~~~~HP~~~~

Sunday 28th September 1997

Well, now what am I going to do? Harry asked himself while sitting on his bed Sunday after breakfast. How did he manage to get himself into these situations?

Since Snape didn't make it home until almost ten o'clock last night, the professor didn't question the texts Harry needed to bring back. In hindsight, Snape had seemed a bit distracted when he'd returned, but Harry hadn't wanted to draw any undesirable attention to his school bag, so he'd let it go as having good luck. Of course, had he been required to show Snape the extra books he needed, then he would have clearly seen he had the wrong one and been able to swap them out. No good could come from having Snape's copy of Secrets of the Darkest Arts by Owle Bullockin his possession, and he had no idea how he'd be able to stealthily return it.

"I know you're in there, Harry," Ron called out to him from the other side of his curtains. The raven-haired wizard jumped when they opened up quickly, Ron having just broken the unspoken rule in their dorm: never open a dormmate's curtains unsuspectingly.

"Cut it out, you twat!" Harry yelled back at him, reaching out to draw the curtains once again, but Ron's grip - from standing compared to Harry's seated position- prevented them from closing.

"I want to know why you're avoiding us."

Harry felt his bed dip and he flipped the illicit book over, but the back depicted a picture of what he could only assume - or possibly hope, given the nature of the book the possibilities were endless - was the Dementor's Kiss. Ron's eyes boggled out of his head, but instead of pointing out the text, he grabbed the three pieces of parchment scattered beside it written in Harry's scribbled writing. ""Did'ja end up getting 'em?"

Relieved to have a change of topic away from his row with Hermione and the book, Harry nodded proudly. "Severus didn't even question me on it either. I'll obviously have to rewrite them… even I can admit I've gotten better with a quill since second year and last year's essays were done using a muggle pen. But that's loads better than starting from scratch, plus I've got the professor's corrections, so it'll be worth it."

"I'm so jealous," Ron said while reading over a Herbology essay from last year, completely ignorant to how stupid it sounded. Never would Harry want to be retaking classes he'd already taken, but in an effort to put his sour mood from yesterday behind him, he didn't pursue correcting his friend. "So why'd you avoid us all day yesterday?"

"I wasn't-" Harry started, stopping at the expression crossing Ron's face."I was at the library most of the day."

"And lunch?" Ron challenged. "You better hope 'Mione doesn't rat you out to Snape for skipping a meal."

Harry gave a sarcastic laugh, "Doubt that it'll happen. Besides, Dobby can vouch that I ate in the kitchens yesterday."

"So then you were avoiding us," the other wizard stated. "And why were you in the library?"

Sometimes Harry loved Ron's chaotic mind. "I wanted to see if I could find anything on jinns and death premonitions, because… well, the whole thing with Khatib the other night."

Ron nodded his understanding. "I remember hearing mum and dad talk about her family after the attack happened because it's not all that common for jinn attacks to be in the British news. Gonna be honest, though, I didn't pay much attention. Kinda wish I did, now. What'd you find?"

"Not much really. And what I did read, I didn't exactly understand," Harry admitted. Unconsciously, he reached up and touched his scar on his forehead. It had been getting lighter since Voldemort's death, a visual reminder of the dark wizard's permanent death this time. "Do you think she could see these premonitions before the attack? Or because of it?"

Ron - completely oblivious to how torn Harry felt about the first year Slytherin, not sure if he wanted to help her or stay as far away as he could - simply frowned and shrugged. Unfortunately, Harry knew too well what it was like to have the whole school fear you; thinking you'll go ballistic one night and kill them all, or in his case only the muggleborns as the Heir of Slytherin. Deep down he wanted to do what he could to help her, but he couldn't deny that at the same time, she scared him too. He didn't want to know even a possibility of when or how he'd die.

"Is that why you have this?" Ron asked, picking up the Dark Arts book before Harry could stop him. His green eyes narrowed as he saw a slip of parchment fall from the pages and flutter slowly to his bed. "This is some serious stuff, Harry. You could get expelled for having it and thrown in Azkaban if you use it."

"Erm…" Harry stalled, picking up the folded parchment and reading it over. It looked like some kind of order form dated at the end of June, but that was all Harry could really understand. There was a shipping location he didn't recognize and a destination in Northern Britain, then a list of items ranging from plants and phials to ink and parchment. His eyes stopped scanning when they reached something called a Guigne de la Côte, buried in the middle of the long document. For reasons he couldn't figure out, Harry's stomach churned as if he'd just finished an awful round of chemotherapy. Snape had been storing this inside the book - not just any book, one about the darkest of arts - and he didn't want to even start thinking as to why. Suddenly, getting the text back to Spinner's End without Snape noticing was the least of his worries.

A small knock on their door caused all the blood to drain from Harry's face. He quickly grabbed the book out Ron's hands, shoving it, the order form, and his old essays into his school bag as fast as possible. They'd all been safely stored a split second before the door opened and Hermione walked in.

"I was hoping I'd find you here," she said, sadness laced in her voice. For the second time, Harry felt his bed dip, relieved to have hidden his books and old essays; Hermione would almost be worse than Snape over this. "Can we talk?"

Uncomfortable with what would be coming, Harry looked at his watch and said, "I have detention with Snape." Her glare told him she knew he stretched the truth. "Fine," he admitted, "I have twenty minutes before I'm actually late for the detention."

"I'm sorry for what I said yesterday," Hermione told him, and Harry finally understood why Snape hated when he apologized for every little thing. Of course, what Hermione said hadn't been little, by any means, but after Remus's apology yesterday, he was tired of hearing them.

"So you're the reason why he's ignoring us," Ron teased, "should've known."

A death glare rivaling Snape's left Hermione's face directed at Ron and Harry couldn't help smiling.

"It's fine, Hermione," he told her, prepared to let things go between them. If one good thing came from his Leukemia diagnosis, it was how to know what was worth holding a grudge over and when to give forgiveness. This last month surrounded by his friends had been one of the best since the Triwizard Tournament and he wasn't willing to let his own stubbornness continue to taint it. "I know from your side of things, it looks weird, but trust me, things between me and Severus are good."

"I know that," Hermione explained, "it's just… There's been a lot of talk since the wedding, and I've ignored most of it because you're so happy, but then Draco said-"

"Well there's your problem," Harry interrupted, without any malice in his voice, "Draco doesn't know what he's talking about either. Trust me, Hermione, no one else matters. Let the good just be good for once."

"I guess..."

Harry knew she wasn't convinced and outside of Harry telling her about Snape's old world, she probably never would be. She would let it go, though, for the same reason he would forgive her: their friendship meant more than either of their individual needs to be right.

"I really have to go now, otherwise Severus will have a fit over me being late." He stood and slung his school bag over his shoulder.

"Whatever he has you doing today," Ron exclaimed with a chuckle, "just keep thinking about how good it felt to deck Ackerly."

Predictably, the comment earned Ron a swat across his arm and Harry once again laughed, happy to have everything between them settled. If only he could find a solution as easily for the Dark Arts book in his possession.

