When Snape at last seemed satisfied that Black hadn’t managed to get in and stab Harry, he was promptly escorted out of his dormitory by both of the professors. Harry was far too scared of Professor McGonagall’s gaunt, pinched face and Snape’s livid expression to dare ask too many questions about what was happening as he was hurried out of the portrait hole. Harry caught a sight of the slashed, torn canvas and cringed. He hoped the Fat Lady was alright…

Within a minute, Harry joined the tail end of a long line of Gryffindors, who were being led back to the Great Hall by the Prefects. Professor McGonagall stayed within arms reach of Harry, while Snape broke away as soon as Harry was in the others, lips pressed into a thin white line, visibly shaking with anger. His wand was clenched so tightly in his fist that Harry thought it would surely snap clean in two. He wasn’t sure if it was because Snape was furious with him or furious about Black’s break-in, but either way, he didn’t like seeing the man so angry…

When Harry entered the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione both pounced on him immediately and dragged Harry into a corner. Hermione was on the verge of tears.

“We were so worried!” she gasped, squeezing Harry’s hand in a vice grip. “When we came up and found the portrait, and Peeves said it was Black, and we remembered you were s-still inside -”

“I’m fine, Hermione,” Harry said quickly. “Honest. I didn’t even know he was out there.”

“I’ve never seen Snape that angry,” Ron said in a low voice. “As soon as he got up there with the rest of the teachers and didn’t see you with us, he dragged Hermione and me around the corner and started interrogating us two about where you’d been. He noticed you weren’t at the feast.”

“It was awful,” Hermione whispered. “W-We told him you were in the tower still, and his face went all white, and he practically blasted through into Gryffindor Tower with Professor McGonagall…”

“We really thought Black got you, mate,” Ron said, staring at Harry with wide, worried eyes.

Confused-looking students from the other houses gradually began to filter in through the Great Hall doors to join the Gryffindors, while the Gryffindors filled them in.

“So… did you hear anything at all?” Ron asked hesitantly.

“I think so,” Harry said with a wince. “I, er - I was kind of distracted, but I thought I heard a woman screaming faintly. By the time I decided I should check it out, it stopped. I’m guessing it was the Fat Lady.”

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said, pressing a hand to her mouth. “What if he’d broken in?”

“He didn’t, though,” Harry said, trying his best to be reassuring for the sake of his friends. They both looked incredibly shaken, so Harry thought he ought to put aside his own feelings for their sake. They looked just as shocked as Harry felt. He couldn’t believe that there had only been a portrait standing between him and Black…

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick shut all the doors to the Great Hall with a resounding thud, while Dumbledore drew the attention of all the chattering students, commanding them into silence. 

“The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle,” Dumbledore said gravely. The usual twinkle in his eye was gone. “I’m afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the Prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the Hall, and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately,” he added to Percy, “Send word with one of the ghosts.” 

Professor Dumbledore waved his wand, and the long house tables flew to the sides of the Hall. The empty floor space was crammed with hundreds of purple sleeping bags moments later. Dumbledore retreated to the main doors and said, “Sleep well.” 

Harry, to the contrary, did not think he was going to be sleeping very much at all that night. He, Ron and Hermione hurried into a corner with their sleeping bags, all whispering to each other about how Black could have gotten in and if he might still be in the castle, all while Percy prowled about, telling off people for talking. Harry rather thought he was fighting a losing battle; when one area of the hall was shushed into silence, another would instantly burst into hissed conversation while his back was turned. 

Many people had fallen asleep by around three in the morning, but Harry was still lying half-awake when Dumbledore returned to the Great Hall. Harry pretended to be sleeping as he whispered to Percy, confirming that Black hadn’t been found anywhere in the castle. Moments later, the Great Hall doors swung open, and more footsteps shuffled inside. Harry tensed as he recognised the low rumble of Snape’s voice join the discussion. 

“You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before the start of term?” Snape said very softly.

“I do, Severus,” Dumbledore said. There was a clear and obvious note of warning in his voice.

“It seems almost impossible that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed -”

“I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it,” Dumbledore said firmly. Still, Snape was undeterred. 

“Nothing but a portrait stood between them,” he hissed, his voice growing terse. Harry dared to slit his eyes open to get a better look at the quickly escalating argument. Dumbledore’s back was to Harry, but he could clearly see Snape’s hunched, angry profile as he stood barely an inch from the Headmaster. The whites of his eyes almost glowed from the light of the ghosts. “When I think of what could have happened -”

“And nothing did happen, Severus,” Dumbledore said softly. “We were lucky, I admit, but do not let your emotions paralyse you.”

