He couldn't tell Snape the truth. Let alone Dumbledore. The first time Snape had seen the map on Harry's hands had been a nightmare, and he wasn't so sure that this time would go any better. If the Marauders' spells on it chose the wrong moment to make fun of Snape's nose or hair, Snape would think that Harry wanted to mock him, and he wouldn't listen.

Snape never listened.

He kept insisting on what he thought that was right until the world turned upside down. Harry was spying on Malfoy, but not out of stubbornness. Even Hermione refused to understand. "You're obsessed," she said a few days ago, and it wasn't the first time.

Under his duvet, he watched as Malfoy's tiny form faded into nothingness. What was in the room or Requirement? Or, what was for Malfoy there? He could be using the room for anything. He could be training himself to cast the unforgivable curses.

Harry rolled on his belly and propped himself up his elbows. Harry wondered if the castle could feel that it was being used against itself. Would it prevent Malfoy from doing whatever he was doing? Was he alone in there?

He checked the Slytherin common room on the map only to see the rest of the students sleeping on their beds. Trailing his finger over the dusty paper, he found Snape's dot as well, sleeping in peace on his chambers. Snape had fallen asleep a couple of hours ago. Harry had resisted the urge to take advantage of his generosity and spared him the happiness of keeping him company. He supposed Snape'd be rather relieved.

Harry had spent the entire evening with Dumbledore, seeing old memories and discussing his understanding of them. Going to Snape for more torture would be idiotic.

"Lumos." He checked the clock on the bedside table. He really should sleep. And he would, in five minutes. "Come on," Harry whispered. "Where are you?" He tapped his fingers nervously on the map. Malfoy had to be somewhere. He'd have to show up eventually.

The Draco Malfoy dot popped up in a random corridor and headed down the dungeons. Harry pressed his lips to a think line. Disappointment washed over him as Malfoy went back to his bed and his dot stopped moving. He folded the map annoyed and put it under his pillow. He closed his eyes. He couldn't sleep.

He envied the other boys, who slept easily. Their brains must be cleaner, Harry thought. The floorboards of their skulls well swept, and all the little monsters closed up in the trunk at the foot of their beds.

When he slid out of bed and wore his shoes, he wasn't even ashamed. How could he sleep when he laid on bed awake and replayed all those worries? How could he sleep when there was a constant danger of Malfoy killing Dumbledore? Or harming Snape? Harry had promised himself he'd stop caring. Snape was his professor. Professor Snape, an aspect of his mind chanted. Not Severus or anything else. Severus, another aspect protested. He could not help himself anymore. There was no point in pretending.

What he was taught and knew too well, was that nothing solved insomnia like a glass of regret, depression and self-loathing.

Except Snape.

The dungeons were freezing, and too late he realised that he should be wearing something warmer than pyjamas.

Ignoring his better sense telling him that he should disappear and pretend he didn't exist until Snape forgot he ever met him, he knocked on the door.

When a minute passed, he knocked again. And then he dropped his casualness and began a rhythmic knocking determined to get an answer.

He got one, and it wasn't great. Snape opened the door and grabbed him by his shoulder, dragging him in and shaking him hard. "Have you completely lost your mind, you insufferable little wreck, you arrogant, insolent bugger!" Harry was torn between getting angry and suppressing a smile as Snape shook him. Snape's hair was wild and he was also wearing a nightgown, one of those plain traditional ones professors often wore at some of the portraits by the kitchen. "You're turning up every miserable moment of my life and eat away my days, my hours, stop laughing, Potter, and now you wake me up in the middle of the night as well!"

"I was –"

"I didn't ask you! It's two in the morning! Some of us have to wake up in a few hours, if we want to see a salary any time soon!"

"Alright," Harry said. Snape's face was pink, and Harry couldn't tell if it was from sleeping or from being angry. Harry almost pitied him.

Snape let him go and Harry fought the urge to rub the sore spot on his shoulder. Snape was about to open the door again when Harry talked.

"Can I stay? You can go to sleep if you want. I won't make noise, I promise. I can read a book or something. I couldn't sleep up there. I won't stay too long." Since he came to Hogwarts for the first time, he was talking with Ron every night. Small talk about Quidditch or girls or Ron's family issues were always helpful and were making him forget the things that were bothering him. And if he couldn't forget, he could share. Ron wasn't just a friendly ear. He was a friend.

Snape raised his hands as though to cosmic question his luck and left for his bedroom. "Make a sound and I'll kill you," he snarled before banging the door close.

