...

Harry stood rigidly at his bedroom window, watching the heat rise off the lawn and realising quite suddenly, that he'd barely been outside this summer.

He was leaving for Grimauld Place in less than a day. It was the exact chance of escape he'd been desperately hoping for since his arrival, yet he found himself strangely reluctant to leave the confines of Snape Manor.

All that he'd suffered - including bone deep exhaustion, sickening migraines and a dangerously escalating depression - had only made him more adamant to remain exactly where he was.

He had a great determination to finish what he'd started. He had come a long way since his arrival, with regard to his general fitness in battle, but he'd yet to gain anything substantial to show for it.

Though he still very much considered Snape's home a prison, Harry had learnt to take comfort in its familiarity and its promise to make him a worthy opponent of Voldemort.

Harry knew he'd be sorely disappointed if this was the end of the road for him and Snape.

''Potter?''

Harry jumped slightly at the interruption into his thoughts, but turned round to face his mentor quite calmly, if a little guiltily. ''Yeah, I'm in here.''

Snape's long fingers curled around the wooden frame and he pushed open the door wider. Taking a hesitant step inside, his eyes darted amongst Harry's belongings, where they were littered around the room haphazardly.

''I believe I told you to pack,'' he reprimanded lightly.

Harry sighed, not even bothering to hide his reluctance under Snape's perceptive gaze. He took a step away from the window and forced a weak shrug of apology.

''You know that I'd rather-''

''We can argue if you so wish,'' Snape cut him off, wandering forwards to flick absently through one of Harry's stray textbooks. ''But I would prefer you to cease playing the dramatic hero and follow my instructions.''

He jerked his wand vaguely in Harry's direction and the latches on the boy's trunk popped open.

Grumbling, Harry cast the man a dark glance. Snape's blatant refusal to discuss the situation was beginning to irritate him.

Harry suspected Snape was just as wary of returning to Voldemort. But the man would never let it show, nor entertain discussion, which made it increasingly hard for Harry to sway his decison.

Harry shook his head stubbornly, but obediently crossed the room and begun to empty his wardrobe.

''So, what's the plan for today?'' he asked wearily, when it seemed Snape made no immediate move to leave.

''I had hoped, if you are agreeable, that we would begin discussing these... insecurities in your past, so that during later training, occlumency would not again prove quite so disastrous,'' Snape answered slowly, apparently absorbed in his reading. Rifling through the ancient volume, he let out a soft snort.

''Absinthe,'' he murmured in response to Harry's questioning gaze, running a pale finger over the words and tilting the book so Harry could see. ''According to,'' he flipped the book to its front. ''Mr. Wilhelm Kratz, adding this substance to a simple Calming Draft enables the development of enormous strength to the consumer within mere moments.''

Harry frowned, imitating Snape's scepticism. ''Wouldn't it make the user blind? Strong yeah, I bet it would make you pretty tough after frequent use, but with that mixture... It's dangerous, right?''

''Exactly,'' Snape confirmed, glancing down at Harry with barely concealed surprise. ''How did you know that?''

''I've read it,'' Harry replied simply, moving away to continue packing. ''And you've taught me well.''

Snape threw him an odd look, snapping the book shut. ''Flattery will get you nowhere.''

Harry rolled his eyes. ''You told me to read all those autobiographies, professor. I only have one left.''

''In that case, I hope it has taught you, Mr. Potter, to appreciate that not all of what you read should be trusted.'' His eyes widened as he snatched a second, half-open book from Harry's desk to discover endless underlining, high-lighting and otherwise destructive patterns.

''Merlin help you if this is ink, Potter-''

''Temporary marker,'' Harry explained quickly, before Snape could scold him. He carefully pried the book from Snape's grip and placed it delicately back onto the desk, with a small pat to its cover. ''It's constructive noting actually and comes off with a simple spell, I swear. There were some paragraphs that I couldn't understand. I was going to ask you about those bits...''

''Yet you have not,'' Snape remarked, running a delicate finger over the binding, as though inspecting for further damage.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, gazing up Snape apprehensively through his fringe. ''I've just been... gathering the courage, I suppose.''

