“Harry?” Ginny’s voice was soft and a little worried. “Professor Snape says he doesn’t want you missing lunch. He says you should come in and eat.” She’d just opened the door to the broom shed. “He says he knows you’re here. You should come in before he decides to look for you himself.”

Harry didn’t reply and didn’t move out of the corner he’d tucked himself into.

“Come on, Harry.” That was Ron. Harry couldn’t see them from the niche he was sitting in, and they apparently couldn’t see him. “What are you in here sulking for, anyway?” Ron went on frowning in puzzlement--Harry could hear it in his voice.

“Not sulking,” Harry called back, still not moving. He sounded rather pathetic to himself. He cleared his throat, tried again, “I’m just thinking.” He thought that was almost a normal tone of voice

“Yes, well, think inside. It’s cold out here.Ginny snapped.

It was cold out. it was the first morning that the garden had been covered in a blanket of frost. The sky was clear for once, but that only seemed to make it colder.

Ginny sounded like she was starting to shiver., her teeth chattering a little bit, “I’m going in. Professor Snape’s not going to be happy if he has to drag you in.”

Harry wasn’t cold. When he woke up that morning in the spare bed in Snape’s...his guardian’s...his father’s (Christ, what was he supposed to call the man now?) room, he’d dressed quickly, trying not to think too hard about how he’d gotten into his pajamas. He really hoped magic had been involved rather than being undressed like a baby. As it was, he was embarrassed enough at the dim memory he had of being carried to bed. That was twice now, as if he were three.

The professor and Mrs. Weasley were sitting talking quietly when he went into the kitchen. He’d stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, not looking at either until Mrs. Weasley had served him up some breakfast that she put in the spot next to Snape.

While it was closer than Harry would have liked it was good because sitting next to the man meant he didn’t have to meet his eyes.

He ate quickly, not listening to the two adults talk until they mentioned the Wizengamot. Harry looked up sharply, but neither one looked his way. Mrs. Weasley said something about the Prince family and Harry relaxed, realizing they weren’t talking about him.

When he heard the rest of the house moving around upstairs, he’d  stood abruptly. Oddly panicked at having to talk to Ron or Hermione, he’d muttered, “I need to...I’ll be outside...”

Snape turned his head quickly and fixed him with a sharp stare, “You remember the agreement we had?” He frowned.

“Agreement? Sir?” Harry asked distractedly, and then, “Oh.” His face flushed with uncomfortable heat, “Yes, sir.” He remembered he’d given his word that he would tell someone if he felt like doing something stupid. He fully expected to receive a lecture right in front of Mrs. Weasley.

Snape stared at him with narrowed black eyes. Harry had that feeling that Snape was reading his mind again. After a second he relaxed. “Off you go, then.” He turned his attention back to his breakfast.

Surprised, Harry had put his plate in the sink and had turned to leave when both Mrs. Weasley and Snape had said, nearly in stereo, “Don’t forget your cloak.”

“Erm, yeah.” He grabbed the cloak from where it hung and made a quick getaway just as he heard several Weasleys thunder down the stairs.

So, he’d spent the entire morning in the broom shed, but at least he wasn’t cold.

Ron said something to Ginny that he couldn’t catch. The broom shed door closed. Before Harry could get his hopes up that they’d all gone Hermione said in a hesitant voice, “What did Professor Snape say that’s got you so upset?”

“Nothing.” Harry replied.

“You can’t hide in here all day.”  Hermione’s footsteps came closer, she stepped around the set of shelves Harry was sitting behind.

“Not hiding.” Harry muttered, putting his head down and not looking at her. He knew he was acting like he was three rather than thirteen, but right now he wasn’t up to putting up a good front.

Hermione pulled up a box. and sat down, wrapping her cloak around herself. She didn’t look cold at all and he wondered if her cloak had warming charms too.  “Harry?” she said cautiously, “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me ‘nothing’. Obviously something’s got you worried.”

“It’s...” He couldn’t say it out loud. His insides squirmed at the thought of explaining to Ron and Hermione what Snape had told him. They’d think his mum was...what Marge had called her.

But how long before they found out anyway?

Ron sat down next to Hermione, “Snape wasn’t too hacked off at you last night, was he?” he asked very seriously. His voice dropped low, “He didn’t bring you out here to give a good hiding or...?” His cloak didn’t have a warming charm by the way he was wrapping his arms around himself and scooting up close to Hermione. Cloaks with warming charms must be expensive (Snape hadn’t let Harry look at the receipts when they went shopping) and with all the Weasleys it seemed that their cloaks were the basic ones that Harry had bought himself his first year.

