The familiar sound of clinking phials, the crackling fire, a cauldron being moved.... Harry knew right away where he was when he started to wake up.

He'd felt Snape gently move him in his sleep to his armchair, and had felt the comforting hand upon his head.

Still, something wasn't right, he just knew it. The whole time the man had held him, firmly pressed against his chest, he'd been tense. As if he were afraid of both letting him go and keeping him there

Harry stirred a bit on his jumper. He felt like he didn't have much space. Nothing surprising about that, he thought, as he noticed he'd changed forms in his sleep, and was now hunched up in the chair in his human form.

Without a sound, he looked up to the Potions master who, so like himself, was bent over a cauldron, observing the mixture as it boiled.

Was it the fume s that made his hair so greasy? the boy wondered. Another question he wasn't ready to ask his professor.

Watching him like this, moving quietly from a cauldron to an open book on the table, his movements precise and sure, Harry couldn't help but feel a vague sense of well-being spread through him.

Snape's silence had become more precious to Harry than Dumbledore's reassurances were meant to be.

"Since you're awake, Potter, come help me."

The boy jumped, startled. Potter? That wasn't a good sign. Had he gone too far earlier, searching for comfort once again from the Potions master? Come to think of it, Harry's reactions had been especially childish and over-familiar.

Harry swallowed hard as he got up.

Snape handed him a long wooden spoon without looking at him, his eyes fastened on the spell book. "Gently stir the cauldron behind you in a clockwise direction."

Harry obeyed without a word. It seemed the Potions master was annoyed and anxious. He kept bringing his hand up to his forearm.

The Death Eater Mark, Harry suddenly remembered. Had Voldemort summoned him?

"Professor," he risked saying.

It took Snape a few moments to reluctantly look away from the pages. Only then did it seem he actually noticed the boy was there. "Harry. How's your arm?" he asked, holding out a hand to verify for himself.

"Um...better, thanks. The break aches a bit, but it doesn't really hurt."

The professor frowned. "The potion's worn off. I should've woken you earlier, but you need to get your strength back. The potion I gave you to soften then regrow the bone is especially exhausting to the body."

Harry nodded; he understood better now.

"You must be hungry. You skipped the noon meal. Your plate is still up there, if you'd like it. Supper is in three hours, but it'd be best for you to get stronger more quickly," Snape continued as he finished examining his arm.

"The fracture is correctly reset. Here, drink this," he directed, giving the boy a potion. "And, ah, that one should restore your strength. But nothing takes the place of a good meal," he stopped when he saw the boy's expression.

Harry smiled slightly, but more than that, it was his eyes that smiled.

Very well. He'd deserved that. Snape knew he shouldn't let the teenager suspect him of being kind, but wouldn't it be worse to let him face this summer and his nightmares alone? So why hadn't anyone ever taken care of the boy's mental state?

Perhaps he didn't need to overprotect him like a second Molly Weasley.

But to be honest, Harry needed his care and supervision, not to mention a nutritious and balanced diet.

Oh very well, he was making too much of it. Good god, if the Dark Lord were to know a tenth of what went on here, his next Death Eater meeting might very well be his last.

By Merlin, he'd no intention of reliving the last one.

"I feel completely able to handle two meals, Professor. Would it..." Harry stopped, hesitant to continue.

"Yes, Potter? Make an effort. It's your arm that's disabled, not your brain."

"Would it bother you if I ate here?" he finally got out. "I feel more at ease here than up there, maybe because I ate most of my...bowls downstairs."

Snape stared at the boy, who had dark circles under his eyes, and was pale....

"This time. But let's not make a habit of it."

With a quick incantation, he made the plate appear on the laboratory table, and invited the boy to sit down.

"I'm sorry, I missed preparing the first two meals, Professor, really. I'll take care of supper for sure," Harry said eagerly. "If there's something else I can do...."

"Eat," grumbled the professor. "As I've already told you, you're here to regain your strength and learn to better control your transformations. We'll also see to taking up Occlumency lessons again, but I'm a bit pressed for time today."

"Professor...you don't have to.... I...."

"Of course you do," the Potions master replied sharply.

Harry cleared his throat. "Professor, I'm really, really sorry about what happened the last time. The Pensieve...I thought.... Doesn't matter. I truly regret it, I wanted you to know."

Snape let out a small snigger, his head still bent over the top of the cauldron. "Keep your apologies to yourself, Potter. Or save them for future failures. You'll be taking lessons again, you can be sure of it. And it'd be best for you to prepare seriously for them this time."

The boy sighed. "It's not that...I really know that now. It's what my father did. It was...Slytherin, I think. I don't know. Maybe I had prejudices myself as well, and in the end they had nothing to do with reality."

This time, Snape looked up, his eyes suspicious. "What do you mean by that?"

"I thought my father...everyone tells me I'm so like him, but I'd never have done such a thing. It's the sort of prank I can picture Malfoy doing, not my father or Sirius. And Remus didn't say a thing...and my mother seemed to hate him." He shook his head.

"If someone had told me that story, I would've thought the roles had been reversed, that you were the one who'd attacked my father, not the opposite. I'm sorry...I mean, for that too," he apologized. It was going from bad to worse.

But when the Man in Black abandoned his cauldron and came to sit opposite Harry, he no longer seemed angry. Instead, he was thoughtful and intrigued.

"And what did your friends think?" he asked casually.

This time, it was Harry who shot him a reproachful look. "I didn't tell them anything! No one. I didn't want them to know...about you or my father. I only talked to Sirius about it. I needed to know, you understand."

"Might I know what the mutt had to say?"

Harry sighed again. "Please...I know what he did, but he'd dead now, so...."

Snape made a move of his hand that strangely resembled a gesture of apology.

"Anyway, Sirius said they were imbeciles. That they were fifteen and that everyone is stupid at fifteen. I don't think that's true, but in a sense, it's hard to imagine my parents, and even Sirius and Remus, at fifteen."

They were silent for a long moment.

"That's correct," Snape finally said. "It's hard to imagine that we all were fifteen. And even harder still that we eventually changed."

