January of 1899 was soon to come to a close. February was on the horizon and the snow was beginning to thaw. School at Hogwarts had begun in earnest and Lyrica had returned, full time, to her duties. After all, she was Headmistress. Classes at Ashmere had also resumed and Snape had finally managed to extract permission from Lyrica for his wards to use the lab under his supervision. Reading and lectures in Potions only went so far. In order for the children to truly learn anything they needed to do some actual brewing.

King Henry had taken it upon himself to teach the boys to fence, hunt, and with Hermione's help, dance. Lyrica took up the lessons in Ley Line Magic when she was able, but it was The King who reinforced those lessons since Snape was also a student. A third duty of The King's was a secret one begun late at night only a few days after the Yuletide celebrations. A boy, enamoured of Quidditch, eating, and chess, had found an interest in the old stringed instrument King Henry was fond of playing. The King was teaching Ronald Weasley how to play the lute.

A hidden room on the second floor belonged to The King. In this large apartment there were many objects that had been his in life. There were books, instruments, clothing (although in sad decay), and jewels, silver and gold. The King had given the children a small diamond in which to purchase the Potion Master's enchanted journal. He had also given Draco an old gold sovereign so he could create Hermione's ring. An old, skinny Kneazle of patchy yellow and orange lived amongst The King's disarray, quite happily. It was here that Ron escaped just after bedtime to learn the old instrument.

At first his fingers were awkward and his attention was less than appreciated by his instructor. However, after he had successfully brought forth his first tune upon the lute, Ron threw his concentration into mastering the musical instrument. It took no less dedication than what he had shown as a small child as his eldest brother, Bill, had taught him the rudiments and strategies of chess.

"You shall have a recital, my fiery-headed student," declared The King as he paced the room in his solid form and red and gold raiment.

"What?" Ron glanced up just as he plucked a sour note. "A recital? You mean in front of people?"

"Certainly! Your mastery of the lute must be presented, young Ronald. You have no reason to hide your talent."

Ron frowned. "Malfoy will just die of laughter," he muttered. "Maybe Harry, too."

The King scowled. It was an old argument between them. Ron was embarrassed to allow anyone to know he was playing at being a musician and King Henry did not understand why Ron felt that way. However, The King had reached the end of his patience. "I shall speak of this to Sir Raven. We shall hold a proper recital when Lady Lyrica may attend." Ron was just about to protest when The King leaned in threateningly. "You shall obey me, young Ronald. You must choose a piece to play that shows your skill and then a second piece that gives you joy. The first piece must be one you've not played before. I shall give you at least two weeks to master it, in addition to any time there may be before the recital." The King smiled triumphantly.

Ron glowered. "All right, but if I do this, I want to work with the rapier a whole week. Malfoy is monopolizing it. Thinks he's some ruddy forest hero, Noddin Hood, or something!"

"The deal is accepted, my student. Now, practice your scales!"

While Ron learned the lute and the boys fenced, hunted and sometimes danced, Hermione did her best to hang on to her theory of using the Mirror of Erised as their Portgate to 1994, but Snape was stubborn. He was not willing to risk their lives on something they could not test. The Potions Master wanted that book of Flamel's that detailed his experiments with time. Discrete inquiries by owl to acquire the book only served to provide Snape with the information that very few copies had ever been printed and published. Any known copies had been confiscated by the Wizengamot and burned in the early 1800s.

Hermione could be as stubborn as her guardian and despite several debates that had degenerated into frustrated shouting, she would not give up her belief that she was on the right track for a solution.

Harry began to notice that Snape, not a voracious diner to begin with, was eating little at meals. He still drank what amounted to a pot of coffee a day, but he often picked at his meals. The man's temper was growing shorter, as well, although he rarely took it out upon them. It was when Snape's temper seemed to get the better of him, that he retreated to the potions lab. He would not do research in such a mood. Harry, no stranger to insomnia- though his own had often been induced by frightening dreams from Voldemort- had guessed, correctly, that the Potions professor was not sleeping as well as he once had.

