He led Snape into his bedroom. He heard Snape shut the door behind him. The thunder rumbled threateningly. Harry felt a sudden snatch of fear. The last time he had been in a room alone with Snape, he had had a jar of dead cockroaches slung at him. He hoped that Snape wasn't into lobbing other people's stuff about as well.

And now he looked like someone else, Snape would think he had been doing magic outside term time. Then the house points would be on the slide. He shivered slightly, and decided that it would be best if he kept his back to Snape.

Snape sniffed disdainfully. The boy seemed to slouch as he walked. And he smelt absolutely vile. 'Should I bother to enquire as to what drove you to drinking neat whiskey, Potter?'

There would be no point denying it - the empty glass was on his bedside cabinet. Harry felt like firing off some witty comment, but decided he couldn't really care less what Snape thought anymore. 'Why are you here, sir?' he asked wearily, reaching for scroll on his bed, trying not to sound nervous.

'The Headmaster needs to see you,' replied Snape curtly. 'He is apparently too busy to visit himself, so naturally he sends a member of staff who is even busier than he is. When I arrived in his office, he was reading a rather faded scroll of parchment-'

Harry could feel those black eyes boring into the back of his head. He could tell that Snape was becoming offended about his keeping his back to him. 'He probably thinks I'm trying to protect myself from his legilimency,' thought Harry. He rolled the scroll more tightly in his hand. Large streaks of rain had begun to splash down the dusty window pane.

'And I see that you have received a similar scroll-' stated Snape carefully. 'May I see the seal?'

'No.' Harry clutched it protectively with both hands; this was his business! Snape let out a low hiss.

Obviously Dumbledore had dragged the Potions Master away from his precious work in the middle of the night, then ordered him to the Dursleys to see Potter, of all people. And had not told him what was going on. Dumbledore must have gone mad.

Hiding a secret from Snape, was like trying to keep a hungry bear away from your camp food.

'I was enraged to discover you were the reason for the Headmaster disrupting my work tonight. So don't think you can prevent me from finding out by keeping your back to me Potter,' he hissed. 'And look at me when I'm talking to you!'

While Ron had shot up to just over six foot tall in the past two years, scrawny Harry had lagged behind. Probably thanks to malnourishment, the Dursleys, and a cramped cupboard. Harry had stalled at five foot eight, Snape's height exactly. And he found it satisfying he could now look his bully levelly in the eyes.

If he felt like it that was. Which was not right then.

'No!' He stated more firmly, hugging the scroll to his chest. The smell of singed herbs wafted closer. Snape was virtually breathing on his neck. He swallowed. 'The sender of the scroll only wanted Dumbledore to know, sir.'

'Know what?' said Snape sharply.

Harry tensed as he heard the professor's teeth grate. Awful as it was, he was half expecting to be thrown across the room again.

'I will not be made a fool of Potter,' he said quietly. 'The only possible reason for me standing here would be due to a direct order from the man. And that man has ordered me to bring you to Hogwarts.'

'Didn't Dumbledore tell you why he needed to see me, sir?'

'Potter-' Snape's voice had reached its lowest and most dangerous whisper. This was the limit. 'If - you - don't - turn - around - this - instant-'

Harry leapt forward, snatched the pillow off his bed, pulled off the pillowcase and put it over his head before turning around to face Snape. He crossed his arms defiantly.

'Okay! I've turned round. Now lead the way.'

Through the pillowcase, Harry could make out Snape rubbing his forehead madly, as if wanting to scream out 'Why me!' in desperation. The professor dropped his hand and slitted his eyes.

'I should like to know what sort of inane little.joke you imagine to be playing on me, -Mister- Potter!'

'No joke sir,' said Harry soberly. 'A game of trust. Now I can trust you to take me to Dumbledore.'

The pensieve-raiding upstart dared to bring up trust? Trust! Snape's fingers flexed. --Throttle Potter, throttle Potter-

Muttering oaths under his breath, eyes flashing pure murder, Snape rammed a fist into his pocket and whipped out a pink hairbrush.

Harry's eyes widened. 'You own a hairbrush, sir?'

'No I don't!' he snapped, sensing the faint amusement in the boy's voice. His lip curled maliciously. 'I'm rather surprised an ignorant, urchin- haired brat like you knows what a hairbrush is!' He paused to savour the insult, and calm down slightly. 'This - vile - thing, Potter, happens to be the emergency portkey to your house. Dumbledore's own - uniquely unfortunate - brand of humour.'

Harry stared at Snape. He was still as nasty, vile and sarcastic as ever - but Harry was surprised not to feel any hate towards him at all. He had hated the man like no one else for weeks after Sirius had died. More than Voldemort's mind tricks, in fact. He had spent whole days raging and cursing Snape in his room. Refusing to go out, wash himself, or eat anything. Creeping downstairs at night to get at Uncle Vernon's whiskey, and drinking until he passed out in a stupor. It was the best way to get to sleep.

Until that dream about the potions class.

He was the one who had taken a savage pleasure in spinning Snape upside down in that. Listening to Ron laughing, and the class egging him on. But there had been no real pleasure for him at all, just a sickening desire to torture. And then he had raised his wand high above his head, and Snape had screamed as he knew what was coming.

'Crucio!'

The bitter taste in his mouth finally became so vile it forced him to stop. He had woken up in a cold sweat, and had found himself retching, spitting and gargling into the sink for half an hour. Trying desperately to rinse out the taste he recognised as soap.

After that dream he realised that the rage he felt at Snape, was really directed at himself. He had lain on his floor in despair. Hatred had been replaced by fear, self-disgust, and a backlash of raging guilt that gnawed his insides constantly. He had made a stupid, stupid mistake.

But, adults made mistakes, too - they were flawed, like he was. Human. Weak. Hadn't the past year helped to shatter his childhood idols? Lupin had looked on as Sirius and his father had bullied Snape, like Snape now bullied him in class. Snape was wrong like the Marauders were wrong. But Dumbledore had made his own mistakes, too. And then Harry had rushed off like a stupid idiot and put his friends in danger. The Sorting Hat had sang its warning, and everyone had ignored it. And now Sirius was dead.

Hermione still didn't know about the pensieve incident, but she had mentioned the Sorting Hat's speech in her last letter to him. She had also brought up Occlumency yet again-

Harry gritted his teeth - he knew he had to stop hating everything for the bad taste in his mouth to go away. Hadn't he been shown that revenge didn't work? He wasn't his father, but he wasn't Snape either. Bitter vengeance was a slow acting poison, which had been sliding through the veins of Hogwarts for years. It couldn't go on, all this Basilisk-like, soul- destroying hate.

It was up to him to stop it from spreading further, and killing someone else. But to start with Snape?

Harry swallowed. 'I'm sorry, sir,' he croaked hoarsely. The apology left him weak-kneed, and painfully raw inside. This had just hurt him far more than denial.

A cool breeze wafted in as rain began to pour down outside. The lightning flashed multiple times, turning the sky a pale silvery grey. The resounding thunderclaps were so loud they shook the house walls, causing both of them to jump.

Snape raised a suspicious eyebrow before thrusting the spiky end of the brush in front of Harry's face. He clenched his teeth. 'Whatever, Potter!'

'Fine,' sighed Harry, clutching the bristles.

He felt the powerful jerk beyond his navel. The floor vanished from beneath his feet, the bristles dug into his hand. A dizzying rainbow of colours and sounds swirled all around. Then - BANG! Harry felt his knees collapse from under him.