Recap: But there was nothing. No one was coming to save him. He felt his heart sink. Then, he remembered the feeling of Snape's hands on his shoulders. He tripped backwards over a statue and fell to the floor. Voldemort was almost on top of him now. Remember what it felt like, he told himself. Remember the touch of his hand on your shoulder, not the hard, almost painful grip, but the one he left there when he didn't have to. He closed his eyes and allowed the feeling to surround him, engulf him, protect him.

"Potter, wake up," Real Harry heard with his waking ears. He opened his eyes and found Snape's weary face looking down at him.

"Well done, Mr. Potter."

Chapter 9

"What did you do differently, this time?" Snape asked, sitting back in the chair. Harry rubbed his eyes, well and truly groggy. He thought back to Zombie-Sirius and then the hand he imagined on his shoulder.

"Did you focus on something different?" Snape prompted again. Harry nodded, looking down at the blankets pooled in his lap.

"What was it?" Snape continued, unwilling to be discouraged in his dogged pursuit of information.

"I'd rather not say," Harry said quietly. In fact, the thought of telling Snape made him feel slightly queasy. Snape leaned forward and put a finger under his chin to lift his face, but Harry turned away. "Please don't use Legilimency, sir. Please."

Snape was silent a long moment.

"As you wish," he conceded, but the hard tone had returned to his voice, reminding Harry that it had disappeared at some point earlier in the night. He felt the loss, but the alternative, telling Snape it was his hand on his shoulder, specifically, which had brought him out of the dream and made him feel safe, was inconceivable.

"I believe," Snape said, "that we have both earned at least a couple hours of unmolested rest." He drew a small vial out of his pocket and handed it to Harry.

"I thought you said I couldn't have anymore?" Harry asked, looking confused down at the bottle of restricted Dreamless Sleep.

"I am making an exception. One exception. You need the rest and so do I. One small sip only, however. Or else, you'll still be asleep till noon."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, and sipped the sour black liquid from the bottle. He handed the rest back and resettled in the bed. Snape stood up and left the room with only a parting glance which was void of any warmth.

"Sweet dreams, sir," Harry whispered to the closed door.

-SSS-

Even with the small sip, Harry woke late the next morning. He hauled himself out of the bed and out into the hall to visit the loo. When he came out again, he heard voices.

Sitting at the two-person dining table, having tea and biscuits with a very tired looking Professor Snape, was Headmaster Dumbledore. He looked up at Harry when he spotted him peeking from the hallway, and Harry nodded, but had to go back to the guest room to get dressed.

As he was pulling on his shoes, a knock sounded lightly on the door.

"Enter," he called, patting down his jeans and t-shirt. The Headmaster opened the door. Behind him passed Snape who did not turn to acknowledge Harry as he moved down the hall. A second later, Harry heard a door close.

"May I come in?" Dumbledore asked from the doorway.

"Of course, Professor," Harry said.

The headmaster took Snape's chair from the night before, seating himself gingerly on the hard wood.

"I won't stay long, Harry," he said with a smile. "However, I did want to stop by and see how it went last night. Severus tells me you did make some progress, although it took most of a painful night to do so."

"Yeah, I managed to pull myself out of the dream at the very end," Harry confirmed.

"Very well, Harry. That is good news," Dumbledore congratulated. "It is not the end of the story yet, of course. It will not have escaped your notice, I am certain, that only 2 days are left before term starts, which puts a bit of a time crunch on your progress."

"Do I have it all taken care of by the time school starts?" Harry asked. "I mean, it would be convenient, but…"

"Do not worry yourself too much, Harry. I am confident you will manage," Dumbledore said reassuringly and looked at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "Your question, however, is a good one. And the answer is, regrettably, yes. When classes start, things will get much more difficult, for you and for Severus. There is also," he continued, locking eyes with Harry, "the matter of Voldemort."

Harry felt the knot in his stomach tighten. How could he have nearly forgotten that Voldemort was still probably wreaking havoc in the outside world?

"There will be much to discuss on this matter at a later time. I would like you, however, to prepare yourself to answer some outstanding questions about your experience with Voldemort while abducted. This time, it will not be for anyone but myself, on behalf of the Order. I will be requesting a memory from you, Harry, and likely from Severus too, if you are both amenable."

Harry did not let himself slip into remembering. He looked at the floor and nodded, scratching his neck. Of course, he thought to himself, of course there is more to discuss. There will always be more. Nobody will ever let these memories die.

"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore's rough voice, just above a whisper, floated to him. "I realize that this is has all been very difficult for you, and if I thought we could get by without it, I would not ask. For now, I am just grateful for all the work you have put into your own health, which is not always easy to do for some." Harry looked up and found him grinning a bit guiltily.

