Saturday morning, at breakfast, one of the school owls surprised Harry by landing in front of him with an envelope addressed to him. Harry took it from the bird, which helped itself to a piece of his toast before flying off.

On the outside of the envelope, Harry recognized Professor Snape's cramped handwriting. He chanced a glance at the man who was seemingly engrossed in conversation with Hagrid.

Harry looked down and opened the letter.

Mr. Potter,

I was able to make an appointment for you this morning at half-past eleven with the oculist in Hogsmeade.

Meet me in my office at eleven o'clock, ready to leave.

Professor Snape

Harry sighed unhappily. He really didn't want to go anywhere with the man, today or ever. All week, during class, Snape had mostly ignored Harry, which was fine with him. Harry had entertained the hope that Snape would be like other adults and just forget about his glasses and his clothes. He wanted this whole thing to just go away.

It seemed that Snape had been affected in some small way by Neville's death. The man was less harsh and sarcastic in class. Hermione pointed out that the class had also changed a bit; the students were more subdued than usual. Even Malfoy was keeping his mouth shut. She had wondered aloud if Snape was less difficult because of what had happened to Neville.

Despite potions being less awful than usual, it had been a very long week. Dumbledore was filling in for McGonagall's transfiguration class. For the first time since coming to Hogwarts, Harry found himself dodging the headmaster too. Harry sat in the second to last row, in the chair by the wall, to avoid speaking to the man. Harry thought he felt Dumbledore's eyes on him whenever they were in the same room. Only the threat of being banned from Quidditch kept Harry from skipping meals in the Great Hall.

Lupin's class was turning out to be more difficult than Snape's in some ways. Lupin was a very good teacher, but he seemed to want to be friendly with Harry. He'd been very solicitous about Harry missing class at the beginning of the week and had told Harry, quietly, "As acting head of house, I am always available should you need me."

Oh, yes, that was bloody likely. After all this fuss, the last thing Harry wanted to do was confide in an adult-about anything. At the moment, he wasn't even sure about confiding in his friends. The only safe listener Harry felt he had was Snuffles. To Harry's great pleasure and relief, the dog had turned back up on Thursday afternoon. He still looked scruffy and skinny and Harry thought with some amusement that they were a good match.

As Harry stared off into space, Hermione slid in next to him at the breakfast table.

"Harry, what is it?" she asked worriedly. "You look upset." She was looking at him with a worried, quizzical expression—the one she'd been wearing a lot this week.

Harry started, coming out of his thoughts abruptly. "Oh, it's nothing. I've got an appointment with the oculist in Hogsmeade this morning."

Hermione beamed. "Well, that's good. Has it been more than a year since you had your eyes checked?"

Harry blinked at her. "A little longer than that, yeah," he admitted. How often were you supposed to have your eyes checked? Harry had just assumed that once you got glasses, you were all set. Aunt Petunia always seemed to imply that Harry was supposed to make his pair last until he turned eighteen.

"Oh, then you're probably overdue," Hermione said, nodding. She leaned over to whisper: "Is Professor Snape taking you?"

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The urge to snap at Hermione was still very strong, but he couldn't afford to drive his friends away.

"Has he said anything else to you? Since the other day?" she asked, still very quietly.

"No," Harry whispered back. "I have to meet him at eleven." Harry stood abruptly. "I want to go out to the pitch before then," he said in a normal tone. "See you later."

Hermione gave him a little smile and patted his arm. "I'll see you when you get back, shall I? You're so lucky you get to go see Hogsmeade first. I can't wait until the first Hogsmeade weekend."

Harry had almost forgotten about that. Third years were allowed to visit Hogsmeade if their parents or guardians signed the permission form. There was no way Vernon would have signed it. Harry glanced at Snape, where he still sat at the teacher's table. It didn't seem likely that Snape would sign it, if only because it would make Harry happy.

Snape saw him look this time. The professor raised his eyebrows questioningly. Harry held the letter up slightly and nodded sharply. The man inclined his head, but his expression didn't change. Then he turned back to the conversation he was having, apparently dismissing Harry from his thoughts.

Harry caught Dumbledore looking at him again. The man looked as though he hadn't recovered from his ordeal at the Ministry. He still looked wise and benignly powerful, but the twinkle was subdued. He probably had a great deal on his mind, Harry thought. Most of it had to be something other than Harry's predicament.

"See you in a bit," Harry told Hermione as he left. She smiled and picked up her copy of the Daily Prophet.

Instead of going up to Gryffindor Tower, Harry wandered the corridors aimlessly. It suddenly seemed like too much trouble to go and retrieve his broom, and he didn't want to run into anyone who might want to talk. After a while, he found himself on the staircase of the astronomy tower.