One late night as Harry tried to work on his Transfiguration essay, he pushed it away as he stared at the book he'd stolen from the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library. The book was Love And the Killing Curse by Perenelle Flamel. It had caught Harry's eye after Dumbledore had told him, as he lay in the infirmary in his first year, that the reason he had survived the curse that killed his mother was through the powerful protection of her love.

The tome was a thin one and Harry had read through it several times. He couldn't understand why it was in the Restricted Section and he had yet to figure out if it had anything of real merit to offer him. He had very nearly forgotten that he'd hidden the book away under his mattress when Hermione had had her dream. Her nightmare vision of Quirrel dissolving into ashes disturbed him. He still could not remember having killed the professor and it was doubtful he ever would since Snape had explained that not only had the Headmaster removed the memory, but had used a Memory Charm to remove the residual ghost memory that a pensieve extraction usually left.

Picking up the book, he rose from his chair and left his bedroom. Ron was asleep and it looked like Hermione was as well. Draco's bedroom door was open and peeking in, Harry could see that the Slytherin was working on an essay.

"Don't you have homework, Scarhead?" asked Draco good-naturedly as he looked up at the boy lurking in his doorway.

"I'm stuck on my Potions essay, Goldilocks. I'm going to go ask Snape for some help."

Draco regarded Harry seriously for a moment and then spoke, "I've been meaning to apologize, Harry."

Harry leaned against the doorjamb. "About what?"

Draco huffed lightly. "A lot of things, I suppose, but I've been thinking that the worst I did was in Potions class." He smirked at the sight of Harry's eyebrows rising to vanish beneath his messy fringe. "Look, I know you knew it was me that kept sabotaging your potions and your ingredients."

"Yeah," drawled Harry. "Although, my concentration for brewing isn't that great."

Draco chuckled. "That's what made it so easy. Anyway, I'm sorry for doing that."

"Think you'll leave my potions alone when we start brewing?" Harry smirked and Draco gave him a long, serious look until he snorted.

"I'm not promising, anything!"

Harry laughed quietly and pushed his frame away from the doorjamb. "Yeah, I thought so."

Draco nodded dismissively as he went back to his work and Harry headed down the stairs.

"Young Harry Potter," softly boomed a familiar voice behind him on the stairs. He smiled to himself as he wondered just how The King managed to keep his voice loud, yet soften it at night.

"Good evening, Your Majesty." Harry continued down the stairs as the ghost followed him.

"Up to mischief, are you?"

"None planned, Sire," chuckled Harry. "Just going to see Snape."

The ghost drifted in front of Harry, blocking his way on the stairs. "Sir Raven is perched within his lab, muttering over his cauldron. This can wait?"

Harry sighed and thought carefully. The lab wasn't still off limits, but if Snape were at all in a mood, he might not even want to talk to him. However, gripping his book tighter, he knew if he didn't talk to Snape now, he'd either forget, or not have the nerve later. "I really do need to see him, Hen... I mean, Your Highness?" Harry stumbled over addressing The King. Sometimes he got it right, sometimes he didn't. "Uhm, Sire, could you show me to the potions lab?"

Solidifying, the ghost landed, on his feet, solidly on the floor. He beckoned to Harry and led the boy down the long, winding passage to the lab. Slapping Harry's back firmly, the ghost declared, "This is as far as I go, young Harry. I shall leave you to beard the bat in his own cave. Don't get bitten." Becoming once more transparent, Henry chuckled at his own little joke and vanished through the walls.

Harry took in a deep, fortifying breath and then knocked, rather feebly, he thought, upon the heavy, wooden door.

"Two minutes, Harry, and then I'll let you in," came Snape's velvet tones. His voice was only slightly muffled by the door.

Harry, left to wonder how Snape divined it was he who was knocking, waited as patiently as he could until the door opened. Snape swept him inside and returned to his seat in front of a small, heavy iron cauldron. Harry took a moment to look around himself and could not stop his lower jaw from dropping open. The Hogwarts classroom lab was impressive, but this was beyond that one. He'd never seen so many different cauldrons, including one, that appeared slightly apart from the others, that had a silvery, opalescent fluidity to it.