Snape tensed for a moment, but then sighed, tight-lipped. ''This afternoon. Bring all of these books, each one, to the library and we shall resolve these queries.''

''Thank you,'' Harry replied, smiling slightly through his surprise at his mentor's unexpected generosity.

Snape inclined his head. ''Now, shall we be having a discussion later? We do not have much time, I am aware, but I believe we can begin to make advancement with these nightmares.''

Harry winced, his face paling instantly. ''Alright. As long as we're not using wands.''

A ripple of amusement crossed Snape's face, and he seemed to relax slightly. ''They will not be necessary,'' he assured the boy. He hesitated for a moment, and then dropped into Harry's desk chair.

Harry offered him a shy smile as he reached round the man to collect all stray parchment and ink. Only a week ago, Snape would not have dared crossed the threshold into the boy's room, or even wanted to.

''I shall also need time to... prepare for my meeting with the Dark Lord tonight,'' Snape added softly into the following silence, unconsciously turning his face towards the slight breeze that fluttered his hair from Harry's partially opened window. This bedroom received warmth from the sun, which his never did. Snape would not admit, even to himself, that the warm air felt good against the dry, pale skin of his face. ''My wound is healing, but it requires further attention before I take on such... strenuous activity.''

Harry nodded, unconsciously screwing his nose up in deep distaste at the thought of the torture undoubtedly waiting for the man, should he show his face to Voldemort in an unforgiving mood.

''You haven't been called yet then?'' he asked quietly, unsure of whether Snape would answer.

He did, however, with a small shake of his head, and Harry was grateful.

''And I suppose you want me to keep practising with my wand?'' Harry wondered out loud, casting an almost nervous glance onto his bedside table, where it lay, having remained unused for days now.

''If you feel well enough,'' Snape agreed carefully. ''Though there is no immediate need. I believe your power will return in time. You may retrain your mind at Headquarters with sufficient rest.''

An uncomfortable air surrounded them as both contemplated their near departure, where so many things were bound to change. And not for the better.

Snape fell into a contemplative silence as Harry darted around the room, stretching up on his toes to, much to his embarrassment, clear away owl droppings. Grinning sheepishly at Snape, Harry moved to lay flat on his stomach to retrieve stray parchment and forgotten magazines, until finally the room was clear.

''All done,'' he declared, hands on his hips as he regarded his work with pride.

Snape stood up, inspecting the space with a swift, calculating glance before nodding approvingly. ''Leave your trunk and shower. You shall not have time to wash later. I shall prepare lunch.''

''Yes, sir.'' Dropping his eyes, Harry sighed once again and failed to hide his gloominess at the prospect of his final day in training for at least a week.

Dumbledore had, after much debate, seen it fit that Harry was to take a week off at Grimauld place, before he was allowed to continue training. Harry was not quite sure why, in addition to this, he was so uneasy with the prospect of being out of Snape's company for such a time, but it made him feel empty and unwanted regardless.

Watching the shutters fall across Harry's face, Snape rolled his eyes and grabbed Harry's wrist as he passed on the way to the bathroom.

Harry's head snapped up, green eyes meeting Snape's in confusion.

''I... I do not wish for you to leave,'' Snape said quietly, after a tense pause. ''It is imperative, but do not think that I...'' He closed his lips tightly, almost condemning himself with his own confession, but he needed Harry to know that he was welcome.

If he allowed the boy to continue to believe he was at all satisfied with his leaving, he knew there would be slim chance of a return visit under civil circumstances.

Blinking, Harry fought a sudden lump in his throat and attempted to lighten the atmosphere. ''Then don't get killed tonight and I will come back.''

Snape highly doubted it. A week with Sirius would enable all of Harry's hatred for him to return. If any suspicion that Harry was at all warming to his potion master reached Sirius, he was sure to remind Harry of all the reasons, truthful or not, of why Snape was such a bastard.

Sirius' influence over the boy was strong. It was the first time he'd meet his nephew since his illness, and therefore, his mood was likely to be blacker towards Snape than usual.

When Snape merely continued to look at him, unwilling to make promises he couldn't keep, Harry sighed, angry and confused about his own, deep longing for Snape to remain safe. The man was his pillar and he was afraid his carefully built strength would dissolve once they parted, and the move they'd made towards respect for each other would dissipate just as rapidly.

