Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Part 1

Once again, the dormitory was filled with soft snoring.

Harry lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He'd missed the sound of other people around him, especially when Ron had spent the holidays with his family. Yuletide at Hogwarts had always been fun, their time together; sneaking down the corridors, spending evenings at Hagrid's drinking tea and pretending to enjoy rock hard cookies.

This time, he'd done all the sneaking around and tea drinking alone. It hadn't been fun at all. Not even the Christmas Dinner and the presents had made him feel better. If anything, they'd made him feel worse.

Opening presents and stuffing yourself with sweets wasn't much fun when you didn't have your best friend with you. It reminded Harry of his childhood, of the times Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had dressed up and taken Dudley to church and then spent the evening opening presents, while he sat alone in his cupboard under the stairs.

Harry had spent the holidays telling himself he was just having the blues. Nothing more. It was quite normal for people under a lot of stress to be depressed during the holidays. When his friends returned, things would be all right.

Ironic, that even after all the things he'd been through, he could still lie to himself.

There had been a moment of utter joy when he'd seen Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room. They'd chatted about their vacations, and for one magical hour everything had been perfect. Then reality had once again crashed in, and Harry understood that nothing had changed at all.

Most of the things that had kept him awake at night during the few weeks he had the dormitory to himself were still here.

Seamus muttered something in his sleep, and Harry listened, wondering if his friend would wake up. When there was silence again, he sighed. Talking with Seamus would have been better than wallowing in his own dark thoughts, although he wouldn't have talked to Seamus about anything important.

There was no one he could talk to, not about those things. He'd tried. When Sirius and Remus had joined him for a couple of days before New Year's, he'd given in to the need to talk, and had babbled about some of the things that were troubling him. After all, they'd been in his position once, a long time ago. They'd know what he was talking about.

Sirius had been very understanding. He'd listened quietly as Harry had told him how difficult the seventh year was; not only the extensive studying, but also because the school term would end soon, and he'd have to go on with his life. He knew leaving school wouldn't necessarily take him away from Hogwarts. The fight against Voldemort was still on and as long as the Dark Lord lived, he wouldn't be safe on his own. Still, things would be different.

After talking about his worries, Harry had watched Remus and Sirius exchange a look of shared memories. Sirius had then told him about the time they had left school, about the way they'd feared the same thing, the loss of friendship, of growing up too soon. There had been losses, yes, but some bonds had remained, the ones that really mattered.

Sirius talked about how much fun it had been to find something he really wanted to do. About dating, falling in love. Seeing his friends happy with their lives.

It had been wonderful for Harry to hear about those years, mostly because Sirius' stories contained new information about his parents, about their lives after Hogwarts. Somehow that made them seem more real, hearing about two young people getting engaged and marrying. Sirius' eyes shone with happiness when he talked about the moment James had casually mentioned Lily's pregnancy, remembering the completely ridiculous smirk that had spread over his friend's face a second later.

Harry had listened to every word, loving every second. Until the moment Sirius' gaze had darkened. The story didn't have a happy ending. After all the joy and love and friendship would come pain and death and years spent alone.

Remus had changed the subject at that point, looking worried as he softly touched Sirius' arm.

That look had made Harry swallow his words. He knew he couldn't burden Sirius with his other worries. His godfather was still in hiding, still fighting against Voldemort. That meant he had enough worries of his own. No need to add to them.

Harry rolled onto his side, squinting into the dark room. He still had his glasses on and could see the faint outlines of his best friend in the other bed. Ron was snoring softly, burrowed under his blankets. For a moment the urge to wake him up filled Harry, but as always, he quenched the impulse. Ron would... Ron wouldn't understand.

Realizing he wouldn't be able to sleep, Harry got up, and tiptoed to the window. It wasn't very dark outside with the full moon shining above. He thought about his godfather for a moment, smiling a bit. Snuffles was probably running through the forest with Remus' lupine form right this moment.

A happy thought, but also a sad one. He wondered what it would be like to be so free. To be able to leave everything behind, even for just a brief moment and run wild. Not something he'd ever know.

His life was here, in the small tower clinging to the main castle. His only freedom was the moments he defied rules and sneaked down the corridors while hidden under his father's cloak. Not running carefree, howling at the moon, but sneaking around in silence all alone, trying not to catch anyone's attention.

The stray thought was building up a need. Harry tiptoed back to his bed and opened the trunk next to it. He grabbed the cloak quietly, not wanting to wake anyone up, not even Ron. He couldn't deal with his friend now. The desire to share his fears and doubts was almost painful, but he simply couldn't.

He knew exactly how to push the door open so that the hinges wouldn't creak. Knew how many steps there were leading to the common room, instinctively counting them. He didn't need light to know his way to the doorway, hadn't needed any for years.

Outside in the corridor, Harry wondered for the first time where to go. Usually he simply wandered around, trying to empty his mind so that he could return to the dormitory and fall asleep for a couple of hours before he'd have to get up and face yet another day. Now, the need and the loneliness weighed heavy on his mind, taking up residence in his head with no intention of leaving.

Everything just hurt too much, and he knew he needed someone, some help, or he would explode.

The problem was, he had no idea where to go. Funny, being the Boy Who Lived usually meant that he had people fussing around him all the time. Helping him, understanding him.

Harry shuddered at the thought. No. No one could understand him. Not really.

Walking softly through the corridors, he passed by the Ravenclaw rooms, smiling faintly. Once he'd thought he might find that special someone there. It had been a stupid dream. He'd caused too much pain -- however incidentally -- to that house for anyone inside to really care about him.

Not even pausing his strides, he went on, making sure his steps didn't attract any attention. It was late, but apparently it was never too late for Filch to make his rounds. Mrs. Norris, with her gleaming eyes, would also be around at this hour. Hunting, not for rats and mice, but for stray students.

Harry didn't really fear them anymore. There were worse things in life than Filch and detentions. Oh, there were, like fear, and regret, and pain and doubt. All the things that kept him awake at nights.

Things that were now driving him on.

He stopped for a moment before the gargoyle, staring at its unmoving eyes. There was one door that would always open to him. He knew that. It didn't matter if it was day or night, he could always count on Dumbledore to be there for him.

For a second, he wondered how it would be to go up those stairs and then sit on a couch and talk while Dumbledore poured him tea. Talk about everything and nothing, about hopes and dreams and fears and nightmares. He took one involuntary step towards the gargoyle, almost burning with the need.

Then he stilled. He couldn't. Dumbledore counted on him. Trusted him. He was an important member of the Order, needed to be strong and fight the evil. He couldn't risk seeing a flicker of disappointment in Dumbledore's eyes when the old wizard realized that the champion of the wizarding world was not perfect after all. He knew Dumbledore would never say anything about it, but the mere fact that he'd know he wasn't strong enough after all would be too much to bear.

Gaze full of desperation, Harry turned around and walked away.

The corridors were all dimly lit, shadows casting from the occasional torches. It was comforting somehow, as if the darkness were protecting him. No one was here to see him and he didn't have to hold his head up high or smile at anyone; the dark shadows protected him like his cloak did.

Reaching the main hall, Harry thought for a second about going out. To maybe meet Hagrid, or to walk around the Quidditch pitch, or even borrow a broom from the shed. He shook the latter from his mind immediately. Flying in the dark was suicidal, and he wasn't that far gone yet. Going to see Hagrid sounded very nice, but he knew he couldn't. Mainly because he would worry his friend too much.

Hagrid was a good soul, who didn't see anything wrong with him. He couldn't shatter those illusions.

Harry sighed and then moved on.

His bare feet didn't make any sound on the stone floor. No one would detect him, even if he walked right past them. Silent, invisible. Almost like a ghost. One more in a castle full of ghosts.

It was like he wasn't even there. Or simply was not. Was not Harry Potter, the most famous wizard in the whole land. Was not worshipped. Was not walking around the dark castle, all alone at night.

A comforting thought. Harry smiled cynically. His whole life had come down to things he really was not. Brave, strong, happy, wise. Somewhere beyond everything, or between being something, like an adult and a child. He had the vague feeling he was perhaps nothing.

He would have laughed out loud if he'd dared to. But he didn't, knowing that if he allowed the hysterical laughter to bubble up, he would never stop. Just like he didn't dare to cry anymore.

From a lonely child living in a cupboard under the stairs into a lonely almost adult feeling completely and utterly alone in the only place he'd ever really called home. In a way it had been easier back then. At least he hadn't known how good life could be. How it would feel to have friends and a sort of family.

Gloomy thoughts. As gloomy as the corridor ahead. Harry looked surprised as he realized where he'd come, swaying a little as he recoiled back. On his quiet walks around the castle, he'd never come to the dungeons before.

It was cold down here, cold and damp. Dark. Somehow the corridor that during the daytime looked like the doorway to the worst thing on earth looked inviting. Like a good place to hide. From what, Harry couldn't say. He simply felt the need to hide right now, and the Slytherin dungeons seemed perfect for that.

Making sure he wasn't making any noise, he crept down the corridor. He had to hold his hands out to find his way, because there were no lights. It should have been frightening, but for some reason it wasn't.

Harry walked through endless hallways, enjoying the silence. There was a light coming from afar, and he could see the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He remembered how he and Ron had followed Malfoy on their second year, both feeling nervous about keeping up the appearance of being Crabbe and Goyle. It had all been so simple back then.

Not the complicated mess his life had become.

There was darkness beyond the single torch and Harry headed that way. He wasn't ready to turn back yet. His mind was cataloguing his surroundings even without the visual aid. A few corridors to the right was the Potions classroom. He could walk by it and would in time come back to the more lighted corridors. Instead of going there, he decided to go forward. Hands out, he continued through the darkness.

It was fortunate he'd decided to be cautious. His hands hit solid rock a few seconds later, and he froze, knowing he'd reached the end of the corridor. Feeling his way in the dark, he found that it wasn't exactly the end. The corridor curved to the right. Keeping one hand on the wall and the other out in case the next turn came soon, he went on.

He realized soon that he didn't need the precautions. A soft light was emanating from the end of the corridor, a lone torch burning on the wall.

Feeling a bit curious, Harry sneaked to the door guarded by the light. He'd never been here before, but could well guess whose quarters they were. There was no portrait on the door, no sign. Only a small snake painted on it.

The snake looked realistic, details perfect. It was not curved into a shape one might have assumed, but it was coiled into a small curl. Sleeping. Harry wondered if it portrayed the current state of the occupant, and then discarded the notion.

Professor Snape would never reveal such things to a casual passer by; he was too private a person. That was why he lived down here, away from curious eyes.

Harry kept staring at the snake, wondering why he wasn't at all intimidated by the fact that he was standing outside Snape's door in the middle of the night. If the man caught him here, there'd be hell to pay. He knew Snape wouldn't want to kick him out of Hogwarts now, but he'd definitely issue detention. With Filch no doubt.

It wouldn't matter that they were now both working for the same goal. The pressure they were all under would be seen as a poor excuse. Harry's status as the resident celebrity wouldn't sway Snape. He'd be punished.

That was the weird thing about Snape. He'd never coddled him or praised him. Quite the opposite, actually. Always a mean, cold hearted bastard, or a sarcastic git.

Harry's eyes widened. No, Snape had never seemed to be impressed by him. Had never praised him for things he hadn't really done and had always demanded him to do his best, not to be his best.

The realization hit him hard. Here was the one person in the world he couldn't disappoint, mostly because the man had never held him in high regard. Snape would know all about the dark place he'd found himself in. Would... understand.

Yes, he might also slam the door in his face after telling him he was in trouble. Might laugh at him. But that wouldn't really make things any worse.

Before his brain could stop him from making a complete fool out of himself, Harry raised his hand and knocked on the door. He waited for a moment and then knocked again.

There was no answer.

"Snape?" The Slytherin dormitory was far enough for him to say the word out loud as he knocked for the third time. When there was still no answer, he glanced at the snake. "Sssnape?" The image didn't even move.

Harry had to swallow as his throat tightened. How typical. He'd finally figured out a person to talk to and he wasn't home. It would be too difficult to go back to his dormitory and come back tomorrow. The need that had driven him out was stronger than ever and he feared if he left, he'd finally fall apart.

He sat down, leaning his back against the wall. It wasn't damp here, and the stone floor was actually very comfortable. He'd wait. He could wait as long as it took. Wrapping the cloak tighter around himself, Harry closed his eyes.

Snape was swearing as he entered the dungeons.

Everything had been going so well until he returned the castle. It was the first full moon since the Winter Solstice, and he'd gone out to the Forbidden Forest to collect some herbs. He knew he could have got the same plants from the greenhouse, but they wouldn't have been as powerful as the ones cut by the light of the full moon.

Right outside the entrance, he'd stumbled into Sibyll Trelawney. She'd been rushing outside in her most flimsy robe, muttering something about going to the spring to see the future. Snape had been eternally grateful he hadn't met her later on. The way she liked to dance naked in the moonlight was legendary.

Being disrupted by an annoying colleague had almost ruined the night. It wasn't until she'd disappeared from sight that Snape had realized he'd dropped his sickle, and had to spend a few minutes searching for it in the bush next to the door. He hadn't really minded the delay. Tearing his robe and getting a scratch on his face were quite different.

It was safe to say that he'd seen better nights.

Still muttering to himself about the lunacy of a certain Divinations professor, Snape strode towards his rooms. It was late, but he'd taken a nap right after tea. He was prepared to work for most of the night. Too bad tomorrow would be a workday, but he'd manage. It wasn't like he'd get any crankier by losing sleep.

Closing in on his quarters, Snape didn't sense anything was amiss until he saw a dark form outside his door. He stilled immediately, his eyes narrowing.

This was new.

No one should be here. All the students should be in their dormitories, sleeping. Any colleague needing his help would have contacted him through the floo or owled him. If his former Master had needed his presence, he would have been rolling on the floor in pain earlier that night, holding his arm in agony.

Snape sneaked closer, his boots making no sound on the floor. He could see the person now, lying on his side, facing the wall. By the clothing, he could tell it was a student.

Even though he couldn't see the person's face, Snape recognized the boy. Only one person in Hogwarts had such a messy black hair and an invisibility cloak. Only one person would be foolish enough to have the said cloak folded into a makeshift pillow instead of having it on, hiding his presence. Only one person would be foolish enough to be here in the middle of the night.

His first thought was to walk past the boy and inform Filch that their resident hero was once again breaking the rules. He had too much to do without having to take care of him right now. He discarded that thought immediately. Maybe Potter was here on official Order business, and in that case, he didn't want Filch anywhere near the dungeons.

"Potter." Voice quiet, Snape addressed the sleeping form. When the boy didn't wake up, he sighed and then nudged him with his foot. "Potter! Wake up!"

There was a protesting sound, and then Harry Potter rolled onto his back, his eyes opening slightly. "Shut up, Ron. I wanna sleep for five more minutes." Then he closed his eyes again.

Snape was both annoyed and amused at being mistaken for Weasley. He nudged Potter again, his voice a bit louder this time. "Wake up, Potter. You'll catch pneumonia if you stay there." The thought was horrifying. Harry Potter in the hospital wing for a week, all the young ladies in the school worrying about him, the teachers coddling him.

"Huh?" Harry opened his eyes again, trying to process what he'd just heard. Obviously, he wasn't in his bed, because his back was starting to cramp from lying on something hard. The voice calling out his name was also familiar, and definitely not Ron's. It took a moment fot his eyes to adjust to the dim light, but when he could see clearly, he sat up immediately. "Professor Snape!"

"Would you mind telling me why you're here, Potter?" Placing his palm over the snake, Snape opened the door. Feeling characteristically impatient, he stepped through the doorway. "Hurry up, then."

Harry clambered up, grabbing his cloak. He couldn't believe he'd actually fallen asleep waiting for the professor, squirming on the hard floor for minutes before using his cloak as a pillow. Whatever had possessed him to do such a ridiculous thing? He cringed as he remembered the desperation he'd felt earlier. Of course. He'd had a bout of madness, thinking he could come and talk to Snape about his problems. Maybe he should have gone to see Madam Pomfrey for some sleeping draught. At least that way he wouldn't have made a complete arse of himself.