"This is bloody brilliant!" Harry gasped with awe. He missed Snape's pleasant smirk.

"You approve, then?"

"Oh yeah..." Harry turned and was pleased to see that not only was Snape working, but also beside him was the potions journal they had given him for Christmas. He walked over to the white marble worktable that the Potions Master was seated at. "What are you working on, Snape?"

Snape looked up from the cauldron. "Harry, if you haven't noticed, I stopped calling you by your last name. Do you think you might extend me the courtesy of at least calling me Severus?"

Harry's head dropped as his cheeks coloured. "I... sure... yeah, I can do that... Severus." That sounded weird, thought Harry, but not really bad at all.

Snape lifted Harry's chin with a slim fingertip. The very slight smile that greeted Harry's eyes still tended to startle him, but he liked it. It gave him a feeling of warmth in his chest. "Would you care to assist me? I have some lacewings to my left that need mincing."

"Sure!" Harry put his book down on the worktable and made his way around the worktable to Snape's left side. He climbed up on the stool and began to carefully mince the lacewings.

Snape glanced sideways at the book Harry had put on the other side of the work table. He could read the title. His curiosity was piqued, but he would wait until the young Gryffindor broached the subject that had brought him down to the dungeon lab.

"How much of the lacewings will you need, Severus?" asked Harry as he continued to methodically prepare the delicate ingredient.

"Two tablespoons, Harry."

Together they sat in silence for several minutes until Harry had completed his task. He handed the minced lacewings to Snape, who inspected the work first, and then poured them into the cauldron. The mixture fizzed and turned a greyish-brown. A small puff let out a musty fragrance.

"Murtlap?" inquired Harry.

"Very good nose," commented Snape wryly as he began to stir the potion with a glass rod. "Perhaps you can detect the other ingredients?"

Harry moved a little closer until he was almost at Snape's elbow. He closed his eyes and sniffed a few times. After a moment he pulled away, and with his eyes still closed he recited, "Verbena, Wild Carrot and oil of peppermint." Harry opened his eyes. "I almost didn't get the peppermint."

"Peppermint oil is a concentrated aroma, Harry. Why do you think it was difficult to detect?" Snape lowered the flame.

"If peppermint oil is used as a catalyst, an acidic agent is used to temper it. This... uhm... dampens the odour." Harry studied the potion as Snape stirred it twice and it began to thicken slightly. "With the ingredients you have so far, I'm thinking you're making... hmmm... Joint Pain Relief Potion, which requires orange or lemon to temper the peppermint."

"I used orange extract. Why would I have done so?" Snape was quite pleased with Harry's answers so far. At Hogwarts, his practical work had been mediocre, at best. His essays showed that he retained what he read, but his brewing left much to be desired.

"If the potion is for teenagers or younger, you use lemon since the accidental magic of a young person can affect the efficacy of the potion. Accidental magic doubles the effect so lemon is safer for children. Orange is used for anyone older since accidental magic will not affect the final potion."

"Impressive, Mr. Potter. How come you never showed such an aptitude in my Potions classes at Hogwarts? You almost make me believe you could brew an adequate Joint Pain Relief Potion."

Harry shrugged. "It was kind of hard to concentrate... you know?" He chanced a quick glance at his Potions professor, but Snape was measuring another ingredient.

"My habit of hovering and taking points, you mean?"

Harry nodded, but then realised Snape might not see the gesture. "Yeah. That's a bad habit, Severus," he jibed.

"Now that it seems I have broken such a 'bad habit', perhaps you'll prove me wrong?" Snape cast a slight smirk sideways at Harry.

"I probably can." Harry watched Snape quietly for a few minutes before speaking softly. "Before I got my Hogwarts letter I took Chemistry at the school I went to."

Snape waited a moment to see if Harry was going to speak further on the subject of Chemistry. When it seemed the boy wasn't, he asked, "How were your grades? Was it a subject you liked?"

