The panicked knocking on the door to his private quarters woke Snape. A quick glance confirmed what his grogginess had already told him: it was barely 2 am. Alert for trouble, he opened the door with his wand drawn and a curse on his lips. Not that he expected an assassin to knock, but he had survived too many traps not to be cautious.

When he recognized the two of them standing there, he was sorely tempted to let fly with the curse. “Mr Potter, why are you out after curfew, pounding on my door?”

The brat had the temerity to shove past him, his eyes wide and frightened. “Nightmare,” he gasped, his arm slung around Weasley’s shoulders.

Snape’s irritation vanished. “Was it a vision?” he asked quickly, hurrying to help the boy to the couch.

“Not me,” Harry said, surprised. “Ron.”

Snape jerked to a halt. “Weasley had a nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed, busy settling his friend on Snape’s couch and tucking him in with the afghan he plucked from Snape’s stunned grasp. “It was really bad. He was screaming about Vold- erm, You Know Who. And he –“

“Potter!” Snape snapped, glaring at the two. He noted absently that Weasely did look awful, pale and shivering with his hair matted down with sweat. “Why in Merlin’s name did you drag me out of bed?”

“He needs Dreamless Sleep,” Harry answered, surprised.

Snape gritted his teeth. “Last time I checked, Madame Pomfrey also had a supply of potions, and she is the normal person to assist a student in difficulty. Particularly in the middle of the night!”

Ron was shivering despite the blanket around his shoulders. “No. No Infirmary,” he said between chattering teeth.

“See?” Harry turned back to his friend.

“Mr Potter.” Snape snatched him by the shoulder and spun him back around. Harry’s eyes widened as for the first time he registered Snape’s disapproval. “Your delivery of Mr Weasley is both unwelcome and inappropriate. Professor McGonagall is the adult responsible for the welfare of your House, and –“

“She doesn’t have her own stock of potions,” Harry interrupted, a scowl of his own developing. “So she’d just send him to Madame Pomfrey, where he doesn’t want to go!”

“Then he must not be in that much distress!” Snape realized his mistake as he saw Harry’s eyes flash with anger. Never, he groaned to himself, arouse a Gryffindor’s protective streak. Especially at two in the morning.

“Oh yes he is!” Harry snapped back. “You didn’t hear him screaming and crying. He dreamt he had turned into Voldemort.”

Snape’s gaze flashed to Weasley, who looked both guilty and mortified.

“Ron said he wouldn’t go to the Infirmary or to Professor McGonagall but he let me bring him here.” Again Snape saw that flash of guilt cross Weasley’s face, and he understood what was tormenting the redhead.

Bloody oversensitive imbecilic guilt-ridden Gryffindors, Snape cursed to himself. Weasley was obviously torturing himself over what he had done to Snape. In the absence of a punishment imposed upon him, he’d developed his own chastisement from within his own mind.

Snape rolled his eyes in exasperation. He had hoped to make the brat sweat, letting his dread of Snape’s eventual retribution drive him mad, but instead his oversized conscience (not to mention his tendency for exaggeration) had decided that he must be as bad as the Dark Lord himself and was administering the worst torment it could.

This didn’t suit Snape at all. He wanted Weasley frightened of him, not of some nonsensical nightmare. “Weasley, you really are an idiot,” Snape snarled. The boy ducked his head and looked even more wretched, but Harry – predictably – flared.

“Don’t call him names! It’s not his fault he had a nightmare!”

“Oh, no?” Snape raised an eyebrow inquiringly at Weasley, but the boy avoided his eyes. So he hadn’t told Harry anything, then…

“No!” the boy in question shouted. Now in a complete temper, Harry stepped in front of Ron, forcing Snape to speak to him. “You’re nothing but hypocrites,” he yelled. “You and Dumbledore and McGonagall – you all say you care and that you want us to come to you with problems, but when we do, you won’t help! Well, fine. Just forget it. I bet Hermione can make the bloody potion just as good as you!” He spun to help Ron up, and Snape grabbed him by the back of his collar.

