Harry spent the better part of the next day in bed. By mid-afternoon, he was bored enough to walk carefully downstairs. He peeked in the sitting room but didn't see Snape, so he walked through the kitchen out onto the sunny porch. Snape wasn't there either. Exhausted by the brief exercise, Harry sat down on one of the lounges and picked up the Grindelwald book from the table. The next chapter was titled "Expecting the Unexpected." Harry, remembering Snape's promise a couple days ago, smiled. He opened the book and began to read. He was amused to see the phrase "Constant Vigilance!" as Grindelwald admonished the reader to never let their guard down. Harry wondered if Moody, too, had learned Occlumency this way.

He dozed in fits and starts on the chair, in the hammock, and back in his bed until the sun set. Snape had poked his head out of the spare bedroom when Harry came up the stairs to use the loo after his nap in the hammock.

"You're looking a bit better," he said. "Are you hungry?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he said, clearing his throat. "Had some orange juice downstairs."

"Well, that will certainly fill you up," replied Snape, stepping back into the small room without further comment.

When Harry woke up next it was again dark outside. He was feeling significantly better. He rolled from his stomach to his side, looking out the bedroom window at the moonlit water. There was no clock in the room and he couldn't begin to guess the time—it could be late evening or the middle of the night. He listened carefully a moment but didn't hear Snape moving around upstairs. His stomach growled and he realized he was hungry.

He heard the voices as he began walking down the stairs. A soft flickering glow from the old oil lamps was coming from the sitting room, making the flames dance, distorted, on the hall walls. He paused near the top of the stairs to see if he could make out who was talking. One voice was clearly Snape's. He thought he heard the words "Draco Malfoy" and "testing him" and he was sure Snape clearly said "Bella." His blood boiled, reminded in this way of Sirius' killer.

With immense difficulty and extreme force of will—as all his instincts told him to stop, sit down and listen—he continued walking down the stairs, making more noise than was absolutely necessary.

"Mr. Potter?" called Snape and by the time Harry reached the bottom, Snape had met him at the landing. Try as he might, Harry could not resist a peak into the sitting room, where the Headmaster, dressed in a deep purple robe with matching pointy hat, sat in the plush chair usually occupied by Snape. The chessboard was set up on the table in front of him.

"Sorry to bother you, sir," said Harry, pulling his head back around and looking at Snape, deliberately ignoring the headmaster. "I'm getting hungry—was just going to go make a sandwich."

Snape's gaze had dropped down to Harry's bare feet. He lifted his eyes and took in Harry's rumpled clothing and bed head hair.

"There is leftover shepherd's pie from dinner," he said. "Can you stomach something that heavy?"

Harry's stomach rumbled in reply. "That sounds good. I'll just leave you be, then." Not eavesdropping had been incredibly difficult. Not blurting out "Why is the Headmaster here? What's going on with Malfoy?" was more so.

Snape glanced back into the sitting room. Dumbledore was fiddling with his beard as he contemplated the chess board, a rook in his hand.

"I'm sure the Headmaster would like to have a few words with you before he leaves, now that you're awake. Take your dinner out to the porch—we'll join you in a few moments. I left a lamp burning on the table out there in case you came down."

True to his word, Snape and the Headmaster appeared within five minutes. Harry had had several bites of cold pie by then, and Snape cast a warming charm on it without Harry having to ask.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," said Harry as the Headmaster settled himself into one of the chairs at the large wicker table. His voice was still raspy but it didn't hurt quite as much to talk as it had earlier in the day.

"Harry," replied the Headmaster quietly, in greeting. His blue eyes behind the half-moon glasses regarded Harry closely. Harry felt a bit like a bug under a magnifying glass. "It is good to see you up and about. You have had a rough time of it these past two days."

Harry began to shrug, realized as he did so that it was probably rude and tried to turn the shrug into a stretch midway through.

"I'm feeling better," he said. "Tired of sleeping, though."

Snape was busy stacking books and parchment to make more room at the table. There was something a tiny bit off about him, but Harry couldn't put his finger on it.