Harry smiled wistfully. "I'm sure I could have gotten top grades, but if I did better than my cousin that... uhm..." Harry stumbled over the memory of punishments he received from his uncle whenever his grades were better than Dudley's. He answered the second question Snape had asked. "I really did like it. I was kind of looking forward to Potions, but..."

"But your teacher is a bully who took any pleasure in the art of Potions you might have had and crushed it," he stated with regret in his tone of voice.

"Yeah, that," Harry sighed heavily.

"It is unfortunate that happened, Harry. I have always considered your meticulous preparation of ingredients could be hiding a similar concentration, and perhaps, appreciation for the art I enjoy."

Harry latched onto the rare compliment. "You like how I prepare ingredients, sir?"

Snape allowed himself a small smile at the obvious hopefulness in the boy's voice. "I do. Your prep work is nothing short of perfect. Am I to assume this might have been something you learned from your Aunt Petunia?"

This time Snape caught Harry's shrug. He could read the obvious body language in the child's discomfort in being reminded of his relatives so he changed the subject. "You've done very well this evening, Harry. I think I shall allow you an extra half-hour to fly tomorrow."

Harry positively beamed at the very rare compliment, completely forgetting about his aunt's tutelage. "Thank you, Professor! Is there anything else I can help with?"

Snape cast a stasis field over his potion. "How would you like to learn how to prepare a very rare ingredient that you will not see until your seventh year?" Harry nodded enthusiastically. "All right. Go over to the other table and cast a cooling spell across its surface. I'll be back in a moment with the ingredient."

"Certainly, sir!" Harry really did feel honoured that Snape was treating him almost like a colleague. He moved away from the white marble worktable and headed across the room to the black, marble worktable. He cast a simple cooling charm just as Snape emerged from the storeroom.

In Snape's hand was an unusual ingredients container that he held firmly with both hands. "Harry, I need to add some notes in my potions journal. Would you bring it and my quill over to the prep table?"

Harry scooted back to the first table, grabbed the journal and the quill and met Snape at the prep table. He set the items to Snape's right and then studied the ingredient that the taller man held carefully in his hands.

It was a plant kept in a magical stasis field inside a glass box to keep the item fresh. The plant had a triple twisted stem heavily covered with dark, crimson leaves in the shape of a spade. The stem was an even darker red. Using his wand, Snape removed the stasis field and then delicately removed six of the leaves.

"You recall in your first year of Potions when we worked with the Green Laurel Heart?" Harry nodded. "This is the same plant except more mature. Herbologists don't often cultivate the Laurel Heart beyond its green stage due to the fact it is much more difficult to keep the plant alive until it reaches maturation. It is also very costly."

"How much did that cost?" asked Harry and immediately regretted doing so. He had often been 'firmly' rebuked by Aunt Petunia that it was rude to ever inquire about the cost of anything. "I'm sorry, sir! That was rude of me."

"Quite all right, Harry." He emphasised Harry's first name as he said it. Harry caught the subtle invitation to speak informally to Snape and smiled. "I think it's important for a student to understand the cost and rarity of many of the ingredients we brew with. Red Laurel Heart, depending on the supplier, will cost between 500 to 1,000 galleons for what I have here. This particular specimen came from a highly regarded Herbologist in Africa who charged 575 galleons for this stem. It is an extremely high quality stem and I was quite satisfied at what I paid for it."

Snape picked up one of the leaves he'd removed from the main stem. "Now, as you'll recall from our lessons with Green Laurel Heart, the plant gets its name from the heart-shaped, bulbous pouch, here." Snape indicated the point where the leaf connected to its own, slim stem. "The green, heart-shaped seed is harder so it is easier to remove by just popping it out with a thumbnail. The red, though, is soft. It is vital that when removing the heart from the leaf's pouch that it is not punctured, or crushed. Just as a brewer rarely needs a Green Laurel Heart crushed, or diced, the Red Laurel Heart is most efficacious when it is whole. I only need four, whole hearts. I'll show you how to extract the first one, and then I'll guide you with the next one."

