"Well, I'm glad to see you could join us."

Harry jumped as Pomfrey came up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He withdrew his head from her office door.

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," he said. "I was, ah, helping Ron with his essay and lost track of the time."

"On a Saturday? Mhm." The corner of Pomfrey's mouth twitched. "Your partner in crime. Well, anyway." She led him over to a large sink full of jars and bottles. "You can start by making sure each of these containers is emptied, washed and dried. Here," she thrust a pair of heavy rubber gloves at him. "Some of those jars haven't been opened in years. No telling what's inside now, or what it may do to you."

"Bloody wonderful," Harry muttered as he donned the gloves. Morosely, he took in the huge piles of glassware and, with a sigh, reached for the top jar.

Several hours later, Harry placed the last of the bottles onto a shelf where rows and rows of shiny glass sparkled back at him. He smiled in a curious mixture of relief and satisfaction that he had finished the job at last, and done it well.

"Good work." Pomfrey's voice floated from the doorway where she stood, a tray of food in her hands. "I wasn't expecting you to have finished so quickly." She stopped to inspect a blue glass bottle. "Very good. Next week you can help me sort, fill and label them. For now," she shoved the tray into his hands, "bring this to Professor Snape. Last bed on the left." She bustled off again before Harry even had time to steady the dishes on the tray. He stood there for a moment, blinked, shrugged and walked through the door into the infirmary.

He walked down the line of beds, careful not to spill the contents of the tray. As he reached the last of the row, he balanced it on one hand and slowly drew the curtains with the other. "Professor Snape?"

In a heartbeat, Snape sat straight up, his brow furrowed. Then: "Potter." From his lips the word sounded more like a curse than a name, the sound resonated with more years' worth of history than should have been possible. Harry shivered.

"Uh, Professor, Madam Pomfrey said I should bring this to you--" Harry lifted the tray in indication, then flushed as he realized the uselessness of the gesture.

"Set it on the table," Snape told him shortly. Harry looked around and spied the small bedside table to the right of the bed. "Well?"

Harry caught himself staring at Snape and flushed again; between Myrtle and his own foolish actions, his ears stood at risk of catching fire before the year was out. "Sorry, sir."

"Don't stand there gawking," the Potions Master snapped. "I am not here for your entertainment, Mister Potter. Go."

"Yessir." Harry turned and walked away as quickly as possible, his stomach feeling a more than a bit unsettled. I am not here for your entertainment, Mister Potter. As if he thought himself a freak show, the blind man, the victim of Voldemort's wrath. Harry grimaced at the memory of Snape's words. He would never--

And yet he had. He had stood and stared as if by losing his sight, Snape had also lost his humanity, his right to human decency. Snape might be a mean bastard at the best of times and a downright horror at the worst, but he nevertheless, he was a human being, a person. Just because he could no longer depend on his sense of sight did not make him anything less.

Harry mulled over these thoughts in his mind as he set to work sorting healing potions for Pomfrey. It disturbed him that he had acted in such a manner, though he knew that most people would have reacted the same way.

I'm the boy-who-lived, dammit, he thought as he set a red bottle aside to join its fellows. Everyone tells me I'm something special, something extraordinary. I'm not supposed to be like most other people. And dammit, I shouldn't have acted like some silly prat.

His mental self-berration went on for a long time. It only wound down to a stop when he reached for the last bottle on the shelf and by that time, it was well past dark.

"Harry?"

"Eh? Oh, Madam Pomfrey." Harry read the label of the last bottle and set it down on the bottom shelf. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do before I go?"

"As a matter of fact, there is." Pomfrey looked worried. "I know it's late, and I know you're probably tired, but there's just something I'd like some help with."

"Sure thing." Harry tried to stifle a yawn. He was tired, and he wouldn't mind getting some sleep, but if Pomfrey needed him for something, he wasn't about to say no. He hid a grin behind his hand. Stupid, noble Gryffindor. "What is it?"