He followed Snape, shivering a little as the door slammed shut behind him. He felt trapped somehow. The strange calmness had disappeared completely.

Snape put the plants he'd gathered on a table and tossed his heavy outer robes onto a chair. Grimacing as he pushed his sleeves up just a bit, he grabbed a knife and began slicing the herbs. This was important. Potter could wait until he was ready.

Some of the herbs were simply cut and then left to dry. Others went into small vials to soak. He chopped unnecessary parts off and rinsed the dirt away from the few roots he'd dug up, content to do his work. Everything was going perfectly, not counting the unwelcome presence huddling next to the door.

Finally finished, he turned back to Potter and sighed, "Sit down! You look ridiculous hovering there." Without waiting for him to comply, he walked to an armchair and sat down. He yearned for a glass of whiskey, but didn't think he should indulge in front of a student. Feeling his annoyance grow at the thought, he watched Potter sit down and then waited.

The silence stretched between them. Harry was trying hard to think of an excuse of why he was here. Now that he was facing Snape, he wasn't sure of his brilliant idea anymore. The thought of Snape laughing at him seemed more certain and definitely more devastating now.

Snape waited. He knew that sooner or later Potter would open his mouth and stutter some excuses. If this had been about something urgent, the boy would have blurted it out a long time ago. He sat there in silence, trying not to feel the dampness of his left sleeve.

Why the hell wasn't Snape saying anything? Harry fidgeted on his chair, feeling even more nervous. Finally he couldn't stand the silence anymore. "I... Um. I was..." Nothing plausible came to mind.

Instead of commenting on the totally inane stammering, Snape raised an eyebrow. He suppressed an evil smile as he saw the boy blush.

"I wanted to see you." At least that was a whole sentence. The words made Harry blush even harder. He felt like an idiot. Deciding the truth couldn't possibly make this any worse, he sighed, "I was feeling low. And needed to talk to someone. So I came here."

That was definitely unexpected. Snape stared at Harry like he'd gone utterly mad. "Mr. Potter." His use of the 'mister' was as sarcastic as ever; a clear reminder of the first Order meeting a few years ago. "I suggest that the next time you have the urge to bore someone with your personal problems, you go to someone who cares." It wasn't like Potter didn't have an army of people just waiting to offer him a shoulder to cry on.

Harry wasn't sure how to feel about the harsh words. They were so like Snape; cutting and cruel, but somehow relieving. "They wouldn't understand." He knew he was now being cruel. To Ron and Hermione and all the others.

"Indeed. What makes you think I will?" Even though Snape didn't really want to get involved, this was starting to intrigue him. He had no idea why Potter would be here. They didn't know each other that well. He didn't like the boy, and let it show in the class. Even though they both worked for the Order, his missions were solitary by nature; would have been difficult to explain why he dragged anyone along to the Death Eater soirees.

"Because you know what I'm talking about." Surprisingly, Harry hadn't even thought about that before the words came out. He blinked at his own words and then added, "I think."

Snape highly doubted Potter was capable of thinking. "Let me assure you, I have no idea of what you're talking about." He did know what they'd be talking about next. Detention.

Harry let some of his weariness show on his face. "I'm talking about being tired of everything. Losing interest. Feeling lonely as hell and scared of everything." Nothing but resignation in his words.

Strange, how saying it out loud made him feel better somehow. Not good, but better.

For a moment there was a rather shocked silence. Snape stared at Potter, not believing what he'd just heard. It wasn't so much his words, but the voice that ecjoed with tiredness that was so familiar to him.

The words would have been almost laughable without that wooden tone; words he'd never expected from the famous Harry Potter. Snape wanted to laugh at him and then toss him out of his rooms, but something made him realize this wasn't simply a teenage pity-trip.

He'd felt like that on occasion. Completely lost. Devastated. Had tried to work it out with the help of his best friend the first time he'd hit rock bottom, only to find himself in hell. Didn't need a memento to remind him of that time; the tattoo on his arm was a reminder enough. Joining Voldemort hadn't filled his life and neither had wallowing in self-pity. The only person he'd ever told of his pain and misery was Albus Dumbledore. He'd been stunned to realize that talking had actually helped.

Now here was Harry Potter, the golden boy, looking suddenly quite human to him. He didn't know if that was such a good thing.

"You should go to see Albus." Snape said calmly. This was no time for harshness. He could torment the boy later. "He is always ready to listen."

Harry stared at him. Then he shook his head. "I can't. The Headmaster's counting on me, and I don't want him to be disappointed." He could deal with almost anything, but not that.

Snape knew the feeling well. He also knew that Harry was wrong. Albus was never disappointed in people who were lost and lonely. "I don't..."

"Look, Snape. I can't talk to him or anyone else. Can't!" Even thinking about it made Harry sick in the stomach. "They'll all... You won't think worse of me because of what I feel. You hate me already. That's why I need you." Now all Harry needed was for the floor to swallow him up. Maybe Snape wouldn't be disappointed in him, but he'd sure see him as an idiot. A ridiculous little twerp.

Ignoring the deflated look on the boy's face, Snape squinted his eyes. He was actually impressed by the logic Harry was showing. "Let's say for one moment you're right." It surprised him that the words had come out without difficulty. "Why would I waste my time listening to you?"

The drawl was so familiar, Harry actually smiled. "From the goodness of your heart?" He cursed himself as he saw Snape's gaze burn with anger at that. "Sorry. Um... I could do some work for you. Clean cauldrons. Organize your cupboards. Do something disgusting you don't want to do yourself."

Snape was quiet for a moment, still glaring. He didn't want to show his amusement. The boy might lack brains and a sense of protecting himself, but at least he didn't lack courage. The smile that was tugging at his lips came out as a sneer. "Well, since you Gryffindors haven't been your dismal selves recently, I do have some chores one might do. You can start tomorrow after class. In detention."

"Detention?" Harry couldn't believe his ears. He'd expected a dismissal, accented with a hex or two. And at least a hundred points from Gryffindor. "But... Oh." Of course. Because of his nightly trek through the school.

"Yes. Two hours of detention for breaking the rules. Again." Others might be lenient with the boy because of the circumstances, but Snape would not. He understood Potter's motives, but he could have approached him during the next few days, after class. He'd done worse in his life, but he'd always accepted the consequences of his actions. "And ten points from Gryffindor."

Harry barely kept from repeating that. He knew Snape was being easy on him. "Thank you, sir." He stood up, still not knowing what had just happened. Had Snape agreed to listen to him or had he simply punished him for his actions? "Oh, and sir? Do you mean I can..." He left it open.

Snape nodded curtly. "If you need to talk, I'll listen. But no more nightly wandering around the castle." It was clearly a threat. "If you need to talk at night, you'll contact me from your common room. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Relief flooded through Harry. He could do that.

"Now, unless you want to bare your soul to me, I'd like to go to bed. It's quite late." The sneer was almost blurred by a yawn. Amazed by how tired he felt after all, Snape decided the herbs could wait until tomorrow. At least he didn't have to clean after the classes, so he could concentrate on his ingredients.

Harry didn't flinch at the sarcastic words. He knew Snape and had never expected the man to actually be nice to him. "I'll be going then." Gathering his cloak into his arms, he turned to walk to the door.

"Not through there." Snapping the words, Snape shook his head in disappointment. The boy might listen, but he didn't get any of the words. "I don't want you wandering through the hallways with that." He glared pointedly at the cloak.

"Oh." Of course.

Snape gestured towards his fireplace with his wand. "Patefacio. The floo powder's on the mantel. Try not to drop any of it outside the fireplace." His expression clearly showed he didn't believe Harry could manage not to make a mess.

Hands shaking a little, Harry went to the small jar. He still hated flooing, but tried not to show it. At least Snape's fireplace was big enough for him to simply step in. Crouching and crawling into a fireplace was always so damn messy. He could see Snape was already up from his chair and heading to a door at the other end of the room, not even interested in seeing if he could actually manage to get out on his own.

Harry stared at the man's back, and muttered, "Thank you, sir." He knew Snape probably couldn't hear him, and even if he did, he wouldn't care. Still, he had to say it out loud. Then he tossed the handful of floo powder down and stated, "Gryffindor common room." The next moment he disappeared.

Fingers already brushing the door handle, Snape stilled. He didn't look back, hearing the familiar sound of flooing. Only when he was certain he was alone, he glanced back over his shoulder. Yes. At least Potter had managed that all right.

He was still stunned by the way the night had turned out. Maybe this was all about the full moon, when crazy people did crazy things. Didn't call them lunatics for nothing.

Shrugging, he walked to his bedroom. He didn't really mind Potter's request. Better to have him babble to him than to have a nervous breakdown. No matter what he thought of the boy, he was needed in the fight against Voldemort. He might be rather inept in Potions -- probably more due to his lack of concentration than to lack of brains -- but he was quite powerful. And he was needed as a symbol of hope.

At least he'd get someone to do some cleaning and labelling for him. It wasn't actually a bad trade; he could handle listening to the boy on occasion.

Going through his evening routines, Snape pushed Potter out of his mind, already thinking about what to do with his new Potions ingredients the next day. He slipped under the covers, turning down the light with a simple word. He'd have a lot to deal with tomorrow, classes, the freshly cut herbs and roots. Poppy would probably want more cold potions, because no matter how freezing it was, some foolish students still insisted on going outside to catch cold every day.

Amused by the thought of Sibyll Trelawney freezing her naked bum off in the chilly January air, Snape drifted off to sleep.

Harry was amazed to realize he was actually feeling better the next morning.

Last night, he'd stumbled out of the fireplace in the common room, covered in soot, and almost coughed up a lung. He'd done that as quietly as possible, trying not to wake anyone. After climbing up to the dormitory, he'd sneaked into the shower.

Cleaning up had actually felt wonderful. He'd stood under the warm spray of water for a long time, enjoying the feeling.

When he'd padded out of the bathroom, he'd felt really tired. He had no idea how long he'd slept outside Snape's rooms, but since it was still dark outside, it couldn't have been long. His own bed felt so much better than the hard stone floor, and it didn't take long for him to fall asleep.

He'd been the last in the room to wake up, this time seeing Ron's smiling face as he'd opened his eyes. Muttering darkly at the cheeriness of his friend, he'd dragged himself up, going through his morning routines. Then he'd followed the others to the Great Hall.

"Double Divinations after breakfast. I'm definitely not up to it this early. You know how Trelawney will be. She's probably seen some dreadful omen in the full moon or something." Not letting the prospect of suffering through the dreaded class affect his appetite, Ron shoved eggs in his mouth between sentences.

Harry smiled a little. "You'd think she'd have run out of doomy predictions after all these years, but no. I'm rather impressed with her skill." He was quite surprised to be actually hungry this morning. Reaching out, he piled sausages on his plate.

"Mmh." Chewing hard, Ron nodded. "I bet Lavender is ecstatic about it. Gah! I think double Divinations is worse than anything. Even Potions."

The words made Harry glance at the Head Table. He saw Snape talking with professor Sprout. The sight made him shake his head. What on earth had he been thinking last night? "I don't know."

"Don't know what?" Sitting down next to Harry, Hermione grabbed a roll. She seemed rather grumpy this morning. No surprise there. She didn't have any classes on Tuesday mornings, and that always made her surly.

"About double Divinations being worse than double Potions." Ron managed the whole sentence before stuffing his mouth again.

Hermione smiled wickedly. "I'd say Potions is worse. At least you can sleep through Divinations and don't have to suffer Malfoy." Her last words were accompanied by a nasty glare over her shoulder.

"I agree." There was annoyance in Ron's voice. He stopped eating long enough to glower at the Slytherin table as well. "That git is just getting worse every year."

Harry blinked. He hadn't really been listening to his friends lately, concentrating on his own gloomy thoughts. "What did Malfoy do this time?" Had to be something extra nasty by the look on Hermione's face.

"The usual. Comments about my parents, causing trouble." Slicing her roll in half, Hermione huffed, "Ever since the holidays, he's been acting like a total idiot. Like he owns the whole world."

"Maybe someone should check out his arm." Ron was certain Malfoy was a Death Eater in the making, if not one already. "I bet he got a nice new tattoo as a present."

That made Harry and Hermione exchange looks.

Harry had tried to pay attention at the Order meetings, and knew Dumbledore had opposed Ministry's suggestion to inspect every Slytherin's arm upon the beginning of the spring term. The Headmaster had said that was prejudiced, and that if even one student was inspected, then everyone should be, including the teachers and everyone on the board of governors.

That had ended the conversation.

"Maybe we should do some research. On how to spot a Dark Mark through magic." Hermione suggested. "We could meet at the library after classes."

Almost nodding, Harry groaned. "Can't. I have detention." Seeing the questioning looks, he said, "Um... Went out to check something out last night. Snape caught me. Detention."

"How many points did we lose?" Glaring at Harry, Ron actually lowered his fork. "Are we at minus yet?"

"Actually, he took just ten points. And gave me detention." It was quite hilarious to watch Ron and Hermione gawk at him. Harry shrugged. "He will probably make me scrub cauldrons with my toothbrush."

He couldn't tell anyone about the things he told Snape the night before. Didn't think anyone would believe him even if he did. But he wanted to keep it between the two of them, in case he was actually insane enough to talk to the man.

Ron picked up his fork again. "No matter. Just wish we could win the House cup." He ate a sausage, and added, "Even though I doubt that's gonna be a big deal this year. You-Know-Who's probably got something huge planned for this spring."

The words made Harry lose all appetite. He only managed to force some of the juice down, knowing he would faint in the heavily incensed Divinations classroom if he didn't get something in his stomach.

After breakfast, Hermione went to the library as Harry and Ron sauntered towards Divinations. They passed some Slytherins by, not paying any attention to them before they heard peals of laughter coming from the group.

Ron glared back with an annoyed expression. He shuddered as he saw Pansy Parkinson kiss Blaise Zabini in the corridor. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Silently, Harry agreed. He could see panic in Zabini's eyes. No wonder. Anyone willing to kiss Pansy Parkinson would have to be blind, deaf and probably quite out of their mind.

"Jealous, Weasel?" The familiar drawl was amused. Draco Malfoy walked by, smiling sweetly at Ron's disgust. "Maybe if you beg nicely, Pansy will kiss you as well." His eyes glinted malevolently. "Or maybe she has better taste than that."

Harry grabbed Ron's arm, seeing the telltale signs of an upcoming fight. "Don't. He's not worth it." He dragged his friend to the stairs, not paying any attention to Malfoy's snickers.

"One day I'm going to kick his smug arse," Ron muttered angrily, cheeks still flushed.

"Yeah, but not now. We're already late for Divinations." Keeping a steady pace, Harry lead the way to the classroom.

Draco Malfoy was glad Potter had dragged Weasley away. The two Gryffindors would have been pleased to see real hurt in his eyes. He blinked it away in a second, but knew that if they had stayed, they would have seen how much Potter's words had stung.

Not even worth a fight.

Not like their first years, when a few well placed insults had got Potter and his annoying friends into trouble every time.

Things had definitely changed, and not for the good. Draco shook his head at that. The stuff at school was just the tip of the iceberg. Pansy's recent behavior was a proof of it.

Walking slowly towards the Arithmancy class, Draco thought about that kiss he'd witnessed. A year earlier, that would never have happened. Pansy might have always been a bully, but there had been rules among the Slytherins. They were all loyal to each other. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were to be ignored or used, Gryffindors were to be ridiculed and hated with burning hatred. But other Slytherins were all brothers or sisters.

The Head of the Slytherin House never had to discipline House members for treating other Slytherins badly. That simply didn't happen. They stood as a united front against all the rest.

But now Pansy was kissing Blaise who quite obviously didn't want to be the object of her affections. Draco remembered seeing Blaise with a Hufflepuff girl at the Yule Ball. Maybe his housemate didn't have good taste, but not bad enough to be attracted to Pansy either.

It wasn't hard to figure out what was making Pansy act like this. The same thing was happening to other Slytherins, from seventh years to first years. The Parkinsons had been at the Malfoy Mansion during the holidays, as well as other powerful families. Death Eaters most of them, bringing their progeny to be approved by the Dark Lord.

Draco suppressed a shudder. It had been the worst Christmas ever.