Harry didn't speak as he watched Snape very lightly use his knife to pierce and then slice the thin membrane of the pouch. He then quartered the membrane. He then delicately used the tip of the knife to peel aside the membrane to reveal the red, heart-shaped seed. With just a nudge of his finger behind the seed, it neatly popped out. Snape inspected the seed and then put it aside. "Your turn." Snape handed Harry a leaf and the knife.

Harry stared at the leaf, and he couldn't help but count the leaves still left on the stem and calculate in his mind what the cost was. He knew that Snape had provided for them by brewing and selling healing potions, but not even all the presents at Christmas cost 500 galleons. What if he ruined this leaf? "Are you sure I should do this, si... Severus?"

"Absolutely." To Harry's surprise, Snape stood behind him, and then firmly gripped Harry's hands in his own cool hands. "Don't worry if we ruin this one, Harry. The leaf and its stem are usable in other potions. I want you to get a feel with the knife..." Slowly, he guided Harry's hands as Harry laid the leaf upon the charmed, cold surface of the marble. Harry touched the point of the knife to the heart and allowed Snape to press his hand so he could feel, through the knife, how soft the heart was. "You want to find the thinnest point in the membrane and the place where the heart is the strongest. That's almost always at the heart's point. So, pierce... gently, like so." Harry's knife made a nearly invisible, pinpoint prick through the membrane. Snape then guided him through the first cut, instructing him to keep the pressure even. "When you pick up the knife for the quarter cut, make your fingers remember the amount of pressure you used for the first cut." Harry just nodded and felt his forehead begin to prickle with perspiration. With Snape still guiding his hand, he drew the quarter cut across the first slice, peeled back the membrane and popped out the heart.

"Very good, Harry." Snape picked up the seed and carefully inspected it.

"What are you looking for, Severus?"

"Flaws. Either from the knife or insects. The skin of the heart must not be pierced in any way. This one is perfect." He laid the seed aside and handed Harry another leaf. "Try without my guidance, now. Take it slowly and carefully."

Snape stepped away from Harry and observed silently as the boy wiped his brow with his dressing gown sleeve, took a deep breath, and laid the leaf out. He did fine in piercing the membrane, but his first slice cut into the delicate skin of the heart. A watery, pinkish fluid seeped out and Harry's own heart flipped in his chest and dropped down to his toes. He couldn't stop a sharp gasp from escaping, so he bit his tongue, all prepared for Snape to begin yelling at him. Snape simply removed the leaf and handed him another.

"Just take your time, Harry. And, breathe. You can't cut if you're holding your breath."

Harry just nodded and began again. Just as he was about to pierce the membrane, his hand began to shake. Harry closed his eyes and took a few seconds to just breathe. In his mind's eye, he saw himself flying above the Quidditch pitch. Flying on a broom was like breathing and so was the prep of Potions ingredients. Slicing, dicing, mincing, squeezing, sectioning... all of it was as second nature to Harry as flying on a broom was. He never did well in brewing potions, though, because Snape, the Snape who hated him and looked for even a glance out of place would be there, behind him, ready to shout and ridicule him and take points. That Snape wasn't here in this dungeon lab. This Snape wanted... no, knew that Harry could produce a perfect Red Laurel Heart.

With very controlled, precise movements Harry pierced the heart's membrane, then smoothly made the first cut. Without hesitating, he then made the cross cut. Using the sharp tip of the knife he carefully peeled back the membrane, and finally the heart popped out. Harry picked the delicate ingredient up between his fingertips and examined the small, soft seed. Its red, outer skin, was perfectly smooth and appeared, to him, to be completely unblemished. He then handed it to Snape. The Potions Master gave it a cursory glance; trusting in Harry's assessment.

"Two more, if you would, Harry?" Snape handed the boy two more leaves and returned the last leaf to stasis. Harry knew he'd done well.