Harry gave him a questioning look.

"I suppose it's time to leave certain things where they are, twenty years in the past," the professor concluded.

But the boy's mind seemed only partially put to rest.

Because that didn't change the most important thing, after all. His father had probably been nothing like the idea Harry had of him.

But yes, in a way, Snape was right. How important was it now, when he was dead, and at any rate would never be a part of Harry's life?

He finished his plate in silence, with his professor looking on.

"Have some fruit," Snape ordered him, pointing to the basket in the center of the table.

"Thanks," murmured the boy. "I'm really not hungry anymore."

The Potions master seemed about to say something in reply, then changed his mind.

"Very well. No more Animagus transformations today, so your arm has time to heal. You could perhaps make some headway with your homework...or assist me," he added when he saw the face the boy made.

Harry seemed all of a sudden oddly enthusiastic at the idea of brewing potions. That was a first.

"Read me this paragraph while I finish chopping these roots. Don't jump a line or miss a word."

Once again in pain, Snape raised his had to his arm. The Mark burned....not to summon him to the Dark Lord, but to remind him that he could be at any moment, and that the potions had better be ready when he was.

Oh, they would be. No negligence, ever again...no more torture again either. Not like the last time. If he had to submit to that treatment a second time, he wasn't certain he'd manage to keep his mental barriers intact until the end. And if he allowed but a single gap, then Harry would be in grave danger.

And Snape would die for certain. Not that it mattered that much from then on, but he had to finish what he'd started.

He listened to Harry reading the paragraph to him, his voice calm and clear. The boy was full of good will...and willingness, full stop. Enough to follow his destiny to the very end, if he were given the chance.

But he wasn't so sure that from here on out Voldemort would be the boy's chief problem. If no one was vigilant, he'd be in considerable danger of breaking down alone, a victim of his own anxiety.

Snape shook his head. Dumbledore was an old fool. He was too obsessed with his war to notice that his hero was on the verge of losing his own war....

"Go and get me two griffin feathers from the cupboard, first shelf, third jar on the right. That's it. Cut off the tuft and throw it in the cauldron. Perfect."

Perfect? It had to be the first time Snape had admitted that a Gryffindor could do something correctly. When Snape wasn't shouting, brewing a potion was almost pleasant, especially since he couldn't take points or give him detention...or could he?

Whatever the case, the Manor dungeon was much more pleasant than the one at Hogwarts.

For the first time in his life, Harry wasn't in such a hurry to return to the castle. He'd miss the peaceful ambiance of the laboratory, and Snape as well...his Snape.

Harry was apprehensive about seeing his professor take up his hated role of tyrant again. To have himself called out and insulted again, after all that'd happened. He really didn't want to think about it. He'd have plenty of time to bite his fingernails over his attitude later on.

"Professor," he asked after two hours of peaceable stirring, reading and cutting, "if it doesn't bother you, could I start to make supper?"

"Excellent idea. You'll find all you need in the kitchen. The menu is up to you."

Harry nodded, and with a happy smile, headed for the kitchen. It was now or never to impress the professor.

He quickly rummaged in the cupboards to come up with an idea. Something he'd never eaten at Hogwarts...that the Dursleys had served to their guests... What had he cooked the last time Uncle Vernon had given a party?

A stupid paella. Nothing very brilliant.... But that would do the trick!

The boy set rapidly to work, looking for ingredients and utensils. Nothing was missing...except for an oven. How in the devil was he....

Oh. The fireplace. Okay, he could make do with that. Wizards probably used spells to fix all that, but he wasn't afraid of the challenge. He'd pull a paella out of this cauldron, even it he had to use pure Dark Magic spells to do it.

An hour later, Harry was contemplating the worship of gas stoves and microwave ovens, but the table was set, and a steaming, appetizing dish was waiting when Snape finally appeared, obviously curious about the result.

"Well, I see wizarding cooking has no secrets from you. Should I be thanking Mrs Weasley?" he asked with a slight smile.

"I would've liked her help," the boy grumbled. "It's a good old-fashioned Muggle meal. I I'm sorry to say electric ovens are something wizards ought to discover right away."

Snape laughed softly. "Victus Cocere is a good spell for basic cooking. Adaptable to the dish...."

Harry sighed. "I'll try to remember that."

The two of them took their seats at the table, and Harry did the serving honors, worrying over the professor's verdict.

A few mouthfuls later, his wait was finally over.

"I have to say that given your Potions' marks, I'd've never suspected your ability to cook, Potter. You've gone up in my esteem. I'm almost sorry about the anti-poison potion I took just before coming up."

Relieved, the boy smiled. "So change that to a digestive potion. I was a bit heavy-handed on the quantity...."

"All the better. I won't have to beg for more tomorrow at lunch."

It was probably the greatest compliment that the professor had ever given him, and Harry couldn't help but feel proud.

Snape must've noticed, because his slight smile, which he'd only begun to wear recently, returned instantly. "You've just earned the right to cook more often than when it's your turn. If this first attempt isn't a happy coincidence, I could go so far as to reconsider the results of your recent exams."

Harry's eyes widened. Was he serious? He really needed to continue with Potions if he wanted to become an Auror.

"Yes, sir!" Without daring to add anything, out of fear he'd change his mind, Harry returned to his plate. If he'd known, he'd've made dessert as well!

Snape smiled to himself as he saw the hopeful twinkle in Harry's eyes. The boy was an open book, and an excellent cook, by the way. Evidently with a great deal of practice under his belt. Certainly another legacy of his childhood at the Dursleys'.

But for now, he certainly wasn't going to blame them.

If only the sharp, shooting pain in his Mark had stopped, the day would've almost been pleasant.

He sighed.

"Harry, I must finish potions tonight. I'll be downstairs if you need something. You have free rein this evening, provided you stay in the Manor and don't put a strain on your arm. There are some books in the library that might interest you.... Your meal was excellent. Thank you."

The boy hesitated for an instant. "Thank you.... Would it bother you if I read down there? I promise not to disturb you. I can help you if you like."

