Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. Only the events in this story are my own.

Snape sat on his bed, alone, his hands gripping the sides of his head. The Dark Mark on his arm prickled unpleasantly, and an appalling thought assailed the man: what if Voldemort already knew of his bonding to Harry Potter?

His hands moved slowly through the raven-black, greasy hair as pictures poured through his mind, images of his own friends, of Death Eater wracked with torment as the Cruciatus Curse shot terribly through their limbs at their master's bidding. Had Snape ever seen someone bespelled by the Soul Potion? No, he had to admit, he had not.

He would read up on the Potion, he decided. Surely the Restricted Section held, if not instructions for the potion's complex brewing process, at least examples of people who had drunk it. Snape would have to study every aspect of the Soul Potion to determine how someone could have smuggled it into Hogwarts unnoticed and slipped it into Snape's private potion stock.

Snape's mind was contorted with weariness. He sighed, blew out the candle, and pulled the covers up around him as he drifted into slumber, remembering the youthful body that just hours ago had lain beside him.

With a start, Snape jerked awake. Daylight was beating on the small black curtain that covered the room's solitary window. The professor quickly turned to check the clock on his bedside table. The little snaky hands read 8:14.

Snape rolled over. Of course, it was Saturday. Still, he was probably missing breakfast. With a groan, he sat up and began to dress.

When he strode into the Great Hall, the tables were clustered with students. Snape's lip curled as he watched little Patrick Creevey and some of Patrick's first-year Gryffindor friends squabbling over meat pastries. Then he suddenly saw an older Gryffindor sitting with his friends, absorbed in talk. Snape's breath caught painfully in his throat as he gazed at the son of his enemy at Hogwarts: one Harry Potter.

Harry glanced up the Gryffindor table to look for Ginny Weasley, but his eyes met a tall, pale Potions Master instead. A smile broke out unchecked as he felt the locket against his chest under his robes.

"Excuse me," he said to Ron, who was looking frustrated and red in the face because Hermione was yelling at him. "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

"I told you the essay was due on Monday!" shouted Hermione, paying Harry no heed. "And what did you do all yesterday? Played Quidditch! There's no way you're going to finish the essay in two days!"

"Please help me, 'Mione," begged Ron as Harry left the table. Hermione's yells followed him all the way out of the Great Hall.

Harry walked out of the side door and stood inside the empty stone hallway. Out here there were no bodies to warm the air; the cold December wind chilled Harry as he leaned against the wall, alone.

Several minutes passed. A cloud passed over the sun, and Harry shivered. Suddenly, he felt arms around him.

"Cold?" Snape whispered in his ear. Harry laughed, his teeth chattering.

"What took you so long?"

"I have arranged to meet with Dumbledore," Snape answered. "I want you to come with me. We will discuss the matter with him."

Harry groaned. "I don't want to."

Snape pulled Harry into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around Harry to ward off the cold. "Neither do I. I wish it hadn't happened."

Silently, Harry buried his head in Snape's black robes.

"We will see Dumbledore immediately after breakfast," whispered Snape into Harry's tousled hair.

Harry pulled away from the older man. "I don't want to," he repeated.

"We must. Someone may find out if we do not. Perhaps, with Professor Dumbledore's help, we can hide it until you graduate." He pulled Harry against him once more. The boy said nothing.

"After breakfast." Snape bent slightly to kiss Harry. "I will meet you here again."

"All right," Harry agreed. They separated and, with a final kiss, returned one after the other to the Great Hall.