“That luck will not hold out,” Snape growled. “I want more precautions. No, I demand them.”

“I am in complete agreement about that, but this can all be discussed in the morning,” Dumbledore said, sweeping out of Harry’s eyeline. “Now, I must go down to the Dementors. I said I would inform them when our search was complete.”

“Didn’t they want to help, sir?” Percy asked. Snape scowled at him, and he shrank away.

“Oh yes,” Dumbledore said icily. “But I’m afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am Headmaster.”

He walked from the hall without another word, his footsteps gradually fading. An abashed-looking Percy left Snape to do another circuit of the Great Hall. Harry kept watching through his eyelashes, expecting Snape to move away, but he didn’t. He stood vigil next to Harry’s sleeping bag, staring directly at Harry, face too darkened by shadow to read. Harry watched back through his eyelashes, pretending to be asleep and waiting to see when Snape would go, until his half-open eyes drooped down enough to the point where he finally drifted off.

When they were all woken up by the teachers the next morning for breakfast, Harry felt like he’d barely slept at all. He tuned out the continual chatter about Black, since he had to consciously talk himself through the process of bringing his fork to his mouth to avoid accidentally stabbing himself in the face in his sleep-deprived haze. 

Harry had just finished his struggle to eat like a functional human being when he realised everyone at the table around him had gone silent and were staring at something behind him. Harry turned his head and jolted slightly - Snape was waiting, arms crossed.

“Potter. With me.”

He began to stalk from the Great Hall. Harry shrugged at the confused-looking Ron and Hermione and followed Snape out, filled with the sinking feeling that he had to be in trouble for something. He could think of any number of things; namely, the horrible argument he’d had with the man yesterday. Or Sirius Black. Or, perhaps Harry had done something wrong he hadn’t even considered yet…

His worried loop of thoughts were disrupted as Snape opened the door to his office and settled behind his desk. “Sit,” he ordered. “We have a lot to discuss.”

Harry nervously settled opposite Snape, fidgeting with the fraying hem of his sleeves. 

“You weren’t at the feast.”

Harry winced. That was the trouble, then.

“Why?” Snape was eerily calm. His Occlumency shields were stronger than ever, and Harry shivered.

“An answer, Harry,” he said sharply.

“I didn’t want to go,” he muttered, not meeting Snape’s gaze. 

Snape made an exasperated growling noise. “I am absolutely sick of this Hogsmeade tantrum of yours! You do not get to skip meals because you’re upset about perfectly reasonable restrictions on -”

“It wasn’t about bloody Hogsmeade!” Harry said loudly. “I didn’t want to go because of my parents, okay?!”

Snape’s shoulders sagged. He ran his hands over his face, suddenly looking just as exhausted as Harry felt. He suddenly realised that while he’d slept fitfully, Snape almost certainly hadn’t slept at all. He’d have been up all night, looking for Black.

“You do not miss meals,” Snape said firmly. His tone sounded stern, but the lack of a punishment tacked onto that sentence let Harry know he was getting off lightly. He supposed that the near-death experience had lessened Snape’s anger towards him.

“Do you know how Black got in?” he asked hesitantly.

“If I knew, we’d have found him,” Snape bit out.

Harry didn’t respond, and went back to picking at his sleeve.

“Gryffindor Tower isn’t safe,” Snape said abruptly.

Harry frowned. “But Black didn’t get in.”

“He could have,” Snape growled. “And it’s a miracle that he didn’t. I don’t trust Sir Cadogan with your safety, so the Headmaster and I have come to a new agreement for your safety. You will be moving into my quarters.”

“What?!” Harry shouted. “No way!”

“I don’t recall asking you,” Snape said coolly.

“You’re mad!” he said angrily. “That’s a complete overreaction, he didn’t even get in!”

“But he could have!” Snape hissed.

“Everyone else gets to be in Gryffindor Tower!” Harry shouted. “I don’t want to be the only one who’s got to live with you!” 

“Perhaps, for just a moment, attempt to deflate your ego and actually consider everyone else!” Snape yelled back. “Black is after you, Harry, last night’s attack certainly proved that! If you stay in Gryffindor Tower, Black may attempt to break in again, and you will be putting every single one of your classmates in danger by staying in there. It’s incredibly selfish!”

Harry abruptly felt the rest of his ready protests die on his tongue. His indignance dropped away, and was replaced by a feeling of absolute shame. It burned in his stomach, and Harry bowed his head. Snape was right - he was selfish. He was putting everyone in danger by just being at Hogwarts, really…

“I’ll go get my stuff,” Harry said dully.

A pained expression crossed Snape’s face. He looked almost remorseful, like he was on the verge of saying something, but Harry couldn’t hear it. He felt terrible. Selfish.

