Hi people,
This is chapter 6 and chapter 7 is being translated. With the translator we have some personal problems and we do not have much time to devote to this story. So I know that the publication deadlines are totally long and unpredictable, but we do our best and we will not give up this story! Remember that it is complete and published entirely in French, so it is certain that it will be published in full in English!
I hope you would like!

Dementia coughed when she got out of the chimney. A plump woman, who bore a striking resemblance to the fairy Merryweather from Sleeping Beauty, immediately wiped her hands on a cloth and walked towards her.

"Demi, sweartheart!"

"Mummy Isa!"

"Charlus, dear! Dementia has arrived!"

A tall man calmly walked into the small kitchen and kissed Demi on the forehead. Demi gave him a tender smile. Charlus was as tall and thin as Isabelle was small and plump. Her adoptive mother had blond hair liberally sprinkled with grey, giving it a colour that was hard to name. At almost 60 years of age, she had energy to spare, got involved in everything and didn't hesitate to scold those around her.

Charlus was unflappably calm. His life's ambition was to spend the rest of his days quietly tending his garden. A bit older than his wife, he was also very discreet and, despite his considerable height, he often seemed shorter than his wife when she got into one of her legendary tempers. But under his calm exterior, Charlus was much stricter than Isabelle. Whereas a smile immediately won over the woman, Dementia had never been able to avoid Charlus' punishments when she became too unbearable. Demi was convinced that before her very eyes was a carbon copy of what the Weasley couple would be in twenty years.

"So," Isabelle continued curiously, "to what do we owe your sudden visit?"

"That means Isabelle is pleased to see you," Charlus intoned with a smile.

"What?" The woman in question asked. "Of course I'm pleased to see her! So, why are you here?"

Dementia sighed. She wouldn't sugar coat it. She got comfortable on the sofa in the living room with a cup of tea, and started to tell her adoptive mother about the latest events. She talked about Harry's adoption ("The poor boy," said Isabelle), her divorce and Marc's reaction ("I always knew that boy was too good to be true"), her affair with Sirius ("But he's 34!") and his reaction about her mother's identity ("As I've always said, older men are always more intelligent"), and finally she talked about Mrs Weasley's attitude towards her, which had hurt her more than she wanted to admit.

Isabelle sighed and exchanged a glance with her husband. Dementia had always been more or less protected from this type of reaction in France.

"I did tell you, dear, that it would have been better for you to come back here to live when you left Matthew."

"Marc, Mummy Isa."

"Well, I got it half right at least… I still think you should never have gone back to live with the cantankerous moaner that your father has become."

Dementia stiffened at the mention of her father. She was still angry with him. Her reaction didn't escape Isabelle's eagle eyes, and she quickly raised an imperious eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing," sighed Demi.

"Dementia!"

"We argued and I left the manor – there!"

Charlus cleared his throat once and Dementia breathed deeply to calm herself down. The only thing that had always caused Isabelle's husband to scold her, even punish her, was when she was disrespectful towards her adoptive mother.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Isabelle thought for a few moments, then continued with her questions. "What happened?"

"Nothing – I'd had a bad day because of Marc's reaction. After taking Harry home, I noticed that I had left my diary at his godfather's, so I went to get it. Sirius and I started talking. We talked about Harry, about how strict my father is towards him and how to make things easier between them…"

"Go on," Isabelle encouraged.

"And so several cups of tea later the conversation drifted onto other subjects – my work, his past… When we started talking about us, we got closer, and then I don't know how, but we kissed. I ended up spending the night with him."

"On the first night?" Charlus asked indignantly.

"Yes, well… The problem was that I hadn't warned Dad that I wasn't coming back. And the next day he made a real scene when I got back. I answered back and we ended up yelling at each other about it, so I packed my things and went back to Sirius."

"He was worried, that's all," Charlus said.