Frog-marching the furious boy out of the room, Snape spoke over his shoulder. “Sit on your hands, Weasley, and if you move so much as an inch while we’re gone, you won’t be able to sit again until Christmas!”

Not even bothering to make sure he was obeyed, Snape continued out of the room, dragging Harry into the hall and closing the door behind them. “Mr Potter, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t punish you for your blatant disrespect and discourteous attitude,” he said sternly, striving for calm.

“My discourteous attitude?” Harry retorted angrily. “You’ve been nothing but discourteous since we arrived.”

“If you turn up on someone’s doorstep at two in the morning, do not expect them to be particularly hospitable.”

“You make it sound like we came by for tea. It was an emergency! I needed help and so I came. I see now what a big mistake I made. Sorry to have troubled you, Professor!” he sneered with elaborate, sarcastic courtesy. “I should have known better.”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed coffee. Loath though he was to admit it, Harry had a point.

All of his efforts to develop an improved relationship with the boy had in fact paid off. Harry had turned to him for help in a time of crisis. That was a good thing – though at 2 am he felt he could be excused for not being overjoyed at this sign of progress.

Seeing the lines of fatigue etched on Snape’s face had dampened Harry’s ire a bit. “I didn’t think you’d mind so much,” he huffed, defensive. “You take care of me when I have a nightmare.”

Snape struggled for patience. “There is a difference,” he said evenly. “Your nightmares may be visions from the Dark Lord. It is important to seek my help with them. Furthermore, I am acting as your guardian, so it is appropriate for you to come to me with –“

“And I am. So why are you being such a git?” The instant the word slipped out, Harry regretted it. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he blurted, backing up a step.

Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Harry could see the struggle in them – to swat or not to swat? When the professor let out a long, slow breath, Harry sagged in relief.

“I really am sorry,” he repeated, less frantically but with patent sincerity. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was just really angry.”

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement of the apology. The boy was making progress - that had been quite well put. “We are both tired and tempers are short,” he agreed, as close as he would come to an apology of his own. “But while I am very pleased both by your asking for help and by your trusting me to assist you, I must still point out that there is a sizable difference between my helping you and helping another  Gryffindor.”

“But it’s not just another Gryffindor,” Harry protested, though he felt a warm rush of pleasure at Snape’s praise. “It’s Ron.”

“Mr Potter, there are several reasons I should not help Mr Weasley,” Snape said in tones of finality.

“And several reasons why you should,” Harry shot back, undaunted.

“Such as?” Snape asked dubiously,

“If I tell you, will you help him?” Harry bargained.

“If you can come up with a valid reason – as defined by me – then yes,” Snape smirked, confident in Harry’s inability to build a logical argument but pleased enough to encourage such Slytherin cunning.

Harry smirked right back. “First, he’s my best friend.  That means his problems are my problems, and you already said you’d help me with my problems.”

Snape pressed his lips together. That was almost reasonable. Perhaps he had underestimated Potter. He was Lily’s son, after all. “No, Mr Potter. By that logic, I should assist you with every minor detail of your life, including unpalatable seat assignments and minor squabbles with your classmates.”

Harry was unfazed by the argument’s rejection. “Okay, then you should do it because the Weasleys have practically adopted me – unofficially, I mean, though they’ve told the Headmaster that they want to for real.” Snape nodded cautiously. He knew the Weasley clan kept pestering Dumbledore. As if they didn’t have a large enough brood already! “So that makes Ron sort of my brother. And you’re kind of my guardian now, right? So that makes you Ron’s guardian too, sort of. Like you’re related to me and he’s related to me, so you’re related to each other!” Harry looked at him triumphantly.

Snape fought down queasiness. It was much too early even to contemplate being related to Weasleys. “Absolutely not.”

Potter scowled, but then determinedly returned to the attack. “Okay,” his voice held nothing but resolve. “Then you should help him because it’s good for the war.”

