Harry opened his eyes and experienced a brief moment of vertigo as he struggled to get his bearings. The curtains around the bed were not the well worn, heavy hangings that surrounded his four poster dorm bed, nor were the clean sheets the soft, familiar ones he was used to waking up beneath. On top of all that, the bed itself seemed thinner, smaller, slightly more crowded--

            That was it. Harry smiled lazily as he yawned and let his eyes droop closed. Beneath the covers he groped around until he found Snape's hand and laced his fingers between the colder, thinner ones.

            To awaken with a partner. Now there was something Harry hadn't experienced in a long time. Not since last summer, with that darling boy with the curly hair and blue, blue eyes-- Tate, that had been his name. Such a sweet young man, the one who had first led Harry to see what he was, what he wanted. They had spent so many wonderful nights together, away from everyone and everything. And while his companionship had been very, very welcome, it was the more subtle things that Harry was truly grateful for. Those precious few moments during which it had all gone away, so far that it seemed as if it was happening in another world, to another boy. It was for those rare moments in which Harry could forget about the Dursleys, forget about school, forget about his scar-- it was those moments for which Harry thanked him most.

            And yet it couldn't last. Of course it couldn't. Tate was a Muggle and didn't know about Harry and his second life. Harry made certain of that. At least that would be one reason he wouldn't lose the only companionship he'd ever had outside of Hogwarts. Even on the off chance Tate might have believed it, the last thing Harry wanted was to be idolized again, and more likely than not, Tate would have assumed Harry's story to be nothing more than a child's fantasy, though they both knew he was far from a child.

            Three days before Harry left for Hogwarts, Tate had disappeared with his family. The "For Sale" sign hung crooked and swinging from the door of their old house. Harry had passed by it one day as he walked around the neighborhood. He had taken to walking more and more frequently as the Dursleys became unbearable, and one day the sign was just there. Tate and his family were gone, as if though they had never been there at all. Belatedly, Harry realized that he had never even met his parents. He wondered if they knew what he did about Tate, that underneath that angelic complexion lay a man too wise for his years. He doubted that they did.

            There had been another after Tate, but that had come to nothing. He had been a seventh year on his way out of Hogwarts and into a promising career as a Quidditch player. He had known exactly what he had wanted and how to get it. Harry stopped where that was going even before it had started. Necking in the locker rooms, a brief caress and a murmured word or two, and that was all. Anything more would have turned into a travesty.

            And now there was Sev. Gently, Harry reached out with his free hand and brushed it against the side of Snape's face. The gaunt Potions Master stirred in his sleep, then his eyes fluttered open. He turned in the direction of Harry's hand and reached out, trying to contact something he knew to be real. For a moment, he seemed lost, a desperate man grasping at the last rope before he fell into the chasm, a rope hanging precariously out of reach. Then his fingers touched Harry's lips, felt the curves of his face and the despair fell from his eyes. Harry breathed in silent gratitude that the morning would not be a repeat of last night, but the relief was short lived.

            Snape's face was blank, cold as he clenched his fingers and drew his hand back. With quick, sharp movements he grabbed Harry by the wrist and flung his hand away as he sat up.

            "Get out," he hissed, as he stared blankly into the distance. "Go."

            Harry blinked and stammered, startled by this sudden and unexpected reaction. "But-- why? What happened? Last night--"

            "Last night should not have happened," Snape said, coldly. "There was too much going on, too many factors. Too much that went wrong. One of us was taken advantage of last night, and I still can't figure out which. Now get out."

            "But--" Harry continued to protest, searching for the right words that would make Snape change his mind, make him sense what he could not see. "Sev, please--"

            "Last night was a mistake."

            It was those cold words that made Harry stop dead. He stared at Snape, his mouth halfway open in shock. "You can't mean that," he whispered as he tried to calm his pounding heart. Except he knew--

            "I do. And don't tell me it meant anything to you. It was a moment of weakness, of lust. In any other circumstances, it would never have happened."

            "But it did," Harry pursued, knowing he was on the verge of pleading but could not bring himself to care. "We're not in any other circumstances, we're in these ones now. And it did happen. And it did mean something--"

            "Get out," Snape roared, flinging the bedclothes wide. "I will not entertain your child's fantasy that last night was anything more than what it was, a moment of need, of pure, mechanical action. I needed you last night, and you, for whatever reason, needed me. Now we both got what we wanted, and there's nothing more to it than that."

            Harry stood still and trembling beside the bed, the floor cold on his bare feet as he stared in dumb surprise. "I--" His voice caught. Without another word, he grabbed his robes and threw them over his head and ran, not caring that the clasps were buckled wrong or that the fabric around the collar tore. All that mattered now was that he got out, out and away. Out and up, away and gone, up, up, up. He didn't stop, not even as he sobbed for air as the tears in his throat stole the breath from his body. He paid no attention to where he was going, although he thought he dimly recognized the way up to the Owlery. Several times he tripped and went flying, only to catch himself on his hands and find himself running again. By the time he collapsed in the corner of the Owlery, his hands were scraped raw.

            "Why?" he whispered brokenly into Hedwig's soft feathers as she swooped down to rest on his knee. "Why, Hedwig? What was that? I can't make sense of  it. Why?"

            Hedwig said nothing in reply, but simply butted Harry's chin with her snowy head and nipped him gently with her beak. Harry just sighed and slumped down lower against the wall, hoping that if nothing else, sheer physical exhaustion would take him over. He didn't have long to wait.

            "Harry? Harry? Harry, please wake up. Harry?"

