...

Harry paced from one end of his room to the other with long, forceful strides, swallowing down the bile that constricted his throat as he replayed images of Snape's gaunt, blood-stained face through his mind.

Harry had never seen Snape in such a state, but then he'd never witnessed him return from Voldemort's inner circle before either. It chilled Harry to the bone to think that Snape came this close to death on a regular occurrence.

It had been almost two hours since Snape had sent him upstairs, and Harry was beginning to wonder whether the man would actually keep his word by coming up to explain what had happened. Snape, after all, was not known to keep his promises, and his tardiness would suggest deliberate avoidance.

Harry shivered in the musty air and pulled on another jumper over his current three layers. The room still had a large amount of dust that had remained solidly, coating all appliances with a thick coating of grime. The desolate, abandoned air still lingered, even after the room had been inhabited for a number of weeks.

Harry only wished he'd cleaned it up with magic, and perhaps decorated it a little differently, when he'd had the chance. He'd have liked to add a few more homey touches now that he was becoming more settled, and had no immediate plans to leave. As the fire had long been extinguished, and his wand was useless and there was no wood, Harry resigned himself to bearing the cold.

With a final sigh, he sat on his bed, crossing his legs at the ankles, with his arms folded across his chest, and stared blankly at the door.

Harry knew Snape would need to sort himself out, both physically and mentally, before confronting him, but that did not ease his restlessness, even if it did convince him, against his instincts, to behave rashly. Snape would never forgive him if he damaged them both further by trying, in some foolish way, to interfere and speed up the recovery process.

If Snape had taught him one thing, it was patience. Patience in the classroom, patience at the dinner table and in every aspect of life at Snape Manor. Harry's ability to accept that he needed to be exceptionally patient with Snape's own impatience, was a lesson well learnt.

Harry's own innate form of self-protection was of the clear opinion that Snape could be a positive influence in his life, but knew he would have to fight for it. Harry was told he was brave, but he was also cautious enough to know that, although having Snape on his side would be vital and exceedingly beneficial in the short-term, a real friendship with the man was going to be a challenge.

Harry stretched out across the bed, a frown on his face. A changing relationship with Snape was certainly living proof that nothing was impossible.

Only someone like Harry would be optimistic and courageous enough to pursue it.

Just as Harry was beginning to think Snape really had changed his mind, and was contemplating sleep, no matter how vivid the nightmares would be when he was so unsettled, a deliberate clearing of a throat caught his attention.

Harry shifted back into a sitting position, tentatively offering his weak mentor an empathetic glance.

Stood leaning heavily against the doorframe, Snape raised an eyebrow in response. Predictably, he brushed aside Harry's innocent compassion.

With a barely audible groan, he pushed himself painfully from the door and moved swiftly inside the room with a stiff nod of greeting.

Harry tensed visibly. His every nerve automatically focused on Snape's black clad form. Witnessing the man at his weakest, suffering the worst pain possible, was bound to alter his perception.

Though all the typical Snape features were in place, to Harry, the man somehow seemed much smaller and less intimidating than he ever had before, as he stumbled forwards.

Snape was a mortal man. Just as they all were.

''How are you... feeling now, professor?'' Harry asked hesitantly. ''Did the potion-''

''It was sufficient,'' Snape responded carelessly, casting his eyes about the room and avoiding Harry's eyes in particular.

Silence soon descended upon them, as they became consumed by awkwardness. Eventually, Snape shifted his footing, with a soft grunt of discomfort, and stared directly at Harry.

Harry swallowed, acknowledging to himself that, though Snape was no longer a creature to be associated more with vampires than humans, he was still the most daunting person he'd ever met. There was no tolerance in the dark eyes that searched his, waiting tensely for inevitable comment on his dire appearance, or else a tide of difficult questions.

He would prove Snape wrong, once again, by his inability to find humour, or reason for sarcastic comment, in another person's suffering. If he refused enough times, and continued to prove that he was not that sort of person, the message may eventually be accepted.

A brief, partially concealed look of relief passed across Snape's pale face as Harry remained tight-lipped and undemanding. The boy's ever growing maturity and sense of self-awareness were constantly a surprise to him. He would have thought it impossible for so much consideration to be displayed on a face so alike to that of James Potter.

The worried and deeply unhappy expression that dominated Harry's features, as he avoided looking at any particular wound too closely, as though he hated to see it, was so genuine that Snape could not doubt his sincerity, despite his natural cynicism.

