Severus Snape glared at Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James Potter, uttering one deadly word in a low voice.

"You."

"Me." The boy echoed in confirmation, dumbly.

His palms clenched into fists and he knew that his fingernails left their mark on the rough skin, which was usually stained with ink. Of course, it was Potter. Since when did the insufferable brat know how to keep his nose out of others' business?

Severus Snape was a private, discreet man. His demeanour was quite necessary for his job – being a double agent, a spy for the Order between the ranks of the Death Eaters. Thus, his true self was hidden multitudinous masks, which only a handful of people had been allowed to try to decorticate. Many were the thoughts which were harboured underneath the barriers of his mind.

And the Boy Who Lived, serving as an exemplary Potter, busted his way through and forced Severus to defy a dyad of his own rules – never allow someone to reveal your weakness and always keep your cards close to your chest.  

Now, his most secluded secret was exhibited in front of the one person which Severus would've chosen to keep ignorant. What were the odds? His forehead wrinkled. It seemed implausible that a spawn of the opulent Potter ancestry would purchase a used book. Furthermore, even if he did – how could he acquire Severus' book, which was concealed safely in his own inventory?

No. No Moirai deemed it to happen, nor a charlatan seer. Severus never believed in prophecies, and it was a major part of his reason to render the Prophecy to the Dark Lord in that blasted night. No Moirai could've heisted his book. The thief was tangible, present at Hogwarts and quite adroit in the subject of wards.

And suddenly, a scene floated into the front of his mind… A quarrel between him and Albus, regarding a note which bore his name…

"Why, it's a note. To one… Johnathan Prince. Oh my, seems like the author is expressing his regret regarding an incident."

"What was the note regarding, then?"

"The so-called incident which I anticipated hadn't occurred today, due to the special circumstances which you had encountered.”   

He breathed sharply through a gap in his lips and felt the fire within him flare. Albus had apologized, because he knew what the future will hold.

Albus took his book and gave it to Potter.

No, forget it - Albus stole his book and gave it to Potter, with the sole purpose that the boy will learn what Severus had tried to hide from him since the day he stepped into the school.

He swung forward.

Without offering any explanation, he clutched Potter's shoulder and hurled him like a marionette into the Floo connection to the Headmaster's office, which was still open. With a snap of his fingers, the fire died.

"So, Albus." He hissed towards a patch in the wall which now stepped forward, looking very guilty. "Keeping our agreement to the letter, discarding the spirit. You just dropped a hint, after all, didn’t you? You haven’t explicitly told him. A grey zone. How Slytherin of you." A jar of cockroaches' eyes, which was unfortunate enough to be within Severus' reach, shattered in the place where Albus' head was a moment before.

"Severus – "

"Don't you dare!" The dark-haired wizard was now standing tall, towering above the old man. His arms gripped the Headmaster's shoulders, and his fingers inched toward the throat as if to throttle him. Albus hadn't flinched. "You swore that you'll never tell anyone, especially not Potter, about – "

His silk speech broke and his arms slumped back to the sides of his body, unable to carry out the iniquitous crave which was dominating his brain. "About her." He finished lamely, incapable to carry Lily's name and draw her into the argument.

"Severus, I – "

"You what? Did you accidently 'drop' that specific copy of “Steerers and Cauldrons” next to Lupin, when he went shopping for your treasured Golden Boy? Was there a sudden sale? Maybe a stray Imperius guided his hand towards this book, my book!"

"Molly was the one to – "

"Oh, my mistake." His dark voice was dripping mercilessly with sarcasm. "Thank you so much for acknowledging me. Molly Weasley acquired the books instead of the Wolf, such a relief. And here, I thought that Lupin's begrimed paws touched my precious property. Consider the matter as forgiven and forgotten, then."

Finally, Albus had given up upon convincing Severus and the younger man felt dark satisfaction growing inside his stomach as he watched the silent, perplexed man.

"Leave, Albus. I need time to understand how, once again, to untangle the clutter which your shenanigans to take care of the Boy-Who-Lived created."

The Headmaster merely continued to stand there, analysing him with a pair of culpable, piercing blue eyes. He held the gaze stubbornly, obsidian clashing with azure, for a few minutes.

Memories and photos exchanged minds, all regarding Severus' materializing theory about the breach in the Blood Wards, for Severus understood the subtle nuance which Albus had tried to relay. It was the same notion that had been drilled into his brain ever since he was a young boy, the second rule of Severus Snape; duty comes before foolish sentimentality.