            "Hmm?" Harry rolled over and opened his eyes to find Hermione's concerned face peering down at him. "Oh. Hrmony." He blinked a few times, then sat up and stretched. "What time is it?"

            "Supper just ended," she said. "How long have you been up here?"

            "All day," Harry said without thinking as he smoothed the front of his robes. He frowned as he noticed several tears in the fabric.

            "All day?" Hermione stared at Harry in disbelief. "What were you doing up here? Ron and I have been looking for you since this afternoon. Pomfrey said you left last night."

            "Snape--" Harry shook his head to clear his brain of sleep. "Snape had a nightmare last night. I had to-- I had to stay with him. To make sure he was okay."

            "So what are you doing up here, then?" Hermione offered her hand and hauled Harry to his feet.

            "I-- ouch!"

            "What?" Hermione dropped his hand and backed away. "What did I-- Harry!" She grabbed his wrist and turned his hand over before he could protest. Her eyes widened as she took in the raw scrapes on his palms. "What in the--"

            "I'm fine," Harry said as he snatched his hand back. "It's nothing. I fell."

            "No kidding." Hermione sent Harry a Look, but soon dropped it. "So Snape had a nightmare. What was it that sent you running up here?"

            Harry shrugged as he climbed to his feet. "I don't know. I was still half asleep. I didn't know what to do, and I couldn't find Madam Pomfrey. I must have just panicked and ran up here. I-- I don't really remember."

            "Uh huh." Hermione still looked doubtful, but held her tongue. "C'mon. I think Ron filched you something from the kitchens. If we get back soon, the greedy pig may still have left you some."

            Harry followed her down the stairs and up to Gryffindor Tower. His mind was full and his heart heavy as they sat by the fire with Ron, beside a heaping plate of stolen pastries. He barely touched the food.

            "Come on, Harry, eat something." Ron pushed the plate towards him and sighed as Harry shook his head. "You've been up there all day. You've got to eat."

            Listlessly, Harry picked up a cheese and broccoli pasty and began to nibble at the edge. The crust was fresh and flaky, and the filling hot, but he had no appetite. After the first few bites stuck in his throat, he gave up the effort entirely.

            "What's bothering you, Harry?" Hermione had been silent up until now. "And don't tell me it's nothing. I know it isn't, so don't even try that on me. Something's up, and I want to know what."

            "Why?"

            "Because I'm your friend, dammit!"

            Harry and Ron stared at her in amazement. Hermione never, ever swore. Even now, her face was rapidly becoming the color of Ron's hair as she held one hand over her mouth.

            "I didn't...I mean, I-- oh bloody hell." She frowned crossly and sat back with a huff. "Forget it. Just forget it." Hermione stared into the fire and frowned. "It's just that...well...never mind. Just-never mind."

            "Alright, Hermione, alright." Ron laid a hand on her arm as he soothed her ruffled temper. "Alright. Just let it go, yeah?"

            "But I don't see why I should have to give explanations when she--"

            "Fine! Forget it all, then, just drop it! I don't care!" Harry was startled into silence as Hermione jumped to her feet and shouted at him, her hands stiff and balled at her sides. "I don't care!" She spun and ran from the room, her hair streaming out behind her. They could hear her sobs as she fled.

            Ron and Harry sat in stunned silence for moments after the portrait door slammed behind her. They could still hear her feet pounding down the stone steps as she ran.

            "Blimey," Ron said quietly. He and Harry shared a look of mixed surprise and a little shame. "What was that all about?"

            Harry shook his head. "You've got me. She's really pretty upset about something, though." He stared at the doorway Hermione ran out of just moments ago. "I should probably go after her."

            "Yeah." Ron clamored to his feet. "We'd better."

            Together, they climbed through the portrait door and headed down the stairs. "Which way?"

            "Err...left, I think, no wait-right!"

            "Make up your mind," Ron said rather crossly, as Harry looked back and forth between the two corridors. "For Merlin's sake, there's only two of 'em!"

            "That way!" Harry finally  cried, pointing to the left.

            "Why that way?"

            Harry shrugged. "Why not? It's as good a way as any."

            "True. Right, then, let's go find her."

            The two boys set off at a run down the hallway, eyes and ears kept sharp for any sign of Hermione.

            "Where could she've gone?" Ron grumbled as they ran past a row of armour. "She didn't have time to get far!"

            "Why the hell are you asking me?" Harry snapped back. "It's not like I can read her mind, or something." They rounded a corner, neither of them watching the space in front of them, and ran smack dab into Parvati and Padma. All four students went down in a jumble of arms, legs and robes.

            "Oi!" Parvati struggled to a sitting position, shoving Ron's leg off her stomach. "What's the deal?"

            "Mrph, gerroff me!" Ron's arm appeared from beneath the heap and waved about, pushing aside limbs and robes. Eventually, his head popped up as he fought to brace himself against the stone floor. "There!" His questing hands found the hard stone and he pushed himself to his feet.

            "Now," he said, as he brushed his robes off. "Watch yourselves!" he told the Patil girls. "Can't you see we're in a hurry?"

            "What?" Parvati screeched as her sister helped her to her feet. "You're the ones who need to watch where they're going! There are other people in this hallway, you know."

            "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Let's go, Harry." Ron started off back down the hallway. "Harry?" He paused, looked back over his shoulder. "Harr-oh..." His eyes widened as Padma dropped Harry's wrist.

            "I don't think Harry's really up to whatever it is you two were planning," Parvati said as her sister worried her lower lip with her teeth. "You'd best call Madam Pomfrey. Harry's out cold."