“Harry…”

“Won’t you and Draco be in danger if I’m here?” Harry asked softly, dreading the answer.

“Believe me, Black will not get in here,” Snape said. Most of the anger had died from his face, to be replaced with something akin to pity. “Gryffindor Tower is less impenetrable, I fear.”

“I’ll go now,” he said, standing up and turning around. “While there aren’t that many people up from breakfast.”

Harry thought the only thing worse than being forced to move out of Gryffindor Tower would be all of his housemates seeing him go. He hated feeling different. 

Snape sighed. “A house-elf will bring your belongings down when you’ve packed them. Come back afterwards and meet me here.”

Harry fled the office moments later.

Snape probably wasn’t happy about this either. Harry was occupying his space. Sucking up his free time. Saying horrible things to him and still shouting at him that morning, even though Harry had spent all of yesterday feeling terrible for doing so and knew better. What was wrong with Harry? Why did he keep digging himself deeper and deeper into this hole?

He packed quickly. Harry didn’t want to go back down there and face Snape, but he simultaneously didn’t want Ron, Seamus, Dean or Neville to come up from breakfast to find him like this. After casting one last longing look around his dormitory, Harry headed back to the dungeons, taking great care to avoid any Gryffindors who were making their way back up from the Great Hall.

Harry knocked on the office door, feeling strangely reluctant to go through the portrait of the snake for some reason he couldn’t articulate. Snape opened it, looking slightly confused, but wordlessly ushered Harry through the hidden bookshelf entrance to his quarters.

“Your room is opposite Draco’s,” Snape said.

Harry frowned. “There isn’t a room opposite Draco’s.”

“The castle has a way of knowing,” he said vaguely. Harry, who was growing used to the various quirks of Hogwarts by now, didn’t question it further. Snape led the way to Draco’s room, where a new door made of dark wood had indeed appeared across the hall. Snape gestured to the room within.

It was about the same size as Harry’s room in Spinner’s End, but felt slightly larger because he was the only occupant. The whole place was rather bare-bones; a wardrobe, desk, and a four-poster bed with dark green hangings, designed like Harry’s one from Gryffindor Tower. His trunk was at the base of it. Harry thought that something about the room felt strange, but it took him a good few moments to put his finger on it: the window didn’t actually let in actual sunlight, but rather the greenish, wavering light of the lake. Harry thought back to the widespread views available from Gryffindor Tower of the grounds and was hit by another wave of sadness.

“How does this work, then?” Harry asked awkwardly. “Am I locked in here all the time from now on, then?”

Snape scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course not. My only requirements are that you return here after dinner in the evenings, and that you don’t travel the corridors unaccompanied from now on.”

Harry frowned. “How am I meant to get down here, then?”

“Get Granger and Weasley to walk you down before they return to Gryffindor Tower. Perhaps Draco, even.”

Harry thought that there wasn’t exactly much Ron, Hermione or Draco could do when faced with Black, but wisely didn’t mention that to Snape. He’d probably put even more restrictions on him if he put that together…

“You can leave anytime you wish, then,” Snape said, turning his face away. “Draco will presumably accompany you. I heard him return from breakfast a few minutes ago.”

“Oh. Okay.” Harry swallowed hard. Of course, Snape would want to kick him out at the earliest opportunity. After all the problems they’d been having, he definitely didn’t want Harry around, taking up space. “Bye, then.”

He walked past Snape quickly. Draco looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I’m leaving. Come with me?”

“Okay…”

The fact that he was forced to have a minder really irked Harry, but he didn’t dare disobey Snape directly in the man’s view, so he hurried onwards, Draco trailing a little behind. Of course, as soon as he was far enough away from Snape’s office, Harry stopped walking and turned to Draco. “You can leave now.”

Draco frowned. “Severus literally just told me to stay with you -”

“I don’t care,” Harry said tersely. “Go do whatever you want, I’m not going to snitch.”

“No way.” Annoyingly enough, Draco decided to continue to follow Harry as he made his way out of the dungeons. “Look, if Black pops out from behind a suit of armour and knifes you, I will not be held responsible because I wasn’t with you!”

“Can’t you just leave it?” Harry snapped. “I want to be alone!”

“If you want me to, I can show you a private hiding spot I like?” Draco offered. “Because I’m not leaving.”

Harry huffed. “Fine.”

Draco led Harry up the stairs and to the third-floor corridor, where they stopped outside of a large tapestry of a sleeping Welsh Green dragon. Draco lifted up the corner of the tapestry and ducked underneath the heavy fabric. Feeling a small spark of curiosity amongst the irritation, Harry followed through and hauled himself up onto a small ledge that the tapestry hid. He and Draco were crouched next to a large bay window, which overlooked the grounds. The whole place was just big enough for the two of them to sit in if they squeezed.