He could remember how his greatest aspiration in world had once been to become like his father. His dream had been to become a Death Eater, a follower of the Dark Lord. To be one of the chosen ones, to be close to the greatest power in the world.

What a twat he'd been.

He'd seen things that would make some faint, others vomit. Had seen the Dark Lord himself. It had been a terrifying moment, really, one he'd always imagined to be full of glory. How wrong he had been.

There had been things his father had forgot to mention; lots of groveling, fear so thick one could smell it in the air. Voldemort being wand happy about the smallest of excuses, punishing his own followers for any misdemeanor. He could have dealt with that, could have handled the pain and the humiliation. But he'd seen something he'd never imagined.

The Death Eaters competing for their Master's favors. Backstabbing each other at every chance.

Draco had been astonished by how strongly he'd felt about that. He'd always prided himself for being without scruples and known that one day he would be respected throughout the wizarding world, like his father. Seeing the Death Eaters gather together had been a huge disappointment.

No respect. No honor. Only a group of men and women who were all afraid of the one they had chosen to serve.

His father had been so proud presenting him to the Dark Lord. Showing him off as if he was a prize of sorts. He hadn't understood some of the comments the others had made about him until later that night, when the masked people had partied in the great hall of his home mansion.

Compared to that, Pansy Parkinson was acting like a Muggle nun.

He paused for a moment before entering the classroom, moulding his expression into its usual sneer. For the first time in his life he was confused about what to do next. There was no one to turn to. His father would be furious to hear his thoughts. The Head of his House was his father's friend. Professor Sinistra, who was also a Slytherin, was too powerless to help him. He'd be damned if he crawled to Dumbledore or the other teachers.

There was only one thing he was sure of; he didn't want to become a Death Eater. Now he just had to figure a way to escape that destiny. He didn't want to become like Pansy Parkinson, or Crabbe's father. Or like his own father. There was no glory in serving Voldemort.

He remembered the sorry figure of Peter Pettigrew, the famous traitor. The person who'd helped the Dark Lord the most, even though their plans hadn't gone that perfectly after all. He remembered Pettigrew's lost expression and the hand he tried to hide inside his robes. That was the reward of being the Dark Lord's servant. His slave.

Only when the sneer was firmly in place did he step into the classroom.

On the other side of the school, Ron was enjoying the best Divinations class ever. Professor Trelawney seemed to have lost her voice, and she was sitting on a fluffy pillow wearing heavy robes and a long scarf around her neck.

Since the professor couldn't talk, they spent the double class doing tarot readings on each other. Parvati and Lavender cast worried glances at Trelawney every five minutes, looking absolutely forlorn. The professor walked around the room, watching them interpret the cards, nodding at the most morose ones. She seemed to perk up as Harry's reading showed Death, then glared at Ron who stated that the card also represented change, not just real death.

Harry was pretty impressed Ron actually knew that.

After class, they marched to the library to see if Hermione had come up with anything about Dark Marks. Apparently there were dozens of books about them, some in the restricted section. She'd managed to get her hands on the most rudimentary ones, most of which she'd already read during the fifth year DADA course.

Harry promised to try and get a slip from some of the teachers. He'd have to ask Dumbledore the next time the Order was meeting. He was pretty sure the Headmaster would give him one. Of course he could have simply told Madam Pince that he needed the book in order to help Fawkes, but that was for emergencies. This didn't exactly qualify.

Lunch was pure torture for Harry. Divinations had actually been hilarious, and he'd been distracted by Ron's funny readings. It had been nice to be able not to think about anything.

Now he was forced to think about the upcoming Potions class. As so often after finding himself in that dark place full of desperation, he was a bit embarrassed about his actions the previous night. He couldn't believe he'd actually gone to Snape. Couldn't believe what Snape had said to him.

Hermione looked at Harry, shaking her head at the familiar frown on his face. She glanced at Ron, who shrugged.

They'd noticed the way their friend had become withdrawn the past few months. No. It had started long before that. Ever since their fourth year, Harry had become quieter. More focused on things.

It had to be because of the upcoming war. Both Hermione and Ron were a part of Dumbledore's silent task force, proud to be members of the Order, and they knew all about what people feared would happen soon.

So of course the constant frown on Harry's face was easy to explain, but neither of his friends knew what made him disappear some evenings. His frequent absence from the common room was more worrying than anything.

Had either Hermione or Ron been a part of the Order's inner circle, they would have known about the secret meetings Harry sometimes attended to. It wouldn't have made them worry any less, though. The Headmaster knew it, using it as an excuse when he'd gathered the small group together, stating that he wanted the students to be allowed to be children for a while longer.

Harry had agreed with his decision, needing to shield his friends as well.

"So. You ready for Potions?" Pushing his plate away from him, Ron covered a slight burp with his hand. Yes, his mother had managed to teach him some manners. "Or is that like a stupid question? Can anyone be ready for that?"

Hermione's glare was instinctive. "Yes. By actually studying for it." She knew what he meant, though. Not all the studying in the world could make you prepared for Potions. Not as long as you were a Gryffindor and professor Snape was still teaching.

"I could always take Vomiting potion and spend the day with Madam Pomfrey." Ron sounded like that was an excellent idea. Then he remembered Charlie telling him that he'd actually tried that once, and then spent a week in detention. Maybe not something he should try.

Harry watched his friends bicker and smiled slightly. He could get through the day. He knew he could. "Come on. We definitely don't want to be late for this."

The dungeons were well lit during the daytime.

At least this part of them was. Seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins were rushing towards the Potions classroom, no one wanting to be late.

Their professor had never actually hexed any one of them -- it had been close with the whole exploding frog gut incident with Neville Longbottom the previous year -- but there was a first time for everything. It wasn't as if Snape had to hex anyone, or to even threaten to do that. His glare was bad enough.

Harry followed his friends inside the dank room, keeping his gaze on his feet. He didn't feel any of the peace the dungeons had given him the previous night. Actually, he was terrified.

He now knew exactly how Neville felt every time he approached the class.

Snape wasn't in yet, so they all had good time to prepare. Notebooks and cauldrons were placed on the tables, quills and ink readied. No one wanted to look like a slacker at Potions, not even the Slytherins.

The loud slam of the door opening and hitting the wall made everyone jump. Even though that was the usual way Snape entered the classroom, no one was ever ready for that. Harry cringed as the professor walked past his table, his robes billowing. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Today, we're going to make the Stealth potion." Without preamble, Snape walked to the blackboard and started writing. "After finishing, you will write at least a foot long essay about the use of this potion, and the history of it. You may begin."

Everyone copied the notes into their notebooks, making sure they got the ingredients right. The potions Snape was teaching them were getting more difficult over the years, and messing up things would result in explosions every time. A fact Neville was painfully aware of.

Due to the complexity of the potion, Snape had all the students pair up. "Mr. Crabbe, you go with Miss. Parkinson. Mr. Goyle, Mr. Malfoy." He thought he saw a glint of relief in Malfoy's gaze, but couldn't be sure. The boy was doing excellent job hiding his emotions these days. "Miss. Granger. Let's see if you can help Mr. Weasley with this one. Potter. You are with Mr. Longbottom."

Harry didn't even register the way his name was snarled out. Realizing he was paired with Neville, he sighed. It was proof that Snape wanted him dead. After all these years of watching over him, Snape had finally had enough, and was trying to kill him. Maybe he should have let Quirrel do the job six years ago. At least they'd all have been saved from humiliation then.

"I... I think we can do this. Right?" Neville didn't sound so sure about himself, but he tried to cheer Harry up anyway. "There are lots of roots in this one. I know roots. I can chop them if you... Do the rest."

Hearing the honest worry in his friend's voice, Harry snapped out of his wallowing and nodded. "Yeah. I think we can do this. You get the roots, I'll get the feathers."

The class worked in silence. There were no slimy or disgusting ingredients in this potion. Only different kinds of roots and herbs, some berries and a small amount of Blackforest Eagle feathers. Harry concentrated on the feathers, chopping the soft tufts into a fine shred and never once looking at his teacher.

Neville watched his partner weigh the feathers he'd cut for the fourth time and frowned. That wasn't like Harry. He looked at Hermione and noticed she was staring at Harry as well. Maybe something had happened to make him so quiet. Not wanting to add to his worries, he kept slicing the roots, hoping against hope he'd get this potion made the way it was supposed to.

"Mr. Weasley. Do not tear the feathers like that. They're more expensive than chicken feathers."

Snape's bark made Ron drop one of the blue-black feathers on the floor. In his haste to pick it up, he staggered a little, and promptly stepped on the feather.

The Slytherins tittered at that.

"Mr. Weasley." It was a suffering sigh. "There must be a brain under that hair of yours, though we have yet to be shown the proof of its existence. Ten points from Gryffindor."

The color on Ron's face matched the color of his hair. His mouth worked for a moment, but he didn't say anything out loud.

Finally finishing his weighing, Harry quietly handed the rest of his feather to Ron. There'd be enough for another potion. He caught Snape's dark gaze on him, and turned his attention back to his cauldron, hoping that Snape wouldn't say anything.

Snape kept staring at Harry for a moment longer. Then he stepped away from his desk and started walking around the classroom, checking out the simmering potions.

While he kept observing his students, his mind was working on the previous night. He wasn't sure what to make of Potter's behavior. He'd been weary, almost to the point of exhaustion, saying things he certainly wouldn't have in his right mind. It appeared that after a few hours of sleep, he'd changed his mind. At least he refused to look at him.

How pointless. Snape had seen worse in his time as a teacher. Potter had simply reached the end of his rope. It wasn't like he'd done anything that bad, hadn't tried to bribe him, for example.

Snape adjusted Dean Thomas' grip on the ladle, wondering how long it would take for that boy to understand you needed to stir the potion in a specific way to make it work. Some people simply weren't made to handle with a delicate art like potions making.

Correction. Hardly anyone was made for that. A shame, really. And a pity.

"Should I add the roots now?" Wondering if Harry had even heard him, Neville tugged at his friend's robes. "Harry? Are you all right?"

Focusing his gaze on Neville, Harry blinked. He'd been concentrating on stirring the potion, not really paying attention to anything else. "Huh? Yes, you can add the roots now." He hoped Neville had been talking about the roots.

It was probably a good thing the potion of the day was a difficult one to prepare. Harry needed something to concentrate on. The last thing he wanted was to talk to Snape. It'd be perfect if he never had to speak to him again.

Harry's hand froze after the fiftieth vigorous stir. Damn, he'd completely forgot about the detention later on. Snape would expect him to act like a nervous wreck no doubt. Changing the direction, he started stirring again.

"Mr. Potter!" Snape's eyes gleamed as he saw the boy jump. "Are you trying to blow up your cauldron on purpose or is that simply a sign of your less than admirable intelligence?"

Realizing that he was stirring the potion too hard, Harry froze again. He glanced at Snape, feeling heat rise to his cheeks at the professor's sneer. "I..." It was like the worst kind of deja vu. "Sorry, sir." He tried to aim for meek, but the words came out laden with sarcasm.

"Ten points from Gryffindor." It was to be expected.

Harry was just happy it wasn't more than that. Snape always seemed to enjoy punishing him. He'd tried to stay out of trouble lately, refusing to get mad at the sly and sarcastic comments, but sometimes it was just too much. Then he'd simply had to reply to all those scathing remarks.

Not today, though. He was in enough trouble already.

Snape continued his tour after it was clear Potter wouldn't make any more comments. He watched his students work very hard trying to get the potion right, probably because they knew they'd all have to test it when it was ready. It was petty, but Snape enjoyed that part of the class the most.

This time, he was pretty sure it would be his own students that would cause the biggest commotion. Due to Potter's need to hide from him, even Longbottom might manage not to turn yellow or burst into flames. Parkinson and Crabbe didn't seem that lucky. She was adding too many feather pieces too fast into the potion.

Snape had a good reason to teach his students this particular potion. It was mostly to show the seventh year Slytherins that you couldn't always trust magic. The notion made Snape shiver a little, but it was true nevertheless.

He knew what fate was waiting for his students. Had been there at the Malfoy Mansion, watching Death Eaters parade their children in front of Voldemort like prize animals.

Seeing the elder Crabbe and Goyle with their children, followed by the Parkinsons and Bulstrodes had made him nauseous. It had been like a scene from the past. He and Lucius and their housemates going to join Voldemort by the dozens. Sheer stupidity.

If only there was something he could do to change that. By the end of the school year, the group of the Death Eaters would grow, and eventually, he would have to fight against children he spent years taking care of, probably even kill some of them. Each and every one of them was a threat against him and those he... Well, those he didn't utterly despise.

There was nothing he could do. Maybe if he didn't have to keep up the appearance so that he could spy for the Order, he might have been able to save some of the youngsters, but as things were, that was just a foolish dream. All he could do was to give his Slytherins things to think of, maybe even some doubts to nag in their minds. Hoping they'd use their brains -- those who had one -- and would never join Voldemort.

The stealth potion was an excellent way to raise doubts in the minds of smug young wizards. A potion looking like one could do anything after ingesting it, only to be slapped back to reality. It was cruel. Like life itself.

"All right then." Seeing that most of the class had managed to finish the potion, Snape strode to the front of the room. "The purpose of the potion is to give the one drinking it camouflage and strength. This is the basic potion. To make it work, you'll have to add either a little grass or a small stone."

Knowing he would lose no House points by asking, Malfoy raised his hand. "Why?"

"Because you'll need different kinds of camouflage in a forest or in the city."

Hermione leaned closer to Ron, muttering, "Anyone who's watched Muggle war movies knows that."

"Excellent question, Mr. Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin." Snape ignored the glares some of the Gryffindors cast in his direction. "Now, add the small pebbles of stone to the potion. Yes. No, Mr. Thomas. Don't toss it in. Just put it in the cauldron. Now stir three times. Enough."

Harry kept his gaze on the potion, noticing it was turning grey almost immediately. He wondered if that was the way it was supposed to go.

"Now, the potion only works on wizards, so you'll need to hold your wand in your hand as you drink it."

Pansy Parkinson looked at the murky brown liquid in the cauldron in front of her, and coughed, "Um, sir. I left my wand in my room." She hoped the professor wouldn't ask to see her bag. It was a lie of necessity. No way was she going to drink that.

Crabbe on the other hand didn't see anything amiss with their potion.

"It's all right, Miss. Parkinson." Snape dismissed the girl. He wouldn't have drunk that mud either. "Now, hold your wand and then take a long gulp of the potion."

Hermione was the only one to drink without hesitations. She was certain they'd got it right. Ron followed suit a second later. It seemed most of the class had after all succeeded with the potion. The feathers sprouting out of Crabbe's ears were the only indicator of a potion gone wrong.

After swallowing the potion, Harry kept his gaze on Neville, looking for any signs of feathers. There was none. Instead, the other boy was slowly turning grey. Glad that they'd managed to make it work, he shoved his wand back inside his robes.

"If your potion is working correctly, your skin tone will be changing to camouflage you. You'll also feel stronger." His voice quiet, Snape watched the way the students were changing color.

Malfoy turned to Goyle and lifted him up in the air without problems. "Look! It's working."

All around the classroom, there were similar outbursts as the potions worked.

Snape waited patiently. The side effects should be kicking in about...

"Aaagh! Make it stop! This hurts!" Panicking, Ron waved his hand in the air. His lungs were burning, and he couldn't breathe. Next to him, Hermione was trying to gasp for air as well.

A moment later, everyone except for Vincent and Pansy was rolling around on the floor in agony.

"There is a rather nasty side effect to the potion." Snape stated coolly. "It will work only with wizards holding their wands, but doesn't work well with magic. Everyone, drop your wand."

Harry squirmed, trying to grab his wand as fast as possible. When his fingers touched the smooth wood, he felt a jolt of even greater pain that disappeared the moment he managed to drop the wand on the floor.

"But... Sir! How can we do magic without our wands?" It was Zabini instead of Malfoy. Mostly because the blond wizard was still trying to let go of his hold on his wand.

Snape waited until everyone had managed to drop their wand. Then he said, "You can't. That's the point. The potion's effects last for half an hour, and during that time, you can not touch your wands. If you try to actually cast a spell, the pain will quite probably kill you."

