Harry awoke to gentle lips on his cheek. He blinked away the sleep in his eyes, then shot up, backing against the wall as he covered his naked torso with his worn sheet.

"Shh."

"Snape?" Harry whispered. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Snape smirked. "Think of this as a wellness check."

"It's the middle of the night," Harry pointed out.

"The better for avoiding your relatives," Snape said with a shrug. "How have you been, Potter?"

Harry scowled. "What do you care?"

Snape's eyebrow rose in the glistening moonlight as he slid onto the foot of Harry's bed, his spine as straight as a razor's edge. Harry watched him warily, sidling away. What the hell was Snape doing?

"I have always cared, Potter, even if it hasn't always seemed like it."

"Or never has," Harry muttered bitterly. He eyed the Potions Master warily. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Snape frowned. "Do you not recall the fall of the Dark Lord?"

Harry shook his head, his defensive posture weakening. "Not really. I get flashes every once in a while, but mostly it's a blank in my memory, like I've been Obliviated. I know he fell, but I don't know why or how. And there's not really anyone I can ask, since the only people besides Malfoy that I know were there are either dead or in prison. And Malfoy's mind was broken, apparently, thanks to someone casting the Cruciatus on him. All I know for sure is that Death Eaters appeared at the school, the wards fell, and Dumbledore was too weak to fight. But he passed out even before Voldemort appeared, so he can't tell me what happened. He said there were probably others I could ask, but that it was best I come to it on my own. I don't suppose there's any chance you were there?"

"I was," Snape answered with a slow nod.

"But you think I should come to it on my own, too."

"That is correct."

Harry slumped. "Fat lot of good you are."

Snape actually chuckled at that, startling Harry. If he'd been asked, before hearing the hypnotic laugh, he would have said that Snape didn't know how to laugh. But there it was, in its soft, deep, rumbling reality. Harry thought it might even be more of a surprise than Snape's appearing on Privet Drive in the first place. He frowned.

"What are you even doing here?" He asked carefully. "We don't…we're not…I don't know, I suppose we've always been at odds, so I don't understand…why are you here? Really?"

Snape smirked. "It is as I said; I have come to check on you. You may recall, I have had access to your memories, and I know what sort of people your relatives are. I am also, regrettably, a subscriber of the Daily Prophet. If you would prefer, I can leave and send someone else."

"No!" Harry said loudly, startling himself. He blushed and quieted. "I…I don't want you to go."

Snape's eyebrow rose curiously, causing Harry's blush to deepen.

"Look, I know we're not friends, or even on the same page, but…" Harry hesitated. "Something is telling me that you're the nearest thing I have to a true friend while I'm trapped here in Little Whinging. Something is telling me that, of everyone, even my friends, you're the one I can trust the most. Please stay."

Snape smirked, but there was kindness in it. "I will remain here until you sleep," He answered softly.

Harry smiled a little sheepishly as he sidled under his worn, hole-y sheet. He yawned, remembering that it was, indeed, the middle of the night, and he had only gotten to bed a few hours ago, after scrubbing clean the bricks of the fireplace per his aunt's orders. He blushed as Snape moved further onto the bed to lean against the wall, his legs crossed over the bedspread. Harry silently chuckled at himself. The bed was not large, and was in fact rather small, and yet he was still so short of stature, a mere 5' 4, that he had only to bend his knees ever so slightly to make room for the Potions Master's long, slender legs. He settled his head on his pillow, still smiling.

It wasn't long before the silence became deafening. Harry sighed and looked at his professor over his shoulder.

"Will you talk to me?" He asked, feeling stupid.

Snape only smirked. "Something in particular?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose Potions, or Defense. I just can't stand the silence."

Snape gave another of his slow nods. "Very well, Mister Potter. Taking into consideration your low capabilities with Potions, I will begin with the basics."

Harry laid his head back down as Snape began to recite, entirely from memory, the First Year Potions text and his lectures that went with each new passage, with some additional notes on how you could improve a potion with differing methods than those listed in the books. Harry listened raptly until his eyes grew heavy and his brain drowsy. Snape's voice lulled him ever deeper into sleep until he knew no more.

Come morning, Harry would awake to find his bed as cold and empty as it had ever been, and he would nurture the vague disappointment in his heart. His hatred of the cruel, snarky older wizard had always been based more on the principle of retaliation. Now that the man's hatred seemed far gone, there seemed little point in continuing his own. After all, he had never truly hated anyone, except perhaps Voldemort. He couldn't even bring himself to hate his relatives; he couldn't fathom why Snape's mistreatment had somehow been different, had somehow mattered more.