, telling Snape that to his face!"

"Well, Harry, that sounds more like Snape being a teacher than anything else," Harry says. "Why did his reaction surprise you?"

"I don't know," Harry grumbles. "I don't like it when he pulls rank on me." Harry snorts. "You know what it is? Snape doesn't think much of himself, most of the time. I think I forgot he still has his pride and I stomped all over it."

"And," Hermione says, "you don't like being reminded that he has power over you. Anybody else who has ever been in that position has abused that privilege, and you are worried he will do the same."

Harry scowls. Hermione, as usual, has hit the nail exactly on the head. "So what do I do about it?"

"Lie and say he's a good teacher," Ron advises.

"Just try not to put your foot in your mouth," Hermione says, sounding torn between exasperation and affection.

"Fine," Harry sighs. He looks at his friends, almost desperate for their reassurance. "But you think things will sort out, right?"

"I think you two are doing fine," Hermione pronounces, and her approval loosens something in Harry. "You and Snape are two sides of the same coin and it's better for you to hash things out than not."

"What about you, Ron?" Harry asks.

"I think," Ron says after a long pause, "that Dumbledore and Umbridge are higher on my list of gits right now. You don't come back scarred for life--literally or figuratively--after spending time with Snape, you know."

"Okay," Harry says. The subject appears to be settled, at least for now, so he moves on to another pressing topic. "Snape also said that Dumbledore has disappeared. I get the idea the staff doesn't know where he went."

"I'm sure he's fine," Hermione says softly. "Don't worry about him, Harry."

"Who said I was worried?" Harry snaps, going from zero to ten in a flash. "I'm not worried about him."

"Of course you are," Hermione says. "Why else would you get so touchy when his name comes up?"

"I don't," Harry say stiffly. "It's just, the last time I saw him, it was bad, and you know what I did."

"It wasn't half as bad as what Dumbledore did to you," Ron growls. "So what if he was scared of hurting you like his sister? He still should have taken you in instead of leaving you with those stupid Muggles."

"So why am I still worried about him?" Harry demands, staring at the ground. "Why can't I just be glad he's gone and hope he stays gone?"

"Because, Harry," Hermione says, "you're human. You aren't made of stone."

"Sometimes I am," Harry mutters. "I really did want to hurt Dumbledore when I tore up his photo. I wanted to do the very worst possible thing that I could do to him. What does that make me?"

"Human," Ron repeats.

"That as well?" Harry says skeptically.

"Two sides of the same coin," Hermione murmurs.

"It'd be easier if I just hated Dumbledore," Harry says wearily. "And you know, when I'm with Snape, sometimes it's easier to feel that way."

"Why?"

"Snape loathes Dumbledore. Loathes him."

"Yeah?"

"Well, maybe he feels a lot of different things," Harry elaborates, "but hatred is strongest on the list."

"That's too bad," Hermione says quietly. "But perhaps not surprising."

"Do you think Snape wants you to hate Dumbledore?" Ron asks.

"I'm not sure," Harry says. "He said once that I wasn't allowed to hate him."

"Easier said than done," Ron says dryly.

"I wish I wasn't allowed to feel bad about tearing up Dumbledore’s photo," Harry murmurs, considering a whole range of things all of a sudden. “I wouldn’t mind if Snape tried to stop me from feeling that.”

"You didn't cause Dumbledore's disappearance," Hermione says sharply. "All you did was tear up his photo."

"That's a lot."

Hermione frowns, not liking the look in Harry's eyes. She reaches over and takes the photo of Harry's grandparents. Then she rips it in two.

"Hermione!" Harry says, jumping to his feet, knocking over the bowl of murtlap essence in his hurry. He swoops down, snatching up the photo before the spilled liquid can find it. "What did you do that for? That was my only picture of them!"

"Feel like running away?" Hermione says levelly.

"No," Harry growls, "but I wouldn't mind if you did, right now." Then he taps his wand to the photo halves and murmurs a quick Reparo. The photo reseals itself, none the worse for the wear.

"I'm sorry, but do you get my point?" Hermione asks. "Dumbledore could have left for a million different reasons. And you didn't make him go. You didn't hold a wand to his head."

Harry cradles the photo protectively. Then he tucks it into his pocket, away from meddling friends.

"Harry?" Hermione says, more tentatively. "Are you terribly upset with me?”

"No," Harry says. "But it isn't the same, you know. I've got my photo safe. Dumbledore can never get the one of Ariana back."

"Maybe he doesn't deserve to."

Harry sighs. "I don't want to be in the position of deciding that."

"It's strange," Ron murmurs, sounding unsettled as he squints into the fire. "Things have changed so much."

"The important things haven't," Harry says. "You two are still my best friends.”

"Yeah," Ron muses. "But now we sort of like Snape and we sort of hate Dumbledore. You have to admit, that's a switch."

"Would you rather go back to the way things were?" Hermione asks.

"No," Harry says hotly, before Ron can answer. "There's no point in going back. Not ever."

Hermione looks thoughtfully at Harry. "Some things stay the same."

Ron still looks uncertain, so Harry decides now is a good time to tell his friends something that he has been meaning to bring up. “You know, Snape told me awhile ago that he wouldn't make me choose between you two and him. He said he understood that you come first."

"Maybe you should come first, Harry," Hermione murmurs. "Not Snape and not us. You."

"We come first?" Ron says tentatively. "He said that?"

"Yeah."

"As long as he knows his place," Ron says, sounding both immature and dangerous at the same time.

"Okay," Harry says. "Um, guys?"

"Yeah?"

"You know, if he made me choose, I'd choose--"

"Don't," Hermione interrupts, her hair bouncing behind her. "You don't need to."

"Okay," Harry says, feeling that same warm feeling from this morning steal through him. Maybe, he thinks, maybe there is room in his life for his friends…and for something different. Because Snape is right. He doesn’t need more friends. Snape could never be as good as Ron or Hermione, anyway.

Maybe Snape should be something else.