***

After a long and rather fantastical explanation which Harry invented on the spot (he eventually put it down to a mishap incurred while tracking a straying Crumple-Horned Snorkack, at which point most of the crowd simply dismissed him as a loony), Harry got away, tugging a very puzzled Tonks along with him. She went along peaceably until they reached the Leaky Cauldron, at which point she pulled him into a dark booth in the corner and demanded an explanation.

"Harry... what... what just happened?" She asked, tugging restlessly at a lock of hair (chartreuse today) that had tumbled down over her forehead. "I remember finding you and Professor Snape, and then... then it's all just blank. Pfft! Nothing." She looked at him quizzically. "Were we attacked?"

Harry stared at the table between them, varnished wood marred with irregular gritty rings from the mugs of former occupants. Apparently Ignatius Truckle hadn't had to eavesdrop at any of the tables near this one lately. He reached out with a finger and traced one of the rings absently. "Not... not exactly, no." He sighed. As much as it was a blessing that she didn't remember any of it, it certainly didn't make the task of explaining any easier. But they didn't have much time, so he took a deep breath and pitched into it, giving her an abbreviated version of everything that had happened from the moment when Bellatrix found them. Tonks' eyes grew rounder and wider as he went on, but except for the occasional gasp or murmur of sympathy, she didn't interrupt.

He tried to gloss over the part about what Tonks herself had said and done to Snape, but she insisted, and finally he gave in and told her. When he was finished, she put her head down on the table and covered her ears with her hands, whimpering.

"I... oh bloody hell, Harry--I tore his robes open? I... I... I don't even want to think about it." She peeked up at him, her face brilliantly rosy under the fringe of green hair. "It was Snape's first year teaching at Hogwarts when I was a first year student, and for about five minutes I had this totally weird crush on him--older man, dark and brooding, maybe a little dangerous--that sort of thing. I got over it soon enough, of course." She sighed. "Never thought I'd end up admitting it, though. Especially to him."

Harry felt vaguely ill at the idea of anyone at all having a crush on Snape without the influence of an ancient curse, but he didn't say that. "We should go," he murmured, "make sure he got back. Besides, I promised--"

He broke off as Tonks bolted upright. "Oh sod it, I'd forgotten--Albus said he'd send somebody there, to Number Twelve, to stay in case you came back..."

Harry stood up, and their eyes met. "Yeah, um... we'd better go." He bit his lip for a moment, and then came out with the rest of it. "I hope he didn't send Professor Moody."

Tonks' face scrunched up. "Thanks, Harry--that's just what I needed, nice image to dwell on. Good one."

Harry followed her to the fireplace, and despite his assorted aches and pains and worries was unable to stop himself from smiling when he heard her mutter, "Tore his robes off... I never! Not even that time I had way too much firewhisky with Minerva..."

He made a mental note to ask her about that, sometime when they weren't so rushed.

***

As it turned out, Dumbledore hadn't sent somebody--he'd sent *somebodies*. The first things Harry saw when he stepped into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place were the stunned, inert bodies of Kingsley Shacklebolt and--yes, Alastor Moody. Scattered around them were several scraps of black cloth--at Harry's guess, the remnants of Snape's robes.

Oh, lovely. That meant that somewhere in the house (probably cowering in the basement by now) there was a scandalized, cursed and naked Snape to be dealt with. Harry took a moment to offer up a fierce prayer to whomever might be listening that Snape would have managed to find some kind of clothing somewhere.

He whistled softly. "Well, this is a cock-up and no mistake. Listen, I'll go and find him. Why don't you--"

He broke off abruptly as Tonks shoved him sideways to crash into the wall, sending a fresh shock of pain through his already-very-sore body. "No, you can't have him!" she shouted, her eyes wide and crazed. "He's here somewhere, I know it, and he's mine--you won't hurt him again!"

And then she was off, tearing up the stairs like her robes were on fire, yelling for her 'beautiful man' until Harry felt quite sick. He sighed, pulled his wand out, and then trudged wearily up the stairs after her, wondering dimly when this horrible, miserable day would ever end.

He followed the sound of her voice up to the third floor hallway, hurrying near the end when he realized her voice wasn't the only one that he heard. He came up the last flight to see Tonks engaged in a tussle with Professor Lupin, both of them clawing at the door at the end of the corridor as much as they struck out at each other.

"Leave off--leave him alone, you silly bint!" Lupin said, somehow managing to get the words out despite the arm that Tonks had wrapped around his throat. "He doesn't want *you*--"

Tonks' grip appeared to loosen when Lupin's flailing fist caught her eye. "How would you know anything about what he wants, you furry son-of-an-ogre--"

Lupin tossed her aside and pounded on the door. "Severus! Severus, come out here and tell this pathetic little idiot how you felt about me at school!" Dimly, from inside the room, Harry heard a muffled crash. Lupin had left off pounding and was now... petting (there was no other word for it) the doorknob. "I'll never forgive myself for not letting you know how much you meant to me then, Severus, but you'll forget all about that, won't you? Please, Severus, I--" at that point, Tonks landed on his back with her full weight, so the rest was simply garbled, plaintive nonsense.

Harry shook his head in disbelief, then lifted his wand and let them both have it.

***

Snape refused to open the door, or do anything at all other than bellow 'go away!' every time Harry knocked, so after trying Alohomora on the lock without success, Harry went back downstairs to see if he could reach Dumbledore. He knelt gingerly on the hearth, and his knees let him know in no uncertain terms that they'd done about enough for him today, and were thinking seriously of packing it in as a bad job.

"Headmaster?" he asked once he'd sent his head to Dumbledore's office, and oh, thank goodness he was there, sitting behind his desk looking anxious.

"Harry!" Dumbledore said, a relieved smile spreading over his face as he moved towards the fire. "What on earth happened to you? I've been so worried--"

"I'm sorry, Sir," Harry interrupted, "but there's no time. I need you to tell me what to do--" and with that he launched into yet another explanation, although this one was as brief as he could make it while still trying to form complete sentences. By the time he finished Dumbledore was frowning steadily, and looked positively alarmed.

"But what about you, Harry?" he asked. "From what you've told me, you seem to be entirely unaffected by Severus'... condition. Unless you've left something out?"

Harry's mouth hung open for a moment, and he felt exceedingly stupid. It hadn't occurred to him to notice, or even wonder why he seemed to be the only person completely unaffected by Snape's curse, but he was. "I... I'm immune, I guess; I'm not affected at all. I don't know why, unless--"

Dumbledore cut him of with one wave of his hand. "Never mind that right now, Harry; we'll have to sort it all out later. Our immediate problem will be to get those who don't share your immunity out of the house as quickly as possible. Now here's what I want you to do..."

