So, yeah. I'm really late with this update. I apologize. I have all the chapters written, technically, but I go through them and flesh out details until I have everything just right. I'm finding it difficult to set aside time for that, which sucks because I love it so much. There's not much more to say than I'm sorry.

In this chapter we have an unstable Snape, which I always saw as important to his character. And some Star Wars references because I'm feeling nerdy.
ALSO: if you think about it, follow me on tumblr. My url is notamongtheangels; I'm loads of fun, I promise. Kinda.

Year Three:

Maybe It's Not My Weekend

Potter had officially out done himself. Even at his most selfish that damn brat had never attempted such a foolhardy and idiotic venture. Potter had deliberately acted in a way that would have killed an ordinary wizard, ignoring the rules and confronting beings that, by nature, could and would rend others limb from limb (and Severus didn't mean the werewolf). Of course, Potter was so freakish that werewolves, murderers, and sinister plots flocked to him like sheep to their shepherd; Potter was an abomination himself, the King of the Anathema. They wove a grotesque dance around the brat, and Harry stood there and grinned at the abominations and greeted them like long lost friends.

This was also the first time that Harry's actions affected him directly. Potter had unintentionally involved him this year, and like everything Potter touched, he had rotted, withered, and fell broken back to earth after a brief stint on wax wings. That was what hurt the most; Harry had chosen that vile cur over Severus. It was an act so reminiscent of James Potter that Severus had to reign himself in from flinging hexes and insults the moment he burst through the infirmary doors. Years of mastering his temper would not be thrown away carelessly because of one small, pale, insignificant, unruly child.

-
The green wingback chair directly in front of the fire had always been Severus's favorite. Its worn leather and soft embrace had calmed him on many occasions before he had schooled his mind and temper into perfect submission. There were few things that could shatter that iron will, so the potion master rarely had to seek comfort from his favored perch. In the self imposed darkness of Spinner's End, nothing could touch Severus. He's was invincible, protected from everything in his life that did not bear to be thought of. Everything except the newspaper, flung away in disgust, shock, and a bit of fear. Shameful, painful fear.

Screaming on the front page of the crowded Daily Prophet, Sirius Black looked very much like the murderer Severus knew him to be. His face was gaunt, contorted with blind rage as his mind slowly deteriorated. The dark brown eyes that Severus had come to fear were dulled; there was no spark of triumph and arrogance, there was barely any intelligence. Black's face, once considered handsome, was gaunt and bruised. He looked like a corpse that had only just begun to decompose.

His immediate, fearful reaction to the picture was simple to rationalize: Severus was still terrified of his school tormentors. If a picture of Black did that to me, I shudder to think what Potter's image would do, Snape thought as he tried to even his breathing. He hadn't even managed to read the title of the article.

Gingerly picking up the newspaper, Severus began to read. Panic flowed through him as he read, stronger and stronger until he thought that he might have to fetch a Calming Draught out of his cupboard. Black, one of the most insane men in Azkaban, killer of Peter Pettigrew, second in command of the Marauders, had escaped from Azkaban. The first person to ever do so. The paper didn't reveal any important details, but one excerpt caught Severus's eye and held it.

"No one knows why Black chose now to escape. But there were reports of Black muttering 'he's at Hogwarts' in his sleep. Could Black be attempting to resurrect He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Or is he after the son of his long time friend whom he failed to finish, Harry Potter?"

"Harry," Severus murmured, brow furrowed. No, it was impossible. Black was insane and clever enough to break out of Azkaban, but he wasn't fool enough to hunt for Harry at Hogwarts. Was he?

Severus shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. Harry would be fine. Severus would make sure of it.

-
"Severus," Lupin greeted cordially. The man seemed determined to be polite, borderline amicable around Severus. If he thought that would make up for the horrid things that had happened when they were younger, the wolf had another thing coming. "The headmaster said that you have the Woflsbane potion for me?"

Jerking a thumb at the steaming chalice on the table, Severus continued reading his book. If he opened his mouth, the potions master knew that his job would probably be forfeit. Dumbledore always favored the Marauders, he allowed himself one bitter, whiny thought, And he always will. Harry Potter's continued attendance at Hogwarts was proof that Dumbledore still held James Potter up on a pedestal of awe and laud, just like everyone else in the world.

Remus Lupin would not have been such an antagonistic part of Severus' life had it not been for James. In the early years, when Lily was still his, Remus would study with the two of them in the library. He never felt quite accepted into the Marauders, which Severus had always thought of with a vicious glee. Perhaps it would have been the one thing of James Potters that he had managed to steal. In reality, the only true Marauders were Black and Potter. All the verisimilitude in the world could not turn two pathetic boys into handsome, charming, witty, brilliant…Severus brought himself short with a growing horror. He had begun to praise the traits of the Fatal Four. The werewolf in the room was obviously messing with his mental faculties.
James Potter had his way, of course. One evening during their second year Black and Potter had sat the scrawny Gryffindor boy down and gave him a long talking to, the exact content of which Severus had never been privy. Losing his only non Slytherin male friend had been a small blow to Severus at the time, seeing as he still had the lovely Lily, but years later it had welled up and reminded him just how often Gryffindor's Golden Students get their way.

