Harry woke up in the middle of the night, judging by the windows. A glance at his watch told him that it was 4:22am.   

And his bladder was killing him.

He picked up his glasses and pushed them on the tip of his nose, shuffled through the bed linen, slid to his legs, stepped on his tiptoes –

"Potter, your ambitions towards being quiet are making a larger cacophony than a hippopotamus inside a boutique of porcelain dishes during a rock concert." Harry's head snapped to his side, seeing Snape stretching his arms, yet looking as alert as always. The simple gesture made him almost…

Human.

"Sorry, sir." He mumbled to the floor, wondering why did Snape troubled himself away from his bed (or whatever it was that Snapes do during the night) just for him.

"I'm not here for the mere pleasure of seeing you drooling on your pillow." Snape continued and Harry visibly flinched. How did he read his thoughts without looking into his eyes?

"It is no challenge even for the amateurish and inept Legilimens, Potter. You wear your heart on your sleeves. The way you've managed to beguile Umbridge is sublime to me." He added, a hint of amusement spicing his usually dry tone.

Harry slumped on the edge of the hospital bed. Right. Snape was inside his mind, watching some of the memories that even he didn't know of their existence. His darkest moments. He must have been the one to release him from the simple sticking charm that Umbridge had on him. Harry just needs to find a place to bury himself in for the next year, or two, or the rest of his life. Between his family's treatment of him and the Prophet, which was already spreading the word of his lunacy, Harry won't have a moment of peace in the next few decades.

He just couldn't believe that his entire future, life, friends, all depend on Snape's decision. Maybe Harry will be able to buy him off. On the other hand, perhaps the suggestion only will make him keener to sell the information…

And that was without even speaking of Voldemort. Do his blood wards work now? Now, when every spark of his domestic feelings for the place were gone?

"Potter." Snape said. 'How much money will you give me?' 'The Slytherins were quite amused to hear about your family.' 'Even muggles know of your unworthiness.' 'Perhaps I should ask your relatives for tips on disciplining you.'

"Are you feeling well?" What?

"Potter." Harry blinked in bemusement, unwilling to believe what he'd just heard. He probably imagined. It couldn't be Snape that –

"Potter, I except verbal responses when I ask you a question. Just to clarify, since your small brain doesn't seem to contemplate it, a blink does not count as a verbal response."

That's more like it. With this tone Harry knew how to handle. "Yes, sir. I just need to use the loo."

"Well, then, use the loo. We have a tedious day before of us." Only when Harry reached the toilet, he noted that Snape said we.

As he pulled his pants up again, he noticed some kind of silver stitches held the edges of a bandage that rested on the wound in his right thigh together. It looked horrible, even under the gauze; a hematoma surrounded the torn skin, coloring it in blue and indigo deep shades. Somehow it didn't hurt, and this fact disturbed Harry.

When he exited the loo, Harry presented his query to Snape. The Potions Master answered curtly that he was drugged as much as someone could be with Snape's analgesic variation for Calming Draught without being high. "…Speaking of which, it's time to renew the bruises' slaves and bandages."

"What?" Harry's eyes widened and he suddenly felt totally awake. "No, no, I'll do it by myself. It's okay." He tried to wave off Snape, not wanting the other man anywhere near his groin.

"Grow up, Potter." The other man hissed and suddenly his lips quirked up. "Or perhaps, you prefer that I'll wake up Poppy and she'll help you?"

Harry paled and his fearful silence was broken only by the noises of gauzes rubbing on each other and sounds of uncorking vials. Snape's hand was cold and his long fingers anointed the cool salve into Harry's skin quickly and efficiently. It hadn't seemed like the touch disturbed Snape; he worked like a professional. Harry tried to imagine Snape as a mediwizard instead of a Potions Master, but got stuck over the notion of the older man in white uniforms instead of his customized, billowing robes.

When Snape finished, he gestured Harry wordlessly towards a small pile that rested near the head of the bed. Over there Harry discovered the Marauders' map, his wand and his invisibility cloak.

Harry was going to murder whoever gave them to Snape.

If the other man knew what was going through Harry's mind, he hadn't given away any sign to affirm it. He just stared at Harry with his blank look until the Gryffindor realized that he was supposed to put the cloak on. Snape slipped out of the infirmary and Harry followed him once again, wondering where will the Slytherin lead.