Snape hesitated for a moment. No, he shouldn't let the boy get attached...but he preferred keep an eye on him. One never knew what could happen.

"Very well. Go find a book and meet me down there."

The boy smiled gratefully. "Thanks!" he said as he hurried off for the library.

The Potions master turned to head for his laboratory, slightly perturbed. That hadn't gone as he'd wanted it to.

The boy was so used to being pushed away that he hardly paid attention, and on the contrary, considered the slightest sign of attention as a favor. In these circumstances, how was he supposed to maintain his role as the cold and distant professor? It was pitiful.

And the pain in his arm was making him nervous. The Dark Lord was frustrated and agitated, he was sure of it. Had he sensed something? Was he trying to break through to the boy's mind? The potions he'd made Harry drink seemed to be working.

He had to keep an eye on the boy at all times...this equilibrium was much too fragile, Harry much too unstable....

Snape ground his teeth. Let Dumbledore hurry and find a solution. And let this bloody affair be wrapped up as soon as possible and be done with.

In the evening of an almost perfect day, he couldn't help but feel the shadows close in around the Manor. And they weren't there to hide them from Voldemort's eyes.

A few minutes later, as he checked the cauldrons, he heard the boy slip soundlessly into the laboratory, careful not to disturb Snape. He curled up peacefully in his armchair, and opened the book. Snape almost expected to hear him purr....

He was rapidly becoming as accustomed to the boy's presence as he was to the cat's. It was best that he concentrate on the idea of the cat. The Dark Lord wouldn't be long in calling him. The burning in his Mark had intensified as the day had gone by; he'd have to talk to Albus about it.

But did Dumbledore have the slightest idea of how to proceed? He'd sent Harry to the Manor, knowing full well what a risk that was for the boy, as well as for Snape.

Did he know what he was doing? Was he content to trust him? Did he realize how upset Harry was by all of this?

But for now, Harry was dozing off in front of the fireplace, just like any other boy on holiday, without a care in the world.

Yes, this day hadn't been a bad one. Something told him that they'd done well to make good use of it, and his spy's instincts rarely let him down.

He kept an eye on the boy as he worked. It didn't take long for the book to finally fall to his lap, and his head to the arm of the chair.

The Cat Who Wasn't One had fallen peacefully to sleep.

As Snape had feared, this tranquil sleep didn't last long. The boy hadn't been asleep a half-hour before Snape heard him moan as he dreamed.

Worried, Snape went to him: his facial features contorted, his fists hands balled into fists, and he seemed to be suffering, but probably not physically. The professor hesitated; should he wake him?

"Sirius...no...."

Black. So that was it.

Snape sighed. The dream had probably not been sent by Voldemort. Without making any noise, the man sat on the arm of the chair and lightly placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Everything's fine, Harry. You're safe."

It was the truth, after all. At that exact moment, everything was still all right.

The moaning stopped, but the boy's face remained tense.

"There, there, Harry, for tonight, all will be well. Go back to sleep."

All of the sudden, Snape caught himself checking the Manor wards. No, no one had tried to breach them. And no one had heard him.... Merlin, was he still a fifteen-year-old, afraid that his little friends would make fun of him in front of the class?

They could go to hell, he didn't give a damn. As long as Harry calmed down, let the entire Order of the Phoenix wear their little knowing smiles if they wanted.

Running a hand through his hair, he felt the boy relax, little by little, even as his own body began to relax.

What if Lily had lived? If he'd not said that word...if he'd not joined the Death Eaters....

This black-haired boy would've been slightly different, but perhaps not all that much, after all?

Snape would've stayed awake at night to rock him when was a baby. He would've applauded his first steps, and he would've taught him how to fly a broom.

He would've never allowed him to lack for food or affection.

Lily would've never left him to cry alone. She would've laughed at his nonsense, and she would've tucked him in each night.

They would've both gone with him to platform nine and three-quarters, and they would've waved to him as he left, pretending they weren't sad.

There would've never been a question of beatings with a belt, nor of a cupboard. No threat of death or of basilisks.

He would've been Harry Snape, and he would've been happy. Snape would've made sure of it.

But for now, there was only a Severus Snape and a Harry Potter-whose hope to remain alive was the subject of wagering in Diagon Alley-and their existence was summed up by doing their best to save the world with what they had.

And Lily slept in her tomb at Godric's Hollow.

Even so, Lily had left it, it appeared, in time to grace her son with a new ability, and to entrust him to her former childhood friend.

It was only a little cat. It was but a boy.

Perhaps, if they survived this vacation, all would not be lost.

The boy's breathing was even and regular for now, his face calm.

"Try to have good dreams, Harry. I'm here...."

He quietly left the armchair, leaving the boy to sleep.

The potions risked keeping him up at night...all the better. He'd make sure Harry didn't suffer through another nightmare, that he not be left alone for a single moment to face them. Perhaps he'd eventually not have them anymore? It was still his best protection against Voldemort.

When daylight broke through the basement window, he'd comforted the boy two more times, and the potions were ready. He was finally going to be able to sleep....

But first, the sunrise.

Without making a sound, he took the stairs, which a few weeks earlier had led him to a black cat trembling in front of his door.

That morning seemed so far away now...but this morning was hazy too, and the Mark on his arm had never stopped burning.

The sun finally came up, pale and indistinct...disappointing.

Very well, he thought, so much for going to sleep. Downstairs, the boy hadn't budged, and seemed to be sleeping soundly now. With a quick spell, Snape made sure he wouldn't wake up, then bent down to lift him up. He could've pushed him to transform into a cat again...but after all, he still wasn't so old, nor the boy so heavy, that he'd not be able to carry him like that!

Harry probably wouldn't like what he'd done, but that truly made no difference to them now!

The Potions master laid the boy in his bed, adjusted the covers and ended with a charm that would warn him if Harry had another nightmare.

Somewhat reassured, he verified one last time that the wards around the Manor were strong and intact, then retired to his own room.

All would be well. He would've liked for someone to reassure him that all would be well.

But whatever the shadows pressing in upon the Manor, the Potions master fell asleep when his head had scarcely hit the pillow.