Snape snorted in disbelief, but Harry pressed on. “I know I’ve got to fight You Know Who, but Ron and Hermione are going to fight too.” He paused, giving Snape a guilty look. “I don’t want them to, and I told them that, but Hermione says she and her parents are already in danger since her folks are Muggles. And Ron’s family fought against Him in the first war, so He already thinks they’re blood traitors. Plus everyone already knows they’re my best friends so they’ll be in danger no matter what, and they say they’d rather fight than hide.” For all his words, his tone was uncertain, and Harry looked at Snape as if asking for his opinion. Snape nodded. Whatever his personal opinion of the know-it-all and the moron, he did agree with their decision. Having seen all too closely what Death Eaters could do, Snape was convinced that it was better for people to be as prepared as possible to fight them. If nothing else, it might make their deaths quicker and less agonizing.

“Okay.” Harry seemed slightly heartened by Snape’s agreement (or at least lack of argument). “So that means we’re all going to be fighting You Know Who, and the less we trust each other, the easier it will be for Voldie.” Snape looked at him sharply. Voldie? Harry grinned briefly. “You know Ron doesn’t, erm, trust you very much. If you help him now, though, he’ll get to know you and trust you like I do – “ Snape was jolted by the casualness with which Harry made such a statement. Did the boy not realize what he had just said? Perhaps it was the early hour; he wasn’t thinking clearly. Oblivious to his professor’s shock, Harry continued blithely, “ - so  it’ll be easier for him to work with you and the rest of us against You Know Who.”

Blast. Against all expectations, the brat had come up with a reasonable argument. Snape scowled. He was going to have to commend Harry’s logic and actually help Weasley. Could this night get any worse? “Very well.” He managed not to let his teeth grinding become audible. “I will assist Mr Weasley.”

To Snape’s astonishment, Harry threw his arms around his waist. “I knew you would!”

Snape snorted, but he patted the boy on the back before stepping away from the embrace. Better to get away before the brat realized what he had done. Obviously the hour must be making the boy act in this uninhibited fashion. A Potter would never voluntarily touch a Snape; the boy’s father would be spinning in his grave. “Yes, well, I’m not sure you should have been quite that confident.”

Harry grinned, giddy with both relief and fatigue. “Oh, I had two other arguments that would definitely have worked. I’m just glad I didn’t have to use them.”

Curious, Snape paused en route to his Potions storeroom. “Oh? Why is that?”

“ ’Cause you’d have helped, but you’d’ve been mad,” Harry replied candidly.

“Enunciate properly, Mr Potter. Even at this hour there is no excuse to speak in such a sloppy fashion,” Snape reproved automatically, but his curiosity was piqued. “Why would I have been angry?”

Harry paused, a glint of mischief in his eye. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to whack me.”

“Why would I ‘whack’ you?” Snape’s suspicious instincts were now quivering.

“Well, I figured if you were completely unreasonable and nothing else worked, I’d just have to offer you a quidquo.”

Snape frowned, thinking. Then: “You mean a quid pro quo?”

Harry nodded. “I thought that might work, you being a Slytherin and all.”

“And what were you planning to do for me in exchange for my assisting Mr Weasley?”

“It’s more what I was offering not to do,” Harry admitted, smirking.

“Explain,” Snape ordered silkily, closing the distance between them.

Harry, busy fighting off an attack of the giggles, didn’t notice. “Well, I figured that I’d explain that if you wouldn’t help, then I’d tell everyone something you wouldn’t like them to know.”

Snape’s jaw tightened. The possibilities were nearly endless. The Potter brat knew a great deal of sensitive information about his connections to the Dark Lord. Add to that the unprecedented amount of time he had spent in Snape’s company, including his private quarters, and who knew what he might have stumbled across? “Such as?” He wasn’t certain if he was pleased by such extortionist tactics or appalled by them. Did Minerva realize what her little lions were capable of? Or were fears of Voldemort’s return causing students to behave uncharacteristically? Were some of his Slytherins running around, engaging in foolish heroics?

“Such as that you hugged me,” Harry announced gleefully. “And if they didn’t believe me, I would tell them that they could ask the Headmaster. And then, once they got over the shock of that, I was going to tell them that your middle name was Buttercup.”

