Previously on Better Be Slytherin:

Harry opened up; what else could he do? But he knew nothing would ever be all right. The liquid burned going down but then the warmth settled in his stomach and spread out to his arms and legs. His eyelids were so heavy they hurt, and he thought he might let them down, rest them, just for a moment. Just a little while. . . .

"Harry, no, not yet. Stay with me. . . Don't go . . . don't go, please . . ."

He hated to ignore the plea, but he really was very tired. With a soft, "Sorry," he let the blackness engulf him and pull him into its dark depths.

--HPHPHPHPHPHPHP--

Severus sat very still, as if he were balanced, teetering on the edge of a precipice. If he moved a muscle, he would fall and never stop falling. A bleak future of nothingness awaited him. It tempted him to tip over the edge and be done with it. Clasping his hands tight together in his lap, he resisted the urge. His fingers were white from lack of blood. He could not feel them.

He could not feel anything. Except for a great, aching mess where his heart would be if he had one. It hurt, ahhh, Merlin, he'd not felt such pain in years. Not like this, not because of another, not since she had refused his apologies and spurned him forever. Merlin, how he had hurt then . . . .

This time, it was her son.

In the hospital wing, in a bed which dwarfed him, the boy lay on sheets the same hue as his skin. His arms and neck were swathed in bandages due to the burns he had received from Quirrell's immolation. His black frame glasses rested on a corner of the bedside table, leaving the boy's face waif-thin and too pale. What skin Severus could see had an odd, ghostly sheen, though not as eerie as it had been in the crypt three nights past. Then, Harry's skin had glowed, and Severus had known in an instant that he had been possessed by the Bloody Baron again, the idiot. He had not known (not until last night, when the Baron finally reappeared) that the possession had been the boy's idea.

For all his Slytherin resourcefulness, Harry was too much a Gryffindor. The Bloody Baron was far too amenable to an 11-year-old's "suggestions." And Severus was far too old to deal with the kind of heart-stopping terror as he had faced the other night when he caught up to Harry at last. In the room with the Mirror of Erised, he had found the no-longer-stuttering Quirrell (together, somehow, with the Dark Lord) dueling with the young boy Severus had sworn to protect.

His hair was graying prematurely, he just knew it.

When he was creeping behind the Dark Lord's visage to get a better angle for attack, recalling everything that had happened between them, Severus had thought, for an instant, that the boy would give him away. But when Harry spotted him -- and he knew he had been spotted, even before the Bloody Baron had confirmed it for him last night -- he had not betrayed Severus to the enemy, had not insinuated that Severus was trying for the Stone while he was kept busy, had not, in fact, given any indication at all that he had seen Severus. Instead, the boy had waited till his professor was in a good position for cross-spell work -- not directly across from him, but somewhat off to the side, to avoid hitting each other. And he had continued his own spell casting, to the point of enraging the Dark Lord and making him attack Harry physically.

A foolish idea on the Dark Lord's part, as it turned out.

Severus had no idea why Quirrell's skin and blood and hair had burst into flame wherever it made contact with Harry, though Dumbledore had made a few oblique hints about it. In any event, it did not matter why. It only mattered that Quirrell, and thus the Dark Lord, had been vanquished. In fact, if the clash of the two invading spirits -- Voldemort and the Bloody Baron -- had not resulted in the Baron's forcible ejection from Harry, leaving him with the ghost's chest wound as had happened before, the boy might have emerged from the duel entirely unscathed.

Not without some scarring, of course. No one could burn another being to death with their bare hands and not be scarred by the experience. Not unless they were a Dark Lord themselves.

And Harry, Severus vowed, would never even stray down that path. He would see to it himself.

For three full days, with few exceptions, Severus sat a silent vigil in the hospital wing, waiting for Harry to wake. The two of them had much to discuss. Of course, even with the latest vanquishing of the Dark Lord by the Boy Who Lived Despite Himself, Severus could not afford to be found here. He could not afford to be seen so overcome by the state of this child, no matter how much he was, in fact, undone by the results of the child's run in with Voldemort. So he sat under the boy's Invisibility Cloak, hidden. He had found the Cloak in the doorway to the Mirror's room, in the midst of the conjured black fire. It must have slid off the boy when he went through the flames.

In three days, the only time Severus had roused from his chair was for Slytherin's last Quidditch match, and then only because he had to be seen at the event. Unless he thought hard about it, he could not recall who had won.

