From the comfort of the couch, Harry watched, through heavily lidded eyes, as the professor stalked about his chambers with the grace normally associated with felines. He and the other Gryffindors often referred to Snape as the Greasy Git, or the Big Bat of the Dungeons, but in truth, he was neither batlike, or terribly gittish . . . was gittish a word? Harry thought it over for a while, glad to give his mind something to focus on that wasn't Snape or Snape's-quarters related.

After due consideration, he decided gittish should be a word, if it wasn't already, and Hermione, who seemed to dislike made up words immensely, since she couldn't find them in any book, would just have to get over it.

He still had no idea why he was in Snape's quarters, and at Hogwarts either, for that matter. Snape hadn't said. Hadn't said much at all, really, since Harry had woken up yesterday afternoon . . . if it could be called waking, when he'd actually just felt like he'd blinked . . . for a long time. He was really, really tired, though, and had a bunch of haziness in his mind that he didn't like much, but Snape hadn't said anything about that, either. Right now, the professor was looking up potion interactions, he'd said. He didn't seem to care if Harry talked or not, which was fine with Harry. And he seemed all right with Harry just staying curled up on the couch in front of the fire.

Of course, he'd insisted that Harry go to bed at a "reasonable hour" last night, and even made him take an awful tasting Dreamless Sleep potion before brushing his teeth -- with a brand new brush! And he'd asked what Harry wanted for breakfast in the morning, prompting him to get out of bed, when Harry had thought he might just have a lie in instead. But mostly, he'd been very ungittish. Very unSnapelike, really. Harry wasn't sure what to make of it.

At last, the professor seemed to find what he was looking for, and returned to the wing-backed chair he'd occupied yesterday, with three books of differing sizes. Harry, snugged under his quilt on the couch, watched him page through them one at a time.

Eventually, Snape looked up at Harry, who pretended to be staring at the bookcases instead. "Are you hungry?" he asked, his dark eyes keenly observant. "Thirsty?"

"No, sir."

"Is there something you wanted to talk about, Harry?"

Harry got an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, but shook his head. How weird was it that the professor was calling him by his first name? What was wrong with him? Why had he suddenly changed? "No, sir."

"Very well." The professor was quiet again, the only sound that of slowly turned pages. His head was bent low over the book, his hawkish nose almost touching the pages, as if squinting at the script, and Harry was hit hard by a memory, one not even his own.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.

Snape lifted his gaze to meet Harry's, and there was something in them that Harry couldn't place. Wariness? Concern? He wasn't sure, but knew it wasn't supposed to be on Snape's face, whatever it was. "Oh? What for?"

"For looking." Harry twisted his hands together, and couldn't help but look down at them. But he was a Gryffindor! So he had to look the one he'd wronged in the eye. He owed Snape that much, at least. The professor only looked confused now, not infuriated, so Harry elaborated, "In your pensieve. Last year. I shouldn't've done it, sir, and I'm sorry."

Snape sighed and closed his book. His eyes sparked with a reflection of the rage Harry remembered from that last Occlumency lesson, but he didn't shout this time, or throw anything, and after a moment, he shook his head. His voice was oddly . . . calm as he said, "That's over and done, Harry."

"I just thought . . ." Harry shook his head in a mirror of the professor's action. He wouldn't make excuses for himself, not this time. He'd been dumb and intrusive and had thrown away a chance to learn something important for mere curiosity. "I'm still sorry," he mumbled.

But Snape frowned. "What did you think?"

Squinching his eyes shut for a moment, Harry shrugged, then looked back at his hands. "I thought you were hiding something important from me, you and Dumbledore both. Something that would help me figure out those stupid dreams that Vol--" A lump Apparated into the middle of Harry's throat, and he couldn't finish. His stomach gave another twist and he bent over his hands, hiding his face.

"Harry?" He was much closer this time, and Harry instinctively shrank back into the couch. "What is it?"

Harry didn't answer. He'd suddenly felt more afraid than he ever had before, and his scar was burning, and he wasn't exactly sure why. He just knew he shouldn't move or speak, or else he might scream, and never stop screaming, and he really didn't want to do that.

The soft voice inside him soothed, "Shhh, it's all right. You can't trust him, but it's all right. I won't let anyone else hurt you, never again . . . " and he relaxed a little.

The couch sagged next to him; the professor had sat down. Harry rubbed his scar briefly and took a deep breath before looking up. Both of them were silent for long minutes, until Snape said, in the most neutral tone Harry had ever heard from him, "Were you just thinking about the Dark Lord?"

"No, sir," Harry said. "Why?"

Snape's eyes narrowed, and Harry shrank back a little more. "What do you remember about how you got here?" The professor asked.

"To Hogwarts?"

"Yes. And to my quarters."

Harry shrugged. "I don't, really. Must've been out of it, I guess. I was at the Dursleys, and they . . ." The pain hit him anew and he stopped, hunching over to cradle his stomach with his hands.

"They left," Snape said, very softly, as if Harry might bolt if he spoke louder.

"Yeah. Yes, sir." Harry looked over at him. "Is that why I'm here? 'Cause they left?"

"In a way."

"Will I stay here the rest of the summer, then?" With you, he left unspoken.

Snape nodded. "It is likely." The professor rose and put his books away, one by one, taking his time, and looked to be considering something. Then he returned and stood in front of Harry, who stared back at him, warily. "I believe you are pushing some of your memories away, so you won't have to deal with them. This is neither good for you nor for your recovery. Therefore . . ." He paused and drew his wand. "I will help you recover them."