To Harry's immense relief, aside from the distinct paleness and an overall weariness, Snape did not appear too outwardly effected in any long-term way by the ordeal he had suffered. Harry had known the man was fully capable of healing himself, but was surprised by what a good job he appeared to have done, and without magic.

His face was clean, disfigured only by a small number of deep cuts and ugly bruises, many of which had coloured considerably to reveal the true force with which they'd been delivered.

Snape was also free from any extensive signs of blood and poison. His hip was hidden by his long cloak and he no longer smelt too awful.

His initial concerns satisfied, Harry stifled a yawn as Snape loitered at the foot of his bed, apparently indecisive. He was annoyed with himself for being so exhausted when there was finally potential to find out something more about Voldemort.

''You were not sleeping?'' Snape asked finally, as Harry rubbed at his eyes. ''I knocked. You did not move. I could not tell-''

''No, I was awake,'' Harry assured him, looking up sharply and noticing a flicker of hope in the man's eyes, as he grasped at a means of escape. ''I was waiting.''

''Nevertheless, I would rather preference rest if you are indeed fatigued-'' Snape attempted, but Harry cut him off stubbornly, his confidence growing with Snape's uncertainty.

''I'm fine...'' he said firmly, but faltered slightly under the intense gaze of his mentor. He never could lie to Snape. ''Ok, so I'm knackered, but I still want to hear your story.''

Snape did not look at all surprised. ''Predictable,'' he muttered tiredly, without malice, and motioned Harry towards his writing desk. ''Then sit.''

Harry pushed his achy limbs from the bed and followed quickly, ignoring pointedly the heavy limp that remained as Snape walked in front of him, for the man would only grow uncomfortable and defensive if he spoke of it.

He could detect a clinical sort of smell also, that was far from pleasant. It reminded Harry of hospitals, but he assumed this was something to do with the muggle treatment Snape had been forced to administer on himself, and refrained from comment.

Harry watched, discomfort written all over his face, as Snape lowered himself delicately into a chair, a brief look of pain passing across his features as the wood made contact with his dark robe that covered battered skin.

Harry's hands twisted together in his lap. His fever may have been dealt with but his occlumency skills were still decidedly shocking. His mind, and memories, remained in a similar state of disarray as they had been for a long while, and he fought the bleak set of images that reminded him only too well of his own pain, like Snape's, suffered at the hands of Voldemort.

Snape wasn't quite sure how Harry had managed to convince him into doing this, tonight of all nights, but he had said he'd allow the boy slightly more freedom with what he heard, and he intended to follow up on that promise. Harry had very low expectations when it came to promises, and for some, bizarre reason, Snape was determined to be trusted.

That relentlessly pitying expression the boy had plastered to his face, however, was not something Snape was prepared to contend with. Sympathy was not something he was used to, and though the warm feeling of being wanted was not wholly unwelcome, it was unsettling, and the incomprehension of that feeling was a disturbance.

''Take that ridiculous look off your face, Potter,'' he said curtly, brushing his new, immaculate robe aside as he shifted in his seat, refusing to allow himself the freedom to wince. ''I remain alive and have no immediate plans to greet death. You need not be so...tense.''

Harry, however, did wince and looked very much as though he was going to say something uncomfortably and embarrassingly emotional, but Snape spoke loudly before he could get the words out.

''You asked where I was? Then let us divert our attention from my physical state of impairment, and I shall answer.''

Harry, not as controlled as Snape, paled considerably as he stared up into his mentor's gaunt face, and wondered suddenly why he had been so keen to know such a horrific story. Snape seemed to be thinking along the same lines, but he'd made up his mind, and Harry would not so easily escape the consequences of his own choices.

It had made him far more distressed than he would ever have guessed to see the man in such agony. Snape was acting as though nothing at all had happened, and that he hadn't been screaming and writhing in such intense pain less than an hour ago. Harry could not understand it. His own adrenaline was still lingering in his system, yet Snape managed to appear so calm.

It only re-enforced the fact that learning to control your emotions was a great asset.

''Relax, Potter. I know how you delight in melodramatic situations, but I can assure you, the danger is passed. We are both quite safe.''

Some of the tension left Harry's stiff posture as he tried to do as was asked and Snape nodded approvingly.

''Relax,'' he repeated firmly, ''I refuse to do this otherwise.''

Harry took a deep breath, shutting his eyes briefly. ''I am calm. I promise.''