Harry knocked tentatively on the Defense classroom door, assuming he'd be meeting Snape here to serve his detention rather than in their quarters. When classes first resumed, he had questioned how things would fall between them - managing their parent/child relationship alongside the teacher/student one - but he really hadn't needed to worry. Obviously Snape had already been familiar with this terrain from his old reality, and all Harry had to do was follow his lead. Where he expected to feel suffocated, having never had someone watching out for him, he felt oddly at peace with it. Keeping the separation between their two roles, Harry naturally assumed this would be a teacher detention to be served in the classroom.

The strict sounding, "come in," from the other side of the door instantly put all of Harry's confidence aside and in its place sat dread. Those two words had been his old Professor Snape tone and one Harry not only hadn't expected to hear, but had hoped to never hear again.

"Sir?" Harry questionably asked as he gently pushed the door open. Snape, dressed in his typical black teaching robes, sat at his desk marking what looked like an endless number of essays. His face had the old Snape anger to it, making Harry want to turn around and go straight back to the Tower.

When Snape recognized who had opened the classroom door, his face relaxed and in his normal - or new normal, bringing Harry back to yesterday's conversation with Hermione - voice he asked, "Harry? What are you doing here?"

"Erm," Harry toed the floor beneath his feet, briefly considering lying to get out of the detention; clearly the professor had forgotten, "I'm here for my detention, sir. Is everything alright?"

"Yes," with a wave of Snape's wand, the essays vanished - most likely to his office at the back of the room - and he motioned to the desk near his own, "I'm expecting a student a little later for a meeting and it slipped my mind. I'll get you started on your detention first."

Hesitantly, Harry closed the door behind him and slowly made his way towards his mentor. The book and form in his bag made it feel kilos heavier, knowing it couldn't actually be true.

"You'll be doing lines today," Snape told him. The simple phrase brought him back to Umbridge's office. It had been the last time he'd done lines for a detention, and though he logically knew Snape wouldn't have him use a blood quill - he shivered thinking about the blood failing to stop flowing through the cuts - he trembled a bit as he sat at his desk, almost preferring to scrub cauldrons. Noticing the Gryffindor's discomfort, Snape stood, walked over to the other side of his desk and sat on the edge in a position Harry rarely saw the man.

"We haven't had much time to talk these last couple of weeks," Snape started. "I know I've been pulled away in many different directions so far this year and I feel as if I've not been as available as you may need."

"No," Harry automatically countered, "you've had a lot of things going on… with the Slytherins, and the Death Eater stuff in the papers, and your lab work..."

"Regardless, you are still my first priority and I should be checking in more often," he watched Harry so closely, the young wizard half expected to hear Legillimens whispered. "How did things go with Lupin yesterday?"

Unable to hide his surprise at the random question, Harry honestly answered, "It went fine. He… Erm… he asked me to be his Best Man at his wedding in May. I told him yes, but maybe I should have checked with-"

The professor held up his hand to stop Harry's nervous rambling before it got out of control. "You needn't my permission on anything, but specifically a request as such. How do you feel about being his Best Man?"

Harry gave a sad laugh, "Weird, if I'm honest. I mean, Sirius surely would have been… if he hadn't… if I hadn't…" Harry looked down at the scars on his right hand. That awful year, with that awful woman, he'd never get away from.

"You didn't kill him, Harry," Snape confidently said. "And most importantly, Lupin doesn't blame you. If he did, do you think he'd ask you to step in for such high honor?"

"I 'spose not,'' Harry mumbled, still looking down at his desk and feeling Snape's eyes almost burning a hole in the top of his head. Desperate to alleviate the awkwardness, or at least shift it from himself to Snape, Harry mischievously asked, "How did your date go last night?"

"I know what you're trying to do," Snape retorted, folding his arms across his chest, "and it's not going to work."

"You can't blame me for trying," Harry smiled. "You didn't even mention it when you came home."

"Then let's talk about it," the conviction in Snape's voice made Harry regret where this conversation could be headed. He should have known better than to play this game with the Head of Slytherin; he would always lose. "How do you feel about me dating one of your nurses?"

Harry sighed, this one would be difficult to get out of.

"She's not exactly my nurse," he countered, resisting the urge to make a crude joke about it, "and actually I did want to talk you about rescheduling-"

"Do not change the subject," Snape cut him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then in a condescending voice, he added, "I should have made myself clearer, how do you feel about my dating a nurse who works for your oncologist and one who may or may not be responsible for giving you your life saving medications?"

"Well, I'm sure you wouldn't date someone who would withhold my medicine because you broke up with her," Harry replied back. "So as long as we can go under that assumption, I'm fine with it."

Visibly exhausted from the conversation, Snape ran his hand down his face, filling Harry with guilt for being difficult during what should have been a normal detention.

"Why do you want to change your chemotherapy?"

Harry almost wanted to forget about the Quidditch trials, if for no other reason than to give the man a break.

"It's stupid," Harry answered, and when Snape didn't respond beyond staring at him, the Gryffindor continued, "Quidditch trials are that weekend. Gryffindor's on Saturday, so I thought I could move chemo to Sunday."

"Because Quidditch is more important than chemotherapy?"

"When you put it like that, no," Harry argued, "but it's only one day. And you wanted to move it back after the Diagon Alley attack, so I don't see how this is any different?"

"The difference," Snape emphasized the last word, "is that over the summer you were injured, a perfectly sound reason to delay. Because you want to see your friends try out for Quidditch is hardly the same."

"I don't need your permission," Harry furrowed his brows, hating the words as they fell from his mouth. Quickly he added, "But I won't do it without you."

"As the one who disapparates you to and from the clinic, I should hope not."

A small knock on the door, and it's subsequent opening, drew both wizards' attention away from their argument. Harry's breath hitched when he saw, standing in the doorway, Hala Khatib. She stood tall in a set of dark robes - oddly formal for a Sunday - hanging off her frame in a way Harry was all too familiar with. She looked between the two of them, unblinking, giving Harry chills at her eeriness.

"Miss Khatib, please come in," Snape called out to her. At first, she didn't budge, just stared off at them almost in a trance. A slight humming rang through the room, and Harry turned back around at Snape and shrugged his shoulders. Snape repeated his request, a little louder this time, "Miss Khatib!"

"I'm here for our meeting, Professor," the eleven year old answered as if she hadn't been standing there watching them for a solid minute and a half. She reminded Harry a little of Luna, but in a less bubbly, more serious kind of way.

"Yes, I know…" the professor sighed, exasperated, "go wait in my office and I'll be right in."

As she walked into the room, heading to the office behind Snape's desk, Harry tried to keep his head down and not watch her. The last thing he wanted was to do to her what everyone did to him coming to Hogwarts as The-Boy-Who-Lived, yet she didn't seem nearly as bothered as he'd been with it all. She walked right past him with her head held high. Turning away quickly, in case her gift required eye contact, like Legilimency, Harry knew right then he really didn't want to get to know her, no matter how much alike their situations may have been.

Unaffected by her presence, Snape pulled out his wand and tapped the chalkboard next to his desk. The phrase I will not fight. I will learn to control my temper appeared. "You are to write these two sentences two hundred times."

He turned - robes billowing in their normal teaching fashion - to follow Hala into the office when Harry pleaded, "Just think about it, will you? It's only one day and would mean a lot to me."

Fully swapped into his teaching persona, the former Death Eater turned in the doorway of his office and said, "Get to work," before slamming the door closed behind him. Things were not looking promising for the Quidditch trials.