And for the last time in a long time to come, Severus Snape slept the sleep of the just, confidant of having done his best.

oooOOOooo

The first question that occurred to Harry that morning wasn't to know where he was, but how he'd managed to get there.

He recalled having chosen a book from Snape's library, rather randomly, really, something on the history of magic in Ireland. Then he'd gone down to the laboratory, had settled himself in front of the fireplace and had probably fallen asleep. When had he gone back up to his room, and how the blazes could he be here, tucked in his bed?

He opened the curtains he'd not pulled shut the night before.

The sun was already high in the sky, so it must be mid-morning. Snape was surely awake.

Snape.

Who besides the professor could've got him back up to his room? He seemed to remember having heard his voice through his dreams, having felt his presence.

But he'd not had nightmares last night, not really. He'd dreamt of his parents.

He was almost certain of it...

Could Snape be right, had he inherited his new ability from them? He'd clearly seen his mother's face that night, and she'd been worried. She'd repeated over and over for him to be a good cat.... A cat. His father had transformed over and over into a stag, his eyes riveted to Harry's, as if showing him how to do it.

He'd wanted to tell them that he knew already, that Snape had explained to him, but he couldn't talk, the fog was so thick and he couldn't speak a word.

And Sirius...he'd seen him as well, later. Or earlier? In his dog form, he barked furiously and refused to listen to Harry's excuses. He wanted at all costs to show him something, to take him somewhere...but Harry didn't understand.

These dreams were truly bizarre, suffused with fog, in what seemed to be the park....

Harrry shivered.

If Snape was awake, he'd find him in the dungeon, and he could talk to him about these dreams. Maybe they had something to do with what was happening to him?

He groped for his glasses, and his hand bumped against two bottles standing on his bedside table. The same ones Snape was making him drink three days a day. He swallowed them down quickly, and felt his mind clear, as the dreams faded.

Only dreams, after all. Surely. But all the same....

He slipped to the stairway, pricking up his ears to listen for the familiar sounds.

But all was silent, and his light knocks on the wooden door echoed in the emptiness. No answer.

Intrigued, he decided not to pursue it. What time had Snape gone to bed? Had he stayed and slept in his armchair?

He stopped for a moment at the door to Snape's room, listening for the sound of breathing. He heard nothing, but he sensed the man's presence behind the door.

No reason to disturb him over dreams that Voldemort had surely not sent. It was a good chance for him to fix breakfast!

Harry'd hardly had time to finish setting the table when the Potions professor appeared, sufficiently awake that it seemed as if he'd been up for hours. The boy smiled; could it be that Snape was in a foul mood on awakening, if only for five little minutes, his eyes blurry and his hair unruly, without his mask of uncompromising professor?

No, probably not. Snape was a sort of robot that surely slept with his wand in his hand, laid out on his bed like an 'I'!

"Hullo, Professor!" he said as he handed him a plate of hot pancakes.

"Already at the stove?" he replied as he took hold of the dish. "Did you find the potions I left on the bedside table?"

"Yes, thanks. I'm sorry, I think I fell asleep, um, downstairs last night."

Snape waved with a hand as he took a mouthful of pancake.

"Let's go over your programme for the day. You must work on your transformations, and we'll go to the park to start. I also want you to get ready for the start of term; there's only a week and a half left. If we have time, we'll start in on Occlumency lessons again this evening. Until then, I'd like you to practice a few meditation exercises. Any comments?"

Harry grimaced as he served the tea. "No, sir. Outside of the fact that I've never done meditation."

"That won't be a problem. I'll give you some instructions, and you'll go practice in the park, in the same place as the other day. You can consider the clearing as your training place, in general."

The boy nodded thoughtfully.

His training place? Snape had got it ready for him? He'd probably know soon enough.

"And Harry, if you like, you must not hesitate to take the Dreamless Sleep. That could only help for you to concentrate during the day."

The dreams of last night came back to him. Should he talk to the professor about them? That had been his first inclination, but what to say to him...that his mother wanted him to transform into a cat, that his father transformed over and over, and that Sirius was barking in the park? No, it was ridiculous....

But he didn't want to get rid of these dreams either. They'd seemed so real! He didn't remember having dreamt of his parents so clearly beforehand. Usually they were just vague shapes that gestured to him from far away....

He shook his head. "No, thanks. I prefer...I'm used to..." he finished.

Snape seemed annoyed, but let the matter go.

"Very well, go take a shower, and then join me in the laboratory in a half-hour. Brush your teeth."

Harry grumbled. "Yeah, I know, sardines...."

And as he got up to go to his room, he found himself exchanging a knowing look with the professor.

A few meters farther away, a black cat meowed in frustration; no, really, it was irritating to no longer have control over his own body. He had to quickly do something about it; if something like this ever happened to him during a Quidditch match. Merlin, he'd die of shame!

He galloped toward his room, defusing his frustration with feline leaps. Arriving at the door to his room, he focused: Quidditch, flying...success!

It wasn't so hard, after all, he just had to avoid thinking of Snape as someone...nice? Reassuring? If the professor came to suspect that he found him 'nice', he could be sure of cleaning cauldrons for the next two years.

And yet. Had Snape really tucked him in? If Ron were to know that, Harry would never sleep peacefully in Gryffindor Tower again.

But Ron wouldn't find out a thing. This was his Snape, and it was good that way. The Snape at Hogwarts...would be what he would be.

While the steam filled the bathroom, Harry began to think of his dreams again. The fog that shrouded them made the terrain confusing, but he was convinced as he thought of them again that it was the clearing where Snape had taken him.

Was this his subconscious at work? He'd talk to Hermione about it; she'd surely have an answer.

After all, wasn't it his bracelet that'd led him here?

He dried off quickly before returning to the dungeon. Snape seemed to intend to make him work hard, and he really wanted to prove to him that he was worthy of another chance. If he could ever bring his Potions marks back up, that would change everything!

Surviving this summer would already be a good start, come to think of it. Whatever happened, it would most certainly be his strangest summer up until now.

The dungeons were very busy this time, filled with their usual activity. Harry smiled...he had to train, right?

