"Harry?"

Severus looked up just in time to see Harry turn a sickly gray-green color and spin around, hunched over and with his arms crossed over his chest as if he were in pain. He dropped the box and mirrors on the sofa and was at the boy's side in an instant.

"What's wrong? Are you ill?" His voice was sharp with worry.

He was mentally running through the ingredients of the nutritive potion he'd given the boy to drink, wondering if it had somehow reacted with the cursed magical wounds on Harry's arms, or with any of the ingredients in the other medicines Harry was taking, even though he knew it was impossible. But what else could cause such a response? Then he remembered something else.

"Does your scar hurt?" But the boy wasn't holding his forehead.

Severus was about to grab Harry in his arms and Floo him up to the infirmary---maybe Poppy would know what was wrong---when Harry took a deep breath and seemed to pull himself together.

"I'm all right," he said, and though his voice was strained, there was an underlying firmness that indicated he didn't want to discuss it any further.

Then again, people didn't always get what they wanted.

"You most certainly are not all right!" Severus snapped back, his concern making him waspish. "Look at your arms."

Sure enough, the gashes on Harry's arms were bleeding again, quite badly in fact. Severus had to cast three Healing Spells before they stopped. Harry was whiter than a blank sheet of parchment, although Severus wasn't sure if that was from the loss of blood or from whatever had upset him to start with. He Summoned a bottle of Blood-Replenisher and ordered the boy to sit before he fell over.

"But I might get blood on the sofa," Harry protested weakly, noticing that he'd gotten blood on his clothes when he'd folded his arms across his chest.

Severus didn't even bother answering, but just gave him a gentle push towards it. Harry sank down onto the sofa, and swallowed the Blood-Replenisher that Severus held to his lips. It tasted as vile as ever, so he gulped it down as quickly as he could, and then gratefully sipped the water that Severus conjured for him next while the professor cleaned and re-bandaged his wounds.

Feeling a little weak in the knees himself, Severus pushed the box and the mirrors to the side, and sat down next to Harry. He was surprised at how shaken he was. When had he started to care so much?

Beside him, Harry took a deep breath, and Severus glanced over at him.

"Do you want to tell me what that was about?"

Harry hesitated, and Severus thought he was on the verge of opening up, but then he just said, "My stomach got upset for a minute, but I'm fine now. Thanks for...you know, taking care of my arms and all."

It was such an obvious lie that Severus couldn't help feeling a flash of anger, but he immediately realized that it was more frustration than true anger. He also realized that it would be unfair to take his frustration out on the boy. For all the progress they'd made lately, five years of enmity still lay behind them. Most of it, if not all, was Severus' fault. It was going to take time to overcome that. His anger disappeared, leaving a sorrowful regret behind.

Severus slipped his arm around Harry's shoulders---he thought Harry seemed to relax slightly whenever he did that---and said quietly, "Harry, if you don't want to tell me something, you can just say so. I won't be angry. But I would appreciate it if you didn't lie to me."

Harry ducked his head, but nodded. "Okay. I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Very well." He didn't like it, but he would respect the boy's wishes. At least, for now. He reached for the mirrors again. "Obviously, something about these mirrors bothers you. If you like, I could try to come up with another means of communication."

Again Harry hesitated, but then he said, "No, it's all right. I can use one if I need you."

"Right then," Severus spoke briskly. "You understand how they work?"

"Yes," Harry whispered, and he looked so sad that Severus almost forgot all about respecting the boy's wishes. He wanted to know what was wrong.

Instead he just sighed and said, "Keep one near you at all times, and I'll keep the other one on me."

***

Harry woke, a desolate keening ringing in his ears. It was a few seconds before he realized the sound was coming from him. A lamp on the table was glowing softly and Snape was bent over him, gently shaking his shoulder. His pale face was lined with worry.

"Harry! Wake up, child."

When he saw that Harry was awake, Snape sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and gathered him into his arms. Harry stiffened, but Snape just kept holding him and murmuring, "It'll be all right. You're safe now. Shh, you're safe."

Maybe it was the comforting touch and soothing words, maybe it was the fact that Harry could count the times he'd been hugged on one hand, maybe it was grief or fear, or a combination of all those things, but he clutched at Snape's robe, buried his face against the professor's shoulder, and sobbed and sobbed.

For a while, he was aware of only a few things...the soft wool of the robe-- quickly becoming damp from his tears, Snape's arms holding him close and his strong fingers gently carding through Harry's hair, and the shuddering sobs that tore through him from somewhere deep inside as images of Sirius played through his mind.

But finally Harry's wild grief eased, leaving only an occasional hitch in his breathing. He realized then that Snape was still talking, telling him that he was safe and didn't have to be afraid now.

"I'm not," Harry mumbled. His throat was sore from crying so hard, and his voice was so hoarse and muffled from his face being pressed against Snape's shoulder that he wasn't even sure the professor would understand him.

Apparently he did, though, because he said, "You're not what, Harry?"

"I'm not afraid." Harry swallowed and tried to explain. "Not right now. Sometimes I dream about the Death Eaters and him, and then I am. But sometimes...I dream about other things, and its worse."

The hand that was stroking through his hair paused, and though Harry didn't raise his head, he knew exactly what Snape's expression would look like---the tiny crease between his eyebrows, the way his face grew still somehow, whenever he was trying to puzzle something out.

"Worse? Harry, what could be..."

"Sirius," Harry said, and tears blurred his eyes and made his voice wobbly. "Sometimes I dream about Sirius."