The grounds were still foggy. It was an amazing view, on a clear day. Today he saw mostly mist. September had been rainy and damp the last two years. It seemed extra chilly this year, though. Harry hadn't brought his cloak, but again it seemed like too much trouble to go find it.

Harry put his forearms on top of the chin-high wall around the roof. After a minute he decided to scramble up onto it. On the rough wall, it was easy to find footholds. He stood there, enjoying the feel of the breeze through his hair. It was almost as good as being on his broom, he decided.

He sat down on the wall with his legs kicking out into empty space. Idly, he wondered how far a fall would have to be to kill a wizard. Neville's uncle had dropped Neville out of a window and he'd bounced. Would it have to be ten stories? Twenty? If your organs were crushed, did your magic have any hope of saving you? What would that feel like? It had to be an easier end than what Neville had gone through.

Harry found himself wondering what his parents had felt when they died. According to the headmaster, Voldemort used the killing curse on them. That was supposed to be instantaneous. Harry wondered if it hurt.

A little noise behind him told him that there was someone else there. He looked around. Ginny was just coming out of the trap door onto the roof, "Hey, Ginny."

She started, evidentally she hadn't realized he was there, "Oh. Hi, Harry," Ginny said, her face going rather red. "Sorry. I didn't know anyone was up here. I'll go find somewhere else...I mean..." She spoke rather quickly before breaking off, embarrassed, "I was just looking for a quiet place to study."

Harry sighed and looked at his watch. "I have to go anyway. Snape's taking me into Hogsmeade to go to the oculist and he'll have a fit if I'm late." And Harry supposed he should look reasonably tidy.

"Oh. Okay, then," said Ginny, apparently relieved. Harry hopped down off the wall and headed back down the stairs. He noticed that Ginny had no books, but he was too preoccupied to wonder what she was up to.

At one minute before eleven, Harry was at Snape's door, his hair still damp from the shower. He'd put on his least-worn robe and then his cloak over that.

There wasn't a whole lot he could do about his shoes. Last year's school shoes were hopelessly small (his feet being the one thing that grew apparently) so he wore a pair of Dudley's old trainers. They were black at least, and Harry hoped Snape wouldn't be too irritated.

Snape opened the door before Harry could even knock, startling Harry who involuntarily jumped back a bit.

"Potter," said the professor in greeting. The man's black eyes swept up and down Harry. His eyes narrowed, but all he said, in a measured, neutral tone, was: "Thank you for being on time."

Harry couldn't tell if the man was mocking him or not. He nodded, not sure what the proper reply should be.

"You have your wand?" asked Snape, as he stowed his own wand in his black robe.

"Yes," replied Harry, wondering why Snape asked. Snape's eyebrow raised. Harry hastily added, "Sir."

Snape nodded curtly and strode off down the hall so that Harry had to trot to keep up. "Come along then, Potter."

They were both silent as they walked through the castle. Few people were about fortunately, and no students crossed their paths.

Harry kept a close eye on Snape, not wanting to do anything to piss the man off. Truthfully, he was more than a little nervous about this appointment. He wondered if it would be any different from the Muggle eye doctor he'd seen when he was eight.

"I see you are in need of shoes as well," Snape said, glancing at Harry. "Shall I simply assume we need to replace your entire wardrobe?" His voice was dry and neutral. "And I don't believe I have ever seen you wear something as practical as boots."

Harry shrugged. He'd never gotten anything that wasn't on the list. And it wasn't as though Snape had any call to comment on someone else's appearance.

Although, it did seem that Snape was concerned about his appearance today, as he had put in something of an effort. Snape's robes were of a slightly higher quality than the robes he normally wore for teaching.

Harry also noted, with a strictly internal smirk, that Snape's hair looked a little less greasy than usual. It generally did in the morning, come to think of it. Perhaps it was the potions fumes the man worked with constantly that gave him that perpetually oily look. Certainly, after class, Harry had often noted that potion fumes had an interesting effect on the students' hair, often making it both frizzy and wet looking.

"We will have to pass the Dementors," Professor Snape said as they walked to the gates. "Stay close to me. Professor Lupin mentioned that they had a particularly unpleasant effect on you."

Harry ground his teeth a little, irritated that his teachers were apparently talking about him.

"Here." Snape shoved a large bar of chocolate into Harry's hand. "Eat that," he said curtly.

Harry looked at the chocolate blankly for a moment, wondering what on earth that was about. He irritably tucked the chocolate bar into his pocket, as Snape got a little ahead of him.

As they reached the castle gates, the drizzly day became even chillier. Harry thought he sensed tall, black cloaked figures, hovering just out of sight, in the mist.