~~~~SS~~~~

The last thing Severus wanted to do on Sunday was meet with Hala Khatib about her supposed gift. He stood by his belief that Divinations in all forms was little more than rubbish, and yet he knew his opinion had been swayed largely by the damn prophecy about Voldemort. Back as an eager Death Eater, had he placed as little trust in the art as he did in the present, he never would have brought his findings to Voldemort in the first place. That single moment would forever haunt him as his worst, and in a way his best, decision of his life. One could not appreciate light without dark, good without evil, and happiness without sadness; a truth he knew all too well.

Outside of his meeting with Hala, he also needed to send to a missive to Kingsley with the information regarding the two unknown Death Eaters treated in the Guildford hospital last week, and oversee Harry's first detention from his idiotic fight with Ackerly. He'd already sent off the letter to the head auror - choosing to circumvent Albus refusing to feed the older wizard's theory about Death Eater activity - and tried to focus on marking the stack of essays which had piled up throughout the week. As a student, he never considered how many essays the professors had to mark, all having to be done outside of the classroom. Serves him right for all the complaining he used to do about how easy the professors had it compared to the students. Of course, as far he knew none of the professors had a sick child to care for, a part time position, and the Head of House to a set of students on the verge of an internal rebellion. Come to think of it though, Minerva had to manage having a werewolf for a student. If he were being honest, he could admit to that single situation almost being worse than all of his put together. Almost, but not quite.

By the time Harry knocked on his door ready to start his detention, Severus had already worked himself up to discuss their house situation with Hala, completely forgetting Harry would be there first. Setting it up this way made sense because he could get Harry started on his lines - the best use of detention time for a Sunday - but given Harry's odd mood yesterday, the teen didn't exactly need to be exposed to his "Slytherin Head of House" personality. Picking up on the Gryffindor's wariness, Severus tried to put him at ease before assigning the lines, but based on Harry's responses it hadn't worked as he'd hoped.

Hala's arrival for her meeting with him could not have come at a worse time: Harry pleading to move his next treatment back so he could attend the Gryffindor Quidditch trials. Things had been easy, relatively speaking, and any change in their norm gave the illusion a chance to fall apart. So far since returning to school, Harry complained about going to his last treatment and had asked to move the next one. The precedent agreeing to it could be a dangerous one. And yet, as Harry aptly pointed out, he didn't necessarily need Severus's permission to alter his appointments. Even as the teen's muggle medical proxy, at seventeen he was old enough to have a significant say in his own health decisions. It had been the same argument from the original crossroad in his previous reality, only Harry had been sixteen compared to the wizarding coming of age at seventeen. Hopefully this time, in this situation with this version of Harry, he could reason with the young wizard as to why it wouldn't be a sound decision.

He had come to that conclusion in the extremely short walk from his classroom to his office, and now sat behind his desk with Hala Khatib patiently waiting for him to initiate their long overdue meeting. When she first entered his classroom, he recognized the telltale sign of her premonition visions, including her unseeing stare, slight rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, and a hum coming from so deep inside of her that it couldn't be intentionally made. As any Slytherin would, he wanted to ask what she'd seen, if for no other reason than to try to prevent the inevitability of the event. He wouldn't ask, not only because it would be inappropriate, but because he didn't want to feed the gossip around her; his position as her Head of House required him to alleviate, not add to, the chaos.