--HPHPHPHPHPHPHP--

A fourth day passed before Harry stirred at all. Even then, he did not waken. His eyes moved rapidly behind closed lids, and his arms twitched in little jerky movements reminiscent of his nightmares. Severus wanted to wake him; he had no desire whatsoever to see this child suffer for another second. But what if seeing Severus frightened him more? He hesitated only a moment, however, before trying to wake the boy, putting a hand on an unburned portion of his arm and jostling him slightly. The boy did not appear to wake, but he did stop thrashing about in his dreams and settled into a more easy sleep.

Severus was willing to count it as a victory.

Into the silence that followed, Severus started one conversation they needed to have, even though he knew that speaking while the child could not hear him nor respond was not the bravest thing he had done lately. Pitching his voice to as low a level as he could, he murmured, "I am so terribly sorry, Harry, for what occurred in my classroom these last few months. Much of what I did was . . . it was not done especially for spite, but to make you an even better Potions student than you already were. I daresay you can whip up any First Year potion in half the time it takes your peers. I pushed . . . I pushed you because I knew you could rise to the challenge . . . But I know that is not how it seemed, and I admit my motives were not so clear or clean when it came to most of my treatment of you or the vitriol I unleashed in my classroom. I can only apologize. I did not realize, until recently, why you spurned my offer of summer placement after I had gone to great lengths to secure it for you, and I was . . ." He trailed off, staring at his bloodless hands. Come now, Severus, he chided himself, he's not even conscious. You can say anything you want. Anything you need to.

"I was hurt, Harry," he admitted at last, and something tight eased in his chest, made it possible for him to go on. "It had happened to me before, you know, with your mother. Many years ago, in a fit of pique, I called her a vile name, and she refused to ever accept my apology. It was the end of our friendship. And then, when you looked at me with such . . . such distaste, with such loathing, and with her eyes, I . . . I snapped. And yes, I continued to snap well after that, too."

He continued to stare at his hands, unable to bear to even look to see if Harry was listening. Hidden as he was, no one else could see them clasped so tightly. No one else could see his pain. No one could see the tightness in his heart, the cold, dark fear that nothing was left but shards and fragments of the trust the boy had once shown him. The darkness and fear waited, ready to welcome him if he spilled over the edge.

"When you fell in that room, with the Dark Lord and Quirrell and all those flames, with your blood soaking your clothes, I thought you might die before I had a chance to apologize, before knowing I was sorry for hurting you, and it was the worst feeling I have ever had. Worse than the original hurt, I swear it."

Hope was a tiny, fledgling flame buried under the weight of his guilt and shame. Hope was all he had left, hope that he could set things right with young Harry Potter. For so many months, he had not had a chance to speak with Harry. The boy had shut him out, and Severus had nailed closed the door between them. It was not until recently that he realized how much he had enjoyed being able to talk with Harry, about the boy's mother or his studies, or even just about chess. But now he had a chance to say what he needed to, and what he wanted. He had the time and opportunity to share the small details of Hogwarts life as it continued around them, or of his own life, details he had shared with no one till now because he had had no one who cared to hear.

Thus he told Harry about speaking with Dumbledore about what happened with Quirrell, and how he had yelled at the Headmaster for being tricked by Quirrell's duplicity. He described the many get-well gifts which graced the tables beside the boy's bed, including what looked like a toilet seat from the Weasley twins. He told him about the Bloody Baron's recovery from the possession, and the ghost's sorrow that he had been forced out of Harry at a very inopportune moment. "He will visit with you, I am sure, when you are able to go back to the dungeons."

At one point, he said quietly, "We lost the last Quidditch match. We were close enough in points at the end of the game that we still won the House Cup, but it would not have been so close if you had played. Mr. Malfoy was put in as Reserve Seeker, which might have worked if the child's father had not been in attendance. I believe you've only met the elder Malfoy briefly, but you must be ever mindful of where his loyalties lie: To himself, first of all. And then his idiot son spent more time checking to see if his father was watching him than he did looking for the snitch. So the Ravenclaw girl -- Miss Chang, I believe -- caught it instead." He paused, then added, "You were missed."

After telling Harry that he had done very well on his Potions final exam as well as on his other subjects, he said, "The Bloody Baron told me how you connived to have him possess you. A neat little bit of Slytherin cunning there. But listen to me, Harry, this is important, so I shall repeat it as necessary: To chase after a Stone which you knew a madman wanted, with so little disregard for your own life . . . it smacks of Gryffindor stupidity, and I will not have it. I know -- the Baron told me -- that the Sorting Hat thought you would do well in the Lion's den, but child . . ." His voice softened, and he proceeded much more quietly, "But Harry, please understand. You must know that you belong with us, the special ones, the forgotten ones, the ones no one else understands. I know I have not set the best example for you these last few months, but we are the House who protects our own, who watches each others' backs. One of your fellows told me what you were planning the other night, and you should be thankful they did, or I would not have been able to save you from bleeding to death in that maze all alone. You don't need to go through these things alone, Harry, not with your House always at your back."