"Oh."

It was all Snape said, but his hand began smoothing Harry's hair again, and his arms tightened, holding him even closer.

For some reason, now that he'd begun, Harry felt as if he had to tell more. "He's always so angry. I think he hates me. Because I killed him."

"Harry!" Snape sounded kind of angry himself, and Harry stiffened again, but then Snape sighed and patted his back and said more gently, "Harry, you did not kill Black."

"But I ..."

"Oh, hell," Snape interrupted, and snatched at his wand on the night table. "Hold on. Your arms...I should have checked already."

Harry looked down to see that blood had soaked through his pajama sleeves, and stained the front of Snape's robe, too.

"I'm sorry."

Snape Healed his arms, and washed and dressed them again. Then he reached over to lay one hand lightly against Harry's cheek. "Don't be ridiculous, child." His voice was gruff, but his hands were gentle.

He cleaned the blood off their clothes, and made Harry drink two vials of Replenishing potion, but ordered a bottle of butterbeer from the kitchens for him to sip afterwards. Then Snape sat back against the headboard and pulled Harry close again. This time Harry settled against him easily.

"Now, am I to understand that you blame yourself for Black's death?"

"Because I am to blame," Harry tried to make him see. "If I hadn't..."

"Did you shoot any curses at your godfather?" Snape interrupted.

"N..no," Harry said slowly, "But I..."

"Did you push him through the veil?"

"Of course not! But..."

"Then it is not your fault," Snape said firmly. When Harry tried to argue, he shook his head and went on, "Yes, you made mistakes. So did I, when I turned our Occlumency lessons into a battlefield and then called them off altogether. So did Professor Dumbledore, when he decided it was best to shut you out. We all made mistakes. I can't deny that."

"But," he added in a fierce tone. "Professor Dumbledore did not kill Sirius Black. Neither did I. And Harry, neither did you. If you blame yourself for his death, then you are doing Black a terrible dishonor. Firstly, because he would never want you to feel that way. And secondly, because you're taking the blame off the people who are truly guilty."

Harry was quiet for a while, thinking over Snape's words. If only he could believe them...but there were the mirrors. He could have prevented Sirius' death, no matter what Snape said, if only he'd opened the mirror in time.

"Sirius gave me a mirror," he said, suddenly wanting Snape to understand it all. "A two-way one, like yours. And he kept the other one. But I didn't realize what it was in time. If I had, I could have just called him at Grimmauld Place, and he would still be alive."

Snape took Harry's chin in his hand and tilted his face up so that their eyes met.

"Harry. It was not your fault."

"Do you really think so?" Harry whispered.

"I know so."

Harry wasn't sure, but he did feel as if the terrible ache in his chest had eased a little bit. He finished the butterbeer, and fell asleep, still curled up with Snape's arm around him.

***

"Are you sure you'll be all right using the mirror?" Snape asked.

It was the next morning, and Harry was sitting on the sofa, reading a mystery novel Hermione had lent him. He wasn't a voracious reader, like she was, but he liked a good book now and again, and since he'd completed all his summer assignments there wasn't very much else to do. He supposed he could have gone ahead and gotten a head start on his studies, but tomorrow would come soon enough.

Snape had been in his office, brewing some more Blood-Replenisher since Harry had had to drink so much of it last night, but now he came into the living room and sat down on the end of the sofa.

Harry looked up from the book and nodded. "Yes, thank you, sir. I think I'll be fine using it."

Snape started to say something, then stopped. When Harry looked at him curiously, the professor gestured towards the book, "What are you reading?"

Harry would have bet ten galleons that that wasn't what Snape had originally planned to say, but he had no idea what was on Snape's mind, so he just said, "It's a Muggle book, about a detective in London a hundred years ago. Hermione lent it to me. It's pretty good, actually. This detective, Sherlock Holmes, kind of reminds me of you a little bit."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Do tell. Is he forced to teach classes to dim-witted children, or to spy on evil geniuses with plans of world domination?"

Harry grinned, but remarked. "I thought you were going to try to be more positive about us students."

"Nag, nag, nag," Snape muttered. He shot a sideways glance at Harry and opened his mouth, then closed it again and looked away.

Well, Snape was certainly acting weird this morning. Harry considered mentioning it, but decided he wasn't that brave. He turned his attention back to the adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

"Harry, there is a matter that I've been meaning to discuss with you for the past couple days," Snape spoke so abruptly that Harry was a little worried.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked.

Snape shook his head quickly, "No, no, nothing like that. It's just that...well, I think you and I have been getting along rather well, haven't we?"

Harry nodded.

Snape looked distinctly uncomfortable. "As you are going to be staying here for a while longer, I think perhaps...well, there's no need for quite so much formality on your part."

Harry blinked at him, utterly confused. "Sir?"

Snape ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, as long as we're not in class, that it would be...all right if you called me by my given name."

Harry blinked at him again. "You mean you want me to call you...Severus?"

"If you wish. Of course you may refer to me as ‘Professor Snape' if you're more comfortable with that." He stood up and headed back towards his office, muttering about getting supplies ready for class.

"Sir? I mean, Severus?" Harry almost couldn't make his tongue form the name, it seemed so alien. But he sensed that it meant a lot to Snape....no, to Severus. "I think that would be all right, too. Thank you."

He almost fell off the sofa when Snape...Severus actually smiled at him before disappearing into his workroom. Harry smiled back and thought that maybe, just maybe, he could get used to calling Snape ‘Severus'.

With a little practice.