The child sitting in the chair across from his desk - peering around at his texts lining his office walls and pictures of various dark creatures - didn't seem at all perturbed to have been called into his office on a Sunday.

"I'm going to keep this brief, Miss Khatib," Severus announced, sitting up regally in his chair with his hands folded together on his desk.

"I should think so," Hala proclaimed, "you already have a lot of things to worry about."

"It seems you've caused quite a commotion among your fellow classmates in a particularly short amount of time," he ignored her pointed statement. "As the damage has already been done, I'd like you to tell me about these supposed visions."

She shifted in her chair, though not in an uncomfortable way.

"You don't believe me, do you?" The first year boldly asked.

Severus's face twitched as he held back his initial reaction - to tell her it's none of her business - and he considered the long term benefits to aligning with her. She'd already come to him earlier this year with concerns over Draco and although from his current position he felt she had little room to worry about others, he did appreciate her loyalty to him.

"I believe in what I can see," he told her, "and what I can physically do on my own accord."

"So do I."

Those three words spoke volumes. Feeling a headache coming on, he rubbed the space between his brows already wanting to go to bed though it wasn't even nearing the lunch hour yet.

"Do they come true?" Uncharacteristically, the question left this mouth before he had a chance to stop it.

"Free will still exists, Professor," she replied, "and as long as that remains, nothing is guaranteed."

Why the bloody hell couldn't she be put in Ravenclaw? Then she'd be Filius's problem.

"In that case," he lectured, "there is no good to come from verbalizing these… visions… and I recommend you keep them to yourself, regardless if they pertain to individuals inside or outside of the school."

"You already said I would," she told him, "in our house meeting last week."

"And I stand by my original statement, Miss Khatib."

"Then why am I here?"

Or perhaps Gryffindor would have been a more appropriate placement?

He stared at her, another anomaly for him to figure out, as if he didn't have enough going on at the moment. The thought - in almost her exact words when they first spoke - chilled him to his core.

"You're here because you are quickly making enemies within your own house and among the other students," he warned. "That needs to be corrected, otherwise it not only reflects negatively on you and the rest of your time at Hogwarts, but of Slytherin as a whole."

"Don't you want to know?" Her almost hollow voice, quiet yet firm, radiated through him. Simultaneously, he finally understood why Harry hated when he answered a question with a question. "What I saw back there? And when you walked in here? Everyone does… until they don't."

The admission of her visions - the very things he wanted to continue to tell himself weren't real - somehow changed the landscape between them in the small office completely. So she had seen Harry's and his own death; not guaranteed by any means, only a possibility.

"No, Miss Khatib," he lied, "I have no desire to know how one will die."

"Interesting," she turned her head inquisitively at him, almost daring him to take the bait she was about to offer. "But what if it could be prevented?"

He couldn't help thinking back to the red potion he had, in hindsight, foolishly taken. Though it had thus far turned out for the better, there wasn't any guarantee it would have, and he couldn't deny the fact that he essentially traded Cedric Diggory's, Charlie Weasley's, Matthew's, and Chester Summerby's life to save Harry's, and those deaths would never leave his conscious. If it hadn't been for his extreme grief, he never would have considered taking it in the first place.

"One should not play with fate." He stood his ground. No matter how much he wanted to hear Harry would die an old man from old age, he didn't trust himself not to do something drastic, if he were told it would be as a young man from Leukemia. In an effort to get control over this conversation, be asked, "Can you control it?"

She gave a hard, teetering on the edge of evil laugh. "If I could control it, don't you think I would have by now?"

"No reason to be crass," he admonished her, then, approaching the topic in another manner as he found himself completely off his normal axis around her, he said "I'd like to understand you and your situation better."

That simple proclamation eased the child and when he asked her to tell him about life in Jordan, she told him she didn't remember much, but she knew her parents had been highly involved in the diabolical sect of Jordan - fairly common, Severus knew, for the region - though she didn't know exactly what they did for their occupation. As a close equivalent to the Dark Arts in Europe, Severus couldn't help wondering if that had been how she ended up in his house. Her two brothers had been four and seven years her senior, making them only nine and twelve when they were killed in the jinn attack. She'd been found by a neighbor the next morning and promptly sent off to live with her maternal grandmother - a witch she'd hardly seen, outside of holidays and other special occasions - who by the sounds of it, couldn't be any different from the home she'd grown up in her first five years of life. Severus breathed a little easier knowing that at least this orphaned child had gone off to live with a wholesome elderly lady who baked tea cakes every Saturday and liked to visit antique shops on Sunday afternoons, as opposed to a family scared of a child with abilities beyond their understanding, and therefore chose to lock said child in a cupboard under the stairs. In fact, though the grandmother could have resented Hala for her family's death, from the sounds of it, she had been exceptionally well cared for; even more so than most of his Slytherins by their own parents.

The conversation became a little more tense when he asked about the history of her premonitions. As far as she knew she always had them, but back then she assumed they were living nightmares. Her family had taken her to healers, but it wasn't until after the attack and her coming to the UK that they suspected premonitions. No one in her family had a history of seer tendencies, and that alone was intriguing to the professor. Typically speaking, these types of "gifts" were inherited, however he suspected at some point long ago they would have had to "pop up" in generations. If nothing else, it solved the long wondered quandary: did she receive the gift from the jinn attack or did she survive because of it? By the end, Severus assumed the latter, not because she foresaw the attack - if that had been so, she would have saved her family - but because the jinn had seen the dark magic inside of her and did not want to touch the child.