Harry took off his shoes and made himself comfortable on the couch. Taking the Prince's book out of his robe, he read.

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed when he yawned. The common room suddenly seemed a hundred miles away and he had the terrible suspicion that if he started walking now he'd never maintain that sleepiness again.

Battling between taking a nap on the couch and doing what was right, he decided on the latter. Pushing away the tempting comfort of his spot on the couch, he dragged himself to the door. To find it locked.

"Alohomora. Alohomora. Damn."

Shrugging, he came to the conclusion that this wasn't his fault after all. Opening the door to Snape's bedroom, he cast Lumos and saw Snape sleeping on his belly on a large bed. He stepped closer and poked him with his wand between his shoulder blades. "Snape. Sir."

Snape responded with a noncommittal grunt. "You've locked the door."

Snape's back continued lifting as he breathed rhythmically. "Snape. You've locked me in and if I stay here you'll kill me in the morning."

He sat on the bed and gritted his teeth. This would seem so convenient next morning. Well, if Snape wanted to lock him in, he certainly wasn't going to sleep on the couch. He took off his robe and lied down next to Snape. The sheets smelled of Snape and of Spinner's End. They were soft.

It was hard to ignore how much like assaulting Snape the whole scene looked like when he covered himself with the blanket and rolled on his side. Snape's fingers were close to his own.

"I may be insomniac," Harry whispered, "but I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?"

Snape's eyelids remained closed, and Harry closed his own too.

Harry woke up before Snape, and decided that this was most likely the miracle of the day.

The damp darkness of the room was accompanied by the smell of melted candles, and maybe some sort of curious fabric freshener. He took his time to let the place sink in; it was the room of a living person - the box in which a soul slept at nights and longed for at days. The carpet, as old as time, carried the usual red and dark green patterns all rugs and curtains seemed to have. Lines twisting like snake tails; stripes twirling round and round, becoming snails, becoming tears of rain and exotic elephants and clouds. Nothing had character in here, but Snape.

Some people suck the life out of places, some people give life to them; some others, plainly co-exist with space, without interfering with it, without leaving or taking bits of anything.

Harry had managed to leave the bedroom without waking Snape, and spend the early morning hours studying the Prince's advices. It was then, that he decided, to always make notes on books, despite the Library's restrictions. A book is written once; an annotated book is written twice, and carries an extra mind on it.

Sitting by the fireplace, he thought. He reached conclusions and dismissed them too. He took decisions only to dislike them moments later. At the sound of the shower's water running, he prepared himself and hid the Prince's book just in time for Snape to show up. He stood up quickly and saw the man, now fully dressed, giving him a nasty look from the bedroom door.

"Why didn't you leave last night?"

"The door was locked."

"You should have woken me up."

"I tried to. You wouldn't even flinch."

"Poor you," Snape sneered. He unlocked the door. "Leave carefully, I don't want anyone to know of this degradation. You have less than an hour for my class and I won't accept excuses if you're late."

Harry grinned. "Yes sir!" He left before Snape could take points for mocking him.

As he ran back to the Gryffindor Tower, he realised that most students hadn't woken up yet.

He buried the Prince's book on his trunk and changed his clothes. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. He tried not to think of having to face the man so soon again as he combed his hair and failed miserably to make it look decent. The sun shone brilliantly when Ron stretched and pulled aside the bed's curtains. Their eyes met and Harry's heart skipped a bit. The colours of the morning merged into neon pink and peach as they penetrated the window.

"Good morning," Harry tried.

Ron rolled aside and sat up. He didn't take his eyes from Harry, but the suspicious look he was granting him with made Harry wish he hadn't talked at all.

"Slept alright?" If you don't want me to talk to you I'll stop, he thought, but didn't feel strong enough to say it out loud.

Ron didn't respond. Harry sat with Hermione at the Great Hall and listened through all the details of how she was not going to stand Ron's silliness and how Lavender was the most uninteresting girl in the world.

"I don't understand why he likes her," she said as she spread marmalade on her slice of bread. "I mean, has she ever read a book? I've never seen her in the library, Harry. Not once."

"I don't think that bothers him," Harry pointed out.

"And why would it? He's not better, is he?" It was fun how she struggled to seem uninterested, although she was furrowing her brows whenever she looked at the side of the table Ron was sitting. Ron, for his part, was discussing something with Dean while they both laughed. Harry used to do that with Ron too.