Without a sound, he changed into the cat and quietly approached the Potions master.

Taking advantage of a moment when the professor had his hands empty, he leapt agilely to his shoulder, making him startle.

Snape closed his eyes for a second, before seizing him by the skin of his neck.

"On my life, I've never seen such a fleabag! You think you're funny, Potter? If I'd not heard you come back, you'd already have a broken neck and be roasting slowly in the fireplace! Does the idea still seem so entertaining?"

He put the cat on the floor and Harry hastily retook his human form, sheepish.

"Sorry...it was just to show you..." he stammered.

"That you know how to act like a circus animal? I never doubted it, Potter! And I'm still more than convinced that you should be boarding in a circus school and not at Hogwarts. You should show Dumbledore that little trick, you'd be doing me a favor," replied the Potions master icily.

Harry swallowed with difficulty. So much for joking. He wasn't there to have fun. Definitely not, given the professor's irritated expression.

"But since you're sure of your momentum, let's see how many times it'll take you to execute three back-and-forths. Now!"

The boy took a step backward, and focused.

One time. Two times. Three times. Four...five...

The cat fell heavily onto its posterior, gasping for breath. He felt as if he'd played a Quidditch match with at least four Bludgers in play...

"That's all?" Snape asked, watching him with his arms crossed.

The cat shot him a murderous look. Let the professor amuse himself by transforming into a bat five times and they'd talk about it...though he doubted that transformation would take much effort!

"Very well, it's perhaps time to move on to another lesson. In the park."

Harry got up, wobbling a bit on his legs, then headed for the stairway.

Before he was able to reach them, he felt a hand lift him and then found himself in the professor's arms as he was already on the steps.

"Senseless to put too much of a strain on this broken paw. Nothing worse than steps," he justified himself.

The cat perked up its ears. Was Snape suddenly feeling remorse?

Outside, the fog valiantly resisted the morning. Harry quivered; when it was like this, the place seemed so much like his dream.

All of a sudden, he sensed that his mother would've been relieved to see him in this form, and he himself felt strangely more confident: he was faster, smaller and more agile.

Snape set him on the ground and gestured for him to follow. "We're going to make use of your cat form to test your performance. I'd like you to jump up on the stone wall."

The wall in question was narrow, and to balance himself there wasn't easy, but the cat managed to make it after a moment's hesitation. Snape nodded approvingly. "To the first tree branch now."

Curiously, Harry had no trouble climbing into the tree like a cat, all of his claws out. His instincts were amazing even to himself!

On the other hand, the branch seemed much higher, seen from atop it.

He shot Snape a questioning look.

"Come down the same way, using the trunk, it'll be safer."

Him, who already hated going down stairs. He'd barely lowered his head and stretched out a tentative paw, when he changed his mind. Still better to jump, it'd be quicker.

Snape saw him crouch in order to jump, and stopped him with a gesture. "No! No jumping with your broken paw!"

Harry relaxed his muscles and cast him a mocking look. If he had to spend the day in the tree, a lot of good it'd do him!

"Must I call for help, Harry?"

His professor's taunting expression gave him the sudden whim to use the man as his landing point, but he had to take care if he wanted to see his Potions mark go up. His performance of a while ago hadn't been overly appreciated.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

A moment later, the cat gently touched down on the ground.

"Very well, since your reflexes seem more like those of a lap-cat than a lion. Let's see what you have in the way of hunting instincts."

Murmuring a spell, the professor made a small, glowing, lively ball appear, which moved quickly to hiss under the cat's nose. His paw shot out into the air, narrowly missing the ball. All his energy suddenly restored, he was off on the chase, moving in leaps and spins, tapping the ball often without managing to capture it.

Finally, trapping it with his two paws, he succeeded in pinning it to the ground, and the ball disappeared.

"One hundred-fifty points to Gryffindor. Perfect, I see that this part won't present a problem," Snape said ironically.

The cat blinked. Being a cat didn't mean he was about to let the Golden Snitch get away!

The exercises continued, testing the agility and speed of the cat, forcing him to use all the abilities of his form. As lithe and agile as he was, it wasn't, however, always easy to coordinate paws, tail and head.

The morning passed quickly, with the professor seeming satisfied with his progress, dispensing advice and sometimes encouragement that never failed to surprise Harry.

"Very well, it's time to return to fix lunch," the professor finally said. "You can resume your normal form."

Harry didn't have to be told twice; he needed to talk. "Professor, how long do you think I'll be able to keep my new abilities secret?"

"Not much longer than these holidays, I'm afraid. I unfortunately don't think you'll be able to completely control the transformations. There'll come a time when things get away from you and you'll change in spite of yourself. In a castle full of students, I doubt that'll go unnoticed."

"But isn't there a way to block the transformations? A potion, a spell..?" the boy asked.

"That wouldn't be desirable. There's actually a potion that hinders the Animagus effects, but it's only temporary, and can't be taken on a permanent basis. You'll probably end up using it shortly, at the Ministry."

Harry frowned. "For the Dursleys. You...you really think they made a deal with Voldemort, don't you?" he asked hesitantly.

Snape turned to him and looked him directly in the eyes. "Yes, I'm certain of it. Whether the Dark Lord offered them money or something else, I think he indeed made a proposition to your family and they accepted it. They didn't seem very eager...to see you come back when I visited them."

"No, I suspected as much," murmured the boy. "I still didn't think...doesn't matter. The protection from my mother definitely fell, didn't it? It won't come back, even if they want to take me?"

Severus clenched his teeth. "No, Harry. Their feelings for you have betrayed the blood link. It's definitely fallen."

"I see. Will I...will I really have to see them again, at the Ministry?" His voice was almost begging.

"I'm afraid so," Snape replied calmly. "Professor Dumbledore will do all that he can to avoid this confrontation, but it mustn't be forgotten that numerous Ministry officials are controlled by the Dark Lord. Whatever the case, be assured that they'll not be able to do you any harm. Albus would never allow it."

Harry didn't answer, but nodded.

Finally, he asked, "Will you be there as well?"