The meeting had lasted just over an hour, and more than checking the box that he'd had it with her, the professor felt he better understood his student in a way he should have done back when she'd first been sorted into his house. Based on her demeanor, the meeting had zero impact on her. She'd go back to their Common Room as if nothing had happened. Severus was all set to convince himself to do the same by pulling out the stack of essays to continue marking - knowing Harry wouldn't be close to finishing his lines, and Severus would end up order lunch for the two of them - when he noticed the witch pause at his door, with her hand on the brass knob already half turned ready to leave. He watched her closely for any sign of distress or assistance she may need. After almost a minute of her standing with her back towards him, hand so firmly on the knob her knuckles had turned white, the professor asked, "Miss Khatib, was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

Without turning completely around, she said over her shoulder, "Watch yourself, Professor... a-and don't let him reschedule."

His blood instantly drained from his face, but she'd long left his office by the time his brain caught up to her statement.

~~~~HP~~~~

Tuesday 31st, September 1997

"Harry, wake up," Ron's loud voice, combined with his firm hand on his shoulder shaking him awake, put Harry immediately on alert. He'd come back to the Common Room to rest during what should have been his Transfiguration class, and must have fallen asleep.

The insomnia Harry had fought after being rescued from Malfoy Manor had unfortunately returned in full force. The first couple hours of the nights he spent tossing and turning, listening to the other four boys - realistically, mostly Ron - snoring away, having no problem finding the sleep he wanted to have. Eventually, he'd get angry enough about being unable to fall asleep and would try to pass the time reading through any number of the texts he'd brought back from the library, attempting to sketch, or watching the Marauder's Map; questioning how Draco managed to stealthily maneuver from the Slytherin Common Room - right down the corridor from Snape's quarters - to Hermione's room almost every night.

Unfortunately, none of those activities prevented him from thinking about Snape's Dark Arts book, including whatever the professor was getting into with the paper, or ease him into the sleep his body needed, causing him to see the sunrise each morning. It was Tuesday's sunrise when Harry came to the conclusion he couldn't figure this out on his own and he'd have to ask Hermione, less risk missing a countless number of nights' rest. While his day would be clear, having no double Transfiguration in the afternoon, the Gryffindor witch's schedule would be packed, but he made a plan in his mind to go and ask her about it after class - without the Dark Arts book which could get him expelled… or arrested.

"Sorry," Harry apologized, rubbing his eyes from under his glasses and sitting up from the sofa to find about ten other Gryffindors watching him. His face flushed wondering if he'd said something as he slept.

"You feeling a'right, mate?" His friend asked, and Harry tried to ignore the sympathy in the blue eyes staring back at him.

Releasing a big yawn, Harry stretched and nodded. "Yeah," he lied, "I'm fine. Just waiting for you lot to get back. Where's 'Mione?"

"Library with Parvati," Ron sat down beside him, making Harry a bit uncomfortable. "Snape has us 'getting to know' -" he used air quotes and made his voice sounds condescending as he said it, "- our partner for Defense this year. We duel every other week, and it's like, our entire mark this year… or something like that. Anyways, she's with Parvati."

Jealousy filled Harry up faster than he could hide it. His third year Defense class would be starting their semi-private - fully private in his case, per Snape's explicit instructions - lessons on Boggarts next month, which didn't sound nearly as exciting as dueling twice a month. He'd get there, or so he kept telling himself, nevertheless each day it became harder to let the injustice of his situation go, especially when faced with the daily reminder of what he should be doing instead.

"Wanna come with me to the library?" Harry changed the subject. He gave his body a long stretch, working out his aching muscles and bones from his impromptu nap.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Ron stood alongside Harry, grabbing for his elbow before the raven-haired wizard sharply pulled it away. "You look exhausted."

"I just didn't sleep very well last night," Harry admitted, hoping if he gave his friend a little consolation, he'd be left alone.

Aggressively grabbing his school bag from near his feet, where he always kept the Dark Arts book - having learned the hard way not to trust leaving anything of this value in the dorm after Riddle's Diary - Harry made his way out of the portrait hole and towards the library. Ron's heavy footsteps shuffled up from behind him in almost no time at all.

"Maybe you should go to Madam Pomfrey?" Ron called out, this time succeeding in pulling Harry around by his shoulder. "This is the third or fourth time you've fallen asleep in three days. I'll be honest with you, the last time I saw you this tired was at the end of fifth year, right before… y'know?"

Clenching his teeth so hard he thought he might break one, Harry yanked his shoulder out of Ron's grasp, "The difference is, back then I slept and still woke up tired. I've had a lot on my mind and was up most of the night... that's it, I promise.

"Look, I don't wanna fight, so can you trust me to know what's going on with my own body?" When Ron still didn't say anything, Harry rolled his eyes and added, "if I don't get any sleep tonight, I'll talk to Madam Pomfrey in the morning, better?"

It took a second - why, Harry hadn't the slightest clue - before the other wizard softly replied, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Good," Harry tried to hide his surprise over his friend's answer, "are you coming with me to the library or not?"

Again, Ron hesitated just enough for Harry to recognize something wrong, "No, I have Quidditch practice. I actually woke you up to see if you wanted to come watch."

As much as Harry wanted to go to the pitch, giving him another excuse to delay asking Hermione about the parchment, the rain drizzling outside told him it would be a bad idea. Once the damp cold weather got into his body, he'd never be able to get it out and warm up.

"I really need to talk to Hermione about something," he declined the offer, "I'll see you at dinner though, ok?"

Harry didn't wait for Ron's response, continuing down the stairs, heading straight to the library, already knowing exactly where he'd find Hermione there.

Having spent more time voluntarily in the library in the first month of school than any others, Harry noticed Madam Pince keeping a very close watch over him, and he couldn't exactly blame her. With Hermione being an integral part of the trio, the room filled to the brim of ancient texts always seemed to be the core of whatever trouble they were bound to get into. Therefore, her swooping nature and overly stern, untrusting glances towards him - regardless that year's visits being more studious than mischievous - didn't come as a surprise to him. Over the years, Hermione had even become a point of suspicion for the librarian, meaning Harry never realistically stood a chance and long since stopped trying to earn her respect.

Of course, just because he wanted to come and go from the room with as little attention to himself as possible from the matron didn't mean it happened. Giving a wave to Madam Pince - one that went either unnoticed or unacknowledged - on his way to Hermione's normal studying spot at a long table in the section on Wizarding History of the 1400's, he crossed paths with Parvati.

"Hey Parvati," he turned and called out to his fellow Gryffindor as she passed by him a little too loudly, earning him a shhh followed by a warning stare from the strict librarian.

Sheepishly ducking his head, Harry walked closer to the young witch and whispered, "I thought you were studying with Hermione. Is she here?"

"She's still back there," Parvati said with a small smirk on her face and a giggle Harry didn't want to try to interpret. "I'd make a bit of noise on your way over though, wouldn't want you to startle her."

It didn't take Harry long to find out what Parvati had been talking about. He rounded the corner of the history section, allowing his muscle memory to bring him to the right place as he simultaneously pulled out the parchment to show Hermione, and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his friend arm in arm - albeit studying a book between them - and whispering with Draco. Having already gotten their attention and being too close to turn around without appearing foolish, he steeled his Gryffindor bravery and approached the pair.

"Hey, 'Mione," he said, his eyes shifting periodically over to Draco who didn't appear nearly as awkward about the encounter as Harry felt, "can I get your help on something?"

He held out the parchment to her, which she took as she stood and they walked away from her boyfriend for some privacy; a move Harry felt thankful for.

"Is this for one of your classes?" She asked him in an accusatory manner Harry would have scoffed had he not been trying to keep his head about him between the Dark Arts book and Draco only two meters beside them. Her brown eyes shifted over the document and her brows lowered the further down she read.

"Erm," Harry stalled, "not exactly… do you know what any of that stuff is on it?"

"It kind of looks like a shipping list I've seen my parents get when they reorder supplies for the office," she didn't sound nearly as confident as he'd hoped, "but there's something odd about it."

"It's for exporting goods," Draco's sudden presence almost made Harry pull his wand, unsure what he'd actually accomplish with it though. The Slytherin stood stoically near Hermione peeking over her shoulder. Harry should have been fuming angry, however the information was the surest answer he'd gotten in the last three days. "My father… has things like these all around his office."

Wetting his lips, wondering if the other wizard was presenting an olive branch or a favor, Harry shifted his bag to his other shoulder and decided to take a risk by asking, "What'd you mean by exporting?"

"Moving products across another country's border," the Malfoy heir explained. "Whatever was in this shipment went from Thisted, Denmark on its way to Durham-" he pointed out the addresses on the top of the document, then to the lines in the middle, "- and here is where the shipper declares what is moving from one country to the next."

"If it's magical though," Harry questioned out loud, "then why can't they just apparate it there?"

Draco gave his head a small shake, "Each governing body needs to know what's coming in and out of their land. How else do you think they'll make sure no one is bringing an illegal dragon egg from, say… Romania?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and smiled.

"Personally, I think it's more as a way to increase revenue," Draco continued as if this wasn't more than either of them had said to each other since their imprisonment, "some of the items on here will see a hefty tax because we can get them locally. Like the ink… seems stupid to pay these prices when you can pop over to Diagon Alley for a fraction of the cost."

"Then why do it?" Harry asked the next logical question, forgetting for a moment who he had been talking to.

It seemed to peak Draco's interest. His grey eyes lit up and he silently gestured to take hold of the document; Harry gave a small nod.

"To hide something a little more risky to import, of course," Draco scanned the document, flipping it over to inspect the backside - which Harry hadn't even thought to look at - and then back to the front. The Gryffindor knew the other wizard had found something when he frowned.

"This," said Hermione in the same voice she used when trying to figure out why she didn't instantly have an answer. Her finger pointed to Guigne de la Côte buried in the middle of the lines, "it's the only one I'm not remotely familiar with… everything else I can figure out, but not this one." Turning to Draco she asked, "Do you know?"

The blonde's grey eyes didn't leave the document when he asked Harry, "Where did you say you found this?"

"I didn't," Harry retorted, too quickly not to sound guilty over the situation. Thinking fast, he added, "it was sitting at my Potions bench."

Draco didn't believe him, Harry knew that much immediately, but the other teen didn't call him out on it. Instead, he finally looked up, glancing quickly between Harry and Hermione - the latter still unsuspectingly scanning the document for any small clue in an effort to solve the puzzle she wouldn't be able to start putting together - then raised his eyebrows and gave his head another small shake.

"I haven't any idea," Draco lied. "It doesn't translate to anything." A secret between them, and possibly, a promise towards reconciliation.