"With regards to this, Harry," he continued, softly, "I will tell you that you are free to wander the castle as you have done, free to mind your own time. At 7PM, however, after dinner in the Great Hall, I would like you to return here with Severus to resume your sleep training."

Harry nodded. Sleeping in Snape's guest room wouldn't be so bad again. The bed was more comfortable than his bed at the Dursley's at any rate. But he remembered Snape's attitude towards him this morning. If he could avoid the man killing him for just one more night, though, he'd be in the clear, he was sure.

"Severus is trying his best too, Harry," Dumbledore said, as though following Harry's train of thought. "Please be especially patient with him and recall that he too has had a very long, difficult summer."

Harry didn't need reminding.

-SSS-

As the Headmaster stood up to leave, Harry had been thinking about dinner in the Great Hall and a question popped to his mind.

"Headmaster, the new DADA teacher, Professor Longmire." Dumbledore, standing, adopted a quizzical expression, but it also had a touch of melancholy and sympathy that Harry did not immediately understand. "Is she going to be…good, this year, do you expect?"

"I certainly hope so, Harry," Dumbledore replied quietly. He clasped his hands before him and regarded the boy. "I realize that in this matter, we have built no grounds for you to trust us, however, I assure you that I will be personally keeping a very close watch on Professor Longmire this year. Not," he added, raising a finger, seeing the protest in Harry's eyes, "because I believe her to be sinister or a threat to you or this school, but simply because of our past history."

"Right," said Harry, his uncertainty not in anyway appeased.

"I believe you have met the professor, already, isn't that so?" Harry nodded. "Do you, at this time, have any concerns you would like to discuss? I assure you, on this topic in particular, I will be weighing your opinion quite heavily."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, meeting his eyes. "No, there isn't anything." Dumbledore looked back for a long moment, and a spike of paranoia made Harry wonder if he weren't actually using Legilimency. Just in case, he forced his mind clear of distractions, focusing on the touch of his nails against his palm as his fists were beginning to clench.

The headmaster looked away, appearing not to notice anything amiss. He smiled lightly, and then dismissed himself.

Harry walked him to the front door and closed it behind him. He stood leaning his back against the door, looking out over the plain sitting room, tiny dining table, and kitchenette. It was silent except for the sounds of a ticking clock somewhere. As he went back to the guest room to gather his things, he sneaked a glance down the hall. The first door past his was the loo, but the second beyond that was Snape's bedroom. The door was firmly shut and Harry could hear nothing within.

In the guest room, Harry piled his pajamas together, made the bed, recovered his toiletries and packed them away in the small grey sack they had been delivered in by a nondescript house elf the previous evening. Then, he sat on his bed, deliberating.

Dumbledore had said he was free to leave and go where he wanted, but manners dictated he advise his host when he left. His host, however, might very probably be in his room sleeping, and Harry imagined that waking him would be disastrous. Leaving a note would be easier. Snape would likely still find fault with it, but by that reasoning, Snape was capable of finding fault with any well-intentioned action on Harry's part. He always had before.

Smirking a bit, Harry transfigured a bit of toilet paper snagged from the bathroom into parchment, his toothbrush into a quill, and a cup of water from the sink into ink. He put extra power into all the spells, but especially the toilet paper, to make sure they stuck.

He looked down at the finished note. It seemed to him like a cop out, a cowardly retreat to prevent him from having to chance another encounter with his professor.

Sighing, he placed it on the dining table and left, closing the door softly behind him.

-SSS-

The day passed slowly. Harry had finished most of his assignments already, had read up to Chapter 3 in all of his texts, and had written again to all his friends. He was aching, once again, to go flying, just for something to do.

By the time lunch came around, he was desperate for some company, and was elated to find Hagrid in the Great Hall. He invited him, a bit shyly, to eat with him at the Gryffindor table, and Hagrid just about glowed rapturously. He sat across from Harry at the end nearest the head table, though he struggled to sit comfortably on the "small" bench. With a furtive glance at the head table (fortunately, most teachers hadn't even arrived yet) Harry drew his wand, hid it in his sleeve, and muttered an 'engorgio'. It expanded 3 times its size, and Harry had to shush Hagrid to keep him from making a scene as he sat down, delighted. Harry had been using magic since he'd been given his new wand, but, given the law about underage magic, Harry had tried to keep it as minimal as possible. If the teachers grew suspicious about the extra thick and wide bench, they said nothing, and Harry exchanged mischievous glances with Hagrid before they tucked in.

It was just as well that Hagrid was sitting with him that afternoon, it turned out, because when the post arrived, Harry wasn't left to absorb the blow of the headlines entirely alone.

"Lucius Malfoy, Presumed Death Eater: Tried and Released on Technicalities!" The Prophet read.