Harry stared out at the uniformly grey sky, which was currently drizzling onto the grass. It certainly felt like November, he decided. The faint feeling of dreary misery that came with the month seemed to hang over the whole school today. Harry swirled a finger through the condensation on the glass and sighed. Life felt truly flat and dull.

“Merlin's beard, you look depressed," Draco commented.

Harry, unhappy to be dragged from the throes of self-pity, glared at Draco and kicked him in the ankle before staring out of the window again. 

"Be melodramatic if you'd like, but can you at least bother explaining to me why you're living with us now?” Draco asked.

Harry stared at him. "I cannot believe that you, of all people, just called me melodramatic…”

"Was it because Black tried to get you?” Draco asked, refusing to be deterred. “You were in Gryffindor Tower during the break in, weren’t you?”

"Yeah…" Harry sighed and drew his knees into his chest. “You know, I really hate being different - I can’t ever just have a normal year, can I? I don’t want to live in the bloody dungeons!”

“Well, you’re not all that different if you think about it,” Draco said, tilting his head to one side. “I’ve also been stuck in his quarters so my house won’t hex me into oblivion, remember? We’re in this together.”

In a strange way, that actually did make Harry feel marginally better. 

“You know, if Black breaks into the castle again I don’t get how being in the dungeons is going to stop him from stabbing me or something,” Harry pointed out. “He seems to have his ways to get around the castle’s protections.” 

“Oh, he won’t be able to get past Severus,” Draco said firmly.

Harry frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

“Well… Severus was a Death Eater,” Draco said slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He knows how to fight dirty, the same way Black would. He’s more willing to cross some moral lines.”

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. “Can I ask you a stupid question?”

“Sure.”

“Um… what actually is a Death Eater?” Harry asked hesitantly. “I keep hearing you guys mention it but I’m never quite sure what it means.”

A large range of emotions seemed to flurry across Draco’s face, from confusion to disdain. “Oh. Er - you really don’t know?”

Harry scowled. “If I did, would I be asking?”

“Right,” Draco said quickly. “It’s just odd to think - well, never mind. It’s what the Dark Lord’s followers called themselves. They would wear masks and robes, and they had the Dark Mark tattooed onto their left forearm so the Dark Lord could summon them whenever he wanted. That’s why Severus always wears long sleeves, you know. He likes it hidden.”

“Oh.” Harry turned to Draco, a rising feeling of alarm growing in him. “Er - why isn’t he in prison, then? I mean - if he followed Voldemort -”

Draco yelped and flinched away. “Don’t say his name!” 

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to Draco. “So?”

“He turned spy for Dumbledore, and that’s why he didn’t go to Azkaban,” Draco said in a low voice. “Besides, he hasn’t killed you yet, so I’d think it’s safe to presume he’s against the Dark Lord.”

“So - did he ever properly support Voldemort, then?” Harry asked hesitantly. “Before he turned spy? Why would he? Isn’t he a half-blood?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said. He stretched out his legs and stared off thoughtfully. “He tried explaining it all to me once, but I didn’t quite understand the why behind it all - a lot of stuff about power, and his childhood - but anyway, former Death Eater connections aren’t exactly something one brings up in polite conversation, Harry. It’s quite a sensitive topic - Father couldn’t bear to discuss the war with me, and Severus seems to be the same. Ask him yourself if it’s bothering you that much.”

“Yeah.” Harry sighed, shoulders slumping. “I can’t talk to him about anything right now, honestly.”

Draco frowned. “Why not?”

“He’s not happy with me,” Harry muttered. “Didn’t you see the way he basically chucked me out just now?”

Draco’s brows knitted together. “He didn’t kick you out. You asked him if he was going to lock you up in the dungeons, Harry! He obviously assumed you wanted to leave!”

“Oh.” Phrased like that, it seemed a lot more like Harry’s fault. Again. 

“Seriously - what’s so wrong?” Draco asked, nudging his side.

“I ruined everything.” Harry drew his knees close to his chest and sighed mournfully. “I keep getting in huge arguments with Snape! I told him I hated him after the Hogsmeade permission slip thing, and it obviously sort of upset him, and I don’t know what to do to make it better!”

“You could just talk to him, you know,” Draco pointed out. “Tell him you’re sorry - if you are, that is.”

“I am.”

“Then tell him!"

“He won’t forgive me,” Harry mumbled, resting his chin on his knees. “I upset him.”