The professor took a long while before he answered. "If you like, yes, I'll go along with you."

The boy felt a weight leave him. Small, but significant. Snape would know what to tell him to do when the appointed time came. He wouldn't have to prove that he was able to manage on his own. He truly didn't think he had the courage to do it.

"Thanks."

Snape nodded.

"Do you think that my aunt..." the boy abruptly said, then sighed. "No, forget it. It's not important."

"That your aunt what?" the professor insisted.

"That's she in on it too...or is it just Uncle Vernon?" Harry finished reluctantly.

Severus mulled over his answer for a moment. "Harry, I don't think your aunt was dragged into this affair against her will. She didn't strike me as the type of person to go along unwillingly. I've good reason to believe that it was she whom the Dark Lord contacted first."

Harry abruptly lifted his head to stare at him. For an instant, Snape thought he was about to say something, but his face dropped and he started at his shoes.

"I'm sorry," said the professor.

"Uncle Vernon hated me, that's all right. But I thought that even if she didn't love me, since she'd known my mother.... I guess that doesn't mean anything. Family's what one makes of it, after all."

The bitterness and resignation in his voice surprised Snape. What had become of the boy who shrugged off all criticism? So...Snape had been wrong on another point.

This trial should be neither slapdash nor hasty. The boy still realized only half of what'd happened to him.

"The family they offered you wasn't one, Harry. You only have to look at the Weasley family to realize that."

"What'll happen to them if they don't manage to get Voldemort what he asked them to? Will they be in danger?"

Snape grumbled. "I don't see why you should concern yourself with that. But to answer you, it's likely that he won't do anything to them, as long as they pose a potential threat for you."

Harry felt his stomach knot. How utterly nasty his life was!

"But Harry, you can be certain that we'll not let anything happen to you. In any event." The professor's voice was gentle and reassuring as he looked Harry in the eyes.

The boy held his gaze for a long moment, and Snape could see all the doubt, all the pain and insecurity that the teenager was struggling to face. And also the remains of hope, and the desire to believe in something...in someone.

But wasn't it too late?

Harry severed the connection with a nod of his head. "Thanks for everything. I know you hate me, you too, and in a way, it's reassuring to know that despite that, you don't plan to hand me over to Voldemort. Or kill me. Or I don't know, take points," Harry said with a grimace, trying to make his declaration less pathetic.

"No," replied the professor.

"Oh, well, thanks," said the boy, a bit upset now.

"No. I don't plan to hand you over to the Dark Lord, and no, I don't hate you," he said in a harder voice. How was he supposed to handle this?

"I know, I mean, you don't like me, or, I don't know...doesn't matter. Thanks all the same."

Snape groaned and fidgeted for a moment; he had to do it-if the boy had to trust him, he didn't want him to see him as another Vernon, and by Merlin, Harry would certainly need to trust him if he wanted to stay alive until the start of term.

He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder to force him to turn and face him. He had no intention of allowing this little speech to be interrupted.

Harry looked up at him, surprised.

"Harry, listen to me well. You're not here because I was forced to take you. Certain of my opinions about you since you arrived at Hogwarts have proved to be decidedly false, and, it seems, very far from the truth. Sometimes, wounds from the past don't allow us to see things the way they really are...or to at least give them a chance. It's a mistake that I regret, one that is no longer in play. You are neither your father, nor your mother, nor that spoiled little boy, proud and insolent, that you would've been if everything had been as I'd imagined it. You, what you are...there's nothing there I could hate. I regret not having understood it before."

The boy's expression, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, was in the end wholly worth the cost to his pride of having said his mea culpa in front of James Potter's son.

When he could finally get a word out, the boy was unable to find a thing to say that would truly express what he was thinking. At that instant, he was absolutely incapable of rational thought.

"Th...thanks," he managed to stammer.

"Your favorite word, it would seem. There's no need to thank me. Rather the opposite,a seems to me... Now, time to cook."

By all appearances, the boy had been shocked by Snape's confession, so it was best to occupy his mind before he began to think too much of the implications.

"Oh, and one last thing. If you really need to jump to my shoulders in your cat form, for one reason or another, think about making it the left one. I'm right-handed," he said casually as he flicked his wand.

Without really knowing why, the idea made Harry burst into laughter. Snape smiled at him, and time, which had seemed to stop, suddenly took up again.

But bizarrely, the seconds no longer seemed to tumble together.

A few moments later, Harry had found his usual sprit and voice again, as Snape gave him a demonstration of wizarding cooking. The spells were truly incredible, and he was going to save an obscene amount of time. He was going to be able to launch himself into more complicated recipes and really impress the Potions master.

He truly intended on bringing up his Potions mark, and all the while make the professor gain a bit of weight; Harry wasn't the only one here who needed to eat better.

The meal was appreciated by both parties, and even Snape's interrogation on his homework didn't manage to spoil the boy's good mood. Not only did the professor prepare a full schedule for him for that afternoon, but his knowledge of the programmes also allowed him to tell Harry which chapters to begin to study, to best prepare him for the start of term.

Afterwards, sated, they opted for a break to digest their food, in the shelter of the dungeon, before returning to work.

Each seated in his armchair, with a book in hand, they seemed lost in their thoughts.

Was this holiday truce going to last?

Would the boy succeed in regaining his trust in him before the start of term?

Would Occlumency lessons work this time?

An hour passed tranquilly. With a sigh, Snape closed his book. "To work. Go and get your books and set yourself up where you like. The library is well-lit at this time of day." But as he'd expected, the boy looked at him pleadingly.

"I can stay here?"

"May I stay here."

"May I stay here, please, Professor?" Harry asked again in his politest tone of voice.

Snape nodded, refusing to admit his satisfaction. "Very well. Go get what you need and try to concentrate. Don't hesitate to ask if you have questions."

The boy smiled and took off at a run up the staircase. He was at least halfway up the steps when he suddenly found himself on four paws, smaller and his vision sharper.

Okay, okay, Snape was right, he was going to need a great deal of training and concentration, as well as not thinking of Snape like a nice uncle who'd indulge all his little whims. Uncles weren't nice, that was a proven fact.

