Harry tumbled out of the Floo in typical messy fashion, and Hermione and Ron jumped up with a start.

"Where'd you come from?"

"Erh—" belatedly, Harry realized that Snape hadn't told him what to say when he was asked this. "McGonagall," he said feebly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "For heavens' sake, Harry. Did Professor Snape send you that broomstick?"

Harry goggled at her, frozen in the middle of his customary post-Floo pat-down. "What? Why would you think Snape—"

"I don't think, but you obviously do. So did he?"

Just, move on. Ignore it. "No, he didn't."

Hermione looked mildly pleased, but Ron was red in the face. "It's your fault, Hermione! Why'd you go and tell McGonagall that, anyway? The Firebolt—it's the best broomstick in the world, we'd have creamed the next match!"

"And does Professor Snape think I have a point?" Hermione said, steadfastly ignoring Ron and fixing her eyes on Harry.

"Erh." He staggered over to a chair and sat before he collapsed onto the floor. "What is going on."

They snorted almost in unison. "Come on, we'd be fools not to notice," Hermione said.

"I mean, the thing I definitely didn't see in the Chamber? That definitely never happened," Ron added with a smirk.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione said, glancing at Ron with a question in her eyes.

Ron went red and Harry, who'd been contemplating glaring at Ron himself, came to his rescue. "Nothing. So, uh—how long have you known? What do you know?"

"Well, we suspected for a while that you and Snape aren't quite as mortal enemies as you'd like us to believe, but obviously you want everyone else to think that, so we think perhaps you don't want Malfoy and the other followers of Voldemort to know, which means Snape is pretending to be on their side, so—was he the one who rescued you from the cellar, Harry?"

He swallowed. This was too much, too much. Snape would burst a blood vessel. "I can't answer that," he said feebly.

Ron looked like he very much wanted to snort again, but Hermione nodded her head decisively. "We're not asking, you know. We already thought it for a while, we didn't want to tell you because you obviously didn't want to tell us and we didn't want to see you squirming and hunting about for half-answers like you're doing right now." That was mighty nice of them, Harry thought with a sudden burst of affection for his friends. "What does Professor Snape think about the Firebolt?"

"He agrees with you, actually. He thinks I have zero survival instinct," he offered up with an awkward laugh, because he could actually see some truth in the statement. The look on Hermione's face said she thoroughly agreed with Snape, though she didn't remark on it. Harry hid a smile, because wouldn't Hermione just love to know what Snape thought of her? He hadn't even told her Snape was the one who'd reminded Dumbledore to give her the Special Services Award.

"But—but the Firebolt!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly, Ron, obviously Harry's safety is more important than a broomstick!"

Ron looked discomfited at the corner he'd been backed into, and Harry, more out of a desire to defend Ron than anything else, said, "Snape thinks I could just buy a broom." He hurriedly added, "I'm not going to buy the Firebolt. But I am going to wait until they're sure it has been jinxed…" he trailed off as he realized he hadn't asked Snape how long that would take. McGonagall had said a few weeks, but what if it took more?

His friends exchanged a glance. "Were you ever planning on telling us about Snape, Harry?" Ron asked, in a tone that was so neutral Harry was certain it was deliberate.

"Snape told me not to, just yet."

"Will you get in trouble because we know now?"

"Well, you've known for a while, apparently, and haven't even told me, so I don't see why."

They looked at each other again. "What?" Harry asked, feeling a bit annoyed at the exclusion.

Ron cleared his throat. "Nothing." An impish grin lit up his features. "Having Snape for a—what are you two, anyway?"

Harry swallowed. We're kind of on a first-name basis, make of that what you will, he thought. "Friends?"

There was a soft, approving nod from Hermione. Ron's eyes went wide for a moment. "He called you that?"

"Yeah."

Stare. Slowly, Ron reached out and patted him on the shoulder. They sat for a moment in semi-awkward silence. Then Harry's eyes began to droop and they went up to bed.

For Harry, the reveal about Snape had rather taken away the disappointment of having the Firebolt taken, and Ron's head was too full of that to be mad at Hermione. Harry went down the next day, after checking in the Map to make sure there wasn't anyone in the vicinity. There were only three students in the castle apart from themselves, but it never hurt to be sure.

"Come in!"

Harry's suspicion was confirmed. Snape looked up as if the three of them entering his office immediately after dinner on a holiday was entirely a matter of the everyday. "I imagine from the look on your face that they know." He stood up. He'd removed his robes, and from the look of it, he was reading.

"Um, yes. Well, they actually knew for a long time, but they told me just yesterday, so—"

"Indeed. Congratulations on joining the dots, Granger, Weasley."