“Harry, families fight,” Draco said. He shuffled closer, so their shoulders were touching. “They say horrid things to each other, and they apologise, and they move on. He’s not going to chuck you out or something, just talk to him! Imagine how much quicker we could have stopped fighting if I’d actually bothered to sit and listen to you explain. Don’t start that kind of mess with Severus.”

“Okay, then.” Harry took a deep breath to steel himself. “I’ll try and talk to him.”

Unfortunately for Harry, that proved to be a lot more difficult than he’d anticipated. He spent most of the day hiding in the windowsill with Draco and playing Exploding Snap, not feeling the urge to actually go out and talk to anyone. He ate dinner early to avoid the majority of the school and returned to Snape’s quarters, only to find the man had locked himself away in his study.

“Just knock on the door and talk to him, Harry,” Draco urged.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to bother him -”

“You’re not bothering him!” Draco huffed. “Just knock! The worst he can do is ignore you.”

Draco said that like it wouldn’t be a big deal, but Harry vehemently disagreed. He thought that if he knocked on that door only to be ignored, it would break something inside of him that he couldn’t afford to be broken. As weak as it was, Harry couldn’t bear that. He would rather be miserable and leave this all unresolved than accept that things were wrecked forever. So, ignoring the disapproving look from Draco, he withdrew to his new, unfamiliar room and hid.

Still, Harry just couldn’t put the whole mess out of his mind. He stared at his Charms homework without making any progress for hours before realising it was all a lost cause, and spent the whole evening lying on top of the covers and staring at the hangings of his unfamiliar, unwelcoming bed, considering a casual way he could go into Snape’s office and bring up the topic. He came up short, of course. Harry found himself hoping that Snape would come and find him, like he sometimes did, but the man remained in his office until Harry finally gave up and turned the lights out.

He couldn’t sleep, though. Between the strange bed and the mingling feelings of worry and shame, he was tossing and turning for a long time until Harry finally realised that sleep was a lost cause. He couldn’t keep ignoring the issue - Harry had to find out if this could be sorted, or if Snape would never want anything to do with him again. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and practically sprinted to the office door, knocking before he could lose his nerve.

The door swung open, revealing Snape at the desk. He must have opened it wandlessly, as he was currently surrounded by something of a mountain of paperwork. Towers of parchment, covering the desk and much of the floor around it. 

“Harry?” He frowned. “I thought you went to bed hours ago.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He didn’t know what to say, but all of the things he wanted to talk about were locked inside his head and couldn’t be forced out.

“What’s wrong?” Snape had started to look very concerned, so Harry took a deep breath and finally managed to force out speech.

“I - I’m really sorry, sir,” he blurted out. “I’m so sorry.”

Snape gave him a confused look. “Pardon?”

“I keep saying horrible things to you, and I keep shouting, and being selfish, and I’m really sorry,” he said very quickly, hugging himself with his arms. It was very cold in the office. “I’m sorry, and I really don’t want you to be angry with me -”

Snape’s expression softened. “I’m not angry.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said miserably. “I didn’t mean it, I shouldn’t have said it, I upset you and I’ve been completely horrible!”

“Calm yourself, Harry,” Snape said softly. “You’ve been having a difficult time lately. I had assumed that was why you were rather short-tempered with me this last month.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know you are.” Snape sighed and got to his feet. “Maybe this can serve as a lesson for you to think before you speak?”

“I will,” Harry said fervently. “I promise. And I’m -”

“Sorry. You mentioned.” Snape grimaced, deftly sidestepping his stacks of parchment. “It’s really nothing, Harry. I’ve certainly said far worse to you in moments of anger.”

“I still wish I hadn’t said it.” Harry swallowed, hard. “I… I wasn’t handling the stuff with Black well. And then everything's changed again, and I forgot about my parents, and all of Halloween was happening, and Ron and Hermione keep fighting over Scabbers and Crookshanks, and - ugh, just everything!”

"I see.” Snape was looking at Harry with no small amount of confusion, like he wasn't quite sure where to start with any of that rant. Harry knew that none of it made sense to an outsider, but felt a little better for saying it nonetheless. 

"Crookshanks?” Snape said eventually. Something about his baffled expression made Harry laugh, despite the misery he was still wallowing in.

“Hermione’s cat," Harry explained. “He keeps trying to kill Ron’s rat, and they won't stop fighting over it. I - well, it seems stupid to be so annoyed by, considering the whole mass murderer thing…" 

“It's something of a last straw, I would assume," Snape said.

Harry nodded. “Yeah."

By now, the weight pressing on his chest had lightened considerably. 

Snape hesitated, then reached out a hand and briefly squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “Things will go back to normal when he’s captured. I promise you.”