"Then they're good for each other."

"Harry!"

Harry chuckled. "Sorry."

"Oh! I almost forgot. Do you know Kevin Entwhistle?"

Harry shook his head and Hermione leaned closer. "Right behind you, Ravenclaw table. The blond guy sitting alone."

Harry faked a stretching and took a quick glance. "Red shirt?"

"Yes. Him." Hermione smiled cleverly. Harry thought that he looked good for Hermione. "I saw him yesterday morning while going to class. He was left behind by the rest of the boys and he didn't notice I was looking at him. He was checking them out."

Harry tried not to scrunch his face defensively. "So?"

"I think he might be, you know."

Gay.

But even Hermione could not speak the word, could she? When had gay become more difficult than Voldemort?

"Have you ever spoken to him? He studies with me sometimes at the library."

"Hermione, I didn't even know his name," he said. It was kind of her to try and give him a breath of fresh air, so he didn't know why he was suddenly feeling trapped.

"You should meet him," she decided. Harry had spoken to Ron this morning. Not that he'd gotten an answer, but dating a boy would be the cherry on top for Ron to completely hate him. He would be humiliated. The whole school would know. They'd all make fun of him.

Snape would make fun of him.

"Let's go."

When they reached the Defence class Harry regretted having stayed awake half the night. He was so exhausted and yet he felt like he was never going to sleep again. Snape opened the door and with a sharp look ordered the students in. This time he didn't have to wonder about Snape's bad temper. He flung himself into the seat next to Hermione and tried to avoid thinking. Thoughts lead to other thoughts, and thoughts led to actions. Actions were making him a fool, usually.

"Before we start, I shall collect your essays," Snape said coldly. Harry scowled as he was reminded of the essay he hadn't finished. The scrolls soared into the air and landed in a neat pile on his desk.

Harry vaguely wondered why they didn't offer coffee in Hogwarts before classes. Hermione had already organised her things and took out her book when Harry opened his bag boringly. Insomnia at nights and this hell during day. Why?

"Twenty four scrolls," Snape said coldly. "It seems that someone was too busy to study."

Harry licked his lips in a well warded despair. "Sir."

Snape looked at him instantly. The I knew it that was hovering over Snape's head should be visible to anyone, really.

"I didn't have time to finish it. I'll bring it to you tomorrow."

"Well, well, well," sneered Snape. "Mister Potter has provided us a reasoning excuse here. He didn't have time. Because as it is known Potter has a different schedule from his classmates." Harry took a deep breath and continued looking at him calmly, although his insides were boiling. Snape's dark eyes were shining with something that once Harry was sure was hatred. He didn't know how to call it now. More hatred, maybe.

"As I trust that you are all aware by now, one cannot succeed in my class if one is not submitting everything in time. That would be a T for you, I think."

Hermione gulped and jabbed Harry's leg below the desk. It was a warning, but Harry wasn't going to talk back anyway.

Snape started a long monologue about the inferi and the defence against them. Harry could do little to pay attention, so he rested his cheek on his fist and watched Snape lazily. Snape didn't look at him. He could hear other people's quills scribbling down notes and he willed his hand to open his notebook as well. He was tired, sleepy, and a slight panic had begun to take shape inside him. He had slept. Why was he so tired?

His mind was attacked with the urge to run to Dumbledore and force him expel Malfoy. Or have him roll up his sleeves before breakfast at the Great Hall. Hermione would have to apologise, then. Ron too. Snape too. Hagrid too. He yawned in abandonment and smudged the notebook's corner. Snape had stopped talking. Harry looked up.

"However nice of you it is to show up in my class, Potter, you seem to be too good for this. Is my teaching boring for you, perhaps?"

Harry pressed his lips together. Snape smirked. "What is the difference between inferi and zombies?"

"I don't know, sir."

"You don't know," Snape repeated.

"He was just saying that!" complained Hermione in a whispering voice.

After all, Snape was still the same bastard. And he still had to attack him every time. It used to be frustrating. It still had to be. It shouldn't feel amusing, or a regular part of the day. "Five points from Gryffindor, Potter. If you are to be yawning in my class I suggest you drop it."

Don't say it!

At least don't smile while doing so.

"I'm so sorry, sir, you see, I had trouble getting comfortable in bed last night, so, you know. I couldn't sleep well."

Snape's cold features weren't enough to fool Harry. He saw the momentary panic in the black eyes. I won. "I don't see how this concerns the class. Another five points."