            "How is he, is going to be okay? What happened? Is he--"

            "He'll be fine, Mr. Weasley. Just a nasty bump on the head." Pomfrey stopped short, her hands taken up by a huge basin full of half full bottles that clanked together as she halted. "Mr. Weasley, if you would please move yourself to a location that was a little more out of the way…like out in the waiting room, perhaps?"

            "Uh, yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am." Ron ducked his head as he exited the ward, leaving Harry's unconscious form lying pale on the hospital bed. "Yeesh, what's gotten into her?" He frowned and took a seat on one of the chairs in the waiting room. "Grumpy as old Snape." Ron grew quiet as he thought about Snape. It was the first time in several months that the younger Weasley had given any thought to the decommissioned Potions Master, and longer still since those thoughts had been of anything save how he would look if his robes mysteriously caught fire. For once, he was surprised to find that he felt no malice towards the man who had once been the bane of his existence. Instead, there was nothing but a strange sort of pity, pity for a man who had been unloved before, and now had no one to mourn for his loss.

            "Ungg…" Harry opened his eyes slowly and shut them again immediately. When he felt that it was safe to try again, he cracked his lashes, and slowly pried the lids apart. Slivers of light shone through, blinding him like daggers of heaven and hell. He squinted, frowned, then braced himself and opened his eyes fully.

            The shock was not as bad as he had feared. Once the initial stinging receded, he blinked the grains of sleep from his eyes and breathed deeply as he took quick stock of himself. Fingers and toes still moved, joints seemed okay, eyes opened and closed. Bones still present. He was in better state than he usually was when he woke up in the Hospital Wing. Lungs worked, throat wasn't sore, head still turned-

            "Ah!" Harry winced as he tried to turn his head and was met by a searing pain across the back of his scalp. Grimacing, he reached up behind his head and carefully felt his skull.

            "Don't go doing that, now, Harry." Pomfrey bustled into the room, setting a stack of clean towels and liniment beside his bed. "Morning to you. I seem to be seeing you in here a little more often than I'd like. Here." She tossed a beribboned package on his lap. "A gift from Ron and Hermione."

            Still wincing at the pain in his head, Harry tore off the ribbon and opened the package. Chocolate Frogs. He grinned as he munched, flipping through the Wizard Cards. As he did, a small card fell from the wrapping. "Wha-?"

            It was a note, crammed with both Ron's messy scrawl and Hermione's scribe-neat script.

            Harry, it read. Hope you're doing okay. How's the head? Blimey, you were out cold. Thought for a bit that we'd lost you for good, but I knew you'd pull through in the end, just like you alw-

            Ron's hand ended in a blot of ink, and Hermione's familiar writing took over.

            Don't mind him, Harry. The daft thing was in hysterics. Thought for a minute he was going to burst into tears. Ah, well. Enjoy your Frogs. I had to have Crookshanks threaten Ron before he'd part with them.

            Oh yeah, the other thing I wanted to tell you. All is forgiven. Hope to see you soon,

            Ron and Hermione

            Harry grinned as he popped the rest of the chocolate into his mouth. So Ron had found Hermione after all. She mustn't have been far. Her mood seemed to have improved radically, as well. All for the better. He tucked that particular piece of information in the back of his mind for future use: next time Hermione got mad, all it took was a minor head wound for all to be well again.

            "So what happened, anyway?" he asked Pomfrey as she fussed about beside his bed.

            She snorted. "The usual nonsense," she said as she fluffed the tall stack of pillows behind Harry's head. "Running through Hogwarts, someone's bound to get hurt. Should have known it would be you and that Weasley boy."

            Harry sat straighter. "Ron's alright, isn't he?"

            "Yes, yes." Pomfrey frowned and pushed Harry back down onto the bed. "That lad's fine. Even if he did fall as hard as you did, that skull of his is thick enough to keep his brains alright. Not that you'd think he had any, sometimes, what with all the crazy things he pulls." She sighed and shook her head in mock despair. "He's a Weasley through and through, that one."

            Harry grinned as he lay back among the pillows. So Ron was alright, Hermione had forgiven him. Things were right with the world again, what else could he want? There was nothing-

            Oh wait. That was it.

            Harry swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, but it wouldn't go away. For one desperate moment, he feared he would choke on it.

            Snape.

            "Snape," he whispered, biting down hard on his lower lip to keep from crying out loud from the sudden pain in his chest.

            "What was that, Harry?" Pomfrey didn't even look up as she folded mountains of white, fluffy towels.

            "Ehr," Harry floundered for a moment as he struggled to hold his thoughts together. "How-how's Professor Snape?"

            Now Pomfrey put her work down and turned to look at him. Her gaze was sharp, but not without a certain softness to it. "He's-better," she said carefully.

            "I-I keep having nightmares," Harry said quietly, fixing his eyes on a spot beyond and slightly to the left of Pomfrey's head. "They're all about Snape. I keep seeing that skull, and seeing Snape in the woods. When we found him, he was almost dead, I thought he was-" He broke off. He hadn't realized it before, but it was true. Almost every night since he had been with McGonagall when Snape had been returned, the nightmare had plagued his sleep. It was always Snape. Snape lying as if dead beside the oak tree, bound and bruised. The colours that had mottled his gaunt face, the pain that twisted his features until he looked like something out of a child's horror book. That empty, hollow look in his eyes. The eyes of a man already dead.