The afternoon passed peacefully, and Harry was surprised to find that it really was much easier to concentrate here, in the dungeon, than in Hogwarts library. Maybe because he didn't have Ron at his side to talk to about Quidditch, or Hermione to correct him at every turn.

Snape himself took the time to explain the points on which Harry had doubts, but refused to give him the answers.

When the sunlight started to fade, Harry let out a satisfied sigh. Half of his holiday homework was done.

As for Snape, he'd not once left his work table. The potions he was preparing seemed particularly complicated to Harry, but the professor hadn't stopped for a second. Outside of a few questions the boy'd asked him, the only thing that seemed to exist at that moment were the potions being brewed and the Mark on his arm.

Harry couldn't help but notice that the professor rubbed it more and more often, without seeming to pay attention to it. If the tension in his face and hand were anything to go by, it had to still be hurting him....

"Finished, Harry?" he asked, when he saw the boy had closed his books.

The teenager nodded. "I've made progress on half my homework. This'll be the very first time I'll be handing them in finished the right way," he said with a grimace. The Potions professor was in a position to know that!

But Snape smiled slightly. "Leave them on the table, I'll check them over later."

"Check them?" Harry spluttered.

"Certainly, Mister Potter. The entire faculty at Hogwarts will know all too soon that you've spent a part of your summer here. Out of the question for you to hand in bad homework written under my watch."

The boy frowned. "No one ever checks my homework, if that'll make you feel better. I don't think anyone would imagine you were going to correct what I write!"

"Well, they're wrong," Snape concluded firmly and decisively. "For now, I suggest you go take a turn in the park. Stay within sight of the Manor, on the path that goes around the house. When you're feeling more rested, you'll be able to go to the clearing where you trained this morning, to practice the relaxation exercises I told you about."

"All right," Harry said, thinking that a few turns around the Manor would probably be necessary after Snape's revelation about his homework. "What exactly does that consist of?"

"Nothing very elaborate, I assure you. For this time, simply seat yourself comfortably, close your eyes, and take deep breaths. Focus on your breathing and try to empty your mind, and relax your body."

"Hmmm. If I don't fall asleep first, I think I should be able to manage that."

"Good. Come back in an hour, two if you need it. Take your time, but do all that you can to think of nothing. I've already seen you do it in Potions class, so it shouldn't give you major problems."

With that last cutting remark, Harry rolled his eyes and left, exchanging a slight smile with Snape, who'd not let go of his bottles.

If only the professor would wear that reassuring smile in class, his sarcasm wouldn't be so disagreeable.

Relaxing and letting his mind empty weren't as difficult as he'd first thought. Of course, there was Voldemort, the Dursleys, the Ministry....

But there was also the sun, the park, and the dreams he'd had the night before. His mother and father had seemed real, close to him, and Sirius, even though he'd barked, hadn't seemed angry with him. It'd been the first time Sirius hadn't come to reproach Harry for his death.

But still....

At last, satisfied with his relaxation session, he decided to go back to the dungeon earlier than expected. Snape would probably be happy to save some time....

Assuming his cat form, he backtracked to the dungeon. The door was closed, but before he had time to take his human form, a familiar voice escaped through the half-open window, making him stop in his tracks.

Dumbledore was there, downstairs, with Snape, and the conversation seemed agitated.

"It's out of the question! He's not ready!" hissed Snape's voice.

"My boy, be reasonable. He'll never be ready for this," replied the conciliatory voice of Dumbledore.

"You don't understand. Harry must face many things: his childhood, the betrayal of his family, his new abilities...he's bewildered and that's very understandable. He needs a bit of time to get himself together before having to face all of that!"

"Ideally, that would be the case. But the sooner we dispense with this trial, the sooner Harry will be in relative safety."

"He has nightmares every night, Albus! He refuses to let it show, but he's terrified at the prospect of seeing his family again!"

"Severus, your worry is to your credit, but Harry's nightmares are not a recent thing. He's had them regularly for years."

"And that didn't bother you unduly? What are you thinking, then, to throw your hero in the lion's den when he doesn't have the strength to overcome his own traumas? Albus, this isn't like you."

Snape's voice was impassioned, and Harry stood, frozen to the spot.

Dumbledore appeared to have a reaction similar to Harry's. "I see that dealing with Harry has fortunately made you change your opinion concerning him," he said gently.

Snape grumbled, "My opinion is of no importance; anyone would see that this boy needs much more than the minimal safety that you offer him. He needs time and support to get back on his feet. I won't let you throw him unprepared into one of these ambushes organized under the control of the Dark Lord! He's a brave boy, and he's doing his best to make a good impression and not disappoint those who believe in him, but he's just a sixteen year old teenager who never had a childhood, Albus. You entrusted me with his care for the remainder of the holidays, so trust me to the end!" Severus almost begged.

"I don't have a choice. The hearing is set for tomorrow. And that's the final date before the Ministry undertakes sterner measures. I'll come to collect Harry tomorrow morning."

Harry heard Snape pacing in the laboratory, obviously furious. "I'll go with him. He'll take an Anti-Animagus potion to avoid transforming during the course of the trial. And whether you like it or not, Albus, Harry will be returning with me to the Manor at the end of the hearing. It's out of the question that he spend the night anywhere else, even more so in that place!"

"I'm finding you all of the sudden very protective of the boy, Severus. Not that I reproach you for that," Dumbledore said softly.

"Someone has to protect him," said the professor sharply. "You're determined to consider him an adult, responsible and able to face his fate alone. You're wrong. And if no one's able to see him as he really is, to recognize a teenager who's full of self-doubts and who's struggling to hide the little, traumatized boy, then yes, I'll do it. Whatever the cost."

"I understand," Dumbledore murmured, "probably not as well as you, I'm well aware. But I understand what you mean. I don't intend to take Harry away from you for the rest of the summer; indeed, he seems to be doing completely fine here. You have my complete trust, Severus, as always."

"And yet, you don't want to have the date of the hearing changed," Snape said between his teeth.