He paused again, knowing what he said next would be much better said when the boy was awake -- and he would repeat it then; he would probably need to repeat the sentiment over and over for this child. "You nearly threw your life away, Harry, and for what? The Dark Lord could not have taken the Stone; the Headmaster has shared the workings of his trap with me, and his plan, involving the Mirror of Erised, was far more subtle, yet complicated, and far more cunning than any other. He built in failsafe measures, too, to specifically keep anyone who wanted the Stone for themselves from being able to find it. Do you understand what that means, Harry? That the Dark Lord could only have succeeded with the aid of an innocent."

Glancing up, briefly, from his hands, he noted that Harry's eyes were open. He continued in the exact same tone so as not to betray that knowledge. "Only by using you -- if he had captured you instead of trying to kill you -- only then could he have gained the Stone. Do you know what a self-fulfilling prophecy is? Have you ever heard the story of Oedipus Rex?" He waited till Harry shook his head oh-so slowly. "By trying to keep an unwanted, yet prophesied, event from occurring, Oedipus inadvertently caused it to occur, but if he had left things to themselves, the unwanted events would never have taken place. Similarly, by trying to keep the Dark Lord from the Stone, you nearly helped him attain his goal. Do you see how fruitless your scheme was? The worst is, you would have paid for his victory with your life."

Severus sighed and lowered the hood of the Cloak, and then helped Harry don his glasses so the boy could meet his gaze. Once the boy could see him clearly, he continued, "Let me tell you, Harry: you are far too valuable to sacrifice yourself like that."

In the softest voice Severus had ever heard from this boy, Harry whispered, "'cause I'm meant to defeat him."

Severus shook his head. "No. Not for that. Not at all. You are too valuable a person. You are important to your friends, to your Quidditch team, and to me. You are a good person, a brave if insanely courageous boy, a trustworthy, amusing, talented, intelligent cunning person, one whom I do not want to lose. I . . . I enjoyed when we spent time together poring over photographs and playing chess. I am amazed at the drawings you've done. I framed the one you gave me at Christmas, you know, and I treasure it as I do almost nothing else. Though we are teacher and student, I also thought, I hoped we were also friends. I am so dreadfully sorry we parted company. You overheard something, I fear, that gave you the wrong impression--"

"I know, sir. The Bloody Baron told me."

Severus quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"A bunch of times." Harry looked away. "I didn't believe him."

Quietly, Severus said, "Because trust, for you, is a very fragile thing, and to your mind, I had broken your trust by aligning myself with Quirrell, who had tried to kill you twice already."

Harry nodded, but his expression was filled with suspicion, as if he thought Severus had read his mind.

"I understand, Harry. Believe me. I have that same fragile trust in others. Which is why, when I thought you had spurned my offer, I was so . . ."

"Awful?" Harry's gaze flicked to Severus and away again.

Severus swallowed painfully, but he owed Harry the truth, however debased it made him feel. "Yes, I was awful, as you say. I regret that I was awful to you, when I felt you had broken our fragile trust." His hands gripped one another, still under the Cloak and invisible. "Once again, I am sorr--"

"I know," Harry said quickly and met his gaze again. Spots of color brightened his cheeks. "I mean, I heard you, sir, earlier. I think you thought I was still asleep; I kinda was, still, but . . ."

Severus nodded. "I understand."

They were silent for a time, each in their own thoughts. Then Harry said, "Did we really lose the last match, Professor?"

"Alas, yes."

With a soft sigh, Harry closed his eyes. "Flint's gonna kill me."

"Not if I can help it."

The corners of Harry's mouth turned up, matching Severus' expression very well.

--HPHPHPHPHPHPHP--

Harry spent two more days in the hospital wing before Madame Pomfrey pronounced him fit to leave. Dumbledore held a special feast in his honor that night. An hour before the feast, Severus found the boy skulking about, in the vicinity of the Potions office, instead of in his room preening for the event.

"I don't want to go, Professor," Harry answered when Severus asked him why. "I killed a man. That's nothing to celebrate."

"No. It isn't," Severus agreed. He led the pale, frowning boy into his office and gestured to a seat. Harry sank into it easily, just as he had before their falling out. His feet still didn't reach the floor, and the skin over his face and bony arms was stretched tight. He had filled out somewhat over the course of the school year, but this latest stunt with the Baron had stripped away any extra flesh he had gained from the nutrition potions and regular food.