Snape's eyes roamed the lines of Harry's face briefly, trusting his own judgment far more than Harry's on these matters, before he cleared his throat and settled back, looking, with all his normal hypocrisy, tenser than ever.

''I was summoned tonight, shortly after you had fallen asleep, by the Dark Lord,'' he begun, his voice strained, though carefully void of any emotion. ''It was not the most convenient of times, but as you know, Potter, in this matter, there is hardly the freedom of choice for me to refuse his calling. A dozen others were summoned, a meeting ensued and as predicted, the Dark Lord did not let us leave without... issuing warning.''

Snape paused here, eyeing Harry closely through dark, tired eyes. He found the boy listening distastefully, with rapt attention.

Snape continued in a low, expressionless voice before he could lose his nerve. ''He was...most displeased. His plans have not been as successful as he would have hoped. His attempts to acquire the prophecy-''

''Oh god,'' Harry groaned with realisation, shaking his head in self-disgust, ''this is my fault. He's after the prophecy. I knew it. Sir, I...I'm so...I...''

''What, Potter?'' Snape raised an eyebrow in annoyance when Harry failed to complete his sentence coherently. ''You are sorry? Sorry for the fact that he tortured me, mocked me, taunted me in a fashion not much different to that which he did you, not so many weeks ago-''

''He didn't...'' Harry winced, taking a deep breath to combat his nerves. ''He didn't hurt me as much as has you.''

Snape's eyes were sharp on Harry's face, before he looked away with a grunt.

''Physically, perhaps, my injuries have been more extensive. But I, unlike you, Potter, have means by which to occlude myself from such... brutality,'' he spat the word, and for the first time seemed unable to keep the true bitterness from his words. ''Our afflictions do not need to be matched, but dispelled entirely. Our... suffering may be intertwined, Potter, but they are not directly linked. No action on your part resulted in my fate tonight. It was more a failure to act, deliberately, as my duties require of me. The prophecy cannot be found, Potter. Not by the Dark Lord. All else is inconsequential when compared to this fact.''

They both sat still for a moment, the atmosphere tense as they both threw silent curses at the man who had made both of their lives a misery.

Harry would admit that he was surprised Snape saw his own pain as an inevitable fact, and almost worthy of disregard when assessing the bigger picture. It sounded like something Dumbledore would say, not Snape. Perhaps the two were not so different, at heart. Perhaps all of them were not so different. They all wanted the same thing.

Harry just hadn't realised, until now, the measures that all his mentors, as a collective group, were willing to go to reach their goal, and also what equal sacrifice would be required of him.

''You did not concoct that infernal prophecy, Potter,'' Snape continued dismissively, an edge of finality to his tone now that he saw understanding in Harry's eyes. ''You are not to blame for what has transpired tonight. I can assure you that it was not a unique event.''

''Yes, sir,'' Harry whispered, shivering slightly under the weight of Snape's words. ''And what about his plans? If he can't get the-''

''It is not a case of can't, Potter, but of when, and how we shall prevent it,'' Snape answered curtly. '''We' being the Order,'' he added sternly, ''you and I have discussed this before. At length. The protection of the prophecy-''

''Is not my responsibility,'' Harry completed for him, ''I know, but how are you going to stop it? Did Voldemort say at the meeting how he was-''

''No,'' Snape waved his hand dismissively, ''nothing is ever declared in black and white form with the Dark Lord. He is always suspecting, awaiting willingly to remove those from his ranks who may betray him. The prophecy is his greatest desire. He would not discuss such serious plans in a large meeting.''

Harry nodded. Any further questions stuck somewhere at the back of his throat. He wanted to know more, he always did, but the darkness behind these discussions was not something he appreciated when his nightmares were already so awful.

Snape raised an eyebrow at his student, tilting his head to the side slightly in questioning as he examined the boy.

''Has this satisfied your immediate desire for forbidden information, Potter?'' he asked, eyes drifting towards the clock above Harry's head. ''You now know where I have been. If that is all-''

''It's not,'' Harry said quickly, stamping down irritably on his own fears of the truth before Snape could leave. ''I want to know all you'll tell me. But... You really should get some sleep, professor.''

''What else would I want after such an evening, Potter?'' Snape snapped irritably.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, effectively rebuked. Snape always did have the ability to make him appear a fool with a minimum amount of words.