"Bleh," Lupin gasped, placing the goblet on the table once more and pulling a disgusted face. "That stuff is absolutely horrid."
"I wouldn't know," Severus said with mock lightness as he quirked an eyebrow. Lupin growled at him, and the sound was so shocking and so reminiscent of their childhood that Severus was up with his wand out before his rational thought processing could be bothered to catch up; all he knew was that a guttural noise like that from one of them meant an attack was on its way. Not from a werewolf, but a Gryffindor. A Marauder.

Lupin stared at the wand pointed at his jugular in surprise. "Severus," he began in puzzlement, "I meant nothing by it. What on earth is wrong?"

Feeling more than a little stupid, the potions master sat back down. The wand disappeared back into a fold of his robes, for the moment. "Old habits die hard, Lupin," he gritted out with all the dignity he had remaining. Had he given some signal to the shabby Gryffindor that it was acceptable to call Severus by his given name? It was a mistake on Lupin's part if he thought that Snape would allow such nonsense to lull him into a false sense of security. The man was a Marauder, and as such untrustworthy at the best of times.

"Hm," Lupin made a noncommittal noise as he continued to sip the potion. Severus tried not to take offense to the disgusted face the man was wearing; it wasn't the fault of the brewer that Wolfsbane was practically unpalatable. "Severus, you've been teaching here for quite some time, if I recall?"

"Yes," the potions master replied in a cautious monotone. Hopefully the man wasn't trying to make small talk. Not only was Severus dreadful at the art of polite conversation, he also had no desire to partake in pleasantries with this particular man. If he was lucky, Lupin would take his singular answer as the offer to fuck off he so obviously intended.

"How is Harry?" the shabbier man asked bluntly, staring at Severus with such concern and affection that he felt the need to retch or perhaps break something. "I met him on the train. He seems…quiet. Reserved, almost. There's nothing wrong with him, I hope?"

Severus stared into those wretched, innocent, kind eyes for innumerable moments. This was a man whose life was what one would see should they desire to search for the meaning of 'total ruin', and yet he was concerned about the son of his best friend. Harry Potter, whose life was so utterly different and who outclassed Lupin so soundly that Severus felt the need to chuckle darkly at imagining the two Gryffindors being in the same room. A kinship had already formed in the wolf's mind with the young Hero. He was concerned, and perhaps the most bitter part of that truth was the fact that as a fellow Marauder, Lupin had a right to be.

"If there is something wrong with the boy," Severus growled, "I assure you that I would be the last to know about it." Which was the undeniable truth.

The look of incredulity Lupin gave him almost made him smirk. "Do you and Harry not get on, Severus?" he asked as he set the now empty goblet down on the desk. Walking over, Remus sat down gently on a chair across from Severus. "I would have thought that with him being Lily's son…" The weak trailing off of his sentence was almost as contemptible to Snape as the thoughtless words had been.

"He has too much of his father in him," the Head of Slytherin retorted acerbically. "Arrogant, disrespectful, reckless, self centered-"

Lupin smiled a knowing little smile and cut him off quietly, "I did not mean to distress you, Severus. Though I do not know the boy very well yet, I can tell that he is as much Lily's son as he is James's.

"I think I'll leave you to your reading," he said standing back up and gingerly stretching. The full moon was drawing closer, instilling a prematurely rheumatic ache in the man's body. "Thank you again, Severus."

With that, Remus Lupin slipped quietly out of Severus's office. This left the potion master alone with his thoughts and the dim green light from the fireplace.

The sniveling wimp Lupin was concerned for Harry in a way that left a bitter taste in Severus' mouth. Twelve years too late the man had decided to take an interest in the boy's life and he expected to waltz in and have Severus spill all he knew about Harry like a chattering fourth year Hufflepuff girl? It was an insult to both of their intelligences. And Harry would let him do it, Severus knew. The boy was hungry for information about his parents. Any scrap of knowledge, no matter how biased the source, was like a feast for the stupid boy. Harry had never bothered to ask him about his parents, about the lovely Lily. He who knew Lily better than any other, and yet the boy was going to settle for third rate memories from a man who was barely human. It was disgustingly unfair that Severus had to vie for the boy's trust the way that he did when Potter would undoubtedly shower it upon the disgusting mongrel because of something as stupid as Gryffindor loyalty. And yet…

Lupin had a right to be concerned for the boy; as far as the man was concerned, he was practically Harry's uncle. There was a claim of family, a connection that Severus would never have with Potter.