"Well, darling, Dementia isn't a child anymore, she's 19 – or almost 19. She's an adult, and Severus doesn't seem to realise it. Ooooooohhhhhh… I'm going to send him a howler! The whole country will hear! Shouting at my little darling - he's got a real nerve! And he used to be such a shy boy too! I even wondered how a boy who was so calm and immersed in his studies could have gotten to know a girl like her well enough to get her pregnant…"

Demi smiled; Isabelle would never change. However, she managed to convince her not to send a howler to Snape because, if she did such a thing, not only would it take years to make up with her father, but the bad temper that he would develop would boil over onto Harry. Isabelle agreed – the poor boy didn't need any more trouble. Charlus got up to go back to his garden and left the women to chat alone. But he made sure to tell Dementia that if she had spoken to him in that tone, he would have immediately given her a spanking, 19 or not.

Dementia made a face, annoyed. The worst thing was that he was serious; the last spanking she had received had been when she was 16, when she had blown up the school lab. Her father had more or less said nothing, Isabelle had accused the professor of incompetence and Charlus had calmly waited until the evening. When Dementia had finally left the hospital wing (the school had wanted to make sure she was ok) and gone home to sort out her emotions, he had come up to see her.

Faced with his questions, which could not have been more precise, she had had no choice but to admit that she hadn't been listening to the professor, that she had been mucking about with her friends and that, if she hadn't tried to nick her friend's notes, she wouldn't have knocked an entire pot of newt eyes into her cauldron, and nothing would have happened. These forced admissions had meant that she had to sleep on her front for two days. She wasn't exactly eager to relive the experience.

Isabelle shot a dark look at her husband and muttered something about this unspeakable masculine solidarity, and that if someone had to be kicked up the backside, it was most certainly not her perfect little girl, but the bloody troll who was her father.

After talking about everything and nothing, the two women decided to make cookies in the Muggle style.

"Are you staying long?" Isabelle asked.

"A week. Next weekend it's Harry's birthday, and I promised to be there. And after that I'm going to New York for a week for work."

"You could do so much better than that job."

"Mummy Isa you know perfectly well that I wouldn't be offered another one."

"Maybe not in England, but in France or the US…"

"I'll think about it. I'm going to do my diploma," she added, after a moment of silence.

Isabelle smiled widely but refrained from commenting. Severus must have already exasperated Dementia with a happy smile and sarcastic comments. The women finished their cookies and left them to bake while Zara, the ancient house elf, cleaned the kitchen.

The week went by slowly and peacefully. Charlus took Dementia fishing, like he had done when she was little. Isabelle once again tried, without success, to convince her to learn to knit. They spent an entire day in a large city, and Dementia made the most of it by buying Harry a present and Sirius some French specialties.

And most of all, she relaxed. No stress, no worries, her divorce was underway… she was able to calmly prepare for her trip to New York and think about the subject of her thesis. While the subject that she had told her father as a joke was very interesting, she didn't think Harry would appreciate being a guinea pig… She was leaning more towards the rivalry between the houses, and how this rivalry had been passed down the generations.

At the end of the week, Dementia got ready to leave. She was going to see Sirius first, before going back to the manor.

She kissed Charlus and Isabelle and threw a handful of Floo powder into the hearth.

"The Leaky Cauldron!"

From there, she apparated to just outside the Grimmauld public garden.

"Sirius? It's me!"

She walked into the kitchen and froze. Sirius wasn't alone. Professor Dumbledore was sitting at the table, smiling in his usual amused way.

"Hello, Dementia."

"Professor," she stammered.

"I will not disturb you for long; I was just leaving."

Demi watched him leave without saying a word. Sirius smiled at her, reassuring her that Dumbledore wouldn't betray them and so they both still had a few years left to live. Dementia couldn't help but laugh at the image of her father dying of a heart attack after hearing about their affair, and immediately coming back as a poltergeist so he could chase Sirius with a stick.

To delay having to confront her father, she told Sirius about her holiday, but at the same time she didn't want to be too late. Harry would be overexcited about the idea of having his friends round and would risk annoying the master of the house. She preferred to be there so she could smooth things over.

