Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, July 1996 (06)

In the week since leaving the hospital wing, Snape worked relentlessly, determined, almost, desperate to make a quick recovery. Against Galen's counsel, the Potions master judged himself well enough to walk about the dungeons, unaided. His first foray had led to Harry, Madam Pomfrey, and Galen searching frantically for him when Dobby reported he wasn't in his quarters for his evening meal. Madam Pomfrey had found him, pale and near unconscious, near the labyrinth of corridors leading to the Slytherin common room. Healthy, he could have made the trip without incident in less than five minutes; in his current condition, he may as well have attempted a jog to Hogsmeade.

As the week progressed, though, he could be spotted on the grounds, not quite stalking, but striding at a much more fluid pace than he had managed in the hospital ward. Sometimes he was accompanied by Fang. Though Dumbledore, Galen, and Madam Pomfrey had done their best to discourage him from venturing so far from the castle, Snape ignored them, either fearlessly or recklessly set to as he pleased. Harry imagined it was a bit of both; he imagined Snape's tenacity was an unequivocal renunciation of the horror he had experienced just outside the school's gates.

The weekend arrived and Harry contemplated what Snape's mood would be as he trudged down to the dungeons. During the week, the therapy sessions had gone relatively well: Snape had readily accepted Harry's presence much as he would have accepted another round of torture from Voldemort. When he could, Harry spent time before the sessions playing with Fang, hoping to relieve some anxiety before heading to the dungeons. He hadn't had time today, so he tried to mentally brace for the typically cold reception he always received upon entering Snape's sitting room.

It began with those disdainful black eyes, slick as oil, tracking his movements, then the top lip would curl impossibly, anticipating what was to follow: Harry determinedly directing Snape in his exercises as Galen observed, only intervening to correct Harry or make a suggestion as Snape improved.

Snape had charmed the door to allow Harry entrance, but only after a severe hen-pecking from Madam Pomfrey. Harry hadn't cared one way or the other, but it was more convenient to be let in under his own steam rather than having to wait for Snape to open it. Before instating the charm Harry was sure Snape had often purposely left him languishing outside for five, sometimes ten minutes to irritate him - but he couldn't prove it.

"Harry Potter."

The large oak door glided open and Harry stepped into the cool entry hall. He ventured into the sitting room where Snape was seated in the chocolate colored leather chair near the fireplace.

"Professor," Harry said, with a nod. "Where's Galen?"

Lifting his chin, Snape glared at Harry a moment, before saying, "For some pathetically dimwitted reason, he believes you to be capable of starting on your own. He assured me he would arrive shortly."

"Oh," Harry said, disheartened. May as well get used to it, he thought, as Galen was leaving the next day.

Trying to disguise how uncomfortable Snape's staring made him, Harry headed to the bookshelf in the small alcove next to the fireplace. He removed the Pincherpin exerciser Galen had ordered from St. Mungo's, then shoved the ottoman over to sit before Snape, their knees nearly touching. Preparing for the tricky part, he inhaled, and set the wooden box on the floor.

Before each session, Harry had to gently massage Snape's hands and rotate his wrists in preparation for the exercises as well as after to relax them. Snape had never complained verbally of the discomfort that Harry knew he was feeling, yet it sometimes manifested in a grudging grimace or a slight jerk of the man's arm.

The massages had been an easy process when Snape was unconscious, but since he had awakened Galen had taken them over, much to Harry's relief. This was to be Harry's first time doing it while Snape was awake and he was extremely nervous.

"Well, shall we get started?" he asked, trying to sound as if he wasn't bothered in the least by the hair-raising glare Snape continued to launch at him.

Shaking slightly, Harry took Snape's right hand in his. Then, focusing on the motion of pushing Snape's sleeve up, Harry forced himself to relax. As he had done countless times before, he began with making gentle circling motions with his thumbs, moving up Snape's hand, massaging each long finger, gently straightening them as he went. He did it with Snape's palm facing down, then once more with it facing up. After finishing with the right one, he repeated the process on the left hand.

When the bandages had first been removed from Snape's hands and left forearm, Harry had marveled that the Dark Mark was no longer there. He had seen it only once - that night in the hospital wing when Dumbledore was trying to talk sense into Fudge. He wondered if Snape was as fascinated by the missing Mark as he was. Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and Brady had never mentioned it, so Harry left it alone, as well.

Mimicking what he had seen Galen do upon completing the massages Harry looked up and asked, "Professor, are you feeling any pain? Any twinges, aches or mild discomfort?" Snape looked at Harry with such a blank expression, Harry wondered if he had heard him. "Sir?"

"No," Snape managed, clearing his throat.

"You're... sure?" asked Harry, doubt threatening to overwhelm him. Where was Galen? He couldn't do this! He had obviously hurt Snape, but the man was too proud to say so.

"Yes, Potter," Snape ground out. "I've told you, I'm fine."

"Okay... sorry." Harry exhaled loudly and reached for the Pincherpin box.

"If it so irritates you to be here, you needn't stay, nor return once you leave!" Harry looked up. Snape looked furious, but Harry thought he saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes, as well.

"No, sir, I'm fine. Okay," Harry continued, determinedly, "let's begin with the easiest pin, the tan one, and work our way up to the green one for today."

Sneering, Snape reached for the tan colored pin, which, like the other seven, resembled oversized Muggle clothes pins. He boldly squeezed it, freeing it from the rod sticking up from the middle of the back of the lap-sized box. Holding it open, he easily clamped it on to the first rod in the box.

"Great, now the yellow one, sir." Harry focused on Snape's hands, looking for any sign of a tremor or strain as the tension difficulty increased with each pin.