~~~~SS

It took until Wednesday for Severus to hear back from Kingsley about the two unknown Death Eaters in muggle Surrey. Severus was in his Defense classroom office, catching up on some planning in the small break before the start of the third year class - Harry's class - when the missive arrived for him.

Severus,

I found something of interest regarding your inquiry. I'll stop by this evening to discuss further.

-K.S

He appreciated Kingsley's ability to be straight and to the point; exactly as Severus preferred and for some unearthly reason a trait Albus could not begin to comprehend. The professor certainly had enough problems to sort through and with any luck, Kingsley would give him news and this could be something easily passed on to the DMLE and therefore off his conscience.

Severus closed his eyes, rubbing his hands uncharacteristically over them thinking of his latest conundrum this week: Harry. No matter how much Severus tried to explain away the young wizard's attitude, there was definitely something going on with him. He'd been distracted - more so than usual - going as far as keeping to himself at mealtimes and between classes. Preemptively, Severus reached out to the Gryffindor's other professors to see if they'd noticed anything in the last two days, however none of them had noticed any changes.

"Professor Snape?" He heard his name a split second ahead of the knock on his door. Lifting his head, a small expression of surprise fell through his usual indifference to see Ron Weasley, of all people, standing in his doorway. The Gryffindor's cheeks were pink, giving away either his rush to get to the office during their break between classes or his embarrassment - or quite possibly fear - of interrupting the professor's time.

"I'm sure you know by now, Mr Weasley," he said in a bored overtone, "your class is not until after the lunch hour."