"Codswallop, Harry!" Hagrid grumbled, as he took up the paper. "They can' do nothin' righ' over there no more, looks like." He looked sympathetically down at Harry, who was contemplating his half-eaten egg salad sandwich, chin in hand, elbow planted on the table. "Even an idiot coul' tell that Malfoy's no good," Hagrid continued, then lowered his voice. "The things ye said about 'im up in the Dumbledore's office, well, I don't even like to think about 'em. And Severus 'imself called out this villain. They've gone corrupt, they 'ave." He continued in this vein for some long minutes. Harry said nothing in response, just look bleakly at his empty goblet. He wasn't surprised, exactly. He knew that Malfoy, not to mention Voldemort, had too many influences in the Ministry to face any real danger. But when news of what he'd been accused of reach the general wizarding public, and furthermore that he'd been pardoned, Harry imagined it would be like 5th year all over again, a bunch of people telling him to stop making up lies.

"I must not tell lies," it still said, in fading white lines on the back of his hand. He drummed his fingers against the tabletop, unaware that his reaction to the paper was being watched attentively by four professors. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape had arrived midway through lunch, via the side entrance, just in time for the post. They each exchanged meaningful and concerned glances – well, in Snape's case, 'irate' might be a better description – as they took in the way Harry's shoulders slumped as he read, and the way his head dropped heavily to rest in his palm. The fourth Professor to see this had her own copy of the Prophet in front of her nose, and her narrow grey eyes in her weather-worn face had flitted quietly from Harry to her paper and back again, as she read the summary of the boy's abduction. Her keen gaze did not miss the now enlarged bench.

Lunch went on for another 15 long, quiet minutes, and then Hagrid invited Harry to join him for a stroll through the castle as he was helping Filch replace some old doors on the 6th floor with newly burnished ones. Grateful for the distraction, Harry followed him out of the Hall, and spent the next few hours helping to set the doors in their frames, tighten the bolts, and oil the hinges. It was honest, hard work, and well within his abilities as he'd been in charge with all general maintenance at the Dursley home for most of his young life. The smile worked itself back onto his face as his forehead gleamed with glistening sweat, and he allowed himself, just for a moment, to forget.

By 6 o'clock that evening, he was sitting again at the Gryffindor table, waiting anxiously for food to sparkle into existence. He sat alone, but after the pleasant afternoon, found this was not disagreeable. Hagrid wasn't coming to the Hall for dinner, anyway.

At 6:05, he grabbed hungrily for a chicken leg and some mashed potatoes, his appetite having been restored by the heavy labor and the previous night's Dreamless Sleep.

At 6:15, the headmaster passed through the main doors accompanied by Professor Longmire and Professor McGonagall. He waved at Harry as he passed, then turned to continue his conversation with Longmire, who kept stealing glances at Harry around Dumbledore's elegant, navy blue robes. McGonagall, who was trailing behind the other two, caught Harry's eyes and winked. Harry very clearly recalled how she had rescued him the day before. He grinned back and a warm sensation filled his chest. As he examined it, he discovered it was the same feeling Snape's hand on his shoulder had invoked – the feeling of being watched over. It was not a feeling he had much experience with.

At 6:30, Snape arrived in the Great Hall. He walked up, automatically, along the Slytherin table and did not acknowledge anyone aside from the headmaster, to whom he gave a small nod.

At 6:45, Harry munched pensively on chocolate covered strawberries as he stared up at the high windows. His thoughts had gradually darkened throughout dinner, again, and were now dwelling on what new nightmares would disturb his sleep. No dreamless sleep now, no actual rest. And, likely, no patience from Snape either, who would expect perfection now that Harry had, once, managed to pull himself out of the dream. He pushed the rest of his food away and it disappeared, as expected, leaving him room to lay his head on his folded arms on the tabletop, that old knot of tension growing in his gut. If he didn't have an ulcer or two by the end of the year, he'd be quite surprised.

At 7:00 PM exactly, Snape walked by Harry. He did not say a word, did not look at him, did not gesture. The only sign at all that anything was different was that, this time, he walked nearer the Gryffindor table, instead of the Slytherin. Harry stood up, and scrambled after him, sliding through the doors he'd thrown wide.

They walked in silence. Snape's pace, which the previous night had left Harry completely winded, now appeared to have doubled in speed, although his legs curiously didn't seem to be expending any extra effort to do so. Harry fought to keep up with the longer stride, while at the same time trying to keep his breathing relatively stable and quiet, so as not to hint how much effort it was.

It occurred to Harry, as they passed Snape's office, that if he lost track of Snape, he'd never be able to find his chambers in the labyrinth of the dungeons and, even if he did, had no idea how to open the door once he got there. He started paying more attention to the turns now, trying to memorize them. Right, down 2 intersections, left, quick right…

They stopped before the blank space of wall. Harry looked around the hallway, trying to memorize what it looked like as Snape worked the door. He looked up just as the stone was breaking open into the passageway, and Harry noticed there was a sizable gap in the stonework just as it met the ceiling. He rushed through the door before it closed but filed that information away for later.