Hermione elbowed Ron hard in the side and gave him a glare. Harry realized he’d not really taken in the question properly.

“Ow. What?” Ron scooted away from her and returned her glare, “I was only...”

She frowned fiercely, “You can’t just ask somebody something like that,” she hissed.

“What? Why not? Harry can tell us,” Ron turned back to Harry, trying to look encouraging, “Can’t you? I mean...” he faltered, “See, the thing is,” his face started to turn red and he seemed to steel himself, “After Neville, Dad said that the Ministry’s really started to take reports about this kind of stuff seriously where they haven’t before. So if he’s...well...not as good to you as he should be...I bet he’d listen to Mum and Dad if they told him he’d get in trouble.” Ron was very careful not to say anything insulting about the man even while accusing him of mistreating Harry.

“No. It wasn’t anything like that.” Harry said honestly. Although the way his mouth had run on last night he’d have deserved it. He felt a little offended that Ron would think that Snape was like Uncle Vernon. Then he was surprised that he cared.  “He really did just want to talk. I just...didn’t like what he had to say.”

“What did he say?” Hermione asked patiently, “You can tell us anything. Is it...” she hesitated, “Has it got to do with the betrothal? Did he change his mind?”

“No. It’s just...” Harry wasn’t at all sure he could tell them anything. Anything might include what happened at the Dursley’s, or his attempt at hanging himself, or the truth about his parents. He really didn’t think they wanted to hear any of that.

The broom shed door opened again. “Harry?” It was Snape.

The three of them started at the voice. Harry jumped up, accidentally thumping his head hard enough to see stars on the shelf above the box he was sitting on.

“Oww!” That was almost as hard as Petunia would hit him.

“Oooh, mate! That looked like it hurt.!” Ron said.

“Is it bleeding?” asked Hermione.

There were flashing lights in front of his eyes for a moment. He pushed Hermione’s hands away as she tried to look.

“Are you all right?” Snape demanded sharply.

“Yes. Fine.” Harry’s eyes watered as he reached up to feel a goose egg swelling on the top of his head.

“Hold this, Granger.” Snape handed his stick to Hermione, “Let me see.” With surprisingly gentle hands, Snape probed the lump. “What am I to do with you? Youngest Seeker in a century and yet you can’t seem to get through a day without injuring yourself.” He didn’t sound like he was annoyed with Harry, despite his words. His voice was low and soft; almost his Storyteller voice. It seemed like he was teasing Harry a little, but not in a mean way. Mr. Weasley sometimes spoke to his sons like that.

That thought brought a lump to Harry’s throat. “It’s...it’s not anything really.” he said thickly, bending his head as Snape examined him.

“I’ll be the judge of that, if you don’t mind.” Snape replied, almost absently.

Hermione and Ron were looking worried, standing to the side of him where he could just see them. Harry didn’t know why they were so concerned., “Aunt Petunia usually hits me a lot harder than that when she gets me with the frying pan.” He said dismissively.

Hermione’s little intake of breath and Ron’s sharp “What?” made him realize that he’d just done the opposite of reassuring them.

He tried to backpedal, “I mean most of the time she misses, but its not really any different from getting a bludger to the face, is it?” He turned his head to look at them.

Something in both Ron and Hermione’s faces seemed to say that it was different. Ron looked horrified and Hermione a little green.

Before Harry could work out what to say next, Snape left off probing the lump, his hand coming to rest on Harry’s shoulder and giving it a brief squeeze. “I’m sure the three of you can discuss this after lunch.” Turning away from Harry, he took his stick back from Hermione, “Thank you, Miss Granger. Come along, all of you.” His casual tone seemed to break Hermione and Ron out of their staring.

Wondering how he could get out of conversation with these two, Harry trailed after the Professor, catching up after two steps, while Ron and Hermione walked behind, talking in whispers.

Very quietly, Snape said, “It would likely do you some good to confide in your friends, but please impress upon them the need for discretion.”

Harry glanced sidelong at the man, “I don’t want to talk about it. Especially not to them.” The boy hunched his shoulders under his warm cloak and stuck his hands in his pocket.