Why would Snape want a connection to the insolent brat anyway? They had made it painfully obvious (to each other and to the rest of the world) that they loathed each other with barely constrained fury. Nothing could be done to bridge such a gap, not that either party wanted to try. Harry was like a reincarnation of James; the only difference between the two Potters' relations with Severus was that (due to his position of authority) Severus always triumphed over Harry.

Yes, Lupin was welcome to fawn over Harry and coddle him like everyone else in the world. He would be doing a disservice to Harry by not seeing him for what he truly was, the way Severus saw him. It would hurt both Gryffindors in the end, so surely that was reason enough to endure for a little while the sour curdling taste of jealousy that flooded his mouth?

-
The weather was absolutely abysmal for a Quidditch match. The pouring rain made it difficult to make out what players from which team were doing what. Not that Severus liked Quidditch even in the best conditions. It was a dangerous, boring, simplistic sport that left no room for strategy. Get the ball through the hoop and try not to die; honestly, how had such a moronic game become the universal wizard pass time? The only acceptable part of the games at Hogwarts was Lee Jordan's running commentary, though Severus knew that if he voiced a favorable opinion of the Weasley Twins' lackey that Minerva would likely hex him.

Why was he even braving the elements to watch the damn game? Slytherin was not competing at the moment, and he had no interest in watching the Hufflepuffs lose for the umpteenth time. The Inter House Quidditch Cup was really a competition between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Everyone knew it, seeing as the two rival Houses always managed to not only have the best teams, but the desire to smite the other Houses. Slytherin dominated because it was in their nature, while Gryffindors fought for the glory of victory and the need to lead.

A thin, sopping form in bright scarlet whizzed past the teachers stand. There was no mistaking that unruly mop of black hair; Potter, seeker extraordinaire, was on the hunt. The boy flew with a grace that was unparalleled by anyone Severus had ever seen, and had he given a damn about such things he would have been inclined to be impressed. Even James Potter, who had been offered the chance to Seek professionally, could not compare to his son. And he would have been completely jealous despite the fact that it's his own son, Severus thought with the vicious glee only brought about by besting someone hated.

And then suddenly, the object of his begrudging praise simply had to prove him wrong. In the middle of the field (pitch, his mind unhelpfully provided), Harry Potter was plummeting to earth like an angel who had just had his wings clipped. Following the boy's descent was an entire company of dementors.

Terror that had nothing to do with the foul creatures seized Severus. Harry, his redemption, his charge, was in danger. Before he could raise a wand to save the boy, Albus called out a spell. With the knowledge that Harry could not be in safer hands, his own excepted, Snape turned his wrathful attention on the dementors.

Think of a happy thought, he hissed to himself frantically. Unbidden, the memory of Harry thanking him in parseltongue at the end of the previous school year leapt to his mind. The elegant silver doe erupted from his wand and charged straight at the dementors with all the fury her master could muster. From the corner of his eye Severus registered an ethereal tabby cat and a hulking wolf-like animal coming as well to join his doe in the fray. McGonnagal and Lupin.

Between the three of them, the dementors quickly fled the grounds. The patronuses followed right on the demons' metaphoric heels, chasing them all the way to the farthest reaches of the property and corralling them there until Dumbledore could deal with them in a fitting manner.

In a flurry of soaked black robes, Severus made his way down to the ground where Harry lay unconscious. Someone, somewhere was going to bear the brunt of his ire but at the moment all that mattered was levitating Harry to the Hospital Wing.

"Severus," Dumbledore acknowledged as he leaned over the seeker's prone body. The long white beard was trailing in the mud and his eyes refused to harbor that ever damnable twinkle. Perhaps that was for the best; Severus was unsure if he could handle the older man's perpetual good humor at such a time. "He's alive. Would you be willing to-"

A nonverbal mobilicorpus answered the unfinished question. Potter hovered gently in the air just under the level of Snape's shoulder. "See to the dementors," Severus growled as he began the trek back to the castle over the marshy landscape. Another nonverbal spell created a sort of shield around Potter, preventing the rain from falling on him. The last thing Severus wanted, as he flicked a drying spell at the boy and himself, was for Potter to drown due to raindrops. There was no less heroic death he could think of at that moment.

"My, my," he heard Albus chuckle quietly as they parted. Resisting the urge to turn and play the headmaster's sick little games wasn't very difficult with Potter's wellbeing taking the forefront of his thoughts. "You really are worried about the lad."