Seven dizzying Floo trips later (four of them with an unconscious person much larger than himself slung haphazardly over his shoulder), Harry thought he might just collapse in the Headmaster's office and maybe not wake up until school started again. "Ow," he protested weakly as Dumbledore lifted Tonks off him, floating her directly to the waiting wand of Madam Pomfrey, who didn't look one bit impressed with any of this.

She left Tonks floating gently in midair and came towards him, shaking her head. "What is it, then, your back? Well, I'm not the least surprised--Albus, what in the world were you thinking, asking a boy to carry so much?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "As I told you before, Poppy, we have had a rather unfortunate mishap, and in my opinion four stunned Aurors and one sore back is a fairly small price to pay for coming out of it alive. Now, if you would, please see to Harry briefly before you attend to your other patients, and send him back to my office when you're through."

"I'm all right," Harry offered without much hope.

Madam Pomfrey frowned at him and sniffed. "None of your 'all right', young man--we'll see about that. Now come with me." She turned and made for the staircase, floating Tonks' stunned body in front of her. At Dumbledore's nod, Harry reluctantly followed her.

The empty stone hallways, cool even though it was a warm summer day, seemed odd to Harry, almost eerie. There was no one about but the two of them (three, if you counted Tonks). Not even Peeves made an appearance.

"Right then," Madam Pomfrey said briskly when they'd reached the ward, "hop up on one of the beds, and let's have a look at you."

Moving slowly, he sat down on the nearest bed and watched her install Tonks on the one next to his, two down from the ones already occupied by Moody, Kingsley and Lupin. "They'll be all right, won't they?" he asked. They all looked so still, and he couldn't even hear them breathing.

Madam Pomfrey tsk'ed. "Fine. Best thing for them to do is sleep it off, and then they'll be good as new, only I don't know that my store of Stun Remedy Elixir will hold out--not much call for it, usually. I'll have to ask Professor Snape to brew up another batch. Now, be quiet and let's have a look at you."

Harry swallowed, and said nothing. If Dumbledore hadn't told her about Snape's... problem, he didn't think it was his job to say anything about it. He let her poke and prod at him, listening to her murmurs of disapproval, and he groaned a little when a touch of her wand at his back eased the worst of the pain there.

"Better?"

"Yes, thanks."

She met his eyes. "The Headmaster said you had some other injuries--"

"Oh. Right." He undid the buttons at his collar, and when she gasped, he flinched.

Her voice, when it came, sounded almost as if she were angry at him. "Why--somebody's tried to choke the life out of you!"

"Um... yes. That's about it," he said, feeling a little claustrophobic as she leaned close to him. "But I'm fine now--"

"Don't talk," she commanded curtly, and so he shut up and stared at the ceiling while she poked him some more. He jumped a little each time she healed one of the punctures on his neck where Bellatrix had dug her nails into him, but when she was done he did feel quite a bit better. Finally she moved away and went to a nearby shelf, measuring out a careful half-glass of some bright pink potion he'd never seen before. When she passed it to him, he noticed that her hand wasn't entirely steady.

"You're a very lucky young man," she said as he sipped (despite the pink colour, the potion smelled like cut grass and tasted a bit like pine needles). "If I'm not mistaken, only a wee bit more pressure would have done for you for good. This will relieve the worst of the swelling and make it easier for you to swallow, but you'll be sore and probably a bit stiff for a while." She eyed him critically. "I would recommend that you avoid any rapid movements, any clothing that fits snugly about the neck, and any further encounters with whomever did this to you."

Harry nodded, and handed the empty glass back to her. It sounded good to him.

"Very well, then--off you go. And don't worry about your friends; they'll all be back in top form by tomorrow."

He was off the bed and almost to the door when she called after him. "And mind you go straight back to the Headmaster's office--no dawdling, prying, or looking for new ways to get yourself hurt! The password is 'Screaming Chocolate Meemies'."

Harry nodded, and noticed that it didn't hurt, much. "Right." He turned and went before she could think to give him another lecture.

***

"Sit down, Harry," Dumbledore said gently when he arrived. Harry sat, noticing that it was now much easier--most of the pain was gone. He was still tired, and (now that he had time to notice), terribly hungry, and more than a little dirty (too many Floo trips in one day would do that to you), but he felt now that there was nothing wrong with him that a hot bath, some food, and a great deal of sleep wouldn't cure. He hoped to get all those things soon.

"I know you would probably like to get some rest," Dumbledore said, "so I'll make this as brief as I can."

"You need to hear all the details," Harry replied, "I understand." And he did, only he was so very, very tired at the thought of going through all of it again...

"Yes, I do. But," he waved his wand, and a tray appeared on the desk in front of Harry. "I'm not in such a hurry that we can't get some tea and food into you while you tell me. Please--pitch in."

Harry didn't have to be asked twice, and fell to with a will, disposing of tea, broth, and making quite a dent in the stack of minced chicken sandwiches while he gave Dumbledore the detailed version of events. The Headmaster asked no questions, and by the time Harry finished the last crumbs of baked apple tart (and was really beginning to feel quite overwhelmingly sleepy), he'd told the lot of it.

Dumbledore listened intently, a worried frown on his face deepening as the story unfolded. When Harry finally finished both eating and talking, Dumbledore waved his wand absently, and the tray disappeared. He stroked his beard for a moment, and then peered at Harry over the tops of his glasses. "Excuse me, Harry, but... you're quite sure that you deflected the curse that Bellatrix had aimed at you?"

Harry shrugged, licking a speck of apple from his lower lip. "I don't... I don't remember much of that. But she was definitely trying to curse me, and she definitely got Sn--Professor Snape instead. He's the one who told me I'd deflected it, after I woke up."

Dumbledore appeared lost in thought for a moment. "Hm."

"Is that a problem?" Harry asked.

"No, no. It's just... as I'm sure you remember from your studies, curses are much more complex and perilous than jinxes or hexes, and deflecting a curse onto another person requires a very different sort of magic from blocking it--deflecting is much more difficult, more advanced. In fact, it's one of the principles taught in Auror training, as it requires a great deal of will, ability, and powerful magic to make it work correctly. The more powerful the curse, the greater the difficulty in deflecting it--and this appears to be a very powerful curse indeed."

"Do you know what the curse was? Professor Snape said he didn't."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not from your description, nor from its effects, no. But I'm sure we'll get that all sorted out." He stirred some scrolls lying on his desk with the tip of his wand. "Of course, there is a fairly good hint for us in the information you brought back with you from Ignatius."

