Harry felt Snape’s warm hand on his shoulder as he was led upstairs. He didn’t try to shake it off; he didn’t want to. In truth, Harry felt as if that hand was the one anchor holding him upright.

He’s right, I really can’t do it myself. How pathetic can I get? Now he thinks I’m some mental case that needs counseling, and I just cried all over him like a baby-

“Harry.” Snape’s deep tone cut into Harry’s internal tirade. Harry looked up to see Snape’s face, laced with concern. He grimaced, looking away. He didn’t want pity.

I don’t need help...You just tried to effing off yourself. Clearly, you’re just peachy.

Snape escorted Harry into his bedroom, leading him to sit on his bed.

“I will ask that you wait here for a moment – do not leave the room – and I will return momentarily,” Snape said in a level tone.

Harry nodded, and he stared at his hands, which were folded neatly on his lap. There was a silent pause, where Snape seemed to want to say more, but he then simply turned and left the room, closing the door halfway.

Harry examined the inside of his left wrist. All that remained of the… incision was a faint white line. Yes, that sounded good. Incision. A detached, formal way of communicating what he’d really done. He was not out of control. His actions had been planned, calculated, and if not for Snape…

But is that really true? You made it real easy for him to stop you. You left the door unlocked, and the light on, and you didn’t even fight him when he started healing it. True, he could’ve done, anyway, but still. It’s like you wanted him to find out. Did you?

Harry looked up as Snape re-entered the room. He was holding a small bottle filled with a thick, deep purple substance.

“Dreamless sleep,” Snape said quietly. “Normally, I would not encourage its use, however, I believe that exceptions can be made.” He handed the bottle to Harry, who took it while avoiding Snape’s gaze.”

He thinks I’m a basket-case that needs to be drugged. And he’s right. I won’t sleep without it, and I really need to. I need to get…away.

Harry crawled under his covers, and, without further hesitation, drained the bottle, almost immediately beginning to feel its effects.

Interesting, how quickly potions enter the bloodstream, thought Harry drowsily as he flopped back into his pillows, barely noticing Snape pulling the empty bottle out of his hand. Through drooping eyelids and rapidly clouding vision, he could just make out the hazy image of Snape, now seated on the chair near the wall.

He didn’t leave… was Harry’s last vague thought before he drifted off.

Harry awoke slowly the next morning, feeling a bit groggy. He squinted at the clock, rubbing his eyes, finding it to be nearly a quarter past ten.

I never sleep this late. Must be the potion.

A bit unsteadily, Harry made his way to the bathroom. He blinked as he saw the spotless floor, rug restored to its proper place.

Snape must’ve cleaned up while I was asleep… my dagger!

Harry searched the floor frantically, and then the rest of the room, even the shower, but it wasn’t there.

Snape, Harry realized. He took it.

Harry calmed slightly. Snape, most likely, did not want to leave it lying around. He’d give it back, he had to.

I’ll ask him, first thing.

Harry exited his room, walking towards the stairs, when he heard Snape’s voice.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry turned quickly. Snape was walking down the hall from the opposite end, towards Harry.

Harry felt suddenly awkward. After all that had transpired the night before, Harry found it difficult to look Snape in the eye.

I need the dagger. Just get a grip and ask him.

Harry took a deep breath, and looked up at Snape, who was looking down at him, face unreadable.

“Uh, sir?” Harry’s voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Do you have my… er...?” He couldn’t finish, not after what had happened.

Snape inclined his head.

“I do, Mr. Potter.” Snape pulled it out of his robes. “However-“

Disregarding whatever Snape had been about to say, Harry reached out for it, but Snape shook his head.

“Harry, I’m sure you understand why I cannot give this back to you at the present time.”

Harry bit his lip. Yes, he understood, but he needed that dagger. It was the only weapon he had, the only thing he really had of his own.

I don’t care. I need it. He has no right to take it from me.

Good. Now Harry felt appropriately angry, which masked the fear and vulnerability that had been all but drowning him.

“Sir, I need it. Please.” Harry refused to sound desperate, or too beg. He’d said his piece, and he’d even said please. He wasn’t begging.

Harry saw a glimmer of something like sympathy, or regret, in Snape’s eyes, but the man shook his head again.

“I fully understand why you feel you require it, but it would be entirely remiss of me to allow you to be in possession of such an object at this time.”

No.

“Please, sir, I won’t do… that again. I just really need it.” Harry hated the pleading tone that had crept into his voice. But, damn it, he needed the dagger.

Snape sighed.

“It is not my intention to permanently confiscate the dagger from you, Mr. Potter. It will be returned to you when we both feel that you can handle it responsibly.”

Oh. So he wasn’t keeping it for good. But how long would it take for Snape to believe that Harry could be responsible? Years, probably.

I need it now. Give it back.

“Sir, I-”

“Do you truly believe yourself to be in danger, here?” Snape cut in, looking at Harry carefully.

Harry thought for a moment.

Only when Dumbledore’s here. Otherwise… I don’t know. Anything can happen, I need to be prepared.

