Dumbledore serenely sipped his tea from the cup he had conjured only minutes before as he waited for Severus to continue. The potions master’s tea remained cold and untouched.

“What do you wish to be done?” Severus inquired gravely. He stood rigidly in front of his desk, towering over the old man.

The dishes clinked as the headmaster replaced his cup upon the saucer and set it aside.

“Nothing rash, Severus,” Dumbledore replied simply. “If it is what we suspect, we must not frighten the child. The retrieval of the diary must be handled delicately—“

“Yet not a moment too soon, Albus,” Snape interrupted.

“Indeed, my boy,” the headmaster agreed with a subtle nod. “Perhaps this is where Harry could come in good use…”

“Good use, headmaster?” Snape exclaimed, his voice darkening, “This is not a situation in which Potter needs to concern himself. He is far too impetuous and ill-tempered.”

Dumbledore’s eyes softened around the edges.

“Oh, perhaps, Severus…perhaps,” the old man said thoughtfully, “However, I believe Harry to be quite perceptive.”

Severus shifted in a slightly impatient manner.

“He is strong-willed,” Dumbledore continued, glancing at the heavy, closed door, “Yet I find that underneath, the boy possesses a sensitive soul that is easily injured.”

And waving his wand in a gentle pattern, the center of the door became invisible. Quietly, the two men stared at the small child. He remained hunched and tranquil against the stone wall, his head still resting on his arms. Harry could not see them. Unfolding one of his arms, Harry brushed the back of his hand against his nose before quickly snaking the same hand beneath him to scratch at his bottom. A second later, he leaned his head against the serrated rock, stretching his legs out in front of him. Harry’s face was drawn and his eyes were glossy as he idly unhooked and refastened the clasp on his robe while he waited.

Dumbledore smiled sadly at the sight of him.

“Potter’s soul is not injured,” Severus said quietly. “He has just been disciplined. The boy is merely sulking.”

But the words did not hold their usual resolve. They crackled in the man’s throat like dry bits of kindling.

Dumbledore raised his gray brow as he glanced over at the professor. But Severus continued to gaze at the door.

“Oh, I don’t know, Severus,” Dumbledore mused, “Harry has never been one to brood too long over his own misfortune. I believe he simply wanted to help. And currently, he is the only one in all of Hogwarts who is able to hear this mysterious voice. Harry is aware of that. He was also the first one to report the peculiar affair with the diary.”

Severus smirked in somewhat of a skeptic way but remained uncharacteristically silent.

“A child’s trust is delicate, Severus. And in Harry’s case, he most likely will not choose many to confide in during his adolescence—“

“Foolishly stubborn…” Severus broke in.

“However,” Dumbledore continued as if Severus hadn’t spoken, “In this situation, Harry has placed his trust in someone other than me, and I find that quite remarkable…” The headmaster lifted his teacup to his lips. “Perhaps that dependence has grown stronger than either of you realize…”

His cobalt eyes glistened over the porcelain rim.

Averting his gaze to the old professor sitting quite calmly with his afternoon refreshment, Severus stared at Dumbledore curiously.

“Well,” Dumbledore exclaimed, lowering his cup and placing it on the nearby table, “I must pay a visit to Minerva before the evening meal. She will want to be aware of the situation involving Miss Weasley.”

Severus nodded tersely as Dumbledore stood. With a quiet flick of the old man’s wand, the door slowly materialized. The image of the sullen boy faded like smoke.

“If it is not too much trouble, Severus, I should like to use your floo,” Dumbledore suggested lightly, smoothing down his long beard.

“Of course,” Severus replied.

“Splendid.”

Severus watched as Dumbledore sauntered over to the fireplace, tenderly handling the dark, clay pot. He clutched a small handful of floo powder and tossed it in carelessly.

“And in the meantime, headmaster?” Snape asked woodenly, visibly attempting to regain his composure.

Dumbledore tilted his head as if the man had just inquired about the weather. “Oh, I believe we must still attend to our everyday affairs, my boy…especially those that may threaten to…slip from our fingertips,” he said with a faint smile, nodding toward the door.

As if magnetically drawn, Severus followed the headmaster’s eyes. He stared at the solid oak.

A great whoosh of air suddenly resounded in Severus’s ears. He turned. The fireplace was empty.

In that brief moment, Dumbledore had stepped into the roaring flames and disappeared, leaving the potions master, puzzled and stationary, in the middle of his chambers.