"What? No!" Harry held up his hands, as if that might stop Snape. "No, I'm not . . . you can't go rummaging in my brain."

There was no sneer, as Harry might have expected, on the professor's face as he said, "Yes. Actually, I can. It will be better . . . later. Now, it . . . I apologize, as it will likely cause you some distress."

"See!" the voice crowed inside him. "I knew he would hurt you. You can't trust him, only me . . ."

"No! I won't let you!" Harry said, and pushed off the couch, head down, avoiding the man's gaze. He tried to duck around Snape, to get to the room he'd slept in last night.

But Snape was fast, almost fast enough to be a Seeker, and he grabbed Harry's arm and swung him around. "You've been avoiding this for days now, Potter-"

"Oh, see how angry he gets, and so easily!" the voice warned. "Watch out for him, I bet he hits!"

"-and I will not let you hide any more."

"Let go of me!" Harry cried, and yanked at his arm, trying to pull out of Snape's grasp. "Please! Let go!"

Snape pushed him at the couch instead. "Sit still and look at me," he ordered.

"Don't let him! He'll only hurt you! You heard him, he doesn't care about you, only what he can do to your mind."

"I know!" Harry hissed back. "I won't let him-"

The color from Snape's face drained away and the hand holding his wand fell to his side. "Who are you talking to, Potter?" he said in a low tone. "Answer me!"

"I . . . I don't . . . None of your business! It's no one. Just leave me alone!" Harry darted past the Potions Master again, and this time, Snape didn't even try to catch him. He made it to his room, slammed the door behind him, and went to lock it and put up a ward, too, when he realized his wand was gone.

Where was it? Had Snape taken it?

That cold feeling had settled into his stomach again, but he was warmed by the soft hum of the voice inside him, even when it asked calmly, "Do you even need to ask? You know he did. Now, let me show you how to lock your door without a wand."

---

Stunned, Severus let the boy escape. Behind him, the door slammed shut, and the sound threw him into action at once. He hadn't been mistaken. The boy had used Parseltongue again, and there was only one person he could be speaking with like that. He Floo-called Dumbledore, then went through to the Headmaster's office and relayed his concerns.

Instead of expressing the appropriate amount of dismay, however, Albus seemed . . . preoccupied, dealing with the myriad issues being brought to his attention by the new Minister of Magic, and the daily battles against the Death Eaters and their allies on the streets of various towns, up and down the Isles.

"He's gained access to the boy's mind!" Severus nearly shouted, after ten minutes of trying to convince the old coot that this was a dire situation. "Potter's always been difficult about Occluding, but this time . . . he has no defenses at all. I can only imagine what the Dark Lord has told him, to get such access, what promises he's made."

"You'll have to find a way to break through, Severus," Dumbledore said, his face haggard and gray. "Unless you've changed your mind and want Harry sent away for treatment."

"Of course not! That won't help in the least. Unless you want the rise of another Dark Lord . . ."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened. "I don't believe that will be an issue."

Severus shook his head. "You have no idea, none! I've seen what the boy is capable of. How much pain he can take and how much it took to break him. He's rather easily closed those human feelings off, when they became too difficult to manage, and very nearly lapped up every word the Dark Lord told him, just because someone was willing to ask him how he felt, and what he wanted. How often have you done so, Albus? When has anyone?"

"But Tom turned on him, in the end."

"It doesn't matter!" Severus paced, gnashing his teeth and gesticulating wildly. "The boy has no current memory of that happening, and he won't allow me access to his mind so I can show him. He trusted me well enough before we escaped, so something - or someone - is poisoning his mind against me. Along with these Parseltongue conversations, that means he's let the Dark Lord in, and his memories of that ‘betrayal' are gone."

Albus sighed. "As I said, it will be up to you to get through to him."

"Fine!" Severus shouted and headed back to the fireplace, hands grasping for Floo powder before he'd even unclenched them. "I just thought you should know."

As the flames claimed him, he saw the Headmaster bury his face in his hands.

The boy's door was closed, and when Severus tried it, he found it wizard locked. Impossible! The boy had no wand; Voldemort had confiscated it at once, after he was captured. It was probably destroyed by now. Of course, as he'd said himself, very little was actually impossible, when it came to Harry Potter.

"Alohamora," he incanted, but the door still held fast. Growling now, with irritation, and not a little worry, he cast a few more counter charms on the door and was surprised to find that the one that finally worked was one of the strongest that he knew.

He swept through the doorway and came face to face with a very angry Harry Potter. Wandless, but with a hand outstretched as if he held one, and just a hint of red in his eyes.

"Harry," he started, but was interrupted immediately.

"Get out of here, Professor. I won't let you in my mind."

Severus sneered his best sneer. "But you'll give the Dark Lord access?"

"No! No one."

"Then who are you talking to when you speak Parseltongue? Tell me who, and if it isn't the Dark Lord," he'd eat his grade book, "I'll go away and leave you alone."

"It isn't!"

"How do you know?"

"I would know! I wouldn't just . . . I didn't . . ."

"How. Do. You. Know?"

"I . . ." The boy clutched at his head suddenly, at his scar, and doubled over, gritting his teeth and hissing through them.

"Tell me what's happening. Harry! Don't talk to him!" Severus lunged for the boy as he toppled over, and eased him to the ground. On the floor, he sat with the boy half in his lap, holding the thin, trembling body as if it might shatter.

"No . . ." came a hushed whisper from the boy, the merest breath. "Said . . . wouldn't hurt. . . . promised . . . no more . . ."

"Oh, child," Severus sighed. He held the boy closer, hoping to give some sort of comfort. "He lies."