After an hour, she picked up her present, took Sirius', threw a handful of powder into the fireplace and stepped into the flames, shouting "Snape Manor!"

Dementia coughed helplessly when she stepped out of the chimney.

Could someone remind her why she hadn't apparated? She was covered with soot now! Her outfit was ruined!

"That'll teach you to wear white," a mocking voice said from behind.

She heroically resisted the desire to stick her tongue out at him. Apparently, he had decided to act as though their argument hadn't happened. Perfect! She was very good at burying her head in the sand and playing that little game! She must have been an ostrich in a previous life.

"Where's the man of the hour?" she asked nonchalantly.

Her father's gaze instantly hardened. "In his room, if he knows what's good for him!"

Dementia narrowed her eyes. "What have you done to him?"

"Nothing."

"Dad!"

"Nothing at all! And Merlin knows I found it hard not to!"

Dementia made a face that clearly said, "You had better be exaggerating!"

"He was a nightmare all morning," Snape said in his defence.

"He's never been allowed to have any birthday parties at all. Surely it's to be expected that he would be overexcited?"

"And that's exactly why I haven't punished him."

Dementia sniffed sceptically and went upstairs to her brother's room. She walked in without knocking, deciding to scare him out of his wits, but her efforts were in vain: the room was empty.

Great… apparently he didn't know what was good for him.

She went into her own room and stopped dead. Harry was sleeping on the sofa. This was becoming a habit! What did they take her for, the Department of International Magical Cooperation? She almost woke him up, then decided that Harry must have woken up very early that morning and that it would be better to let him sleep until lunch. That way he wouldn't run the risk of annoying his father and would be in better condition for seeing his guests, who were arriving at 2 o'clock.

She settled herself onto her bed with a book and tried to relax.

After 45 minutes, she sighed and resigned herself to having to wake Harry up. If it had been up to her, she would have waited for another quarter of an hour, but Harry was so scared of being late… The boy was going to become completely neurotic living with her dear father.

She crouched in front of the sofa and violently shook the young man.

"Boo!"

"Just as well I don't have a heart condition, with you around," he reproached her, then smiled. "I'm glad to see you."

"That'll teach you to squat in my room!" she replied with a mocking smile. "What happened downstairs? He looked like he was in a bad mood, then I find you hiding in my room…"

"Nothing," Harry replied, sighing. "It seems that I'm tiring and made him age 10 years since breakfast. He sent me to my room and told me not to come out until I had calmed down, or to stay there until lunch."

"He doesn't really like excitement," Demi explained.

"I noticed… It's going to be a great afternoon," he sighed.

"No, he'll lock himself in his lab. I'm here to look after you, so he won't hang about!" she reassured him.

Harry smiled and stood up. He went to take a quick shower and change his clothes in his room, then went downstairs, pushing Demi to walk in front of him.

"No," he said, walking into the dining room, not noticing that Snape was already sitting down, "I promise you, no one will know you were on time for lunch, your reputation is safe."

He sat down while Dementia cried out in false indignation and Snape snickered mockingly, making Harry jump. But Snape seemed to have decided not to bring up the morning's scene, and Harry slowly relaxed.

Dementia ate her food at top speed while discussing the arrangements with her father.

"So you'll stay in your lab and won't stick your giant nose into Harry's party?"

"Will you leave the size of my nose out of this?"

"So?"

"I won't come out of the lab before 6," he allowed.

Dementia nodded, visibly happy with this, and turned towards Harry. She made him remind her of the friends who had agreed to his invitation for the afternoon, checked with the house elves that everything was ready, then moved on to the evening meal, which would be more like a meal for an extended family, much to Snape's despair. The whole Weasley family was coming to it, as were Remus and Sirius, Hermione and the unbearably clumsy Nimphadora Tonks.

Snape inwardly groaned – the evening was going to be long. But, paradoxically, the idea of depriving Harry of a party had never occurred to him.