Snape’s profile was harsher than usual; the man’s nose and cheekbones were jutting out more than they were before. It was hard to judge when he was wearing robes, but Harry thought he was getting too thin. However, he seemed to be walking better, his gait not so unsteady

“It’s not good to cut yourself off from them. I think they sincerely want to help you.” The professor said, still in a low voice.

An ache of loneliness made a cold lump in the pit of Harry’s stomach. He missed the easy talks he used to have with them. Ron and Hermione had been the only friends he’d ever had and the closest thing to family he knew. He’d never had anyone else. The thought made him feel very pathetic and alone.

He looked at the potion’s master again, thinking back to last night. It suddenly seemed very clear that the man couldn’t arrange his own life, how dare he try to tell Harry what to do?

“It’s none of your business, Father,” Harry hissed in a whisper, his anger flaring up out of nowhere, “You haven’t given a toss in twelve years, so I don’t need your advice now.”

Harry knew as the words left his lips that he’d gone too far. Snape seemed to stagger as though he’d taken a physical blow. The wizard caught himself, turned to the others and snapped, “You two. Go inside.  Weasley, tell your mother we’ll be up in a minute. I need a word with Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s breath hitched in his chest. Snape hadn’t called him Mr. Potter in weeks and for some reason, it hurt.

One look at Snape’s face had Ron nodding and making off to the backdoor.

Hermione hesitated, “Sir, what...?” She rocked from foot to foot, glancing at the house as though afraid to leave Harry alone with Snape..

The man’s black eyes glinted with rage, “Miss Granger, I wish to speak with my ward privately. For once in your life, mind your own business.” Snape’s voice rose to the one he used when someone spilled something in class. When she hesitated another second, he snapped out, “Do as you’re told!”

She gave Harry one more worried glance and scurried up to the house.

Snape closed his eyes, seeming to struggle with himself.

A panicked part of Harry realized that that he had ruined his chance to get the man to keep him, but he couldn’t understand why he had asked him to in the first place.

He took a step away from Snape. He didn’t know why he was pushing the man. It was as though his internal censor had just stopped working--perhaps that damned truth potion was still in play. No, it was more likely his death wish. Last night the Professor had shown remarkable forbearance, but Harry could see that wasn’t going to be the case today.

The silence stretched for a long time, while Snape stood with his eyes closed. When he finally opened them, he took a step forward to close the distance between them. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw him start to raise his hand.

Harry could have easily dodged the blow but at the moment he felt he’d earned it. He set his teeth and closed his eyes, waiting for a swat around the ear or a slap to the face for his mouth.

“Harry.” the hand settled on his shoulder again, “Stop that.” Snape’s voice was tired, “I keep telling you, I will not strike you.” he paused, sighed as Harry opened his eyes, “I don’t know what it will take for you to believe me.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he blurted out the first thing in his head, “Why not?” It wasn’t as though the Wizarding World was against corporal punishment. He’d seen Mrs. Weasley swat Ron or the twins once in awhile when they got mouthy with her. Okay, so he’d gotten the idea that Snape wasn’t going to beat him like Vernon did, but Harry couldn’t believe that he meant he’d really never raise his hand to him.

The hand on his shoulder didn’t withdraw, “Because I will not become my father.” Snape’s eyes were red rimmed, like he hadn’t been sleeping, which seemed strange because the man did very little other than sleep. “Clearly, I am far too much like him as it is.” His voice was heavy with some emotion Harry couldn’t identify.

“The next time you use the word ‘father’,” the professor held Harry’s gaze with his tired eyes, “should you indeed ever decide that you want to, I do not want it flung at me as invective.”

The unwonted sadness in his tone suddenly made Harry feel about three inches tall. It would have been better if Snape had used his cane.

Ashamed, Harry hung his head, looking at his boots. He noted that this was the first November he could remember that his feet weren’t freezing. He’d just always taken for granted that from November to April, everybody’s feet were cold all the time. Even after he’d started Hogwart’s, it hadn’t occurred to him to buy boots, since they weren’t on the list.

Every time they got into one of these confrontations, he noticed yet another thing the Professor had done for him, something unnecessary. For some reason, those unnecessary things caught his attention. They felt wrong. Well, not wrong exactly, more like they were strange and unsettling.

He didn’t want Snape to be kind to him, he realized. Somehow the cold, snarky Potion’s Master was easier to deal with than the guardian who kept making sure that Harry was looked after.

