S.S. 

Severus' quill scratched furiously across the parchment as he made notes. What with one thing or another this summer he'd had precious little time to work on his own project. He pursed his lips together in irritation as the portrait swung shut loudly and Potter flopped down onto the opposite couch.

He turned his attention back to his work, frowning in concentration. But when he looked up to open a potions reference book, caught the teen's eye. Potter was watching him curiously and evidently took his momentary distraction as an opportunity to interrupt his peace.

"Sir, what is all that?" he asked, waving an arm to encompass all of Severus' notes and texts.

Severus' eyebrows rose in surprise. He had expected him to ask about dinner or some other selfish, trivial issue. "This is something of a project of mine to adjust one of the more common pain relieving potions," he answered, returning his gaze to the book.

"Adjust it how?" Potter asked. If Severus had less self control he would have blinked in confusion. Why was the child be interested in his work, of all things? Once he found out it was potions related he should have been suitably put off inquiring further.

"You wish to know what it is I'm working on?" Severus asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

Potter nodded, leaning back on the arm of the couch. "Adjust it how?" 

Severus noticed the casual tone but decided not to comment. The boy had only just begun to speak comfortably in his presence. It seemed overly petty to request the boy use his title at every opportunity if he wanted him to be content in his quarters, and he did. He had accepted that it was his own fault that the boy was staying with him and he must fulfil his duty to ensure that the boy was healthy and comfortable. It was easier to think more favourable thoughts towards the boy when he did not only see his father in him.

"There are certain limitations to the common pain relieving potion that is currently available. I'm trying to make it more useful."

"What kind of limitations?"

He would have to be careful how he replied. While he was appreciative of the interest that the boy showed, he did not wish to fully disclose his project.

"The potion we use now can only be used after the pain has begun; it is by no means a preventative for pain. There is also a limit to the circumstances where the potion can be used and there are certain spells and injuries that it cannot help."

"What will your potion do?"

"If I succeed then it will work as a short term preventative of pain from certain spells and injuries." 

"How long do you think it will take?" Potter asked curiously.

"It depends. A long while yet, Mr Potter."

The child listened more carefully to his explanation of his own project than he did in class. It was almost a shame that he could not discuss it further but he wasn't going to disclose that the limitation he was attempting to lift was its ability to prevent the pain of the cruciatus curse. It wasn't a suitable topic of conversation for a thirteen-year-old, especially when his parents were killed by an unforgivable curse. 

He had been working on this particular project for many years but had paid it much less attention until the Dark Lord had become active once again. Although he remained without a corporeal body, it was only a matter of time until he returned to his physical form, and with Pettigrew's escape the Dark Lord would have a willing servant once again. Feeling the threat increase, he had renewed his work with fervour.

If the boy could talk quite pleasantly about potions, he supposed he ought to find out what was going on in the child's life.

H.P.

Harry could feel a headache coming on but dismissed it. He'd had an exhausting day practising his quidditch moves, and he probably just needed sleep.

He couldn't help grinning. It was only a couple more weeks until his birthday and he was really looking forward to his promised day out with Remus. They'd decided that it was far too risky for Sirius to join them but it was still going to be really good. Remus was taking him ice skating and then they were going to do the whole London tourist thing. Remus had thought it odd that despite living in Surrey he'd never really seen the city. 

"Potter, I'm speaking to you, do me the courtesy of listening," Snape said with more than a touch of annoyance.

"What?" Harry said automatically, looking up in confusion. Snape looked impatient as if he was waiting for some sort of response. "Sir," he amended quickly, not wanting to get him in a mood with him.

"Something on your mind, Potter?" Snape asked, eyebrow raised.

"No," Harry answered quickly and Snape frowned. "Really. I was just thinking about next week."

"What about next week?" Snape asked, as if him being happy about something was something bad.

"Remus is taking me ice skating and to London for my birthday." 

"Indeed," he replied thoughtfully, before tossing down his quill. "Preference for dinner?"

"Not that hungry."

"You'll eat three meals a day in my home, Potter. I suggest you stop filling up on Hagrid's attempts at baking."

Snape wasn't a bad cook. It was probably something to do with being good at potions but Harry picked at his food half-heartedly. His headache had only worsened as the evening wore on, not to mention how tired he was, and since when did it get so hot? The pounding in his head increased and Harry excused himself from the table wanting desperately to just curl up in bed and sleep.