An hour later, Harry learned that the Joint Pain Relief Potion that Snape was working on was a variation that would extend the pain relief and also repair the damage of the condition that caused the pain in the first place. If he succeeded, he intended to rename the potion after the cause of the joint pain, Arthritic Pain Relief & Damage Repair Potion. While Snape brewed, Harry took notes in the professor's journal.

"Under conditions such as these, Harry, do you like Potions as much as you liked Chemistry?" Snape inquired smoothly when he lowered the heat of the blue flame.

"There are some really gross ingredients, but I do like seeing how those ingredients come together to create something. I just..." Harry glanced worriedly at Snape.

"I suppose during the practicals I was very little help," stated Snape.

Harry shrugged and sighed. "You weren't much help at all. Uhm, sorry. I just wish you could teach the way you do now, Severus. I mean, you demonstrate how to do things and you let us ask questions. You're better than Professor Lupin," Harry blurted and his cheeks coloured as he felt he was somehow betraying his friend for liking Snape's teaching style.

"Hmm, better than the werewolf? I'll take that compliment."

"Well, yeah." Harry gave Snape a half-smile. "I like you this way. I don't like the... well, the greasy git of the dungeons."

"Ah. One of my many vaunted nicknames. I worked hard for those, Harry. They don't bother me."

"Really?" the Gryffindor frowned. "But, they're really kind of mean."

"I am an adult, idiot boy. I hope that I've grown above the petty insults of children."

"Severus, are... if I can ask?" Snape merely nodded. "You really aren't so... nice in class. I mean, you're not at all gentle toward the other houses, but even your own House is scared of you. Is this part of that 'act' you mentioned earlier?"

"I do believe that my responsibility as a teacher to my students does come first. I am necessarily strict in Potions as you are well aware that there are volatile and expensive ingredients there we work with. It is unfortunate that I must couch such responsibility in behavior that frightens students. Not the least of which, if I didn't show open hostility to Dumbledore's Golden Child, I could seriously put myself, the Order, and you at risk."

"Yeah, get us avada kedavered," muttered Harry, butchering the pronouncement of the Unforgivable spell.

"I never meant to alienate you the way I did, Harry. My old hatred toward your father and his friends made it too easy to turn my show of hostility into something truly reprehensible. I apologise for it, and do not in any way ask for your pardon of it." Snape's hand stretched out and rested lightly on the boy's forearm. "On your very first day I should have explained who I was and my role toward you. I have since learned that there is much Dumbledore, in his inestimable decisiveness, kept from you. It would have taken so little for me to let you know that you had an ally to confide in, but I didn't."

Harry grimaced slightly. Snape's behaviour towards him during his first three years at Hogwarts did still bug him, but as he had gotten to know his Potions teacher better, it wasn't hurting as much. He didn't say so out loud, but he might even forgive the man. "Was it your choice not to tell me you were my protector? Or was it Dumbledore's?"

"To be blunt, it was Dumbledore's counsel that I remain silent in the matter. By the time, last year, when I began regretting such a decision I didn't see how I could undo things. Not only was your... hatred of me rather open by then, but your sentiments were being supported by your friends." Snape frowned darkly, but Harry could tell the expression of disapproval wasn't aimed at him.

"You and Dumbledore don't see eye to eye much, do you?" Harry asked bluntly.

Snape's eyebrow rose up into the fringe of his long, black hair. "No, we do not. It is to be expected, though, Harry. I may differ, at times with Professor Dumbledore's instructions and opinions, but I do trust the man."

"He Crucio'd you!" exclaimed Harry.

Snape crossed his arms over his chest. Dumbledore casting the Unforgivable upon him had shaken him, terribly. Not that the old man never used such extreme methods to get a point across, but it had hurt much more because Snape held not just trust, but a certain affection for the wizard. That affection had suffered and was severely bruised. He spoke slowly, carefully and Harry felt suddenly guilty for detecting the man's unease. "I cannot say I... understand... just why he felt something so extreme was necessary. After all, in your dream that damned... that stupid lemon drop was all the proof I required. However, even despite that, I do still trust him."