At around ten to two, he beat a hasty retreat to his lab. 10 minutes later the first guests, who happened to be the Patil twins, arrived. They were soon followed by Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Neville Longbottom, Lavender Brown, Luna Lovegood and a dozen other classmates.

The Weasley children, accompanied by Hermione, arrived last of all – if Hermione's and Ginny's level of exasperation was anything to go by, this was the boys' fault.

Dementia waved her wand at the record player, and music by the Weird Sisters filled the manor. Harry glanced worriedly at the lab door; Snape didn't like noise. When he met Demi's gaze, she shrugged and mouthed something that looked like, "He's cast a Silencing Charm!"

Harry nodded, looking relieved, before almost collapsing under the weight of Seamus, who had jumped onto his back.

At around 4, Demi had the cakes brought in and Harry opened all of his presents, except for the ones from Hermione, Ron, Fred, George and Ginny. He preferred to open those during the evening.

At around 6 the guests left, still wishing Harry a happy birthday and enthusiastically saying "see you in a month" to each other.

At 6:05 precisely, Snape came out of his lab.

"Are the party animals gone?" he asked, mockingly.

"Yes, Father," Harry replied. He rolled his eyes, making the most of the fact that his back was turned to the Potions Master. A second later, a cushion landed on his head.

"I saw that!"

Harry smiled but didn't reply, and Snape re-joined Dementia in the kitchen.

"What was that?" Ron asked.

"The Potions Master has a sense of humour," George managed.

"He must have taken a cheering potion," Fred added.

"No," Harry explained. "He bet Demi 30 Galleons that he wouldn't be mean this evening."

"That's unfair," Hermione joked. "Dementia is bound to win…"

"My sister needs a new outfit," Harry replied. "She ruined the last one travelling by Floo."

His friends exchanged an amused smile at the fact that Harry used the word "sister" whenever he could. The evening guests arrived quickly afterwards.

The first to arrive were Mr and Mrs Weasley. Molly had barely arrived when she threw herself at Harry and hugged him so hard he could barely breathe.

"Happy birthday, my dear. Are you alright? Do you have everything you need? Is everything going well with Severus? Are you eating enough? Are you sleeping well?"

Harry, who was used to this, made do with nodding after each of Mrs Weasley's questions and, after shaking Arthur's hand, he went to find his father in the kitchen.

"Father?"

"Mm?"

"The Weasleys have arrived."

"Ah. So, are you eating well? Am I traumatising you?" Snape asked sarcastically.

Harry smiled, embarrassed, and shrugged.

"We wouldn't have her any other way."

Snape smiled briefly before schooling his features back into an expressionless mask and going to greet the new arrivals.

Nymphadora soon arrived and knocked over the small sideboard while she was saying hello to Snape. To the adults' surprise, and under the mocking, smiling gaze of the children, he refrained from nasty comments and simply greeted his former student.

Finally, Remus arrived, accompanied by a large, muzzled black dog on a leash.

Snape came down with a cough while everyone laughed, making the dog whine. Remus, an amused smile on his lips, took off his muzzle and leash. As soon as he was free, the Animagus reverted back to his human form, looking annoyed.

"Was that really necessary?"

"It's the law," Remus retorted. "Do you want to get arrested by an Auror and taken to the pound for domestic animals that are considered dangerous for the magical community?"

Sirius grumbled something inaudible and hugged his godson.

"Is everything alright?" he whispered in Harry's ear.

Harry reassured him with a genuine smile. Dementia came to say hello to everyone, and Harry struggled not to laugh when he saw her greet Sirius as if they barely knew each other.

They sat at the table and, after only a few minutes, an argument erupted between Sirius and Dementia. Sirius was telling Dementia off for not taking care of Harry enough, while Dementia retorted that a criminal who was on the run really was an expert on this.

Hermione shook her head in indignation and leaned towards Harry. "Your sister is a cheater!"

"I know." Harry smiled, amused.

"No but really, what's all this with Sirius, she knows full well that Snape will get angry!"