It was absolutely boiling! He tiredly threw his duvet on the floor and groaned into his pillow. It was too hot and his head was killing him and he'd gone to bed because he was exhausted, only to spend the whole night not sleeping. 

He struggled to eat his cereal while Snape read his paper. If he had learned anything from the Dursleys, it was that they didn't want to be bothered by something as stupid as a bit of a headache and Harry had no desire to irritate Snape now that they were getting on a little better. Besides, he'd just think he was trying to get attention or something if he complained.

His scar twinged and he rubbed his hand wearily over his forehead. Was it just because he had a headache, or was it something more? Voldemort couldn't be around now; there was barely anyone in the castle and Dumbledore was around. He couldn't think clearly, his head hurt that much. It probably meant nothing.

Somehow Harry found himself trailing after Snape for yet another potions lesson. Since their last argument they'd both made more of an effort. Harry tried not to look so annoyed about having to do it, and he could tell that Snape had slightly more patience with him. He still snapped at him when he was doing something wrong but he didn't insult him and he always told him what he should do instead. It made it a million times easier to do your work when your teacher wasn't hoping that you'd fail.

"Stop. Stir it twice clockwise then once counter clockwise," Snape barked at him from across the room.

"What was I doing?" Harry asked. He was surprised he was still standing, let alone able to stir in two different directions.

"Once clockwise then twice counter clockwise."

"Right," Harry answered, rubbing his eyes tiredly and groaning quietly. His scar twinged again and he winced as the pain intensified. Not just a one off, then.

"You are not paying enough attention, Mr. Potter," Snape chastised.

"I'm trying." Harry added the beetle eyes and continued stirring. The pain in his scar flared again and his hand jumped to his forehead.

"Enough. Evanesco." He hadn't even noticed that Snape had come to stand in front of him.

"What?" When he opened his eyes, his cauldron was empty. He hadn't been doing that badly, had he?

"You added beetle eyes before the knotgrass; it was beyond repair. Sit down."

Harry sat, trying to ignore the pounding of his head.

"What exactly is the problem?"

"Nothing. I'm fine, Professor," Harry lied.

"Are you in pain?" Snape pressed.

"A bit, I guess." His scar twinged yet again and he lowered his head onto the desk. The sensation of cool wood against his scar was a relief.

"Utterly ridiculous behaviour. Head up, now," Snape ordered impatiently.

Harry reluctantly complied, but the sight of his professor raising a hand to his forehead made him jerk back automatically. "What are you doing?"

"I'm attempting to ascertain whether you have a temperature."

"'M okay. I don't need–"

"I suggest you stay quiet if telling the truth is beyond you. You feel quite warm." Snape looked at him for a moment before seeming to come to a decision.

"Are you well enough to stand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said dragging himself off his stool. He made it all the way into Snape's quarters following his teacher, who mercifully kept an unusually slow pace. He sank gratefully onto the floor in front of the door, the burning of his scar increasing as his headache worsened, and the room swam before his eyes.

S.S.

The boy was ill. It was obvious in hindsight that there was something wrong with him – he'd barely eaten the night before. Potter followed him through the portrait hole but instead of going the last few feet to the couch, he sank onto the floor and dropped his head into his arms with a groan.

"Potter–" Severus began but thought better of it. If he could have stood there was no doubt he would have done so. He was at a loss. As a teacher he could send sick children to the infirmary; their care was never solely in his hands. Now he was completely out of his depth.

He couldn't leave him on the floor, so he picked him up and carried him the short distance to the couch. He was remarkably light for a boy about to turn fourteen.

"Sorry," Potter mumbled.

"What exactly are you feeling?" he asked, kneeling so that he was on level with the boy.

"Tired. My head hurts and my scar hurts," Potter answered through gritted teeth, furiously rubbing his scar which looked painfully red. He pulled Potter's arm away before he could hurt himself further.

"The pain in your head, is it a sharp pain or an ache?" Severus asked slowly in what he hoped came across as a patient voice. The boy's scar hurting him was not a good sign; in fact, it was very worrying news indeed.