Just like in first year when it was easier to believe that Snape was out to get him rather than Snape being out to protect him.

On the heels of that epiphany, Harry also realized Snape had been on the receiving end of one of his tantrums almost daily in the last month and not once had the man done more than stop him from hurting himself. Doubly ashamed now, he wished the ground would just swallow him up.“Sorry,” he whispered, “I...I shouldn’t have said that.” He didn’t look up.

“Yes, well....” Snape trailed off, making an irritable noise in his throat. He seemed about to say something else, but then he appeared to change his mind. The hand on Harry’s shoulder squeezed, “That’s neither here nor there. Isolating yourself is...” he seemed to search for a word, “...unhealthy.”

They were still talking about his friends? “I...they...What if they find out?” Harry asked in a strangled whisper. He wasn’t sure which part of the whole mess he was referring to. He’d kept secrets from everyone for so long, it was second nature..

“If they are truly your friends, it won’t matter.” That smooth voice was so certain, Harry could almost believe it.

Of course it would matter. How could it not? Harry didn’t say that, he just shrugged and looked away.

“Listen to me,” Snape’s voice was low, “I don’t want you to...

“Professor?” Bill called from the back door, cutting him off, “You’ve got an owl. Looks like its from Professor Dumbledore. It’s marked as ‘urgent’.”

“Of course it is.” Snape growled deep in his throat, “What does the old fool want now?” he muttered, turning towards the house. He paused, seeing that Harry was just standing there still. “Come along, then.”

Harry followed.

Sandwiches were already on the table and everyone else was already eating. Snape went and took his letter from Mrs. Weasley.  Harry took the Professors cloak and hung it with his own. He slipped in between Ron and Hermione in time to see Snape break the seal on his letter and shake it out. Whatever was in there made his lips tighten, “Damn the man.” he swore softly.

That didn’t sound good. This impression was confirmed when he held the letter out for Mrs. Weasley to look at. She made a face as though she’d bitten something sour. They both left the kitchen, speaking in the passageway where Harry couldn’t hear them over the noise in the kitchen.

“What happened?” Hermione asked. Ron paused in his wolfing down of his lunch to look at Harry and Ginny was on the other side of him and it was clear her ears were perked up too.

Harry shook his head, “Nothing.” Hermione glared at him disbelievingly,  “Well, he told me off for being cheeky.” he corrected himself.

“What did you say to him?” asked Ron his eyes wide, “I haven’t seen him that scary since last year.” He took a bite of his sandwich and then asked,  “Does he want you to clean the coop now?” He grinned, nodding at the twins who were being uncharacteristically quiet and looking very put upon, “I expect Fred and George could do with a hand.”

Harry smiled a little, shook his head. “No, he just sort of told me off and then...I don’t know...just told me not to do it again.”

“That spell really did something to him, then?” Ron asked in a low voice, “Bill said it would. I heard him talking to Mum and Dad the other night, before you got here. He just didn’t know if it would be a good change or a bad one.”

Harry nodded, “Yes. I mean, he’s still Snape.” He was careful not to say anything insulting about the man, not at the Weasley table, “But, he’s been different since that whole thing.”

Ginny suddenly looked very pale, “Excuse me.” she stood abruptly.

Hermione gave Ron a nasty look. “Ginny?” she asked tentatively.

Ginny smiled at Hermione wanly, “I think I need to lie down.”

“Do you want..?’ Hermione started to scoot her chair back, but Ginny shook her head. She practically ran to escape the kitchen.

Harry felt his face heat up. He couldn’t get through a morning without upsetting people. He should have known better than to talk about Snape in front of Ginny.

Hermione looked over her shoulder after Ginny, biting her lip “They say near-death experiences can really change people.” she said quietly.

“Near Death?” Ron shivered, he also was looking over his shoulder at Ginny, “From what Bill says, he wasn’t just near Death, he had a bloody conversation with Him.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Hermione, turning back around. She picked up her sandwich and started to nibble at the edge of it as though her appetite had suddenly gone.

“Bill told me...” Ron looked around to make sure no one was listening. Bill was saying something to Percy about work and Fred and George were deep into a debate about how long it was going to take to finish cleaning the coop.

“Bill told me that this spell lets you talk with Death. You have to offer Death a piece of your soul, don’t you?” He spoke in an almost awestruck voice.