When they finished, the bearded man turned on his heels and silently walked out of the Potions Master's office, his head inclined, gently shutting the door behind him, not before saying –

"Perhaps the Boy-Who-Lived is not the only one which benefits from the new situation, my boy."

The door's noise was replaced with the echo of a shattering sound, and a rain of canned tadpoles pelted the office floor of the Potions Master.

Harry had never seen Snape that mad. It was scary – he was white with rage, his eyes gloating, his teeth bared. With this look on his face, Snape resembled a revenge-crazed Death Eater more than anything else, and Harry wondered if he spent time in Azkaban, because the same expression greeted him the first time when he saw Sirius Black.

He rubbed his aching right shoulder. The injuries from his escapade in Umbridge's interrogation were still present and he knew that Snape's grip bruised him even more, adding purple to the colourful criss-cross of yellow, green and blue.

Curious eyes scanned the mostly-purple office, intrigued to discover a new pair of stone statues which were decorated as Oompa Loompas. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. Whoever introduced the sweet-tooth Headmaster to Charlie in the Chocolate Factory was a genius. Chains of vivid neon Christmas lights hung around their shoulders, and one of the stony expressions stared straight at Harry, who had the prickling feeling that he had met that face once. The beady eyes glared at Harry and he stuck his hands in his pockets uncomfortably, suppressing a shudder.

Excluding the statues, no eyes peeked at Harry, privy to his tour of the large office.

The place hadn't contained anything else out of the ordinary, besides a wretched-looking Fawkes, who seemed almost as old as the first time that Harry had seen him. Then, the young boy wasn't aware of the Phoenix birth cycle and was sure that the flare up of the bird somehow had him to blame. Now, older and – well, somewhat – wiser, he thought to himself that seeing a Phoenix catching fire could be pretty cool, and he almost hoped to witness it (Did it hurt?).

However, his wishes weren't fulfilled, and he soon became bored. He finished researching every strange tool which rested on Professor Dumbledore's desk without succeeding to activate any of them. The best he managed to do was to make a golden tool emit a pair of snakes which were intertwined in each other. Bored, he tried it once again, but the machine refused to show a further sign of life.

After a while, when both Dumbledore (well, obviously, since the man dodged his presence all year long) and Snape failed to call him through the Floo, Harry decided that it was safe to abandon the office. A glance at his watch awarded him with the knowledge that he had half an hour to return to his dormitory, before the curfew.

Harry nodded curtly towards the gargoyle guardian as he passed next to him and ambled through the corridors, his legs leading him towards no particular place. He ended up in the Owlery, allowing Hedwig to nibble on his finger as he softly spoke with her, updating her on the events of his last few days.

A shuffle of legs alerted him and he startled. The other person mirrored his surprise.

"Harrykins!" Fred whispered as he recognized him with a relieved sigh, giving Harry a thumbs up. "It's okay, George, come on in, it's just our dearest funder."

The twin came in, hiding something behind his back. "We weren't sure who you were, and we have a top-secret agent that we need to send on a mission," he explained mysteriously, a teasing smirk on his lips. Harry tried to understand the meaning behind the sentence. Were they involved in an action for the order? 

"Check this out!" They uttered in union, and George revealed what he had hidden. Harry examined it carefully, brushing the brown fur of the creature, until he reached the inevitable conclusion.

"It's… a squirrel?"

"Partial deduction, Potter. Five points from Gryffindor." George mimicked a deep voice, as Fred cuffed Harry with a mischievous smile. Harry grinned at the pair, still trying to determine the nature of the relation between the twins and the squirrel.

"I don't understand."

George ruffled his hair. "Well, Mr. Potter – "

" – as you know, the Toad watches and filters the correspondences – "

" – and since we don't see eye to eye on that matter – "

" – due to the necessity of some unconventional components for our pranks – "

" – we had to find a different method of sending things – "

" – thus, we present to you: Grey!"

Fred kneeled as George passed Harry a squirrel, which was definitely not grey, into his arms. Hedwig flew to his shoulder and stared curiously as Harry scrutinized the tiny rodent, which had a slightly sharpened face and a brown fur with two black stripes. A piece of parchment was bound to his hind leg. The squirrel raised two inquisitive eyes towards Harry's face and made a small, unpleased sound, squirming in his hand.  