There were shocked exclamations at that.

Harry stared at his wand. So close, but unreachable. He'd got used to holding the wand, to depending on it. Realizing that he and everyone else in the class were completely helpless, he glanced at Snape.

The others seemed to reach a similar conclusion, for the babble ended, replaced by icy fear.

After letting the silence stretch for an almost uncomfortably long time, Snape raised his own wand. He could see fear on most faces, the calm look on Potter's more than slightly annoying. With an almost negligent flick of his wrist, he looked at Crabbe and said, "Demo Penna."

The feathers disappeared from the both sides of the boy's head.

Snape looked around the room. "I assume you all got the point?" He saw everyone nod, even though it was doubtful Crabbe and Goyle had really understood the lesson. "Good. You may begin your essays now."

It was amazing how quickly everyone grabbed their parchments and quills.

There were no questions asked, or comments made. Everyone kept glancing at their wands every five minutes, probably feeling as naked without them as Harry did. It was the longest thirty minutes of most of their lives.

Finally Snape looked up from the book he'd been reading while his students scribbled down their essays, and said, "It's time. Bring me the parchments and then get your wands."

Hermione was the first one to comply, grimacing a little as she bent down to retrieve her wand. When she didn't start screaming or drop the wand immediately, others followed suit. For once, even the Slytherins seemed to escape the classroom.

"Mr. Potter." Cold voice reminded Harry that it wasn't over yet. "You may collect the cauldrons."

Harry shrugged and cast a longing look after Ron and Hermione. Detention was always bad, but after last night and today's class it would be pure torture.

As the door banged shut after the last Slytherin fleeing the Potions class, Harry went to get all the cauldrons. He knew from experience that they couldn't be cleaned by using magic. Snape had lectured about it long ago, going on and on about how using magic disturbed the next potion that would be brewed in the cauldron.

Personally, Harry believed Snape simply enjoyed watching him scrub the cauldrons until his hands hurt.

Snape didn't move from his place behind the desk. He'd been watching Potter and was well aware of the boy's mood. It was clear he was regretting his bout of self-pity the night before.

He'd been expecting something like that to happen. Potter had been so desperate when he'd asked for his help; he'd seen no other choice but to agree. No matter what, he knew the Order needed the boy relatively sane. Of course he wasn't about to actually offer his help. It wasn't like he was yearning for the chance to be Harry Potter's personal father confessor.

The mere idea made him want to laugh. Instead he started grading the essays, glancing at Potter from time to time.

Rinsing one cauldron before grabbing the next, Harry kept wondering why Snape was so damn quiet. Any other teacher would have asked him what was wrong by now. Offered him tea or a Sherbet Lemon, showed that they cared.

It was annoying in a way, but also a relief. He didn't want to explain his change of heart to Snape. In the bright daylight, his good idea of baring his soul to the Potions master sounded idiotic, and he wasn't sure he could actually say anything to Snape.

Besides, he felt better. Maybe it was the thought of having the opportunity to talk to the man that was making him all right. He didn't have to deal with everything alone; now he had a choice.

Harry scrubbed the cauldrons. Concentrated on removing every last trace of the potion from them. Scrubbing, and scrubbing, and trying not to think about anything.

"You can go now."

The words startled Harry. He dropped the cauldron he'd been scrubbing, wincing at the loud clatter. Picking it up again, he glanced at Snape. "Huh?" The inquiring sound escaped him before he could stop, and he closed his eyes. Snape probably thought he was a complete idiot.

"You've spent two hours cleaning the classroom. I do think the cauldrons are clean enough." Snape's drawl was as sarcastic as ever. "You're done. You may leave." His tone indicated that it wasn't exactly a request.

Harry stared at the professor for a moment. Then he hurried to get his things. Without words, he walked out of the classroom.

Raising an eyebrow, Snape watched his most annoying student leave. Knowing he wouldn't be back, he turned his attention to the inane ramblings his students called essays.

It was funny how anxious everyone was to see the Hogsmeade weekend approach.

Most of the students had spent the holidays feasting on all the traditional wizarding treats. Those with Muggle blood had also stuffed themselves with Muggle delicacies. There had been presents, from all the sensible things adults loved to give to the completely pointless ones. All reason suggested no one in Hogwarts was at all interested in anything one could buy at Honeydukes or at Zonko's.

Then again, when did reason have anything to do with the wizarding world?

Since there had been no sign of Voldemort planning an attack on Hogwarts, the teachers had decided to continue the tradition. Hogsmeade weekends were returned to the schedule. Third years were thrilled, being finally able to go and waste all their allowance in the famous shops.

Older students were just as enthusiastic. Hogsmeade offered a change of scenery, a new form of freedom. They would enjoy roaming the streets.

Harry had his slip, Sirius' name freshly written on it. They'd had quite an argument after the last secret Order meeting about him going to Hogsmeade. His opinion being he should go anywhere he pleased. Sirius' being that he should stay somewhere safe.

Sirius should have known from the beginning that he'd lose that argument. During his own time at Hogwarts, there had been only one boy to match his stubbornness with pig headedness bordering on lunacy. It was only natural Harry would have inherited that trait from his father.

It would be wonderful to be able to get away from school for one afternoon. There had been more secret meetings and advanced DADA training after the holidays. Even Quidditch practice didn't make Harry feel much better anymore. Maybe spending the day with Ron and Hermione and then getting a serious sugar high would.

At least that was what he hoped.

Earlier that Saturday, Madam Hooch and professor McGonagall had gone to Hogsmeade to make certain there wouldn't be any Death Eaters lurking around. They were late; returning to school an hour after lunchtime had ended, and were greeted by a crowd of anxious teenagers.

Harry, Ron and Hermione stood near the door, knowing what would happen if they let the third years to barge into Hogsmeade before them. It had happened before; streets full of children on a sugar high, witches and wizards at Honeydukes working overtime trying to replenish the shelves with all sorts of small gadgets from Zonko’s going off around them. A few large canaries running around in panic.

Not to say it wasn't fun to watch. It was simply much more fun to actually buy stuff first, then watch the third years. After that, they could go to the Three Broomsticks for dinner.

"Let's go!" As soon as professor McGonagall announced it was safe to go, Ron rushed to the door, dragging the others with him. "Quickly! Before the third years stampede over us."

Draco Malfoy, followed by Crabbe and Goyle as always, sneered at the other trio. "So anxious to go and spend your two Knuts, Weasley? Be careful! You might have the desire to spend three, and bankrupt your whole family!"

It wasn't all that original -- considering it was about the same thing he'd said every year -- but Crabbe and Goyle still laughed.

Ron ignored Malfoy. His face was reddening, but he chose to shut his ears and plough forward. Hitting Malfoy would only lead to a very angry McGonagall and she would undoubtedly deny him access to Hogsmeade.

He was quite proud of his self control.

Harry was enjoying the brisk walk. It was chilly outside, but as soon as they reached the small village, they all seemed to forget the weather. Zonko's was having a sale -- probably because of the fierce competition provided by the new shop down the lane -- but Ron ignored the signs and dragged Harry and Hermione to Honeydukes first.

It was the same every time; Ron running around, trying to grab everything he saw. After last year's catastrophe with Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, he stayed away from those, but that was about the only shelf he left untouched. Harry sighed as he saw him grab a bag of Droobles Best Blowing Gum. There'd be bubbles in their dormitory for days.

He didn't really mind. It was fun to watch his friend's enthusiasm. Ron had been saving for this trip, and was now ecstatic over all the things he could buy.

Shopping seemed to fulfill some deep need in his friend. Remembering how it had felt to shop at Diagon Alley for the first time with Hagrid, Harry smiled. It had felt wonderful to be able to buy something for himself, with his own money.

After they'd finished with buying sweets, Hermione dragged them to Dervish and Banges to buy new quills and the few books she needed.

Harry watched as Hermione showed similar joy browsing through books as Ron had in the candy store. He wasn't really interested in buying anything. He just followed his friends.

When the others had completely exhausted their need to buy stuff, they walked slowly towards the Three Broomsticks.

"I do wish they'd warn third years at the stores." Hermione glared at the two giant canaries crossing the street before them. It was clear some of the kids hadn't heard of Canary Custard before. "Every year! This is ridiculous!"

Ron didn't even try to hide his laughter. "Hey, at least they don't have to buy quills." An evil glint appeared in his eyes. "I wonder if we should give Snape's defeathering charm a try."

Imagining the canaries running around with no feathers made Harry laugh as well. Hermione tried to look disapproving, but even she had to smile at that.

There were a few people sitting around the tables already as they walked into the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta smiled at them as they pulled up chairs. "Welcome back dears. It hasn't been the same without you children here."

"Thank you." For the obvious reason Ron could never be annoyed at people who were trying to mother him, even though he did resent being called a child. "Three Butterbeers, please."

Harry looked around. It was nice in here. Nice and quiet. He didn't really like crowds. They gave him an uncomfortable feeling between his shoulder blades. It was different at Hogwarts. There he was relatively safe from anyone who'd actually stab him in the back.

He'd been amazed that morning to be anxious to go to Hogsmeade. Ever since that dismal night a few weeks back, he'd been feeling a bit better, but nothing had really interested him much. Like life was almost on a hold. Classes followed other classes; evenings were full of studying for classes or for the Order. Meetings. Quidditch practices. Nothing changed. Sometimes Harry felt he was watching someone else's life. Some poor bugger's extremely boring life.

A little boredom was a good thing. Excitement usually led to disaster. It meant Voldemort and his Death Eaters. People dying.

This was definitely better.

"Here you are." Madam Rosmerta placed three tankards of Butterbeer on the table. As Harry reached into his pocket for money, she waved her hand, "No, it's all right. They're already paid for." She gestured to the table at the back.

Feeling suspicious, Harry turned to see who had bought them the drinks as Hermione took out her wand and cast a small charm on the tankards, checking them out to see if they were safe to drink. It was instinctual now.

Two middle-aged witches smiled at Harry, waving as he met their eyes.

"Not reporters. More of the fan club, I guess." It was a resigned sigh. Harry forced himself to smile back, and then drink, even though he didn't feel thirsty anymore.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. But you know, it's perfectly natural." He'd got over his rather dark feelings about people being all so damn impressed with Harry. "They're all wondering when Vo... You-Know-Who will strike again." It was amazing how the Order's way of using the dark wizard's real name had rubbed off.

"I say it's ridiculous." After the things Rita Skeeter had written about her, Hermione had grown annoyed with all the attention. "Sounds like Muggle movies. You-Know-Who strikes back. Everyone's waiting for it to just end, but all the fawning doesn't change a thing."

Harry had to swallow hard, as the Butterbeer tried to come up. He didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to speculate about Voldemort right now. He was here to have fun. This was the first time in ages he'd had a whole day off to spend his time with his friends, and he was going to enjoy it even if it killed him!

Considering his attitude, it was no wonder he had a huge headache that night.

He'd done his best to smile at Ron's jokes, had listened to Hermione's rather snarky comments. Waved at all the people who recognized him and called out his name. Stuffed himself first at the Three Broomsticks and later back at the Gryffindor common room. Didn't think about this being his last year at Hogwarts or Voldemort or the Order.

So why was he covered in cold sweat when the lights went out? Once again, he lay in his bed, listening to Ron snore and Neville talk in his sleep, feeling like the walls were closing in on him. He kept his eyes closed, hoping it was just a figment of his imagination. It had been a good day. No need to ruin it now by freaking out.

The thought only made him feel worse. He was not supposed to do this. He was supposed to be the strong savior of the wizarding world. He was supposed to be lots of things, all of which were making him want to throw up.

Harry ground his teeth together, wrapping his blanket tighter around him. He wished he could just lie here and hide for the rest of his life. To become one with the bed and get cosy with the dust mites. It would be so wonderful. Sleep, or just lie here. With no worries.

He swallowed hard at the thought. It was sounding a bit too much like he was thinking about death here.

Needing to get out of bed immediately, he struggled with the beddings. He couldn't stay here. Too many heavy thoughts and too much silence. Ron's snoring didn't really help, the silence was still suffocating him.

He got up and padded out of the room. The invisibility cloak remained in the trunk. He didn't really want to go walking around the castle again. There was no place he could hide from his own thoughts. That night a couple of weeks ago had shown him that.

No place he could go to.

There was a fire burning in the fireplace in the common room. Harry walked to one of the armchairs, staring at the wizard's chess on the table. The pieces were snoring softly.

It was strange how everything seemed to be mocking him these days, reminding him of things he couldn't do anymore. Couldn't rely on Hermione being there to help him with her razor sharp mind, simply because there were things he had to do and places he had to go where she couldn't follow. Couldn't tell Ron all his worries while playing chess.

More thoughts he didn't want to entertain right now. It was as if his mind was trying to gather every painful idea and then shove them right there for him to process at once. He didn't want to think about anything. Didn't want to feel anything.

The emptiness inside him was just as bad; when he really couldn't feel anything. It was a paradox, to desire the one thing that hurt more than anything. It wasn't fair, he wanted to shout. None of this was fair. The desire to scream out and maybe punch something was almost overwhelming, but he couldn't do that. Couldn't let anyone see him like this or screaming and shouting. Because he had to stay cool. That was his job; he was Harry Potter, and all the things surrounding his fame were his burden to bear alone.

He stared at the chess pieces, envying them of their peaceful sleep.

It was getting worse, somehow. The large room wasn't suddenly big enough for him and his thoughts. The need was burning inside of him again, as brightly as the fire in the fireplace.

Harry flinched. It was the one thing he hadn't thought of. He did have a way to stop this feeling. At least the last time he'd felt like this, one thing had helped. He took a deep breath and imagined going to talk to someone. There was someone he could talk to if he wanted to. That ought to make him feel better.

It didn't. The need was making his chest ache. Knowing he could go wasn't enough anymore. He had to act.

Hands sweating slightly, he stood up and walked to the fireplace. There was a small jar of floo powder on the mantle. He was pretty sure it had never been used to do what he was planning. No Gryffindor alive would be calling to the Slytherin dungeons. No student would dare to interrupt the dreaded Potions master during this hour. Or any hour. At least if they were sane.

Harry wasn't certain he was anymore. He knew he was tired and stressed, and more than just suspected he was going out of his mind. Snape had said he could go to him if he needed help. It hadn't been a gracious invitation, but an invitation nevertheless.

He'd do anything to make this feeling go away. He'd scrub cauldrons until blood poured from beneath his fingernails, would stay in detention every single evening. Would probably sing and dance in the Slytherin common room if it just made the emptiness go away.

"Um..." Snatching a handful of the glittering powder, Harry stared into the flames. His hand didn't seem to shake anymore. He didn't know why. Maybe he'd calmed down, or maybe he was shaking all over now. Tossing the handful to the flames, he muttered, "Professor Snape." Then he stood there, waiting.

What if Snape was sleeping? He didn't seem like the kind of man to be very happy about being woken up in the middle of the night. Or maybe he wasn't home. That thought chilled Harry. He'd probably try to find him in that case. Tear through the castle if necessary.

During the long seconds he stood there, another thought popped up in his mind. What if Snape had changed his mind? What if he had realized -- as Harry had -- that the whole thing had been insane? Why would the professor want to spend his time listening to him blather about his feelings?

He was so lost inside his own misery, he didn't even notice when the flames changed, Snape's face appearing in them. "Mr. Potter. Is there a reason you have to do this in the middle of the night?" He didn't sound crankier than usual, which was not telling anything about his mood.

"I'm sorry, sir. I..." Harry struggled to get the apology out. He knew he'd hate himself in the morning if he felt any better. The memory of stuttering in front of Snape would probably make him gag. But the point was to get to where he could be embarrassed about all this. He wasn't there yet.

Snape cut his apology short. "I don't need your apologies, Mr. Potter. Floo in if you wish to talk to me." He sounded like he didn't really care whether he wanted to talk or not.

It was almost pitiful how relieved Harry felt by that. No pressure. No expectations. No way for him to disappoint or shock anyone. "Thank you, sir." Ironic. Snape had saved his life more than once, but this was the first time he had ever openly thanked him. And meant it as well.