            "Oh, Harry." Pomfrey put down the towel that was in her hands and sat on the edge of the hospital bed. "You saw something that no one should ever have to." Her voice was tight, and Harry thought for a moment he saw her lip tremble. "I wish I could take that from you. I would in an instant, if I could." She sighed and rested her hand on Harry's shoulder. "How long have these nightmares been occurring?"

            "Long enough," Harry said, suddenly feeling the weight of his own grief. "Since we found him."

            Pomfrey nodded. "I can give you something, if you'd like," she offered, gently. "Something to help you sleep. It might keep the dreams away--"

            But Harry was shaking his head. "No," he said hoarsely. "No potions. No medicines."

            "Have you thought about talking to Dumbledore?"

             Harry shook his head again. Maybe soon, if the nightmares didn't go away. But not now, not yet. Right then, all he wanted was-

            "Can you ask Ron and Hermione to come in?" he asked. It was Saturday, he knew that with no classes today, his friends would be waiting out in the foyer. "I-I think I'd like to see them."

            "Of course." Pomfrey smiled at him, but her eyes weren't in it. Neither, Harry knew, was her heart. "They've been waiting."

            Harry fell back among the pillows as Pomfrey left.  His head felt too heavy to hold up, his eyelids were made of lead. All of a sudden, he felt tired, so very, very tired.

            "Harry?" Hermione poked her head around the corner, her brown eyes wide with worry. "Alright, Harry?"

            "Hello, Hermione." He smiled, and it felt fake, even to him. He wanted to wave, but couldn't make the effort. "Hey, Ron." Ron grinned as he rounded the corner behind Hermione.

            "Welcome back to the land of the living!" he said as he bounded over to the edge of Harry's bed. "You've been out for almost an entire day."

            "Really?" Harry's eyes narrowed, then widened. "You can't be serious…" His voice trailed off as he looked out the window. Only then did he realize that the sun was disappearing behind Hogsmede, setting the lake on fire. Harry stared into the brilliant liquid flames, taking what small comfort he could in the warm colors. Colors that beat back the cold, shimmering greens of his dreams and waking nightmares, if only for a moment.

            "Ron," he said, slowly, "Hermione?" He bit his lip, suddenly uncertain. Hermione put her hand over his. He sighed, looked down at the bedspread. "I guess you've figured out that something's up by now, huh." It wasn't a question, and they all three knew it.

            "You know we're here if you want to talk," Hermione said, her eyes dark. She elbowed Ron in the ribs.

            "Ow! Err—yeah, Harry, we're always around to listen." Ron rubbed his side and scowled, but Harry heard the sincerity in both their voices. He grinned half heartedly.

            "I know it." And wish I could take you both up on the offer, he thought to himself. "I guess it's time to come clean." Liar. "Things really aren't alright. I've—I've not been myself recently." He paused. Hermione smiled at him, encouraging him to go on. "It's because of Snape."

            Ron frowned. "Gee, Harry. I know it's got everyone down and all, what with You-Know-Who returning and all that, but why--?"

            "I was there when he was found," Harry said shortly. He heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath and plowed on. "That night when I said I had a headache. I lied when I said it wasn't my scar. It was. It got so bad I couldn't sleep, so I went outside. I thought maybe if I walked around a bit, it would go away."

            "But it didn't, did it," Hermione said. Harry shook his head.

            "It just got worse. Then I ran into Professor McGongall. I don't remember what we were saying, but—Ron, do you remember that night at the Quidditch World Cup?"

            "Yeah, but what does that have to do with any--"

            "Morsmordre," Harry said tonelessly. He felt Hermione's hand clench over his as the blood drained from her face. Madame Pomfrey, who had just walked in with an armful of jars gasped and dropped her burden with an smash that should have woken Hogwarts. Even Ron looked shaken.

            "Come on, now, Harry," he said with a forced little laugh. "What's this? You can't just go around saying that when and wherever, you know. Remember what Dad said? About how folks react to that? You saw it yourself at the World Cup!"

            Harry nodded grimly. "I know. And now I know why." He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes sparking with intensity. "Your dad was right, Ron. Nothing but fear and death. That's all they leave behind. What we saw at the World Cup was nothing. At least there, nobody got hurt." He shuddered suddenly, and looked away. "Snape—I didn't even recognized him. His eyes were so dead…" He shook his head and leaned back again.

            Hermione squeezed his hand tight in hers. "Harry," she said, her voice full of tears. "Harry, we never knew! Why didn't you tell us? Oh God, it must have been awful! Why didn't you let us know, Harry? We could have--"

            "What? You could have what?" Harry closed his eyes tightly as he scowled. "You wouldn't have been able to do anything. You weren't there, you don't know how it felt. You don't understand the fear of knowing that something powerful's out there, and it's after you. And when it can't get to you, it'll take anything else it can get its hands on." Stop it! he screamed at himself. What do you think you're doing? They did the best they could, it's not their fault! Despite his own thoughts, Harry could not stop his tongue. "You don't know what it's like to have everyone looking to you for an answer, when all you want is to curl up and hide. You don't understand." The hurt he had felt from Snape's rejection welled up inside of him like a wound, and he wanted—no, needed—to pass that hurt along to someone else. For an instant, he forgot that these people were his friends, that they had stood by him during some of the most difficult times in his life. He forgot that they had never deserted him, not once, though because of him they had been hurt and almost killed. For that one instant, they were nothing but targets for the hurt and pain that had been dealt to him.

            And then that instant passed.

