"I presume, Mr. Potter, that you are aware of the consequences?"

"Yes, professor."

"And are you prepared?"

"Not really, actually. No."

Severus Snape paced the room, a frown on his face. He looked up at Harry for a moment, then returned to staring at the floor and frowning.

"This is no joke, Potter," Snape snarled.
"I know that," Harry spat back, furious. His dark hair was far messier than usual and his glasses were broken.

Snape leaned forward, brushing his fingers across the boy's bare back. "Do you want anything?" he whispered, "For these?" He touched the scars with uncharacteristic carefulness.

"I'm fine," Harry choked, flinching as a nail just barely scratched his skin. Snape quickly withdrew his hand. "I just... you can't be serious?"

Snape turned away from him, his hair falling into his eyes. "I thought," he began, "we had already established that this is not a joke?" He withdrew his wand with a startling speed, and pointed it at Harry. "It's for your own good, Potter!" his voice was raising, "And if you can't keep your mouth shut, I will be forced to obliviate you."

"Killing Professor Dumbledor? You expect me to believe that's for my own good?" Harry yelled, "I always knew you were an arse, professor," he uttered every syllabol with such an expression of contempt that it surprised even Snape, "but to kill the only man I've ever trusted and expect me to believe it was for my own good!? You're mad! Bloody mad!"

Harry winced. He had moved too much, and his fresh scars had started to reopen. "Argh!"

"Pathetic," Snape said, just loud enough for Harry to hear. "Oblivia--!"

Harry woke up with a start, and upon opening his eyes he found that he had fallen onto the floor. He opened his eyes to see that he was now laying on a rolled up Chudley Cannon's poster and promptly blamed the pain in his back on it.

"You okay, mate?" Ron asked, propping himself up on his elbows. His red hair stood out like fire as sunlight streamed through the window.

Harry pushed against the wall to upright himself. "Fine," he said.

It had been another nightmare, he remembered. It hadn't been about Voldemort this time, though, but rather about Snape--much to Harry's surprise. Snape. What had he been saying? It was all quite foggy now, and Harry couldn't remember much of the dream at all. And yet, it had seemed so real. Not that he would tell Ron, who looked quite horrified enough as it was. He would have been worried to hear to that Harry had had another nightmare (though it was likely he'd guessed already), but to know that Harry had dreamed about Snape? It was best left unsaid, Harry thought.

"If you say so," Ron said, "guess we'd better get dressed then. I imagine Mum's pretty worried by now after hearing that." He raised an eyebrow and got out of bed, grabbing a shirt that was a bit too small for him and pulling it over his head. Harry followed suit and got dressed quickly.

The two boys headed downstairs slowly, still a bit groggy from just waking up. Hermione and Ginny were already in the kitchen. Ginny looked up at them for a moment, but returned to her breakfast without a second glance. Things between her and Harry had been a bit tense since Dumbledore's funeral, to say the least. While they had been relaxing by the edge of the lake, Harry had told her he couldn't afford to be with her anymore, for fear that he might put her in danger. He had thought he'd done a pretty good job with it all, felt a bit like Spider Man really, at the time. During the summer at the Burrow, however, he had quickly realized that his act hadn't fooled either of them.

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione had said, "you did the right thing, you know you did. It wouldn't have worked out." And Ron had agreed a bit too quickly.

How ironic coming from them, Harry thought. Ron and Hermione, the constantly bickering duo. Ron and Hermione, who never quite seemed to work out together. There was truth to the opposites attract theory, but it certainly didn't lie in the angry combination of Ron and Hermione.

He felt sorry for them that it hadn't worked out, but he couldn't help being a bit bitter about hearing romance advice from the two of them after that--even if everything they said was suspiciously on target.

Ron sat down across from Hermione with an awkward smile. Harry sat next to Ron. "So, um, how's breakfast?" He asked stupidly.

Hermione smiled and held up a battered old book with the words "Charms for Seventh Years" engraved in a tawdry golden color on the cover. "It's interesting, but there isn't much anything new," she said sadly.

"Breakfast," Ron said, rolling his eyes, "he asked how breakfast was, not your book." Harry laughed, and shook his head. "It was a stupid question," he said in Hermione's defense, "breakfast is always good at your house."

The four ate in silence and Crookshanks pranced on the table haughtily. Ron looked thoroughly annoyed at the ginger cat, but seemed to think better of saying anything in that regard as he kept the silence. Ginny let her fork down with a soft "clink" and headed toward the stairs without even a "see you later."

"Ginny!" Harry called, suddenly. He immediately regretted it. "I... er... could you wait up, for a minute?" he asked carefully. She turned around, frowing slightly. "Sure," she said from the stairs, "meet me in my room."

Ron glared at her, then at Harry as she disappeared up to the second floor. "Can't you meet her in a public place?" he asked. Hermione kicked him under the table.

"Oh, honestly, Ron!" she said, annoyed, "It isn't as though... isn't as though they're going to..." Her cheeks quickly turned a bright shade of red.

"Shag?"

Fred and George Weasley entered the kitchen with devious smiles on their faces. George took Ginny's spot, leaning in close to Hermione.

"Are you sure about that?" he whispered, "I wouldn't put it past old Ginny to put the moves on Harry."

Hermione got up so abruptly that her chair fell out from underneath her. She stormed off, indignantly muttering incomprehensible things. Harry got the feeling he would not be talking to Ginny any time soon, seeing as the only place Hermione could have gone was the room she was staying in--which just so happened to be Ginny's room.