"Huh?" The red-head not so eloquently said, his brows knitting so low he almost had his eyes closed. Shifting his weight nervously, he replied, "Oh, it's not that, Professor..."

The pause to follow the young wizard's declaration frustrated Severus. Thinking through what the teen could possibly want, he took another guess, "If you're trying to ask to switch your Defense partner, I commend your… bravery… however you'll have to find a way to work more effectively with Mr Longbottom. Dare I say, there has to be a reason he ended up in the House of Lions, I suggest you find it."

Ron gave a small chuckle. They both knew his words were just that: words, without the same vile scathing they used to carry against the dark-haired boy who could have easily been the subject of the prophecy instead of Harry. It helped that Severus was no longer responsible for the safety of a classroom of students using volatile ingredients on a daily basis, however the most significant change in his view on the other teen came from Neville's willingness to help Harry; specifically when it continued to put him in the line of fire with his Boggart - tutoring Harry in Severus's quarters and then waking the professor to come to aid of his friend. In fact, Severus wouldn't be at all surprised if the boy's Boggart no longer resembled the professor.

"No, sir," Ron said, taking a step into the room. Severus tapped his wand at the end of his desk and the chair swung out for the Gryffindor. Obediently, he sat, but peered back at the door. Picking up the reason for his hesitation, Severus waved his wand and the door slowly closed.

"It's… Erm… it's Harry, sir."

Ron looked down at his hands placed neatly on his lap and Severus could appreciate how difficult it had to be for the Gryffindor to approach him about his friend.

Not wanting to read more into the situation, Severus asked, "What seems to be the problem?"

"He's… he's not sleeping, sir," Ron finally told him, this time without a hint of hesitation. The former spy could see the conflict in the young wizard's eyes over the idea of going to a professor over something that normally wouldn't be noticed between a set of seventeen year old boys. "Or at least, he's not sleeping at night."

"During the day then?"

Ron nodded his head, "Between classes, I think. I've asked around the Tower and the consensus is he's been sleeping on and off in the Common Room. I tried to tell him to see Madam Pomfrey, but he refused."

The conversation the professor had with Harry's two friends prior to the start of school came rushing back to him. Harry wouldn't go to the medi-witch for help; he'd think he didn't need it or he knew she'd give him the muggle sleeping tablets he still refused to take, most likely both. Taking a second - or forty-five - to think about how best to handle the situation, Severus slowly released the breath he'd been holding.

"Thank you, Ron," he told the nervous Gryffindor, using his given name as a way to differentiate the situation as personal as opposed to a student-teacher issue, "I'll handle it from here."

"You won't tell 'im I said something, will you?"

"You have my utmost discretion on the topic," he replied, but the confused face coming from across the table made him clarify, "No, I won't tell him you approached me."

To say he wasn't disappointed in Harry's lack of responsibility would be an understatement. They'd discussed his need to speak up when things changed, and sleeping habits were definitely covered. As he watched Harry's best friend leave, surely heading to his own class, Severus considered all the ways to go about confronting Harry. The most obvious - observing the child on his own - he could do right then in class, and again during the young wizard's second detention later in the evening, but confronting him about it would not go well.

When the third years, plus Harry, arrived, he started in on his lecture introducing Grindylows. Distracted, Severus could say it was far from his best lesson in any course he'd ever taught, barring his first two years teaching. He still cringed when he thought back on those early years, proof of Albus's inability to select professors with his pupils' best interest in mind. Severus had been planted in his post as Potions Master for the specific purpose of being able to spy for Voldemort, and in doing so, spy for Dumbledore. He had truly lived a double life - triple if he counted the reality change - and was more than ready to settle down away from it all.

For what it was worth, Harry didn't necessarily appear any different than he had in any previous class, nevertheless he knew how well the Gryffindor could hide his own discomfort. After all he'd been carving his hand for Merlin knew how long without anyone the wiser to it.

Still, when the bell rang, he called out, "Mr Potter, please stay behind."

As expected, the juvenile thirteen year olds all snickered at Harry's supposed reprimanding; Ackerly going as far as to kick the back of Harry's chair.

"Five points from Ravenclaw, Mr Ackerly," Severus said from the front of the classroom, barely even lifting his head. "And if you think I don't see every single movement in my classroom, you're going to be highly disappointed."

Though true that he could see everything going on, he certainly couldn't hear every corner of the room, so he missed whatever the Ravenclaw leaned in to whisper into Harry's ear before taking off out the door. Whatever it had been, it had left Harry visibly fuming.

"What did he say to you?" Severus asked once the two wizards were alone and Harry had moved up to the front of the classroom.

"S'not important," the young wizard mumbled, flopping down into an empty desk, "I can handle him."

Severus raised his brows, "Without fighting?"

"Yes," Harry replied back. "Was there something you needed?"

"I'd like to have dinner tonight," Severus offered.

Harry laughed, "I like to have dinner too, it's one of my favorite meals, actually."

"You know what I meant," the professor exclaimed, shaking his head exasperatedly.

"What about my detention?"

"You'll be doing more lines, but from the comfort of my sitting room this time," Severus waited, refusing to fill in the deafening silence.

"Fine," Harry conceded, his arms tightly wrapped around his chest wanting to defy the request, "I'll meet you in our quarters by dinnertime."

Once the door to his classroom had shut behind Harry, Severus relaxed his body and decided to take lunch in his office instead of the Great Hall in an effort to give Harry a bit of space. Unfortunately for Severus, the rest of his day would only get more challenging from here.

Much to Severus's delight, Harry actually showed for dinner on time. However, unlike their previous mid-week meals, the young wizard spent most of the meal - a chicken and broccoli pasta bake with a caesar salad - quietly pushing the food around on his plate. With each rotation of the broccoli around the white ceramic plate, Severus's agitation with the teen grew.

"Care to tell me what's going on?" Severus finally broke the heavy silence as they finished up dinner. His voice cracked at the third word, and so he cleared his throat to add, "I can tell there's something bothering you, so there's no use in saying 'nothing'."