            The Hospital Wing was filled with an empty silence, though how that could be, Harry wasn't sure. All he was aware of was Poppy gaping at him, open mouthed as if though she couldn't believe she was hearing the words he was speaking. Hermione had turned white as the bed sheets, her lips compressed into a thin line. Ron looked as if though he couldn't decide whether or not to comfort Hermione or beat the living daylights out of Harry. Harry couldn't blame him.

            "I'm sorry," he whispered, unable to bring himself to look either of them in the eye. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

            "It's okay," Hermione said quickly. She looked to Ron, unsure of what to do. "Do you—are you—"

            "I think it's best if you just go," Harry said. "Please," he said as Hermione opened her mouth to protest. "Please, just go."

            He kept his eyes glued to the bed sheets until he heard their footsteps receded. Then he sighed and fell back again, pressing the base of his hands into his eyes.

            "Well that was quite the speech, if I may say."

            Startled, Harry's eyes flew open. "Wha—" he said as he sat up. Madame Pomfrey was picking up shards of potion soaked glass from the floor. She continued talking as if she hadn't even heard him.

            "Not that I blame you for the things you said. I agree with you for the most part. I think it's high time Albus stopped looking to others to carry the everyone's weight, and started actually thinking about what he's doing! First Severus— and look how he ended up!— now you. And he's about to send you right down that same path. He just doesn't see it. For such an intelligent man, Albus can be extremely short sighted, sometimes."

            "Er…"

            "But honestly, Harry! Tearing into your friends like that when all they were looking to do was help! Then again, I guess that's to be expected, too. We're wearing you too thin, boy, I bet your nerves are fair frayed by now. I used to see it in Severus, too, back when this first started. He'd even be snapping at Albus, then apologizing in the next breath. Dear Merlin, when will that man learn?" Shaking her head, Pomfrey finished picking up the glass shards and floated them into the waste basket. The puddles of liquid she mopped up with a quick spell. "But enough with that. Harry, if you need me, I'll be right around the corner. Don't hesitate to call if you need something, or if the nightmares start again, alright?" And then she was gone.

            Harry blinked. "She sure can talk," he said to himself, quietly, so that she wouldn't hear. But then again, maybe she was right. Maybe it was just the stress, the strain on his nerves that was doing this to him. Between finding Snape in such a state and knowing that Voldemort was after him, too…it was just too much, sometimes. But still, that was no excuse.

            "Graah!" He turned over and buried his face into his pillow, wishing everything would just disappear. He wished it would all just work out without him, that all these issues would just smooth themselves out on their own. Between Ron and Hermione, his family back on four Privet Drive, Snape—

            Snape.

            Harry groaned into the pillow, slammed into it with his fist. Snape. That was a disaster if he'd ever lived through one. The only difference was, he wasn't sure if he wanted to. Live through it.

            "Bastard," he whispered fiercely into the dark. "Stupid, buggering git." He tried to stop the tears that stung his eyes, but they fell without his consent, soaking the pillow with salt. "Spiteful bastard." For several long minutes, Harry vented his hatred into the hapless pillow.

            At length, he finally ran out of words from both head and heart. He lay, utterly spent, clutching his pillow as if its white softness could somehow hold him down to a reality he really wasn't sure if he wanted to face. Hundreds of thoughts raced through his mind, half formed plans for revenge, wild ideas of desperate measures. Because he knew he had to deal with the issue before it devoured him alive. It was Snape, not Voldemort, not his friends, not even the Dark Mark that lay hidden in the back of his dreams. It was Snape that was causing him to act as he was, snappish towards even those closest to him, the few he called friend without compunction.

            And it had to be dealt with. Harry knew he couldn't let things continue down the track they were set on. To do so would only lead to more hurt and anger. He couldn't let that happen. Not to himself, and not to his friends.

            Cursing Snape in every way he knew, Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and quietly slid off. The stone floor was cold beneath his feet, but he didn't bother to go looking for slippers. He never really minded the cold much.

            He found himself breathing shallowly as he walked and was surprised to find his palms slick with sweat. Don't think about it, he told himself. Just go in there and start talking. You'll figure out what to do. Were it ever that easy!

            Harry padded softly into the room where Snape lay, propped up on a pile of pillows. The curtains around the bed were drawn, but he could still see through a space in the middle. Snape's eyes were closed, but Harry doubted if the Potions Master was sleeping. The atmosphere in the room was simply not peaceful enough for sleep.

            Sure enough, as soon as he made the slightest noise, scuffing his foot against the stone floor, Snape's eyes snapped open, although it made no real difference. And yet, for a brief moment, Harry forgot that Snape was blind.

            "Who's there?" Snape called into the ill lit room. "Poppy, is that you?" Harry was startled at the lack of bite that was usually present in Snape's voice. "Poppy?"

            "Um, nossir." Harry clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. "It's Harry Potter." His whole body was shaking now, as he crept closer to the bed.

            "Pott—" Without warning, Snape's face twisted into a mask of rage and anger. "I told you once, Potter, and now you make me repeat myself. Get out!"

            "No, sir." By now, even his voice was shaking. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he had the strength to stay. Snape's shouts rang in his ears, but he tried desperately to shut them out.

            "What?" Snape's voice had undergone that change Harry knew all too well. From the ear splitting shout to the soft, silky tones that were ten times as dangerous. "What did you just say to me, Potter?"

            "I said I won't." Harry firmed his resolve and stepped closed. "I have some things I need to say to you, and I mean to."