"Both. Scar hurts and my head aches." The boy was clearly being affected outside of just having a high temperature and a headache. He wasn't sure that his pain relieving potion could cure pain caused by curse scars. Tears began to leak out of the corners of the child's eyes and he was sucking in his breaths sharply. He wordlessly summoned a vial of pain reliever and a fever reducer and uncorked both.

"Drink this," he ordered and Potter grabbed the vial from his hand without a second thought and downed it. "One more." He held out the second.

Potter's breathing evened and he calmed almost instantly. "Thanks, sir."

Severus nodded tersely in response. "How do you feel now?"

"Better." Severus did not need to be a legilimens to know that he was telling the truth, but he rolled his eyes nevertheless at the boy's ability to state the obvious.

"Is there any pain in your scar?" he amended.

"Um, not really," Potter answered.

Severus turned to face the fire and sighed. He'd have to floo the headmaster; he really was beginning to detest speaking to the man about Potter.

The boy started to get up, mumbling tiredly. "Sorry, I–"

Why was he getting up? Did he have no common sense? "What do you think you're doing?" Severus hissed, though with far less venom than usual, causing Potter to blink at him in confusion. "Lie down, for Merlin's sake," he said, exasperated.

He summoned Potter's duvet and pillow. "Go to sleep." He handed him the pillow and laid the duvet over him. The boy looked bemused but his eyes shut as soon as his head hit the pillow. Potter's glasses were pressed into his face so Severus pulled them off, setting them on the side table.

He threw some floo powder in the fire and called the headmaster through.

"Severus, is this urgent?" he asked before spotting the sleeping teen on the sofa. His expression softened in understanding.

He didn't want to risk waking Potter up since he had just gone to sleep and so Severus led the way through to the kitchen, shutting the door quietly behind them.

"Is Harry unwell?" the headmaster asked, seeming genuinely worried about the child. Severus managed not to snort aloud. Of all the trouble that plagued the boy, the headmaster was concerned about him napping in the afternoon.

Severus recounted Harry's behaviour and symptoms to the headmaster. "I gave him a potion to lower his temperature and a pain reliever to rid him of his headache. What worries me is that he was complaining about his scar. The pain had not completely subsided before he fell asleep but the pain reliever did seem to cause some improvement."

Dumbledore appeared to think for a few moments before responding to Severus. "You need not fear that he is too unwell. I do not think that the pain in his scar is a symptom of any illness."

"You think the two are unrelated?" That would be quite the coincidence.

The headmaster shook his head. "No. Harry's scar is quite unusual. It seems that it is something of a link between Voldemort and Harry. In his first year, when Voldemort was using Quirrell's body, his proximity to Harry caused him pain." Severus nodded to indicate that he was following. "As we've already discussed, with the aid of Pettigrew, Voldemort's strength will be slowly increasing and that may well cause the link between Harry and Voldemort to strengthen. When Harry's defences are down, such as when he is ill, he will likely become more susceptible to pain in his scar."

"We can rule out Voldemort being close by?" After the Quirrell incident three years before he wasn't going to rule out proximity just based on assumption alone.

"Yes, my boy," he assured him, as if he knew what he was thinking. The headmaster headed serenely towards the kitchen door. "I'm sorry to excuse myself so soon, Severus, but I have a meeting with Minister Fudge. We have some conditions to discuss for the tournament this coming year. Do let me know if there are any more episodes with Harry's scar; it is definitely something we need to monitor carefully."

H.P.

Harry awoke to find himself lying down on the sofa with a very blurry Snape working on the chair opposite. He felt loads better than he had earlier; his headache had gone completely and his scar had gone back to normal. He had a more pressing problem – he had no idea where his glasses had got to. He felt really vulnerable without his glasses and stood up to try to find them, but as soon as he was on two feet Snape spoke.

"Stay sitting down or go to bed, those are your options," Snape said without taking his eyes off his parchment.

He must be joking. "I'm looking for my glasses and I was just asleep, I don't want to go to bed."

"You need rest, Mr. Potter," Snape snapped back at him, summoning his glasses and thrusting them towards him.

"I don't need to rest any more, I'm better," Harry said, waving his arms for effect.

"One, do not argue with me. Two, I gave you a potion to temporarily reduce your symptoms. It was by no means a cure so I suggest you get some rest before you aggravate your condition."

