Harry awoke in the pale light of almost-dawn, to see his stern potions professor slumped and sleeping in an armchair. The man's chin had fallen to rest on his chest and a veil of black hair obscured his face, but did not mute the small snores that puffed through his oft-broken nose.

Severus Snape - feared potions master of Hogwarts; bane of Gryffindors; demon of detentions - was snoring not three feet away from Harry Potter's bedside. For an insane moment, Harry thought he was going to laugh. To quell the rising hysterics, he looked away from his apparent sentinel and surveyed the room he was in.

It was brighter that he would have expected, even in the sallow light of a grey September dawn. It was all cream walls and rich wood, soft blankets and comfy cushions. It was traditional and cosy and Harry was surprised by the little glow in his gut. Right here, right now, he felt almost safe.

He also felt like he needed to use the bathroom. Was he healed enough to do so? He wiggled tentatively where he lay. He didn't feel feverish anymore. His ribs and wrist and arse still ached, but not nearly as savagely as they had just the day before. Physically, he felt better, though he was still weak and there was still a tightness in his chest.

Mentally, he felt (numb-cold-empty-hollow-miserable) very little, so long as he didn't think about it too hard, so long as he ignored the screaming in his head. He didn't think he'd be allowed to do so for very much longer. Best make the most of the opportunity.

Thinking he felt strong enough to seek out the toilet, Harry sat up and leaned back against the headboard for a moment, waiting for the world to stop moving. When the spinning ceased, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. After another wave of dizziness crested and finally ebbed, Harry stood.

And immediately fell back onto the bed as his legs gave way and his vision darkened at the corners. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, trying to breathe through the nausea which threatened to overcome him completely.

"Drink, Mr. Potter," said the unmistakable voice of Severus Snape, and then the glass rim of a potions vial was being pressed to his lips.

Harry grasped the bottle and drank. Almost instantly, he felt a wave of calm energy sweep through him. His pulse steadied and his nerve endings seemed to have been caressed by a steadying balm. The knot in his chest eased just a little, too.

Harry opened his eyes to see the face of Severus Snape only inches away. The man's face was its usual mask, but there seemed to be a glimmer of concern in his black eyes.

"You snore," said Harry. He blinked, surprised by the words; he hadn't meant to speak at all.

Snape arched an eyebrow and Harry thought for a second that the man looked amused. But no, surely not. Nonetheless, his tone was not as acerbic as usual when he spoke. "And you would be remarkably easy to poison," he said. "Do you always drink what's put before you without thought or enquiry?"

Harry might have rolled his eyes if he hadn't thought doing so might just make him dizzy all over again. "Not usually," he said. He did not add that in recent memory, he had found himself caring very little about "constant vigilance" for the sake of his safety.

Snape took the vial back and stowed it in one of his many pockets. After a long look in which Harry wondered whether Snape had understood the unspoken implication, the professor stood and held a hand out to Harry. "Allow me to be of assistance, Mr. Potter."

Through the numbness, Harry felt a tingle of surprise at the offered hand. He blinked away the last lingering fog of sleep and tried to recall the events of the previous night. Hadn't Snape gone back to being a git? Hadn't they argued about something? Why was he being all… nice?

Snape sighed when Harry didn't take his hand. The older man looked about the bedroom, as though he might find words hidden amongst the country-cosy décor.

"Last night," the man began, "I was… hasty in my speech, Mr Potter. My godson has informed me that I was less than… helpful. I would like to… formally apologise for the manner in which I spoke. If we are to be allies in this situation, I shall endeavour to communicate in a fashion more befitting such an accord."

Harry blinked up rather owlishly at Snape. Again, he felt the strange urge to laugh. "Wow," he said, at last. "That was really difficult for you, wasn't it?"

Snape looked like he was trying not to scowl and Harry felt a little more of the numbness crack. He reached out and took the ink-stained fingers of the offered hand. Once Snape had carefully helped him to his feet, Harry offered a tentative smile. Instead of dropping the man's hand, he adjusted his grip and shook it. "Yesterday was a long day for all of us," he said to the older man. "We were all tired and old habits die hard. But I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done, not just getting us out of there yesterday, but all the stuff before that, too."

Snape looked from Harry's face down to their clasped hands, and a Harry saw a glimmer of something in the man's eyes. Was that confusion? Surprise? Perhaps even fear? Harry had no time to figure it out as the look was quickly gone. After squeezing his hand firmly in a single handshake, Snape offered Harry a steadying arm and led him from the room.

They drank instant black coffee and ate soup for breakfast. Snape said there were supplies on the way, but Harry really couldn't find a bad thing to say about the meal. He was just glad for the hot meal and almost imagined that he could feel what vitamins the canned broth had to offer, being absorbed into his every cell.

Low wooden beams, a fireplace and a rickety, oak dining table made the kitchen another cosy room in the old-fashioned cottage. The window over the sink overlooked a garden which seemed more like an unkempt meadow. It was all rather picturesque.