            "Why you stupid, insolent boy." Harry could sense the heat of Snape's words, feel them like the stinging of a lash. "What makes you think you can just walk in here and start making demands? Things to say to me? What makes you think I care what you have to say? What makes you think it would make the slightest bit of difference?"

            "Still." Harry stood his ground. "I'm not leaving until I've said my piece."

            Suddenly Snape was upon him, his hand following the sound of Harry's voice until it reached the collar of his robes.

            "Fool!" he roared into his face. "Get out of here, now! You have no idea what you're doing, you stupid boy! Get out!"

            "What in the name of Merlin is going on here?"

            Snape and Harry froze in a violent tableau as Pomfrey's voice cut into the commotion. Snape released his grip on Harry's collar and spoke without turning. "Leave us, Poppy. Potter and I have something to discuss that no other should hear." Pomfrey didn't move. "Please, Poppy. I swear to you, nothing will happen. But we do need to talk, and we need to do it now." Snape's voice was carefully polite, but Harry could hear the steel behind the façade. "Please."

            "Fine." Pomfrey relented. "But you keep a civil tongue, both of you. And don't be waking up the rest of the school with your shouting. What needs to be said can be said quietly."

            "Of course." Snape waited until he heard the door to the room close behind her as she left. Harry held his breath, waiting to see what would happen. Despite Snape's promises, he still felt uneasy.

            "Because of my promise to Madame Pomfrey and the fact that you are a student of Hogwarts and therefore deserving of some respect," Snape told him tonelessly, "I will refrain from verbally tearing you apart and feeding what remains of you to whatever happens to be in Hagrid's backyard. But be warned, boy, say your piece and get out, lest I forget my word to Poppy."

            Harry swallowed. Snape's words had sent chills down his back, but at least this was more like the caustic Potions Master he knew before. That familiarity lent him some small bit of courage, enough to force the words out between his chattering teeth.

            "It's about…what happened. Last night."

            "Last night?" Snape's expression didn't change. "Was it only last night? It seems so much longer. Time has no meaning to one who can't see the passing of day and night."

            "What you said to me," Harry went on, knowing that if he allowed himself to be distracted by Snape's words he would never find the courage to start again. "When you told me to get out. That—that it didn't mean anything."

            "Yes. What of it?"

            "It hurt," Harry said softly. "What you said to me. When you said it was just sex, it didn't mean anything. That it shouldn't have happened." The words that he had been longing to say since the event came spilling out all at once. There was no time to think, for tact. Only expression. "You said it was a moment of weakness. That if you had been thinking it never would have happened." Hot tears stung his eyes and cheeks, but he didn't even pause to wipe them away. "Did you ever stop to think for one moment that maybe it was something else? That maybe it meant something to me? And then you go and tell me that if you had been thinking, it never would have happened? Did you even stop to think? Just once, maybe? Did it ever occur to you that I would never take advantage of someone, and that I wouldn't make mistakes like that? And because of that it might be that maybe what happened last night meant something to me? Did you ever—"

            "I'm sorry."

            "Even consider the fact that—" Harry cut off abruptly in mid sentance. "What?"

            "I said I'm sorry." Snape scowled. "Maybe if you weren't so engrossed in your own words, Mr. Potter, you would hear those of others." His features softened minutely. "I'm sorry for what I said that night." His next words were obviously difficult. "Would you be so kind as to allow me the opportunity to explain myself, and perhaps offer a reason for my behavior?"

            Dumbfounded at Snape's unexpected apology, Harry simply nodded.

            Snape sighed. "When you came to me that night,  I was surprised. To say the least. I had never once suspected that you were—but that is for later. You possess a very strange quality, Mr. Potter, in that you have the uncanny ability to unseat someone totally and completely. You can startle anyone you choose, without even trying. While that is a very useful talent, it is going to get you in trouble one day soon, if you don't learn to control it."

            "But what does this—"

            Snape raised his hand, effectively cutting off Harry's next words. "Patience is yet another virtue I see you have yet to master," he said acidly. Harry shut his mouth abruptly.

            "You surprised me to the extent that I didn't even think to protest. That's not to say…" he trailed off, coughed once. "That's not to say I was not willing. However, if I had been thinking straight, for just one instant, then I would have stopped before anything even started." He stopped, seemed to gather himself together again. Harry could tell that his next words were chosen with impeccable care. "You see what I have become, Mr. Potter. You've seen what Voldemort can do, what he and his followers are capable of. You have been there. You've experienced it yourself. You know."

            "Yes, and what of it?" Harry was on the verge of strangling the Professor if he didn't hurry up and make his point.

            "Dammit, boy!" Snape's words exploded with rage as he sat forward. "Look at me! Look at what they've done to me! I will be damned a hundred times before I let someone get close to me only to have the same done to them! Or worse! Can't you recognize protection when someone's trying to give it to you?" As if though exhausted by the violent flow of words, Snape slumped heavily, his breath gathered in a sigh.

            Harry sat in stunned silence. Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind, but he was unable to catch any of them long enough to make sense of them. Snape's words echoed in his ears, adding the confusion. Protection? From Voldemort? Snape was trying to protect him?

            "I thought that if I caught you by surprise for once, angered you enough, hurt you, then you're just leave and never want to see me again. I figured that since I couldn't stop it from happening last night, I could at least make sure it never happened again. But I forgot that you were the most stubborn, thick skulled dimwit I've ever had the misfortune to meet. You couldn't just let well enough alone, could you?"

            "Nope." Harry shook his head, grinning openly for he knew Snape could not see it.