Before Harry could do something foolish like try to apologise, Snape continued in a more tolerant tone. ''That does not mean I won't, however. You shall not thrash around for the remainder of the night, unsettled due to that overactive curiosity of yours, Potter, and weigh on my conscience. Yet, if you do not query me, I cannot ease your mind, or else bring you clarity. I assumed with your silence that you were satisfied... Foolish of me. You are relentlessly curious.''

Unsure whether he was being criticised or not, Harry nodded, showing to Snape that he was right, and he did indeed, selfishly, want to know more.

''Of course...'' Snape shook his head, apparently displeased, on this occasion, to be proved correct.

Harry felt a familiar scowl creep onto his own features, as Snape eyed him with such distaste, and he was reminded forcefully of all the times he'd used that expression since he'd been at the Manor. His annoyance with Snape's confusing signals only rose further as the man managed to both insult him, and show his selfless preference for his, Harry's, own peace of mind, in just a few short sentences.

The fact that he was here, tired and beaten, willing to share his dark memories, was enough to show he must care immensely about him, but his actions, and words alike, continued to confuse Harry into doubt.

''If I'm such a burden-'' he begun but Snape growled over him, apparently too tired to argue.

''You are not a burden, Potter,'' he grumbled, giving the boy a dark look of impatience to contrast this opinion entirely. ''Far from it. But you are an irritant. And currently very selfish.''

Harry blinked in surprise and glanced up hesitantly, but Snape had paled dramatically and swayed dangerously where he'd risen sharply to his feet.

Harry lunged forwards and managed to awkwardly guide the man back to his seat before he collapsed.

Harry knew better than to expect a thank you, but, as Snape failed to reprimand him for his undesired aid, his silence provided the gratitude he refused to say in words.

''Go to bed, sir,'' Harry said finally, as Snape's breathing gradually evened, his head bowed. He wouldn't have Snape any weaker because of him. Talking could wait. ''Just go. Forget this. I don't need to know anymore.''

Snape opened one eye and peered at him through a chunk of dark, greasy hair. ''Ask your questions, Potter, and then we can both claim sleep.''

He prised himself out of Harry's supporting grip and straightened up slowly, setting himself a mental reminder not to make such abrupt movements in future, wondering all the while when a decent night sleep for the boy had become more important than his own.

''How did you get bitten?'' Harry asked reluctantly.

''Nagini was set upon a group of us,'' Snape spoke quickly, his eyes darkening a fraction as he recalled more of what he had experienced.

For a moment, as Snape's face twisted into such a bitter, needy expression, it seemed to Harry like the man needed to get this off his chest, and make his own pain and sacrifice known and acknowledged, as much as Harry thought he needed to hear it.

''A form of punishment for our inability to gather sufficient information. My mind was...elsewhere. Unlike you, Potter, I cannot run at speed while intensely fatigued. I was pinned to the floor. Snake venom, though deadly, is far less effective than multiple torture spells. Combine the two and, as you can imagine, the effects are unbearable.''

The description grew further morbid as Snape's eyes unfocused, drifting away from Harry's and into the past of his own black memories, until Harry was forced to interrupt.

''Sir, please-'' He had heard enough, but he knew Snape was going to make him pay for his pressurising. There was a lesson to be learnt in everything.

''The creature struck me. I daren't use my wand. The Dark Lord, as you know, Potter, takes great pride in his snakes. I would be dead before I cast the first spell. I allowed her to inject the venom. I stood. I fled. Being a potion master holds its advantages, I must admit. I will be the only Death Eater, at tonight's meeting, to have survived the encounter.''

Harry was chilled to the bone, as he witnessed the deep hatred in Snape's eyes and complete lack of pity for those men, lying cold and dead when he so easily could have been among them.

Snape came to an abrupt stop, the temper in his eyes dying slowly as his concentration was drawn back completely onto the shaking boy in front of him, and withdrew himself from his memories.

His hands shook as they clasped in front of him, and he instantly regretted his brief lapse in control. He hadn't planned on being so graphic but his own mind could prove vividly accurate when allowed to lead his thoughts into such darkness.

Keeping himself detatched during this his explanation had certainly been a failure.

He'd had no intention to share these particular details with the boy, but Harry had provoked him. The look of horror on his face now made Snape shiver internally, and he cared far less about any lesson that may have been learnt by their discussion, than for that fear to be wiped away.

On a day when Harry was fit and strong, Snape would have forced him to bear such ugly truths, but with illness, encouraging tolerance of such dark thoughts was not his priority.

