Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Well, I must say thank you for the reviews. Dianne, I'm so glad you're enjoying this so far, and I hope that my story continues to keep you happy with what happens next ;) USA-Jeanette: Wow. I must say that I never considered that, but it's brilliant! I have been trying to come up with some way for Harry and Snape to become closer, but I believe you've solved that problem. So, thanks, and I hope you don't mind if I kind of borrow an idea from your review. For the rest of my reviewers, I am so glad that you loved it. I find it very interesting to read your thoughts on the story and get an idea of what you would like to read on here.

So, I hope you liked Chapter 20, those who didn't review. I had to postpone updating this chapter because of a trip I took recently, but now I'm finally going to finish this. So enjoy it! Also, I have this horrible feeling I'm making tons of grammar mistakes in this story. So if anyone at all would mind Beta-reading for me, please let me know.

Don't forget to check my website, and as always to r/r.

Chapter 21: Secret Emotions

Harry sat alone in his room after his friends left. He felt so utterly deserted and alone. He had absolutely no idea what he would tell his friends. In his heart, he knew that he should tell them so that they would not be in the dark when the…time came. And yet, he didn't want to see the looks of pity they would give him when they looked at him. It always made him feel uncomfortable when they would give him the same look a person would give a wounded dog.

Harry sat on his bed for a while, too depressed to even move. He saw the large pile of letters on his desk and moved toward them slowly, carefully taking the twine that held them together off. There had to be at least a dozen letter sitting in that awkward shaped pile. The majority of them seemed to be from the Weasley family, although some Order members had contributed to the stack as well. Harry thought that the only letter that would make him truly happy would be one from Sirius, and yet he knew that that letter would never come. Harry pulled the first letter off of the top and opened it up. It was from Hermione, who had written about how sorry she was about the attack, and how she wished he didn't have to spend the summer with Snape, although he should think of it as an opportunity to learn occlumency and to get along with the potion's master. Harry gave a disgusted look at that comment. He read the next letter, another letter of sympathy from Ron this time. He called Snape a git a number of times, and expressed a deep regret that Harry couldn't come to Headquarters this year. The letter seemed mostly a repeat of Hermione's. As Harry sat reading the letters, he found that they were vague and awkward, like no one knew exactly what to say to him.

After reading through the letters of encouragement and support, Harry left his room to wander around the castle, whether Snape liked it or not. His feet carried him wherever he felt like going, never really knowing his destination or what he was going to do when he got there. He vaguely realized he was climbing a staircase at one point, but found he really didn't care. It was only as he neared the top of one stairway that he noticed he had failed to bring his cane with him. Harry looked down at the staircase he had just climbed, and the seemingly endless number of stairs leading back down. His legs felt perfectly fine! It was almost like some sort of miracle, that he had finally achieved the task of walking again on his own, just as he had done for nearly fifteen years. For some people, the simple task he had just completed would be considered of no great importance, but for Harry it was a feat to be proud of.

Harry found his way to the Gryffindor tower. The fat lady sat snoozing in the frame. "Excuse me?" Harry said quietly, awakening the portrait. "Oh dear! A student? School hasn't begun without me has it?"

"No, ma'am. I'm just…here for the summer. Would you mind if I go in for a little while? I think I left a possession of mine in their from last year."

The fat lady looked at him skeptically, then nodded in consent. "I suppose you can't do too much harm. If that's what you really want, then go ahead and go in." The portrait swung open, allowing Harry inside for the moment. He entered into the common room, which was dark now and so empty. It held none of the usual warmth and familiarity of the school year, now that it was empty of students. It was just an empty room, like his room at the Dursley's was. An empty room, void of love and people. The walls held the memories of the people who had been there, and yet seemed so unwillingly to share their emotions with him.

Harry sat in the same comfortable chair that he sat in so often when cramming for tests when school was in session. He was so comfortable, just sitting there. He looked to the fireplace, where Sirius's head had appeared as he sat lazily in front of the burning fire. Sirius…

He missed his godfather so dearly. Harry sat staring at the fireplace as though he expected Sirius's head to appear there any minutes. Any minutes now… But there was no one there. Just a cold hearth, where no one would speak to Harry. A tear slid down the teen's cheek. Every one he loved, gone. And yet, he thought, he would soon join them again, wouldn't he?

Harry stood up and moved to the hearth, kneeling before the empty, dark opening in the wall. "Sirius," he whispered. He closed his eyes, if he imagined hard enough, he could almost see his godfather's head floating in the flames. He could hear his voice…

"What do I do, Sirius? I'm lying to everyone, and I don't like the way that feels. I want to tell them everything, but I can't bring the words out of my throat. They just get caught, and won't come out. I can't tell them, no matter how much I want to." He closed his eyes again, and actually listened for a response. None came to his ears, but he still continued to talk. "It's the worst thing ever, I think, knowing that I'm dying and not being able to stop it. I mean, I figured that there was a good chance I could die fighting Voldemort, but at least I had a fighting chance that way. With this, disease, I'm just dying, unable to save myself. And the worst thing is, it could have been prevented. The person who was supposed to save my life is the one who's killing me! I feel betrayed, Sirius, and so alone. I wish we could talk like we used to. I need someone to talk to. The only person in ear-shot doesn't even care that I exist. Not that I completely blame him, though. It is my fault he's being hunted now by dark wizards everywhere. I just want someone to listen to me; someone who actually cares. I can't tell Ron and Hermione. I can't bear to think of what their relationship with me will be once they know. I've seen the looks dying people receive. It's all pitying looks, and I don't want to see that. I want to live the rest of my life like I always have. I want to LIVE, Sirius." He fell silent, eyes closed once more. The tears fell down his face, but Harry caught them before they fell onto his shirt. He scooted back against the wall and leaned his head back, listening to the sounds of the quiet school.