When the breakfast was eaten, the dishes cleared and the coffee-pot refilled, Harry looked around the table at his unusual companions. All three were looking back at him with expectant trepidation and he sighed. This conversation was overdue and he had to be the one to start it.

After a last hot sip of coffee, Harry began. "Professor Snape, do you have a pensieve here?"

Snape nodded, "They are rare, but this safe-house is equipped with many things I thought I might need if the worst were to happen."

Malfoy frowned at his godfather, "You mean… this is where you thought you'd come to die?"

Snape nodded and took a nonchalant sip of his coffee. "Indeed," he said. Harry wondered if the professor was stopping himself from criticising his godson for stating the obvious.

Malfoy frowned more deeply, but said nothing, so Harry continued. "I know you need to know what's happened to me… but I'm not sure I can talk about it yet. Even if I can, I doubt I'll say it right and I'll probably forget something important." He looked at Malfoy and Snape in turn before carrying on. "I suppose the two of you could use Legilimency on me, but Luna can't and I don't really want it all dragged through my brain in that way anyway."

Snape caught his eye and Harry motioned for the man to say his piece. "It is true, Mr. Potter, that the collection of pensieve memories is less wearing on the subject than Legilimency, but you would still have to engage with the memories somewhat."

Harry nodded, "Yeah, I thought as much. But it would just be the once and besides… it would be a record, too." Harry looked at the man and thought he saw understanding there. "That's why you have a pensieve here in the first place, right? To go on the record with your own, personal truth?"

Snape nodded. With a flourish of his wand, the door to the cupboard under the kitchen sink burst open, and a large, marble bowl flew from within to land on the kitchen table. Another flick and some empty vials followed.

Draco smirked slightly. "You keep a pensieve – a rare and valuable magical artefact – under your kitchen sink?"

"Evidently," sneered Snape.

"My father uses his as a fruit bowl," chimed Luna. In the same light tone, she said, "Are you sure you wish us to see these memories, Harry? You don't have to share what you're not comfortable giving."

Harry smiled slightly. He so often forgot how much he liked Luna. She was odd and honest and so genuinely nice that some people mistook her for a fool. Harry wondered if he should feel bad that he was glad she was there with him. "Thanks, Luna. I don't want you to feel like you have to watch… it won't be pleasant. But I think it's important to know the truth. I've had the truth kept from me for too long. If you're in this, I won't keep it from you."

Harry hesitated and looked around the table. He settled on Snape's eyes. "But you really should decide if you do want this. I remember what you said last night, professor, but I'm not saying that you need to run back to Dumbledore with your wand between your legs. You could leave, go abroad, stay out of the shit-storm altogether."

Snape shook his head. "If there is truth to be had, I find myself coveting it. I would know what lies I've worked to perpetuate, Potter."

Luna smiled. "I'm already part of your army, Harry. Besides, you were the first person to ever say we were friends. Staying seems like a friendly thing to do."

A warm little glow crept through the cracks in the numbness and Harry smiled at the girl. He reached out across the table and squeezed her hand quickly. "Cheers, Luna," he said, his voice a bit hoarse.

Draco's gaze was level. "I've had doubts about the Malfoy allegiance since second year, but I think I made my actual decision this summer," he said, quietly. "You overheard me and Severus on the train, correct?" Harry held his eyes and nodded. "Then you know that I had decided against taking the mark. What you don't know – what I don't think I really knew until yesterday – is that I never intended to grovel to Dumbledore or to ask his precious Order for asylum. I believe I intended to come to you, Harry."

Harry's eyebrows shot up at that. Across the table, he saw Snape's do the same. However, Malfoy's gaze never wavered and he held out his hand.

Harry remembered a smaller hand extended in much the same way in the cabin of a train. It had taken him five years, but at last Harry reached out and shook it. "Thank you, Draco,"

Harry turned to Snape. "So, what do I do? How do I think my thoughts into a jar?"

The potions professor raised his wand and pointed it at Harry's head. "Concentrate on what you need to show us. I will siphon the thoughts into the vial for you; it will be more expedient than teaching you the charm and the process for now."

Harry nodded, squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on thinking about all the things he really didn't want to think about. It only took minutes, but by the end of the process, Harry could feel the pain of panic in his chest again and the sting of tears threatening to fall.

"It is done," said Snape's voice, more gently than Harry would ever have believed him capable.

Harry nodded. "Okay. Right. Well. While you're watching, I think I'll go and have a shower." What he wanted was a bath. He wanted to sink into hot water and scrub his skin with wire wool to get the stink of the memories off him. But a shower would be quicker and no doubt they'd have questions.

Snape finished pouring the memories into the pensieve and looked up, his eyes assessing. "I have to ask, Mr. Potter…"

Harry held up his hand. "I'll be okay. Give me a shout when you're done if it makes you feel better. I just want a good scrub."

He walked from the room, not waiting for Snape to agree.