"Wonderful." Pomfrey smiled at him and led him out back into the infirmary. "Professor Snape has been a bit...troublesome lately. It's nothing serious or harmful," she added hastily. "At least, not to anyone else. He--" She paused, searching for the right words. "Ever since he started going back to...since he started going back, he's been suffering from nightmares. Ordinarily, he wakes up and it's only a matter of moments before he calms himself, but lately..." She frowned and shook her head. "He wakes up, but he doesn't seem to know what's going on around him. I'll bet a galleon it's because of his condition." She shook her head again. "Poor man. I can't imagine what it must be like for him, to not be able to see, to affirm what he should already know. To wake up and not know whether you're still dreaming or not, when you can't see the faces of your friends--" She broke off abruptly. "So anyway," she said, fixing a smile on her face as she turned back to Harry. "If you could just stay here for a little while longer and help me if he starts to get...restless."

Harry nodded mutely. He could see the lines of strain around Pomfrey's mouth and eyes, and it was clear that her bright smile was forced. "What should I do if he does have nightmares?"

"Oh, I'll still be here," Pomfrey assured him. "If I'm not in the room, just call and I'll come in a hurry. Then just help me keep him settled until he realizes we are who we are." That fake smile again. "Thank you so much, Harry. It's a real help."

"No problem. Is there a place I can wait?"

"Oh! Yes, I forgot." Pomfrey drew the curtains from around one of the beds. "You're welcome to wait here, if you'd like. The alternative is one of those chairs out in the waiting room, and they aren't exactly what you'd call the best in seated comfort." Harry jumped onto the bed and fell back on the soft pillows. "Would you like some chocolate? It's all I have at the moment."

"No thanks." Harry grinned. "If this was what detention was like all the time, I wouldn't mind getting in trouble half as much."

"Don't get used to it," Pomfrey warned mock sternly. "I just don't think you really need to be punished for that particular mishap. After all, you did save Ginny from--" Her face twisted in distaste and she turned to walk out. "I'll be in my office if you need me. If nothing happens in a few hours, you can go. His nightmares usually aren't a problem after eleven, or so."

Harry listened as Pomfrey's footsteps faded away. He closed his eyes, reveling in the softness of the pillows. It was late, after all, and he was tired. Surely it couldn't hurt if he just took a quick nap. If something did happen, it would wake him up anyway. So thinking, Harry slowly let himself drift away into the clean, soft sheets.

"Mrgghhh, NO!"

Harry bolted upright as a terrified scream wrenched him from sleep. Fumbling for his glasses which had fallen off while he slept, he scrambled off the bed and hit the floor at a run. "Damn." He ran smack into one of the bedposts. He shook his head and tried to ignore his stinging face as he kept on running.

"Get away!"

"Professor Snape!" Harry grabbed Snape's arm and tried to hold him down on the bed. That seemed to be exactly the wrong thing to do, because at that moment, Snape went berserk.

"Don't touch me!" he screamed, wrenching his arm out of Harry's grip. "Damn you, Lucius, wasn't once enough? Isn't this enough?" He struck out in Harry's direction, but Harry dodged easily. "Professor Snape!"

"Don't call me that!" Snape seemed to be oblivious to all that was going on around him. He was trapped in his own mind, creating pictures and images from a dream he didn't know was over. "What more can you do to me, Lucius? What is there left to take?"

"Professor Snape!" Harry yelled for the third time. "It's me! Lucius isn't here, Professor. It's me, Harry Potter!" He ducked as Snape's fist came hurtling through the air at his head. "It was a dream, Snape, a dream! It's just a dream. It's over, Snape. It's over, no one else is here! Lucius is gone, it's just me. It's me, Harry Potter. Come on, Snape, snap out of it!"

Abruptly, Snape froze, his unseeing eyes wide. Then it was as if he suddenly deflated. He sank back against the pillows with no sign of the violent fear that had gripped him just heartbeats ago. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mister Potter," he said tonelessly. "Don't ever call me 'Snape' again. I may no longer be a teacher here, but I am still your superior."

"Yessir," Harry whispered, weak with relief. "Sorry, sir."

Snape grunted, but said nothing in reply.