Snape had come around from behind the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. His potions master face wasn't on, though, for which Harry was grateful. Ron and Hermione stood a step behind him, to his left and right. Harry was half-aware that he was grinning rather stupidly, because it felt great to have this meeting—this first meeting between his all of his closest friends in the world. Excepting Lupin who was—sick.

"I imagine Harry has already informed you of the essential details of our—relationship." Harry wondered which word they'd be more bowled over at—Harry or relationship? Both, he decided. He chanced a glance behind his back. Ron looked gobsmacked. Hermione looked—well, quietly triumphant, as though the pieces had fit together just right. Classic Hermione. He almost wanted to turn so he was facing them, but then his back would be to Snape and he wanted to see the man's face too.

"I will merely add that whatever you have learnt or suspect, you are to keep them entirely to yourself. Arthur Weasley is aware of this matter, and I believe Molly Weasley is as well. Including—please close your mouth, Weasley, before I do it for you—including Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, that makes a grand total of eight people who know of this. Harry has told you of his experience at Malfoy Manor, I believe? If word of this gets out, to anyone, even a stray kitten on the street, it will get back to Lucius Malfoy or some other follower of the Dark Lord, and I will end up suffering the same fate as Arabella Figg." Well, hand it to Snape to be blunt, he thought, but with a strange tightness in this throat. He hadn't ever considered the obvious danger Snape was courting with his spy work. "I strongly suggest you never, ever, even consider talking about this without making absolutely certain you won't be overhead. Is that understood?"

Harry nodded dumbly before he realized he really didn't have to. Hermione murmured, "Of course, sir."

"If you don't have any questions, you may leave."

Ron moved to the door before he realized nobody had followed him.

"I have a question, actually, Ron," Hermione said.

Ron blinked owlishly at her for a moment, before seeming to get the hint. He stepped through the doorway and shut it behind him.

"Sir, are you a Death Eater?"

Harry held his breath. Of all the things—

"No, Miss Granger." Harry regretted turning around to watch Ron leave, because he wasn't sure he could hold a blank face at that bald-faced lie. "I was one."

Oh. Nuances. Hermione nodded again, gently. "Thank you." And then she left.

Snape let out a breath. "Well, ten points to Gryffindor."

"Seriously?"

Snape gave him a mildly amused glance. "Would you prefer I didn't?"

"I thought you'd be mad, actually," he confessed, glad that he wasn't blushing, at least.

"And why would I be? I expected this. They would wonder why you keep looking at me in the Great Hall, why you don't seem to mind too much when you're assigned detentions, why you don't join in vociferous denunciations of me in your common room—don't look like that, Harry, I'm perfectly aware of all the names I am assigned, and well I deserve them. You called me last year, when the barrier didn't work. I gave you a rune, for Merlin's sake, to call me for emergencies. Your display of familiarity in the Chamber was probably the crowning clue. No, I am not mad. I do not get mad at people for things that are in no way their fault."

"Well." Speeches like that, Harry had no idea how to reply. He did go red in the face, this time, a little bit. "Most people don't do that, so thanks."

Something halfway between a snort and a chuckle sounded from Snape, and a muttered, "Silly child." Then, louder, "You must be getting back with them."

#

"Lily, take Harry and go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

The words sounded in Harry's head, over and over, like they were being bounced about inside his brain. He accepted Remus' hand and sat, trembling on the stone floor.

"I heard my dad," he said, shakily. Remus stilled as he stood over him. "For the first time. He tried to give my mum time to run for it…"

Remus didn't say anything, but he reached out and touched Harry's shoulder, briefly, very briefly, but very tightly. Harry was sure he'd break down and cry right then, but he didn't.

Strange, that the only time he could hear his dad's voice was through a dementor, as his worst fear. This was the only thought in his head as he left the classroom, feeling as though the Dementor had got his soul—he felt empty, like he'd been scraped out from the inside.

"Har—? Potter."

Harry stared blearily down at his shoes. Potter meant the Potions master, and he did not have the energy to face that right now. "I was on my way to my tower, sir."

There: respectful and calm. Snape could just be on his way.

"What's the matter?" The tone was sharp, but there was an unmistakeable tint of concern in it. Harry wondered how woebegone he looked to merit that tone in public.

"Nothing, sir."

Snape's shoes stayed stubbornly in his field of vision. Then a hand landed on his shoulder in what was unmistakeably a comforting gesture and his head whipped up. "What are you doing?!" he hissed, and Snape's hand dropped.

"Empty corridor," he said, quietly.

Then the door opened and Remus Lupin stepped out, rather hurriedly, as though he'd heard Harry. "Ah, Severus," he said.

