It was time Harry had someone he could count on for good. Like a father, who he could lean on and believe in, and trust. Severus would make it happen. He owed it to Lily. He wanted it for Harry, and for himself.

"It's all right. I'm here," he whispered into the boy's hair as the sobs slowly abated and turned to occasional sniffs and hitched breaths. "I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you."

Harry heard the words that Snape said, but like the words that had been whispered to him over the last few minutes, or hours, or years, since he started bawling like a baby, they didn't make any sense. He finally seemed to be getting control back, though, and that's what mattered.

Once he'd gotten his breathing firmly back to near-normal, he dared to lift his head and face the music. What had he been thinking, to throw himself at the professor like that? Snape must think him a complete idiot, an utter prat, and a unbelievable . . .

Wait. What was he saying?

". . . s'all right, Harry. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you."

What was that supposed to mean? No one had ever said such things to him. He cleared his throat. "Professor?"

The hand smoothing over his head stilled -- and he had never felt such a thing in his entire life, but God, did it feel nice, and soothing. Gentle, like someone actually wanted to feel better, like they cared about him, which he knew was a lie, of course. It was all so surreal.

Fingers then, under his chin, lifted his face to meet the professor's. Harry stared into dark, fathomless eyes, then looked quickly away. "Sorry," he said, his throat still clogged with tears and mucus from his running nose. He tried not to look at the professor's snot and tear dampened shoulder. He was in enough trouble already. "Sorry, sir."

"There is no need to apologize," Snape said in the same gentle tone he'd been using, and did not let go of Harry's chin.

"But I . . . I mean, you're . . ." He gestured helplessly at the mess on Snape's robe, but he would not meet the professor's eyes no matter what. He brought a hand up, cautiously, to wipe his nose. "I shouldn't've cried. Sorry."

"Harry . . ."

The tone Snape continued using was so unfamiliar to him that he had absolutely no idea how to respond to it. Instead, he stood up suddenly, pushing himself awkwardly away from the professor and to his feet. The feel of his wand in his hand gave him some semblance of calm. When Gaius had called, "Expelliarmus," in his face, seconds after he'd drawn the length of holly, he'd known he was in serious trouble.

But he could not, would not think about that now.

"Sorry, sir," he said again, because that's what was done, when he had been bad or wrong or insolent or whatever. Apologize, again and again, and maybe he would escape the cupboard. Feeling suddenly cold, and horribly exposed, he cast about for his tee-shirt and spied it where Gaius had dropped it, after so casually taking it from him, despite Harry's attempt to make him stop. Harry shivered again, remembering, and then pushed those memories away. Hard.

Just as Harry started for the shirt, Snape stood, and it looked like he was reaching to touch Harry's shoulder when the door to the lavatory banged open. Harry jumped, and, not even thinking, hid himself behind the professor.

Millicent stood in the doorway, looking furious, though Harry could only barely see her from his hiding place behind Snape. "Harry!" she yelled. "Do you want to tell me why that bastard Gaius just came out of here? I thought I told you--" She seemed to realize, all at once, that Professor Snape was also in the lavatory and stopped short. "Oh," she said, much more calmly, though her face was flushed, or perhaps it had already been. "Hello, Professor."

Snape inclined his head. "Miss Bulstrode."

"Is . . ." She scanned the room, and stared at where Harry was, though fortunately, she could not meet his eyes. Harry wasn't sure he could ever look her -- or anyone -- in the eye again. "Is Harry okay?"

Instead of answer, or scream at her for yelling and cursing in front of him, Snape turned slightly, so he could gaze down at Harry, who turned his face up like he knew he should, but, again, kept his gaze cast down. Then, softly, Snape said, "He is not . . . injured, at this time. Please return to your common room."

Goosebumps had broken out all over Harry's chest and arms, and he hugged himself tightly, shoulders hunching up for better protection.

"But sir, I--"

"Now, Miss Bulstrode," the professor said, in a tone that brooked no insolence.

But Millie opened her mouth to protest again, and so Harry leapt in to save her. "I - I'm okay, Millie. Please, j-just go."

He could feel her study him, even if he was mostly hidden, and he tried to project a sense of confidence, to let her know he was fine, but he had no idea how to do that anymore.

Slowly, she said, "All right. But Harry, please, please come talk to me."

He gave a short, jerky nod that he wasn't even sure she saw, and then she was gone, and he was alone with the professor again. Immediately, he darted for his tee-shirt and yanked it on in harsh, uncoordinated movements. His fingers fumbled, tucking it into his trousers, and he dared not look up even once, even though he knew the professor had turned his back, to give him some little privacy. He was extremely grateful.