It didn't fail. After Sirius made an acidic remark about the young woman's past love life, Severus dealt him one of his trademark cutting remarks in the coldest tone he could muster. There was a heavy silence. Dementia burst out laughing and held out her hand to Sirius, who shook it seriously.

"Thank you for your help, my dear colleague."

"You cheated," Snape protested. He was starting to understand that he had been manipulated.

"That'll teach you to make fun of the colours of my suits," retaliated Demi, smiling widely and holding her hand out.

Grumbling that he didn't remember ever having taught his daughter such values, Snape handed her thirty Galleons.

Harry was laughing fit to burst, but tried to hide it. He didn't want to attract the wrath of his father now that the bet no longer guaranteed that he would be in a good mood.

"Now, the presents!" Demi exclaimed.

Harry opened the many presents that appeared on the table. The Weasleys had given him presents from Honeydukes and Zonko's, Hermione had given him a magical camera, Hagrid had sent him a whistle that mimicked the cry of a unicorn, Remus gave him a pocket Sneakoscope, Sirius gave him the other half of a pair of mirrors that could communicate with one another, and Mr and Mrs Weasley gave him a large pile of homemade chocolate puddings.

Then Dementia handed him her present, which turned out to be a magical tent for three people. Harry was thrilled with this present – he had always wanted to go camping with Ron and Hermione one day, and to own his own tent.

Finally, to everyone's surprise, Snape handed Harry a parcel. In it were three books: Curses and Counter-Curses. Bewitch your friends and befuddle your enemies with the latest revenges: Hair loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying, and much, much more by Professor Vindictus Viridian, a book which Harry had spotted in his first year but which he had never been allowed to buy, and He Flew Like a Madman by Kennilworthy Whisp, a book about a star Quidditch player that he had never managed to find. Finally, the third book was a small photo album containing many Muggle and magical photos of Lily Evans.

His throat closing up, Harry thanked Snape.

"Your mother and I were very close friends," the wizard said sombrely. "As for this book, I would ask that you use it reasonably – don't make me regret confiding this in you."

Harry agreed, and Dementia burst into laughter at her father.

"And for God's sake don't lend it to your sister," Snape hastened to add, causing everyone to laugh.

It wasn't until late into the night that their guests left and Harry went to bed. He fell asleep clutching the album to his chest, feeling a thankfulness for Snape that he had never imagined he would ever feel.

oOo

Fifteen days had passed since Harry's birthday.

A supremely thankful Winky had arrived four days earlier, and Harry had finally been able to redecorate his rooms.

He had started by changing the colour of the walls in his bedroom to a pale blue and his carpet to a dark blue. He had hung white, transparent curtains around his bed and in the windows. On his wall, he had hung several Quidditch posters and photos of his parents.

In his sitting room, Harry had hung some photos of him and Sirius, and Ron and Hermione on his walls. He had left the original colours as they were, but had been unable to resist the urge to hang a Gryffindor banner above the fireplace, and to put a rug in his house colours over the sofa.

At the end of the afternoon, Snape came to see what Winky had done. He had looked satisfied with the new decorations and had admitted that he had been worried that the room would be turned into a Gryffindor den.

The list of supplies for the new school year had arrived the day before. Snape had grimaced and frowned when he read the title of the Defence Against the Dark Arts book, but refused to comment at all, instead simply saying to Harry that the Potions book was already in the manor library and that they would go and buy the rest during the week.

Dementia had gone to live with Sirius again even though her argument with her father was long forgotten. Harry suspected that she was being stubborn for the sake of it, since she had told her father on the day of the argument that she would not be back before they left for Hogwarts.

She had claimed to be living with a friend from the newspaper and that she didn't want to let her down, because she paid part of the rent and her friend's next housemate wouldn't arrive until September.

Snape seemed satisfied with this explanation. Or at least, he hadn't asked any questions.

oOo

On Monday 14th August, at quarter to 12, Harry was struggling not to sleep.

Just like he had for the last three days.

He was really beginning to feel the lack of sleep and could feel himself becoming more and more irritable. He had told off Winky, who had cried for the rest of the day, and had thrown out Hedwig, who had tried to get him to reply to a letter from Ron… and of course he had ended up arguing with Snape.