Floors below him, a potion's master sat in front of his own fireplace. Dumbledore had been right, the boy did venture into his common room, and he did pour out his soul to an absent figure. It was creepy how Albus knew these things. Harry had no idea his every word had been heard, and would never find out if Snape had anything to do with it. He actually felt a little guilty for causing the boy pain. It had been, after all, his fault that the boy was dying in the first place. But he was trying to fix that.

Above all, though, Snape couldn't believe that the brat felt remorse for being the cause of Snape's current predicament. That ruined the image Snape had created of him. Was he really the spoiled Golden Boy that Snape always made him out to be? It didn't seem like it anymore. More and more, Snape was being proven wrong, and even though he didn't normally like to be proven wrong, he found it oddly refreshing to be wrong about this. Maybe the son of James Potter wasn't like his father at all. Snape shook his head in dismissal. He shouldn't think things like that. It was much easier just to hate them both. And yet…

Snape thought especially about the last thing Harry had said. "I wasn't to LIVE!" It was such a simple wish, and yet one that Snape understood entirely. Severus hated to admit it, but he felt a little guilty for leaving the boy alone. That couldn't be good for the boy, to be dying and alone like that. And yet, Snape knew that the boy wouldn't except help from him. He wouldn't except any sort of recognition from the most hated professor in the school. Snape knew what he would have to do—he would have to earn Potter's trust. Dumbledore was always busy, and Potter felt that he couldn't tell anyone else. Snape was the only other person who really knew, and yet was hated by the boy. Severus felt that the boy needed to talk to more than a dead guardian, and if that person happened to be him, then so be it.

Snape turned back to his desk. It was a mess of papers. This was so unlike him. Normally his desk was in pristine condition, every paper organized and no clutter at all. Then again, he rarely doted so on his work. There were many things that needed his attention lately, and he hadn't been sleeping well. His dark mark burned constantly, and if he just tried to ignore it, the mark seemed to just burn more. Snape knew that the Dark Lord was doing this on purpose as payback for having become a traitor.

The next morning, Harry sat eating his breakfast alone in his room again when there was a knock on his door. "Come in," Harry said dully, and the door slowly opened to reveal the Potion's master standing there. Harry stopped eating and looked up at him, waiting for a word from the professor on what he had probably done wrong since last time they spoke.

"I have been informed that you are to be in my NEWTS class next year, is that correct?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Your skills in the past few years have left me doubtful of your ability to handles such an advanced class. I am going to give you the opportunity to prove me wrong. You are to report to me every morning after breakfast, where I will give you a potion to brew that you should have learned already. The only notes you are allowed are the ones that you wrote down while in my class last year. Do you think you can handle that?" the potion's master asked, sneering at the sitting student.

"I don't know. It might prove to be too 'difficult'," Harry retorted.

Snape lowered his voice to a dangerous level and hissed, "I am giving you an opportunity to make up for several mistakes you may have made in my class. I can request that you not enter my class at all, and I have sufficient evidence to prove that you are an inadequate student and not ready to be in my class. So, yes or no, Potter? Do you wish to actually take a remedial potions class or not?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Good. Finish your breakfast then come to my office. I have an assignment waiting." Snape pulled the door closed and walked away. Harry glowered in the direction of the door, not wanting to spend any more time with the irritating professor than he had to. Then again, he really had nothing better to do. All of his homework was finished, and he really did need to work on his potion making skills. What could it hurt?

Harry walked slowly down to the office, notes in hand from fifth year, and knocked on the door. "Enter," Snape's sharp voice ordered. Harry obeyed reluctantly, and found that the room had a cauldron sitting on a table awaiting his arrival. "You are to brew an Invigoration Draught, to see how yours really is. Get to work." Harry knew why he was being asked to brew this potion specifically. It was the one he had been given a zero for because the professor had broken his flask on the floor after Harry's intrusion into his pensieve. Harry knew that he had done the potion correctly the first time, so all he had to do was follow his notes and he could do it well enough.

For the full hour and a half, Harry worked on the potion, carefully brewing it to the best of his ability. Thankfully, he received no "help" from his potion's master. Snape stayed busy with his notes the entire time. When Harry was finished, the potion looked the exact color it was supposed to. He bottled it and brought it up to the desk. "Are you sure you've done it correctly?" Snape asked, not looking up.

"Yes sir," Harry said with emphasis on the yes.

"Then go. I'll see you at occlumency."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He left the room in a brisk walk, satisfied for once after having brewed a potion.

Meanwhile, Snape was looking over his notes again. He had found it! The one factor he had forgotten! But was it correctable? Could he fix a mistake and not be responsible of someone else's death?

A/n: For those of you who read To Wish One Could Forget, I am pleased to announce that I am re-doing a considerable amount of the last few chapters and extending the ending, so look for updates on that coming soon!