Snape seemed to take Harry’s silence as an affirmation.

“Harry, you are entirely secure, here. No one who wishes you harm has the ability to pass through my wards. I, and I alone, determine who may or may not enter the property.”

That helps; he lets Dumbledore in whenever he pleases. But clearly, Snape trusts him, though I can’t imagine why.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry looked up, chewing his lip.

“I just…” Harry whispered, his voice trailing off.

Snape raised his eyebrows, waiting for Harry to continue, then sighed, brushing an imaginary stray hair out of his eyes.

“Do you by now trust that I do not mean you harm?” Snape looked as though he was apprehensive of Harry’s response.

Yes, Harry realized, I do trust that he won’t harm me.

“Yes, sir.”

Harry saw that Snape looked slightly relieved.

“I will say this: if anyone who steps on to this property, or any person at all, for that matter, attempts anything untoward, I will personally ensure that said individual exists solely to regret it.” He grasped Harry’s chin in the same manner he had the previous night. “You are under my protection, and I do not shirk my duties. Ever.”

Harry stared back at Snape, wide eyed. Apparently satisfied that he’d gotten Harry’s attention, Snape continued.

“At the present time, my duties include protecting you from yourself.”

Harry felt an odd urge to cry again, but he shoved it back fiercely.

He cares. He really does. I don’t know why, but he does.

“Am I understood?” Snape said in a stern tone, turning Harry once more to face him.

“Yes, sir,” Harry whispered.

Snape was silent for a moment, regarding Harry carefully.

“Good. Come join me for breakfast.” He turned and walked down the stairs toward the kitchen, Harry at his heels.

“You didn’t eat yet, sit?” Harry asked tentatively as they sat.

“I have not yet had the chance, I was rather preoccupied with… other matters.”

He must have been searching my room, or the whole house, for other… potential weapons, Harry realized. The thought made him want to cringe with embarrassment. I’m such a-

“Mr. Potter,” Snape’s smooth voice cut in. “Do you plan on eating at any point in the foreseeable future?”

Harry nodded, head down, and proceeded to fill his plate, barely noticing what he was serving himself.

He probably thinks I’m an immature nutcase. I cried all over him. I let him hug me, like a needy little… Now he definitely won’t want to deal with me anymore. I completely lost it, I let myself go too much. That’s not okay. It’s weakness. You’re weak. A weak little baby.

Harry gripped his fork with unnecessary force, all but smashing his food into a pulp.

“Harry.”

Harry looked up reluctantly to focus on Snape’s shirt collar.

“Do you believe that, upon the day’s previous events, that I am inclined towards judging you in an unfavorable light?”

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Snape, of course, knew what Harry was thinking. He met Harry’s gaze, and Harry did not look away.

“You are laboring under a misapprehension. I am in no way judging you, or your behavior.”

“Why not?” Harry burst out, then almost immediately froze. He could have kicked himself. What had he been thinking, yelling at Snape again?

“Harry.”

Harry looked up apprehensively. Oddly, Snape didn’t seem particularly angry, just tired. Harry relaxed his stance, laying his hands on his lap. He chewed his lower lip.

“While I did not appreciate your tone,” said Snape slowly, “You need not fear my reaction to such an extent.”

Harry nodded, feeling undone. He looked at Snape anxiously, who’d opened his mouth to speak again.

“Only the simple-minded and ignorant would dare judge another for their methods of coping with pain,” Snape said harshly.

What? What does he…?

 “Considering the suffering I’ve no doubt you have undergone, I am more inclined toward admiration of your forbearance than judgment of your attempt to… escape.”

Harry couldn’t help it; his jaw dropped.

“Good,” Snape said softly. “I have your attention.”

“I am well-acquainted with the emotions that may lead to the drastic measures you have felt it necessary to turn to." Snape leaned toward Harry, his hands gripping the table edge. 

"The knowledge that I possess puts me in a position to provide you with the help you need, if you would but allow me.” Snape’s tone had grown sharper, and his face was mere inches away from Harry’s.

“Sir, I…” Harry whispered. His eyes were darting rapidly left from rights, his instincts screaming ‘danger’. He ignored those feelings. Snape wasn’t lying; this was for real. Snape wanted to help, Snape cared, for whatever unfathomable reasons he had.

Snape reached out a hand to cover Harry’s which was resting on the table, slackened. “You need not say anything, just now, Mr. Potter,” he said quietly. He rose. “I prefer not to leave you alone, at present, so join me in my office while I work. I have books stored there that will undoubtedly pique your interest.”

Snape flicked his wand to clear the table and swept out of the room. Harry followed him into his office.

Snape pointed towards the bookshelves lining the left wall, then conjured an armchair not unlike the one Harry often used in the library.

Snape then sat at his desk, beginning his work, for which Harry was grateful. It seemed that Snape knew that he needed his space.

Curled up in the chair with the book he’d selected, Harry felt almost calm. However odd it was, Harry felt safe, here with Snape.