It was a silent journey through the empty castle. Everyone had turned out, despite the despicable weather, to watch the Quidditch match. The entire castle would empty every time Potter played, not that the boy ever noticed. Seeing Harry on a broom, in his element, was a joy to watch no matter what House a person was in. Even Severus ascended from his dark dungeon domain to watch the boy do what he did best. Now though, with Harry Potter levitating limply beside him as he half jogged through the deserted corridors, Severus was having unpleasant worries as to whether the boy would ever even be able to wake up, let alone sit astride a broom.

A blast of magic from the wand he still clutched tightly in his hand flung the doors of the infirmary open wide, slamming them against the stone walls with enough force to damage the thick wood they were carved from.

"Severus!" Poppy yelled as she came skidding down the rows of beds. "What on earth has gotten into you?" Without a word, Severus brought Harry around into the medi-witch's line of sight. Seeing the woman purse her lips in aggravation and concern was perhaps the best sight the potion master had since Harry's fall. "Place him on his usual cot," she directed briskly, whipping out her wand and pointing to a bed.

The fact that Harry was in this ward often enough to have a cot considered his own gave Severus a vaguely disturbed, uneasily concerned feeling near the back of his head. It would develop into a splitting headache soon, he was certain. Placing the young Gryffindor down on the bed, Severus stepped back to allow Poppy room to work.

"Severus, would you mind grabbing a painkilling potion from the cabinet?" she asked distractedly as she waved her wand over Potter from head to toe and back. "Whichever one you think is best, of course."

Feeling honored that the ever irascible witch actually wanted his help instead of shooing him out the way she banished everyone else, Severus grabbed what he knew to be a medium strength pain killer from her stores. This particular potion, he was certain, he had brewed himself; Severus would trust no other brewer, not even Poppy, with the mixtures for the brat. Potter was Severus' responsibility, and no one would be taking any part of that away from him. It was a limited enough role already.

Not long after Poppy had patched Potter up, what seemed to be the whole of Gryffindor House gathered at the still open infirmary doors. "Madam Pomfrey?" Wood, the captain of the team and the one who encouraged such reckless behavior from Potter, inquired insistently, "Is Harry going to be alright? May we see him?"

"No," Snape snarled, surprising himself and the scarlet and gold swarm of well wishers. Well, I might as well finish what I began. "Mr. Potter needs rest and quiet, neither of which you ignorant and reckless children seem to understand the meaning of."

Wood and three of the Weasleys began shouting immediately, followed shortly by the three girls on the team and Granger. The rest of the group brought up the rear, creating a mindless, discontented hum in the background.

"Mr. Potter is fine," Poppy interrupted, giving Severus a harsh look that he didn't deign to acknowledge. "Let him wake up on his own. The Gryffindor team plus Weasley and Granger may stay. The rest of you lot need to go back to Gryffindor Tower and change before you die of pneumonia."

With a few more grumbles, a large portion of the horde trudged off in a sopping cluster, presumably toward Gryffindor Tower. The eight that remained crowded around Harry's bed, creating an impenetrable wall of red and gold loyalty and concern. Severus opened his mouth to order them to move back, that Potter wouldn't want them hovering, but Poppy glared at him in such a way that the man shut his mouth with a surprised snap.

"You can talk to Harry after his friends are certain he's okay," the woman informed him sharply. The look on her face and the way she stressed 'friends' made it abundantly clear that Severus Snape was not privileged enough to be on the list of individuals Poppy considered to be Harry Potter's friends. "Until then, Severus, you'll have to endure watching them man-handle the poor darling until he's utterly exhausted."

In that simple phrase, two realizations hit Severus. One was that the list of people on staff who truly cared about the Potter boy for who he was and not what he was (or who he was related to) was longer than he though. The second… "Poppy," he shook his head with begrudging admiration. "How do you do it? Heal each one of these little monsters and then watch all of your perfect work go down the drain the moment a visitor comes?"

"By remembering that they have other needs besides physical healing, Severus," Poppy replied solemnly. With that, the plump witch bustled back to her desk. Severus shook his head in admiration, his respect for the tetchy healer rising several notches.

Waiting for the herd of lions to leave was perhaps the longest forty-five minutes of Severus Snape's life. There were moments when he thought that he might have to banish the lot of them from the infirmary because they were distressing Potter so much. Telling the child that not only did they lose the game but his favorite possession had been mangled by the Whomping Willow was not the best way to awaken from slumber after an accident. An accident, Severus thought with a scowl, which could have taken his life. What had happened to cause Potter to fall off of his broom? That was the crux of the matter, in Severus's estimation.

At long last, the cluster of well wishers disbanded. As they parted like a blood red sea, Severus could see Harry's battered form reclined once more on the cot. His eyes were closed and his posture rigid. Assuming the boy was in pain, Severus half-ran to his side immediately.

"Potter?" he ventured, sitting cautiously on the chair that one of the students had just vacated. The boy's face was drawn in pain, the wonderful green eyes obscured from view. "Do you require another potion?"

