It happened again.

For the second time since Potter had moved into his quarters, the boy woke him with a blood curdling scream. Severus jerked out of sleep, his mind not quite grasping the situation. Then, as the second scream ripped through thin walls, Severus threw the comforter off his person, jammed his feet into his slippers, and tossed his bathrobe around himself.

He was in Potter’s room a moment later.

With light from the hallway, Severus had a clear view of the nightmare in progress. The boy was thrashing beneath the covers, wrestling with them as if they were possessed with some demon. He moaned, murmuring under his breath. Severus caught only one thing: a name. From that name, it wasn’t hard to surmise what the boy was dreaming about: his return. He came to the bedside and grabbed Potter by the shoulders, shaking him lightly.

“Wake up, Potter. You are having a nightmare.”

A second later, the boy gasped, shuddering awake. Then, he jerked back, drawing away from Severus’ hands – just like before. His breathing was ragged as he looked around the room.

“Potter, you were having a nightmare again.”

“Professor?” whispered Potter, sounding groggy, his voice slurring. Then, within the faint light of hallway, Severus could see two green eyes glisten in the light.

“Yes, it is Professor Snape. Do you finally have control of all your faculties?”

“Huh?”

Severus rolled his eyes. He really needed to assign some vocabulary sheets to this boy.

“Are you finally awake?”

“Oh… Yes, sir.”

Silence.

The more the silence reigned, the quicker Severus felt alarmed. This was out of his element. What should he do this time? The last time the boy wasn’t receptive to talking with him. Really, Potter should be pouring his soul out to the mutt. However, if Severus was gaining any insight to the boy, then he knew that would never happen. Potter kept everything close to his heart.

Not to mention, Black would go rampaging like the rapid dog he was if he knew anything about the treatment the boy had endured through the years.

The wolf was an excellent second choice – not that Severus would allow him anywhere near these quarters, nor did he have any inclination to visit that horrible house more often than he had to.

He couldn’t leave the boy alone. Potter had already drawn his legs to his chest, looking smaller than ever. Severus had to stay. He had to offer some kind of… comfort.

The word might have made him a bit sick to his stomach.

He just wasn’t capable of this kind of stuff. Students didn’t come to him for comfort – of all things – not even his Slytherins came to him. Well, some did, but not the ones in tears. The homesick first years usually went to Prefects. Just what did Severus have to offer the boy? He was prickly and just… plain old not nice – not at all, and yes, Severus could admit it. He knew it all too well. He knew he was a bitter, unforgiving man.

For the one who needed forgiveness the most, but didn’t deserve it – no, Severus had no idea how to receive forgiveness nor how to give it.

Somehow, though, even with all his misgivings and self doubts, Severus found himself slowly lowering to sit on the edge of the boy’s bed. Bright green glanced at him, those tired eyes gazing at him with such deep emotional exhaustion.

Sitting down had been a bad idea, hadn’t it?

“What was your dream about?”

Potter looked away.

He’ll never talk to me. He’ll never open up. I’ve never given him a reason to trust me like that.

“Nothing important.”

Why was this so hard? Why was this emotional connection thing so difficult? Would they ever come to an understanding, one that would break the spell completely? It seemed they both had far too many guarded secrets, one where they hoarded their hearts for too many years. Neither knew how to open up and bare the vulnerable, fragile, torn soul that both were.

Severus needed to stop viewing the boy as an enemy. But with that face… It was so easy to forget. He only saw James there, with Lily’s eyes. At times, the boy was the son of James. At other times, the boy was the son of Lily. But… this boy was much more, wasn’t he? Oh, where did that conviction of maintaining self control go? Why had it been lost so quickly?

So many excuses. So many restarts. So many mistakes.

I have to try somewhere…

“Tell me about your uncle, Potter.”

Potter stiffened. His eyes snapped up at Severus, shock lighting there. Then, just as quickly, Potter averted his gaze.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

The boy tightened his hold on his knees.

There’s no stopping now.

“You flinch every time a hand moves near you,” said Severus softly. Potter began to inhale rapidly, his mouth opening to draw in the gasping breaths. “I know the signs… a little too well, I’m afraid. You flash between defiant and submissive more than what is normal for the average teenager.”

“The whole stupid wizarding world knows I’m not normal,” snapped Potter, deep resentment and bitterness in his tone.

“You know what I meant.”

Potter glared at him. “And why would you care anyway?” he sneered. “Just stop asking me stupid questions. Look, I’m sorry I woke you. I’ll put up a silencing charm next time.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Severus, his tone becoming stern. Then, he softened slightly. “And you’re proving my point.”

An injured expression flashed across the boy’s face. He looked away, his arms wrapping even tighter around his legs.

“Doesn’t matter,” whispered Potter.

“Yes, it does,” said Severus, his tone quiet. The boy shook his head. “Potter… If you’re experiencing problems at home, then—”

“Just what do you want me to say?!” shouted Potter suddenly, glaring at him even more; Severus jolted, surprised by the outburst. “My relatives hate me! They’ve always hated me. Just because I’m different. Just because I’m not their perfect, fat non-magical son.”

“Does your uncle hit you?”

Eye contact was averted; the boy shook his head. “No.”

“Potter—”

“Look, he doesn’t hit me,” said Potter; his breath hitched. He shrugged, his shoulders jerkily twitching. “All right, sure, when I was kid, I’d get a few whacks. But I know Ron got whacked a few times as a kid, too. It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

“Did your uncle discipline your cousin in this fashion as well.”

Potter adjusted his eye contact a fraction of an inch to the left of Severus.

“Yes.”

He’s lying.

He won’t trust me. It’s too late now. I’m sorry, Lily. I’m a failure at everything when it comes to your son.