"Stop babbling and come on over. It's late already." With that, Snape's face disappeared from the flames.

Harry shuddered. At least he hadn't lost any points from Gryffindor. For some reason, he had the feeling he probably would before the night was over.

Severus Snape was a patient man.

Not by nature, no. It had taken him years to learn patience. Years and years of brewing difficult potions and concentrating on the volatile ingredients that would kill anyone who was in a hurry.

Being patient with things didn't mean he was patient with people. He didn't suffer idiots who needed things to be explained over and over again. Considering that, it was surprising he had chosen to become a teacher. Children were an annoying lot of brainless fools after all.

He was very good at waiting, though. Could spend countless hours waiting for a potion to simmer, or weeks for that special ingredient to arrive to him by an owl.

Potions weren't the only things that taught him patience. His need to prove himself to Dumbledore. His work for the Order. All these had strengthened the lessons brewing potions had taught. Then, a few years ago, he'd got himself another duty; protecting Harry Potter. It had been rather ridiculous; he hated the boy's name and his fame. The way people fawned over him disgusted him, and he'd thought Albus was mad when he'd asked him to keep an eye on the boy.

There weren't all that many things Dumbledore asked, so when he did, he obeyed. Without hesitations.

He'd watched Potter patiently, had seen some of the dangers surrounding him. Both the ones coming from his old Master and friends, and those created by the overly eager and grateful inhabitants of the wizarding world. He'd done everything in his power to keep the annoying child alive.

Protecting Potter wasn't as easy as he'd thought. Voldemort had been rather persistent, trying to slay the boy almost every year since he arrived at Hogwarts. It had been a nightmare to try to keep him alive while protecting his cover as a spy who was a spy who was a spy.

Snape had got used to watching over Potter, like he'd got used to all the unpleasant things in his life.

It wasn't as simple now as it had been earlier. This past year, he'd started to notice a change in Potter. A subtle one, but a change nevertheless. Albus had said it was simply a part of growing up. Snape hadn't been so sure about that. He'd seen that look in other people's eyes, and knew Potter was going towards a place no one wanted to see.

The night he'd found the sleeping boy outside his chambers had been full of surprises. Potter had managed to actually impress him. When he'd been in that dark place years ago, he'd tried every possible way to hide and dull the terrible ache. Potter had come looking for help. That said something about his strength. Probably stubbornness, but that was something too. Snape had also been stunned by the way he'd agreed to see Potter if necessary.

Maybe he'd got soft in his old age. Then again, probably not.

Potter needed help now more than ever. Snape didn't especially want to be the one giving it, but if the boy chose him, he couldn't say no. Didn't mean he would join the already enormous choir praising for Potter's skills and intelligence. He'd rather hex himself with an Unforgivable. Probably all of them.

So he'd agreed to be the rock Potter had better not lean on, the shoulder he definitely didn't want anyone to cry on. If Potter wanted him to listen, he would. It wouldn't take long for him to realize he'd chosen badly and run to be coddled by the Headmaster.

When Potter had chickened out, Snape had been relieved, wondering what would happen next. It hadn't taken long to figure that out, and then he'd simply settled into waiting again. Earlier today he'd known the waiting was over. Potter's expression as he'd come back from Hogsmeade had told him he was close to the breaking point again.

Instead of going to bed, he'd stayed up late, waiting for a call.

Now he was waiting for the boy himself. He'd called a few minutes ago. It wasn't all that clear why he wasn't here yet, but Snape wasn't worried. The fool probably didn't know how to floo in from the Gryffindor tower.

All powerful and knowing Harry Potter, the shining beacon in the endless night. Right. A stuttering fool who had come to his class completely unprepared. Even Granger, who was as far from a pureblood as one could get, had known all the answers to his questions that first day.

Up until his fourth year, Potter had survived through every threat on his life by sheer dumb luck. That, and the help from others, him included. After that, he'd been on his own from time to time, showing some promise.

Still, Snape wasn't convinced.

Seeing Harry Potter stumble out of his fireplace a moment later, coughing and spitting soot all over his rug didn't really help. Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Sorry about that." Still coughing, Harry looked at the mess he'd made on the floor. He wondered if he should grab his wand and tried to think of a way to clean up both the floor and himself. Nothing came to mind. He could only think that this was one more thing he was failing, and that he really, really hated flooing.

Snape watched the boy stand there looking utterly lost. He waited for a moment, but when it seemed he was just going to continue standing there, he sighed, and then muttered the most rudimentary cleaning charm, making the soot disappear.

Looking relieved, Harry brushed his hand against his now clean shirt. He was glad Snape had taken care of the mess, because quite frankly, he didn't think he could really do anything as complicated as tie his own shoelaces right now, never mind remembering any charms.

It had been difficult enough to get himself floo here. When he'd managed to contact Snape, and the man had actually agreed to see him, everything had gone a bit blurry. Worse than ever, he needed to share things with someone, needed to talk about what was really going on with him.

Now that he was here, he had no idea what to do.

He'd never had an opportunity like this. Talking to any of the Dursleys would have been suicidal. They'd have probably locked him inside the cupboard and left him there. No one in the wizarding world would really want him to talk about his dark feelings. They all needed to see him the way everyone here did; a hero. Not as he really was.

"Sit down, Potter. You still look like a complete idiot standing there." Taking in the rather weird attire Potter was wearing -- his pajama bottoms and a dark burgundy sweater -- Snape gestured at a chair across from the one he was sitting on.

Harry sat down, but even that position didn't really make him feel less of an idiot. He was used to Snape's scathing words, though, and they didn't hurt him. His own thoughts did.

There was a silence. A long, uncomfortable, ugly silence surrounding them both. Snape was familiar with silence. The only sound inside his quarters was usually the rustling of pages being turned or the bubbling of a potion being brewed on the fire. He enjoyed the silence, revelled in it. It was different with Harry. Silence could be a good thing, but this reminded him of all the things from the past. The place he'd never learned to call home no matter how many years he'd lived there. School, where everyone had known just what price they'd pay for befriending Dudley's cousin.

Fidgeting uncomfortably in the surprisingly comfortable chair, he finally blurted out, "Are you ever scared, sir?"

Snape wondered if Potter really expected him to answer. He was here to listen, not to answer questions. Seeing the way the boy squirmed in the chair, he rolled his eyes. Why on earth couldn't he show some of his Gryffindor courage now without idiotic small talk? He glowered at the boy, but tilted his head ever so slightly. No explanations.

"Then you know." Sounding relieved, Harry stopped the fidgeting. He could do this. "I... I don't want to be, but I am. Of everything."

His chest hurt. After all this time of keeping his mouth shut and hiding all the fear and pain and doubts, he was feeling almost light headed. "It used to be so damn simple. Winning in Quidditch, winning the House Cup. Defeating Voldemort's latest scheme. I never saw it as it really was; it was just my life. Being a hero. The great Seeker. The great Harry Potter."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched as if wanting to curl up. He didn't smile, even though hearing the boy say that was definitely hilarious. It had come out with exactly the same tone he always used when saying it; loaded with sarcasm and disgust.

Snape realized the tone was even more familiar than he'd thought as Potter continued listing all the things people usually said about him. He didn't really need to listen to this; it was all nauseatingly familiar to him. He concentrated on Potter's voice. The tired, brutal tone of it.

It reminded him of the time he'd crawled back to Hogwarts, his pride as shredded as his robes. There had been blood on his hands, on his clothes, everywhere. The cries of the dying Muggles had finally broken his resolve to walk his chosen path till the end.

He'd never expected Dumbledore to let him in, but there he'd been, standing in the opulent rooms of the Headmaster, shivering with shame and fear. Dumbledore had offered him food and drink, which he'd refused, and then asked him to tell him what was wrong.

Would have been easier to tell him what wasn't, because everything had been so wrong. Snape had told him that and more, talking until his throat had felt like parchment, with words still bubbling out. He had been rather horrified by the way he couldn't stop saying things he hadn't really even admitted to himself before that.

Now it seemed Harry Potter had reached that state.

Harry finished with his list, the words stumbling out. He sat there, shivering. Remembering how pleased those two witches at the Three Broomsticks had been to be able to buy him drinks. As if he'd ever done anything worthy of such worship.

"I'm not." He looked into Snape's eyes for the first time since he'd sat down, seeing no emotion in the black depths. He was rather surprised there was no glee in there. That was what he'd been expecting. "I'm just... Me. And I'm scared."

"Of failing?" Seeing the lost expression on Potter, Snape couldn't keep that unsaid. He knew what a silence would bring now. Shame and confusion he could deal with. Tears and hysteria were another thing.

Harry nodded, looking unsure of himself. "That too. Of showing them all I'm nothing but a 'child with not enough brain or talent to be deserving of such praise'."

The amusement tried to gain an upper hand over Snape's control again. He could recognize the obvious quote as one of his own.

"But that's not the big issue. I'm not that self centered. If I fail, it means all the people I love die. We'll all die, probably right here, trying to protect Hogwarts. All my friends, my housemates, the teachers." Harry's expression was stony now. "It'll mean that everything will go to hell. Everyone will die. Because of me." Seeing Snape open his mouth, he shook his head. "Don't. That's what it will be, because Voldemort is fixated on me and we both know if he wins, it's because I wasn't strong enough."

Snape didn't really agree with that, but he nodded anyway. Yes, The Dark Lord did have a fixation on the boy, but Harry was wrong about not being strong enough. Before this night Snape would have agreed without a second thought. Now he wasn't so sure anymore.

Not waiting for any answer, Harry went on, "I've known he'll try to kill me all this time, but... Everyone's talking about this being the big year. My last year here. And everyone thinks he'll attack Hogwarts in a couple of months. But what if he doesn't? What if he waits till I'm not here anymore? If I'm somewhere alone. I've never wanted to become an Auror, but... The Ministry is probably the safest place after Hogwarts. Can't play professional Quidditch, 'cause that would be like placing myself on a plate. Can't really travel or have a life. Can't do anything."

He didn't even know what he wanted to do. Couldn't really stay at Hogwarts for years and years, even if it was probably closest to what he might want to.

It was ridiculous, really. With his name, he could do anything he wanted. All doors would open before him, whether he deserved it or not. If he wanted, he could probably get any position in the Ministry, or even become the first ever human member of Gringotts board of directors.

All the others were worried about passing the N.E.W.T.s with good grades. His only reason to study for them was to see the bright look in Sirius' eyes. That was it.

Snape understood the boy well. His was the other side of the coin. Hogwarts was the only place he was accepted. Thinking about the rest of the wizarding world usually brought a cynical chuckle out of him. If he weren't a professor here, he would barely be tolerated. He didn't say it wasn't by his own doing. After all, he'd chosen to follow Voldemort of his own free, however juvenile, will.

With Potter, the scorn and suspicious looks would be worship and praise. He wasn't sure if those were any easier to bear.

"Have you thought about the possibility that you might win against the Dark Lord?" Snape had to ask.

He was answered by a broken laughter. Harry muffled the sound, not wanting to let go of the last thread of control he had over the hysteria. "Yeah. I have. It'll be even worse if I'm the one killing Voldemort. I hope it'll be someone else. Anyone else." He was quiet. Then the sadness was back. "But I don't think so. Professor Trelawney's always babbling about destinies written in the cards and other crap, but... It's like everything's pointing at me. That killing Voldemort really is my destiny."

Once again, Snape nodded. This time Potter was absolutely correct. Mostly because now that he was old enough, no one else would even think about going against the Dark Lord. Even those fighting for the Order seemed to think of Potter that way.

Fawkes with his golden red feathers was the banner under which they worked and fought. Dumbledore their true leader. But Potter was the symbol, the figurehead. It would have to be him taking the lead when time came, and then the whole wizarding world would follow.

Harry looked at Snape again, his face contorted in disgust. "Can you imagine how it will be then? If I prove everyone's expectations were right? That I'm a perfect person, who triumphs over everything. People will never leave me alone. Will never let me be me."

The pain in his voice surprised even Harry himself. He kept staring at Snape, wondering if he understood any of the things he was saying. Realizing he probably did. "Why is everything so simple for them?"

Shrugging, Snape remained silent.

"They see you, and all they see is the Dark Mark." Ignoring the slight wince ghosting over the man's features as well as the burning rage in his eyes that followed, Harry went on. He raised his hand on his forehead, fingers brushing against the lightning bolt shaped scar. "And they see this when they look at me. Sometimes... Sometimes I almost wish I hadn't survived at all. Or that when the final fight comes, he'll just kill me."

Snape couldn't keep the shock out of his face. Truth to be told, he didn't even try. He looked at the stunned expression on Potter and realized it was probably the first time the boy had allowed those words out.

It was clear to him now, why he'd never spoken of these things to anyone. Potter had said no one else would understand, but up until now, Snape had rather doubted it. Now he had to agree with him. Even Dumbledore wouldn't. Not really. He would listen, and he would feel awful for the boy. Then he'd try to help somehow.

That was the thing.

No one could help. No one could take the pain or the doubts or the fear away. No coddling or praise or a box full of Sherbet Lemons could make Harry Potter feel any better.

Harry had clamped his mouth shut, holding his hands over it as to make sure no other words escaped. His eyes were dilated, his expression shocked.

Then he convulsed, bending almost in two. A harsh sound left him. Then another. Moving his arms to hug himself, he sat there and laughed. It was a hysterical laughter, one that had been brewing inside of him for a long time. His chest heaved with every sound struggling to get out, eyes tearing up. He simply couldn't stop.

Snape watched him laugh. He knew this was just the beginning. At least it had been like that long ago, when he'd finally let go.

There was no real joy in Harry's laughter. He had no idea what was making him laugh. It wasn't Snape. The man hadn't said anything or done anything. Even now, he was sitting there like a statue.

It couldn't be his words either, because they'd been horrible. Like a betrayal of everything; his father, who'd tried to keep his family safe from Voldemort, his mother who had died for him. All the people who just wanted to be happy and alive and kept him in a prison worse than Azkaban with their praise. There was nothing to laugh about in his stupid words.

Because he didn't really want to die. He just wanted all the confusion to end. Wanted not to hurt anymore. And the laughter sounded so strange in his ears, almost like crying.

He didn't even realize he was sobbing now.

It was the moment Snape had been dreading; the complete meltdown. He'd known it would come, but didn't want to be the one dealing with a crying Potter. He didn't want to go there and do anything. Didn't want to hold the boy, didn't know what good that would do. Probably nothing. Potter wouldn't want his consolations even if he knew how to show something like that with a touch.

Snape raised his wand and with a flick of his wrist and a softly spoken word a box of tissues appeared on Potter's lap. That was the best he could think of.

Hot tears were running down Harry's face, and the movement to wipe them off was purely instinctual. Glad for the tissues, he mopped his face dry only to repeat it a moment later, placing his glasses on the near by table. It seemed his insides had turned into liquid, because he just couldn't stop crying.

He didn't know why he was crying. Couldn't find any reason for the overwhelming sadness in him. There were too many reasons, too many memories he could pick, and they were all causing this. Harry didn't even feel the emptiness anymore. All he could feel was weariness.

A yawn broke through the tears. He was so damn tired of everything. If only he could just fall asleep and forget everything for even a short while. He curled on the chair, wondering if he could simply close his eyes and not think of anything.

"Sleep." It was as if Snape could read his mind. "You can stay here for the night."

Harry smiled a little, his lower lip wobbling. Sleeping sounded so good. He wiped his face one more time, not even realizing the tears had finally ended. Snuggling against the armrest, he dropped the box and the used tissues on the floor. He couldn't really care about them now. All he could think of was to sleep. Hopefully there would be no dreams.

A suffering sigh echoed in the room. Snape cleaned up the mess again, and then muttered softly, "Engorgio!" He sneered a little as the simple chair enlarged. It would be extremely annoying if Potter fell from his rather idiotic choice of resting place in the middle of the night and woke him up.

Snape watched Potter curl into a small ball and knew he'd sleep through the night. Probably through the next day as well if he had been suffering from insomnia. He had no idea whether he was still spending his nights walking around the castle; didn't really know about Potter's personal life, and was quite sure he didn't want to.

Unless he caught him breaking the rules again.