Snape continued grasping pins until he had progressed from yellow to red and then green. Green was where Harry wanted him to stop, but Snape rashly proceeded to the more difficult blue, and then black. Finally, Harry pulled the box away when Snape used both hands to hold the black pin open.

"Brilliant, Professor!" Harry was unable to suppress a proud grin.

After setting the box on the floor, Harry took Snape's hands in his to repeat the earlier massaging on them. When he finished, he returned the box to its shelf, then turned back to find Snape standing as well, looking down at his hands, gingerly flexing them.

Harry thought they looked ten times better than when he and Galen had begun the therapy sessions. The healer had been conscientious about using a potion specifically for traumatic burns which was effective at not only healing the burn, but tempering scarring as well.

Snape's hands now looked much as they had before. It was only upon close inspection that one would notice the crisscrossing lines populating the palms of his hands. While Snape's left forearm still bore a substantial scar, Harry found the rubbery, puckered flesh strangely beautiful, believing it a dramatic improvement over Voldemort's stain.

"Do you need anything before I go?" Harry asked, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

"No, Potter, I don't," Snape said, his tone as stiff as his stance.

Harry nodded, then left.

*WO

After the session, Harry determined to reward himself with a well-deserved flight around the Quidditch pitch on his Firebolt. On his way outside, he encountered Dumbledore in the Entrance Hall.

"Ah, Harry," he said, "Might I have a moment of your time?"

"Sure," Harry said, hoping Dumbledore truly meant ‘a moment.' He was anxious to get into the air. Sliding his broom from around his shoulders, he gripped it in his left hand as they continued outside.

"How are your sessions progressing with Professor Snape?"

"Oh, great! I just finished doing one by myself," Harry said, surprised at the prideful tone in his voice.

Dumbledore smiled down at him, but it was automatic, wooden. "That's wonderful to hear, Harry, truly wonderful."

"Galen was supposed to be there, but I think he's trying to get us used to working by ourselves."

"Yes, he mentioned as much to me..." Dumbledore was silent for a moment as they traversed near the lake. "Harry, something has happened that you need to know."

Harry thrust a hand into his jeans pocket to grasp his mother's medallion. These days, dreading most anything Dumbledore had to say had become habit.

"The night you were rescued, you were being guarded by two Order members, Nymphadora Tonks and Sturgis Podmore."

Stunned, Harry said, "But, they weren't with -"

"They were killed before the others arrived."

"Tonks is dead?"

"Yes."

"Wh-why are you just now telling me this? Why didn't Remus -" Harry gasped. "That's why he looked so... He didn't seem like himself. Everyone was acting odd..."

As his thoughts returned to that night, he recalled Remus shouting the first word of the Killing Curse; Mr. Weasley's face, pale and worried; and Kingsley, stiffly subdued, his typically smooth, cool grace, vanished. Harry had attributed their behavior to the stress of the rescue.

Dumbledore sighed deeply. The lines in his face deepened with each breath, aging him to the point Harry wondered about the old wizard's health.

"You will recall, Harry, the night you arrived, Remus attended a meeting."

"Yeah, I remem -"

Suddenly, Harry thought, Bad news isn't supposed to come before other bad news, is it? Bad news first, good news second, right? Yet, he knew nothing good was forthcoming.

"What's happened to him?"

"Harry -"

"WHERE'S REMUS?"

"He is... he's dead."

Stepping back in disbelief, Harry tripped over his feet and fell to the ground. His head was moving. No, no, no. That can't be right.

Remus was the last. He was the only one who could tell Harry - after all this madness was over - stories about his parents, about Sirius. Maybe he could even have filled in where Sirius could not - like family, but, now...

"Why did you let him go?!" Harry yelled.

"Harry, Remus was well aware of the dangers -" Dumbledore extended his hand to help Harry up.

"You could have forbid him! Y-you could have kept him here!" Harry scooted farther away, out of Dumbledore's reach, then scrambled to his feet.

"Harry, these are difficult times. Remus was doing his duty -"

"His duty? Just like Snape, huh?" Harry snarled. "He was just doing his duty, and look at him!"

"There is not a member of the Order who does not know what that commitment means, Harry," Dumbledore said.

That wasn't good enough! That lame reasoning was not near good enough, just like the Order wasn't good enough to fulfill its lofty goals of protecting those under threat from Voldemort! How could they when they couldn't even look out for their own?

"It's pointless if you don't even try to keep it together, keep everyone safe..." Harry said, angry.

"Harry, the objective of the Order is to combat the rising darkness, not cower as it overwhelms us. Every member is subject to capture, torture, even death, yet everyone accepts this willingly, hoping to contribute, to make a difference," Dumbledore said softly. "Nymphadora, Sturgis, Remus, and Severus all acknowledged and accepted the consequences, Harry. Nothing was forced upon them. Sirius under -"

Harry moaned, and clutched his stomach. Why did he have to mention Sirius? He backed away when Dumbledore reached for him, again.

"No, no, no, no, no! Get away from me!" Harry screamed as he fled back to the castle.

*WO

Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, July 1996 (06)

"Severus, thank you for seeing me."

Snape stood aside to allow Dumbledore into his quarters. Trailing him into the sitting room, Snape carelessly gestured for the elder wizard to take a seat. He then sat as well, offering up no refreshment.

"The Order has lost three members over the past month, the most recent one, last night," Dumbledore said.

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Three?"

"In Surrey, Nymphadora Tonks and Sturgis Podmore were ambushed by Death Eaters dispatched to collect Harry."

"And last night?" Snape had a sinking feeling.

"Remus Lupin," said Dumbledore, with a tone of regret. Snape said nothing, but a muscle jumped in his jaw. "He was trying to infiltrate Greyback's ranks. We had information proving it useless to appeal to them, but, he had become careless, what with Nymphadora -"

 "Nymphadora?" Snape scowled.

