"Harry?" a hand insistently shook him, "Harry, wake up."

"Go 'way, Hermione." Harry complained, "'M tired." It was warm and comfortable to lie here. He didn't need to be up yet, so why was she bothering him?

"Professor Lupin asked me to check on you. He said you were ill." she replied concerned, "He also said you should eat something. Someone's brought you up some soup."

Harry opened his eyes. He saw the blurry outline of the common room and Hermione standing beside the settee he was laying on. He'd tossed his robe over the back, as if this were as far as he'd been able to get, before he'd fallen asleep

Someone sent up food? That was nice. He was a little hungry, come to think of it. He seemed to remember having a difficult morning. Something about Snape and...

Memory suddenly caught up to Harry's sleepy brain.

"Oh, bloody hell." Harry sat bolt upright, on the couch. He grabbed his glasses off the side table, where he'd left them. He jumped up, looking around wildly. It seemed they were the only ones here.

"Harry?" asked Hermione, "What's wrong?" she backed up, startled.

When Ginny had brought him back, Harry had felt so exhausted that he'd just flopped onto the nearest likely looking spot. He had fallen so deeply asleep that, for a moment, he had trouble sorting dream from waking. Now that he was properly awake, he wished that morning had been a bad dream.

He turned to Hermione, "What did you tell Lupin?" he asked in a hard voice. This was her fault. If she hadn't opened her mouth, hadn't stuck her nose in where it didn't belong, Harry could have glossed the whole exam thing over, he was convinced.

She stared at him, "Well, I told him about the bruises on your arm." Hermione said, quietly, "And how they don't feed you properly."

Harry stared at her, "You had no right." he said in a low voice.

"I was worried about you." she crossed her arms across her chest, hugging herself, "Why? What happened?"

"You had no right, at all." he repeated, his voice cracking.

"Harry?" said Hermione, cautiously. She uncrossed her arms and moved forward as if she were going to put one hand on his shoulder.

Harry felt himself start to tremble. He backed up, out of her reach, until the back of his knees hit the settee, breathing rapidly.

Every time. Every time this happened. Every time anyone complained about Harry's treatment at the Dursleys, it just made things worse.

Harry sank onto the couch, covering his face with his hands.

"Are you okay?" Hermione's voice sounded distant, and there was a roaring in Harry's ears. He shook his head sharply. He'd been less okay before, but not often.

"Snape's my bloody guardian." Harry said through his hands. He couldn't see Hermione's face, but her lack of response told him she was not expecting to hear that.

The full import of the thing hit him, as he said it out loud.

Snape was going to be Harry's guardian. What did that mean? Did it mean that next time Snape gave him detention, he could give him a hiding as well? A teacher striking a student was against school rules, but a guardian could dish out any punishment they wanted, as Vernon so often had reminded Harry.

The one shaft of hope was, that Snape said it would be temporary. Maybe, when Dumbledore got back, he'd fix it.

Yes, but Harry had a suspicion that Dumbledore had sent him to stay with the Dursleys in the first place.

And certainly, Dumbledore had sent him back this summer. The Minister had said as much.

And he'd nearly upchucked on the Snape's shoes.

Did it make it better or worse that he hadn't? It would have been a way to retaliate to the man's snide taunts with minimal consequences. He'd done it in front of Aunt Petunia once. She'd merely handed him a scrub brush, and with a disgusted voice, told him to scrub the floor. That was the last time he hadn't made it to the toilet (or bucket, if he was being punished).

"I'm sure you have questions." Snape had said.

Harry had about a million questions, but as he had opened his mouth to ask them, Aunt Petunia's voice rang through his mind, snapping, "Don't ask questions."

Questions were never all right. Questions got you slapped and sent to your cupboard. Questions were dangerous. You were better off just taking what you were given. The first rule and the last was "Don't ask questions."

As Professor Snape spoke, Harry could see Petunia, very clearly in his mind's eye. She was in a fussy blue frock, as she and Vernon and Dudley had gotten ready to go somewhere. Angered by his repeated questions, she slapped him hard. Hard enough to make him stagger, dizzily, "Don't ask questions." She had said, sharply, "I've told you before. Freaks don't get to ask questions." Then she'd slapped him again, hard enough to knock him off his feet. The memory ended there, like it was just turned off and Snape was sitting in front of him, waiting for a reply.

A wave of nausea had overtaken him, "No, sir. No questions." he said, like he might say it to Vernon. He wasn't stupid enough to get sucked in to that trap.

"Can I go now?" he had no idea of what Snape's reaction would be, if he just fled the room. It had been all he could do to reach the bathroom, without losing his breakfast in the corridor. That would have been utterly humiliating.

It had been a long time since he'd had that particular reaction, probably not since before he came to Hogwarts. Aunt Petunia had always been pretty clear that she had no time for sick freaks. And it was a lot worse if she thought he was shamming.

A few times he'd done this in school; mostly before a test or when he knew that Dudley's gang had something particularly unpleasant in store for him. He was careful to not let the teachers know, because he didn't like to get sent home. Generally, the fit passed after he'd emptied his stomach and, although he was tired for the rest of the day, he could muddle his way through.

Snape had been so odd about Harry being sick, though.

When he'd come in the door, Harry had assumed it was a fellow student. When Harry had heard Snape's voice, his stomach had turned over, making him vomit so hard, he thought his guts were going to come up, as well.

Snape had merely made an irritable noise, rather than shouting. He had wiped Harry's face and given him a blanket. He'd seemed a little put out, but not angry. He'd given Harry the day off. Although, that was probably because the other teachers would object if Harry were to be throwing up in their classes too.