Shaking his head a little, he got up. It was time for him to get some sleep as well. Before walking to the door, he stopped by his houseguest and laid a blanket on top of him. No one could say he was a poor host, at least.

"Nox." Extinguishing the lights, he padded to his bedroom, casting a ward on the doorway just in case Potter woke up in the middle of the night and decided to snoop.

He still left the door slightly ajar.

Even though there were no windows in the dungeon, Snape knew exactly what time it was when he finally woke up after a night of fitful sleep.

Probably because he always woke up at the same time. Unless, of course he'd spent the whole night brewing a potion. Then his daily rhythm went to hell in a handbasket, making him really annoyed.

Not that anyone would notice the difference.

Snape lay in bed, his eyes closed, enjoying the one perfectly calm moment of the day. Soon he'd have to get up and start doing something. It might be Sunday, but his work never ended. He had Slytherins to look after, Order business to take care of. Potions to brew, both for the Order and for Poppy, who still needed potions for idiots who managed to get the cold.

At least it was over a week till the next full moon. He didn't have to worry about the Wolfsbane potion. That was something.

Lying in complete silence, Snape suddenly remembered he was not alone. The thought made him jolt up. He sat there, trying to listen for any sounds coming from his living room showing that Potter was awake. If the boy was, he was probably scared as hell by now.

Snape had agreed to let him floo into his room, but he had replaced the ward on his floo after Potter's last visit. There was no way out of his rooms without his permission.

He sighed. It would be so easy to let Potter run again, both for him and the boy. He didn't really want to talk to him or hear any embarrassed apologies.

There was really no choice for Snape. He'd taken this responsibility willingly -- even though not gladly -- so he'd have to make sure Potter didn't leave until he was all right. Or at least not worse. That meant talking. Minimal sarcasm.

Some days, Severus Snape simply hated his life.

Moving quietly, he went through his morning routines. He was glad there was no evidence of movement from the other room. He needed this time to prepare for what was going to happen next.

His sense of responsibility had forced him to listen to Potter. That and the memory of a foolish young Death Eater who had almost destroyed his life all those years ago. There had been someone who'd listened to him then. This was simply another way to pay back, even if deep inside he knew nothing he did could ever repay Albus' kindness.

Snape wished Potter had been sensible enough to go to the Headmaster. That way he wouldn't be in this situation. Wouldn't have to think about his own past and all the emotions that had almost drowned him. Wouldn't have to see Potter like this.

He didn't want to get involved with his student's personal problems, not if he didn't have to. He'd do anything for his Slytherins, but Potter wasn't even one of those; he was a darn Gryffindor. He should have gone to Minerva, and then Minerva would be the one seeing all this. Seeing Harry Potter as a person, as a human being.

A thing Snape definitely didn't need to see.

Finishing dressing, Snape walked quietly to his living room, lighting just enough candles to see where he was going. He didn't want to wake Potter up in case he was still sleeping.

The loud snoring revealed that was indeed the case. He went to check on the sleeping boy, watching him for a moment. It was a sight he'd never thought to see. It was over sixteen years since the war, but he could still remember it well. He'd known that on the last days of this war, the Order would have to work hard, sending operatives on missions together.

He'd even been prepared to work with Potter. It would have been the most intelligent thing Albus could order. The hope of the wizarding world, and the one most prepared to counter Dark Magic. They would have undoubtedly seen different sides of each other then.

Not like this, though.

Shaking his head at the whole situation, Snape went to the fireplace. He needed to talk to Dumbledore.

He used a simple incendio charm to light the fire in the fireplace and then called out for the Headmaster, waiting patiently till Dumbledore's face appeared. "Albus. I need to talk to you."

"Yes. I rather thought you might." The Headmaster didn't seem surprised. It always seemed like he knew exactly what was going on in the castle. "How is Harry doing?"

Snape smiled cynically. "As well as can be expected. He's tired, Albus. Like I was when I first came back to Hogwarts." He could tell by the saddened expression that Dumbledore knew exactly what he was talking about. "I think it's best if he stays here for a while."

"Of course. Are you all right with that, Severus?" Dumbledore was too smart to let it just be.

"Yes." It was strange, but it was the truth. Snape figured it could be worse. It could be Neville Longbottom snivelling in his room. "I don't really mind."

He was quite surprised when it wasn't a lie. He didn't mind. Potter might be annoying, but he hadn't been as intolerable as he'd thought he would be. The boy even had intelligence he had never showed in Potions class or during his idiotic wandering around the school. That alone had been quite astonishing, but it had stunned Snape to realize Potter hated the way people saw him. He'd always been so sure Potter loved all the praise and attention. How curious to find himself to be so wrong about that.

"Would you inform his friends he's all right?" He didn't want to do it himself. Albus would be able to think of an excuse the Gryffindors would swallow.

Dumbledore nodded. "I'll do it right away." His eyes twinkled. "Take good care of him, Severus."

Snape just snorted at that. Of course he would.

When Dumbledore's face disappeared, he stood there for a moment. He still had no idea what to say to Potter when he woke up. Didn't know any kind words or excuses, knew only the truth. The blunt, naked truth.

He turned around, and then froze, meeting a clear green gaze. Harry Potter was awake. He didn't seem to know what to say either. That would probably be the recurring theme of this morning, for both of them.

"Morning, sir." His voice a bit rough, Harry managed to get the words out as he sat up. He felt like a dwarf in the chair. It was obviously because the chair had grown during the night, since everything else seemed to be the right size. He felt a little fuzzy, last night's memories all jumbled up inside his mind. He could remember coming here and babbling like a loon, but after that, everything was hazy.

Snape nodded. "Good morning, Potter. I suggest you go and clean up while I get us some breakfast." Anything to buy some time.

"Sounds like a good idea, sir." Harry struggled with the blanket he didn't remember ever seeing before, and got up. Realizing he was still wearing his pajama bottoms and a shirt, he added, "Could I..." No. There was no way he could ask Snape for clothes he could borrow. "I think I should go and get some clothes." That was better.

"I'll get you a robe you can wear." Snape was definitely not going to let Potter off that easily. He knew if he allowed him to leave, he'd never come down here again. That wouldn't exactly be a bad thing under other circumstances, but then again this was far from over.

Harry decided it was wiser not to say anything to that. He simply went to take a shower.

The face that greeted him in the mirror looked like it belonged to a scarecrow. A very efficient one at that, guaranteed to keep anyone away from him. His reflection stayed still, not making any comments on his appearance. Either it was charmed not to move, or it was too scared to actually say anything. After all, Harry didn't think Snape would take comments about his looks kindly.

His eyes were still red, his face paler than usual. It was quite obvious he'd been crying. The memory hit him, making him wince. Yes, he'd been acting like a real idiot last night. He could handle the babbling, but to think that he'd cried in front of Snape... The man must think he's a git right now.

Harry shrugged at that, turning away from his reflection. Snape had always thought he was a git, so no change there. That was the whole point coming to him. After six and a half years listening to that man hand out insults there was nothing Snape could say to hurt him.

Feeling quite disgusted in his clothes, Harry stripped, and then stepped into the small shower stall. He turned the water as hot as his skin could bear, and let it wash away his stiffness. Even a magically enlarged chair was still a chair. He stood there for a long time, just enjoying the water, thinking nothing. Eventually he had to come back to reality, and he wiped the water from his face, reaching out for the bottles on the ledge.

It hit him that he was in professor Snape's shower as he grabbed one of the bottles. Using his soap. It was almost surreal.

He let out a laugh, relieved when it sounded like normal mirth and not hysterical. Still chuckling, he rubbed the soap on his skin, squinting his eyes after that to read the labels on the other bottles.

First some shampoo, then the conditioner. The latter bottle made him raise an eyebrow. He wished he could show it to Ron. His friend was certain Snape had never even heard of such a thing.

A brief flash of guilt went through him. After all, Snape had let him stay, had listened to his insane rambling. Hadn't chopped him into small slices and made a potion out of him. It wasn't really fair of him to be laughing at someone who'd shown him hospitality, even if he was a greasy Potions master.

There was a slight smile on his face as he rinsed the suds off.

As he stepped out of the stall, he noticed there was a folded black robe waiting for him on the lid of the toilet seat. Snape must have transported it there somehow, because he was certain he would have heard if the door had been opened while he was in the shower. There were also a pair of sweatpants there, a fact he was grateful for.

He'd been living with Muggles too long to be completely comfortable wearing just a robe. Especially now.

Harry didn't hurry getting dressed. He was sure Snape wasn't exactly holding his breath waiting for him either. Looking into the mirror, he was glad to see he looked better. Sure, his hair hung wet and limp around his face, but at least he didn't look all that pale and miserable anymore.

It was still difficult to leave the bathroom.

He glanced around as he stepped back into Snape's living room. It was as if he was seeing it for the first time. The two times he'd been in here had left him with no clear memory of the place. He was surprised by the way the room looked normal. No damp dark walls and jars of weird stuff anywhere. The professor probably kept all his ingredients either in his office or in the large cupboard next to the door.

Another illusion shattered. Snape's place looked warm, even inviting. Bookshelves covering two of the walls. Calm, earthy colors. Mostly green. No surprise there.

Snape had been busy while he'd been taking the shower, shrinking the chair back to its normal size and ordering them breakfast. Realizing he was actually hungry, Harry sat on the chair and looked at his host. He didn't want to seem overly rude by attacking the tray on the table.

"Eat." A sharp command. "You must be starving." Snape had been watching the boy, and noticed he wasn't eating well lately. He was quite certain Potter had been stuffing himself with various products from Honeydukes yesterday and had forgone a proper meal.

Not bothering to even act like he wasn't hungry, Harry grabbed a plate with sausages. There seemed to be a lot of food there, enough to feed the Weasleys. The house elves must have been ecstatic to be able to prepare the meal.

Snape sipped his tea, nibbling his sandwich while Potter wolfed down an enormous amount of food. He had to keep a straight face at that. It was strange to be on this side, remembering similar incidents of his youth. Never a glutton, he'd actually been ravenous whenever he'd spent the previous night fighting his demons in Dumbledore's rooms.

He was relying on those memories now, to make him understand what the boy was going through. Wizard psychology had never been his strong point. Psychotic episodes were a different thing completely.

Pouring himself another cup of tea, he realized Harry had stopped eating. The boy was holding his glass, but instead of drinking his pumpkin juice, he was staring into the dark liquid.

It was time to stop hiding and start talking.

"Do you remember what happened last night?" Probably the best way to begin; mostly because it was quite probable there were gaps in Potter's memory. There had been pain and sadness, but also a hint of rage in him. That combination usually didn't leave coherent memories.

Harry startled at the quiet voice, almost spilling his juice. He looked up at Snape and nodded. "Yeah, I do." When it seemed like he was expected to embellish, he added, "I flooed in and then... Talked. About stuff. About me being scared."

"Yes. You remember what happened after that?" Seeing the uncomfortable look and the nod on Potter, Snape hastened to say, "Good. Then we don't have to recount the whole thing."

That had been the most painful thing with Dumbledore. To go over what he'd said, word for word, because he couldn't remember any of it. That kind of helplessness could break a man. It had almost broken him.

"No!" Harry could handle living without that, thank you very much.

Snape sat quietly for a moment. He knew exactly what he wanted to say next; he just wasn't certain how to phrase it. "You do know I can't give you any answers to your problems. Can't say anything to make it feel better."

This time Harry did spill some of the juice. Fortunately it landed on his hand. Putting the glass on the table, he licked his hand clean, and then fixed his gaze firmly on the floor. "Yes, sir."

"However, I can listen if you need to talk, and maybe even give some advice. But that's the extent of it." Snape knew everyone had to make their own decisions, but it still annoyed him. He was used to making potions, where one needed exact amounts of ingredients. It was precise, unlike this.

Harry kept his gaze on the floor. "I appreciate it, sir. I really do." No matter how stupid it made him feel. At least it didn't make him feel all unworthy and suicidal, so it was a good thing.

"There is one thing I can tell you. You said you don't want to live with all the expectations of our world, and that whatever will happen with Vol... He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named will doom you." It was weird, but even now, Snape couldn't utter his former Master's name.

Not paying any attention to the slip, Harry nodded. "Yes." He was rather surprised Snape had actually got any of the things he'd said. To him, the words were a confusing mess. "That's the way it feels."

"I see. It must be so difficult and unfair to be expected to be some kind of a messiah." The very familiar sneer was as cruel as ever. "That is life, Potter. No one ever promised it was fair, no exceptions, not even for the Boy Who Lived. It's up to you to decide what you will do with it. As I see, you can either play a given role, live your own life or simply leave our world."

That was definitely not what Harry had expected. He looked at Snape, his mouth slightly open. "What?"

Snape didn't even bother to hide his amusement. "You heard me. You have to decide what's most important to you; fame, your life, or running away. Your choice. No one else can choose for you."

It had been his choice once. He'd been stunned by Dumbledore's blunt words back then, but they had made him think. In the end he'd chosen to live instead of hiding or drowning in darkness that held no real glory.

Harry nodded slightly, seeing Snape's point. It wasn't hard to make a decision if those three were his options. Keeping that decision would be hell.

There was nothing else Snape had to say to him, no other advice. Potter would have to try to use his head for once and choose. How terrifying that the fate of the wizarding world should hang on such a thing, because there was no way of telling which way he'd go. If he truly was the way Snape had feared, he'd continue being a hero, continue riding on his fame. Albus seemed to be betting on Potter being true to himself. But there was always the third option. Choosing a life away from all that could hurt or even kill him.

A coward's choice, Snape would say, except he had contemplated the same thing before joining Dumbledore's fight.

Feeling the silence stretch enough to become rather awkward, Harry squirmed. "Thank you. For listening. And the advice." It had been the first time anyone had said it out loud, and he couldn't resent Snape even for the barely veiled insults he'd included there.

He didn't want to talk about it anymore, needing to get out of here now. It was too real and too raw and he had to go to his friends and not think about this for a moment. Maybe even fly a little; soaring high in the sky on his Firebolt was the most soothing thing he knew.

Snape could read the need to escape between the lines and nodded. "You're welcome, Potter. I believe you can manage to find your way back to the Gryffindor tower. Even you can't get lost in here anymore, I assume." The sarcasm was accompanied by an eyebrow that climbed even higher as Snape saw Harry's scowl.

Amazingly, though, he didn't reduce House points for Potter being insolent with expressions.

Standing up, Harry gathered his things with him. He was a bit surprised to find out he'd left his wand back in the dormitory. It made him realize just how messed up he'd been last night. First rule of the Order; never lose your wand. This was the second time he managed that inside a month.

Dumbledore would be so disappointed in him.

The thought made him grimace. No matter how he tried, there was always a small voice reminding him of that. It would be extremely difficult for him to get his head straight.

"Potter." Snape had seen the strange expression. He knew things were far from clear, and decided to do something to make sure there would be no more nightly visits. "You have double Potions on Tuesday."

Harry nodded. He didn't know what brought that up. "Yes, after lunch." The dreaded Potions class that usually took away Neville's appetite. "Why?"

"I think you'd better come here afterwards." Snape's voice was unreadable. "Do your homework in peace. Spend some time alone. Think about things."

"You mean talk about stuff that's making me nuts." If Snape wanted blunt, he'd get blunt. Harry knew what he meant. "I think..." He had to actually think about that. Did he want to come back to talk to Snape? Actually, yes. The previous night had scared him, the depth of his own misery frightening. He didn't want to end up like that again. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Snape had waited patiently; rather pleased Potter would actually think it through before agreeing or declining. How unlike a proper Gryffindor. "Good. You will remain after the class then." He watched the boy nod and walk to the door.

Before opening the door, Harry stopped and turned back to Snape. He needed to know one thing. "Are you going to make me scrub more cauldrons as well?" He could have sworn there was a flicker of amusement in Snape's eyes as he shook his head minutely. "Oh. Then why? Why are you doing this?" Why was the man being so... Not exactly nice, but not acting like a total bastard either.

"Because, Mr. Potter, when I was in the same situation as you are, I wasn't smart enough to ask for help before it was almost too late." Snape's words came out coldly, almost on their own volition. "When I did, someone listened."