"Yes, Severus, they had... developed a relationship."

Snape scoffed, appalled. "That is patently ridiculous! No wonder he was discovered! Why didn't you stop him? You knew he was not emotion -" He stopped.

While other members of the Order seemed to relish wallowing in their anger, fear, hate, and in Remus' case, love, Snape had long tempered his emotions with cold stoicism. In war, duty superseded grief. Having just lost a loved one mattered little in the heat of battle, and as evidenced by Remus, unbridled emotion could result in certain death. Defense against the likes of Voldemort required ruthless cunning, restrained bravery, and heartbreaking sacrifice many times over. Snape had learned his lesson; Lupin, obviously, had not.

"I take it you've told Potter?"

Dumbledore shifted in his chair. "Yes."

"Where is the boy now?"

"Gryffindor Tower... I believe."

Snape frowned. "You didn't go check on him?"

"Severus, he has just received a terrible shock. I did not want to impose -"

Snape shot to his feet. Growling exasperatedly, he swept out of the room, slamming the door on his way out.

Minutes later, he stalked into the Gryffindor common room to find Harry lying on one of the sofas, staring blankly at the fireplace looking as animated as a scarecrow.

"Potter?" Harry flinched at the harsh sound, but did not otherwise react. Snape sat down opposite him on the coffee table. "Potter..." he repeated.

"What do you want?" Harry said, still captivated by the fireplace's centuries old masonry. "Come to gloat? Glad the last of your enemies is dead?"

"I can assure you I have enemies to spare."

Harry slowly turned his head to take in Snape's grave expression and chuckled nastily. "No doubt... Did your puppet master send you up here? If so, you're wasting your time."

Snape jerked, as if he itched to slap Harry. Instead he said, teeth clenched, "I was not sent anywhere. I thought it wise to check on you after learning about Lupin. The Pavlovian satisfaction you get from blaming yourself for actions which haven't a thing to do with you is appalling and pathetic!"

Harry snorted loudly. "Pathet - What do you know about it? You have no bloody clue what I been through!"

"Oh, please do see fit to enlighten me!"

Sick of Snape's trite attitude, Harry angrily swung his feet to the floor and sat up.

"I don't have to explain myself to anyone - especially you! So just run along, tell Dumbledore... whatever, I don't care, just get out of my face!"

"Other addle-minded adults may allow you to speak to them any way you please, but you shall address me with respect!" Snape spat.

 At that moment Harry elected Snape the perfect target for his broiling rage. Using his old hatred as a divining rod to pinpoint every wrong thing the man had ever said and done, Harry submerged himself in bitter memories: unwarranted punishments in Potions class; failed Occlumency lessons; Remus resigning from his teaching post; the never-ending, vicious disparagements of his father, the other Marauders, Hermione, Neville, Ron and every other student Snape encountered; Sirius's death - hell, why not include that disastrous date with Cho Chang?

"Had you done anything worthy to deserve my respect, maybe I'd feel the need to address you with it."

Harry watched Snape's face drain of blood and felt a tingling satisfaction for having properly and thoroughly insulted the man.

Feeling seconds away from becoming an inmate in Azkaban, Snape tried something novel: he closed his eyes and counted to ten. He then counted to ten, again, desperate to relieve himself of the urge to throttle Harry until he couldn't lift his arms. When he opened his eyes, Harry was looking at him, a strange look of wonder on his face.

"Why?" Harry said. His burning anger had been oddly supplanted by honest puzzlement.

"What?" Snape snapped.

"Why are you still alive, while everyone who ever cared about me is dead?"

A suffocating silence ruled the room for several minutes as Harry sat staring at Snape as though trying to memorize him. Snape swallowed, loudly, discomfited, and uncommonly speechless.

"I'm still alive, but the Dursleys are dead..." Harry said, frowning.

Snape frowned, too. "The Dark Lord takes no prisoners, Potter. The death of your family was simply... wickedness."

"And, and... S - Cedric, my mum, my dad, and y-you..." said Harry, as if he hadn't heard.

"None of those were your fault! The Diggory boy's death was more senselessness. You know he was not the tar -"

"I forced him to take the cup with me."

"What?"

"I forced him. We helped each other out in that maze... I saved him from Viktor, and at the end he saved me from a giant spider... The cup was right there, but he didn't want to take it, said I deserved it, so I-I suggested we take it together."

"Potter, Diggory was of age and knew what he was doing." Snape sighed at Harry's determinedly tortured expression. "I've read your essays and am quite familiar with your inability to effectively debate the importance of using moonstone instead of monkshood to brew a proper Draught of Peace, thus I seriously doubt that your words compelled him into any action he hadn't already considered. He was surely as eager as you to get the cup!"

Harry scowled. "He was, but you don't have to say it like that - like he was greedy or something!"

Snape snapped, exasperated, "I'm not faulting the boy; I'm simply saying that your use of the word ‘force' is self-serving hyperbole!"

Harry looked at him, confused.

"Did you threaten him with your wand? Your fists? Threaten to hex his father once you both made it out of the maze?" Harry shook his head, appalled. "Then, Diggory did exactly as he wanted!" Harry shook his head again. "Why do persist in this self-recrimination? What do you get out of it?"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, eager to dismiss Snape's psycho-rubbish talk, thinking him nearly as bad as Dumbledore, but, he stared at the man blankly, seriously considering the question. What did he get out of it?

Death and pain, as dark and foreboding as they were for some, were for Harry, tangibly emotional reminders of the job he ultimately had to do.

"I need it," he blurted out. Snape regarded him, brows knitted. "Righteous fury," Harry said, a humorless smile lilting the side of his mouth as he recalled Snape's expression while arguing with Dumbledore in the hospital wing. "Without it, I'm dead... and Voldemort has free reign."