******************

It felt as if Harry had been waiting in the corridor for an hour.

He wasn’t exactly nervous. Harry could handle a second scolding. But the longer he sat, the more fervently he wished that he hadn’t lost his temper. He didn’t know why he became angry so easily. Although Harry felt he had better control over his behavior than he had at the beginning of the year, he had no idea what Snape wanted him to do to fix it. He’d tried shutting off emotions, but he just couldn’t do it. Harry was at a loss.

He shifted and sighed impatiently. The rock was starting to press uncomfortably into the back of his head. And he was beginning to wish he hadn’t bumped his bottom so carelessly on the ground. But Harry supposed he could deal with that too…

Suddenly the door to Snape’s office creaked open. Harry stiffened. He bit his lip as Snape appeared, holding it open with his forearm.

Was he still angry?

Harry couldn’t tell.

“Come, Potter,” the man instructed quietly, crooking his finger toward Harry.

Slowly, Harry pushed himself up from the cold ground, eyeing Snape intently. He couldn’t see Dumbledore from where he stood. Harry cringed. That couldn’t be good.

He hesitated.

But Snape only pushed the door open further and gestured with his head for Harry to step inside.

The boy complied. However, he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, clenching the edges of his sleeves in his fists while he waited for instruction.

“Have a seat, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, nodding toward the sofa that Harry had so recently vacated. He gently pulled the door closed.

Harry backed up a few steps and eased down onto the edge of the sofa. Why was Snape acting so calm? After all, he’d just shouted in the man’s face…

Straightening the shoulders of his robes with a tug at the lapels, Snape moved briskly. Surprisingly, he took a seat next to Harry, gazing quite humorlessly at the boy who had scooted over slightly and rested his back against the arm of the sofa.

Harry knew that look. He was definitely in for it.

“There are several things you must understand, Potter,” Snape began.

Harry glanced up at the docile tone. He’d half-expected to be blown across the room by Snape’s roaring right about now. Part of him longed to look away, refusing to give the man his attention. But another part of Harry simply couldn’t.

“What sort of things?” Harry asked softly, tucking his right hand into the crack between the cushion and the back of the sofa.

“Important things,” Snape replied, “Firstly my reason for informing the headmaster of your condition…”

“What condition?” Harry retorted, frowning.

“Potter, please,” Snape exclaimed tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face, “I am willing to carry on this discussion calmly; however, I refuse to accept your disrespect.”

He glanced at Harry expectantly. “Adjust your attitude, and we shall continue,”

As usual, Harry eyes instantly focused on his lap, all traces of bravado were vanishing rapidly.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered.

Snape nodded.

“Very well. Eyes up.”

Harry obeyed.

“When you informed me of the voice several weeks ago, I notified Professor Dumbledore immediately. Although no one else can hear this voice, Potter, I believed it to be a serious matter, nonetheless…one that involved the well-being of Hogwarts.”

Listening, quietly, Harry tried to push down the embarrassment that was rising in his stomach.

“At the time, I did not consider the issue to be a confidential one,” Snape continued in the same, even tone.

Yeah, no kidding, Harry thought

“However…”

However?

Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry’s expression.

“Perhaps I should have,” Snape said slowly.

Harry froze. There was no way in the nine circles of hell that Snape was admitting he was wrong. It was another trick.

“You don’t mean that,” Harry mumbled, his tone still laced with the hurt he wished would just dissolve.

“Really, Potter?” Snape retorted shortly, straightening his shoulders. “Do I come across as someone who wastes his breath on falsity?

“No…”

“No, sir,” Snape corrected mildly.

“No, sir,” Harry repeated, feeling very much like a parrot.

“I may not always provide you with every last bit of information, but I do not lie, Potter,” Snape insisted, his habitual sternness returning with impressive ease.

Harry’s embarrassment had succeeded in creeping upwards, visibly spreading about his cheeks and neck. “I erm…wasn’t calling you a liar,” the boy stammered awkwardly.

“Mmmm,” Snape commented absently, continuing to glare at Harry.

“It’s just…people tell me things all the time, but they don’t mean it…”

“Elaborate,” Snape replied automatically.

Harry shrugged.

“That does not work with me, Potter,” Snape admonished, “Either explain what you mean or don’t mention it.”