It was quite clear to Harry who that someone had been. He thought of a younger Snape talking to the Headmaster and wondered how difficult it must have been on both of them. But at least Dumbledore hadn't had any great expectations of Snape, like everyone seemed to have of him. "I understand, sir. Well... Bye." With that, he hurried out of the room.

Even though he knew the boy wouldn't hear him, Snape said, "Good bye, Mr. Potter."

Ron was getting more worried with every minute that passed by.

He'd woken up early, feeling wonderful. It was still Hogsmeade weekend, and now that most of the third years were probably sick with all the sweets they'd eaten, there'd be peace and quiet in the small village. At least until the youngsters realized they could go to Madam Pomfrey for some potion guaranteed to cure even the worst stomachache.

The joy had faded a bit when he'd seen that Harry's bed was empty. It looked like it had been slept in, so maybe Harry was downstairs, sitting in the common room chatting with someone. Probably Neville. He was always up early on Hogsmeade weekends.

He hadn't been able to find Harry anywhere in the entire tower. He'd made sure by banging on doors, waking everybody up. Hermione -- who had fortunately been already up -- had come up with the idea of checking Harry's belongings. The absence of the invisibility cloak would suggest he was once again walking through the corridors looking for something.

The cloak had been in its place in the trunk. There had been something else, too. Ron's eyes had widened as he'd realized Harry had left his wand behind. Something his friend would never do.

Almost frantic with fear, he'd grabbed Hermione's arm and rushed towards the Headmaster's office dragging her with him. They needed to alert Dumbledore immediately. Harry was probably kidnapped, by Death Eaters, or worse.

Even after all the meetings up in the Headmaster's quarters, Ron was still feeling a bit strange being able to bark out the password and just walk up the stairs. This time he didn't hesitate at all. Harry was in trouble.

"Mr. Weasley. Miss. Granger." Dumbledore looked up at them as they stumbled into the airy offices. "We've been expecting you." He made a gesture towards the small pot. "Tea?"

It was definitely not the time to sit down and share pleasantries. Ron shook his head.

Hermione stared at the Headmaster and professor McGonagall, who were both sitting calmly at a table, drinking tea. "So you know Harry's missing? How? Where is he? Is he all right?"

Since Hermione had already asked the most important questions, Ron settled into simply nodding.

Strange, how this room always seemed to help him calm down. It was probably the atmosphere with the previous Headmasters dozing off in the portraits on the walls, most of them not paying any attention to what was going on. They'd got used to such meetings by now.

"Yes. Yes, he's fine." Pouring himself more tea, Dumbledore smiled calmly. "He will probably stay away for a couple of hours more and then join you all for lunch. Nothing to worry about. Harry is quite safe." His voice was hushed, the way it always seemed to be these days.

Ron smiled, relieved. If Dumbledore said everything was all right, then it had to be. Then he remembered something and his face fell. "Sir! We found his wand near his bed. If he's gone somewhere he could be in danger!" He was still stunned by the way Harry had just left his wand behind. It was the first thing they'd been taught in DADA.

"I see." His voice a bit firmer, Dumbledore shared a knowing look with McGonagall, who was looking worried now as well. "Well, I'm certain there's a good explanation for it," he mused out loud before sipping his tea again.

"But sir..."

Hermione nudged Ron, silencing him efficiently. "Come on, Ron. We should be going." She was pretty sure the Headmaster wouldn't tell them anything more. "We should go back to the common room and wait for Harry."

Wanting to protest, Ron glared at her, but then realized she was right. There was nothing for them to do here. Dumbledore was obviously not worried, so they shouldn't be either. Didn't mean he was feeling calm, but he could try.

He nodded at the Headmaster and then walked to the door, Hermione in tow. It wasn't like Harry to disappear like this. Even when he went out for a walk, he took his cloak and definitely his wand with him. When Harry came back, Ron was going to have a few words with him. Then it'd probably turn into a shouting match.

Minerva McGonagall watched the children walk out. When the door slammed shut behind them, she turned to the Headmaster. "Really, Albus. Are you sure he really is safe with Severus? If you are correct, he's in a very fragile state of mind right now, and Severus isn't exactly one to handle him carefully."

"I know." Dumbledore was wondering about that himself. "But he has chosen Severus. I should imagine that after all these years, Harry knows exactly what kind of a man Severus is. We must trust his judgement, Minerva."

"Very well." Her words were agreeing, but her tone most certainly wasn't. She'd have to keep an eye on Harry. After all, it was her responsibility to see that the boy was all right.

He smiled at that, as if reading her thoughts. "More tea?"

Ron wanted to kick the gargoyle as it rolled back to cover the staircase. "I'm gonna kick his miserable butt. Going out without his wand! Wait until I tell my mum. She'll send him a howler." The harsh words hid a world of fear. No matter what Dumbledore said, he was still worried sick for his friend.

Didn't Harry know it was about time? Everyone was talking about their seventh year being probably the one when Voldemort would attack Hogwarts. They all needed to be ready, not gallivanting around the place wandless.

"At least we know he's still inside the school." Rolling her eyes at Ron's sceptic look, Hermione explained, "The school will protect him even when he doesn't have his wand with him. Dumbledore will know where he is, as long as he's inside these walls." Seeing the blank look on her friend, she huffed. "Honestly!"

She wondered why it was such a surprise to her. It had become clear years ago that both Harry and Ron preferred asking her to actually reading a book. Especially the one telling them all about Hogwarts and its history.

Ron didn't say anything to that. He just started walking back towards the Gryffindor tower, muttering to himself. He hoped Harry was indeed safe.

Walking through the corridors, they passed by the Great Hall. Neither Hermione nor Ron had eaten anything yet. They'd been too worried to eat, heading towards Dumbledore's office without a thought at breakfast.

"You think we could get something to eat?" Remembering it was Sunday, Hermione realized there would still be breakfast served at this hour.

"Sure." Ron was not sure if he could eat, but he knew he should at least try.

The Great Hall was surprisingly full. Most of the third years looked a little green, but they were still stuffing themselves with toast and sausages. Some of the teachers were sitting at the Head Table, talking quietly amongst themselves. Ron noticed their DADA teacher was not there. Neither was Snape.

"Hermione?" Buttering a roll, Ron kept casting suspicious glances at the teachers' table. He looked over his shoulder once, to see if Malfoy and his goons were there. For once, seeing the blond boy and his idiotic shadows made him feel good. At least they didn't have anything to do with Harry's disappearance. Then he turned his attention back to the teachers. "Did you notice professor Pahicna isn't here? What if Harry's with her?"

"Why would he be with the DADA teacher without his wand?" It didn't really make any sense.

Ron nodded absentmindedly at that. Hermione was right. If Harry'd gone to some kind of a private lesson, he would have taken his wand with him. Still, something was nagging at him. He already knew where Dumbledore and McGonagall were. Snape never ate breakfast on weekends anyway. He was probably partly a vampire, working on his damn potions all night through. But the absence of the DADA professor was highly suspicious.

Not because she was especially malicious or anything. Her being a sane, proper teacher would just go against all odds.

Munching his roll, Ron tried very hard to think why he was feeling so odd. When a loud burst of laughter made him glance at the Slytherin table again, he realized Malfoy was staring at him with a grin on his face.

He glowered, expecting a sharp yet not all that witty comment shouted at him a moment later. To his utter amazement -- and delight -- Malfoy just turned his attention elsewhere. Good. Maybe now he could finish his breakfast in peace.

Draco lowered his gaze back to his plate as Weasley turned to stare at him. He didn't really want to fight right now. Everything was good for once; there had been no letters from his father, and it was peaceful to just eat with Pansy still in the girls' dormitory, sleeping off last night's partying. A fact Blaise was probably grateful for.

He'd been sitting here, eating breakfast. Enjoying the peace and quiet, thinking about stuff. Not the things he couldn't really work on, no, the big issues were best to be left alone. He was thinking about little things that had caught his fancy. Wondering if Crabbe and Goyle would ever be able to leave Hogwarts, even with the extra tutoring Snape provided them every Friday. He was quite certain the answer was no.

Those two would probably still be at Hogwarts when the next generation of Weasleys started their first year. If there still was a Hogwarts. And if any of the Weasleys still lived.

A bad thought. A part of those big things he refused to think about. Instead of contemplating the future, he turned his attention to Ron Weasley. One of the people he really didn't understand.

The Weasleys were pureblood, just like the Malfoys. There weren't all that many families of purebloods left in Britain. Almost none outside Slytherin. To Draco's memory, the Weasleys were even more magical than most of the families, not producing more than one Squib every few generation.

Why, then, were they not in Slytherin? Their poverty couldn't be the explanation. There were other people from poor families in Slytherin. Blaise Zabini was the best example. His family was so insignificant, even the Death Eaters weren't interested in him at this point. Anyone with a brain and ambition could rise to be a very respected member of any wizarding community.

Another line of thought he wasn't keen on following. Pulling his mind away from things like power and Slytherins, he continued thinking about the Weasleys.

They weren't exactly idiots. At least not all of them, though Ron did seem to be rather hotheaded. That made Draco smirk, the first really genuine expression of mirth in some time. Of course the Weasel was hotheaded. It was genetics, apparently. But some of his brothers were doing well in life.

He'd been startled to see Weasley turn and glare him at that moment. Instead of tossing him a nasty comment, Draco had decided not to bother. He didn't want to ruin the morning fighting with Ron Weasley, no matter how fun it usually was.

"Are you coming to Hogsmeade with us this afternoon?"

Draco looked at Goyle, glad that this time he had actually swallowed before speaking. Maybe genetics weren't everything. At least this pureblood seemed to be slipping back in evolution. "I don't know yet." It had been fun to go shopping yesterday, but he just wasn't in the mood right now.

"Come on, Draco. Vince and I want to shop more at Honeydukes'." Goyle's voice was whining now. "I already ate most of the stuff we bought yesterday, and I think Pansy stole the rest."

That didn't really surprise anyone. "Can't you two go alone?" Draco saw the expected horrified expression and sighed. Sometimes he wondered if his friends really saw the three of them as one unit. One part brains, two parts muscle. "I'll have to think about it."

Goyle seemed to be happy with that. If Draco said no, he'd just whine some more.

Realizing he wouldn't probably be able to lock himself in the dormitory and spend some quality time alone, Draco sighed and then finished his breakfast.

On the other side of the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione were also ready to go. Ron hadn't thought he had any appetite, but once he'd sat down to eat, he'd cleaned his plate in record time. It was a good thing, really. Somehow it was easier to think with a full stomach.

"I think I'll stop by at the library. I couldn't find that book yesterday before Hogsmeade, and I really need to read it before the next Potions class." Hermione sounded a bit worried. She knew that with all her other duties -- mainly working for the Order and being the Head Girl -- she simply didn't have enough time to study anymore. It was only a couple of months till they would be taking their N.E.W.T.s and she had hardly started studying for them.

Ron nodded. He didn't even bother making comments about her being the only person at Hogwarts -- with the possible exception of Madam Pince -- who was actually overjoyed by the fact that the library was open seven days a week. "I'll go to see if Harry's back yet."

"I'll be there in a moment." Knowing the trip to the library wouldn't take long, Hermione waved her hand at him and then scurried across the hallway.

The Gryffindor common room was empty when Ron arrived there. He took the stairs three at the time as he rushed to see if Harry was back yet. There was nobody in the dormitory either. Harry's wand was still on top of his trunk.

Ron swore a few chosen oaths at that. He hated this. Hated waiting, not knowing if he was waiting for nothing. He knew Hermione would be calmed by the visit to the library as always, but he didn't want to calm down. He wanted to tear out his hair. Probably even Harry's when he saw him too.

Grabbing a Quidditch magazine, he stomped back downstairs and settled on the couch for his wait.

Some people calm down as they have time to think things through. Some people, but not Ron Weasley. He realized he couldn't even be interested in the Cannons' newest games. He was simply too mad at Harry for pulling a stunt like this, but also at himself for letting his best friend slip away. Again.

He slammed the magazine on the table. It had been quite some time since he'd been this angry. Years since he'd felt like this towards Harry.

When the door finally opened, he looked up casually, thinking it was probably Hermione. Instead of her, he saw Harry stand there in the doorway.

"Hi." Harry stepped inside the room. He'd expected to see Ron waiting for him. Not exactly what he wanted to face right now, but he knew he couldn't hide from his friend.

Ron didn't even realize he'd squeezed his hands into fists. "Hi?" Harry had given him the scare of his life, and all he could say was a bloody 'hi'? "You left your wand upstairs. When you left."

It was worse than anger, because when Ron was angry, he shouted and waved his hands in the air and threatened to punch something or someone. If the issue was Malfoy, he didn't stop at threatening.

This was silent rage.

"I know, I'm sorry." It sounded rather lame in Harry's ears. He didn't know how to explain it to Ron. He'd had to go. Couldn't tell anyone about it for the same reason he hadn't had much choice in to whom he could talk to. Ron wouldn't understand the need any more than he would understand his fears.

Ron forced himself to relax. There was something wrong with the way Harry sounded. It was weird, since just yesterday, he'd been fine. Now he sounded tired. It wasn't like him.

Suddenly he felt most of the anger slip away, replaced by even more worry. "Can you tell me about it?" He didn't want to think about the possible reasons for Harry's disappearance, but various scenarios were already racing through his mind. "Did something bad happen?"

"No. I mean... No, I can't talk about it." The most difficult fact was that it wasn't even a lie. Harry shook his head slightly. "And no, nothing bad happened. I just needed... To see someone."

"For Merlin's sake! Just tell me you didn't sneak out of our rooms in the middle of the night without your wand to see some girl!"

It sounded so like Ron, Harry had to smile at that. "No. Definitely didn't go to see some girl. I swear." His smile got even wider as he imagined Snape's expression if he knew what he was thinking right now, even though if Snape ever found out he was making private jokes about him being a girl, he wouldn't want to be there to see his face.

"Good." At least his best friend wasn't a complete twit. Ron got to his feet. "Just don't do it again. You nearly gave me a heart attack."

Harry felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn't really thought anyone would notice he'd been gone. "Okay."

Rather surprised how the rest of the anger had left him after just a few words, Ron smiled a little. "You know you can always talk to me, right? And to Hermione."

"I know." Harry nodded, knowing it was a lie. But a necessary one. He'd just have to make sure the others wouldn't have to go looking for him again.

"You want to go to Hogsmeade?" When Ron saw the shake of head, he shrugged. It didn't matter. He'd already spent all the money he had, and didn't really want to go walking around shops when he couldn't buy anything. Didn't want to give Malfoy any fodder for new insults. "You wanna play some chess?" Always a safe option.

"So you really want to punish me." Harry faked a resigned expression before grinning. "Sure. I'll just go and get my wand."

Without further words, he headed towards the dormitory for his wand. If he was quick enough, he could even change his clothes. Ron was too focused on his safe return to ask anything, but Hermione noticed everything.

He definitely didn't want to have to explain where he'd got the robe.

The rest of the weekend passed rather quickly. Harry spent all his time with Ron and Hermione, trying to make them stop worrying about him. It was rather nerve wracking. He couldn't just tell them to stop, because then he'd have to acknowledge the fact that maybe there was something to worry about.

He was actually relieved to see another week begin. Sure, it meant facing yet another Monday with Divinations and Care of Magical Creatures and even the exhausting History of Magic class. It also meant that he was forced to think about something other than his problems.

How disturbing to find that he actually wanted to go to classes. That he needed the distraction.

Even professor Trelawney's predictions didn't annoy him as much as usual. She spent most of the class on Monday and the double Divinations on Tuesday predicting horrible deaths for her students. It appeared that ever since her rather persistent cold earlier that year, Trelawney had become even more morbid than before.

Harry was still relieved when the class ended. He'd never really got used to the overpowering stench of incense in the Divinations class. It always made his head hurt. He was feeling slightly nauseous when they marched into the Great Hall; he definitely didn't have any appetite now.

"At least we won't have to listen to Lavender and Parvati giggle for another two hours." Stabbing his meatloaf with his fork as if trying to kill it, Ron glared at the other end of the table where the two girls were whispering to each other, laughing quietly. "I think professor Trelawney has finally gone mad." Predicting ways Harry was going to die and then spending the rest of the class telling the girls how to read tea leaves for future spouses.