Snape inhaled sharply as the perpetually green brilliance of Harry's eyes faded, leaving a dull, disturbing nothingness. He had to clasp his hands together to stop himself from shaking the boy until mischievousness returned, until anger, sadness, joy, anything returned.

"Maybe it's good that Remus is dead," Harry said. The chilling, trance-like tone of his voice unnerved Snape further. "I'd have wanted to depend on him for something. This way - I'll be alone, like always, because no one's going to help me finish off Voldemort... if I even can. Yeah, it's probably best that he's dead... Dead like Si -" Harry stopped.

"Potter! Stop this nonsense! You are not alone!"

At that, Harry broke.

"Shut UP! Why are you here, anyway? Just leave me alone. LEAVE ME ALONE!" he screamed.

The last thing Harry heard as he bolted up the stairs to his dorm was Snape murmuring and a woosh from the fireplace.

*WO

The Black Lake, Hogwarts, July 1996 (14)

Though the sun shone warmly, Harry sat shivering. Having gratefully avoided the other inhabitants of the castle all week, he had finally ventured outside to sit beside the lake, shaded by the old oak.

It seemed to sense the grief radiating off him in palpable waves. Low-hanging leaves, rustled by a stray breeze, caressed his cheek softly, causing him to shiver even more. He gazed out emptily at the lake's sparkling waves as they gently lapped at the shore, no doubt set in motion by the giant squid.

He was dreaming again. After weeks of dreamless sleep, he now dreamed of Sirius regularly. The floodgates of his unexpressed grief had burst at the news of Remus' death, overwhelming him with hopelessness. Harry was reminded that when Sirius died, so had his own hopes of having a parent, a home, and a respite from being the Boy Who Lived.

Regardless, life carried on. Food arrived in the Tower three times daily, courtesy of Dobby, though Harry rarely partook of it. He'd similarly refused sleeping potions pressed on him by Snape and Madam Pomfrey. After a relentless assault for three straight days, they both finally granted Harry's wish after he screamed himself hoarse demanding that they ‘leave me alone, just leave me alone!' It seemed to be his mantra of late.

"Potter."

Harry started, his brooding idleness destroyed. He blinked rapidly to rehydrate his eyes, dry from long bouts of staring at nothing. He then turned slowly, squinting against the sun settled just over his visitor's shoulder. Snape was looking down at him, his lips pulled tightly together, as if he were doing his best not to utter a cutting remark.

"What do you want?" Harry muttered.

His tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. He had not spoken much to anyone beyond the screaming session. When he did speak his vocabulary rarely extended beyond an emotionless ‘yes' or ‘no'; that had grown old quickly with Snape. The singular times they had encountered one another, he demanded that Harry talk as he was ‘not mute and did still possess the power of speech.'

Snape gave no immediate response to Harry's question, but continued to scrutinize the boy. Tiring of being twisted around and squinting, Harry directed his eyes downward then back toward the lake. That simple movement caused red spots to dance before his eyes and his stomach to churn ominously. Snape appraised him for several more seconds before he spoke.

"Potter, come with me."

"No," Harry said. Though the word was inherently defiant, there was no mistaking the weak, pleading tone in his voice.

Snape was having none of it. "Potter, you will come with me by your own strength or I will carry you."

Harry heaved a heavy sigh. Too destroyed to argue and not wanting to be carried, he shifted to get to his feet.

Snape's eyes narrowed at the sight of the protruding bones of Harry's spine, exposed in stark relief against the ragged material of the shirt he was wearing. His thin back was riddled with indentions from leaning against the tree as his flimsy t-shirt did little to protect him from the sharp edges of the tree's bark.

Harry finally made it to stand, but immediately reached out to grasp the tree, overcome with a nauseating dizziness. He felt he might fall over, but just as he started to lean, Snape was there. He grasped Harry tightly by the shoulder to steady him, not letting go until Harry jerked free of his hand, indicating that he was settled.

Their progress toward the castle was inhibited as Harry couldn't seem to manage a pace faster than a slow shuffle. Finally, at the stone steps leading to the entrance of the castle, Snape watched Harry lift his feet listlessly over first one step, then the next, until he had ascended four steps. Then he stopped.

"Potter?" Snape stepped up beside Harry to see why he had stopped moving. When Harry began to sway backward, Snape's arms shot out to catch him before he fell.

*WO

Snape swiftly carried Harry's unconscious form up to the hospital wing. Elbowing the swinging door open, he shouted for Madam Pomfrey.

Following the revelation of Remus's death, Harry had stopped performing Snape's therapy sessions. In turn, Madam Pomfrey had agreed to stay on a few more weeks to assist him. Initially, Snape had protested the idea, not wanting her to forgo starting her holidays, but he was now glad she had insisted on staying.

She stuck her head out of her office, eyes growing big at the sight of Snape with Harry in his arms.

"What's happened?"

"He collapsed on the steps outside."

Snape lay Harry's husk-like weight down on the bed Madam Pomfrey directed him to, then moved to stand on the opposite side. Pomfrey immediately scanned Harry to determine if there was more going on other than the obvious lack of food, drink, and rest.

"Watch him," she demanded, heading for her office.  As soon as she crossed its threshold, Harry moaned softly, his face scrunched up in a grimace.

"Are you in pain, Potter?" Snape demanded, moving closer.

"No," Harry moaned. Then he screamed. "No! Sirius, no! Get him! He's just... No, Remus, get him - He's not DEAD!"

His hands flew up to his hair and he began yanking furiously at the unruly tresses, grunting with the effort, as if desperate to free his head of every last one. When Snape noticed strands of black within Harry's fists, he grabbed the boy's wrists to stop him as he continued to grapple with his hair.