Potter snapped his eyes open in shock. "Professor Snape?" he sputtered inarticulately as usual. "What are you doing here?"

Ignoring the hurt that flared up at the impertinent brat's disbelief, Severus raised a mocking eyebrow. "You are in the infirmary, are you not?" he snapped rhetorically. Was this the thanks he received for saving the boy's life yet again?

"Sorry professor," he muttered, for once properly abashed at his impertinent behavior. "I didn't expect to see you here. Were you watching the game?"

That damnably innocent tone made Severus's teeth ache, and what made it worse was the fact that Harry was telling the truth. The brat did not realize that the entire school watched his every game and he truly believed that Severus would allow him to sit in the infirmary while his fan club pranced around preventing him from healing properly.

"Potter, do try to keep your stupidity to yourself," he drawled, simply out of habit. Potter, easily infuriated as usual, opened his mouth to make a scathing yet ill worded retort. "Are you feeling any better?" The question was both stupid and useless; the boy had just fallen several hundred feet from a flying broomstick. It was unreasonable to expect the brat to be able to walk such an injury off. The question served its purpose though, effectively redirecting Potter's train of thought.

"I'm fine," he insisted with a huff. He reached out a hand toward the potions professor, his face open and expecting. Severus was completely and utterly baffled at the gesture. Harry was looking at him with a small smile which only increased the older man's confusion. It was a cue for him to do something, he realized. Had it been anyone but Potter or Potter directing the silent plea at anyone other than the great bat of the dungeons, Severus would have thought the boy was asking for assistance to sit up.

"Could you give me a hand up, sir?" Harry finally asked once it seemed that Severus would not answer his silent request. "I have homework to do, and Ron wanted-"

"You will not be going anywhere, Mr. Potter," Severus interrupted abruptly. The boy obviously had injured his head far worse than he had originally assessed. Only a complete idiot would want to go gallivanting off into the sunset so soon after such an ordeal. "You have been injured quite-"

Harry rolled his eyes and began to heave himself up into a sitting position. As he moved, a brief flash of pain went across the young boy's face. Before he could damage himself further, Severus was up and gently urging him to recline once more. "Stay still, you brat." His order lacked its usual venom, replaced by something almost caring. That was an utterly ridiculous notion; he, Severus Snape, caring for Harry Potter as an actual person. Severus simply did not want all of Poppy's hard work to go to waste.

"Fine," the boy grumbled, turning slightly so that Snape wouldn't see him pout. The professor noticed anyway. When it seemed that Potter would listen to reason and be still, Severus reclaimed his place in the chair near the bed. "My friends said that dementors got into the pitch, that Dumbledore saved me, and that my broom was smashed to bits by that damn-" Severus raised an eyebrow, "erm, by the Whomping Willow. Is that it, in a nutshell?"

Choosing to ignore the colloquialism, Severus nodded. "Yes, that is an accurate summation of this morning's events," he conceded. The boy didn't really need to know that Severus, Minerva, and Lupin had all three jumped to his aid to banish the dementors, nor did he need to be privy to the fact that Severus had carried him to the infirmary.

"Do you always talk like that?" Harry asked, his sharp green eyes boring into Severus's black ones with curiosity.

"What are you blathering about, Potter?" he asked calmly. Leaning back in his chair, the professor had to resist the urge to simply close his eyes and rub his temples. Exhaustion was creeping up on him, and the headache he always had in the brat's presence was starting to rear its ugly head.

"Do you always talk like there's a dictionary in your head that you just flip through and use big words at will?" Harry rephrased, though it was not much more coherent than the previous version. "I mean, you don't even use contractions."

"Potter," Snape warned. The boy was being overly familiar with him again, probably because they were in the infirmary. Every time that the two of them were alone in that accursed room the strict dichotomy of the Evil Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House(bane of students everywhere) and Harry Freaking Potter The Boy Who Lived (the hero of Gryffindor) seemed to fall by the wayside. The brat would overstep his bounds, and Severus would let him even going so far as to unintentionally encourage it by answering the chit's questions truthfully.

Also in these disconcerting moments Harry's Slytherin nature would rise from the depths like a sleeping leviathan. It scared Severus to know how much he enjoyed that aspect of Potter's personality.

Potter was silent for a few more minutes as he simply stared into his potion master's eyes, as if trying to discern what was going on in his head. He would not maintain such prolonged eye contact if he knew of legilimency, Severus thought as he watched his reflection in those perfect peridot gems. Such a pity that those perfect eyes were in so loathsome a face.

"Do you think like that, too?" Harry blurted before he could stop himself. Caught off guard, Severus let a slight chuckle escape before slipping back behind his wonderfully emotionless mask. "You do, don't you!" the brat exclaimed triumphantly. "I knew it! That's wicked."