Harry trembled, swallowing back his intense distaste and nausea as he was forced comprehend just the magnitude of Snape's life within Voldemort's ranks. He hadn't known what to expect, but he'd never assumed that Voldemort would treat his own followers with such disregard.

''I am not unused to this treatment, Potter,'' Snape attempted to calm the boy, ''It is not unfamiliar within-''

Harry groaned as he was assaulted with a new wave of horror, but hid his fear, determined to prove that he was ready to deal with this sort of information.

''You mean...this has happened before? This bad? Not when I've been here...I would have seen...''

''Potter...'' Snape sighed and ran a weary hand over his face as he experienced an odd, unpleasant sinking sensation in his gut. He made to stand. If the boy was that naive, he certainly wasn't going to break any fragile hopes he may still hold, and reveal the harsh reality of his job. He wouldn't be the bringer of that pain. Not to Harry.

For the first time, Snape entertained the idea that ignorance was not always a fault.

''Perhaps we should continue this in the morning.''

''No, wait a second,'' Harry called him back, feeling guilty once again for barring Snape's exit. ''Please, just tell me... Have you been called, this summer, before tonight?''

The thought of Snape running around, being tortured half to death why he, Harry, slept on unaware, and treated him with such hatred each day after all he'd suffered for the side of light, was enough to turn his insides to ice.

Snape begun to doubt his decision ever to grant the boy this unusual amount of insight into his double life.

''Were you?'' Harry pleaded.

''Potter...'' Snape translated the question only as 'did you leave me?' He had not betrayed the boy, nor left him willingly and was reluctant to be seen as such.

''Sir, please. I have to know. Has this happened before?''

An eternity passed as Snape stared, unseeing into the pools of green, and his resolve slowly crumbled. Before he could take it back, his lips had curled round distastefully and he spoke. ''Yes.''

Harry gasped softly, his head dropping in defeat. It shouldn't bother him, he knew that. It was just hard to accept the idea of his mentor, who he'd come to respect and trust a great deal, would do this without feeling the need to inform him.

They both had their privacy, and freedom with their own personal time, but Harry could not come to terms with the irrational coldness that enclosed him as he imagined Snape, his teacher and mentor, bearing pain and accepting it as though it was a regular, acceptable occurrence.

Harry could understand now, at least part of Snape's intense bitterness, and the reason why he acted the way he did. He expected that he'd react in a similar way if he was in Snape's lonely shoes.

To make it worse, Snape really was alone. Dumbledore was the only one he could confide in. He had no friends that Harry was aware of. No Ron and Hermione, always there for him. Harry knew just how alone it was possible to feel without friends, after the last few weeks experience.

Harry suddenly felt sick and it only strengthened his resolve to kill Voldemort, sooner rather than later.

''How many times?'' he asked quietly, wincing at his own stupid question and internally debating whether or not he really wanted to know.

Snape kept his eyes trained on Harry's face, even though the boy was looking anywhere but at him. He had no reason to feel guilty, yet he still felt unreasonably traitorous.

Swallowing back an unusual amount of distaste in himself, Snape lowered himself back into his chair and vowed to finish what he had started.

''More than I can account for,'' he answered honestly.

Harry winced and his growing fear and distaste was only made more apparent.

Snape relented to his conscience and dropped his voice. ''I told you I had been nowhere pleasant, Potter. The truth is, as always, not always the most... sympathetic on the ears.''

''I want the truth,'' Harry said firmly, though his voice held far less conviction than it had previously. Snape decided to test it.

''Are you sure, Potter? You asked for honesty. Here you have it and you are shaking like a man posessed. Never have I lured you into false pretences concerning my whereabouts. You were informed that my assistance may be required by the Dark Lord on your arrival at the Manor. You have no reason to be surprised.''

''Yes, I know,'' Harry agreed reluctantly, unwilling to reveal the true reason for a great part of his upset.

When Snape continued to look at him expectantly, Harry realised that he had no choice but to explain.

''I just...'' Harry sighed, a pinkish tinge colouring his pale cheeks. ''I just thought... maybe you would want to tell me.''

Snape raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. ''And why on earth would I want to do that?''

Harry felt himself redden further, and began cursing himself for making assumptions, before he realised Snape may not be being entirely truthful to him, as much as he'd begged him to be.

''Don't... Don't, sir,'' Harry sighed. ''Stop confusing me. You can't keep changing your mind, it's not fair. You promised to tell me things I didn't need to know-'

''And here I am doing exactly that.''