“Okay.” Harry wrapped his arms more tightly around himself as another shiver wracked his body. Snape noticed this, scanned Harry, and frowned.

“When we bought you new clothes, did I get you any slippers?”

Harry’s brows knitted together at the odd question. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ll remedy that,” Snape said. “The dungeons get very cold at night. Bare feet aren’t a good idea.”

“Oh. Er - thanks?”

“Go back to bed, Harry.” He put gentle but firm pressure between Harry’s shoulder blades, ushering him in the direction of his room. “You have lessons tomorrow.”

“Right.” Harry started walking in the direction of his room, feeling a lot lighter than he had before. If Snape was back to nagging him about the cold and school, that meant things were back to normal. It meant all was forgiven.

The news of Harry’s move from Gryffindor Tower seemed to spread across the school like wildfire. Snape had mentioned to him that it wasn’t a good idea to have his new location be widely known for security reasons, but his missing belongings had obviously clued in a lot of the Gryffindors. All of them were peppering Harry with questions about where he was staying, what he knew about Black, and other exhausting queries that left Harry’s head aching by the end of dinner each day.

Ron and Hermione, who were the only friends of Harry’s who knew precisely where he was staying, were equally unimpressed.

“Bad luck, mate!” Ron said sympathetically. “I wouldn’t want to get stuck living with a teacher. He’s going to be on you all the time about homework, I’d bet…”

Harry grimaced. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Maybe you could use that sort of oversight, Harry,” Hermione said sniffily. “I saw you finishing that Astronomy chart before breakfast the other morning!” 

“Er - you guys also need to walk me down to the dungeons after dinner, apparently,” Harry said awkwardly. “Sorry about that -”

“No problem,” Ron said with a shrug. “It’s what, five extra minutes? Besides, we’re never gonna see you now if you have to be down there after dinner!”

Harry sighed mournfully. “Yeah…”

Hermione reached out and squeezed his shoulder, face sympathetic. “Don’t worry, Harry. I’m sure things will all go back to normal as soon as Black is captured.”

“People have been saying that to me for months,” Harry muttered. “No one’s managed to capture him yet…”

“I’m sure they will soon,” Ron said firmly. 

Harry had less faith than his friends did, and found himself fairly certain that he had quite a bit of time in the dungeons ahead of him. Once he settled into the new routine of spending his evenings there, though, Harry found he didn’t actually mind living in Snape’s quarters as much as he’d expected to. It was a lot like Spinner’s End, if Harry had been attending lessons by day.

Contrary to what Ron had believed, Snape was not lingering around constantly, nagging and micromanaging Harry’s every move. He actually spent most of his time in his office, dealing with students and detentions. Later in the evening, he tended to move and mark essays in the living room, or retreat to the locked room in his quarters to brew potions. That meant it was just Harry and Draco the majority of the time. He didn’t make for bad company, especially since the both of them hadn’t ended up in the dungeons by choice - they had a common gripe. Harry was remarkably glad someone else was there with him. Since Snape was so busy with his duties, it could feel very empty in the man’s quarters. He wondered what this had been like for Draco to deal with alone for the last month…

Of course, as November progressed, a noticeable tension grew between Harry and Draco. The first match of the Quidditch season was quickly approaching, and the two of them would be playing against each other. The rivalry between them intensified, as it did for the rest of the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Living in the dungeons became something of an exercise in tactical Slytherin avoidance, since Harry was almost certain that anyone who saw him down there would immediately assume he was stealing team secrets and hex him. He had taken to going to breakfast and returning from dinner under the Invisibility Cloak to avoid any wayward snakes who wanted to try and take out the Gryffindor Seeker in advance of the match.

Competition was also rising between Harry and Draco, although it mostly manifested as lighthearted jabs and jibes. It never developed into anything more, since their conflicting training schedules meant that Harry and Draco barely saw each other as the match drew near. Despite this, Snape had absolutely no patience for what he called their ‘incessant and mind-numbing sports talk’. He’d tried to ban them from discussing Quidditch in his quarters, and when that hadn’t worked, had taken to locking himself in his laboratory or his study for hours at a time. 

“I do wonder how he and Professor McGonagall are even friends,” Harry whispered to Draco. “She’s Quidditch-mad, you know.”

Snape was so focused on avoiding Harry and Draco’s Quidditch obsession that Harry barely saw him at all in the run up to the match, so when he went into Defence Against the Dark Arts and was met with the man in question instead of Professor Lupin, it was quite the shock.

“You’re late, Potter.” Snape scowled at him. “Five points from Gryffindor.”

Harry, who had been waylaid by Oliver Wood on the way to Defence, gulped and quickly sat down next to Ron. Part of him was desperate to ask Snape what on earth he was doing here, but then he caught sight of the man’s tight jaw and narrowed eyes and wisely decided to keep silent. Snape was quite clearly in a foul mood.