Harry hated the way Snape sounded. He could tell that the wizard had been hurt and not only by the Cruciatus Curse. "He dropped me on my skull," he growled. "I don't see how I'm to be expected to trust him after that." Harry's green eyes suddenly flashed. "And, he Obliviated me!"

"Harry, stop using incantations as verbs, please," requested Snape. Sometimes the way the boy slaughtered the King's English grated on his nerves.

"Huh?" Whatever thought Harry had planned on pursuing was stopped by the grammatical correction.

Harry saw Snape's hand stretch out for the book Harry had brought. Snape took the opportunity to steer Harry away from his accidental exposure of his thoughts on what Dumbledore had done to him and directed their conversation to the reason the boy had come to see his Potions professor for in the first place. "You borrowed this from the Hogwarts library?"

"I... I thought it could help me. Dumbledore told me that it was my mum's love that protected me when I was a baby and it was that same love that saved me from Voldemort... Quirrel. It really doesn't say anything more than what the Headmaster told me, though."

Snape put the book down and regarded the young boy who appeared to be pondering the floor. Harry then lifted his head and looked up into those obsidian eyes that had so often made him think of a predator. There was no judgement in them, just a willingness to listen, to understand, and if needed, give comfort.

"Did I really kill Quirrel?" Harry asked his question in an almost strangled whisper.

"I saw the pensieve memory, Harry," Snape affirmed gently. "Quirrel had been ordered by Voldemort to kill you. When he stretched out his hands, presumably to strangle you or hex you with his wandless magic, you defended yourself by shoving your hands into his face. As soon as you touched him, Quirrel's body began to burn at a very fast rate from the inside."

Harry shuddered. "And... and you found me? How did you know where I was?"

"After Quirrel tried to kill you during the Quidditch match, I put a tracking spell on you. The spell would alert me if you were in danger. I arrived only a few minutes after you had passed out. Flames had burst from the ashes that remained of Quirrel and I managed to contain it and put it out. I, then, took you to the infirmary."

"I don't understand why Dumbledore was trying to protect me, Severus. Voldemort... no Quirrel tried to kill me. I had to defend myself."

"The Headmaster felt that you might feel guilt over having killed the man, even though he was helping your greatest enemy."

Harry shook his head. "It might have freaked me out for awhile, but I don't feel one bit of guilt right this second. Anyone who is stupid enough to follow Voldemort deserves what they get."

Snape eyed Harry critically. He was far too young to truly understand. "The taking of any person's life is a hard thing, Harry. Dumbledore knew that you would one day have to kill Voldemort. That means you'll have to face a dark part of yourself that is willing to take a life. You didn't mean to kill Quirrel. You didn't even know that you could. All you were doing was trying to defend yourself. Killing Voldemort, or any of his followers deliberately, is a different matter altogether. It will not be easy."

"I'm just a kid, Severus!" There was anger in Harry's voice, but there was also a tinge of hysteria and panic, too. "We're all kids. Doesn't Dumbledore get that?"

Snape sighed. How could he explain or justify such a plaintive statement? Of course, they were children. "War is no place for children," Snape said softly, not realising at first that he'd voiced his thoughts.

"No, it isn't," agreed Harry. "But this war is going to be fought by kids, isn't it?"

Snape could only nod. "Are you sleepy, yet?" Harry firmly shook his head. "While this is simmering for the next hour, why don't you help me fulfil an order for Pepper-Up Potion?"

Harry's smile was momentarily forced but he allowed himself to relax into the respite Snape's request for assistance offered. There was nothing to be done and Harry was beginning to learn that there were some small battles that couldn't be won. "Sure."

"I'll gather the ingredients if you'll get six copper cauldrons from the shelf and set them up with a low flame."

Harry was glad of the diversion. As he collected the cauldrons and set them up, a plan began forming within his busy mind. He didn't fool himself into thinking he knew what the future held for him, but he did know that one day he would be facing Voldemort. Children might be a part of the final battle, but he decided he'd make certain very few, if any, would die. Harry intended to be ready, no matter what it took.