Snape's entire body had gone stiff at the sight of the wizard. "Lupin." His voice was as cold as Harry had ever seen it. Then he sent a glare Harry's way, which was so wrong Harry couldn't help but glare right back.

"I've been giving Mr. Potter extra lessons," Remus said, and Harry shut his eyes, very briefly. No, don't tell him that. Now Snape would hit the roof. "The Patronus charm, in fact."

"Ah." No inflection. Merlin, the man was a rock. If not for the memory of his hand on Harry's shoulder, he'd have ground his teeth together. "I have to talk to Potter about his assignment. Excuse us."

Snape walked off down the corridor, headed in the direction of his office. Harry blinked at his retreating back, and glanced at Remus Lupin, who was looking at him with some puzzlement. "I see you didn't tell him."

"You didn't tell him."

"I thought you did." Remus was smiling very faintly.

"Potter!"

Harry jumped. "See you," he said, and scurried off after the man.

#

"So."

Snape had shut the door quietly, which counted for something, he supposed. But there was controlled anger in the man's face, and if Harry hadn't just encountered a Dementor, he could have been more careful to be polite and not set the man off. As it was, he nibbled on the bar of chocolate that Remus gave him and absently thought about the only time he'd heard his father speaking. He sounded—terrified. Bold, and terrified.

What had he been thinking? Harry supposed there were anti-apparition wards on the house they'd been living in—he'd been living in, wasn't that a thought, he wondered where it was—so how did he expect his mum to escape with him, anyway? And I'll hold him off? Was it even possible to hold Voldemort off?

What would that have been like, dying, thinking that your child and your wife were going to die along with you? Harry could almost imagine him struck with the green light that was the Avada, falling to the floor, messy hair, open eyes—not green eyes, but brown, but otherwise identical to Harry himself in almost every way—

"Potter!"

Harry jumped. "What?" he asked belligerently.

"I've been talking for the past thirty seconds and you look like you've been given Veritaserum. Did the werewolf poison you or something?"

Harry blinked. He bit off a piece of his chocolate and chewed it with deliberate bites. It took rather longer than he'd expected and Snape's glare intensified. He hurriedly spoke, the chocolate still in his mouth. "It's not the full moon, sir. I don't know what werewolf you're talking about. Remus Lupin the wizard, on the other hand, handed me this excellent bar of chocolate after I saw a Dementor."

"You—Potter, Dumbledore will not allow the Dementors inside Hogwarts."

"My Boggart is a Dementor. He stuck one in a packing case for me." Rather clever of the man, he thought. The chocolate was good too. Lockhart couldn't even handle pixies, and Remus went around the castle hunting a Boggart for Harry.

His Boggart was the moon.

"Your—Harry." Snape looked like he'd been given Veritaserum, for a moment. Then, in a completely different tone, he said, "How do you feel?"

He didn't know why that would sound so painful. He didn't know why he reacted the way he did. "What do you think? I feel great, sir, thank you for asking!"

"Potter, I will not tolerate—"

"Disrespect? I wasn't disrespectful, sir, I said sir and thank you. I just listened to my mum, again, and my dad, too, for the first time, and it was horrible, and you wouldn't care because you hated my dad, and you're probably right, he might have been a bul-a bad person, but he was my dad and now he's dead, they're dead, and I can't ever hear them again and I want to, so much—I could even go to the Dementors and give them my soul if it meant I got to hear them again, but they won't come back, will they, and I'm stuck with—with people who've been pasted into my life, but I don't have family—and—and my godfather is trying to kill me, so yeah, I'm absolutely great!"

Merlin, he needed some Calming Draught.

Snape looked like every emotion in the world warring for dominance. Well, not happy, but every other emotion in the world. Finally everybody forfeited and his expression stayed blank. "Breathe, Harry."

"I am bre—!" he took in an explosive breath. Oh, right, he hadn't been. They stood in silence as he breathed.

"Some Calming Draught, I believe."

"I am calm," he said through clenched teeth.

"And I am a unicorn. We all have our delusions, Harry." He seemed to have a whole stock of potions in his coat; he drew out one now and handed it over. Harry drunk it with a loud gulp.

"Chocolate tastes better," he announced grandly.

"Eat that too, then. For a Dementor attack, I'm sure both are equally helpful. Now. I believe I told you to stay away from Lupin."

"You told, I disagreed. I thought we dropped it."

"You decided to disregard my advice on the matter?"

"I had good reason to, like Dumbledore's trust for Remus."

"And so you decided to go for extra lessons with the man, private lessons."