"Thank you, sir," he said, when he was back to rights. He sidled toward the door to the lav. "I have . . . I've got an essay to finish. For Herbology."

"Harry . . ." the man said again, and Harry was sure he had never heard his given name from an adult so many times in a week, never mind just in this past hour. "You need to come with me to see the Headmaster."

Harry shook his head. No. No way. He was not about to tell what happened, not now, not ever. He didn't even want to think about it. Besides, all that would come of it would be more hurt, for him. And for Hermione. He kept moving toward the door, slowly, knowing if he went too fast, Snape would catch him out.

"I'm sorry," the professor said, and the words were too weird, on top of everything, that Harry stopped and glanced at him. That was a mistake, he realized, as he was caught by the man's expression . . . which really did look apologetic. But why???

"I'm sorry. You have no choice. This incident must be reported."

"No. No, I can't!" He stumbled back a step or two, to get away.

"It's the only way he will be punished," the professor said firmly, and Harry knew he meant Gaius, but at least, he was spared hearing the boy's name.

"Y-you can tell him. You saw!" He hated sounding accusing, since the professor was his rescuer, really, but he couldn't help the way the words sounded coming out of his mouth. He couldn't seem to control anything, right now.

"That would be sufficient to take points or give detention," Snape admitted. He stepped closer, slowly and carefully, as if Harry wouldn't notice. "But not to expel him. Not to file formal charges. For that, I need your corroboration."

"I don't care!" Harry yelled. "I'm not . . . I don't . . . No!"

For a long moment, Snape was quiet, and Harry almost thought he was going to give up and let Harry leave, let him go back to his dorm, back to the common room and back to the questioning looks from Millie -- and probably Teddy, too -- which he would gratefully ignore. But he did not. No, he kept on with that calm voice, and that calm, sorrowful expression, and he said, "How do you expect to protect your Miss Granger from him now?"

The question hit Harry in the gut, so hard he lost his breath. Oh, God. He'd told on Gaius. He'd told the professor about the threat, about the blackmail, and now Gaius would hurt Hermione! Harry couldn't be around her all the time, even if they studied together and spent all their free time together. He couldn't protect her when they were in different classes, or at night after curfew, when he knew Gaius and some of his friends were often out and about. It was why he had given in to Gaius in the first place!

Harry shook his head. What had he been thinking? Oh, God, Hermione!

"Harry," Snape said, and he was so close now; he'd sneaked up on him! Harry was shaking so hard that he felt like he might fall down, and so he was almost grateful when the professor's hand landed on his shoulder, to give him a little bit of stability. He almost leant into the professor's side, but he knew better than that, and held his ground. He could stand all on his own; he could! He didn't need anyone else.

"Harry, you see why you must inform the Headmaster. He will get rid of that little pederast, I swear to you."

Snape's words were so soft, and so . . . forgiving, despite the fact that Harry had put Hermione in danger, and had probably broken other rules, too, that Harry's eyes unaccountably filled with tears. Blinking them away, he jerked a nod. He had to tell, now, or Hermione would be hurt. He only hoped Snape was right, and that Dumbledore would get rid of Gaius.

If he didn't, Harry wasn't sure what he would do.

---

Harry sat in the Headmaster's office, staring at his hands, neatly folded in his lap, with his wand tucked between them. His feet dangled a good foot or more off above the floor, but for once, he didn't really worry about the fact that he was short. He had never been in this room before, beyond the gargoyle and up the set of winding stairs, and he knew there were loads of interesting things within it, but he just could not bring himself to care. There was something ticking nearby, but not steadily, more a tick pause tick tick pause tick tick pause tick pause that he listened to, trying to hear a pattern, though there was not any he could figure out.

Snape and Dumbledore had been speaking together for a few minutes, and Harry couldn't really hear them either. He wasn't sure if they'd put up some kind of anti-eavesdropping charm, or if his ears were just feeling fuzzy. He knew he was tired, and all he wanted to do was go hide in his bed, and maybe never come out. After taking a long, scalding shower, of course.

". . . Harry," Snape said, with the air of one who has said the same thing more than once, and Harry looked up, staring at the man's shoulder. The professor had not changed his robe, but he had whispered a cleaning charm at the spot where Harry had cried on him, so it was clear of all that gunky stuff. The professor was sitting next to him, in what looked like a comfortable chair, and had now turned so he was almost facing Harry.

"Yes, sir?"

"Please tell Professor Dumbledore what happened today."

He'd been thinking what to say, how he could possibly say it, for the last however-long it had taken for them to get here, and while he sat waiting. So now, he just blurted, "Gaius Avery threatened me." It seemed the best way to describe everything.

Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses at him; he noticed that the old man had no twinkle in sight. "How did he threaten you?" he asked, in a much kinder tone than even when he'd told him about the unicorns.

Harry swallowed, but made himself tell. It was the only way Hermione would be safe. It didn't matter about him, or whether he wanted to tell anyone or not. He didn't count. "Told me he'd hurt Hermione. Hermione Granger, I mean, if . . . if I didn't do what he wanted."

"And what did he want to do, child?"

Harry looked to Professor Snape, pleading with him silently to say the words for him, but the professor only shook his head. "I wish I could do this for you, but you have to say it, Harry."

For the first time today, Harry peered into the professor's eyes, to gauge his sincerity. Snape did not blink, or shy away, even though Harry was obviously a horrible freak and no one should ever look at him like he wasn't. Instead, his eyes held . . . not pity, but . . . something he could not put a name to, but which made him feel -- briefly -- a bit safe, and kind of warm.

"He . . ." Harry swallowed again, and sat straighter in the chair, all the while, holding the professor's gaze. When Snape nodded, this time with the tiniest of crinkles around his eyes, like some kind of encouragement, Harry latched onto the rest of his courage and said, "He wanted to have sex. He wanted to make me do that."

Snape nodded slightly again, and it made it so much easier to answer when Dumbledore said, "He threatened to rape you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did he?"

"No, sir!" Harry's hands were in fists now, and he started trembling again, unable to keep the awful feelings, the awful memories at bay much longer. "But he . . ."

"Go on, Harry," Snape said quietly. He reached out and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, and though he shouldn't have let him -- no one should touch a freak, after all -- he did anyway, because then he could answer the question.

"He was going to, he said," Harry whispered, still staring at Snape. "And he did other stuff. In the lav. He followed me in there, and took off my shirt, and took my wand, and pushed me into the wall and was rubbing against me, and . . ." He felt suddenly nauseous, like he might puke up his whole insides and never ever stop. Only the hand on his shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly, kept him in his seat.

"That's fine, dear boy. That's enough. Thank you."

There was a pause, while Harry got his roiling stomach under control, before he could say to the Headmaster, "Yes, sir."

"Well, Severus," Dumbledore said after another few minutes, "This certainly sounds like grounds for expulsion."

"Indeed," said Snape. He did not let go of Harry's shoulder, even though he glanced at the Headmaster, now.

"Please send Mr. Avery to me as soon as possible. I will notify his parents."

"What about the Aurors, Albus?" Snape asked. "When will you call them in?"

"I do not think that's necessary," the old man responded, and Snape squeezed Harry's shoulder a little tighter. Harry knew, suddenly, that he had lost something, something important, but he was not sure yet what it was. "I would hate to ruin the boy's prospects for the future, after all."

"He committed a crime!" Snape growled.

"And he will be expelled for it."

"I hardly think--"

"I hardly think now is the time to discuss this, Severus," Dumbledore said, his voice harder than before, and colder.

Harry was still staring at Snape, so when the professor turned back to him and caught his eye, Harry was almost ready. He did flinch, though, much to his chagrin. Snape pursed his lips, like he did when he was thinking hard, or when he wanted to say something scathing and had not yet found the words. Harry bit his lip and waited.

"Very well," Snape said at last. "But you owe this boy something as well." Turning back to the Headmaster, Snape gave him a long, hard glare. "And I plan for him to collect."

"I very much hope you are not asking about the summer again, Severus. We have spoken--"

"You have spoken, and you have not listened. Harry Potter has already done his fair share by this world. The least you can do is let him have a proper home. Especially now, he will need far more support than those Muggles can ever give him. They treat him with disdain and worse, as it is! And if you still want him to learn Occlumency, which I still do not believe he is ready for . . ."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a gnarled hand sweep to the side, as if brushing away a rather large fly. "All right, all right! You have proved your point, Severus. I will see what I can do. But if we cannot find a suitable alternative for the Blood Wards, then he will have to return."

There was a glint in Snape's eyes that had not been there a moment before, though not many would be able to detect its presence. "Thank you, Headmaster. That is all I ask."

"Yes, yes, of course. If there is nothing else . . ."

Snape rose from his seat, and because Harry was still attached to him, hand to shoulder, Harry got up, too. "Good evening. I shall send Mr. Avery to you presently."

With one hand steering Harry out the door, Snape closed it behind them with his other. He led Harry all the way downstairs to the dungeon, and then to his office, where he sat Harry down in a chair and gave him a thick blanket to hide under, and even ordered Harry some hot cocoa from the House Elves, before he left, saying not to worry, that he was locking the door to his office, and no one could get in to trouble him. Harry murmured a thank you as the professor left, but he wasn't sure Snape had heard him.

