Normally the trip from the dungeons to the infirmary takes at least ten minutes, but Harry managed to make it in less than half that time, as he hurried to his friend's side.

When the infirmary came into view, he slowed down and opened the door, terrified of what would await him inside. He couldn't see the mediwitch anywhere around, only the multitude of seemingly peacefully sleeping patients. The eerie silence of the room was hard to bear, and his own heartbeat seemed to echo off of the walls as he walked down the narrow path left between the beds.

He anxiously searched the rows on both sides, constantly looking left and right, somehow sure his friends would be in adjacent beds. Seamus found him only a short while ago, so maybe Hermione would still be awake…

Harry nearly reached the end of the hall, when at last he came across Ron, and found Hermione lying on the bed right next to his. Walking warily closer, he tried to take in the sight of the girl, who appeared to have simply fallen asleep. Her hair was carefully arranged on the pillow, and her face looked perfectly serene in spite of the fine sheen of perspiration visible on her forehead.

He was just about to settle down at her side, when a surprised voice called behind his back.

"You should not be here."

Turning around Harry saw Madam Pomfrey carry in a tray of potions and place it on a nearby table.

"But you sent for me, to tell me that Hermione got sick." whispered Harry, looking back at the girl, as if to confirm her presence.

"True," admitted the mediwitch. "but honestly I didn't expect you to come here until later."

"I would like to stay," choked out the boy, with his eyes fixed on his friends' unmoving bodies. A moment later he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder in support. "May I?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter. But not for too long." With that she returned to her tray, and lifting it in her hands once more, commented. "There is a chance that you will get sick as well, perhaps it would be best if you spent this period of time with your family, your loved ones."

Harry didn't feel like responding to that, thinking that Madam Pomfrey really couldn't know much about him. Indeed the mediwitch did not pursue her point, and she was gone within a few moments, leaving him alone in the secluded corner of the infirmary. He could feel his knees going weak as realization struck: he was alone and his friends wouldn't wake up anytime soon. Collapsing against the bed Hermione was laid out on, he kneeled whispering to his friend.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to turn away from you and Ron…I simply didn't know how to deal with Sirius being gone."

Harry reached out carefully to smooth a palm against the girl's face.

"Please forgive me," he whimpered as his eyes tingled from unshed tears. Leaning his forehead against his arms he tried to cry, tried to relieve the sorrow overwhelming him, but no relief came. He just lay there with his face pressed against the crisp sheets covering the mattress, and all he could do was to dream of a better future.

oO{~S~}Oo

"I already told you Horatius, that it is not effective."

"Then perhaps you should add more of the pixie claws, and stir it counterclockwise once it reaches the third phase."

"Do you believe I'm fooling around here? I tried all possible derivatives! The potion is simply not working, and that's the end of it. This entire project is a dead end. But I'm wasting my time trying to explain that to you, am I not? After all, you only believe your own potions masters."

Harry, woken by the progressively louder voices, drowsily lifted his head off the mattress. Looking around didn't help much with identifying the source of the noise, since he couldn't see anything. He must have fallen asleep quite a while ago, as it appeared to be nighttime already. He yawned and returned to his earlier position. Judging by how sleepy he felt, Harry concluded that he could not have slept enough, yet. Fully intending to return to his rest, even the ruckus in the background seemed insignificant.

Regardless he listened; after all it is only proper to keep quiet in an infirmary full of sick people, and no one could blame him for overhearing things when they were spoken so loudly.

"Of course I trust your judgment, Severus. But this is simply impossible."

"Not any less possible than this whole nightmare of a situation is."

Harry stayed frozen in place, trying to avoid calling attention to his eavesdropping.

"All right, let us assume you were correct…"

"It is high time you did that."

"…and this serum is truly worthless. In that case we will immediately begin testing the second line of potions with the powdered bicorn horn base. I will talk to you tomorrow night."

"Certainly."

Then all he could hear was the sound of footsteps as one of the people left the room, but they were soon replaced with silence occasionally broken by the whisper of a turned page. Harry couldn't bring himself to care that the person reading in a hidden corner of the infirmary was in all likelihood Snape. As long as he was left to sleep, even if only in this half-sitting position, nothing bothered him.