“It’s just…adults,” Harry said finally, feeling stupid, “They usually tell you things just to get you to do something or believe something, but they don’t really mean it.”

A brief pause.

Harry waited for Snape to begin defending the realm of the grownups, but the man said nothing. His face didn’t even twitch.

“I see,” the professor answered quietly.

Harry wished he hadn’t said anything. Why did he always do that? He lifted his hand to his face and began chewing on his nails lustily.

“Stop,” Snape ordered softly, tapping on Harry’s wrist with the back of his index finger.

Immediately, Harry’s hand fell into his lap. He sighed, waiting for the questions. But for once, they didn’t come.

Snape merely cleared his throat and continued.

“As for the second matter that requires further discussion: your punishment.”

Oh, no, Harry thought, just let it bloody die!

“No, it’s okay,” Harry muttered, his brain spinning as it tried desperately to cling to another topic. “I get it…”

“No, you do not, Potter,” Snape argued, reaching over to nudge Harry’s shoe off of the sofa cushion. “If you carry nothing away from the punishment, then it is virtually worthless…and I am not speaking of the physical effect,” he said hurriedly before Harry could open his mouth to insist just how much he ‘carried away’.

“I know…” Harry exclaimed, “I mean, I get that I’m supposed to quit letting my emotions control what I do…or something…but I’ve tried, and I can’t. Harry shrugged again without thinking. “I can’t just stop feeling things…”

“Feeling things…” Snape repeated, confused. He trailed off. “Potter, what on earth are you blabbering about?”

“My feelings,” Harry said again, looking at Snape as if he were the dumb one. “You told me I had to stop.”

“That is not what I said,” Snape retorted, frowning deeply, yet it was not an irritated frown. The man seemed almost concerned. “At your age, it is impossible to separate the physical from the emotional, silly child…”

Harry stared.

“I merely emphasized the importance of balancing your emotions in order to keep them under control, Potter,” Snape continued.

Another pause.

“No, you didn’t…”

“I did,” Snape said firmly, “You did not listen.”

Harry opened his mouth, but Snape held up a hand before he could speak. Inwardly huffing, the boy slumped back against the arm of the chair.

“Perhaps you misunderstood me, Mr. Potter…”

Maybe you didn’t explain yourself… Harry thought, using all the strength he had to smother the scowl that threatened to plaster itself on his face. But Snape had already admitted to one fault already. Harry wasn’t going to push it.

“The smacking I gave you was to remind you to think before you act,” Snape proceeded with the lecture, “not to prevent you from feeling emotion in general. There is a difference.”

Harry thought about this for a few seconds.

“Oh…” he mumbled, as he began fingering the clasp on his robes again. “It stung…”

“Obviously, Potter…” Snape replied, his voice adopting the mildly sharp, tired edge as it so often did. His hand moved to rub at his face again. Harry noticed Snape was doing that a lot lately. “Quit fidgeting.”

“Sorry…”

“The next time you feel out of control—even if provoked—I expect you to remember the consequences of your actions.”

“I will,” Harry promised, just wanting this over.

“You had better.”

As they sat quietly, Harry tucked his hands underneath his thighs to keep from biting his nails. They weren’t looking very good.

When Snape spoke after a moment, his voice was calm again.

“During our lesson tomorrow, you need to come prepared to listen and to learn.”

Harry glanced up, feeling a thrill run through his belly at the thought of learning some more Defense. “Yes, sir, I will,” Harry said solemnly, proving to Snape that he could be as serious as he needed to be.

“And Potter…”

Harry raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

“You may as well know that Professor Dumbledore has been informed of the situation involving Miss Weasley,” Snape exclaimed. “You were right to be concerned…”

Harry chewed on his lip.

“…as well as to notify me,” the man continued, gazing at Harry meaningfully.

Harry gave his professor the smallest of smiles. Had he actually done something right? But if Harry been right to be concerned, that meant Ginny really was in trouble. He felt his smile fade almost immediately.

“I’m worried about her,” Harry whispered.

Snape barely nodded. “I know. It will be taken care of, Potter.”

“It will?” Harry croaked.

Studying the almost wounded expression on the child’s face, Snape nodded resolutely. “Yes, it will.”

Harry wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have to worry about Ginny and the danger of the diary. Harry wanted to believe that Snape wouldn’t just ignore the problem like McGonagall did last year…

Suddenly, Harry felt a strong hand on his shoulder. Harry’s head snapped towards it. But an instant later, Snape reached over and tugged his chin gently back to the middle. He was still looking at Harry.