''Yes,'' Harry agreed, ''you are. And you said that you... that maybe, well you implied that you cared more for me that you once did. I thought things would have been...different after.'' Harry stammered, finding it decidedly hard to be honest himself.

Snape sighed deeply, a small suspicion arising as to the foundations of this inner turmoil the boy was competing with. He would have to make himself clear.

''Rule number one, Potter: Never... assume anything about me unless it is informed directly from my person. If I imply something... consider it negotiable.''

''I can understand that, sir,'' Harry said patiently, pushing his well worn bravery to the surface. ''But I did assume, and you allowed me to. You said that you were open to a more...understanding relationship between us.''

Harry saw Snape visibly stiffen but continued stubbornly nevertheless. ''You could have been hurt.''

Snape looked blank but Harry knew the look well enough to know that there was a very different story taking place beneath the surface of the man's calm exterior, at least he hoped so.

Snape's throat was suddenly very dry, as he considered all the propositions which, against all that he'd taught, Harry had so untactfully implied. It seemed the boy was going to, against all the odds, suggest that a simple truce wasn't enough. He would not merely accept a lack of hostility.. He wanted a positive replacement.

''I have no intention of...breaking our truce, Mr. Potter,'' Snape sighed, before he could dwell too much on what the boy had said, ''But I...''

For the first time, in many years, Snape felt exceedingly uncomfortable in another's presence, and was unable to defend himself from it. His usual brashness and curses towards the boy were no longer effective. Instead, he said the only thing that he could articulate.

''What do you want from me?''

Harry opened his mouth immediately, with a reply, but shut it firmly soon after. What did he want?

Snape had been one of the greatest oppressors in his life. Snape had made him a dejected, and equally confused and unhappy first year in potions, a despondent, pessimistic second year, a defiant third year and a quick tempered, angry fourth year.

Could the fifth year really hold something drastically different?

When he'd been sick, Snape was to care for him. When training, Snape was to teach. When he needed to talk, Snape would listen.

But When Harry was content and healthy, holding only the troubles and worries a teenager did on a daily basis, Snape's role was harder to picture. Harry had a guardian already. He had Sirius.

''May I make a suggestion, Mr. Potter?'' Snape said finally, watching Harry carefully.

When Harry nodded, he continued. ''I believe one word will suffice.''

''What's that, sir?''

''Patience,'' Snape answered softly.

Harry's eyes widened for a moment as they met Snape's, and he nodded slowly in agreement.

''Emotions, if you are not already aware, are not my favourite pursuit,'' Snape said awkwardly, willing Harry to understand his own discomfort with this situation, and realise that he was not merely being brushed off. ''I shall not deny that I am...acceptable to a...temporary, mutual...''

He struggled to find the word but Harry jumped in to his rescue, giving a soft, wry laugh.

''I think that's it,'' Harry said in response to Snape's inability to produce an appropriate term. ''Until I realise what it is that I want, and you decide how close you want to let me. It's wrong of me to want you to... take more responsibility over me. I... You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I was just being stupid. I know I don't have the right to ask for anything.''

Snape nodded tightly, unsure quite how they had reached this topic of conversation.

''I am not a reckless man. You will have to prove yourself far more effectively to me if you expect me to become any further likable to your character, Potter. Regardless, I am not offering to fill any permanent role in your problematic existence.''

Harry snorted, Snape's harsh words cracking through the air like the whip as a reminder of the man's demanding, pitiless nature, even if the he had sounded as though he were convincing himself also, and not just his impatient student.

An agreement simply not to hate each other, taken so seriously, would have seemed trivial and silly to anyone else, but to this pair it was a vital part of their lives that was changing, and it had heavy implications for both of them.

Humour, however, was not far under the surface and they both knew that a common alliance, without the insecurities and doubts that they held now, was not far out of reach. Snape was right. It would just take time.

Their mutual acknowledgment to accept such a fate positively was what had Harry smiling widely at his mentor, bravely testing these new, dangerous waters. He understood now. He and Snape were on the same page, but unlike him, Snape was unwilling to rush things.

He would come to terms with his affection for Harry in his own time.

Before Harry could say anything else, Snape had risen delicately to his feet and was addressing him from the open doorway.

''Goodnight, Potter.''

Snape eyed him appraisingly for a moment, a sense of peace in his pain filled black eyes, before he closed the door with a sharp snap.