The rest of the students returned the night before classes were due to resume. Harry, who had spent the rest of the Break hidden away in the Room of Requirement, waited nervously for Hermione to come down from her dorm. Rogers hadn't called for anymore unscheduled classes after Snape and Dumbledore's talking-to, and with nothing more to do, he had spent the last week of the holiday trying to prove to himself that he could improve. But now he needed someone to vindicate his work.

Harry looked up as the door to the upstairs girl's dorms opened and Hermione started down the steps. She paused halfway down to talk to a younger girl, and Harry rolled his eyes. He glanced at the door to the boy's dorm, then walked over and placed a foot on the bottom step of the girl's stairs. Hermione and the Third Year screamed as the staircase vanished beneath their feet, forcing them to slide to the bottom where Harry stood.

"Harry!"

The brunette Gryffindor chuckled, offering a hand to each girl and pulling them to their feet. "I told you, I need your help, 'Mione."

The witch glared as she was hoisted up. "Don't call me that."

Harry rolled his eyes again, released the Third Year's hand, and started to drag his friend through the common room. "It's really important, Hermione, I promise." He turned, and the girl stuttered to a halt inches from crashing into him. "But you can't tell Ron, okay? He'll just think I'm being an idiot."

Hermione frowned. "Harry-"

"I know, boyfriend, can't lie to him, et cetera, I know. But, please?" Harry pleaded, giving her his best doleful look.

Hermione rolled her eyes now. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry, Ron and I know we have secrets from each other. We're dating, not married. No, I was just going to say that you shouldn't worry about what Ron thinks, of anything. You're your own person; you don't need anyone's approval."

"So you keep telling me," Harry murmured, smiling. "Now, come on." He returned to pulling her out of the common room, all the way to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. After crossing in front of the tapestry three times, he dragged her into the RoR when it appeared across the corridor. He released her hand and practically skipped over to the table in the center of the room.

Hermione stared at the ingredients spread across the wooden surface. "Harry, what is-"

"What do you think?" He asked, grinning.

She laughed. "Are you making a salad?" The witch chuckled, walking over. She picked at a pile of mushy red goo. "You've butchered this tomato."

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, that was an early attempt. But, no, not a salad, I've been working on my ingredient preparation, and it didn't make sense to use actual potions ingredients, since they're kind of expensive. Dobby's been bringing me vegetables and fruits that mimic the most common, and even some unusual, ingredients." He looked at his friend apprehensively. "This is my most recent stuff."

Hermione walked around the table to where he was gesturing and looked over the ingredients. "Why did you do all this?"

The Wizarding Savior blushed. "It's, uh…something Snape said over break. I realized I wouldn't ever get better at Potions unless I improved my ingredient prep."

Hermione scoffed and stared at him. "But you're not even in Potions anymore, why would you-" Her eyes widened comically. "You're smitten with him!"

Harry lurched back. "What?! No, I'm not!"

"It's written all over your face, Harry! Oh, Merlin, you're not just smitten, you're really falling for him!" Hermione exclaimed with a knowing smile.

"No! I-okay, yes, but not all of the time!" Harry admitted.

His friend frowned. "Explain."

The Potions Assistant sighed, smoothing his fringe down and biting his lower lip. "It's stupid, really. I told you, a couple months ago, that he was behaving differently, right?"

"Yeah, but you couldn't say how," Hermione conceded.

"Well, I'm going to try, but you really can't tell Ron, about any of this," Harry began. The witch nodded. "Okay, so, when we're alone, and I don't mean like that, but when we're together somewhere like his office or his classroom, and there's no chance for someone to walk in…he's nice. And I don't mean Flitwick-nice, not like that, but kind of like…oh, I dunno, like I'm nice to First Years, nice. Not doting and sweet, but still kind, and willing to chat. He even jokes with me, and smiles, sort of. Then, when we're in the corridors, or anywhere near other people, he's just like he used to be. Mean, dismissive…well, you know how he can be. But, even when he's being an ass, he's still somehow…nicer than before."

Hermione's frown deepened. "He hasn't…said or done anything to encourage this, has he? When you're alone?"