The woman was demented.

"I know. She's barmy." Harry was glad she had kept to the good old 'death by mutilation' theme with him. Listening to her babble about love and romance was really not something he wanted to do. "But it's the season, you know. Valentine's Day will be here sooner than you think."

Mentioning the dreaded day made Ron grimace. "I'd completely forgot all about that." It meant things would just get worse during Divinations. He even preferred Potions to that. "Damn!"

Harry couldn't agree more. It had been so much easier when he'd been younger, and all the other students hadn't seemed quite that eager to celebrate the holiday. The older he got, the more enthusiastic the people around him got, sending him incredible amounts of heart shaped cards and chocolate. There would be pictures of him on the cover of the Daily Prophet. Articles speculating about his love life.

Sometimes he just hated his life. Recently, 'sometimes' was more like 'all the time'.

He felt a painful twinge deep inside, where thinking about stuff like sugary letters and holidays shouldn't hurt. He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping Ron wouldn't notice him acting strangely again.

It was hard to explain why thoughts like that made him depressed, but the main point was simple. It was once again proving to him that most of the wizarding world saw him through rose colored glasses. They saw whatever great hero they wanted to. Not him; the rather boring skinny young man who just wanted to be with his friends and maybe play some Quidditch.

Knowing he couldn't go to Potions class faint with hunger, Harry forced himself to eat his sandwich. He didn't have any illusions about Snape. The man was a mean bastard, and wouldn't suddenly turn into a kind person simply because he'd been willing to hear his insane ramblings. p>Ron was babbling to Hermione, not really paying much attention to Harry. He was glad about it. He wasn't in the mood for a conversation right now.

Because of the class right after lunch, none of the seventh years lingered in the Great Hall. It would have been extremely stupid to give Snape an excuse to reduce House points. Even the Slytherins didn't want to be late. Crabbe and Goyle might be total morons, but they weren't suicidal.

After the last few weeks of classes, everyone was feeling a bit nervous. Snape's grand entry made even Malfoy look hesitant. It was clear that the professor knew exactly what they were all thinking.

Amazingly, the class was quite ordinary. Snape lectured them about the various truth serums and their opposites, the ones that made you lie about everything. Then he made everyone brew a simple latereserum.

Harry concentrated on the potion, trying not to wince as Neville managed to blow up his cauldron once again. He was determined not to lose Gryffindor any points on this class. Apparently his housemates could manage to do that without him.

Since the potion was relatively simple, everyone was eventually able to finish it, even Neville, who looked shocked as they tested the potion. When Ron asked him who was his favorite teacher, he promptly said, "Snape."

It made most of the class titter with laughter. To everyone's surprise, Snape raised an eyebrow, and muttered, "I'm touched."

The fact that Gryffindor lost ten more points because Neville had actually managed to make the potion right didn't surprise anyone.

When the class was finally over, Snape went to wipe the blackboard clean. His back turned to the students, he said, "Potter. Stay. I want to talk to you." He'd hoped the boy would be intelligent enough to cause trouble and earn detention. That way there would have been no explaining and excuses.

Harry was thinking about the same thing now as Ron looked at him with a question in his eyes. There was nothing he could really tell his friend. Snape's part in the fight wasn't common knowledge, not even inside the Order.

So he just shrugged. Waited until the classroom was empty before relaxing again. He couldn't really let anyone see he was actually relieved to be in Snape's company. They'd think he was insane. Hell, he thought he was insane himself. But crazy or not, he couldn't deny that he was feeling a lot better now, after talking to Snape. And now here. Because he could just be. Be himself.

"I need to make some preparations for tomorrow's class." Still busying himself with the blackboard, Snape didn't turn around. "You might want to do your homework while waiting. Unless you've changed your mind." He sounded like he didn't care one way or the other.

They boy didn't need to know that he'd spent quite some time thinking about him. About the fact that no matter how ridiculous it was, the wizarding world really did need Harry Potter, and because of that, he would try to help keep him sane. About the irony of him being the one the boy had turned to.

"Sure." Glad he hadn't put his books away yet, Harry grabbed his parchment and quill. This way he could work in peace.

It was strange, really, to spend time alone with Snape in the classroom, knowing he could leave any time he wanted. It wasn't detention. No points would be taken from Gryffindor if he decided not to stay after all. Harry had to force himself to concentrate on his homework; otherwise he would have just sat there and stared at Snape.

A little while ago, he would have sworn he hated the man and hadn't trusted him one bit. That had changed somewhere along the line. Perhaps because thinking about the ongoing -- no matter how subtle -- war had made him think about those who'd survived the last one.

Finishing with his homework, Harry let his gaze wander back to Snape. Strange. He'd never thought about Snape as anything but his teacher before, even when he'd heard the man had attended school with his parents. He was more than just a Potions professor, though. He was a survivor.

All the survivors of the first Voldemort reign of terror were somehow broken. Harry could see that. Snape was scarred, not only with the symbol etched on his arm. The suspicion, sarcasm and obvious need for solitude were probably a reminder of that era. His godfather suffered from nightmares and irrational anxieties because of the time he'd spent in Azkaban. Sirius' sanity was most probably thanks to Remus. Without him, he'd still probably be living in Hogsmeade in his Animagus form, eating scraps in the back alleys.

Even the Weasleys showed some signs of old scars that only covered painful wounds. Mrs. Weasley never showed her pain when she thought someone was watching, but Harry had seen it in her eyes.

Sometimes, Harry wondered what Dumbledore had been like before Voldemort. Before Grindelwald. There was a steel hard interior beneath the Headmaster's sometimes rather flimsy appearance. Had it been there from the beginning?

Of all these people, he'd chosen Snape to open up to.

After finishing with his preparations, Snape led Harry to his own rooms. He didn't feel comfortable talking with the boy in the classroom. It belonged to a different world; where he was a teacher and Potter was a student. They had certain roles they had to play there. Potter's problems weren't about schoolwork, even though he would be the first to note that to be a half-truth.

Privacy was important to Snape; some things were his, and his alone, and he guarded that privacy with fervor. Inviting Potter to his rooms was difficult, but he didn't know a better place for these discussions. Trusting anyone else's wards was not even an idle thought, so the only possible choice were his private lodgings in the dungeons.

"Sit down and don't touch anything." He gestured towards the familiar chair.

Harry complied, smiling a little. He was feeling rather peaceful despite Snape's curt commands. Being allowed inside these rooms was actually more than he'd ever imagined. He was glad that Snape had chosen them to talk here. The Potions classroom wasn't something he wanted to associate with this feeling.

Sitting on the same chair he'd slept in, he watched Snape put away some books and then sit down.

They sat in silence for a moment. Not exactly an uncomfortable silence, like one might have imagined. Not companionable either. Both were wondering what to say.

"Are you hungry?" That at least was a safe thing to ask. Potter wasn't all that tall, but he was still a growing adolescent. Snape could faintly remember how teenage boys always seemed to be hungry. It was proven by a small nod. "I'll order us some food then."

The house elves seemed to be ecstatic to be able to send a tray to Snape's quarters again. Dinner in the great hall was usually almost like a feast, but this went beyond that. Snape didn't really mind, even though he wasn't one to indulge in gluttony. Sipping from his mug, he watched Harry eat, and then said, "I believe we have some things to discuss."

Fork on his lips, Harry froze. He managed to swallow before agreeing, "Yes. We do." He hoped the icy tone didn't mean Snape had changed his mind.

Snape nodded. "Now..." He didn't really want to say what he'd been thinking about. It was too personal in a way. Seeing Potter look expectant, he moulded his words to be as impersonal as possible. "You may feel better now. Like maybe you won't need my..." What? Help? "... assistance anymore. However, it's probable that you may want to talk about things again. If so, you should come and see me," It sounded more like a command than an invitation.

He sat quietly and waited for Potter's comments. When it was evident the boy wasn't going to say anything, he sighed, "Say something, Mr. Potter. You were quite loquacious earlier."

Harry could remember. He was still in awe of how chaotic his own thoughts had been when he'd come to see Snape. "I think... It might be a good thing if I could drop in from time to time." That way the choking feeling might not appear again. Then he could sleep at night instead of feeling like he was getting lost inside his own mind.

"In that case, we need to set some basic rules to these conversations." Snape could never understand how some people could be so sloppy with details. He put his mug back on the table. "The Headmaster already knows you've been coming here, and he does not disapprove your visits."

That almost made Harry laugh. No one would think there was anything inappropriate going on between him and the Potions master. Except Ron might think he was trying to corrupt Harry to the Death Eater ways.

It was probably best if he never told his friends about this.

"Like I said, I don't want you wandering around the school in the middle of the night. You may floo in if you think it's absolutely necessary during the night time."

Relieved, Harry nodded. The sinking feeling usually came at night, when everyone else was asleep and he felt like he was all alone in the world.

Snape raised up a hand. "However, you will not simply appear here whenever it's convenient to you. You'll call in first." He would want to robe himself before seeing the boy.

"Of course, sir." Harry would definitely call in first. He couldn't even imagine flooing in and then going to wake Snape up. The whole thought boggled the mind.

"You can also stay behind class and then come over. We'll keep this and the schoolwork separate. This is Order business, so it has no place in the classroom."

Snape needed it to be clear. He didn't especially like people, and Potter was one of the most annoying people he knew. The myth built around him was nauseating. He was willing to do this, as both favor to Dumbledore -- even though the man hadn't actually asked him to -- and as it was his duty as a member of the Order to see that Potter would be alive and relatively sane to face Voldemort.

He didn't want this to have any effects on his teacher-student relationship with the boy. Didn't want him to start acting like he was somehow privileged in the class.

Harry agreed with that. "Sounds good, sir." He looked down at his plate but then lifted his gaze again, determination shining in his eyes. "And these conversations will stay private."

Not exactly a question, but Snape nodded anyway. It worked both ways; he wouldn't use whatever Potter told him as a weapon and Potter never let anyone know he would actually assist the hero of their world like this.

There was a short silence Harry masked by finishing his dinner. He knew he wasn't expected to talk with his mouth full, and used that to keep the silence from becoming awkward.

Watching the rather unoriginal stalling technique, Snape wondered what he should do now. Send Potter away and let him come back when he needed? Or maybe prod a bit.

He decided on the latter, simply because he had the time to listen right now. There would be things to do later, more cold remedies for Poppy, some truth serums for the Order to use. A couple of antidotes to the badly brewed love potions that would undoubtedly circulate amongst the students around the middle of February. If Potter had a chance to talk now, he might not disturb him so often in the future.

"Tell me about the present." Black gaze burning, Snape stared at Potter. "What keeps you busy? What are you thinking right now?"

Harry thought about that for a moment. "Um... I'm thinking this is really weird." That earned him a huff, but surprisingly nothing more. He wasn't sure if Snape would take off House points for his unsatisfying answers. Probably. "Wondering when Madam Hooch will set the next Quidditch match. The war, of course. I think about that a lot. That and Voldemort."

The name made Snape shiver inside again, but he didn't let any emotion show on his face.

"Then there are other Order things. I think about my godfather a lot." Harry didn't use Sirius' name, but he could see a slight sneer spread on Snape's face anyway. "I know you hate him, but he's important to me. He's the only person outside Hogwarts who cares about me." He had intended that as a simple statement, and was stunned to hear a hint of steel in his own voice.

Snape was surprised at both the words and the tone. He never thought about Potter outside Hogwarts. Definitely didn't want to think about Sirius Black, especially when the thought of the flea bitten mutt reminded him that he should really start the Wolfsbane potion for Lupin. Full moon was approaching.

When he realized Snape wasn't going to say anything, Harry added rather flatly, "I also think about the N.E.W.T.s. Don't know how I'm supposed to defeat Voldemort and pass the school year at the same time, though." He fell silent after that.

That was something Snape agreed on, even though he would say that the odds on Potter's passing the school year were small anyway.

He'd also realized that there was something Potter hadn't mentioned at all. Friends. The boy was rarely seen without at least one of his friends. Snape had seen the three of them walk together into the Great Hall these past two days, smiling and talking. How curious that the boy would leave that out. Keeping his voice neutral, he asked, "How about your friends? Everything all right with them?"

It had been obvious from watching Granger and Weasley that the two were worried about Potter's behavior. They tried to hide it, of course, but Snape was old enough not to be fooled by simple games played by simple people.

"Yeah." Harry nodded, thinking about how he and Ron had spent Sunday together doing all the fun things they so rarely managed to do these days. Playing chess. Flying.

Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Well... And no." Knowing he didn't have a reason to lie to Snape about this, Harry went on, talking about his friends. Explaining about the things that even he didn't really understand.

Listening to Potter ramble, Snape wondered just how on earth Dumbledore hadn't caught on to this before. He remembered watching Potter's father and his idiotic little group of friends and knew they had never had to deal with the things this new generation did. There had been problems, sure, but they had been dealt with. So what if one of the boys had been a werewolf? The others had still accepted him. And when they'd started to notice other boys and girls, they hadn't let any of them get between their friendship.

That had annoyed the young Severus Snape enormously. They had seemed like the core of Slytherin motto. Loyal and cunning. There had been no such loyalty among his housemates. It had been the early years of Voldemort's reign, and everyone had been more interesting in gaining personal power than making any real friends.

Snape couldn't help smiling at the irony. When Lucius Malfoy had finally tried to sneak behind his back and stab him, both figuratively and literally, he hadn't been at all surprised. He could only imagine the shock of the other three Gryffindors as they'd realized their most trusted friend was actually Voldemort's ally.

"But it's okay." Smiling wryly, Harry ended his explanation. "I don't think they would understand me, but they're still my friends."

Finishing with his tea, Snape nodded. "That seems to be the way things go, yes." He knew both Weasley and Granger and neither one of them would betray Potter. Too honest and stubborn for that.

Harry hadn't expected to get a real answer. Not that one was even needed. It was enough to be able to share his thoughts with someone. Didn't matter who, really. Before realizing Snape would be the only person he could talk to, he'd even thought of going to Trevor with his worries, just to have someone to talk to. The problem was that Neville never let the toad out of his sight these days.

It was actually nice to not have any sarcastic comments thrown at him, even if he'd been quite prepared for those as well. He'd come to expect for them, knowing they were a part of Snape, like the ever-present tea and various sweets were a part of Dumbledore. He couldn't imagine Snape without the cutting comments any more than he could imagine Filch without Mrs. Norris.

It was as if Snape was indeed taking his duty literally. He was listening, and that was it. To Harry's relief that was enough.

He left the dungeons shortly after that. He didn't really have more to say to Snape. Wandering through the corridors, he wondered what to tell his friends; they were worried and they would be asking questions. Ron would be easy to evade with a growled 'I don't want to talk about it', but Hermione wasn't going to settle for anything that simple. She'd want to hear logical explanations.

In the end, he went with a half-truth. When Ron and Hermione cornered him the moment he was back at the Gryffindor tower, he simply said Snape had expressed his utter disgust with his schoolwork, saying he wouldn't probably pass his N.E.W.T.s at that rate.

Hermione looked stunned at that. "But you've studied just as hard as we have. And you haven't been spending half the year running around the Forest or lying in the hospital wing." She seemed really annoyed at Snape's behavior.

"Well, you know Snape." It was all understandable to Ron.

Fortunately, there were no more questions after that. Harry was too tired to think of any plausible lies anyway.

That night, when he was lying in bed, Harry wondered about Ron's words. He didn't really think anyone knew Snape. He certainly didn't.

He couldn't believe what had happened these past few weeks. His own mental state, which worried him even now. Snape's strange offer of help. Or actually, Snape's response to his pleas for help; Snape wasn't exactly offering him anything.

Harry didn't really care why the usually so vicious man was willing to listen to him, it could be any reason. Maybe Dumbledore had asked him to do it, or Snape actually believed it was his duty. Maybe there was some part of the darkness he actually shared with Harry.

It didn't really matter.

Feeling sleep pull him towards sweet oblivion, Harry smiled. He wasn't going to think about anything right now. He was simply going to sleep.