            Snape sighed in mock annoyance. Or maybe it was real, Harry couldn't tell. Nor did he, at that moment, particularly care. "I knew you were trouble the minute you walked through the door that first day. If only I knew how much trouble, and I would have packed up and left right then and there."

            "So, Professor…does this mean that you—that what you said this morning doesn't—you were just saying that? To keep me away because you wanted to protect me?"

            "Didn't I make that clear enough already, Potter?"

            "So…does this mean that…what happened this morning...does that mean you don't really want me to go?"

            Silence. Harry's stomach churned in nervous anticipation of Snape's next words.

            "That's a difficult question to answer, Mr. Potter." More silence. Then: "It depends. I do want you to go, yes. But not for the reasons you were thinking. I don't ever want to be responsible for another's pain and death again, not now, not ever. No one's, do you understand me? I spent too much time as an instrument of pain and suffering in Voldemort's hands. I don't want anyone, not a student or teacher of Hogwarts or anyone else, to ever be at risk because of me."

            Harry opened his mouth to speak, but found no words to say. Instead, he crossed the few feet that separated the two of them and took up Snape's hand in his own. "Then tell me I can stay."

            Angrily, Snape tried to extract his hand from Harry's grip. "Did you hear even a single word that I just said, Potter? I will not put anyone at risk. Did you not understand? I want you gone, boy. I'll not have you getting killed because of me."

            Harry tightened both his grip and his resolve. Having found out that Snape did not send him away for the reasons he had believed only made him more determined than ever to stay. "I've faced Voldemort," he said softly. "You said so yourself. I know what they're capable of. I've seen the things they can do, I've been there myself. You said so. So you know. You know that I'm capable of handling myself." His voice started to shake as he struggled to keep himself under control. "I may not want to," he said, "and I may still be afraid of it, and of him. Who wouldn't be? But…but I would. I'd face Voldemort again if I had to, I probably will whether I want to or not. And…and I'd rather face him with you with me than anyone else."

             Having said his piece, Harry stood in silence, still holding onto Snape's hand. He held his breath as well, knowing that whatever Snape said in response to his little speech, he would have to accept unconditionally. He could do no less for a man he respected.

            "You're certain of this?"

            Harry nodded grimly.

            "There's nothing I can do to dissuade you of your foolish decision?"

            "Nothing."

            Snape inhaled deeply, waiting several moments before letting out a huge sigh. "Stubborn fool," he muttered. "So be it."

            Harry blinked. "W—what?"

            "Oh for Merlin's sake, boy! I'm blind, are you now deaf?" The Potions Master scowled for a moment, but worry soon softened his features. "You know what you're getting into? This isn't a game, Potter. This is going to be like nothing else you've ever encountered. I ask you one more time. You can still back out of this if you wish. Are you certain?"

            Instead of responding, Harry leaned down before he could think himself out of it and kissed Snape fully on the lips. When he finally straightened, he squeezed his hand tightly.

            "Good enough."

            Harry felt as if though someone had come and taken the scar right from his forehead. For the first time in weeks, he found that he could breathe easy.

            "Now that that's settled," Snape said, pulling Harry down to sit beside him on the bed, "I'd like to ask you something." Harry waited. "Why—why me?"

            Now that was the last question Harry expected. And yet, he really shouldn't have been surprised. It was the most logical, after all. A week ago, Harry wouldn't have known the reason himself, but now, having had the time to think, he was fairly certain he knew how to answer.

            "I—wasn't really sure, at first," he admitted. "But, when I woke up this morning, and you were there beside me, I thought a lot about…relationships that I'd had in the past." Tate, the Quidditch player. He told Sev about them both, how he felt about each of them and how they had felt about him. "It finally came together. Tate loved me because I was me, not because I was the Boy-Who-Lived. He didn't even know who Voldemort was, for Merlin's sake! He didn't know about this scar, about what it meant. He saw me as Harry Potter, boy next door. Not as the potential savior of all wizard kind! And…he let me forget, sometimes, about what I was to everyone here. He let me just be me, and I loved him for that, and so much more." Tears threatened to take over his words, but he choked them back. "When he left, I felt as if I had lost something I'd never get back. I knew that I'd never find anyone here like that, no student, at least. None of them see me, all they see is the scar. Even Ron and Hermione. Ron's still jealous, even though he won't admit it, and Hermione's frightened. She doesn't tell me, but I can see it. She's frightened at what I can do, at the things that happen to me.

            "But there are others, worse than that. The Quidditch player. It was as if he didn't care about me at all. Just this," Harry's hand reached up to trace his scar. "I was just another accomplishment of his, another trophy in his case beside the Quidditch Cup." He shivered slightly, at the memories. "People want to use me, or they want me to be something for them that I just don't know if I can be. You were never like that. You were never afraid of me, you did what you could to haul me off the pedestal the rest of the world had put me onto and push me into the dirt. But in the light of everything else you did, that was nothing.

            "I figured it out last night, Sev. I don't know why it took me so long, but I guess it was just because I didn't recognize it for what it was." Harry took a deep breath, surprised to find that although he hadn't planned this speech, the words came as easily as if though he had. "I can't love anyone who doesn't love me as a person. And I can't love anyone who sees themselves as inferior. It frightens me to have this power over people because of something I don't even remember. And I can't love someone in the face of that fear. Not wholly. Not completely."

            "So I'm the only one who met your standards, is that it?" Snape's voice was carefully probing, soft, without the intent to hurt, yet unwilling open himself to more pain. "I'm here for lack of a better man, like this Tate of yours."