Sighing, Harry gingerly rubbed his stinging cheek. The argument had started over something stupid, he had replied slightly too sharply to his father, who had raised his voice. Instead of calming down and apologising, Harry had raised his voice too and become very insolent, telling Snape off for sticking his nose into his private life, for not understanding anything, and telling him that he was only good for being Dumbledore's lapdog.

The slap had taken him by surprise and knocked him onto the floor.

Teeth clenched, barely controlling his anger, Snape said only two words; "Get out!"

Which Harry had hurriedly done.

Then, in his room, he had increasingly anxiously waited for Snape to come up and join him. But he hadn't come. Harry was convinced he was going to be punished hard for his attitude. He wearily rubbed his face with his hand. He was so tired, but he couldn't sleep.

Yet he hadn't thought of it, or mostly hadn't thought of it, for the entire summer. Maybe it was the thought of the rapidly approaching new school year that had set it all off. He still couldn't bear to see Cedric's face, his eyes open wide and fixed in surprise, sprawled on the floor, and to hear that laugh, that mad laugh… It started as Scabbers' laugh and then turned into Voldemort's.

He didn't want to relive that over and over again – he didn't want to sleep.

But just like every night, he dozed off, unable to fight his tiredness. And just like every night, he jerked awake dripping with sweat, shaking from head to foot, just under two hours later.

He glanced at his clock: 02:10. The manor was quiet – even the house elves must have been asleep. Harry hesitated for a second before deciding to go down to the kitchen to drink a glass of orange juice. He didn't intend to let himself fall back asleep again.

He quickly and quietly went downstairs, as quiet as a mouse, a skill he had developed after years of living with the Dursleys. Once in the kitchen he swallowed a vitamin C tablet that he had found at the bottom of his trunk (thank God for Muggles!) with a large glass of orange juice, which he drank in one gulp. He quickly poured himself another one and drank his second glass more slowly.

"If you claim to be sleepwalking I won't be responsible for my actions."

Harry stiffened at the sound of the angry voice. Bloody hell, didn't he ever sleep?

"I thought I'd talked to you about this!" the voice snapped once more.

Harry didn't turn around. He didn't feel able to confront his father immediately.

"Very well, you asked for it!"

Before he was able to move a muscle, he felt something seize his collar and drag him out of the kitchen and into Snape's study. There, his father threw him against the desk and said in a harsh, authoritative tone, "Look at me!"

Harry didn't move. He started shivering just as much from the cold of being far from the kitchen fire as from fear. But he was paralysed and couldn't obey. His dream crashed over him like a wave. But he wasn't dreaming – he was sure that he wasn't dreaming.

Snape, who was beside himself with anger, spun him around so they were face to face. "Stop treating me like a Squib!"

He froze when he saw the expression on his son's face. Frowning, he put his unbuckled belt on the desk, determined to thrash the unbearable boy… who seemed more miserable and lost than unbearable at that particular moment. His hands on Harry's shoulders, he pushed him more gently towards the black leather armchair in his study, sat him down and, placing his hands on either side of his face to force him to look in his direction, he squatted in front of the teenager.

"Harry?"

Harry muttered something indistinct.

"What?"

"I'm so tired," the young man muttered.

"What's stopping you from sleeping?" the wizard asked.

"He's there. In my dreams. Every night. All the time."

Snape sighed and internally called himself every name under the sun. How could he not have understood Harry's changing attitude? His permanent irritability, his brusque reactions, his regular absences… everything pointed towards lack of sleep, and he hadn't realised.

He stood up and went to look for a potion in his cupboard. A potion that he used sometimes when spying for Dumbledore, when he had to make a complete report after having spent the entire night with the Death Eaters. He made Harry swallow the potion and waited for it to take effect.

After several minutes, he could see the teenager's pupils dilating slightly, his gaze becoming clearer. A gaze which soon fell on the leather belt on the table in front of him. Fear flashed through his eyes and he struggled to swallow.