"But, to most of your friends and admirers--"

Harry made a rude noise.

"--you saved the school from the Dark Lord."

"How do they even know what happened?"

"It's supposed to be a secret," Severus explained. "So, naturally, everyone knows."

"It's a bit creepy, how everyone's so excited about Quirrell being dead."

Severus did not bother to correct Harry's manners with respect to Quirrell's title; the spineless fool had not deserved the honorific in the end. Instead, he observed Harry's face for a moment. The new trust they had was as fragile -- likely more so -- than what they'd had before, and Severus considered his words carefully as he sat behind his desk. "No one considers the specifics, Harry, or wonders how he died or what it felt like for you. It has nothing to do with them, and they could not understand if they tried."

"And few enough are trying."

"Such as your friends?" Severus asked. Harry shrugged and looked away. "How are you getting on with them?"

"We're . . ." Harry paused and examined his thumbnail, only recently grown back from being burnt off completely. "We're okay. But I'm having a hard time just talking with them. I mean, I know one of them ratted me out, probably Millie, but I can't be angry with her. Not really."

"Good." He kept the true "rat's" identity to himself. "They saved your life by doing so."

"I guess."

"You sound as if you don't think that's a good thing."

"Sometimes I wonder."

"Harry . . ."

The boy held up his hands. "I'm not, like, suicidal or anything, Professor."

"I should hope not!"

"But if not for me, I mean, if I'd never been born--"

"Then it's possible hundreds more, perhaps thousands, would be dead by the Dark Lord's hand."

"You don't know that!"

"Neither do you."

Harry sat back fully in his chair and nodded. "All right. But Quirrell--"

"An abomination created by his own hand and inferior will. He was not living, truly, after giving over his body and its needs to the Dark Lord. If anything, you released him from a horrific fate."

Harry appeared to set his jaw, even as he said, "What about my parents? He . . . he claimed they died begging for mercy, and then he changed his story and said my Dad died quick, fighting him, but that my Mum might not have needed to die at all."

Severus' heart clenched. But those were just words, words the Dark Lord had used to try and keep Harry off balance, or even to sway the boy to his cause. He forced himself to say, "If only she could have sacrificed her son instead. An innocent babe."

Harry looked down at his hands. "Yeah."

Severus considered for a moment. What knowledge did Harry have of mothers, really? "Do you think any mother could make such a choice? Even a mother as odious and callous as your Aunt Petunia?" He waited while Harry thought about the question, and it troubled him more than he could say that Harry could possibly imagine Petunia giving up her son, never mind her nephew.

"No," Harry said at last. "She wouldn't give Dudley over to be killed."

Something clenched in Severus' gut. "But you, she might?"

A small, defeated shrug was all the answer he needed.

"Harry, that's not . . . Harry, look at me." He waited until the boy met his gaze. "Harry, whatever failings your aunt possesses -- and do not misunderstand me, her failings are many and varied -- but they have nothing to do with you. Her issues with her sister and with magic are not your fault."

Harry's frown deepened, and he was thinking rather loudly, so that it was almost impossible to miss his thoughts on his own freakiness and how his family (what there was of it) was right to push him away and revile him.

"They are not," Severus said firmly, not caring if the boy thought he was being Legilimized. "No one is right to ostracize a member of their family just because he is a wizard. Your aunt and uncle are Muggles and do not understand our world, but that does not give them permission to belittle you or starve you or to force you to sleep in a cupboard."

"I know," Harry said, but did not look convinced.

"I hope so. I shall say it over and over until you truly do." Severus moved some papers around on his desk. He had finished grading them long ago and had already reported his final grades to the Headmaster, but he liked having papers here specifically for moments like these, giving his hands something to do while he collected himself. After the steadying pause, he looked up, pinning Harry to his seat. "Have you reconsidered your wishes for the summer?"

"I . . ." Harry took a deep breath and the room felt electrified, as if the air itself knew something of import was about to occur. "Yes. I have. That is, if your offer still stands, Professor."

"It does."

Harry smiled fully at Severus for the first time in months. "Great! Then I'll stay with you."

"After two weeks with your relatives."

The boy's face fell instantly. "Yeah. After that."

"I will, however, accompany you during those two weeks."

"You'll . . . what?"

"I will spend that two weeks with you, in the Dursley household, taking advantage of their, I'm sure, quite genial hospitality . . ." Severus trailed off, then bit out, "Why are you laughing?"