But, really, why had he come in at all? Harry even seemed to have a vague recollection of the man's hand holding his head while he heaved. What on earth was that about? Harry would have expected, at best, Snape to shove a potion into his hand and tell him to clean himself up. Not to rub his back and send him to bed, for Merlin's sake. That was how people acted with normal children.

His head hurt and his heart was pounding, like he'd run a mile and he wasn't sure why. He lowered his head right onto his knees, trying to slow his breathing. If he kept doing this he'd be sick again and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Harry." Hermione's voice was worried now, "Tell me what happened." she asked again.

"Snape." Harry said, without lifting his head, "He got the Dursleys to stop being my guardians, somehow."

It was a moment before she replied. She sounded uncertain, when she did, "Well...that's good isn't it?" she asked slowly, "I know you hate them."

"Didn't you hear me?" Harry laughed, a high pitched, hysterical sound, "Snape's going to be my guardian. Tell me, how is that going to be better? He hates me" he sucked in a ragged breath, "At least with my Aunt and Uncle they didn't have it in for me, from the word 'go'. I just kept bollixing things up. When I do that with Snape, he'll kill me."

Would he have to live with Snape now, in the summer, when they couldn't find someone who wanted him?

Because, that's what this was about, wasn't it? No one wanted him. Oh naturally, Snape assumed that many people would want to take in the Boy Who Lived. In Harry's experience, to the Wizarding World, he was more a symbol than a person. No, there would be a lot of people making noises that they wished they could take him, but...

Oh, Snape would be livid when he found out he was stuck with Harry.

What would he do? With a bit of luck Snape wouldn't chop Harry up into potion ingredients, but surely he'd make Harry's life as miserable as possible. At least with the Dursleys, Harry had been able to escape them for the last two school years. Snape was going to haunt Harry's every step.

Harry swore into his arms, trying to calm down. Think rationally. His brain felt locked in gear and it wouldn't slow down. He was less afraid, now, that he was going to make himself sick, and more afraid his heart was going to explode.

A tiny, rational voice in Harry's head reminded him that Snape had saved his life, more than once. He'd kept his word and he'd removed him from the Dursleys' custody without involving the Ministry. He'd actually treated Harry rather decently since this whole mess started.

In some ways that was more frightening. Harry didn't know when the other shoe would drop.

Hermione's hand was on his shoulder. She sat next to him on the settee. The common room was quiet, without even the sound of the fire crackling. Harry's own harsh, rapid breathing was all he could hear.

"Calm down." Hermione said softly, after a few more minutes, "It'll be fine."

"WHAT PART OF THIS IS FINE?" Harry uncoiled violently, throwing off her hand. He jumped to his feet and shouted down at her as she sat, "How is it going to be FINE? WHY THE HELL DID YOU HAVE TO GO SNEAKING OFF TO A TEACHER?" he finished up, about three inches from her face.

Hermione's face was very white, and she shrank away against the back of the settee. "Because I didn't want you to end up like Neville." she replied in a small, brittle voice.

Harry stopped, deflated, suddenly aware of what he was doing. This was Vernon's favorite trick, to stand over someone and shout.

He fell back, staring at her frightened eyes, as they filled with tears. He couldn't think of what to say, "Hermione..." he whispered, "I..."

She made a noise that sounded like a dry sob, as she stood up. He heard her start crying in earnest, as she pushed past him, and fled out of the portrait hole.

"Damn it." said Harry, to the empty room. The adrenaline drained out of Harry, leaving him feeling empty and cold.

His eye fell on the bowl of soup and a plate of sandwiches that sat on the table. He looked at it, thinking it over. If he chased after Hermione now, they'd just end up arguing more. Knowing her, she might even hex him.

And he was sort of hungry.

Harry sighed, walking over to the table, pulling up a chair.

The soup smelled good. There was a warming charm on it and steam rose invitingly from it. After a few tentative spoonfuls, Harry's stomach began to appreciate the warm food. The rest of the soup followed more quickly. Half a sandwich was all he could manage of the solid food, though. The rest he decided to walk up to his dorm to put in the stasis box in his trunk. He might not go to dinner tonight, either.

He didn't like to face Hermione again. He more than a little ashamed, thinking of Hermione's tearful face. The longer he thought about it, the more ashamed he became.

He was still resentful that she'd said anything, but he should have known that she'd go there, in her head. Her mind was full of worst case scenarios. She always had a million reasons why things would turn out badly. And she always seemed to think that going to teachers was a good idea.

Harry really hoped that Hermione wouldn't mention it to anyone else, either their argument or what he'd told her. Chances were, she'd only tell Ron, though.

As he tucked the extra sandwiches away, he looked at his watch. It was almost time for his next class. Harry decided he'd go, even if he did have a free pass to skive. Staying here alone was suddenly intolerable. If he stayed here, Hermione would more than likely send Ron in and he'd have to talk to him. He really didn't want to have this conversation with Ron. Paradoxically, he was less likely to have to talk to anyone if he was at class.

He also feared Snape himself might come to check on him. He seemed to remember Snape telling him he would.

He nearly ran into Ginny, who was coming out of the girl's dormitory, as he hurried down the stairs, back to the common room.

"Whoa! Sorry, Ginny." Harry said catching her arm to stop her from losing her balance.

"Thanks, Harry." she said. She smiled at him, rather wanly.

"You all right?" asked Harry, wondering why she was still in Gryffindor tower. He hoped she hadn't been up there the whole time and heard him arguing with Hermione (well, his shouting at Hermione, anyway).

"Fine." she shrugged. If she had heard, she wasn't going to ask him about it. Ginny was good like that.

"Just needed something from my dormitory. See you." she headed back up the stairs.

As he walked through the common room, he picked up his robe and book bag, checking to see that Snuffles' sausages were still there. He'd go look for the dog after class.