“WHAT?” Snape bellowed, clutching at the wall. “My middle name is Tobias!”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, but once I got them to believe me, I figured I might as well make it good. Oh, and I was going to tell them that you keep a bunny here in your quarters as your familiar and you call him Mr Snuggles.” He started to laugh at Snape’s horrified countenance. “And – and that when you were a kid you slept with a p-plushie unicorn named Rainbow. And that – ouch!”

Snape, seeing the imminent destruction of his carefully constructed persona, had reacted predictably. Snatching Harry by the collar, he tucked him under one arm and brought the other hand down smartly onto the seat of Harry’s dressing gown.

“Ow! You promised!” Harry protested, but his indignant tone was hampered by the fact that he couldn’t wholly suppress his snickers.

“I did not promise,” Snape pointed out between clenched teeth. “And you were quite right to assume I would not take kindly to blackmail.”

“Oh, come on. Ouch! It’s a perfect Slytherin plan,” Harry argued, squirming. “You should – ow! – be awarding me points for initiative. Ouch! Not so hard! It’s not like I actually did it!”

At that, Snape righted Harry and turned his fiercest glare on the boy. “If you ever even contemplate spreading such arrant nonsense –“

Harry grinned impertinently at him. His face was flushed and his hair even more tousled than usual, but the swats had obviously done little to squelch his cheeky attitude. Snape glowered. Clearly he should have applied more force to the swats, but who would have expected the boy to have become so impervious to his threatening manner? “I bet I could convince at least half your first years. Want to wager?”

Snape reached for his collar again, and Harry skipped backwards, holding up his hands in surrender. He didn’t lose his smirk, though. “Okay, okay. Don’t be so crabby.”

“Crabby!” Snape’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. This insolence was going to stop at once. “If you don’t want a real punishment, Mr Potter, you will begin to show me the proper respect right now.” There was not the slightest hint of humor in his tone or expression, and Harry’s smile slowly faded.

Snape watched, hiding his surprise, as Harry’s impish expression was replaced by first uncertainty, then dismay, and finally guilt. “I’m sorry.” At last Harry spoke, staring at the ground. All animation had left him. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. You’ve been really brilliant, you know. I wasn’t trying to make you angry. I thought you’d – y’know – find it funny.” His hands crept around to his backside and started to rub gingerly.

Snape looked down on the bent head and slumped shoulders and sighed silently. Merlin, but the boy was fragile. His own irritation had been assuaged, partly when it became clear that the boy hadn’t truly intended any disrespect, and partly when he realized that he hadn’t lost his touch in intimidating the brat. He just needed to use different methods than he had originally. “Your efforts to enlist my sympathy are futile, Mr Potter. You allowed too much time to lapse before indicating distress,” he commented sternly, but his tone was significantly less harsh than a few moments before.

Harry glanced up, confused. “Sympathy?”

Snape tugged Harry’s hand around from where it was soothing away the sting of the swats. “If you wish me to feel remorse for my brutal assault upon your posterior, it would behoove you not to snigger while I am administering the blows.”

Harry stared at him. Was Snape actually making a joke? He had sounded so furious – as if he really believed Harry would have said all that stuff about him – that Harry’s bum had started to smart. Harry had been laughing so much when the swats first fell, he hadn’t really paid much attention to them, but when the happy bubble in his chest had been burst by Snape’s betrayed expression, he had felt their effect in a weird sort of delayed reaction. Now, watching Snape carefully, he thought it looked as though he was no longer angry. More… tired.

“I wouldn’t have really done it, you know. I was just kidding,” he said quietly, peering up through his fringe at the tall man.

“I do know that, Harry,” Snape admitted, deliberately using the boy’s first name and seeing his lips curve in an answering smile. “But for a moment, I wasn’t so sure.”

“What? How could you think I’d do something like that!” Harry yelped, insulted.

Snape quirked an eyebrow at him. “As you pointed out, it was a very Slytherin plan. Do you really imagine that a Slytherin wouldn’t be serious in making such an offer?”

Harry’s eyes widened as he thought about it. “You mean Draco would have gone through with it?”