"Potter!" Snape shouted, taken off guard by the boy's wiry strength. "Potter! Stop this!"

"Professor!" Pomfrey gasped. Holding a tray of potions, she gaped at the scene before her.

"Woman, please!" Snape snarled. "He started having some sort of fit and is now trying to pull his hair out. Either give him a Dreamless Sleep Draught while I hold him, or hold him while I administer the potion!"

"I'll do it," she sniffed. "He's my patient."

"Then please do make it quick," Snape snapped, his brow shiny with sweat. "He's stronger than he looks!" 

It was only after Madam Pomfrey had taken Harry's chin in one hand and dosed him with the other, that Snape was finally able to release Harry. His body slackened immediately, but his face was still a mask of agony, as though his entire being was wracked with pain.

Snape scowled down at the pathetic picture the boy made: hair a mess, face pinched up impossibly, body scrawny beyond belief. Then Harry's lips began to move, forming soundless words.

Snape frowned, thinking, He should be out.

"He should be out," said Madam Pomfrey, echoing Snape's thought and action.

Harry chose that inopportune moment to moan, "Padfoot, they got him in the place where it's hidden, Professor! Please, sir, you got to -" This was followed by a scream as shrill as a hundred nails on a blackboard. "No - leave him alone! You're k-killing him! They're using the Cruciatus on him! STOP! It's h-hurting him!" he screamed.

Then, Harry's body began to writhe and constrict. His hands turned in on themselves as his body curled into a tight ball... Snape stared, mortified, now fully aware of what Harry was dreaming about.

"POPPY!" Snape roared, shocking her from her frozen state as he tried, again, to subdue the boy.

"I-I can't give him another dose! In his weakened state... He hasn't taken a proper meal in days! It will do more harm than good..." She shook her head at the disturbing sight Harry made. He had soiled himself and was howling in agony. Cringing at his shrieking, she said, loudly, "There must be some other way to bring him round..."

Thinking of nothing better to do, and with Pomfrey offering up no useful alternative, Snape began speaking to Harry in a calm voice. For several minutes, he kept up a steady, monotonous recitation, stiffly encouraging Harry to ‘quiet down.'

It didn't work. Madam Pomfrey resorted to clapping her hands over her ears, grimacing at Harry's sustained screeching.

"Professor!"

Sighing harshly, Snape pointedly ignored the school nurse. In an unexpectedly soft tone, he began assuring Harry he was all right, he was only dreaming, he was safe at Hogwarts; he even inserted a couple ‘Harry's' in lieu of ‘Potter.' Shortly, Harry stopped the ear piercing screams in favor of whimpering. And instead of the grotesque constrictions of a moment ago, his body was reduced to sporadic shudders before he slowly stilled.

"That's it," Snape continued in the same low voice, though his face was tense and frowning. "You are only dreaming."

Snape moved to sit on the edge of the bed as his back started to ache from the bent position he was in. He loosened his grip on Harry, but did not let go entirely fearing the young wizard might begin to thrash about once more.

Madam Pomfrey moved forward to touch a cool hand to Harry's forehead. He hitched in a harsh breath.

"In all my time - I've never heard such screaming. It's as if he was being skinned alive! Why would he -"

"How is he, Poppy?" Snape asked, distracting her from her line of questioning, feeling she would soon ask something he was not prepared to answer.

"He's warm, but I don't think he has fever. It's all the thrashing what's done him in." Snape grunted his acknowledgment. "Every year," she said, her voice cracking, "every year there's something for him to go through. It's simply not fair!"

"Life is rarely fair," Snape said, as he took in the boy's anguished face.

Madam Pomfrey reached to smooth Harry's hair back off his forehead. It didn't stay put.

"I think he's calmed down enough to let him go," she said. Expecting Snape to release the boy immediately, she was astounded when he shook his head.

"I'll stay with him," Snape said.

"It's really not necessary. He's all right now." She reached to pat his hand kindly.

"No, I don't want to chance that he'll have another... episode."

"Well, at least let me help you clean him up..."

"Poppy, please - leave it to me. Go." He was determined to maintain a calm tone, but she was trying his patience.

When she still hadn't moved, he turned to look at her. Sensing a shift in his gaze, she gave him a reluctant smile then walked to her office to retrieve her bag. On her way out, she cast one last curious glance at the duo on the bed. Snape still had a tentative hold on Harry, but his eyes were on her.

Snape only released Harry after the doors swung shut. After surveying the boy for a long moment, he stood and shrugged out of his outer robes, folding them over the chair.

Harry lay bathed in sweat, teeth chattering as he shivered. Snape removed his glasses, setting them on the side table before picking him up and carrying him to the ward's showers. There he banished Harry's fouled clothing, and with Harry in his arms, stood beneath the warm jet of water, soaking them both as he scrubbed Harry clean.

Harry remained boneless throughout the whole ordeal, never waking, even as Snape wrapped him in magically warmed towels. Back in the ward Snape laid him on a neighboring bed, then pulled a clean pair of pajamas from the bedside table to dress him. After tucking the covers around him, Snape then turned to banish the mess on the bed Harry had soiled.

Once that was set to rights, Snape distractedly cast a Drying Charm on himself, then resumed his place on the edge of Harry's bed. Harry seemed to sigh with relief at the change, though Snape was certain the boy was oblivious to what had gone on. Eventually, Snape's body reminded him that sitting on the edge of a hospital bed was doing no favors for his recently healed back and ribs. He stood to stretch. Harry, still sleeping, sensed the change and rolled onto his side to face Snape, his brow creased in a frown.

Snape scowled. "Potter, I cannot remain perched on your bedside like some trained owl!"