            "No!" Harry bit his lip as he searched for the right words. "It's not that. It's not all that. I mean, that is a part of it, yes, but there's more to it. I respect you, Professor. And…and…oh I don't know!" he cried, his voice breaking with frustration. "I can't explain it. I just…I just know I want to be with you, dammit!" Tears formed and spilled from his eyes, darkening the bed sheets. "Why can't you accept that?" The weight of the strain and stress he had been carrying ever since Cedric's death finally came crashing down on him. He wasn't anyone's savior, not Ron's, not Hermione's, and certainly not Cedric's. Cedric had died because he hadn't been good enough to stop Voldemort. They wanted him to save the entire wizarding world when he couldn't even save the life of one boy. He didn't know how to handle any of this. All he knew was that there was no one he could talk to, no one who would understand. That knowledge made him feel terribly alone, and he was so tired of being alone…

            Snape didn't say anything for a moment, listening to Harry sob. He made no move to comfort him, and as Harry's grief finally lessened, his next words were devoid of warmth.

            "Because I've heard those words before, Potter." His voice was empty, toneless as if though he were speaking of another man entirely. "You're not the first one to speak those words to me. Respect, love. One man already tried that one me and I bought it, hook, line and sinker. I won't have you doing that to me, Potter, I swore I'd never let anyone do that to me again. Betrayal is the most bitter of all potions, and I for one refuse to swallow it again."

            "Lucius," Harry managed from behind his tears. "You mean Lucius."

            "Who I mean is irrelevant to this conversation, Mr. Potter. I will thank you kindly for remembering that. What I need to know is: are you willing to get yourself involved in everything that comes your way with this? I don't think you quite understand everything, so I'm going to explain it, in very simple terms. I don't hold you on a pedestal, no. And I will not treat you with the deference that others do. I respect you only so far as I see that you deserve it, and respect is earned through your conscious actions, not because of who or what you are. I cannot give you the relationship you had with this Tate. You will find the road before you hard and unforgiving. There are times when you must deal with the hurt and anger that I might unknowingly create. I am not the easiest of people to get along with, as you may be well aware of, and I can't and won't coddle you the way others do. I'm not good at reading people, and I'm very poor at dealing with others' emotions."

            Harry nodded and reached up to wipe away the tears that still dripped from his eyes. "If I didn't know any better," he hiccupped, with a shaky, false smile, "I'd say you were trying to drive me away."

            Snape grabbed him by the shoulder and held tight. "Never," he said vehemently. His eyes stared ahead into the nothingness, but Harry was sure Snape could see his every move. "Never. Merlin knows I would never do that. And may he damn me for it, for pulling you into danger like this, but I want you with me, Harry. I just want to be certain that you know exactly what you're getting yourself into. I don't want you finding out months from now that you can't handle it, and leaving me with hate in your heart."

            "But why?" Harry had his tears under control now. "Why? I've always thought you hated me, that you wanted me to fail—"

            "Is that why you came to me, then?" Snape's voice was, for once, devoid of accusation. "Because you knew I'd turn you away?"

            "No…" Harry spoke slowly, turning his thoughts over in his mind. "No," he said finally. "I thought at first it was on a whim, then I began to think it was instinctual. That I knew you wouldn't turn me away. Then I realized; all this time, all the insults and unfairness and detentions. You were teaching me something, weren't you?"

            Snape nodded. "I hated your father, and you because of him," he said. "I made no secret of that. But I realized that Albus and the rest of them were right. What happened with Quirrel before the Mirror confirmed it. You may not be the only hope this world has of defeating Voldemort, but you are by far the best. But there are other things you must learn in this world. Not everyone plays fair. Best that you learn about treachery and backstabbing here at school, so that it wouldn't take you by surprise out in the real world. But despite my best efforts, you never let it get you down. You proved to be amazingly resilient, tougher than I expected. I grew to respect you, grudgingly at first, but eventually  I came to acknowledge what others already knew." He reached out gently and felt the lines of Harry's face, brushed a lock of unruly hair from his eyes. "You're an amazing boy, Potter. More so every day. And one must either envy that, or respect it. I chose to do the latter."

            "Sev…" Harry stopped. He couldn't say a word. He could only sit there, Sev's hand on his face, the only sight he had, now.

            "There's just one last thing I want to know," Snape said suddenly. For the life of him, Harry couldn't not imagine what that thing was. What was there that hadn't already been said by now?

            "How did you know that I was—that I wouldn't turn you away for reasons that had nothing to do with hatred or any of that."

            "Oh." Harry blushed, certain that Snape could feel the heat beneath his fingers. "I was staying after class one day. Detention. I saw a piece of parchment on your desk…I couldn't resist. It was a note to you from Lucius…" He trailed off, his blush intensifying. "It was old, but the meaning was obvious."

            "I see." Snape finally seemed to relax, the tension draining visibly from his frame. "Well. Now I have found the answers to everything I set out to." He brushed his fingertips over Harry's eyelids. "Anything to say?"

            "No—nossir." Harry smiled tremulously. "I can't think of anything else to say…"

            "Oh, I think you'll find something," Sev said, his voice once again its familiar, mocking self. "You usually do. And Potter?"

            "Yessir?"

            "If you ever go snooping through my personal articles again, I'll see to it personally that you are turned into a newt."

            "That's okay," Harry said as he curled up on the bed beside Snape. "I'll get better."

            **Author's Note: Thought it may seem over, this story has a long way to go, yet! This isn't over until I write the words "The End" at the bottom! Keep checking for further updates!