"I imagine you are," said Dumbledore. "How is your Occlumency training progressing?" As he asked the question, he caught Harry's eyes.

"Expect the unexpected." No…

This was not the full frontal cavalry charge of an attack that Snape had led last year during Occlumency "lessons." It was much more insidious and, Harry knew instinctively, much more threatening. Dumbledore would sneak in instead, if he could, probing tendrils pushing against his brain lightly like caressing fingertips, wearing him down like the slow progress of a glacier scouring the earth. An almost memory rose up, of Remus' arms around him in the Department of Mysteries, holding him back as Sirius disappeared, but he managed to shake it off. Almost without a second thought, Harry was both retreating and flying. He couldn't have explained later how he did it, but he was floating and bobbing inside his protective womb, the thrum of a dully echoing heartbeat covering his very presence. But at the same time, a piece of his mind was soaring above the earth, making large looping laps over the Forbidden Forest on his Firebolt, his brain and body replete with unadulterated joy and nothing else. He could fly forever, he knew he could, laps and circles and figure eights…

"Harry? Harry?" A hand was shaking him by the shoulder and Harry opened his eyes. Snape dropped his hand and relaxed back into his chair. Harry looked at Professor Dumbledore, reorienting himself.

"That was sneaky," he stated without anger or accusation. It was a lot harder to be angry at your attacker when you were actually successful at keeping him out of your brain.

"He's a natural, Severus," said Dumbledore, sounding very well pleased. "After that first moment I simply couldn't find him. Had a lovely overhead view of the Forbidden Forest—one, mind you, that students who respect the fact that the Forbidden Forest is, in fact, Forbidden, should not have in their realm of experience."

"There is a problem, though," said Snape. "He is so effective at submerging himself in his womb world that he cannot pull himself from his occlusion without assistance."

"I thought that was just something we hadn't covered yet," said Harry, not liking that the two professors were talking about him as if he couldn't very well hear their every word.

Snape acknowledged his statement with a nod, but continued in the same vein. "So, he reacted both naturally and effectively to your attack. Yet yesterday he floundered, nearly drowned and then took at least five minutes to slip into an occluded state once I urged him to do so. What is different?"

"A lot," muttered Harry, ignoring the fact that Snape was actually addressing the Headmaster.

Snape shot him the glare. Unfortunately for him, it had lost most of its efficacy and Harry rolled his eyes.

"I think you are right, Severus," said Dumbledore, looking from Severus over to Harry. "Harry, this may come as a surprise to you but neither Professor Snape nor I believe that you were a deliberate target of Voldemort's anger yesterday, nor in fact an accidental one. Occluding ultimately separated you from the pain, so it was certainly not a wasted effort."

"I don't understand," said Harry. He glanced over at Snape, who had on his best poker face, and then at Dumbledore. "What happened to me yesterday then? Are you saying the pain wasn't even from Voldemort?"

"He was summoning his Death Eaters, Harry," answered the Headmaster. "That's what you were feeling, through your scar—the pain each of the Death Eaters feels through his or her Dark Mark each time Voldemort calls them to his side."

Harry's hand reflexively rose to touch the scar on his forehead. He was beginning to feel panicky.

"Are you saying I'm going to feel that every time he summons the Death Eaters?"

"Mr. Potter." Snape's quiet voice earned his immediate attention. "I would like you to reason this out. I have already given it significant thought since I returned here last night. You have never felt this kind of attack before, correct?"

"Yeah…correct," said Harry. "I told you that last night."

"I believe you told me it was different as there were no images to go along with the pain. You didn't feel—or could not discern—the Dark Lord's emotional state."

Harry nodded. "But I still don't understand," he said.

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a glance. Dumbledore then leaned in toward Harry, his bent nose half in shadow. "Harry, Professor Snape believes—and I am inclined to agree with him—that you did not feel the pain directly from Voldemort himself yesterday. He feels that his summons somehow flowed or was passed to you. You felt it much more intensely than he did, and we have been theorizing why that might be."

"I never…" began Harry, looking at Snape. "I mean, I've never known before—when he was summoning the Death Eaters. Do you know when he's really angry?"