Harry blinked. "There is?"

The Headmaster smiled gently. "Yes. 'Time to use the enemy's own weapons against them', is, I believe, what you said--and what greater weapon do we have than love?"

Harry shifted in his seat. "But... I mean, yes, it looked like love, but really--they would have torn him apart, I think; if they hadn't been stopped."

"Ah. Yes. But Harry, there are many different kinds of love--some of them exceedingly dangerous." Surprisingly, he winked. "But don't let that put you off."

Harry felt himself blushing, and didn't know quite what to say to that. Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued. "At any rate, we should move on to the topic of your... immunity. You are absolutely sure that you can be in Professor Snape's presence without having... feelings for him?"

Harry choked. "Yes!" he said firmly, when he could. "All the feelings I have for Professor Snape are... unmentionable. And not in *that* kind of way." He ducked his head a little, hiding behind the fringe of his hair.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I can well imagine." Harry heard a sigh, then, "But still, it is extremely curious--why you would be unaffected, when everyone else isn't."

Harry shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."

"Perhaps." Harry heard a soft tapping noise, and looked up to find Dumbledore studying him, drumming his wand gently on the edge of his desk. "But if you have no objection, I would like to conduct a brief diagnostic test, to see if I can find any... anomalies."

Low-level tension flooded Harry's muscles, but after the day he'd had it only made him more tired. "A test? Does it... will it hurt?"

"Not at all," Dumbledore assured him, smiling kindly. "And I don't really expect to find anything; it's just a precaution."

Harry nodded. "All right then, I suppose." He sat up straight. "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing," Dumbledore replied. "Just try to keep still."

Dumbledore's wand pointed at his head, and the next moment Harry felt a warm, tingling sensation envelop him from the top of his head to his chin. A beam of soft blue light connected Harry and the wand, while a beam of white light arced to the side, spreading out flat to display bright, hazy, incorporeal images, almost like a screen showing something that was severely out of focus.

"Hm," Dumbledore said, frowning at the haze.

"What?" Harry asked nervously.

"Oh--nothing. Your mind--it's quite normal."

"Um... thanks?"

Dumbledore moved the wand down, and the warm tingle surrounded Harry's throat. The 'screen' turned pink for a moment, then went white again, with different sorts of shapes floating across it. One of the ones Harry thought he saw made him instantly uneasy. "Er... was that a snake?"

"Yes," Dumbledore replied mildly. "You're a Parselmouth, as you know."

Oh. Right. Harry kept still.

The beam moved down to his chest, and Harry ignored the tingle in favour of watching the images very closely. He didn't see anything recognizable, but Dumbledore made another 'hm' sound which put him on edge--really, this was worse than going to the doctor's office. "What kind of 'hm' was that?" he asked.

"You're fine," Dumbledore said quietly. "I'll be done soon. Now please--be still, if you can."

Harry was still.

Dumbledore stared at the vague, floating images for what seemed like quite a long time to Harry, before he moved on. The tingling sensation then swept lower, lower, down to his solar plexus--the white light got brighter--and lower, and he hoped his stomach wouldn't take long because that was really almost starting to tickle--

A sudden, stunning, white-hot flash of light blinded Harry, and at the same moment there was a loud popping sound, as if a very large lightbulb had just exploded. Harry recoiled, blinking, and by the time he could see again, both beams of light had vanished altogether, and Dumbledore was staring at his wand with evident surprise. A bit of smoke floated from the very tip, but other than that it didn't appear to be damaged.

"Oh my," Dumbledore said pensively.

Harry swallowed. "What happened? What was that? Am I... is there something wrong with me?"

Dumbledore seemed to recollect himself, and smiled. "I think not," he said. "In fact," he added, his eyes glinting through his spectacles; "although I'll need to do a bit of research, I would call that a most intriguing--and possibly promising--result."

Harry's stomach sank. "You're not going to tell me about any of this, are you?"

Dumbledore's silver beard swayed gently as he shook his head. "No. As yet there's no reason to--not until I know more." He pocketed his wand absently. "I will, however, tell you this much--you are indeed an extraordinarily perceptive boy. And I want to say as well that I think you showed excellent judgment as well as great courage today, and I thank you for it."

At that, everything that had happened in this long, long day came back to him, and Harry's shoulders drooped under the weight of it as he looked down at the floor. "I let Snape get to me," he said softly. "If I hadn't done that, we never would have been there, where she... where Bellatrix found us."

Dumbledore got to his feet and came around the desk, perching on the edge of it and looking down at Harry with a gentle, if serious, expression on his face. "My father--many, many years ago, when I was not much older than you are now--told me a few things which have proved to be extremely useful over the course of my life."

Harry blinked. Strange, to think of Dumbledore having a father, even though it was obvious that of course he must have had one.

Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose, and continued. "The first was: 'never turn your back on an angry woman when she's holding a full pitcher of mead'. But that's not quite relevant to this particular situation, and I believe has much more to do with how he met my mother. At any rate, the second was: 'in times of war, often the greatest enemy is to be found within your own ranks, and wears a familiar face'."

Harry tensed a little. That sounded like... it had to be about Snape. "Are you saying that... that Professor Snape is really a..." he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised.

But Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Harry; although when I heard my father say that for the first time, I interpreted it in a similar way. But later I came to understand that what he'd been trying to tell me, albeit indirectly, was that it is often our own inner convictions--the beliefs we each carry about who we are, and our stubborn preference for them over any truths that might come to light, that create vulnerabilities which might then be exploited by anyone astute enough to perceive them."

Okay. That was just... confusing. "So, what he was trying to tell you... or what you're trying to tell me, is that... um..."

Dumbledore's eyes had regained their customary twinkle. "Well, to put it a bit more simply, that a vital skill in the struggle for survival is the ability to accept, and come to terms with, new truths; and sometimes to let go of certain beliefs we've always held about ourselves or others."

Harry shifted restlessly in his chair. "And your father taught you that when you were my age?" Dumbledore nodded. Harry knitted his brow. "But you said it didn't make sense to you until later--was it very much later?"

Dumbledore's warm chuckle filled the room. "Yes indeed, much later; at least, much later as I reckoned time in those days. But I never forgot it."

"All right," Harry said, hoping that someday he might be able to look back on this conversation and find that it made sense. He thought about it for a moment, trying to burn the words into his memory, and then embarrassed himself by yawning hugely, the cracking sound his jaw made clearly audible.

"You need to rest," Dumbledore said kindly. "I have only one or two further things to tell you, and then you can return to Grimmauld Place."