"No. I have my reasons, my boy...and they're as valid as your own. I will come for Harry tomorrow, then. Trust me...one more time," said Dumbledore gently.

Snape nodded reluctantly. A moment later, Harry heard Dumbledore announce the location of his office at Hogwarts, and the voices fell silent. Cautiously, he drew near to the window, and could see Snape sitting in his armchair, legs crossed, chin resting in his hand as he darkly watched the flames, obviously upset.

Harry pulled away.

He knew, since Snape had told him, that the professor no longer hated him. He'd also understood that the man seemed determined to take care of him, since he'd gone so far as to tuck him into bed, something no one had ever done before him.

But what he'd said to Dumbledore.... The boy decided that he finally needed a bit more time to empty his mind.

He returned soundlessly to the clearing, where he retook his human form.

Snape...the Potions professor who'd always been the first to make him feel miserable, who never missed an opportunity to throw his pampered existence in his face....

Who'd saved him more than once at Hogwarts.

And who now was accusing Dumbledore of not seeing him for who he was, and who'd asked for Harry to have more time to pull himself together, who spoke of him as a courageous boy...

Who stood up to Dumbledore for him. Who wanted to protect him.

And without having been ordered to do it....

Harry knew that Snape was right, that he should've been worried about the trial the next day, but he cared nothing about it just now. Someone wanted to take care of him. Someone defended him. Someone didn't see in him just his role in the war.

And for the first time since Sirius' death, Harry suddenly felt happy. Truly happy. Even if tomorrow Voldemort should finally capture him, if Vernon beat him again, if he were to find himself shut up in a cupboard....

Well, someone would be worried about him. Him. Not the war. Him.

An hour later, he headed at last for the dungeons, in good spirits. He found Snape there, just as he'd left him a few hours earlier, leaning over a cauldron, as if Dumbledore had never come.

Was he even going to talk to him about it? Probably not before the Occlumency session; he'd probably think that the news would upset him too much. He wasn't wrong, basically.

"Professor?"

"Harry. Did you succeed in doing what I asked of you?" His voice was perfectly calm and even. The boy couldn't help but feel a certain admiration for the professor. Without a doubt, his role as a spy suited him wonderfully.

"I think so."

"Very good. Go sit in your armchair."

A moment later, Snape came and sat opposite him.

"I want you to focus on emptying your mind while I reach out for one of your thoughts. You must make it disappear before I have time to take hold of it. Ready?"

Harry nodded.

"Legilimens!"

A moment later, Harry found himself at the Dursleys'. He was eight years old, he'd just finished scrubbing the kitchen floor, and Dudley and his friends were coming in with their muddy shoes...an instant after, Petunia was shouting at him for his shoddy work. He groaned...too late to avoid that one.

Snape moved on to the next memory. Dudley and the Dementors. Quickly, Harry imagined the image going up in smoke, and to his great surprise, he felt the thought escape the professor. So that was it!

Right away, he sensed the Potions master's approval.

But already, the man was searching Harry's mind for another memory...then another.... Harry successfully countered his attack twice, but three scenes got away from him.

Snape didn't let up, taking memories randomly, insensitive to the boy's growing fatigue. Harry tried to reinforce his defenses. He was safe, everything was fine, this was Snape. Snape who'd said he'd protect him... At the moment, even, when the thought brushed over him, Harry understood his mistake.

Snape took hold of the memory that just crossed through his mind, and Harry, panicked, wasn't able to disperse it in time.

A very recent memory, since it was only several hours old...

"I'm finding you all of the sudden very protective of the boy, Severus. Not that I reproach you for that," murmured Dumbledore's gentle voice.

"Someone has to protect him," Snape's voice responded sharply. "You're determined to consider him an adult, responsible and able to face his fate alone. You're wrong. And if no one's able to see him as he really is, to recognize teenager who's full of self-doubts and who's struggling to hide the little, traumatized boy, then yes, I'll do it. Whatever the cost."

And suddenly, Snape was out of Harry's mind.

When Harry opened his eyes, he felt himself shrinking in his armchair, but not because of a transformation this time.

In front of him, Snape had stood and was staring at him, his eyes filled with anger. Harry thought he saw the clenched fist holding his wand tremble slightly.

The memory of the Pensieve and the last Occlumency lesson came back to Harry abruptly.

"I'm sorry...."

"How dare you...Potter! You allow yourself to spy on me here, in my home! It wasn't enough for you to nose around in my memories at Hogwarts? You're sorry, are you?" Snape hissed, his voice simmering with rage.

Harry scrunched himself a bit further into the armchair. He didn't dare look at the Potions master any longer. For it was indeed him right now, and no longer his Snape.

Of course, he'd spied without having the right, he knew that. He'd just not been able to stop himself.

"Potter, I'm waiting for your explanation! What do you have to say in your defense, you insufferable little busybody?"

Even during the incident with the Pensieve, Harry hadn't felt so ill at ease. He'd not only betrayed him, but he'd also disappointed the professor. He felt tears of frustration well up in his eyes, but he quickly held them back. That would be the worst, and certainly wouldn't help the Potions master's temper. And yet, everything had started out so well...

He opened his mouth to repeat how sorry he was, that he hadn't really intended to spy, especially such a personal conversation, but Snape didn't give him the chance.

With a gasp, he abruptly brought his hand up to his Mark, his eyes all of a sudden full of apprehension.

He groaned and with a quick gesture, threw a fistful of Floo powder into the hearth.

"Albus! Come get the boy! I must leave. Immediately!"

Then an instant later: "Very well, as you wish, but make it quickly!"

Without a look at Harry, Snape headed for the potions waiting on the table and quickly shoved them into a large leather sack.

Dumbledore stepped through the fireplace a moment later. "Hello, Harry...if it's all right with you, I'm going to stay with you here until Professor Snape returns."

Unable to say a word, Harry nodded.

Snape finally turned around, and threw an expressionless look at the headmaster. "I don't know when I'll be returning. Probably tonight."

Dumbledore nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't have the chance.

Snape had disappeared with a great crack¸ without even looking at Harry.