Minutes passed and no one came to call Harry on being there without permission, so the boy slowly allowed sleep to claim him again.

oO{~S~}Oo

He was still so tired that he couldn't even comprehend what woke him at first. But as he began to fully awaken, Harry felt a hand touching his neck and then moving on to his forehead.

"There is no reason to worry, Minerva. It appears Potter is completely unharmed, he was simply taking his afternoon nap here." Harry's eyes snapped open at hearing the all-too-familiar drawl so near his ears, and he found himself face to face with Snape, just as the professor's mouth pulled itself into its characteristic sneer. "Good evening, Mr. Potter."

"Next time if you would avoid scaring us to death!" Professor McGonnagall snapped out as she stood stiff-lipped behind Snape. "You could at least let someone know when you plan to disappear for a whole day!"

The potions master, who had been crouching next to Harry, stood up and in the same smooth motion straightened his robe.

"Potter makes a habit of disregarding the rules. But really, you should have gotten used to it by now, Minerva."

Harry pressed an awkward hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes, and then rose hesitantly reaching out to grab the edge of the bed for support.

"Sorry, Professor. I was very sleepy, and completely lost track of time" he addressed McGonnagall hoarsely, while attempting to look remorseful. Professor Snape nailed him with a doubtful frown, as if he expected Harry to fall ill any moment just to flaunt the rules and be a nuisance in general.

McGonnagall on the other hand was still fuming like an irritated dragon. Drawing a few more deep breaths she seemed to have managed to calm herself.

"Mr. Potter, it's time that you begin thinking about where you want to be going in a few days."

Harry was taken aback by the sudden shift in topic.

"Why Professor? They aren't going to…they can't…" He came to a halt as he realized that with the number of students sick, it was very probable that he would need to leave Hogwarts along with everyone else.

"They will, Mr. Potter. In a few days Hogwarts will most likely close."

"But the Headmaster, he surely won't allow that!"

Snape stepped forward, pulling his robe around himself with a firm move.

"The Headmaster is currently abroad, and he instructed the deputy headmistress to close the school, once the situation calls for it."

"Professor McGonnagall!" interrupted Harry frantically, not even caring to excuse himself, "I can't go back to the Dursleys!"

"Well, well," continued Snape, "the famous Potter is too good even for his relatives."

Harry paid no attention to the man, in favor of giving a pleading look to the deputy headmistress. Instead of the expected look of consternation, McGonnagall's face reflected sympathy.

"I am aware, Mr. Potter," she sighed. "That is why I'm suggesting that you begin thinking about getting ready to leave for the Headquarters."

Harry felt like screaming into her face that if it was up to him, he would never ever step a foot into that accursed building again. Instead bowing his head, he whispered.

"I wouldn't like to go there either."

"Well, that leaves us with a bit of a problem," contemplated McGonnagall. "If you don't want to return there either, and you cannot in the current situation go to the Burrow, there remains only one option."

Harry looked at the deputy headmistress questioningly, but he sensed from McGonnagall's tone that he would not like the answer.

"What is that option?"

"You could stay here at Hogwarts with adult supervision," she announced, while Snape looked between them blankly, waiting for the final outcome of the conversation. "I believe Professor Snape is the only person who will be staying here every day, to work on the development of the antiserum. You will be safe with him."

Snape reacted instantaneously, shifting to glare at McGonnagall with his indignation evident in his expression.

"What?" snapped Harry and Snape simultaneously.

"The Headmaster recommended this solution, anticipating Harry's situation." McGonnagall managed to hold back a smile; nonetheless she did seem to be the only one enjoying the situation. "Harry cannot go home, and you, Severus, are here every day to use the labs."

Harry clenched his hands into fists and straightened out challengingly.

"This was approved by the Headmaster?"

"And Albus meant this seriously?" asked Snape at the same time.

"Indeed," nodded the headmistress, giving the potions master a meaningful look, who, after carefully schooling his expression, responded with a silent nod of his own. Harry really wanted to know what persuaded him so easily. "And now, if you will excuse me, I have some paperwork awaiting."

The deputy headmistress turned around to go, and shut the door quietly leaving them alone. Harry felt his heartbeat quicken in terror, like a hunted animal, he had no way of escaping the trap.

As for Snape, he didn't appear to be angry any longer, instead it seemed like he found the situation entertaining.