Severus likes to patrol the obsolete castle in the night. When the stars shone above in the dark skies and the moon casted a faint, soft luminescence on the stone floor, he could almost hear the whispers of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He swifts through the empty corridors in blessed silence that is never be obtainable during the day.

This trip was no different. And Severus finally fathomed why Potter's presence has bothered him; the boy was simply silent. He paced almost as swiftly as Severus, and the man had to wonder whether it was due to his nightly trips in the castle or the abuse he had suffered from (the conversation was waiting for the correct timing).

Severus learnt to treasure the silence between his parents' fights. Quiet meant that Tobias was away, that Eileen wasn't beaten up. Fragile tranquility in the house which was never home for him, despite thirty-six years of living and growing over there.

The formative portion of those years happened in a separate silent place, nights of exploring and scrutinizing the passages of a certain castle.

When they had reached Severus' quarters he had tapped on the wall with his wand and felt the cool embrace of his magic, welcoming him home. Albus once complained that the so-called embrace was as warm as death's arms. Severus threatened to make a close acquaintance between them, and for some peculiar reason, the event wasn't repeated. Perhaps Albus already had enough kiths.

His lips quirked up in the memory, only to quirk down as he reckoned that he was standing with Harry Potter inside his personal quarters at 5am, getting ready to travel in order to save the life of a one Dudley Dursley.

He sighed.

Perhaps saving a land-whale counted as a contribution to the activity of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. He remembered something about payment for extra community involvement and activities in his contract.

Turns out he had expressed his notions aloud, since Potter laughed.

He actually laughed. Severus tried to recall how long had passed since he made a non-Slytherin student laugh. When had he joked in front of one?

The insufferable brat had the audacity to throw his head backwards as he chortled, very alike his mother. The invisibility cloak slumped over his left shoulder, covering half of his body. Severus wondered what will he see if he will look on the boy from the side – a plane view of his inner organs, or nothing at all?

He glanced curiously, his thirst for knowledge beating his sense of immediacy. The answer was nothing.

Inquisitiveness rests, it was time to gear up. He treaded towards his bathroom, avoiding a mislaid sock that rested on the floor. Potter followed him. Severus, figuring out that the boy will see his costume at some point, hadn't stopped him. Instead, he took advantage of the time and explained the plan to Potter, including his camouflage and the details of their new personas, not before clarifying the utmost importance of occluding the information. Both of them knew, despite of their one, abysmal lesson, that Potter was a natural in the mind fields, similarly to most of the abused ("THEY HAVEN'T ABUSED ME!" "Sure, Potter.") children.

They had a short discussion about occluding. It went as following:

1. Potter notified Severus that he's able to occlude only by filling his mind with memories, not draining them.
2. Severus ignored the remark and continued, filing the information in his mind for later usage.

"Let's discuss the guidelines of rescuing your abnormally colossal cousin, Mr. Potter. It is not a damsel, but indeed in distress." Potter snickered at him and tiredly rubbed his green, emerald, piercing eyes.

It was quite simple. Severus was going as his alternative persona for the muggle world – Johnathan P. ("Use your imagination to fill the gap"), the son of Eileen. Potter – Henry, from now on ("since I don't trust your brain to remember so many details") will pose as his son (James Potter is surely making flips inside his grave).

Among the Dursleys, they'll wait for the representative nurse of the hospital, which will take his blood sample at exactly 7:00am. After seven hours ("Which we won't spend in your relatives' company") they will discover if his type is Rhnull, and if so - donate. If someone will see them in the journey, it was alright; Johnathan Prince could be interpreted as an Order member. In fact, he already was; the character was a regular guard of Number Four Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey.

In fact, Johnathan Prince was a rather popular man in the outskirts. Once in a while he visited local pubs, where his sharp tongue and dry humor achieved admiration and laugher. It was a coincidence, of course, that he met Fudge's brother on a monthly basis, not to mention Avery's and Macnair's wives, which had a secret hobby of watching muggle car races. Johnathan Prince happened to be a car investor and impressed the pair with his knowledge. In return, they may have mentioned their husbands' behavior occasionally, just as friends do; Severus deduced a few facts and told the Headmaster, just as friends do.