Snape probably did have a point, but Harry was used to looking after himself. The Dursleys had never been very hands on when he was ill. In fact, compared to the Dursleys, Snape had been positively caring. The man had gone above and beyond. He didn't have to do anything at all and yet he'd given him potions, let him sleep on the chair, and practically put him to bed.

He turned crimson with embarrassment when he remembered that Snape had actually picked him up at one point. He was probably annoyed that he hadn't thanked him already. If the Dursleys had ever done anything like that for him...they wouldn't, but if they had, they'd be really annoyed that he hadn't been appreciative. 

"Professor?" Snape looked up from his work and so Harry just went ahead. "Thanks, uh, for earlier."

"There is no need to thank me. I'm you guardian, your health is my responsibility."

Harry frowned. "Yeah, but you didn't have to do anything for me. It wouldn't have killed me."

"You are entirely incorrect–"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "It would have killed me?"

"Of course not."

"Oh. Well, I meant that you could have just let me deal with it."

"For the love of–" Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a breath before speaking and his voice was strained as if he was holding back extreme frustration. "Potter, while I appreciate your thanks, I am obligated to care for you when you are unwell. It is the least you should expect from your guardian."

Harry frowned in confusion but Snape looked like he was in one of those moods where he didn't want to be argued with, so he dropped it.

"Sir, do you think it matters that my scar hurt? Should I tell Dumbledore?"

"Professor Dumbledore, and no. I spoke to him while you were asleep. It is not a cause for concern."

"What did he say it was?"

"There is no need to concern yourself about it," Snape said, and this time there was an edge to his voice.

"Voldemort's not nearby is he? I mean, it happened last time because he was on the back of Quirrell's head," Harry persisted.

"Don't say his name, and no, he is not nearby."

"Dumbledore told you, so why won't you tell me? It's my scar!" Harry knew he was being petulant but it wasn't fair. He'd been nearly killed by Voldemort three times and Dumbledore always, well, sometimes, answered his questions.

Snape sent him a long harsh glare.

"The headmaster informed me that it is nothing to worry about. He also informed me that you are aware of your connection to the Dark Lord." He paused for confirmation and Harry nodded eagerly, surprised that Snape was willing to actually tell him anything. "It would seem that due to your illness you became more sensitive to the connection."

"I've been sick before and my scar's been fine."

Snape paused and it looked as though he was unsure how much he should be saying, so Harry ploughed bravely ahead.

"Is it because he's getting stronger?"

"What would you know of the Dark Lord's strength?"

"I know he's going to come back," Harry said boldly.

It seems that his words dispelled any hesitation that Snape had. "It would seem that with his increase in strength and your defences down it made you more receptive to the connection that you share."

He didn't like the sound of that; he didn't want to become more receptive to anything to do with Voldemort. It sounds like his scar is going to become some sort of satellite that only picks up on Voldemort signal. "Is it going to happen more?" 

"I cannot say. I'm simply relaying the headmaster's hypothesis. I would assume that as long as you are in good health then you should not experience any discomfort. I will expect that you will put any thoughts about the Dark Lord out of your mind; I do not want you to concern yourself with it."

"I can't just put it out of my mind." Is he mental? How can he just expect him to ignore the fact that Voldemort could return and soon?

"There are much older and much wiser wizards who will take care of it. There is not much for a thirteen-year-old wizard to do," Snape sneered.

"No one was saying that after I fought Quirrell, or killed the basilisk or destroyed Riddle," Harry replied.

"You should never have done any of those things."

"If I hadn't Volde– He–" Harry fought not to roll his eyes at having to avoid the name. "Would have gotten the stone and Ginny would be dead!"

"You continually put yourself and your friends in danger. Any one of your teachers could have handled the situation far better and yet you throw yourself into danger with no thought of the consequences," Snape hissed angrily at him.

"I did think about the consequences," Harry replied defensively, "Vol–He could have gotten the stone and come back and Ginny could have died," he repeated.

"You could have died because of your own foolishness. The only reason you're alive today is because of sheer dumb luck."

"I had to help," Harry insisted stubbornly. "And we did go to a teacher. Lockhart tried to obliviate us."

"Then find another, competent teacher. It is not up to you to fight the Dark Lord or basilisks. It is up to you to go to school and do your homework. You make the task of protecting you very difficult."

"I don't need protecting," Harry threw at him.

A dark look crossed the Potion Master's face. "That is where we disagree."