At those words, all weariness left him and he sat bolt upright. "Grimmauld... but, I thought... well, I mean, with what's happened, with everything, since he's... there, I thought maybe I would be staying here."

Dumbledore's eyes leveled at his own. "Harry, if what you told me is correct, then Professor Snape's masquerade as a Death Eater has been exposed, and Voldemort's followers have been robbed of their new headquarters, all in one day." He paused for a moment, studying Harry intently, and then continued. "The desire for retaliation, for vengeance, will be at its height right now, and I don't want either one of you to be left alone. You're the only one--that we know of, at least--who can be in Severus' company without any... unpleasant effects."

"That's what you think," Harry mumbled.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, actually, it is." He shifted, and then sat down in the chair next to Harry's own. "I'm asking you, once again, to trust me, to believe me when I tell you that both you and Professor Snape are absolutely vital to any hopes we have of defeating Voldemort."

Harry stared at him. He'd never heard it put quite that way before--sounding as if he and Snape were somehow in it together--and frankly, he didn't care for it much.

Dumbledore didn't appear to notice his discomfiture, however. "Your own destiny you already know about. Severus' role, on the other hand--well, as I've said before, that's between he and I. But even without the benefit of a prophecy, I can tell you that regardless of how you feel about him, your destinies are indeed intertwined--and you'll need each other before all is said and done."

Harry shuddered. "Do you have to put it like that?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Perhaps not. But at any rate, I'm asking you once again if you can trust me--if you can return to Number Twelve, and stay there until I am able to find a solution to this problem."

"But..." oh, this was terrible, terrible. Today he'd spent more time with Snape than he ever had before, and it had been... well, not the worst day of his life, but certainly one he never, ever wanted to go through again. "But what will we *do*?" He asked finally, as close as he could get to coming straight out and asking how they were ever supposed to survive each other.

"There are many ways in which you can both be helpful," Dumbledore said, and Harry tried not to snort at the idea of Snape ever being 'helpful'. "You can resume your Occlumency lessons, for a start. In addition, I may need assistance from both of you with regard to Professor Snape's curse; I'll do everything I can here, but there is quite a unique difficulty in trying to remove an unknown curse without being able to approach the bearer of it. And there are other possibilities which you might learn of, in time. But for right now, today, you can simply work on getting along."

At that, Harry did snort--as if anything at all about trying to 'get along' with Snape could ever be termed 'simple'. "If you're sure that this is what I have to do..."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I am not going to tell you what you have to do, Harry. But this is what I ask of you, in light of what I learned from you today and my hopes for the future."

The difference between that and actually telling him what he had to do looked pretty small to Harry, although he didn't say so. "All right," he said finally, shrugging. "I'll try." He got to his feet, not really trying to keep the sullen expression off his face as he moved towards the fireplace, for what would (hopefully) be his last Floo trip in this endless, endless day.

"Harry?"

He turned. "What?"

"Good luck to you."

He nodded. It was all he really felt he had the energy for. "Yeah. Thanks. I'll need it."

Well, that much was true. Between Voldemort's followers being out in force looking for both of them, an unknown ancient curse to be broken, and being stuck at Grimmauld Place with a cursed, angry Snape until further notice--yes, he'd need all the luck he could get.

***

Nothing had changed at Grimmauld Place since he'd left it--at least, nothing looked any different, and when he finally brought himself to knock at the door of the third floor room Snape had holed up in he got the same 'go away!' as before, at which point he gave up and went to have a bath.

After a prolonged and deeply satisfying soak, when he was warm and clean and wrapped up in pyjamas and his flannel robe, he made his sleepy and fumbling way to the kitchen. He was exhausted, but despite his earlier meal in Dumbledore's office his stomach had already started rumbling again, loudly enough that he knew it wouldn't let him sleep.

It occurred to him that Snape was probably hungry as well, but he'd be damned if he was going to go out of his way to find out. He did (grudgingly) take out extra food, however, in case Snape decided to come down. Harry hoped he wouldn't. If Snape spent the whole time they were here locked in a room upstairs, this would be a snap--but he left the food out anyway.

He was halfway through a tremendous and very messy triple-decker fried egg and ham sarnie when he heard a careful, measured tread on the steps, and then Snape swept into the room--thankfully, mercifully, clothed--wearing an obviously borrowed robe, about a foot too short for him.

He said nothing at all to Harry, and didn't even glance at the food left out on the table, but went immediately to the cupboards and began searching through them, grumbling something too soft for Harry to hear under his breath.

Harry watched him for a while, then finally swallowed a large chunk of sandwich and cleared his throat. "Er... aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?"

Snape whirled to face him, looking pale and angry and frustrated. "No," he said coldly. "I know where you've been, and who you've been with. I see that you are here now, and you don't exactly appear to be packing to leave. Unlike you, I possess a fully functioning brain, including the ability to assess evidential data and then extrapolate rational conclusions."

Harry blinked, and opened his mouth, but Snape had only paused for a quick breath, and ran right over him. "Of all people and against all reason, you, for causes I admit I cannot begin to fathom, are the only person who seems to be able to be in my presence without attempting to attach yourself to my leg. It should also be noted that your idiotic exploits this morning resulted in disastrous consequences to me personally, in that by this time every Death Eater in the country will know of my duplicity, thus ending my long-standing efforts at obtaining vital information regarding Voldemort's plans and activities. Finally, just before I was stricken with a terrible curse that was originally intended for you, it did not escape my attention that you utterly ruined any covert attempts to investigate the latest lair of Voldemort's fiends by letting them know that we knew perfectly well exactly where it was."

Another quick breath, and Harry wondered how long Snape had been storing all this up. "It stands to reason, therefore, that the Dark Lord and all his followers will be putting forth their utmost efforts to discover and annihilate both of us. It stands to further reason, consequently, that I am stuck here in this desolate, miserable hole of a house, with no other company but yours, until further notice. So no, I am not going to ask you why you're here. The answer to that question is already outstandingly evident--you are here because the Fates, Albus Dumbledore, and the spirit of Merlin himself all hate me tremendously." Snape spun away again, and went back to hunting through the cabinets, slamming the doors shut when he finished with each one.

Harry blinked again, feeling rather overwhelmed. Snape seemed to get more and more out of temper with each slam, until Harry almost expected to see steam coming out of his ears. Finally, he spoke up. "Um. Can I help you find something?"

Snape turned to him, his face livid. "Alcohol!" he snarled.

Harry wasn't quite prepared for that. "What?"