"Oh, keep quiet, Grey." The latter admonished, giving him a walnut. Grey gnawed at it happily and George took him back to his hand. "Grey is a short for Grey-ffindor, but he isn't pretty brave when he meets strangers. Sorry, mate." Fred explained, rising from the ground. He brushed the dirt off his knees.

"Anyway," George continued. "Grey is a squirrel that we trained to glide all the way from here to the borders of the castle." Harry eyed the squirrel critically. "Well, it's not a whole-squirrel. More like half a squirrel, half a flying possum. A special breed, limited edition, with the enhancement of a few charms."

"We might have made a trip to Knockturn Alley on the last trip to Hogsmeade." Fred elaborated with a wink.

"But there wasn't any trip to – "

"Exactly!" they exclaimed together. Harry rolled his eyes. Typical.

George released Grey from his hands, hanging outside the window, and Harry watched fascinated as the rodent hovered through the dark skies, traveling further until he couldn't see it anymore. Hedwig bit his earlobe, jealous of the attention he gave to another animal – especially one which she counted as a food rather than another living creature – and Harry yelped in pain.

"We sent an owl to wait for him over the edge. Grey passes the letter to the owl and goes for a vacation somewhere in the forest, until he gets a response. Then, he brings it back into the castle and buries it on a specific spot. Smart fella."

Harry mused for a moment. "That's amazing," he summed up, thinking about the possibilities. Communicating with Sirius without Umbridge reading through every letter truly was amazing. The redheads puffed their chests with the smile of a proud parent over their faces. “Do you think that I could borrow it from time to time? I can pay you if you prefer to - ”

“No way, mate!” Fred interrupted him, and the playful tone was gone from his voice. "It's all thanks to you, Harry. Gave us a pretty big head start.” 

“You won’t spend even a Knut.” Harry opened his mouth to object. “Spare the protests, Potter. You paid enough."

"Er, don't mention it," he dismissed embarrassedly, reminded of the Triwizard Tournament. Sometimes, when he spoke with Fred and George, a treacherous comment sneaked into his heart and reminded him that it wasn't his money to give. He should've granted the prize to Amos Diggory, despite his stubborn reluctance to take any money, claiming that nothing could replace his lost son. Why didn't he insist? After all, the prize wasn't supposed to be for him… Cedric would have won the last task, without Barty Crouch Jr.'s assistance…

He was aware of the two pairs of brown eyes which studied his suddenly slumped posture. Together they stood, silent for a few minutes, Harry staring through the window.

"I haven't heard the end of your joke." The younger boy noted. The pair exchanged playful looks.

George stepped forward, stroking an invisible, long beard. "It goes as follows: Snape and Dumbledore walk into a bar – " both of them stepped forward, Fred mimicking a typical sulky expression of the Potions Master's, while George beamed. The smiling twin continued.

"So, Snape says: How are you, Dumbledore? Then, Dumbledore answers: good, thanks, and you? And Snape says – "

"Potter!" Fred hissed with an eerily accurate imitation of Snape's dark, silky tone. "Eavesdropping on a private conversation? Ten points from Gryffindor!"

Harry laughed heartily as Fred cuffed his head, still in character. "Nice one, I must admit. Although, when Snape hears it…"

"He'll be proud to know that we immortalize his well-groomed reputation." Fred answered lightly. Harry yawned, suddenly exhausted, and the rigid stance melted off Fred's features. "Now, come on, Harrykins. Hermione will have our heads if we bring you back to the common room after the curfew."

The trio marched to the Gryffindor tower. Harry was so tired that he didn't have any time to dedicate any further thought to the long day. He barely greeted Ron and Hermione before sinking into the couch and falling asleep.

The bushy-haired girl clicked her tongue judgingly, but her brown eyes were soft when she studied the weary teen in front of her. Ron brought a blanket and some ointment from their dormitory, and the two silently covered Harry’s visible injuries with a thin layer.

When they finished, Ron laid a blanket over his best friend and Hermione set an alarm for him, since she knew that Harry didn’t like it when people watched him sleep. She tightened her lips and despite her frustration, she cast what Harry would have demanded, were he awake – a silencing charm. As much as it hurt her to leave her friend like this, she knew that Harry wouldn't want to wake anyone.

Uncharacteristically, Ron noticed her distress and gave her hand a short squeeze. During that night, Hermione dreamt of warm, freckled palm, and woke up with no memory of the sweet dream, only lingering yen sentiment.