“It’s fine, all right?” whispered Potter. All bitterness was now gone from his tone. Now the boy only sounded like that desperate child, who was only trying to survive. “Just two more summers and I’m out of there.”

Can you survive two more summers?

“What was your nightmare about?” asked Severus, changing the subject. The boy sighed. He rested his chin onto his knees.

“You don’t have to stay, you know. I know you feel obligated, but you can just go back to bed. I don’t mind. I’m used to it.”

It was painful to hear those words.

“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I did not wish to, Mr. Potter,” said Severus. “No child should have to wake up in the middle of night because of the terrors in the subconscious mind.”

The boy didn’t respond to this. He looked straight ahead, as if he weren’t focused on anything. The silence continued for some time. It went on for several minutes, until Severus knew they would reach no further tonight.

Just as an infant couldn’t bolt to their feet with the strength of an adult, Severus and Potter would have to take baby steps in this relationship thing – only if Severus could hold his tongue, that is.

But then, Severus did something he hadn’t done in years.

He reached out and clasped Potter on the shoulder. The boy looked startled by the touch, but he didn’t jerk away. Severus gave the thin shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Things will look up, I’m sure.”

The boy’s eyes widened so much, it was downright comical. But in those eyes, behind the surprise, was a deep need to believe those words. Then, Potter’s expression turned pensive. Severus gave him a single pat on the shoulder, before withdrawing. He stood up and began to walk to the door.

“It’s my fault.”

The whisper had been so soft, Severus had almost missed it. He turned slowly, looking back at the boy.

“What is your fault, Mr. Potter?” asked Severus quietly.

“I killed him,” whispered Potter. “It’s my fault Cedric died.”

A wave of horror rushed through Severus. Potter had been blaming himself for the Diggory boy’s death? After all this time? Had he not talked with anyone about it? What in Merlin’s name was that mutt doing? Wasn’t he supposed to be the boy’s godfather?

It didn’t change the fact that Potter still blamed himself for a death caused by Voldemort. Severus hadn’t attended that momentous meeting, though he had felt the call. After so many years of being dormant, it had been a sickening feeling to hear its call – the call of a monster.

Just fourteen years old, it must have been a terrible experience to face Voldemort, to face the masked death eaters, to face the death of a classmate, and then nearly face his own death.

No wonder the child had nightmares.

Well, if there was nothing Severus could do for the boy, then he could at least settle one untruth.

“Tell me, Potter, did you point your wand at Diggory?”

The boy looked up, before slowly shaking his head.

“Did you cast the killing curse on him?”

Potter shook his head again, agony whirling in those tired green eyes.

“Then, what makes you believe you had anything to do with Diggory’s death?”

“It was my fault!” cried Potter. “If I hadn’t suggested that we take the cup together, then he wouldn’t have died.”

“The Triwizard Tournament is a dangerous event, one I was against from the beginning. But everyone thought it grand fun for the three schools. International cooperation and all that. Many a wizard and witch have died while competing in it – including the judges themselves. Only a moronic imbecile would ever come up with a spectator event such as that.” Then, he muttered, “Must’ve have been a Gryffindor.”

The sorrow faded in the boy’s face for a moment; a twitch lifted his mouth.

“Was it not clear before anyone was allowed to sign up that only students who were of age could be allowed to compete?”

Potter slowly shook his head. “It was clear.”

“Diggory signed up for the tournament knowing full well of the consequences of such action. He was not unprepared—”

“He didn’t have to die!” shouted Potter, his eyes glistening brightly. “It’s not fair! He wasn’t supposed to die.”

‘I was.’

The unsaid words were so strong. Severus knew the boy meant it. The curse that had taken Cedric Diggory had really been meant for Potter. It was a miracle the boy had come out of the experience alive. Sheer dumb luck, in the words of Minerva. Why was it fair for Potter to be alive, when Diggory had had so much more knowledge?

“No, he didn’t have to die,” said Severus, keeping his voice calm. “And no, it was not fair. Life isn’t fair.”

The boy deflated. He looked down, his countenance falling.

“Children die in their infancy, never growing up,” whispered Severus. “Mothers die in childbirth, never to see the child they sacrificed for. Fathers die in wars, their bodies mixed with the carnage; they leave behind widows and families without support. Parents die, leaving behind orphaned children to withstand the trials of life on their own. Life has never been and never will be fair.”

“It’s not fair,” whispered Potter again.

“Correct. Now, get this through your head: you did not kill Diggory. Wormtail killed Diggory, on the Dark Lord’s orders,” said Severus. The boy slowly glanced back up, his eyes filled with that same longing. “You would do well to remember to accept responsibility for your own wrong actions and not for the actions of others. You have no control over either them – or anyone else besides yourself for that matter. It was not you who said the death words. It wasn’t even your wand that cast the curse and even if it had been, you still had no responsibility for Diggory’s death.”

Potter sniffled, rubbing his nose almost vigorously. His eyes, though, were still dry as ever.

“So, no, Mr. Potter. It was not your fault,” whispered Severus, his tone softening. “Stop deluding—” He paused briefly. “Stop lying to yourself. It will never do you any good.”

Severus stood there, watching the boy. Here he was, offering Potter comfort. Was it working? He never imagined he would do that, but more so, he never imagined he would believe such words as he spoke them. He truly didn’t think Potter should blame himself. His concern had been genuine.

And he hoped the boy would be receptive to them.

For a long moment, Potter didn’t say anything. Silence drifted through the room. Severus could feel the exhaustion of limited sleep settle back down. Just when he decided to leave Potter to his thoughts without another word, the small tentative voice of the boy tenderly spoke up.

“Thank you.”