“Ridiculous.” scoffed Hermione sharply, in a high pitched voice. Her face was pale and she looked frightened, “I read about it when Mum took me to Diagon Alley last week, we went to the library there. Someone has to donate some of their magic, but its like when you donate blood or maybe bone marrow. There’s nothing supernatural about it.” The last sounded as though she was trying to convince herself.

“You what?” Ron turned to stare at her, “What do you mean donate blood?”

“Well, you know, when someone’s lost too much blood they can use someone else’s to replace it.” Hermione explained patiently, “They do it at the hospital all the time.

Ron’s stare turned horrified. He looked at Harry as if to confirm Hermione wasn’t having him on, “So, they have you drink it? That’s...”

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed her hair back over her shoulder, “Don’t be stupid. They put it into your veins.”

“Oh, my god. I’m glad I’m not a Muggle.” Ron looked sick.

Hermione huffed impatiently, “Oh, for goodness sakes, it’s not that bad. Anyway, the Tribua spell operates on the same principal, doesn’t it? The donors donate a piece of their magic.”

Ron shook his head, “Not just some of their magic, their soul.” He said the last word with some awe, “They had to trade some of their soul for Ginny’s”

“Oh, come on,” Hermione sniffed, “It’s not like death is a person you can bargain with. That’s just a fairy story.”

Harry thought of the Tales of Beadle the Bard. There was a story in there about meeting Death. As Hermione said though, it was just a fairy story, even if it was a Wizarding story.

“Anyway, Muggles bring people back from clinical death all the time.” Hermione went on earnestly, “That’s why they teach CPR. Mum got me some books all about it. And we found a documentary about it. They say people have all kinds of strange visions when they have a near-death experience. So, obviously Professor Snape had something like that happen.”

“You’re not serious?” It was Ron’s turn to scoff, “Bill said this spell hasn’t been used in Britain in fifty years. You mean to tell me that Muggles learned to do it somehow?”

“Of course they don’t use spells.” Hermione returned scornfully.

Harry tuned them out as they started to bicker about Muggle medicine and spellwork.

Snape came back out to the kitchen, stopping at Harry’s chair, “A word, Harry?” he snapped.

Wondering what he could have done wrong in the last thirty seconds, Harry followed him back into the bedroom.

Snape closed the door with a little click and sat on the chair, “Apparently I am needed at Hogwarts today. I may in fact be a day or two according to the headmaster.” he said with a grimace, “And honestly, I worry that I am imposing upon the Weasleys. So, I’ve decided I will be going back there to stay until school opens”  

Harry’s stomach had turned and the little lunch he’d eaten suddenly felt far too heavy. He leaned against the closed door and crossed his arms.

“Stop that.” Snape said softly.

“Stop what?” He wasn’t sure he could take another one of his own meltdowns, but his heart was already speeding up along with his breathing. He remembered then that he left the kitchen this morning without taking his potion.

It might have occurred to Snape too, he looked sharply at Harry’s face. “This is not a ruse to abandon you, Harry.” Snape used his Storyteller voice then, “I merely wanted to know if you preferred to stay here or to join me at Hogwarts tonight. The headmaster said the wards were firm enough for that.” He waved at the chair opposite him. “Sit down. Please.”

Shakily Harry sat, “I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This is stupid.” He leaned forward and put his head in hands, “I must be mental.”

“Accio potion.” Snape said. Harry heard rustling and the soft slap of a bottle against a hand. Some shifting of the chair until Harry felt the man had scooted over to sit almost beside him. A muttered spell and the two chairs turn into a couch so that they were indeed sitting beside each other. Then Harry felt a hand around his shoulders urging him to sit up. Harry did so, turning to meet the man’s eyes.

“You’re suffering from quite understandable anxiety.” Snape said his voice low. He hesitated, his mouth twisting, as though he didn’t like what he was saying “When we return to school, I want you to at least attempt to speak to Lupin. He’s been trained as a mind healer. Also, I think I must insist you attend Professor Burbage’s group.”

Lupin had said he was the school counselor to Mrs. Cook, Harry suddenly remembered. He must be like a wizard social worker. That would be why the man kept asking all those uncomfortable questions. No way in hell was Harry going to talk to him. As for talking with a group, that was completely out of the question. It’d be all over the Prophet before he could blink.

Snape shook the vial a little impatiently.