"Whisky, you babbling idiot!" Snape thundered. "Where is it? Firewhisky, lager, ale, wine, mead, absinthe--bloody Pepper-Up potion if this hideous dump stocks nothing better. Alcohol. I know perfectly well that your Godfather was not a teetotaler--so where in blazes is the *alcohol*?"

"Pantry. The door to the right, just outside the kitchen," Harry said, realizing only after Snape had stalked past him and out the door that without meaning to he'd clutched his sandwich to his chest, thoroughly spoiling both his supper and his pyjamas. "Loathsome git," he muttered, tossing the remains into the bin and wiping himself off as best he could with his napkin. Of course, loathsome git didn't sum it up (he'd have to curse for probably a solid year to do that), but it was all he had energy for right now.

A wave of fatigue swept over him, and a deep, heartfelt yearning for his bed: smooth sheets, piles of warm blankets, and a great soft pillow... Oh yes, he was going right to bed, right, directly, immediately to bed, straightaway--

But despite that intention, he waited. He waited until he heard the slam of the pantry door, pounding footsteps heading up the stairs, and the far fainter slam of the door from the third floor room before he left the kitchen. Not that he was afraid.

As he crept to his room, he wondered dispiritedly if he wouldn't have been better off if he'd spent this summer with the Dursleys.

***

She was close, so close behind him--through every twist and turn he took in desperation he could hear her getting closer, closing in on him as he pelted through the maze of this empty, ruined city. He ran and ran, ran endlessly, ran through grey wastes of rubble that skittered underfoot and made his heart lurch in his chest, because if he lost his footing that would be it--she would be on him, furious strength and flat basilisk eyes and something else at her core; a howling and hungry darkness that would rend the flesh from his bones. He ran until he ached, and ran on until he was past aching, numb with horror and panic that made him slow, while she gained and gained and gained.

Then he was up against it, up against a blank, crumbling stone wall at the end of a shattered corridor with no way out. Running was finished and so was he, no cover, no refuge, no place to hide. He reached for his wand, but when he pulled his hand from his pocket it held only wood, a useless branch of wood that burst into growth as he watched, green leaves budding, spreading, rustling--she would hear it--and he tossed it away. There was nothing for him there, and he was alone. Alone and helpless, dizzy and weak, lost in the heart of a dead city while the pursuing footsteps of murderous rage thundered in his ears, getting louder every moment. He closed his eyes and clutched the mute, icy stone beneath his hands, something to feel and hold to besides her teeth.

He heard a careful, measured tread, swift and purposeful. His blood burned with sudden alarm and his eyes flew open to see Snape towering over him, face white as chalk under a filigree tracery of black designs: snakes and sigils and runes and other things that avoided his eye, flickering and changing. Harry cringed and tried to curl in on himself but was held, crushed into the stone with every limb immobilized, that monstrous, deadly face bare centimetres from his own.

"Strange," Snape said silkily, and the word slipped into Harry's unwilling ears and twined around his brain, "I didn't know you could be so easily cowed."

As he said it, Snape's eyes went from black to yellow to green, brilliant green. Harry felt the earth pull at him, felt Snape pull at him, and in that moment all the horror broke apart even while his heart sped until he thought it might fly from his chest, from horror to... this, this other extremity he had no name for, this embodiment of something that left him stunned and trembling, arching his head back and back and there were hands on him now, and they were welcome; and lips, soft on the exposed throat he'd fought so hard to protect.

"Here," Snape whispered to him in Parseltongue, forked tongue, demon tongue; flickering out at him, hot on his skin. "Right here," a warm hand cupping him right there, shocking him, breaking his breath in his throat while the earth rose up, a forest of vines climbing up, pushing through the grey dust and weaving all together, intertwined together, bursting into green and blazing life--

And then it seemed very much as if the world exploded.

***

Harry almost didn't make it to the loo, sliding the last few feet on his knees to slam against the cold porcelain of the basin before he let it all come up, retching up revulsion and misery as much as his supper. For what seemed like forever that was all he could do, twisting like a tortured lump of tissue in a bath of acid, his mind mercifully blank of everything but the pain in his throat and stomach.

When he was finally done he got slowly to his feet, shivering; as unsteady and weak-kneed as if he'd been hit with a jelly-legs jinx, and staggered over to the sink to rinse his mouth, over and over until he could bring himself to sip some water and brush his teeth. He realized then how cold he was, clammy and damp with sweat, vomit, and some other fluids left over from his dream that he really didn't want to think about. He tore off his pyjamas and got into the shower, setting the water as scalding hot as he could stand it.

The shaking just wouldn't stop. He would feel his stomach start to settle, feel some small measure of calm return to him, and then his eyes would drift closed and right away images from his dream would leap out at him, and then the shaking would set in again. His mind felt paralyzed; unable to think about it, equally unable to think about anything else.

He stayed in the shower until his skin was bright red and the tips of his fingers wrinkled, then climbed out and dried himself off, scrubbing with the towel until he felt chafed. He didn't want to even touch his pyjamas, so he used his wand to levitate them into the laundry bin, wrapped himself securely in his towel, and left the room.

It had been pitch-dark when he had woken up, but when he emerged from the loo he saw the first faint pink of dawn touching the horizon through the window at the end of the hallway. He crept back to his bedroom for clothes--no way was he going back to sleep, or anywhere near that wreck of a bed--and when he was dressed, made his way down to the kitchen to think.

***

Harry found Professor Lupin, thankfully alone, walking in the gardens at Hogwarts.

"Good morning, Harry," Lupin said cheerfully, sounding like he was having a fairly good morning himself. Harry could see why--he'd never seen the gardens before at high summer, and they were spectacular, all riot and blooming colour, the trees alive with birds.

"Yes, I--I mean, good morning to you, too. Are you... d'you feel better?"

Lupin smiled. "I feel fine, thank you. And how are you? I would think, after yesterday, that you must be--"

"I don't really want to talk about it," Harry blurted out, cursing himself when he saw how careful and shuttered Lupin's face became.

"Oh, all right," Lupin agreed casually. "But if you're here to see the Headmaster, I don't think he's up quite yet--"

"No," Harry said, struggling to get the words out. "I didn't, I... I came to ask... to talk with you. About something. But I can go away, if you're busy--"

"Not at all," Lupin replied, his face relaxing into a smile as he waved Harry towards a nearby bench. "I'm always up early in the mornings; well, at least, except for the mornings after a full moon. Normally I just wander around on my own--I'm glad of the company."

Harry sat down. Lupin sat next to him, looking at him expectantly. Harry cleared his throat, and picked nervously at his thumbnail. Talking to Lupin had seemed like a good idea earlier, when he realized that he would have to talk to *somebody*, but now that it came down to it, it was much more difficult than he'd expected. How could he talk to someone else about what he could hardly bear to think about it himself?