The grin that Harry gave him at that moment, more than anything else the brat had insisted, assured Severus that he was alright. "Well, Mr. Potter," he said as he stood up. It was a bit difficult to remain imposing when he had to look almost straight down to see Potter on the cot, but the potion master managed. "You seem to be no worse for wear. I had briefly considered allowing you an extension on that essay you owe me, but it appears you will not need it. Three feet on the proper method of harvesting boomslang skin, due Monday afternoon as originally assigned. Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Mr. Potter."

In a swish of black robes, Severus turned and marched out of the Hospital Wing. The only thing sweeter than the knowledge that the bratty puck was uninjured was the dismayed groan that echoed through the room as he left.

-
A piece of paper should not force anyone to lose their temper so easily. In truth, it was not the wretched scrap of parchment itself that caused Severus to forget himself; rather, the four collective consciousnesses in the paper were responsible for the ever stoic potions master making a fool of himself not only in front of Lupin, but in Harry's presence as well. Though if Harry had not antagonized him, Severus seriously doubted that the sight of the Map would have affected him so strongly. Potter had always possessed the unique ability to crawl under his skin and remain beneath the surface, burning and blistering like dragon fire until it was all Snape could do to verbally flay him. The Marauders, Dumbledore, and the Dark Lord could not claim to hold as loathsome a position in Severus' life as The Boy Who Lived lorded over him.

It was not the first encounter with that wretched map. It was always in Potter or Black's hand or pocket, as if they were afraid to leave it lying around where some sneaky Slytherin such as Severus Snape might find it. The two boys were really just too proud of their invention to leave it lying about. The Marauders' Map was the brain child of Potter and Black, and they treated it as lovingly and gently as they would an infant. Any physical manifestation of their own cleverness and arrogance was worthy of laud, apparently.

Spelling the convoluted paper into insulting Severus personally was an addition of Potter's, he knew from experience. That, more than any skillful lying employed by Lupin, assured Severus of the identity of The Brat's bit of innocuous parchment. Harry Potter was now the proud possessor of James Potter and Sirius Black's favorite creation. Hogwarts castle was doomed. With the Map and Cloak in his arsenal, The Boy Who Breaks Curfew would be practically unstoppable.

Severus jolted to a halt at that thought, standing before the fireplace in his personal quarters and panting as though he had been jogging. With a groan of frustration and defeat, the potions master collapsed onto the soft black couch near the hearth. Protecting Harry would be nearly impossible now. Under the cloak, Severus had no chance of finding him. Hell, Albus admitted that he found locating the boy difficult while he was under the Cloak. But now that he had the Map (and apparently the knowledge of how to use it, or he would not have been so edgy about it being in Severus's clutches), the brat would know where Severus was and how to avoid him.

The throbbing headache that Severus only suffered from when thinking of a certain bratty, insolent Gryffindor began to set in, so the professor did the only thing he could do: summoned a bottle of some potion or another that would cure his throbbing headache and curled up on the sofa to watch the fire die.

If Albus would allow the boy to know at least a bit more, Severus would not have to spend his evenings with a tension headache (at Potter's hands, anyway; grading essays was a pain of a different variety). The brat needed to know just how important he was. The fate of the wizarding world rested upon his young shoulders, and sneaking about the castle and off the grounds was a quick way to doom them all. The boy had so much potential. Having seen the Slytherin side of Potter more than anyone else, and with the knowledge of his past deeds, Severus was confident that the boy would, if given enough training and warning, rise to the occasion magnificently and eradicate the Dark Lord once and for all.

Well. That was a bit more melodramatic a thought than he typically entertained. Perhaps the potion he had taken was…no, of course not. It was one of his own brewing, therefore the potion was flawless.

In a wonderful paradox, telling Potter that he was the fulcrum upon which all things turn was a conversation that the potions master did not relish taking part in. The boy's ego would expand exponentially until not even Hogwarts Castle could house it. No, perhaps Albus was wise to keep the urchin in the dark.

Like so many of his recent musing, Severus's thoughts had lead him right back to where he had begun. Potter was always going to act foolishly because he did not know better. Severus was doomed to continually saving Gryffindor's Golden Boy, because of an act he should have known better than when he was young. And Albus would proceed to act like he really knew better than all of them, the Twinkle Eyed Demon. All in all, penance was a bitch.

Exhausted, Severus heaved himself up off the couch and headed towards his bedroom. Contrary to popular rumor flitting about the castle, Severus Snape was human. As he flicked his wand at the fire, instantly blanketing his chambers in darkness, thoughts of werewolves and murderers and dementors danced around his head, circling one small boy with bright peridot eyes. Yes, in these dark moments when his uncertainty crashed down upon him, Severus Snape was very human indeed.