"Should I got get Madam Pomfrey?" For some reason, Snape's screams hadn't woken the Mediwitch. For a moment, Harry wondered if something could be wrong with her.

"Perhaps it's best," Snape said. Harry stood and turned to head towards Pomfrey's office, but before he had taken two steps, Snape reached out and snagged his robes.

"Wait," he said softly. "I--" Harry allowed himself to be pulled back. "I don't think I want you to go just yet."

"Professor?"

"Come here." Snape pulled Harry closer. Harry froze, startled, when Snape gently placed his hand over his face, tracing the lines of his eyes, his nose, mouth, cheekbones and jaw. "Harry Potter," he murmured. "Harry Potter. Not Lucius. Not Riddle. Potter." His fingers traced over Harry's skin, reaffirming what he thought he knew. Nothing was certain anymore, not for him, not for a man who could no longer trust his senses. For a moment, Harry could almost see the eyes on the tips of Snape's fingers, eyes that saw through touch and feel now, not color and light. The thought made him shudder.

With a start, Harry realized that Snape's touch had not left his skin. With an even bigger start, he realized that he didn't mind. More to the point, the stirrings he felt told him that not only did he not mind, but rather quite the opposite.

"Your face is getting hot," Snape said, a note of amusement creeping into his voice. Harry flushed redder as he realized that, once again, his face was flaming. "What is there to be embarrassed about now, Mister Potter?"

"I--" Harry didn't answer. What was he thinking? Well, that was pretty obvious. But-- why? And since when? This was Snape he was thinking about! Snape's hand on his face, his fingertips brushing up against his eyes, his lips, his jaw. What if-- Merlin, what if he was wrong? What if Snape was doing just what he said he was, soothing away his fears with a touch, because sight was no longer an option? What if--

"Professor--" His voice came out a harsh croak. He cleared his throat, but it didn't help. Was he certain? Absolutely certain? Well, his body left no doubts as to what the answer to that was. But still...."Professor--"

"Yes, Mister Potter?" The hand didn't waver.

"I--" Slowly, Harry reached up to touch the white hand on his face. Snape froze for an instant, then drew his hand back.

"Don't." The word was out before Harry even had time to think. But once it was, he didn't hesitate. "Please," he said, taking the cold hand in both of his. "Don't stop."

Snape's voice was hard as he tried to free his hand. "Don't toy with me, child," he growled. "You don't know what you're doing. What this means. Don't play those games with me."

Harry felt a rush of anger. "Me?" he demanded. "You're telling me not to toy with you? What was that you were doing then, just now? So why is alright for you to play those games, to do something like that and then have the gall to tell me not to toy with you?" He gripped Snape's hand harder, now. "Please," he said, his voice softer, his anger gone. He lowered his hands, bringing Snape down with him, placing his cold, bony hand over the hardness beneath his robes. "Don't tell me I don't know what I'm doing."

Snape closed his unseeing eyes, but did not attempt to remove his hand. "What's to assure me you won't go running to Dumbledore tomorrow morning, saying I raped you? Who's to say I didn't try to seduce you, to take advantage of you? Don't do this to me, boy. I won't have it."

"Professor-- Severus." Harry leaned forward and brushed his fingers over Snape's closed eyelids. He leaned closer, longing to taste the lips beneath his, to find out if they were as cold as the hand wrapped around the bulge under his robes. "I promise."

It was Snape that finally closed the gap between them, lunging forward those few desperate centimeters until Harry felt the coolness of his lips, then the heat of his mouth, his tongue. He heard someone moan, but wasn't sure if it was him, Snape, or just the wind. The grip between his legs tightened until he thought he would surely burst with the overwhelming feelings that washed over him.

"Please," he whispered as Snape's lips traced a line down his jaw, his neck. Fingers fumbled with the clasp of his robes until Harry helped him take them off. "Please." Cold hands traced down his back, gentle as feathers of an ancient bird. "Please."

Snape smiled thinly and pulled Harry down on him. The last thing Harry remembered hearing before the time for thought and speech was over, was: "Potter....Not Lucius. Not Lucius..."