Finally, he took a deep breath, and plunged. "I... I had a dream," he said.

Lupin's eyes widened. "A dream--you mean, you had another vision? Was it--is someone hurt, or..."

"No, no!" Harry said, shaking his head. "Not like that; I haven't had one of those since... since the last time." Lupin relaxed, sighing with relief. "No, this was... different, this was a dream where I... um. I... ah, things, er, sort of... oh bugger."

Lupin smiled, but it was a gentle smile. "Ah. *That* sort of dream."

Harry released a shaky breath. "Yeah."

There was a pause, and then Lupin cleared his throat. "Actually, Harry, it may surprise you, but I've been waiting for this for some time now." Harry tensed, and looked at him in alarm. "Don't worry," Lupin continued softly, "there's nothing to be worried about. It's just--you're growing up, that's all. Believe it or not I can still remember being your age, and at the time I had all sorts of questions about... well, everything. Of course, I know you would undoubtedly rather have talked to Sirius, but..."

For a moment there were no more words, and both of them looked out over the garden, where the birds held sway. "You know," Lupin finally continued in a quiet, fond voice, "he said something to me once, not long before we lost him, wondering how on earth he was going to cope with it when and if you ever came to him with... questions. He was in quite a panic over it."

Harry smiled a little, ignoring the hot jab in his chest that was part fondness and part pain. "What did you tell him?"

"Oh..." a momentary lull in the bird racket, and Harry heard Lupin swallow. "I told him that I myself had loads of experience with that sort of thing--three younger brothers, plus the time I've spent teaching--and that he had nothing to worry about; that the worst that could happen was that he'd say the wrong thing and leave you scarred for life--"

And then they were both laughing, and it was sad and funny all at once, and for the first time since he'd woken up Harry felt like maybe, just maybe, everything might be okay.

When the laughter died away, Lupin grew serious again. "But that's not really the point that I wanted to make. What I was trying to say was that I hoped you'd feel comfortable coming to me, and I'm glad you did. So I am entirely at your service. Now--what about this dream of yours?"

Harry stared at the ground, and felt his cheeks burn. "Well, it was, um. Scary."

"Hm. Scary. In what way? Scary, as in... what?"

Harry blinked fiercely. "Scary as in definitely not normal. Scary as in..." he choked for a moment, then forced the words out in a rush. "I'm not going to give you any details and please don't ask me but I woke up from it and was sick and I couldn't stop shaking and even now I can't think about without wondering if I'm really, really ill... in the head. Or something."

"Hm," Lupin said quietly. "That must've been some dream."

Harry shivered, cold even in the hot sun. "It was."

A warm hand patted his shoulder briefly, and that helped, a little. "Believe it or not, I understand. So, Harry--I know you said you don't want to give any details, and I'm not going to press you on that, but I have some questions which you might be able to answer without divulging anything... private. I'd like to ask them, and then, if you don't want to answer, just say so. Agreed?"

Harry nodded, still not able to look up from the ground.

"Very well. First of all, this dream... was it a nightmare?"

Harry glanced at him once, briefly. "Yes, I told you it was... it was bloody awful."

"I grasped that," Lupin said patiently. "But what I'm asking is if this dream of yours had the 'regular' components of a nightmare--dark places, danger, falling, being chased, not being able to escape, monsters--things like that."

Harry thought it over carefully. "I... at first, yes. It did at first."

Lupin nodded. "And then it changed?"

"Oh. Did it ever."

"Right. And then, at that point, did you find yourself... well, enjoying something which you would never, under ordinary circumstances, consider enjoyable?"

Harry looked up then, staring in wonder. "Who... how--how do you know about that?"

Lupin patted his shoulder again, and this time his hand stayed there, warm and comfortable. "Don't panic, Harry--I don't know anything at all about your dream. But as I said--I do have a certain amount of experience with this."

"You mean," Harry paused, swallowing, "you mean this happens--these kinds of dreams, only scary, I mean--they happen to other people?"

Lupin nodded solemnly. "Oh yes. All the time."

"But... my mates... they all seem to *like* them so much!" he couldn't fathom it, he just couldn't. "I mean, just last term Ron and Seamus spent three bloody days trying to find a potion or a spell to bring them about--and here I felt terrible because they've been talking about it for the past year and I thought it would never happen to me, and now it did, and now I'd be willing to spend three solid *weeks* trying to find a way to never, ever have one again!"

Lupin had his lips pressed tightly together for a moment, but then he seemed to collect himself. "Well, you see, Harry, with these dreams... there are many different kinds, and not all of them are frightening. Your mates, though, they don't talk about the frightening ones, because of course the worst thing in the world for a young man your age is for his friends to think he's afraid of... well, anything, really, but especially something like this. So of course they don't talk about those ones."

Harry felt almost like he was floating, as if a whole new world had just been revealed to him. "Oh. That's... wow."

Lupin gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and then his hand dropped away. "Yes. And now--there are two things I want to tell you about this dream of yours." He slouched a little on the bench, his voice falling into the same low, rhythmic cadence he used when he taught, which Harry found oddly comforting. "First of all, it might help you to understand all this if you consider that what makes sex such a driving force for all of us is its intensity--emotional and physical intensity. Now fear, quite often, is also emotionally and physically intense--any boggart can teach that."

"Or a dementor," Harry said softly.

Lupin nodded. "Exactly. Now at your age, what we have is a whole new and unknown world opening up, added to a whole lot of intensity. So, in dreams, it seems that quite often the easiest way to get that combination across is through--"

"Fear," Harry said, awash in that wonderful and rare sensation he got when a concept or lesson that had baffled him suddenly became clear.

"Spot on. Fear. Very well done, Harry. Now, as for the bits of your dream which you think shouldn't have been enjoyable--"

Harry's sense of gratification dissolved at once into embarrassment, and he looked back at the ground. "Uh-huh?"

"It's all right, really. You know... do you remember all that you learned in Professor Trelawney's class, about the symbology of dreams?"

Uh-oh. "I... studied, I mean, I..."

"Relax," Lupin told him. "I was simply going to ask you to forget everything you've learned from her."

Harry's lips twitched. "Done."

"Excellent. You see, it's not the classification and hierarchy of symbols that you need to know right now, but rather the fact that dreams are most often, in and of themselves, symbolic. Do you see?"

Harry blinked. "Um..."