"Does this…" swallowed Harry nervously, trying valiantly to form an intelligible sentence. "I mean, staying with you, does that mean, well...am I supposed to move to your place now?"

"Right in one, Potter," came the cold response from Snape. Then he began walking toward the infirmary storage room, continuing over his shoulder. "I expect you before dinner, promptly at seven o'clock. Bring all your possessions, and wait outside my door."

Harry could nearly feel smoke coming out of his ears as he fumed.

"I don't even know where you live, sir," he snarled. "And in any case, I'm sure that dinner will still be held in the Great Hall tonight."

The potions master turned back from the door to the storage room.

"The nearest door to the painting depicting the execution of Salazar Slytherin leads to my chambers. And, yes, there will be dinner served in the Great Hall. Suddenly his face took on a decidedly satisfied expression. "But I desire your presence at my dinner table."

With that he turned and slammed the door behind himself. Harry paled and swallowed nervously, as suddenly pictures of his outburst of less than a day ago flooded his mind. He had virtually exploded all the potions Snape used to store in his office, and the professor didn't even mention that. He was probably saving his tirade for dinner today, along with detentions or some other form of punishment to get even for the damage Harry had done to his personal stores.

It was popularly believed at Hogwarts, that the hallway of the dungeons holding the portrait of Slytherin's death, was the scariest one of all. No one ever ventured there, not even the twins. Apparently it wasn't an unfounded myth: Snape lived there after all.

At least now he would get to put his Gryffindor courage to the test.

Turning back to Hermione, he decided that he might as well go to Gryffindor to pack his things. He saw no reason to fight McGonnagall's decision. After all, staying at Hogwarts was far better than returning to the Dursleys, even if it involved Snape.

Taking one last look at his friends, Harry left the infirmary quietly.

oO{~S~}Oo

"You must be kidding! Right, Harry?" Neville exclaimed surprised.

The boy in question was in the process of collecting his dirty socks from the floor around his bed and tossing them into his trunk with disgust. Once all the socks in visible range were gathered in such manner, Harry turned to a chest of drawers by his bed only to pull out a few sweaters and shirts and send them flying by way of his footwear.

"Unfortunately it's for real. I will have to stay with the bat," grumbled Harry, before looking up. "Do you think I like it?"

Neville sighed as he sat back on his bed to watch Harry as he attempted to squeeze in his favorite books on top of the messy bundle of clothes in the trunk.

"Well, I suppose your other options must be very bad, if you decided to stay here with Snape instead."

"My relatives, the Dursleys." Summarized Harry in a short sentence, revulsion written all over his stance.

"Oh…I guess I suspected." Said Neville without meeting the boy's eyes.

In lack of a good response to that Harry returned to his packing, searching the room for anything that he might have missed. Finding nothing else that belonged to him, he shut the lid of the trunk pushing on it to get the latches closed.

"Well, I need to go now," he said despondently. "I hope Snape will allow me to meet you every day. You are staying for a while longer, right?"

"I'm not sure, Harry. Granny may be coming for me soon," came the apologetic response, followed closely by a weak smile. "If you would like, I could come and visit Hagrid with you tomorrow."

"Yes, that would be great."

Thinking of Hagrid only served to remind Harry that the last time he visited him was with Ron and Hermione, and now his friends couldn't come anymore. Glancing at Ron's stripped bed, Harry spelled his trunk to levitate behind him and left the room without looking back.

oO{~S~}Oo

Having spent at least ten minutes searching for the specific painting Snape instructed him to wait by, Harry was still wandering up and down the dungeon hallways with no clue about its location. He found portraits depicting a range of events in Slytherin's life, from the man's wedding to his potions lab, but not one of his death. Truth be told, he didn't search the entirety of the deepest dungeons, yet. It would be just like Snape, to hide his chambers at the end of the darkest hallway.

Harry's intuition proved correct when after a few minutes of walking deeper-and-deeper into the dungeons he came across the ghastly picture. In the proximity of the picture stood an ancient door. Harry canceled the levitation spell and hovered his trunk to the floor. He sat on it, preparing himself for a lengthy wait.

Not much time passed when he heard steps resounding off the walls, and soon he could see the dark silhouette of the potions master approaching at a steady pace. Upon arriving to the door, Snape gave a satisfied smirk.