Hunching his shoulders against the mist that was stealing his warmth, crawling damply under his cloak, Harry's thought were bleak. With every step towards the gates, Harry found himself thinking more and more about the view from the tower. He wondered again how it would feel to die. If he fell from such a height, he wondered if he'd stay conscious all the way down, or if he'd pass out before then.

Perhaps it would have been better if he had died with his parents. His mother had thrown herself in front of the killing curse, but what had been the point, really? It left Harry alone with only the Dursley's to reluctantly take him. Now he was stuck with Snape.

The cold mist wrapped more closely around him. It curled around him, dulling sounds, obscuring his sight, hiding the dark figure of Professor Snape, cutting him off from everyone else in the world.

What was the point of his survival when there was no one who wanted him? Voldemort was gone and, while everyone wanted The Boy Who Lived, everyone who might have wanted Harry was dead.

Horrible, hysterical screams cut through the mist around Harry's brain. Harry looked around wildly, but the fog might as well have been a solid wall.

A woman was screaming, somewhere very close to him, as the white mist darkened to grey, then to clammy blackness. Distantly, Harry thought he heard Professor Snape call his name, but it was difficult to hear over the screaming. Someone was screaming for help. Harry wanted to help her, but the blackness was overwhelming him, drowning him. And still the woman screamed, "Not Harry! Not Harry!" she was screaming.

"Stand aside, girl. Stand aside!" cried a high, cold voice. A flash of green light lit up the darkness for an instant, and then the dark claimed Harry completely.

"Potter!"

Harry recognized that voice. It sounded angry. And perhaps, most oddly, frightened. "You've got to help her," Harry rasped, opening his eyes to find Snape's face far too close, but too panicked to take it in.

"He's going to kill her," Harry cried. He grabbed hold of the man's robes, trying to make him understand. "Don't let him kill her." It was vital that he make the professor understand. Harry couldn't save her, he knew that, but maybe Snape could?

"Calm down, Potter," hissed Snape. He took both of Harry's hands in one of his own, prying them off his robes. Harry grabbed back at the hand and held on for dear life, feeling as though if he let go, the fog would come back to pull him into its' damp shadow.

"No! Voldemort!" Harry babbled, "She's...she's..."

The professor growled deep in his throat. He said an incantation, throwing his wand hand out to the side. A great silver animal appeared out of the end of his wand, galloped a circle around them. Harry didn't know where it went from there.

The air warmed a bit. Harry realized he was lying on the wet grass, shivering, with Snape crouched over him.

Snape looked furious. "I see Professor Lupin was not exaggerating," he said with a snarl, pulling Harry into a sitting position with the hand Harry was still clutching to his chest.

Harry let go of Snape's hand. "Sorry," He said in a trembling voice. Snape raised his hand toward Harry's face until Harry flinched back, putting up his own hand and turning his face away. He really hoped Snape wouldn't slap him when he was feeling so horrible. He swallowed hard to keep the lump in his throat from turning to tears.

"You didn't eat the chocolate?" asked Snape, sharply.

Harry shook his head once, afraid to look and see the anger on Snape's face.

"Get up, Potter," sighed Snape. He no longer sounded furious. He sounded exactly like he did the day Harry had gotten sick. The man took him by the arms and pulled him to his feet. "I sent the Dementors off."

Harry chanced a look at Snape, who still scowled, but it was a notch down from the fury of a moment ago.

Snape pulled a second chocolate bar from a pocket of his robes. "Eat this. Now, Potter.," Snape commanded in an exasperated voice. He tore the wrapper off and broke it in two. He handed one piece to Harry and took a bite out of the other, muttering something to himself that sounded like "...make a saint swear."

Harry took a bite, and felt the warmth spread right to his toes, as it had on the train. Belatedly he realized what the chocolate must have been for. He breathed more easily and his trembling stopped. A great wave of embarrassment swept through him. "Sorry," he said with more conviction. How many times was this going to happen to him?

Snape finished his own chocolate, eyeing Harry speculatively. "What do you remember when the Dementors get close to you?" he asked, abruptly.

"Remember, sir?" Harry was confused. He heard a woman screaming, but he didn't know who it was.

"What do the Dementors bring to your mind?" Snape persisted.

Harry was not going to share his ruminations about the tower with Snape, "I just hear a woman. And she's screaming. Then there's a flash of green light. It's weird." Harry didn't know what compelled him to answer Snape, even that much.

For a long moment, Snape closed his eyes, as though against pain. He took a deep breath, his eyes snapped open. "Come along, then," he said, striding forward down the path that led to Hogsmeade.