"Let me put it to you this way: in dreams, the things you dream about are often reflections, or symbols, of other things. So if, for example, you had a dream about wearing nothing but a kilt while your best friend smears you with butterscotch pudding, that doesn't necessarily mean that in your daily life you're going to be... er, aroused by kilts, your friend, or pudding. All right?"

Harry smiled--he couldn't help it. "What's wrong with being aroused by pudding?"

Lupin grinned back, and ruffled his hair. "Nothing at all. I'm a pro-pudding man myself, even if I don't personally go that way."

Harry leaned his head into the touch for a moment, but then his grin faltered and he pulled back a little. It sounded good, so far at least, but still, he wondered... "But how can I be sure?"

Lupin met his eyes. "It's easier than you might think. Very easy, actually. Simply ask yourself: the things that happened in your dream, the things that you enjoyed--do you want those things to happen in real life?"

Harry choked, then shuddered. "No! I... no."

"There you go, then. It's that simple."

Harry sighed, and let his eyes fall closed. A great weight lifted from his heart, and for a moment he felt as blithe and free as any bird in the garden. It wasn't about Snape after all--Snape was just a symbol. Not Snape. Symbol. There remained the rather disturbing question of what precisely Snape might be a symbol of, but surely he didn't have to think about that just yet. He opened his eyes. "Thank you," he said, and meant it.

"You're most welcome. Now, how about joining me and the rest of the Number Twelve exiles for breakfast, before you go back? We all miss you, you know."

"I... yes, I'd like that." The thought of exiles brought back all the memories of yesterday, and he regretted again his curt refusal to speak of it before. Now that he felt more comfortable, he found that he did indeed have questions. "Um... Professor?"

Lupin gave him a sad smile, "Not anymore, Harry, but--yes?"

Harry looked away. "Yesterday, when you were at Grimmauld Place with... with Snape, do you remember what you said?"

Lupin sighed. "No, and I suppose I should be grateful for that, although I admit, I do find it a bit disturbing not to remember anything. But the truth of it is that I must have waxed romantic over Snape--and between you and me, I think I'd rather be smeared with pudding."

Harry kicked his feet through the pebbles under the bench. "You weren't bad, really. You weren't, I mean, it wasn't you--the curse, you know. But you did say something about... about when you were both in school, you said he..." He stopped, unable to bring himself to say it.

Harry glanced over to see Lupin with his face buried in his hands. "I brought up his crush, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

Lupin scrubbed both hands through his wild, grey-streaked hair. "How very mortifying. For both of us. He'll never forgive me for that--"

"So it's true, then?"

Lupin regarded him solemnly. "It was a schoolboy crush, Harry. I didn't mind, even back then; I thought it was... sweet, if rather sad. But I never should have let on to Sirius and James. That was when all the trouble really started, actually."

A deep, terrible suspicion gnawed at Harry's stomach. He didn't want to know, didn't want to ask, and yet... he had to. "Was it... did they pick on him because of... you know, the bloke having a crush on another bloke thing?"

When Lupin spoke, his voice was very careful. "If you're asking if James and Sirius were narrowminded bigots, the answer is no. But their teasing... well, yes, it did take that form at first. I wasn't happy about it myself, but then again, I didn't do anything to stop them."

Harry felt his heart sink, all his former relief turned to misery. He shouldn't have asked. "But... how do you know they weren't... bigots, like you said?"

Lupin looked out over the garden. "I know because they never, not once, picked on me for liking blokes, and they knew that about me almost from the day we met. It was Snape, Harry--they didn't like him, and he didn't like them, and they brought out the worst in each other. Back then, they'd say anything they could to get to him. We were young--we were all so young. And quite often, we were exceptionally foolish."

Harry sat still, trying not to betray his surprise. Lupin had trusted him with something... well, he supposed it was a fairly big something, at that. He was glad of it, and yet, the news that Lupin (and possibly Snape) liked blokes didn't seem as much to handle as the other revelation, the further examples of how his father and Sirius had been cruel. Even if it was only to Snape. "I need to think about this," he said softly.

Lupin nodded, and got to his feet. "I understand. Feel free to come see me any time, Harry."

The cool, polite look on Lupin's face suggested that his comment might have been misunderstood, so Harry got up at once and reached out to give him a hug. Lupin looked surprised for a moment, then smiled and patted his back gently until he let go.

"Thanks for helping me," Harry said, "you really did. And I'll come for breakfast soon, I promise--tomorrow, if I can. I just... I need a bit of time to think."

Lupin nodded. "I understand. And... if you need anything, just let me know, all right?"

"I will." Harry turned and trudged away, hands in his pockets, wondering if the worries he took away with him were really any easier to bear than the ones he'd left behind.

***

When Harry returned to Grimmauld Place, he first crept silently up the stairs to the third floor. Snape's door was still closed, which was actually rather a relief. He went back downstairs and set about washing up the few dishes from last night's supper.

He was just finishing the last one when a loud rumble echoed through the kitchen, and for one moment Harry clung to the edge of the sink, thinking that perhaps it was an earthquake. But when he turned off the tap he heard a series of soft, popping sounds, and he turned to find the kitchen suddenly full of crates, boxes, and woven sacks, and two envelopes resting atop the highest stack of boxes, one with his own name written across it in Dumbledore's elegant script, the other bearing Snape's.

He dried his hands and reached for his own envelope, a bit resentful that he had to stand on tiptoe to do it. He sat down at the table, broke the seal, and pulled out the folded parchment within.

_Dear Harry--

Since I am not sure at this point how long it will take to reverse the effects of Severus' curse, I thought it best to make sure that you were both well supplied with whatever you might need for the duration._

Harry looked away from the letter for a moment, eyeing the piled supplies dubiously. The duration? Either Dumbledore was desperate to keep the two of them as busy as possible, or he thought that they might very well be stuck here for a solid year. He shivered a little at the thought, and bent to the letter again.

_I want to assure you that I am entirely mindful of the fact that neither of you are exactly pleased with your present situation, and consequently I am indeed striving diligently to find a way to relieve both you and the good Professor from your current constraints.

As I mentioned to you last night, I do ask for your help with my efforts. Given the unavailability of Professor Snape, we'll need some samples from him to aid us in our research, as not much is known about the originator (by the way, information about the background and fields of study of the originator of any unknown curse is often the key to success in lifting it--a little fact that just might come up on a certain young man's Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T.s--but I digress). At any rate, if you would be so kind as to assist Professor Snape in harvesting a proper sample for us, and return it to me via Floo at your earliest opportunity, that would be extremely helpful. I have sent you, among other things, all the equipment you'll need to do so._

Harry put the letter down again. Sample? A sample of *what*? He stared blindly at the parchment for a moment, his mind racing, and then swallowed. He hoped to God it was penmanship they wanted a sample of.