"You wouldn't teach me the defence for the Dementors, and I don't want to lose the Quidditch match again."

"Ah, yes, the earth-shattering Quidditch match. That certainly precedes personal safety."

"No, crushing Slytherin precedes personal safety."

A look of such cold fury washed over Snape's face that Harry shrank back. It was gone in an instant, though faint traces of it still remained, in the white, pursed-up lips and unblinking eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. That is a child's answer to a matter of utmost priority. If you are unable to make mature decisions for yourself, I will do it for you."

"You can't do that." He did not want to be calm. He wanted to be angry. "You're not my Head or Headmaster."

Snape exhaled loudly. "Potter, for once, will you just be quiet and listen to me?"

"No." At the look on his face, Harry added, "Sir."

For a moment, Harry was sure Snape would order him out of his office and that would be that. But after a moment, Snape took a breath and sat down. He ran a hand over his face and muttered something Harry couldn't catch. Then he said, "Look. I realize you trust Lupin. You may very well be right to do so. But the fact remains that Black is a follower of the Dark Lord, and Lupin was Black's friend too. Black was your father's closest friend in school. They were together—all the time."

"I know. Like brothers." It tasted like Skele-Gro and every horrible thing he'd ever eaten to say that word. Brother.

Snape nodded; his face was pale. "If Black could turn on Potter, so could Lupin. Theoretically. That is all I am saying; there is the slightest chance. If he is innocent, he will forgive you."

Harry stood in front of the seated Snape and thought. "No," he said. "If I do that, if I think anyone can turn on me, I might as well jump off the Astronomy tower right now."

"You exaggerate."

"I do not. If Black could betray my father, Hermione could too, and Ron. You could, betray me. Maybe you already have, maybe you're in league with Black too—"

Snape sighed. "I can't imagine Granger going up to Black and offering him you."

"Well, I can't imagine Remus doing that, either." Snape scowled. Harry tried, really hard, to feel bad for the man. He could not. He was still swimming in the ocean of deep, clear, blue, and even though the ripples of emotion were hard enough to send him up and down, he was still calm. "I feel like having the Calming Draught destroys a conversation."

"Well, at least we're not shouting."

"You didn't take the Calming Draught. And I don't shout." Snape raised an eyebrow. "All the time."

He nibbled some more chocolate.

"Fine. I shall teach you instead, would that be an acceptable compromise?"

Harry choked. "What?" he managed to say. "I thought you said Malfoy would notice."

Snape looked annoyed. "We shall make up an appropriate cover story, of course. Not that we need to bother, I think. Draco Malfoy is about as observant as a squid; he certainly didn't realize Lupin is a werewolf."

Harry decided it wasn't worth his neck to point out that nobody realized; the only reason he did was because Snape stuck his nose in it. "I think Hermione might know, though." Hermione certainly knew something, and Harry was fairly certain she was smart enough to have hit on the truth.

Snape looked even more annoyed at that. "And she ends up in Gryffindor. Well. I shall not begrudge you that." He stood up. "Wednesdays, after dinner. We shall say I'm giving you additional tutoring in Potions."

"Hey, I'm not that bad!"

Snape fixed him with a look. "Perhaps you want to be better."

Ha, Harry thought. He was averaging an E at the moment, and he really didn't care enough about potions to try for an O. "Of course," he said graciously.

Snape raised an eyebrow, but all he said was, "You heard your parents again?"

Harry found he couldn't meet the man's gaze. He stared down. "Yeah."

"That—must have been hard."

"Yeah."

"Harry."

"Yeah?"

"If you do not truly wish to fight the Dementors, you will not be able to. The practice will be pointless."

"I know. I'll work on it. I have to win the Quidditch match."

"Why—" Snape must have felt his tone was too harsh, because he broke off and began anew. "Why is the match so important to you?"

"Because I enjoy it? I'm good at it? You know, everyone thinks I'm the great Boy-Who-Lived, talks to snakes, hoo-ha, and rich, rich Potter, but this, flying, is the one thing I'm actually good at, I actually do all by myself and deserve some praise for. Everyone thinks the Boy-Who-Lived stuff is my work, but all I did was to be carried upstairs by my mum while my dad tried so bravely to hold Voldemort off," he was aware he was crying, and it was rather odd, to sniff and wipe tears and still speak so steadily. The Draught needed work. "And then she begged for my life and she died for me and that's how I got to live, and everyone thinks I did it. I didn't do a thing."

This was apparently not the direction Snape had expected the conversation to take. He cleared his throat. "I see. Well. You shall focus on that, then, and not your desire to protect what little you have left of your parents."

Harry nodded to the floor.

"It's late. You should leave."