“You have my word.”

For a long moment, Harry could only blink at Snape behind his flimsy glasses. But finally, against his better judgment, he nodded.

*****************

“It’s not working,” Harry said, his voice soaked with disappointment.

“You mustn’t give up so easily, Potter,” Snape commented. He stood several feet away from Harry, his own wand poised carelessly in demonstration.

Harry gazed at Snape pitifully. They’d been at this for over an hour. And still, he wasn’t getting any better.

“My arm sort of hurts,” Harry admitted, reaching across his chest and rubbing his underarm gently.

“You need to concentrate, Potter.”

Harry didn’t say anything. Instead, he grimaced as he wiggled his shoulder in an awkward motion.

Snape rolled his eyes. He pocketed his wand swiftly and moved forward. “Set your wand aside,” he commanded softly.

Looking at Snape curiously, Harry glanced around before backing up a few steps and setting his wand on a nearby tabletop. He walked towards Snape again, feeling oddly vulnerable without it.

“Listen carefully,” Snape began, his dark eyes fixed on Harry, “You are allowing your frustration to overtake your ability.”

“I’m trying…”

“Do not interrupt. Do not whine. Listen,” Snape ground out emphatically.

Harry clamped his lips together. He wanted to protest that he never whined, but he also really, really wanted to learn how to do Protego.

“You need to learn how to stifle your frustration,” Snape continued, grasping Harry’s shoulders and moving him a few steps into an open space in the classroom. Harry stumbled along. “Close your eyes.”

No way…

Harry didn’t like the feeling of concealing his vision without being armed. He glanced up at his professor in doubt.

“Close them,” the man repeated. Harry could sense Snape’s patience thinning.

Tentatively, Harry allowed his lids to slip closed.

“All right,” Snape said quietly, “Relax your wand arm, Potter.”

Harry tried to slump his shoulder. He could feel the blood draining into his fingertips.

“Listen to your own breathing.” Snape’s voice was strangely soothing. “When done correctly, Protego will produce a soft, blue light, virtually shielding you from impending curses, will it not?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry whispered. He felt like he was almost floating among the blackness.

“Imagine it.”

“Do what?” Harry asked, frowning and opening one eye. He shut it quickly when he caught site of Snape glowering down at him.

“Imagine yourself producing the shield. You know the movement. You know the incantation,” Snape continued, speaking in the same hushed murmur.

Harry wasn’t exactly sure what it was supposed to look like, but he imagined himself surrounded by a blue bubble-like light. He imagined it bursting, splattering Snape’s black hair with blue bits and almost cracked up.

Suddenly, he felt his right arm lifted and rotated gently. Opening his eyes a bit, Harry squinted down to see what Snape was doing.

“Eyes closed, Potter,” he instructed firmly.

But then Harry felt a pressure very close to his underarm, and he nearly shrieked with laughter, jerking away madly from the tickling sensation.

“Potter!” Snape chided, holding fast to the boy’s arm. “Enough, or it will pull from the socket…”

“What are you doing?” Harry cried, still laughing, “I’m ticklish there!”

Snape exhaled in exasperation. “Your muscles have tightened from holding your wand arm so stiffly. You need to relax.”

“I can’t when you do that…”

“I am dangerously close to giving you a small dose of a calming draught, Potter,” Snape threatened. “Concentrate and stop acting like such a child…”

Harry supposed he should be annoyed with Snape for calling him a child again, but he was still having a difficult time smothering the laughter that was bubbling in his throat.

“Again,” Snape commanded.

Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes once more. He knew this was important, and he could tell Snape was about five seconds away from kicking him out of his classroom.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered quickly, screwing his eyes up in meditation.

“Relax, Potter,” Snape repeated, his tone soothing again.

And for another minute or two, Harry concentrated on imagining his wand bursting with blue light from the shield charm. Curses were flying at him from every direction. Every single one of Malfoy’s hexes he’d thrown at Harry during the Dueling Club last month was bouncing right back into the Slytherin’s face…

Snape continued rotating Harry’s arm slowly, pressing his thumb against the tight muscles in the boy’s shoulder, steering clear from Harry’s underarm.

“Open your eyes.”