"I see you managed to find your way here, Potter." He said as he motioned for Harry to stand up. "My apologies for being late; Healer Horatius held me up longer than expected."

Harry stared soundlessly, while the professor took down the wards and opened the door. Snape didn't enter, but gestured to Harry that he should go ahead. The man followed close behind, and Harry could hear as his teacher began resetting the wards. However he didn't pay much attention, as he was focused on taking in the sight of the room before him.

The place appeared unexpectedly cozy, decorated by warm shades of brown. The room, which was probably the living room, had a fireplace on the left, facing it stood a couple of armchairs and a sofa arranged around a table with a stack of notes on it. To his right stood a dining table with chairs surrounding it, the setup dominated by a huge, intricately crafted candleholder standing at the center of the table.

A short hallway opened from the wall facing him, where Harry could see a few doors, one presumably leading to Snape's room.

"I will show you to your room," announced Snape when he finished warding the door.

He walked down the short hallway with Harry in tow, and stopped in front of the second door. The professor opened the door, and indicated that Harry should enter.

The small room resembled the parlor in style: a chest of drawers, a desk and chair, and a bed with a nightstand - all matching colors of brown - were arranged along the walls. The desk stood under a small window that appeared to open right above the ground. Harry registered this with surprise, and realized that Snape's rooms were probably located in the dungeons carved into the rocky cliff under the southern part of the castle.

"I trust you find it adequate." Snape queried snidely, observing Harry closely for any hint of disapproval.

"Of course…" responded the boy quietly. He didn't want to admit to Snape that he never had a proper room of his own before. Even when his relatives gave him one, it was with broken shelves and an uncomfortable bed that had a thin, tattered mattress.

"In that case, leave your trunk here and join me for dinner," commanded the professor, spinning around and disappearing with his cloak billowing behind.

Harry hovered his trunk right next to the bed, and taking another look around the room –his room- he left to follow Snape. Reaching the living room he was surprised to see that the previously empty dining table was now loaded with food.

Harry looked at the selection of dishes, before hesitantly walking over to take his seat facing Snape, where a set of cutlery was laid out for him. He was about to reach for his spoon, when a smooth albeit alien voice interrupted.

"Oh, the famous Harry Potter," the voice came directly from the table, making Harry withdraw his hand from the spoon. Snape served himself some of the delicious looking chicken potpie, not appearing disturbed in the least.

"Potter, this is Trenus," said the potions master indicating the large candle, which still sat in its ornate holder at the center of the dining table.

"Hmm, it's my pleasure…I guess," said Harry awkwardly, reaching for the serving spoon again. Looking down at his plate, he noticed with some annoyance that he wasn't given the choice to serve himself. With his eyes fixed on his meal he muttered irritated: "I think I'm old enough to serve myself, sir."

"Of course, Potter. I merely intended to give your meal a chance to cool while you were in your room," said Snape measuredly, but Harry could have sworn he could detect the snide undertones. "I found it too hot when the house elves sent it down."

That explained how the food appeared so fast, and Harry found himself suddenly thankful to Dobby, convinced that sending his favorite dish on his first evening with Snape was the elf's doing.

"I didn't believe you for a second, Severus," came the voice from the candle again. "I was sure he would never come here. And now!"

"We usually keep quiet while eating," remarked Snape pointedly between two bites. "I would appreciate if you respected that."

And indeed, it was quiet for a while. Harry just began pondering how he despised obnoxious, talking objects, such as the mirror in the boys' bathroom that never let a morning pass without commenting on Harry's deplorable taste in clothing and his "hideous mess of a mane". They destroyed all illusion children might have had about sentient household objects after reading Beauty and the Beast. It really wasn't Harry's fault that the Dursleys' never bought him a decent set of clothes. Of course the brainless mirror disapproved of Harry's favorite jumper as well, which was knitted just for him by Mrs. Weasley. Harry found that beyond annoying, in his book it was an outright insult.

"I have heard some rumors that both your friends are sick," the candle started again, apparently having forgotten Snape's request for silence. "If you go and visit Hagrid tomorrow, you better be careful because you may come next."

Harry couldn't let that go, as he felt his temper rising. "Shut up, you smartarse chunk of wax!" he seethed.