Watching the Gryffindor cautiously for any sign of him breaking down, Severus saw his jaw clench tight; a move the Slytherin had done a countless number of times when someone asked him questions he felt uncomfortable answering.

"You're not sleeping," Severus said as a statement, knowing Harry wouldn't answer the question honestly.

"I'm fine." The fork in Harry's hand crashed down onto his plate demonstrating just how 'not fine' he was inside.

"Harry!" Severus sternly spoke, "you will respect me and our home. Understood?" A face filled with defiance stared back at him. "Now, tell me why you're not sleeping and why you haven't come to me, Minerva, or Madam Pomfrey?"

"Because I'm fine," he pleaded again. "I don't see why my sleeping habits are all of sudden so interesting to everyone."

"If something has changed in your body-"

"I'm not sick, alright," Harry finally looked up at him and Severus could see the truth in his eyes.

"Then what is it? Tell me what's going on."

Giving his school bag at his feet a glance, he aggressively said, "I've had a lot on my mind lately. And sure, maybe it's made it difficult to… sleep at night, but it'll go away."

"Your body needs proper rest, Harry-"

"I think I know what my bloody body needs more than anybody else!" The Gryffindor stood from his chair so quickly it fell backwards with a bang. "Why can't everyone just leave me alone?!"

Without another sound, Harry stormed from the kitchen, towards his bedroom, Severus following directly behind him.

"Harry James Potter, don't you dare walk away from me when I'm talking to you," his dark voice threatened across the small corridor.

"Or you'll what?" Harry challenged, walking straight up to him. "I don't have to stay here! And I certainly don't have to answer to you!"

The words cut through Severus like a knife, not because they came seemingly out of nowhere, but because they were completely true. If Harry wanted, he could walk away and never look back. They'd come so far in the last year, he wanted to know what triggered this reaction. Is this what really kept the young wizard up at night? Trying to find a way to walk away? No, logically it made no sense.

However, before Severus could get a chance to ask the child standing in front of him, his floo roared to life and Kingsley stood in his sitting room.

"Is this a bad time?" The head auror awkwardly asked, clearly picking up on the heavy, static atmosphere in the room.

"Not at all," Harry answered, pushing his way past Severus towards the door, "I was just leaving."

"You have a detention to serve, Mr Potter," Severus rationally said. "In the sitting room, now."

Unmoving, Harry curtly answered, "Do you think it's appropriate, sir?"

He pondered Harry's ridiculous question. If the Gryffindor were any other student, it absolutely wouldn't be appropriate. But this was Harry; the child - practically his child - who he'd stayed up with until dawn while he vomited, who he'd travelled Merlin knew where - or how - to save, and who had taken the Killing Curse meant for him. They were so far beyond this conversation, and yet here they were having it, in front of Kingsley, no less.

"Two hundred lines." Severus said, guiding Harry by his shoulders to the desk along the left wall in the Sitting Room where parchment and ink sat, and Harry pulled away then sat down.

"What should I write, sir?"

There were so many phrases he wanted to make the child write, respecting one's elders at the top of the list. Instead, he watched Harry's body tremble and decided to go another route entirely.

"I want you to write every single thing on your mind," he calmly told the young wizard.

"What kind of punishment is that?"

"One that will help you see how dangerous your actions are," the professor pointed to the parchment. "I will not be reading them, but I expect to see two hundred lines of writing prior to its incineration. If every single one of those lines reads I hate Severus Snape -" he raised his hands in defeat, "-then so be it."

There was no doubt this crossed a line, but he hoped the risk outweighed the reward and Harry would feel better at the end of the exercise.

"Kingsley and I have a private matter to discuss," he continued, pointing to the door across from the Sitting Room, "and we'll be in my office for the time being. If you should finish before us, please go wait in your bedroom."

To his credit, Harry didn't put up a fight. And if Severus were honest, he didn't know what he'd do if the Gryffindor had.

"Rough start to the year?" Kingsley commented the second the door closed behind the pair of wizards.

"Actually, no, this is a new development," Severus told him, resisting the urge to pour a glass of Firewhiskey. He sat down on the far side of his desk, trying to ground himself to prepare for this conversation. The two pseudo-colleagues sat in silence, Severus questioning how he ended up voluntarily meeting alone with the auror, how far he'd come in such a short time. Having no desire to make this a casual call, he said, "But you had news for me?"

"I can confirm the liaison office was notified that two persons with a magical signature were treated at the Guildford hospital on the 17th."

"How did two Death Eaters end up at a muggle hospital?"

"They were unconscious when brought in"

"And are they now under the welcomed watch of the Dementors in Azkaban?"

"Unfortunately, no," Kingsley regrettably told him, "they left - or should I say, disappeared - before we got there to transfer."

There were at least a dozen questions the former spy had: who were these two Death Eaters, how did they get away without the muggle or magical law enforcement getting to them, but most importantly, why had they ended up there in the first place? The latter, he asked Kingsley already knowing the answer, it would take time to get the right paperwork in order to legally have access to those records. Had he'd been the one responsible for getting the information - and a part of him didn't completely discount the option - he'd use the Imperius curse without thinking twice.

"I know you maintain your stance on the Death Eaters," Kingsley started, "but is it possible you and Lucius are no longer in a position to provide accurate information?"

Useless. The other wizard might as well have called Severus useless. Images from this reality of him goading Sirius over the same situation flooded his mind.

"Possible? Absolutely," he admitted, "probable even, but we have the unique position to know how these people think and that's an aspect no one on your team can-"

He wanted to continue to defend his position and his belief that these events were not caused by Death Eaters. Or at least state that if they were caused by them, they were doing a bloody awful job at it and at some point they would be sure to fail. Unfortunately, he never got the chance because all the lanterns in his office - and presumably the rest of his quarters - turned a bright red and a caterwauling sound shook the walls around him, both signals of grave danger in the Slytherin Dungeons.