When Harry snuffled softly, Snape rolled his eyes and transfigured the hospital chair into a more comfortable one. Moving it close to the bed, he eased into it, elegantly crossing one long leg over the other. He clasped his hands together beneath his chin and proceeded to watch Harry, but this didn't seem to satisfy the boy. Whimpering softly, he began to search blindly with his hands, growing more agitated as seconds passed, shuffling his legs back and forth beneath the sheets.

"Potter." Snape leaned forward. "Potter, stop this! You are all right!"

At the sound of Snape's voice, Harry's legs stilled, and the whimpering ceased, but his hands still searched restlessly. Leaning closer, Snape peered at the boy, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the bed. When one of Harry's flailing hands made contact with Snape's, what the young wizard did then took Snape's breath: Harry grasped his hand in a grip that could only be described as - desperate.

Wincing, Snape tried to wrest his hand free, but Harry, having finally found something warm and solid, held tight.

*WO

Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, July 1996

Entering the hospital wing, Dumbledore's eyes immediately set upon Harry lying peacefully asleep and Snape sitting in a black leather chair close by. As he drew closer, he saw both Snape and Harry's hands linked and resting on the bed.

Snape twisted his head around upon hearing the door open. Seeing that it was Dumbledore, he tried vainly to free his hand, but Harry simply sighed and increased the intensity of his grip, causing Snape to grimace.

"Stronger than he looks?" asked Dumbledore.

"You have no idea," Snape drawled. "I've been trying to get away for the past hour. I don't know where Poppy has disappeared to," he said, disregarding the fact that it was he who had demanded she leave.

"No doubt she is preparing for her journey home," said Dumbledore, now standing on the other side of Harry's bed. He was gazing down at him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "Poppy's note said he collapsed as you were entering the castle?"

"Yes. I found him moping down by the lake and instructed him to come back with me. He barely made it to the entrance, and only managed a few steps before he passed out," Snape said, exasperated. "Had he been on his own, he would have cracked his head open on the stone!"

"It is lucky you were there, then."

"Foolish boy! He hasn't eaten a decent meal in days and he refused the sleeping potions Poppy and I tried to give him!" Snape continued, his voice growing louder and angrier. "I should have forced it down his throat!"

Snape sounded angry, but the anxiety creasing his sharp features expressed a different truth. Dumbledore regarded both Harry and Snape for a silent moment before speaking.

"He seems rather comfortable with you," he said.

"It is only because he's not conscious," Snape retorted, casting an irritated glance at Harry.

"He has lost so much this year," Dumbledore said. Snape remained silent, but his posture stiffened visibly. Dumbledore sighed. "I told him he could remain here over the summer, but that is looking less and less likely." At Snape's inquiring look, he said, "Rufus Scrimgeour will be coming to Hogwarts." 

"What has that to do with Potter remaining here?"

"He has requested an audience with Harry in the hopes of... eliciting his help." Dumbledore's displeasure was laid bare in his tone.

Snape snorted, disgusted. "What could they possibly -" His eyes flashed quickly over Harry's face, lingering on his scar. "Ah, let me guess. The Ministry hopes to restore the shine of its tarnished image with Potter as its shiny, new mantle piece?"

"Precisely. The Minister has been increasingly persistent since discovering Harry was here. As such, he has given me no choice in the matter and will be making an unannounced visit."

Snape snorted again. "'Unannounced?'"

Dumbledore shrugged. "He believes it will be."

Little escaped Dumbledore's attention, and if Scrimgeour believed his visit would be a surprise, that meant Dumbledore had a mole placed within the Minister's circle.

"When?"

"Sunday."

Snape's eyes widened with shock. Sunday was two days away. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, for obvious reasons, Harry has refused to stay at Grimmauld Place. He has also refused the Weasley's invitation to stay with them, fearing he is too much of a danger, but there is no other choice. He will have to go to the Burrow. I have spoken with Arthur and Molly and they have agreed," said Dumbledore.

"He won't stay there," Snape said, distinctly familiar with Harry's rebellious tendencies. "As soon as you make the arrangements known to him, he'll run... He'll run and he'll be at the mercy of the Dark Lord, unprotected!"

Again, Harry sighed, curling his body in on itself, closer around his and Snape's still joined hands. Dumbledore watched his movements then lifted his eyes to the Potions master's face. Snape was watching Harry with his head tilted and his eyes narrowed as if he were translating an Ancient Runes hieroglyph in his head.

"Severus?"

Snape looked up, questioningly.

"Forgive my redundancy, Severus, but Harry seems rather comfortable with you."

Cottoning on to Dumbledore's meaning, Snape growled and shot an angry look at the older - possibly senile, Snape thought - wizard.

"You can't be serious, Albus!" he roared. Harry stirred, and Snape quickly turned to see if he had wakened. When Harry slept on, Snape snapped his furious gaze back to Dumbledore. "You can't possibly mean to saddle me with this boy to look after!" he hissed. "No, no! He must go to the Weasley's as you said."

His voice carried a tone of finality and his expression was set in a fierce scowl. He then tried once more to wrest his hand free from Harry's.

"You seem so certain he will disregard my request to stay with the Weasleys," Dumbledore said, a hint of angry frustration in his voice. "What, then would you have me do?"

Take a flying leap into the Black Lake?

Speaking with a forced calm, hoping to appeal the Dumbledore's rational side, or at least the side that valued Harry's safety, Snape said, "Headmaster, I believe my time would be better spent working in the Order, considering three members have been lost within the past two months."

"Severus, there is no more important work, in or out of the Order, than keeping Harry safe," Dumbledore said. "And honestly, there is little you can do now that your identity has been compromised. While the Weasleys care for Harry as one of their own, Molly especially, he needs someone who will be able to focus solely on him, without distraction; he needs someone as strong-willed as he, someone who will not coddle him, as he has rather a lot to adjust to.