"No!" Harry answered immediately. "But, that's part of what makes me like him." The girl raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I know, like I said, this whole thing is stupid. I like that he isn't expecting something from our interactions. He doesn't want anything to do with me romantically, and considering how many people in the Wizarding World want a piece of me, it's really great to have someone treat me like I matter without expecting something in return. It's different than with my friends, though, it's…like when I talk to you. I get to be just-Harry, not what anyone else wants me to be. You said it yourself, I'm my own person, and when I talk to him I feel like I am."

Hermione looked at him like he had two heads. "You're…Let me get his straight. You're falling in love, with Snape, but it's in part because he doesn't love you?"

Harry couldn't help a small laugh as he rubbed the back of his head. Put that way, it sounded so very familiar. "I guess I take after my dad, after all, huh?"

"Oh, Harry," The girl sighed, walking over and wrapping him in a hug. "That's really sweet. And really sad. But," She pulled away, running her fingers through his hair. "You know nothing can come of it, right? Even if you're not in his class, he's still a professor, and you're still a student."

Harry pulled away from his friend. "I'm not an idiot, 'Mione!" He argued defensively. "I'm not going to try something, I'm not that impulsive. I know that he could lose his job if anyone ever even suspected something was going on between us. Why would I risk that happening when I know for a fact that he doesn't even feel the same way? Merlin, Hermione, what do you think of me?"

"I'm sorry, Harry, I said too much, I shouldn't-I didn't mean to imply that you would do anything foolish, I only meant that you had to be careful. If Snape finds out…" His friend trailed off apprehensively.

"I know," Harry said, nodding. He looked back at the ingredients on the table and drew a deep breath. "Anyway, what do you think about my prep work? Am I making progress, at least?"

Hermione smiled sweetly and turned to study the food. "I'd say so. You're better at getting the cuts uniform, though it could still use some work, and it's not all as mangled as you used to do. With some more practice, you might be as good as me or, I hate to say it, Malfoy."

The Wizarding Savior grinned. "Thanks, that means a lot. I doubt I'll ever be as quick about it as you are, and I'll definitely never be as precise as Snape, but I'm really glad I haven't just been wasting my time."

His friend looked up at him curiously. "But, I still don't know why you're even bothering with this, Harry. I know you said you were looking at potential careers in the lower ranks of Potion making, but you don't have to be any better at prep than you were for that, and I don't see how Snape is going to notice any of your hard work without you being in his class."

"I'm, uh…" Harry hesitated. "I've decided to take the Potions NEWT. I already told McGonagall, and I could definitely use your help studying for it."

"Harry, that's great!" Hermione squealed, hugging him again. "Of course, I'll help! Why didn't you tell me you were thinking about taking the NEWT? There's so much you can do with it, I could've convinced you sooner."

"I appreciate that, 'Mione, and I'm glad you'll help. I didn't tell anyone, though, because I needed to figure it out for myself," Harry explained. "I know you would've convinced me, but I had to decide on my own if it was really what I wanted." He pulled his wand and banished the mess on the table. "We should go, Ron is probably wondering where we are, and dinner is going to start soon."

The bushy-haired witch nodded and together they left the room. On their way back to the common room, she paused.

"Harry?"

The Gryffindor turned and walked back to her. "What's the matter?"

"You've been hiding a lot from us," She told him slowly. "Potions, your feelings, and those beautiful sculptures…Ron showed me his on the train, told me about the one you sent to his mum…and I love mine, it's amazing, but neither of us even knew you liked art, let alone that you could create such masterpieces. I mean, the quill is floating over the book, and the detail of the writing on the pages…Ron's Quidditch player just hangs in the air over the rings. Where did you even learn that spell?"

Harry blushed lightly, but didn't answer.

She placed a hand on his cheek, looking at him imploringly. "He's helping you so much, and it doesn't really matter why, I suppose, but…I don't understand why you felt you couldn't come to us with any of this. I didn't know you liked men, I didn't know you had an artistic streak, and I didn't know that you wanted to teach until after Snape made his uncommonly generous offer. I had to force you to talk to him because no one else could figure out what was wrong with you. I know you don't feel like you can tell Ron everything, but you told me back there that you feel like you can be yourself around me, and I feel like I hardly know you anymore." She looked into his eyes sadly. "Why have you stopped telling me things, Harry? I thought we were friends."