-
Severus carried the goblet of Wolfsbane potion carefully down the aisles of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, heading for the office at the rear of the room. It was, he thought with malicious humor, Lupin's time of the month. The urge to kick the door open was almost overwhelming, but seeing as Severus still intended to occupy these rooms someday he refrained. Edging open the cracked door, the potion master headed over to the desk where he typically placed the potion.

"Come now Lupin," he mocked quietly, "drink up before it gets too-" The scathing quip died on his tongue. Lupin was not in his rooms. There was, however, a piece of parchment stretched out beside the chalice of potion. Tiny footprints dotted the map, names hovering above, moving across the Map. He found his own name, absolutely immobile in the DADA office. Why had Lupin not cleared the Map? Of all the horrible traits possessed by the mongrel, forgetfulness was not one of them. Scanning the Map once more, Severus found Lupin's name traveling quickly towards a passage at the edge of the paper. Had he chosen to transform there tonight, for old time's sake?

At the end of the passage were three other names, two of which stopped Severus's heart cold. Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew.

The very little color that Snape possessed drained from his face. Another name was in the middle of the passage, trapped between the werewolf and the murderer. Harry Potter.

As whenever Harry was in trouble, a single minded focus came over Severus. Only things that had to do with Harry's wellbeing could be done when he was in such a state. Grabbing the goblet of potion, Severus ran out of the office and back through the classroom. Harry was in trouble, far deeper trouble than he had ever been in before.

Severus's flight to the grounds was a blur of grey stone that slowly morphed into green grass.

It had to be around there somewhere, it had to be. Otherwise Harry was going to be dead and Black would win. Severus did not bother to consider which was the more unpleasant of the two, he simply continued scanning the ground for-aha! The Cloak. James Potter's infamous Cloak of Invisibility, handed down along the Potter line for generations. The man would be rolling in his grave to know that slimy Snivellous had gotten his hands on it, but that was a victory to be savored later. Harry was about to be murdered.

Whirling the cloak around himself, Snape took off at a dead run for the Whomping Willow. Years ago he learned the secret to entering the passage beneath. At the time, he had been foolish enough to use a stick; what self respecting wizard forgets his magic? Firing a spell at the knot, Severus slid down into the dark shaft.

-
The brat had stunned him. Harry Potter had stunned him with no more than a flick of his wand and a flippant expelliarmus. It had been so blatantly unexpected-that was the only explanation, Severus surmised as he floated disgracefully along behind the brat and his new dog. Severus had made the mistake of assuming that Potter wouldn't dare raise his hand against the potion's master. Obviously, Severus had misinterpreted something when he suspected that the boy might hold at least a smidgen of grudging respect for him.

Another sharp slam of his head against the dirty, rocky roof of the tunnel made Snape groan. Pain and exasperation mixed with a little self loathing; what a wonderful combination. That particular trio of emotions was like an old friend, really. An unwanted yet familiar entity that insisted on spending time with him.

"I know you'll probably want to stay with your aunt and uncle," Black was saying. The timid strain in his voice would have almost been worth a chuckle in any other situation. "But -once my name is cleared, I mean- if you would ever want a…second home…?"

"Leave the Durselys?" Harry squeaked, his voice cracking. "Live with you?" His voice was just a little too desperate for Severus's liking. Dumbledore had informed Severus just how inhuman Potter's relatives were; if such a chance was dangled in front of him at that age, Severus would probably have lunged at it desperately as well. Think, Potter, for once in your life, Severus snarled silently, that pathetic shell of a man can't even take care of himself, let alone another child.

"I can understand that you wouldn't want to…" Black trailed off forlornly. He sounded utterly crushed. Good.

"Are you insane?" Harry croaked. Of course he is. No sane men come out of Azkaban. Severus could almost see the desperately adoring look that Potter must have been lavishing upon Black. "Do you have a house? When can I move in?"

Severus saw red.

-
"You imbecile!" Severus bellowed as he strode down the rows of cots in the infirmary, black robes snapping behind him in a parallel of his fury. Severus's face was contorted in a special type of rage reserved solely for those unfortunate enough to be named Potter. "Is there nothing in that empty cavity you insist on calling a skull?"

"Professor, please, Ron is sleeping," Harry had the gall state calmly. He didn't even deign to look up from the prone ginger. Snape begrudgingly (and silently) cast a muffliato on the gangly youth on the cot. Potter did have a point; Weasley didn't deserve to see the two of them in the midst of their end of year infirmary chat.

"Do you not understand the gravity of your actions, Potter?" he repeated, volume only slightly lessened. Potter looked over at him questioningly from across the cot. "You. Would. Have. Died."

"That seems to be a more common occurrence than not, but I'm still here," Harry retorted mulishly.