The best source of knowledge was not his comrades, rather their wives, who were careless as wine slipped into their mouths.

The Potions Master had seen Potter's lips planning to rain questions, so he continued. Curtly, he explained that the Dark Lord ("never mention the explicit name in front of me if you want to keep yourself uncastrated, Potter") and his followers had methods of detecting glamor and potions. Even for a skilled wizard, keeping on a felicitous glamor took a great portion of his attention; keeping barriers on during it was nearly impossible.

"Besides, my magical signature is recognizable in glamor. Understood, Potter?" A side glance at his mirror, as he brought again the haircut machine to his head, revealed that the Gryffindor was chewing on his lip.

Question coming in three, two, one…

"Why don't you use shaving charm?"

"Professor for you." Severus scrunched up his nose as the black, long, greasy hair fell to the floor. He waited patiently until Potter repeated the question with the suitable title. "As your brain seems to refuse digesting, my magical signature will be clear even on a simple charm as shaving spell. It doesn't banish at the moment one has finished the spell. My spare wand isn't fitting enough to be trusted with a homogeneous, woundless cut."

The boy's mouth became the shape of an O and he blushed. "Is that why your hair is always greasy?"

Severus literally choked. "Excuse me?" he barked. "I won't even dignify it with an answer." He added, trying to hide his shock at the accurate conclusion; maybe the boy had something in his mind, buried like his Occlumency skill. Potter was too tired and disorientated to mind; his wide, curious pupils had assessed Severus' hair shamelessly.

"You should try to use Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, sir. It's a really good one; I promise." He said with a yawn, a sheepish look upon his face.

Severus snorted. "Declares Mr. Potter, the family's brand ambassador. Sharp eyes may notice the miserable black mop on the top of his skull, which is demonstrating the competence of the product." He was pleased to see that Potter hadn't expected him to know this detail about the Potter family.

Something flickered off in the boy's eyes and the Potions Master eyed him suspiciously, continuing to cut his hair after a few seconds. It will come up later.

At 6:30, after a symbolic, awkward breakfast, Harry Potter (with the addition of honey-brown lenses, a shoulder-long hair, brand new clothes and a Pepper Up in his stomach) walked next to a muggle man in Hogwarts. Of course, since the man was covered with the Cloak of Invisibility, no one could see him.

But if someone would, he'd know that the tall man was the proud owner of five am shade, fitting to the clock. He looked like a discharged solider; his thick, black hair was chopped in the length of one inch, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones. Sunglasses reflected each attempt of catching a glimpse of his eye color, but at the removal of them one could notice that he had honey-brown eyes too. A black jacket wrapped his shoulders and covered a grey t-shirt underneath. The look was completed with a black pair of jeans and boots.

When the pair had reached Dumbledore's office, Harry was disappointed to find it empty once again. Snape removed the cloak and urged him into the fire, barking Arabella Figg's address. Harry entered first and Snape turned around; he saluted into the empty air mockingly.

"Comrade Prince is ready to report, sir, yes sir! Estimated return, seven o'clock!" he called and marched into the fire.

Albus Dumbledore canceled the Disillusionment Charm that concealed him as he watched his boys go and crushed heavily into the cushioned sofa inside his office, tossing a lemon drop into his mouth. Fawkes hummed an unfamiliar symphony, something he'd heard once when they visited the Potion Master's office.

His new plan was risky, he knew it. Petunia's letter, as Severus showed him, added a new variable to the equation, and he suspected that not a proficient one. But perhaps, if Severus and Harry will unite in the end, it will be worth it. Voldemort's hatred for him is too strong; but Severus can fill the place of a mentor for Harry.

It was a simple matter of setting fire to the rain.

Yet, if one could do it, it was Lily Evans-Potter; it was her research project in Charms, and eventually she managed to create a burning snowball.

There was something quite charming and refreshing about the innocence of a muggleborn who enters the magical world, Albus mused.

The first step was to make sure that Harry will discover Severus as the Half Blood Prince, and vice versa.

Surely, the spy will forgive him.

Eventually.

Albus scribbled a few words on a paper, with a muggle pen that he bought in his last trip to London. What a funny tool. "Fawkes, please tell an owl to bring this note to Johnathan Prince at six pm. Make sure that the full name is visible on the envelop."

The phoenix eyed him judgingly.