“As I was saying, Professor Lupin is ill. He has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far -” 

“Please, sir, we’ve done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas and Grindylows,” Hermione interjected, “and we’re just about to start -” 

“Be quiet,” Snape said icily. “I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin’s lack of organisation.” 

“He’s the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had,” Dean Thomas said defiantly. There was a general murmur of agreement from the rest of the class, including Harry. 

This did not seem to impress Snape, who looked even angrier with every passing minute. “You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly over-taxing you - I would expect first-years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss… werewolves.”

“But, sir,” Hermione began, seemingly unable to restrain herself, “we’re not supposed to do werewolves yet, we’re due to start Hinkypunks -” 

“I did not ask for your input, Miss Granger,” Snape said. His tone was calm, but Harry could tell from his face that he was rapidly approaching the point of losing his temper. “Now, turn to page three hundred and ninety-four.” He glanced around again and glowered. “All of you! Now!”

With a lot of sullen muttering, the class obeyed. Harry didn’t touch his textbook - he stared at Snape instead, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. He couldn’t possibly understand why the man was in such an obvious, terrible mood. Snape, clearly feeling the weight of Harry’s gaze, looked over at him and gave him a truly venomous look. Harry quickly remembered Snape’s warnings in September about respecting him in class and reminded himself to save his questions for later. 

“Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?” Snape asked.

Excluding Hermione’s hand, the class was motionless and silent.

“Anyone?” Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn’t even taught you the basic distinction between -” 

“We told you,” Parvati said irritably, “we haven’t got as far as werewolves yet, we’re still on -” 

“Silence!” Snape snarled. “Well, well, well, I never thought I’d meet a third-year class who wouldn’t even recognise a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are …” 

“Please, sir,” Hermione said, hand still upright, “the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf -” 

“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” Snape said loudly. “Five more points from Gryffindor for not knowing how to hold your tongue!”

Hermione, red-faced, lowered her hand. Every single person in the class was now glaring at Snape, including Harry, who couldn’t understand why on earth the man was intentionally ignoring her.

Ron seemed to be thinking the same lines. He said loudly, “You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?”

Harry immediately cringed as Snape’s face darkened and tightened. It almost looked as though he had lockjaw by the time he made it to Ron.

“Detention, Weasley,” he said softly. “And if I ever hear you criticise the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed.”

The class was silent for the remainder of their lesson. They made their way through the chapter while Snape stalked the room, criticising everything they’d done so far and particularly Lupin’s teaching.

Harry, for his part, couldn’t possibly understand what Snape’s problem was. Sure, the man had been in an awful mood for days, but Harry had thought that was just general grumpiness over the Quidditch match! This, though? He couldn’t possibly understand why Snape had flipped back to being so horribly unfair. Still, the more that Harry thought about it, the more he realised that Snape’s bad mood had nothing to do with the upcoming match. As a matter of fact, he’d been grumpy since Halloween at the earliest, even after Harry had apologised…

It was a relief when the class was finally dismissed from the frosty atmosphere of the Defence lesson. Harry and Hermione were quickly met by a furious Ron, who called Snape all sorts of names that made Hermione gasp while he explained the details of his detention - cleaning the Hospital Wing bedpans without magic.

“Why couldn’t Black have hidden in Snape’s office, eh?” Ron said, breathing rather heavily. “He could have finished him off for us!”

“Hey,” Harry snapped. “Don’t joke about that.”

Ron scoffed. “It was just a joke, Harry -”

“Not a very funny one!”

“And I don’t see why you’re defending him when he’s been foul to everyone all afternoon!” Ron fumed. “Some friend you are!”

He stormed off down the corridor without another word, closely followed by a hurt-looking Hermione. Even though Harry didn’t appreciate the comment about Black, Harry was still rather angry on their behalf. What was Snape’s problem with Professor Lupin, anyway? It was clearly something to do with him… maybe the Boggart of himself in Neville’s grandmother’s clothes had angered him? No, it couldn’t be that - Harry thought back to his first night at Hogwarts, when Harry had fainted on the train. Snape had been in high dudgeon, snapping about Lupin in Professor McGonagall’s office until Madam Pomfrey had actually told him off. It was obvious that there was some sort of issue between the two men.

Harry couldn’t possibly understand why, though. From what he’d seen, Lupin was a pleasant man, and a brilliant teacher. He genuinely couldn’t think of what Snape’s problem might be…

But Harry thought angrily, he was going to bloody well ask! He stormed directly down into the dungeons, not giving any thought to Snape’s constant insistence on him having an escort in the corridors, and barged straight in without knocking.