Harry took a determined step forward and let his Gryffindor recklessness take over. ''I need you.''

Snape glanced away almost immediately, as though stung. He closed his eyes in exasperation as Harry gave into impulse and bravely pressed his cheek against the front of Snape's robes.

''If you believe that, Potter, then I have failed sorely in my attempt to train you.'' Still, Snape returned the embrace cautiously, despite his better judgement, lowering his head to Harry's ear. He tried to ignore the subtle shaking that was coming from the boy, that suggested he really was as frightened as he seemed.

''You need someone, I will not deny it... A guide. You are incapable of functioning without a thick wall of support. But that person is not me.''

Harry tightened his lips, but did not argue, for Snape spoke with such conviction and certainty, that his own wavering emotions were incapable of defending themselves.

He allowed Snape to push him away, with a forceful nudge towards the bathroom.

Harry turned on the hot water with a headache. Maybe seeing Sirius again would be a good idea. He couldn't keep relying on Snape, it was unfair. He'd already made it quite clear that he wanted to play no more serious role than his trainer.

Harry dragged his trunk down the stairs with difficulty. Hedwig hooted her disapproval as she swayed precariously on the top of it.

He piled his belongings against the front door and automatically turned towards the library. But Snape was not there.

Fearing he had changed his mind and left already for his suicidal mission, Harry's began to panic. However, as he wandered into the kitchen a cool breeze hit his face and he altered his path. Frowning in confusion, he followed the taste of fresh air out into the garden, squinting into the bright sun.

Through a set of double doors, Harry found himself on a chequered patio, hanging baskets strung left right and centre. All were empty and rotting.

He'd ventured out here only once, and that was in the rain. But now, in the brightness of more appropriate summer weather, all was dry and unquestionably beautiful, despite the desolate air.

Snape's black robes were clearly visible against the softer colours of nature. He was sitting at a table under the shade beside an old stone shed. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed.

Harry's lips quirked and he crept forwards, smiling wider in appreciation as he realised that upon the table, there was a series of buffet type foods laid out.

He took the seat opposite the man, resting his right arm in the sun and breathing in the scent of the many strange plants around him.

It felt ridiculousy good to have a breeze against his skin, and Harry found himself smiling unconsciously to himself.

Snape's eyes snapped open as Harry leaned forward, clattering cutlery in his hunger.

''Your stealth is improving,'' he said, almost irritably, as he leant forward to snatch a roll. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with the thought of appearing in such a vulnerable position, but Harry made no threat. He merely passed over the butter and helped himself to some salad.

Lunch was a quiet affair, but peaceful. It could very well be the last one they shared, Harry reminded himself, and therefore, he'd no desire for an argument to ensue.

''I've had an idea, sir,'' Harry begun tentatively.

''An idea? You don't say, Potter,'' Snape repeated, interest piqued, ''Pray tell. What is it?''

''Well... seeing as, technically, I don't really have to tell you anything...'' Harry continued, ignoring Snape's raised eyebrow at the assumption. ''You know, about... private things, because they are private, professor.''

''I am sure they are,'' Snape agreed when Harry paused, obviously nervous. ''Go on.''

''And very secret. Many of the things that bother me...that I dream about, include the Dursleys and stuff about Voldemort, which I've never told anyone about before. I'm trusting you... And I thought, perhaps, in return, you could give a little as well. What I mean is, could we do like, a question for a question? I talk, you talk. It would make me more comfortable to know that I'm not the only one blurting all of my secrets.''

''I see,'' Snape answered finally, a tilt to his lips that told Harry the man had not taken his pledge at all seriously. ''Tell me, Potter, do you honestly believe, as mindlessly optimistic as you are, that I would allow you insight into any one of my... secrets?'' He sneered the word, as though it were an immature description of something far more sinister. ''Have I ever led you to believe that I share anything at all?''

Harry bowed his head, shaking his head in grim acceptance. ''No. I guess not.''