"Disrespectful ape."

"At least I have…"

"I never get cold in winter, unlike you."

"That is enough, Trenus," interrupted Snape, and his hard tones promised nothing good.

"Irritating museum piece," grumbled Harry under his nose, just to have the last word.

"For your information, I'm a several-century-old invaluable object. Anyway, why don't you just go and stay at your uncle's?" Snape appeared to be just about ready to resort to more drastic means of separating the two of them, but at Trenus' question a curious, blank expression replaced his previously displayed anger.

Harry had enough, he felt sure that the candle would shut its non-existing mouth if it were aware how close he had come to causing it some serious harm. Truth be told, the wax-stick appeared to be stunningly well informed for a candle. Unfortunately for it, Harry was in no mood to appreciate that currently.

"Shut up!"

"Why?" Trenus kept going. "I'm simply interested if the gossip is true. Because I believe they must be terrible indeed, if you came he…" but it couldn't complete the sentence, as Harry grabbed up his glass and doused the candle in pumpkin juice putting out its flame with a sizzling noise.

"Are you happy now, brat?" shouted the candle as it tried to light himself without success.

"Definitely," but the grin was wiped off of his face as Snape suddenly stood taking a deep breath. The potions master, placing both hands firmly on the table, leaned forward threateningly.

"Trenus, take yourself and disappear from the table, right now!" he shouted at the candle, extinguishing the flame that just flickered to life on the wick. "Go to the office, and stay there alone until we finish dinner, that way you can't tear at each other with Potter." Then he turned to Harry, who was about to rise from the table. "And you are not going anywhere until you ate everything on your plate."

Frightened, Harry dropped back into his chair. Meanwhile Trenus floated away from the table toward one of the rooms opening from the hallway, and disappeared behind its door that had apparently been left ajar.

"But, I'm not hungry anymore, " protested Harry, as he took a look at the leftovers of his meal.

The potions master, calm again, lowered himself into his chair with dignity, and continued his dinner as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, but you will not be leaving this table until that plate is cleared."

Harry looked down at the remnants of his potpie once more, and he felt that if he tried to eat another bite, he would certainly get sick before swallowing it. And in any case, he hadn't been eating much for dinner in the past few weeks, and he was doing just fine.

"Please, sir, I don't want it," he tried again dejectedly, but it didn't seem to move Snape. "I would like to go to sleep," and with that he tried to leave, but he found himself unable to stand up. Wriggling around on his chair, Harry couldn't move an inch, even though a moment ago he was perfectly capable to stand and pour his juice on that damned talking candle.

"It's not fair!" snapped Harry, as he realized that Snape had been planning on forcing him to eat everything on his plate right from the beginning, when he insisted on serving what now seemed an unreasonably large portion for him. In all the commotion Harry hadn't even noticed the spell that Snape must have uttered to glue him to the chair. The professor carefully wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"I told you just a moment ago, Potter. You may stand once you finished your meal," he repeated snidely, rising from the table. "Well, I'm going to the lab to continue my experiments. When you are done, go straight to bed."

"But…"

The professor disappeared behind a different door, leaving Harry with the leftovers of his dinner. The boy eyed his plate without appetite, realizing that he hadn't even eaten half of it yet.

He could still move his arms, and after all Snape insisted that he cleared his plate… thought Harry as he slipped out his wand and pointed it at the meal.

"Evanesco," he whispered the spell trying to banish the unwanted food, but nothing happened. "Oh shite." Harry swore, and pocketing his wand he grabbed his fork.

With considerable effort he managed to force a few smaller bites down. Realizing that he would never finish at that rate, Harry downed the rest of the meal barely chewing it. He was sure he would get sick any moment, but somehow he managed to swallow the last forkful as well. When he tried to stand up again, he met no resistance. Turning from the table he went to his room swiftly, hoping that Snape wouldn't show up to gloat.

Closing the door quietly he took a few deep breaths to quell his nausea. It worked surprisingly well, and soon he was changed into pajamas and laying under the warm brown duvet pondering how nothing appeared to be green in Snape's rooms.

Harry was so exhausted that he fell asleep within minutes. Consequently he didn't notice as his door opened to allow a floating little flame to enter and settle above his nightstand in quiet watch.