"Harry learning to manage his powers is critical, Severus," Dumbledore said. His piercing gaze indicated he would accept no response save an affirmative one.  "Other than myself, you are the only who can help him."

Snape seethed silently. Aggravated and desperate for a reasonable (different) alternative, he shook his head, unconvinced. Looking down at Harry's chaotic hair, he knew he was not the person for this, especially considering their history. Yet, as obscene as the idea was, Snape saw no other solution either.

*WO

After sleeping for nearly fourteen hours, Harry woke, desperately thirsty, but also needing to empty his bladder. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open, squinting against the sharp glare of the sun radiating through the windows.

"Potter."

It was the last voice Harry had heard before going to sleep. He turned his head to gaze around as best he could. When Snape placed his glasses in his hands, Harry slipped them on, peering owlishly at his professor's sullen face.

"Thank you," he croaked, then grimaced at how raw and scratchy his throat felt. It felt as if he had been screaming for hours at a World Cup Quidditch match.

"Don't try to talk just yet," Snape said, holding out a potion vial. "Drink this. It will relieve the soreness in your throat."

Harry took the vial, glanced at its pink color and looked back up at Snape.

"C'n drink anythin' jus' yet," he rasped, sheepish.

Snape silently took back the vial, then reached for a bedpan.

Horrified, Harry held up his hands. "C'n make... loo!"

Snape gave a curt nod and said, "The potion shall be here when you return."

Slowly, Harry eased off the bed, fully cognizant of Snape taking in his every move. Despite feeling as weak as a newborn kitten, he braved the walk to the bathroom. It would have been too embarrassing to use a bedpan in front of Snape.

When he returned, he had assumed only the vial would be there, but Snape had remained, too, keeping up his intense inspection of Harry. It was unnerving to be watched like that. Snape only ever looked at his students so intently so as to preempt any disasters in his classroom.

Once Harry was settled back in bed, Snape held out the vial to him. Swallowing its contents, Harry was relieved when his throat's scratchiness disappeared immediately.

"Thank you." Harry passed the empty vial back to Snape. Leaning back on his pillows, he cast surreptitious glances at the man.

"Say what is on your mind, Potter."

"I was just wondering why you're here," Harry said, and then hastily added, "Sir" at Snape's inquiring look.

"Why don't we leave that discussion until after you've eaten," Snape said, turning toward Pomfrey's office.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but as if Snape had commanded it, Harry's stomach growled loudly. Snape turned and looked at him, his eyebrow sharply arched. Embarrassed, Harry bowed his head and shifted lower beneath his covers as Snape continued on to Pomfrey's office.

When Snape returned, he was levitating a tray weighted with a bowl of steaming porridge, plates of toast, bacon, scrambled eggs, and a cup of tea. He charmed the tray to hover over Harry's lap, then returned to Pomfrey's office. Harry didn't think he'd be able to manage all that food, but his body thought better of it; he ate everything save a slice of toast.

Twenty minutes later, Snape emerged from Pomfrey's office. "How are you feeling?" He eyed the nearly empty tray.

"Better," Harry said. Snape removed the tray to the foot of the bed, where it instantly disappeared with a soft pop. "Thank you," said Harry, unsure of where to look. Snape nodded stiffly. "So," Harry said, clearing his throat, "can we discuss whatever it is you wanted to discuss, now?"

"Yes, I suppose we should," Snape replied, oddly hesitant. He pulled the chair he had used up until Harry had finally surrendered his hand - 6 a.m. - closer to the bed and sat down. He crossed his legs, tented his hands in front of his chest and inhaled deeply.

Harry gazed at him expectantly, if a bit warily.

"The deaths of your relatives," Snape said, "along with the trauma of seeing a school mate killed, witnessing the rebirth of the Dark Lord last year and -" He stopped. Loathing and utter outrage were battling for dominance on Harry's face.

"I know exactly what has happened to me over the past year - over the past five years. No one is more aware of it than me. Just get to the point... sir," said Harry, his voice cold.

"The point, Potter," Snape said, "is that you have recently lost two people to whom you were extremely close, leaving you alone with no one to look after you-"

Harry snorted humorlessly. "I wonder what that would be like? I may have lived with the Dursleys, but I've been taking care of myself for a really long time. So, if this is a way to get me to move into Grimmauld Place or stay with the Weasleys, I WON'T DO IT!"

"Potter! No one is suggesting that you move into your godfather's house or the Weasleys! But, there are circumstances that will not allow you to stay at the castle beyond tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow?" Harry squeaked, wide-eyed, suddenly feeling nothing like the self-sufficient person he had just proclaimed himself to be. "Why can't I stay? Dumbledore said I could stay!"

"The new Minister of Magic desires to meet with you."

"What? Why -" Snape held up his hands, and was surprised when Harry remained silent.

"Dumbledore, quite rightly, refused his request. Nevertheless he has learned that the Minister will be arriving tomorrow."

"Why does he want to talk to me?"

"He is seeking to improve the Ministry's image," Snape said. 

Harry shrugged. "So?"

Snape stared at Harry, nonplussed. "Potter, Fudge and his hacks depleted the Ministry's influence so sufficiently that without a - for lack of a more repulsive word - mascot to rally the wizarding community, the current government will be as woefully inept as the last one!"  

Harry scowled at the thought of having to leave the castle, but Snape's use of the term ‘mascot' reminded him of what the man had said to Dumbledore. He didn't want to be ‘disposable', a tool of propaganda for the Ministry.

"Great," Harry said, his shoulder's slumped in defeat. "Where will I go, then?"

"You shall go with me," Snape said shortly. Eyeing Harry closely, he braced for an onslaught, but was shocked to observe a sly smile form at the boy's mouth.