"We are," Harry insisted. "I promise you, Hermione, you're my very best friend. I'm just trying to figure out who I am, and what I want from life. I just didn't know how to tell you that, since Voldemort died, I haven't been the same. I don't sleep nights, I have trouble eating…Talking with Snape, I've discovered that I have a purpose on this planet besides killing the boogeyman. I wanted to tell you, I knew you'd understand if I did, but I just didn't know how. It's kind of hard to put into words, the fact that you've no idea who you are."

Hermione rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. "Okay, Harry, I understand. I guess I should just be happy that you're talking to someone." She pulled her hand away and sighed. "You've always been a little secretive, hiding your pain and fears. That's why I asked for Snape's help in the first place, he's always been able to get under your skin when nobody else could. I'd honestly thought you two would wind up screaming at each other, and that he'd just keep pushing until you finally told him, or maybe snap you out of your funk long enough for you to tell me."

"And I can't thank you enough for doing that, it's given me the chance I never thought I'd have," Harry said, smiling and hugging her. "Thanks to you telling Snape, I get the chance to figure out who 'Harry Potter' really is."

"Well, I already know the answer to that," Hermione said, pulling back with her arms still around him. "You're a good friend, a good man, and, apparently, one hell of an artist."

Harry gaped playfully. "Hermione Granger, did you just swear?"

"Shut up, Harry." She smacked his chest, laughing, and making him laugh as well. "Come on, Ron's definitely going to think we were up to something if we don't get back."

They made their way back towards Gryffindor, laughing and joking as easily as they used to.

SSHP

Classes resumed the next day, and Harry was surprised, along with most of the school, to find the little statuette he'd given Snape was on display on the man's desk. No one, except Hermione, knew where the decoration had come from, nor why it had been deemed important enough to display on the otherwise barren platform.

Harry discovered that it was an apology when Snape returned to his bipolar behavior of kindness in private, dismissive in public. There were no words, no expressive mention, but when Harry had come into that first First Year class Monday afternoon, and seen the gift sitting there innocently, he had known. There had been a soft repentance in the black gaze and half-smile, a plea for forgiveness. And, though Snape gave no outward sign, there was a small scrap of parchment on his little table at the front of the room. The vibrant red ink thereupon boasted only one word- With. It was, in all likelihood, the closest thing to an apology that Snape was capable of giving.

Rogers had been far less subtle. His show of power over Christmas, and the talking-to he'd received from Snape and the Headmaster, had led to the cancellation of any further private sessions over the Holiday. Two days following the end of the Break, the man had sent Harry a note requesting his presence in his office after the last class of the day. When Harry had appeared, the man had earnestly apologized, pleading that his harsh behavior be forgotten. It had seemed odd, and a little pathetic, but Harry had put it out of his mind, still trapped in silent glee over the apology-that-wasn't from the Potions Master.

Ever since Harry's outburst that had interrupted Snape's class, the impossibly complex man had begun gauging his behavior towards his students. Gone was the practice of insulting them merely for the sake of doing so, and gone was the quick temper that made First Years soil themselves in fear. He wasn't congenial, not by any means, but it was now easier to discern (if you were looking for it) the care Snape had for all of his students, not just his Slytherins.

And Harry did look.

His desire was growing from that first tender flame, and with the change in Snape's attitude towards him and everyone else, it was no longer limited to when they were alone. His dreams drove him mad; sometimes they were purely animalistic, but more and more often they were of a domesticity that Harry craved. And why shouldn't he? He had never known real happiness, had never felt the sort of affection that came from years of being in love. Not that he'd ever do anything about it, there wasn't enough Gryffindor courage in his entire House to make him do that.

So he watched, and with each passing day he grew to fear the depth of his feelings. When would it begin to show? Snape was more than clever, he was bound to notice eventually. It was this fear that forced him to start pulling away from the Potions Master. It wasn't obvious, he still performed his duties as assistant, still attended his weekly meetings…but he stopped showing up early, stopped staying behind for a simple chat. Instead, he found distractions. His Potions practice with Hermione, his art, his homework, and his work with Defense. Rogers seemed more than happy to oblige. More than once, Harry had remained after his extra tutoring to discuss different tactics and ideas he had about what he would do in certain situations. Ron had always been with him, desperately trying to achieve their level of conversation. But, as it always happened, nothing was as it seemed.