Snape, who looked as though he’d just gotten in, immediately whirled around to look at Harry and glared fiercely. “And why have you suddenly lost your grasp on manners?”

“Are you actually serious?” Harry said incredulously. “After that joke of a lesson, you’re coming after my manners?”

Snape gave him a dangerous look. “I’ve spoken to you before about questioning my teaching methods - watch it.”

“I’m in your office talking to you about this instead of yelling at you publicly, aren’t I?” Harry said angrily. “I think that’s pretty polite, seeing as you just embarrassed me in front of my friends! Why were you ignoring Hermione like that? Why are you having a go when people know the answer to the question you’re asking?!”

“If teaching consisted of me assessing if Miss Granger knows the answer, it would be a very simple job indeed,” Snape said coldly. “I’m warning you, Harry -”

“I just don’t understand why you’re being like this!” Harry said. “What’s your problem? I know you’ve got some complex when it comes to Lupin, but -”

“Right! Go to your room!” Snape barked.

“But -”

“NOW!”

Despite himself, Harry flinched away from Snape. Something rather like regret replaced the apoplectic expression on the man’s face, but Harry hurried away before he had time to say or do anything and rushed into his room. He pointedly slammed the door behind him and kicked the frame of his bed, feeling hot with outrage. He was really starting to regret defending Snape from anything Ron had said earlier…

Quite a while later, someone else entered the room. Harry spun around, prepared to yell at Snape to leave him alone, but instead found a scowling Draco.

“Merlin’s beard, Severus woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, didn’t he?”

“I know!” Harry said indignantly. “He spent all of Defence Against the Dark Arts yelling at my class!”

Draco frowned. “What’s he doing teaching that?”

Harry shrugged. “Beats me - something about Lupin being ill. I hope he’s back soon.”

“He had a go at me about literally nothing!” Draco complained. “I’d just walked in, and I got in trouble for about six different things!” 

“He shouldn’t be such a moody git,” Harry grumbled. “D’you want to hide in here and play Monopoly with me?”

“Definitely.”

On Saturday morning, the day of the match, Harry came to a perfect solution to get back at Snape: absolutely destroy the Slytherin team at Quidditch. Even though he knew Snape wasn’t all that bothered about sports, the man was still very invested if it meant Slytherin winning the house cup, so Harry was going to make sure that didn’t happen just to spite him. Ron and Hermione both hadn’t spoken to him since the Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, and Harry was seriously starting to regret defending his ill-tempered guardian, who had also been avoiding Harry at all costs since their fight. He really wanted to get his own back.

Of course, it wasn’t going to be an easy match by any means. There was a terrible thunderstorm raging outside, lashing the windows of the Great Hall with rainwater. Occasional streaks of lightning illuminated the enchanted ceiling.

Oliver Wood seemed particularly nervous. He didn’t touch a thing at breakfast, and when he tried to give the Gryffindor team their usual pre-match pep talk, just ended up making a few odd gulping noises before giving up and shaking his head.

After about ten minutes flying, Harry could see why his captain had been so nervous. The rainstorm had completely wrecked any chance of visibility, and the roaring wind drowned out any of the commentary. Harry didn’t have a hope of hearing the commentary, and the only reason he knew that the Snitch hadn’t been caught was because he could just about make out a green figure, marking him closely. That had to be Draco, also searching for the Snitch. If Harry hadn’t gotten a quick Impervius cast on his glasses, he’d have been absolutely hopeless. As it was, he was pretty sure they’d be playing well into the night.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the stands, and Harry saw something that made his heart drop. A large black dog was standing on the top row. It was unmistakably the Grim. Harry did a double take, feeling highly alarmed, but when he looked again, the dog was gone.

“HARRY!” A loud shriek that could only be Draco came from behind. Harry wasn’t sure why the other boy would be calling out to him at all right now - it was the middle of a match, and they were on enemy teams. Still, as Draco called his name again, he decided to turn around and see what the matter was, trying to ignore the horrible new wave of cold settling over him…

But as he drew his Nimbus Two-Thousand in a circle, Harry’s attention was not focused on the green blur streaking towards him. No, his eyes were instantly drawn downwards, to where a hundred Dementors were standing and staring back at him. The noise of the thunderstorm cut off, as if muted by a remote control. Instead, familiar screaming filled his ears…

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

“Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now…” 

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -”

Swirling white mist was filling Harry’s brain … What was he doing? Why was he flying? He needed to help her… she was dying, she was going to be murdered… he had to help, he was going to kill her...

“Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy …”

A shrill voice was laughing, the woman was screaming, and darkness crashed over him.