Snape sighed and stood up. "Come, let's go into the living room. Do you want to?"

Harry obeyed silently, visibly tense. Snape made sure Harry saw him pick up his belt and put it back on, so that he knew there was nothing to be afraid of. He gestured for Harry to sit on a sofa in the living room and sat down in an armchair facing him.

"How long have you had these nightmares?" Snape asked calmly.

"Three or four days. As soon as I fall asleep, I go back to that graveyard."

"And what do you see there?"

"My parents… I mean…"

"Yes, your parents," finished Snape in a firm voice. "They will always be your parents, Harry, and you have a right to call them that."

Harry nodded slowly. Snape gestured for him to continue.

"And there's Cedric…"

Harry gulped, his throat suddenly tight. He was scared he wouldn't be able to continue if he said his enemy's name, but he suddenly felt that the potion calmed him, gave him the strength to continue.

"And there was Voldemort."

He saw Snape shudder and press his lips together unhappily but the wizard didn't say anything, and let him talk about his dream without interrupting.

"Voldemort was laughing… he was thanking me for bringing him back. And Cedric was lying there, on the ground, and he looked so surprised… and his spirit was floating above his body, and he looked so angry at me… and my parents looked so disappointed in me – like I wasn't worth the sacrifice they made for me…"

"Harry!" Snape interrupted, his tone sharper than he had intended.

Harry stopped and looked up at him with worried eyes. Snape cursed internally – he had wanted to stop the wave of guilt that was threatening to drown the boy, not scare him.

"Harry," he said, more gently this time.

"Sorry," mumbled the boy, "sorry Father, sorry – I'm sorry."

The teenager looked like he was about to cry. Or have a panic attack. Snape didn't even know whether he was apologising for getting up in the middle of the night, for the argument the day before or for what happened in the graveyard.

"Harry, listen to me. I know about the ritual Pettigrew used. The bones of the father, the flesh of the servant, the blood of the enemy… The ritual would have worked with or without you."

Harry looked up sharply.

"Yes, they chose you to be the enemy, but you're not Voldemort's only enemy – most wizarding families are against him. Not all of them will fight, but there were a lot to choose from. If it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else…"

"But he killed Cedric and I let him."

"You were 14, Harry. It's a miracle you're even alive – a Killing Curse moves very fast. A Shield Charm doesn't even effect the spell. The only way to avoid a Killing Curse is if you manage to avoid the ray. You warned Cedric – you told him to leave. But Cedric was 17, he was an adult, and he stayed. And he died. It's terrible, but it's not your fault. You fought against an experienced, powerful adult wizard and you came back. But you didn't abandon Cedric's body; you brought him back to his family. Few wizards would have done that."

"Yes, but-"

"Harry," Snape interrupted, "Professor Dippet died in 1956. Myrtle's death destroyed him, and he died a year later. Dumbledore became headmaster that year and Voldemort was 17. 17 in 1956. He's 56 now – that's 42 years more practice with magic than you. And even if you take away the 13 years where he survived in spirit form, that's still almost thirty years more practice than you. How were you supposed to stop him from coming back?"

"He hadn't come back yet."

"But Pettigrew was there, and under his rodent mannerisms he's also an experienced wizard. Harry, you couldn't have done anything, believe me. Do I normally lie to make people feel better?"

Harry shook his head.

"Listen," Snape sighed, "tomorrow I will put wards on your room. I'll come and wake you up when you have a nightmare, and I'll do that as long as I need to. Tonight, you'll take a Dreamless Sleep Potion."

Harry nodded and stood. Halfway towards the stairs he turned to Snape, who was following him.

"Father, about yesterday…"

"We'll just put it down to tiredness. Let's say you've used your joker."

He shoved a potion into Harry's hands and pushed him firmly towards his bedroom. Relieved to know that he wasn't going to be punished, Harry took off his glasses, sat on the bed and swallowed the potion. He let himself fall backwards, and was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.