“You do think I’m mental.” Harry accused, “Is this going to make me spew out whatever you want to know?” he asked resentfully.

Snape’s mouth quirked up at the corner, “I promise that this one is merely slow poison.”

The man hadn’t gone back on one promise he’d made yet, and the potion he held looked like the one Harry had been taking every morning since that night. He decided that it wasn’t likely to be spiked with anything else, so he took it and swallowed it down with no more protest.

He relaxed as the potion slowed his heartbeat and settled his stomach. He smiled lopsidedly at their private joke.

He hoped Snape would  let the Lupin discussion and the idea of joining Burbage’s group go for now. Given how he seemed to dislike the man, he was surprised to hear Snape encouraging him to confide in Lupin.

Snape took his hand off Harry’s shoulder and leaned back on the couch, “So, can we get through this conversation without further incident?” he asked tiredly.

“Erm, yessir.” Muttered Harry, feeling embarrassed now, as well as ashamed of his earlier outburst. He also realized that it had been very good to have the Professor’s arm around his shoulder. Bereft of the support, he hunched in on himself, hugging himself as though he were cold.

Snape closed his eyes and Harry wondered if he was going to fall asleep. After a moment he opened them again. “I don’t think you’re ‘mental’, by the way. Merely overwrought and depressed. It will pass.”

Ha, thought Harry, as if he knows anything about it.

Unbidden, the memory of the long scar on Snape’s arm came to mind.

“So...er...you’re going back to Hogwarts?” asked Harry awkwardly.

“Yes. I had thought to bring you back with me, but I’m wondering what you’d prefer to do? Stay here until school starts or stay at Hogwarts?” Snape asked just as awkwardly. “Apparently school will be opening in the next few days. The issue of security has been resolved according to the Headmaster.”

He was asking Harry? It would be a good way to avoid talking to Ron and Hermione and for some reason, being away from Snape somehow felt...scary.

He wasn’t going to admit that though. “Whatever.” he said, shrugging.

Snape watched him through narrowed eyes, “In that case, I’ll have you Floo to Hogwart’s after dinner, shall I?”

Again with the questions. Why didn’t he just tell Harry what he wanted him to do and be done with it? Not sure what the right answer was, the boy nodded guardedly

“Will you be all right until then?”

“Yes, sir.”

More staring, like the man was going to crawl inside his head.

Something occurred to Harry, “Why couldn’t we Floo from Spinner’s End?” he asked.

Snape gave a thin smile, “I prefer to hide my home from Wizards and Muggles alike.”

“Oh.” That made sense if you were a paranoid Potion’s professor, Harry supposed. Or...maybe Snape was ashamed of where he’d come from? Perhaps he didn’t like it generally known he wasn’t a Pure Blood wizard.

“Professor Dumbledore was adamant that he wanted to see me right away.” Wearily, the professor stood, “I’ll see you later.” he said, picking up his cane and bag.

“So, er...you’ll be back for me then?” Harry said, just to check, “Tonight? After dinner?” He stood up and the couch sprang back into the two chairs it had been.

The professor nodded, gave Harry another one of those searching looks. He hesitated, then said in a soft voice  “If you change your mind, that’s also fine.”

Harry nodded, looking away. He felt like he ought to do or say something. Instead he stood with his hands deep in his pockets.

Once again Snape stepped forward, raising his hand and once again Harry flinched. The wizard didn’t say anything about it this time, he just hesitantly settled his hand on the boy’s arm.

Harry looked up at the tall man’s careworn, thin face.

“It will get better, I promise.” Snape said.

Harry shook his head, looking down so Snape wouldn’t see the threatened tears. He could see that Snape was really trying to be kind, so why did it hurt so much?

He stiffened as the man did the most unexpected thing possible and drew Harry into a hug.

Like the night he’d shouted at Dumbledore, the contact seemed to make something inside him break. The threatened tears turned into a torrent, although Harry clenched his teeth and held his breath to keep in the sobs. He couldn’t still his shaking and the tall man patted his shoulder and said “Shh, it will be all right.”

Harry could count on his fingers how many times someone had held him like this. It was like he’d seen at the playground or primary school when someone’s dad would console them.

After far too brief a time the man let go. Harry wiped his face with his sleeve and didn’t look up.

Someone knocked, making both of them start.

“Severus?” Mrs. Weasley called through the closed door, “You haven’t had any lunch. You are not leaving this house until you eat something.”