Waiting for him to return, Harry curled up in the chair and sipped his cocoa, which was really quite good, and chocolatey, and made his hands warm, when they had been so utterly cold. He was still holding his wand in one hand, though not as tightly as before, but he could not quite manage to put it away yet. His mind was much calmer now than it had been, now that he was completely and totally ignoring the fact that he had been in the lavatory at all, earlier in the evening. Yes, better for all concerned if he just didn't think about that anymore. Else, how could he ever face going back in there again? And he had to wash, didn't he? He had to shower, tonight, soon, if possible . . .

Mostly, though, he looked into the depths of his mug of cocoa, as if therein lay the truths of the universe. Or of proper cocoa making at least. He almost smiled, inwardly, as he took the last sip, and just in time, too, as the professor returned just then, and Harry jumped, but didn't spill anything from his now empty cup.

Snape closed the door again. "He's gone," he said once Harry had settled himself back in the chair. "His parents have already come to collect him. He won't trouble you -- or Miss Granger -- again."

Something loosened from the tight, aching place in Harry's chest, and his breath caught. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes closed, as otherwise, he was afraid he might start bawling again, and he could not afford that, not in front of Snape of all people.

And then another voice -- the Baron! -- said, "I . . . requested Peeves pay him special attention on his way up to the Headmaster's office. I do believe there was phlegm involved."

Harry was so surprised he coughed out a laugh, then turned to look at the ghost, now hovering next to him, and nodded with a wan smile. "Thanks."

"You are very welcome, Harry Potter. I only regret I was unable to protect you when you truly needed it."

"S'okay," Harry said.

"It is not," the ghost said in the same tone he used all the time -- at least he had not changed, unlike Snape -- "but we shall not argue my failings at this time, if that is your wish."

"Um . . ." Harry sighed, feeling more tired than anything; just trying to parse out what the Baron was saying was exhausting. He pressed his not-wand-holding hand to his eyes. "Okay."

Snape saved him. Again. "I believe it is well past curfew, and thus time for you to go to bed, Harry. We will speak more of this tomorrow." He paused, then, "Unless you want to stay--"

Harry quickly shook his head. "No, sir. No, thanks." He shuffled out from under the blanket and shivered, struck by the sudden cold on his bare arms. He had not expected to leave the common room -- except to go to the loo -- again this evening, or he would have worn one of Dudders' old jumpers. The arms were too long, and they were too wide by a mile, but they didn't have any great gaping holes, just one or two here and there. He shook his head, still feeling like he wasn't thinking right, and started for the door.

Realizing he still had the cocoa mug in hand, he stumbled back to Snape's desk to place it carefully on the edge. "Thank you, sir."

"Harry." Snape stopped him, doing that putting-a-hand-on-his-shoulder thing again, and making Harry want to look up at him. Then Snape, for a wonder, moved his hand slowly, cautiously -- as if he didn't want to frighten Harry, but Harry was not frightened by Snape, not anymore -- and then his hand cupped Harry's cheek . . . like Harry was . . . not a freak.

"Yes, sir?" he whispered.

One thumb traced back and forth, softly across his cheek, and it was all Harry could do not to draw away, just because the sensation was so unusual. No one had ever been so kind to him. So gentle, so . . . caring. He had never once thought he deserved to be treated like this. He still didn't, Gaius had proved as much. But Snape . . . he didn't know what to think anymore.

"Promise me, Harry," Snape said, once Harry focused on the man's eyes again. "Promise, that if you have any trouble tonight, that you let me know."

"I . . . um, but what about . . ." Harry didn't want to go wandering through the corridors after curfew, in case Quirrell was around.

Snape's gaze flicked to the Bloody Baron for an instant, then back to Harry. "The Baron will be with you in your dorm tonight. If you have any trouble at all: nightmares or insomnia, or you want to talk, or you just want someone near you who can hear you breathe while you don't talk, I want you to promise me you'll tell the Baron, and he will come get me, immediately."

Harry frowned a little, confused. Why would Snape want him to do that?

"Will you promise me, Harry?"

His hand was still on Harry's cheek, and Harry closed his eyes, just for an instant, and leaned, just a little, into a touch that for once, did not cause him pain or guilt or shame. Just for a moment he let himself dream that he could always have someone who would protect him, who would always care for him. He sighed, nodded, and opened his eyes. "I . . . I will. Yes, sir."

And then, an incredible thing happened. He saw Professor Snape smile.