"Not unless I am in his presence," answered Snape calmly. "The summons varies in intensity, so I have some idea of the urgency of the call. But no, I do not feel any emotion through my…." He didn't actually say "my Dark Mark." Instead, he lifted his left arm, indicating the area between wrist and elbow, then let it fall rather heavily back to the table.

"This is bad, isn't it?" said Harry. "I don't mean for me—I mean for you. Could he somehow find out you're helping me?" Harry turned quickly back to Dumbledore, not waiting for an answer. "I have the basics of Occlumency down now, Headmaster. I can do this with someone else—or I can go back to the Dursleys for a couple weeks if everyone else is busy."

Harry did not miss the significant look the Headmaster gave Snape before responding.

"Well, I think that reaction pushes one of our theories forward, don't you Severus?"

Severus, after staring at the Headmaster for a very long moment, turned his gaze back to Harry and replied.

"We have somehow established a connection, Mr. Potter. We are living together under the Fidelius Charm—that is one explanation for this connection. You are also, in essence, apprenticing to me as you learn Occlumency. That is the second possible explanation. The third is more difficult to explain and is likely influenced by the first two scenarios. In short, you have learned to trust me and through the discovery of certain shared elements of our past, feel empathy for me that could not have been present before this summer. It is possible, even, that you have begun to transfer your feelings for your Godfather to me, perhaps unconsciously—and indeed inappropriately—seeking to fill the emotional void left by his death."

"What do you mean by inappropriately?" asked Harry. Snape's matter of fact, clinical tone bothered him. "And I'm not doing that anyway—but why would it be inappropriate?"

"I am not role model material, Harry," answered Snape dismissively. "Of all the possible role models available, I am the least likely candidate to step into his shoes."

"You trust Professor Snape, Harry? You respect him?" asked Dumbledore, cutting in and interrupting the fixed stares the other two were leveling at each other. "You would rather return to the Dursleys than risk him coming to harm because of this connection you've somehow forged?"

"I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me," Harry responded quickly. "I already told him that—even the Dursleys."

"The Dursleys are as likely targets as anyone else, after the publicity of your accident there," answered Dumbledore.

"Better them than…" Harry paused, caught.

Snape scoffed. "I am touched that I rank higher in your book than the cow and the walruses."

Harry smiled, but it was a pained sort of smile.

"Does it matter how it happened?" he asked. "If we do have this…this connection, don't we just have to figure out how to break it or block it and go back to how things used to be?"

"Harry." Professor Dumbledore's voice was low, imploring. "Answer me honestly, please. You want that? You want to go back to how things used to be between yourself and Severus?" The use of Snape's given name seemed to make him more human, to make this situation all the more poignant.

"No," Harry answered, then quickly continued. "But I will. I mean, I'll try. I've only really known him for a week, after all, haven't I? School will start again in a few weeks and I'll have my friends back and I won't need anyone…anyone to…" His voice had been rising and he choked on his words.

"Anyone to what, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

"Anyone to take care of me," said Harry. He quickly added "Or to train me. We'll start up the D.A. again… I'll practice occluding every night. I can do it on my own—I always have before. I don't need…I don't need…" again he choked on his words. The sense of imminent loss surprising him with its intensity.

Dumbledore rose to his feet. He faced Snape.

"Severus, you will stay here. You two will work this out. Harry is not going back to the Dursleys, and he cannot come to the castle just yet." He did a strange, unexpected thing then. Harry was immensely touched by it, and ultimately confused. He walked over next to Harry and crouched down on aged knees until he was eye level with him. "I, too, lost nearly all that were dear to me once, Harry, and also at a young age. You do not understand now but perhaps someday you will. I am giving you Severus, because I cannot be for you now what you do need…an adult who can focus on you, who is more interested in you… than in the greater good."

He stood and Harry heard his knees crack. Harry's gaze was riveted on his hand, the same hand that had rested on Harry's knee as he knelt beside him, the hand that had been covered with a glove at their previous meetings this summer. The hand was shriveled, and blackened.

And he was gone, leaving Harry and Severus, a pile of books, a flickering oil lamp, and the elephant in the room.