Snape narrowed his eyes when Harry appeared generally upset by the cold, albeit expected response. ''Trust me, Potter, you do not wish to know all that there is to know about me,'' he informed the boy, almost bitterly. ''Do not think that I am oblivious to your curiosity... but it is wasted, I can assure you.''

''I don't think that-'' Harry begun, but Snape cut him off with a wave of his hand.

''I shall consider your suggestion, nothing more. I am sure I can manage to allow you to know fascinating aspects of my character, if you are to be so persistent. My favourite food perhaps?''

Harry ignored the sarcasm and watched as, from beneath the table, Snape diverted from the conversation by drawing out a long silver box. He held Harry's eyes as he snapped open the fastenings and revealed a wooden chess board.

''Do you play chess, Mr. Potter?''

Curious as to the thought behind Snape's proposition, Harry nodded. ''I do... but badly. Ron's way better than me.''

''Ah, modesty,'' Snape murmured, pulling back his sleeves an inch to place the pieces on their respective squares. ''Just waiting for the chance to challenge me, hm? I am to be led into a false sense of security? Cunning, Potter, but it shall not be enough.''

Harry almost laughed, confused but intrigued and welcoming to the lighter side of Snape he was beginning to see more and more of. He found himself fascinated.

''I considered that perhaps the game would create a more... balanced atmosphere,'' Snape explained. ''I believed it would divert our attention a little from speech, and therefore, make it easier. A distraction, if you like.'' And not for himself, but for Harry. Harry tended to play with his sleeves when he was nervous, and mess hair when agitated, but this game would hopefully divert these habits and act as a buffer between them.

Through creating such a distance, Snape hoped to enable Harry to bring himself closer and share the knowledge that would cure him.

''This is not a competition,'' he added warily, as a spark of interest entered Harry's eyes. ''I will inevitably win, and therefore, I would prefer you not to waste too much attention on the board, Potter.''

''But-''

''Quiet. We shall begin. Noble as you are, Potter, you can be white.''

''And as you're such a fashion icon, you can be black,'' Harry retorted, before he could be stopped from speaking once again.

Snape appeared taken aback for a moment by the forwardness, but allowed a smirk to grace his features as Harry bowed his head and made his first move.

''Flattery again, Mr. Potter? I am... overwhelmed.''

Harry glanced up nervously, unsure of how far he could push things with account of Snape's often short tolerance.

He swallowed, biting back a snort of amusement. ''Your move, professor.''

Pieces moved back and across the board for several minutes before Snape broke into the silence with an abrupt question.

''When were you first hit by your uncle, Mr. Potter?''

Harry swallowed heavily, caught off guard. ''Er...'' Snape's eyes were fixed on the chess board, and not at his face, which Harry realised with gratification, that it was probably another reason the chess board had been used; he would not have to compete with facing the man's emotions with regard to his confessions.

It took Harry a while to gather himself, but Snape made no move to pressure him. Instead, his fingers were fixed at the tips, his eyes downcast upon his king.

''I was four,'' Harry answered finally, mouth dry. ''I'd dropped some dishes on Dudley's new shoes. Broken glass and a stain. Uncle Vernon wasn't pleased.''

Hoping this was enough of an answer, Harry was disappointed when Snape's eyes flickered up to his face. The man's eyes were strained with something incomprehensible and his jaw twitched. His earlier silence had, it seemed, not been born out of indifference.

''Elaborate.''

Shutting his eyes briefly, Harry cleared his throat and continued quietly. ''It was just a hard slap around the face, but I was so small I was thrown to the floor. I was petrified.''

A shudder ran through Harry and he refused to continue, shutting his mouth into a hard line. Remembering his earlier plea, he pushed forwards his castle and asked, without much hope of a response, ''And you? Where you ever abused at home, professor?''

Snape blinked, but otherwise he remained impassive. He stared at him for so long Harry believed the man may actually answer. His mouth opened, and his eyes had darkened considerably, but when he finally spoke, his tone was mocking.

''My favourite cereal is cheerios. A muggle brand I discovered in my teenage years.'' He returned his attention to the chess board. ''When was the second time he laid physical harm upon you?''

Harry grimaced, shifting in his seat uncomfortably, but Snape was unrelenting.