“No; Mr Malfoy has too keen a sense of self-preservation to consider such a plan, let alone share it with me, even in jest,” Snape replied with a pointed look. “That was not a particularly intelligent move.”

Harry looked penitent for about three seconds, then the memory of Snape’s expression leapt to mind and he started to snicker again.

“Potter –“ Snape began warningly, only to be interrupted.

“M-Mr Snuggles,” Harry choked, trying to hold in his laughter.

“Potter, you have exactly ten seconds to get yourself under control, or you will not be able to sit in class tomorrow!”

“Yes, Professor… Buttercup!” Harry ducked away from Snape’s grab at his ear and managed to control himself. “Okay, sorry. That was the last one, I promise.”

Snape rolled his eyes but was too tired to go into full-out ogre mode. “Potter, it is two in the morning. I suggest we get the potion you came for and go to our respective beds.”

Reminded of his friend, waiting in Snape’s sitting room, Harry sobered quickly. “Right. Poor Ron.”

As he selected a Dreamless Sleep potion from his shelf, Snape glanced down at the boy beside him. “What was the other one?”

“What other one?” Harry asked distractedly, peering at all the weirdly glowing potion vials.

“You said you had two back-up plans that you could have used. The blackmail attempt was one. What was the other?”

Harry looked extremely uncomfortable. “Nothing.”

“Potter, do not insult my intelligence by lying to me.”

“Okay, okay,” the boy squirmed, whining, “I won’t lie about it, but I don’t want to tell you either.”

“Is it that likely to earn you another spanking?” Snape asked drily.

Harry shook his head, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Snape’s curiosity began to itch, and he recognized that if he didn’t find out what Potter’s plan had been, he’d be up all night speculating about it.

“If I promise not to ‘whack’ you, will you tell me?” Another head shake.

“What if I promise not to get angry?” Head shake.

“Come now, boy! It can hardly be that Slytherin a plan!”

“ ‘S not Slytherin.” He could barely hear Harry’s words, they were so soft and directed towards the boy’s feet. “ ‘S H’f’l’p’f.”

Snape struggled to make sense of the mumble. “It was a Hufflepuff plan?” he echoed in astonishment. “How so?” he demanded. Coming to a complete stop, he caught the boy by the elbow, forcing him to do likewise.

Harry was scarlet and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Potter, tell me.” Nothing. “Harry?”

The boy broke, as Snape knew he would. “I – I figured if nothing else worked, I’d just ask you to do it. For me.” The last two words were all but inaudible, and Snape recognized what an effort it had been, regardless of the hour, for the boy to say them.

Snape’s own color flared. This was tantamount to a declaration of - well – something, and Snape wasn’t sure how he felt about it, nor even how he wanted to feel about it.

“I see…”

Harry felt like a total prat. He had just gone ahead and blurted out his feelings like a needy toddler! Could he get any more pathetic? And now Snape would sneer and demand to know why he thought that a plea of “Do it for me!” from a Potter would ever make Snape do anything but the opposite of the requested action.  Bad enough that he had been distracted enough before to actually grab the man in a hug. He was still surprised that Snape hadn’t pushed him away, or even clouted him like Uncle Vernon would have.

What had he been thinking? He knew Snape loathed that sort of thing. Okay, he’d realized that day in the Headmaster’s office that Snape didn’t actually hate him anymore, that maybe, thanks to his mum, Snape actually felt even a little sorry for him. But for Harry to blurt his feelings out like that, as if it were something Snape wanted to hear… No, he had been stupid, stupid, stupid. It’s not as if Snape wanted to like him, but between his mum and the prophecy and Harry’s role in the war, he had gotten used to him and didn’t actively despise him – which was great. But to make it sound like he thought Snape was all soppy about him, or like he expected Snape to act like a doting relative and indulge him in any stupid request like the Dursleys did for Dudley – well, Merlin only knew how much damage Harry had just done to their relationship.

Oh no – he was clearing his throat. Here it came. This was going to be awful.

“Well, Potter, I suppose that would have worked,” Snape finally allowed quietly, then swept on down the hall and into the sitting room, leaving a gobsmacked Harry staring after him.