"You're having me on, aren't you?" Harry peered around the ward as if expecting a Muggle camera crew to shoot down explosively from the ceiling, sliding easily along rappelling ropes, eager to document the joke and his reaction.

"I assure you, Potter, I am not having you on."

Harry sobered instantly at Snape's flinty tone. "B-but... who else is going to be there? And where is ‘there'?" He sounded uncertain and suspicious.

"You and I shall go to an undisclosed location."

Harry swallowed loudly. "Dumbledore thought this was okay?" After considering Snape's inscrutable expression, he slumped even lower against his pillows before adding, annoyed, "This was his idea..."

"Yes, Potter."

"And you agreed?"

"After some thought... yes."

Honestly perplexed, Harry asked, "Why?"

"Potter, what would you suggest happen?" Snape snapped, tired of the endless questions. "You refuse to go the Weasleys based on some heroic, misguided ideal that danger exists only in your presence; you won't hear a word about returning to Grimmauld Place, and you are now unable to remain here at Hogwarts! What option does that leave you?"

"I'm not trying to be heroic or anything else! The fact is people around me die!" Harry shouted, miffed that Snape still clung to his ridiculous, limiting view of him. After taking a breath, he asked, "No one else... could take me?"

"Potter, there is no one else. Dumbledore has to contend with the Ministry and the Order. Professor McGonagall is recuperating at home. Madam Pomfrey, as you know, shall be visiting family..." Snape sighed exasperatedly. "I realize this is not the ideal situation for you. I do not find it as such, myself."

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," Harry said in a rush, well aware that Snape would have probably preferred battling mountain trolls to spending the summer minding him. "But, maybe I can just stay hidden here, out of the way... I could stay in the Roo - er, I could find a place to hide out," Harry said, perking up at the idea. "No one would find me!"

"Potter this is not simply about avoiding some Ministry half-wits," Snape said. "The headmaster is concerned about your health. You've been neglecting yourself for over a week now. You've not taken proper meals, you've not been sleeping, and you don't talk to anyone. The headmaster... and I... feel you need to be with someone to ensure that you don't weaken yourself further."

"I..." Harry began, but he couldn't deny the facts. He had been slowly fading away. His appetite had been nonexistent, and sleep had been impossible. "I don't remember what happened after seeing you at the lake," he said instead.

"You collapsed on the steps coming into the castle."

Harry frowned. He didn't remember that, but something else sparked, flickering along the edges of his memory. He had been dreaming about that night in Umbridge's office, and of being at the Ministry. Noticing the confused look on Harry's face, Snape leaned forward, curious.

"What is it, Potter?"

"My dreams... from last night, I was just remembering..."

Snape stiffened. "You should not have been dreaming. The potion Madam Pomfrey gave you should have prevented it. I assume the reason you've not been sleeping is that you dream of what happened at the Ministry?"

Harry nodded absently, but there was something else troublesome about the dreams.

"This was different, though. Some - someone was holding me down - saying I was all right, but I wasn't... I was in a forest, being cur -" He stopped, his head snapping around to look at Snape. "I was dreaming about that night! The night you..."

"Yes," Snape said, trying to maintain a neutral expression. "Your screams would rival any self-respecting soprano," he snorted. "I had to calm you down." Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You were inconsolable!" Snape scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, nervously fingering the sheets. "Sorry ‘bout that."

"Potter, no one is judging you. You've been through... quite a lot, this year."

Harry lay back to stare at the ceiling; Snape was right. It had been a horrendous year, beyond horrendous. He'd believed nothing could top his fourth year with Cedric's death and Voldemort's return, but this year had far surpassed all of that with its cruel twists.

His mind was suddenly filled with images of the veil, grossly intermingled with a heap of tangled metal, glowing orbs, and a screaming crowd of Gryffindors. All was caught up in a dizzying maelstrom, evilly controlled by a cackling, red-eyed monster. Suddenly, the huge meal Harry had just eaten turned sour in his stomach. He began to clutch at the sheets, drawing in ragged breaths.

"Potter?" Snape moved close to the bed.

"I'm gonna be sick," Harry gasped.

Snape instantly conjured a pail, thrusting it at the boy, who noisily threw up the contents of his stomach.

"I-I'm sorry." Harry groaned, curling into a ball.

"Don't be absurd," muttered Snape, banishing the pail, oblivious to what was happening.

"I'm so sorry," Harry keened, trying to hitch in a breath.

Alarmed, and wanting to avoid a repeat of yesterday, Snape moved to sit on the edge of the bed, preparing himself in case it was necessary to restrain Harry. When Harry began to sob, deep, harsh, unfathomable sobs, Snape recoiled. Then, without warning, Harry leaned forward and threw up again, right into Snape's lap. With a disgusted grimace, Snape instantly spelled the mess away, but remained where he was. Overwrought, Harry continued to sob, his slight body trembling miserably.

Snape sighed and grudgingly shifted from the edge of the bed onto his knee, moving to rest his hand on Harry's back. With his lips so thinned out that he looked as though he were guarding against being force-fed doxy droppings, he stiffly began to pat Harry's back. 

The ghost-like pressure of Snape's hand was surprisingly comforting. Without thought, Harry curled his body even more, lowering his head to rest it upon Snape's knee. Snape stiffened, horrified, but Harry was quietly grateful when the man's only movement was to remove his glasses. After several ruminative moments, Snape began to slowly stroke Harry's hair back from his dampened forehead. The gentle movement calmed Harry even more and his sobs soon faded to soft whimpers.

After nearly an hour, in which Harry woke fitfully every few minutes, Snape eased him back onto his pillows, satisfied that he was finally soundly asleep. Standing, he stretched out his back, grimacing as his joints popped like gunshots. Pacing out the kinks, he glanced down and caught sight of Lily's medallion within Harry's grasp.