Severus eyes widened. "How dare you," he hissed, glaring at Potter. Walking around the bed, he grabbed Potter by the arm and hauled him away from Weasley, down the rows to the cot labeled as Potter's. "You are the most arrogant, ignorant child I have ever had the misfortune of teaching. The gods see fit to bless you with talent and intelligence and you squander it on liars, thieves, and murderers. You are reckless and a fool, and not worth the effort I have put into keeping you alive. If you wish to go and die in whatever manner you see fit, Potter, kindly make certain that I will not have to clean up your corpse!"

Severus was heaving in deep breaths by the time he had finished. Potter stared up at him utterly dumfounded and a little hurt. Good. The boy would never understand the severity of his transgressions unless it was spread out for him as such. Softer methods did not seem to penetrate his abysmally thick skull.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked, emerald eyes staring up wetly at Severus. This was not what the potion's master had expected. Crying, sniveling, and declarations of the unfairness of it all might have been a bit closer.

"Tell you what?"

Potter lowered himself tiredly onto his cot. Severus stared down at him, remnants of anger and confusion making his gaze less than friendly. "That my dad and Sirius were best friends. Why didn't you tell me what had happened? I understand that Professor Lupin couldn't because he had to keep his…condition secret, but why didn't you tell me anything? I think I deserve to know the story of my own life."

Telling you would require revealing my part in the plot, and I could not handle your revulsion. You're the only one left alive who can forgive me, and I refuse to jeopardize that. But there was no possibility of Severus Snape admitting that aloud. "Why did you neglect to tell me that you were having difficulties with the dementors? Why was I not privy to your attempts to sneak into Hogsmeade? Why have you never thought to seek me out before you run gallivanting off into the fray?" Severus said in condescending rebuttal. "I never gave you information because you did not ask for it."

Harry's green eyes widened comically behind his glasses. Yes, it really was that simple. "I didn't realize that I was allowed to seek you out, sir," the boy replied. His tone was so innocently confused that Severus had to sit down. His migraine was returning with a vengeance, and he absently rubbed his temples.

That simple admission, more than any amount of observation on Severus's part, clarified the past three years. It was a succinct summary, in a way. Harry didn't ask because he didn't think he was allowed or welcome. Severus didn't offer because he didn't want to waste advice on an unwilling audience. A vicious cycle, though in truth it was just one of the many that made up his life.

"Potter," Severus began, then stopped. Dropping his hands from his throbbing head, the potion master looked over at his young companion. The boy looked up at him with his head cocked to the side, emerald eyes open but wary. Willing to listen, but not yet to trust. Severus was struck by just how proud the boy had the potential to make him. "Harry. Let us make a pact, you and I."

"A pact?" Harry repeated cautiously, slowly. "What sort of pact?"

"I will tell you everything that is within my power. You must come to me with everything dangerous or idiotic that you intend to engage in. There are those in this world who want to see you dead. I am not one of them, and as Dumbledore is nearly as proactive as the Emperor Nero, I seem to be your only hope. But you are going to have to trust me," Severus warned. Perhaps it was just his year to be overly dramatic.

"So, Obi Wan Kenobi, are you my only hope?" Potter drawled sarcastically. Cheeky brat.

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to be the death of me?" Severus replied with a ghost of a grin. Potter nearly fell off the bed in shock. "Is that an assent, Potter?"

"I don't like it when people keep important things from me, professor," Potter explained as he absently fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "So I guess we have an agreement. If you're sure that you can stand to have me around, of course."

"I shall suffer in silence, I suppose," Severus agreed dryly as he held out his hand. Potter looked at it for a moment as though weighing his options. The boy didn't like being entangled with anyone or anything restricting, and Severus respected that almost as much as he was desperate to keep the boy safe. Potter finally reached out his hand, small in comparison and much less stained, and the accord was sealed.

The two sat in silence for a moment. Presumably, Potter was contemplating this new and highly unusual alliance with his most hated teacher. It must have seemed like a terrible restriction, but obviously it was a price he was willing to pay for the answers he needed. Severus was elated. Finally, the boy would be where he was safest: in Snape's purview.

"All right, Potter," Severus said as he stood. His back creaked and popped like an old man's; age beyond his years was yet another price he paid for this extraordinary yet infuriating boy. "I shall leave you to visiting your companion. You have an owl, and I trust you know how to use her. Send me a missive should anything arise." Turning on his heel, Severus strode out of the infirmary.

"Sir!" Harry called just as he made to open the doors.

Without turning, Snape asked, "What now, Potter?"

"May the force be with you, professor," the brat informed him. Severus could almost see the ridiculous grin on the boy's face. Chuckling, Severus continued on his way to the dungeons. Perhaps they would both make it out alive, in the end.