Harry obeyed, blinking as the dim light from the candles and cloudy, glass lanterns gleamed in his vision.

Snape gestured with a nod of his head to the wand that still lay on the table behind Harry. Quickly, Harry retrieved it. He felt the nervousness of producing such a spell threaten to overtake him again as he reclaimed his place in front of Snape, but Harry had to admit that he really did feel more relaxed. And his arm felt better.

“It only takes a subtle movement of the wand, Potter,” Snape informed, “Speak clearly.”

Breathing evenly, Harry slashed his wand through the air.

“Protego!”

A soft blue light shot out from the end of his wand, spanning his height and blocking Snape from view.

Astonished, Harry stumbled back a step but clenched his wand tightly in his fist. However, before he could register what happened, the light faded. His wand trembled once and then stilled.

Harry gaped at his professor with wide eyes. He’d actually done it. It wasn’t perfect by a long shot, but Harry had produced a shield charm. A fourth-year spell.

Extremely pleased, Harry watched as the corners of Snape’s mouth softened. He continued to stare at Harry with curious bewilderment.

Harry bit his lip to hide the smile that was creasing his face.

However, before either of them could speak, a strange, chilling wail reverberated softly around them.

Harry jumped while Snape snapped his head toward the ceiling.

“You heard that too?” Harry asked breathlessly. That particular shrill moan was definitely not the same one he’d been hearing.

Snape frowned, yet nodded stiffly. “I did.”

*****************

They took the stairs swiftly. Harry trailed behind Snape but not by much. He had resorted to leaping over the steps two at a time to keep up, but Snape didn’t seem to be paying much notice to how far Harry was behind. And Harry didn’t say anything. He couldn’t believe that Snape had actually allowed him to come along. He didn’t want to blow it.

Occasionally, Snape would glance over his shoulder to make sure that Harry was still trailing, but that was all.

At first, Harry had no idea where they were going, but when Snape began to stroll down the dark, second-floor corridor, Harry knew. At least he thought he did.

He jogged up behind his professor.

Glancing over his shoulder, Snape slowed down. “Stay close, Potter.”

Harry nodded.

Together, they rounded the corner, past the old, sealed classroom doors, past the place where Harry had first produced a sound amplification charm. Snape halted, nearly ten feet away from the terribly flooded girls’ bathroom.

“Sick…” Harry commented, wrinkling his nose.

Snape said nothing. He simply lifted his robes and waded near the lavatory entrance. Doing the same, Harry followed.

The wailing had grown louder as they progressed, as if the noise had slithered alongside them. But now, it was deafening and strangely human-like. Harry hunched his shoulders at a particularly obnoxious howl.

“What is that?” Harry asked weakly.

“This is not what you’ve been hearing, I take it?” Snape commented absently, pressing a hand in the middle of Harry’s back as he carefully pushed open the bathroom door.

“No…”

Once they had stepped inside, Harry glanced around the slick, moldy-scented bathroom.

“I don’t—Oh!” Harry whispered in surprise, nearly jumping out of his skin when he caught site of Ginny Weasley curled up in a dark corner near the row of toilets.

She was sopping wet and shaking. Her hair fell in matted strings over her drawn-up knees. Her eyes were blank. She rocked back and forth in tiny movements.

Immediately, Harry lunged forward, but Snape grabbed him around the waist, lifting him up. He held Harry tightly against his chest. Breathing harshly, Harry listened to trickle of the water dripping off the edges of his robes.

“Stop, Potter,” Snape whispered into his ear, “Think. Before. You Act.”

“Ginny…” Harry croaked.

“And if you run flailing towards her, what might happen, Mr. Potter?” Snape continued quickly, setting Harry down slowly, but holding his arm firmly across the child’s belly.

“Erm…she might freak out…” Harry offered desperately, trying to wiggle out of Snape’s grasp.

"Precisely."

“Something’s wrong with her, professor!”

“Calm down, Harry,” Snape said softly, “Approach her cautiously. Do not act rashly.”

Harry glanced up at Snape from his position underneath the man’s chin. “You’re letting me talk to her?”

Snape ignored the question. “Be careful,” he ordered, staring pointedly at Ginny. He loosened his hold, slipping the boy’s robes off of his shoulders as he did so.

Shrugging his arms out of his damp robes, Harry glanced back once more at his professor. With a single nod of affirmation, Harry tiptoed forward toward the trembling girl.