As Harry followed Snape to the kitchen for lunch, he cast around, a bit desperately, for another question to ask, in attempt to put off the imminent conversation he knew he’d have to have with the man.

“How do broomsticks work, sir?” Harry asked quickly, after swallowing a bite of food. He’d read a book on flying, recently, and he had been wondering.

Snape’s lips twitched slightly, as though he knew what Harry’s game was but was willing to play along.

“I suppose you are asking how broomsticks can fly for long periods of time in terms of physics?” Snape asked.

Harry nodded.

“Well, have you drawn any conclusions on your own, Mr. Potter?”

Harry narrowed his eyes in thought. He’d though of airplanes, originally, but just as they hadn’t explained the Hover charm, they didn’t explain brooms, either.

No, brooms move differently, and they’re built differently, too.

Harry frowned, shaking his head. 

Snape leaned forward slightly.

“I would say that broomsticks move in a manner most similar to rockets,” Snape said.

Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?

“I presume you are aware of the mechanics of rockets?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Explain.”

“Rocket move by Newton’s third law of equal and opposite reactions,” said Harry slowly. “The rocket engine forces high-pressure gas in one direction, causing the rocket to accelerate in the other direction.”

Snape nodded approvingly.

“Well, broomsticks work in much the same way. The magic stored within the broom is released through its bristles, which expand outward similarly to a rocket. The released magic therefore propels the broom forward.”

Interesting. That is pretty cool. And there’s no limit on the energy, either. But…

“How is the magic stored in the broom? Is there a spell?” Harry asked, forehead crinkled in thought.

Snape cocked his head slightly, looking thoughtful.

“Broomsticks designed for flight cannot be made by just anyone. The development of broomsticks requires extensive knowledge and skill, contrary to popular belief.”

Interesting. But how…

Harry looked at Snape in askance.

“Are you perhaps interested in pursuing a career in broomstick development, Mr. Potter?” asked Snape, looking a bit amused, by Snape’s standard, anyway.

“Not really, I just...”

Snape quirked his lips.

“I do not possess extensive knowledge on the subject, nor do I own many books on the topic, however, perhaps we can procure one for your use.”

Harry felt his breath catch in his chest. He swallowed hard, looking down.

“Thank you, sir,” he whispered.

Snape cleared his throat. Harry looked up; Snape seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but appeared to be experiencing some difficulty. Harry waited patiently.

“Would you…,” he began, “perhaps like to gain some practical experience in that area?”

Really?

“You- you have a broom, sir?” Harry asked, holding his breath.”

Snape inclined his head. “Indeed I do. Would you like to ride it?”

That would be the coolest thing ever. Would he really let me?

Unbidden, memories of offers made available, only to scorn Harry for his gullibility in believing that they were genuine…

You want dinner? Well, you won’t be getting any.

Would you like to be let out of the cupboard? Too bad.

Harry shoved the memories away forcefully. Snape wasn’t like that. Snape had never said anything he hadn’t meant, for good or for bad. Not to Harry. Harry knew that Snape was sincere in his offer.

Harry looked at Snape, who was awaiting his response, though his expression was unreadable.

“I would like that, sir.”

Snape rose, clearing the table. He waved his wand, and a broomstick zoomed through the doorway into his hand.

“Very well,” he said briskly. “If you will join me outdoors…”

Harry followed Snape outside, then took the broom carefully from Snape’s proffered hand. He examined it, turning it in his hand delicately.

“I’m afraid my broomstick is rather timeworn,” Snape said gruffly. “Most children today tend to hanker after the latest models.”

There’re models of broomsticks? That’s just… strange.

Harry turned toward Snape. “How do I…?”

Snape waved a hand. “I suggest you simply do what comes naturally. I suspect you will have no trouble,” said Snape, his voice sounding a bit hard. Harry chewed his lip nervously. Snape seemed to notice this, and gave Harry a gentle pat on the back.

“Go.”

Do what comes naturally. Okaaay.

Harry swung a leg over the broom, pushed off from the ground, and shot up into the air at an alarming speed.

This. Is. Amazing.

As Harry zoomed through the air, he felt a jolt of pure joy rip though him. He had never felt such an emotion before. Ever. This was different; an entirely indescribable experience. He didn’t have to think, or to try. It seemed that he and the broom had become one, and he flew as though he’d been born to do so.

A wide grin blossomed across his face, his facial muscles feeling oddly tight from lack of use. He laughed; a loud, joyous sound that he’d never heard come from his own mouth.

Harry dove, rose, twisted and turned, flying through rays of sunlight that peeked through wide, fluffy clouds.

He felt as though everything that had been wrong with his life, wrong with him, had been left behind on the ground far below. He wasn’t the unwanted burden passed around, used, and shoved away. He was just Harry, a wizard boy flying through the air with an ability that was his birthright.

Up here, nothing mattered at all except him and the broom. Here, he was strong and capable, far from anything or anyone that meant to hurt him. Zooming through the air, magic crackling around him, Harry was unencumbered. He was free, if just for now.