_And finally, Harry, I'd like to remind you once more that it would be a great help, not only to me, but to all of us, if you would learn Occlumency. I fear before the end that you might have a great need for that particular skill, and accordingly I have sent something along which I hope will aid you--Professor Snape will no doubt explain its use and function to you.

And there, I must close. But please rest assured that we are doing everything we can for you, that you are very much in all of our thoughts, and that everyone here as well as I will remain--

Your devoted friend,

Albus Dumbledore_

Harry carefully refolded the letter and slipped it into his pocket. He pondered the letter's contents for a few moments, then pushed back from the table, got to his feet, and regarded the dozens of boxes with some trepidation, sighing heavily. Nothing else for it, really. He shrugged, yawned, and got about the business of unpacking.

***

Harry's spirits didn't lift much as he went through one box after another--really, how long did Dumbledore expect them to stay locked up here? The variety and assortment of supplies was simply staggering. There were a great many foodstuffs for the kitchen and pantry, and that made some kind of sense, but also there were at least five boxes of books (how much could two people--neither of whom were Hermione, anyway--possibly read?), heaps and heaps of clothing (apparently Snape's--Harry hung it all over the banister at the bottom of the stairs and just refused to look at it again), and a tremendous amount of complicated-looking equipment (most of it familiar from his work at Potions, and he couldn't say he was glad to see a single bit of it), which he piled in the parlour, for lack of a better place.

There were also a few things he wasn't familiar with at all, and these he placed on the table in the hallway; a random collection of unknowns. There were three fragile glass bulbs with odd caps at the top that looked almost like Christmas tree ornaments: a double layer of glass, inner and outer, with some sort of sparkly, milky substance caught between the two layers. He set them down carefully, and used books to hem them in so they wouldn't roll off. There was something that resembled a muggle Slinky (Dudley had owned several when he was young, and although Harry had never been allowed to touch them, he'd always thought they were sort of cool), only it appeared to be made out of gold, and had a series of multicoloured beads strung along its length. There was also a strange item that looked like a cross between an oscilloscope and a crystal cluster, which started to glow brilliantly the moment he touched it. He put it down on the table as quickly as he could, and the glow promptly vanished.

When the last box had finally been unpacked, Harry found himself drawn back to the hall table. He had just picked up the slinky-thing and was idly poking the beads on it when he heard the stairs creak, and looked up to find Snape descending from above in what would undoubtedly have been a grand sweep, if he hadn't still been wearing the too-short robes. Harry caught a glimpse of a gartered sock and looked quickly back down, biting his lip.

"Mr. Potter, that is not a toy." Snape said curtly.

"Okay," Harry agreed, "but what is it?" He let it hang from one hand and inspected its coils closely.

"It's a potency indicator," Snape replied, and Harry glanced up, then looked back down with some alarm. It hung limply from his hand, doing nothing, nothing at all. He glanced down at himself, then back at the slinky, and abruptly put it down. "For potion ingredients, idiot," Snape said from between clenched teeth, and Harry turned his attention to the other items on the table, his back to Snape to hide his flushed face.

Snape joined him, however, and Harry turned to see him picking up the oscilloscope-crystal item with great care. It began to glow at once and Snape studied it carefully, turning it this way and that, looking somewhat surprised. "I'm astonished that the Headmaster brought himself to part with this," he said. "They're very rare."

"What is it?"

"It's a gyrospectroscopic prism," Snape replied calmly.

Harry waited for more. Snape said nothing. Finally Harry rolled his eyes, and gave up. "Oh. Well--thank goodness he sent *that*. I don't know how we'd ever have managed without one of those--"

"It is designed to enhance deliberately directed magic," Snape said. "For your Occlumency lessons, I would guess." He frowned. "Which Albus undoubtedly wants me to resume as soon as possible. Imagine my delight."

Harry felt like he could have said the same, but he didn't. "Yes, um... there's letters. That is, there was a letter for each of us, from him. Here's yours." He picked it up from where he'd left it atop a pile of books stacked in the hallway, and handed it over.

Snape took it, his lips pursed. "Ah. Another fine assortment of platitudes and motivational cliches from our well-intentioned leader, no doubt. Just when my unbridled zeal was beginning to wane."

"I'm sure he's doing all he can for you," Harry said softly.

"A notion I will relish throughout the remainder of my cursed existence," Snape growled. He pocketed the letter, and seemed about to leave when his attention was caught by the three glass bulbs on the table. He went very still, and it looked to Harry as if his already pale face got even whiter. "Oh bloody hell."

Harry picked up one of the bulbs. "What are these, anyway?"

"Put that down!" Snape demanded, his voice unusually harsh. Harry put it down. Snape closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again he seemed entirely normal--normal for Snape, anyway. "They're collection bulbs. For blood samples. I'll have to... never mind." Moving quickly, Snape turned and caught up the bundle of clothes Harry had left on the banister. He went to the foot of the stairs, and paused. "Mr. Potter, I doubt if the potency indicator was the only item of potion-making equipment our esteemed leader would have sent--"

"No, there's dead loads of it. I put it all in the parlour."

Snape's mouth twisted. "I see. I shall try to find a more suitable location for it later."

Harry looked up at him curiously. "What's wrong with the parlour?"

Snape scowled at him. "The same thing that's wrong with this entire, wretched house, only more so. This wasn't always a home for wayward Aurors, you know." With that, Snape mounted the stairs, and Harry waited until he heard the third-floor door shut before he picked up one of the bulbs again, studying it as he thought things over.

Harry did know, actually, although he didn't particularly want to. But it made sense--before Sirius had taken up residency in the house, it had been the stronghold of a very Dark family. It had never occurred to him until now, but of course Snape had probably been here before, for... for whatever it was that Death Eaters did when they got together--probably not tea and biscuits. The whole thing just made Harry... uncomfortable.

This particular discomfort had become quite familiar, however. It seemed like the more he learned about Snape the more some part of him wanted to feel sorry for the man--and that was very uncomfortable indeed. Even Snape's absurd speech last night, though it had been so much sanctimonious drivel, still it had affected him just a bit, evoked an empathy he really felt he couldn't afford to display, and desperately wished to avoid. Added to the knowledge of what Snape had gone through in his childhood, and then later with... in school, and the recent discovery regarding the direction that teasing had taken at first... it just seemed like too much. Hating Snape was one thing, but pitying him... well, where the hell would that lead him?

Nowhere, Harry promised himself silently, rolling one of the bulbs slowly between his palms. Nowhere at all.

Continue to part 3

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