Snape disappeared into his room without a word, but Harry lingered in the sitting room.

It was still early, 7:15ish, and Snape probably wouldn't make him try to fall asleep quite yet. He wandered over to the bookshelf, keeping himself at a respectable distance – wouldn't want to upset Snape by disturbing the dust, after all – and tried to read the spines.

"Grimsveld Potioneers, 2nd edition," he mumbled, "Poison pastries, Food to Die For, 5th edition." Harry sneaked a glance at the hallway, looking mildly aghast wondering whose food Snape may have considered poisoning. He made a mental note to never have food from this kitchen.

There were a couple books in Latin, German, and Italian, which he couldn't read, and a couple books which looked like they might have been right at home in the restricted section of the library. Lord Pelton's Guide to the Dark Arts: Potions Edition, caught Harry's eye. Automatically he reached for it.

"Touch that, Potter, and you may come to regret the loss of that finger."

Harry snatched back his hand and turned abruptly to find Snape standing just at the entrance to the hallway, eyes watching Harry's every movement.

"Sorry, sir."

"Come," Snape demanded, his voice still smooth, emotionless, and unforgiving. Harry followed him back into the guest room.

"Sit," Snape said, gesturing at the bed. Harry, using slow, deliberate movements, did so, removing his shoes before sitting cross-legged on the bed.

"Lean against the wall behind you," Snape instructed, drawing the chair over. He sat in it, still in his usual draping black teaching robes which he had to sweep dramatically out of the way to sit down. Harry sat back against the wall, still cross-legged, back now straight, secretly grateful that this increased the distance between himself and the Potions Master.

"Now, Potter," Snape began, launching into lecture mode. "You will recall that the object of these 'lessons' is to teach you how to both regain consciousness of your own volition when plagued by a memory dream, and also to help you to reduce your propensity for nightmares. Last night was focused on the former, but today will focus primarily on the latter."

"I thought, Professor," Harry interrupted, "you said that my dreams couldn't be stopped unless I, I dunno, dealt with them by talking about my feelings or something."

Snape glared at him for a moment, and then lifted his gaze past Harry's shoulder.

"Yes, Potter," he ground out, with forced patience, "I did say something to that effect. You will not be able to eliminate these particular dreams just with the exercises we are going to do here, but you will be able to reduce their impact on your sleep, and possibly the frequency with which they come every night. Assuming, of course, you are able to follow my instructions," he finished snidely.

"Yes sir."

"Now, sit still," Snape said. Harry did, and waited, heart pumping a bit, but the silence stretched, and Snape did nothing but stare at him.

"Wha-"

"Silence," Snape interrupted. "Be still."

Oh, Harry thought, looking at Snape's roving eyes, this is the exercise. He allowed himself to relax against the wall behind him, feeling the muscles there complain a bit. A section of his spine felt off, so he twisted in his seat until he heard the dull crack of it realigning. He breathed, eyes still open but looking at the edge of his bed, unseeing, as he focused on raising his awareness of his body. He imagined Snape was wanting to lead him into a meditative trance, or something, so he focused on his breathing. Inhale, hold, exhale. Inhale, hold, exhale. He felt himself relax further. His eyes drifted upwards and found Snape's automatically.

Suddenly, he was viewing images from his nightmares. Zombie-Sirius, Voldemort. Hagrid burning. Dead uncle.

The Legilimency assault had been soundless, sneaky, and uncharacteristically gentle. He watched helplessly as Snape sorted through his memories. Then, as the fire brands began to wrap around Dream Harry, he remembered he was not, in fact, totally helpless.

It took effort and precious time, but even as Snape went back and re-examined his most recent memories, Harry pushed them aside and filled his head with just one, allowing it to consume him. The warm glow in his heart that followed Snape's lingering hand on his shoulder. He focused on it entirely – the touch, the feelings it brought, the quiet of peace.

He felt Snape withdraw, but he remained consumed by the memory a moment longer. His eyes had drifted closed when Snape had broken away, and Harry appreciated the darkness, allowed it to add to the feeling of peace that was running through his veins, forcing his muscles to relax.

Finally, reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

Snape was staring at him with a dumbfounded look on his face, the first of its kind Harry had ever seen.

"You should have asked, first, sir," Harry commented, his voice a little rough. Snape eyed him a moment longer and then stood up to pace the room in silence. Three times across the small, dark space. Then he turned again to Harry, this time with a calculating expression.

"That was, I presume, what you used to escape your dream last night?" He asked. "The dream right before I gave you the Dreamless Potion?"

Harry nodded through a blush.

"Hmm."

Harry looked down and brought his knees up to his chest instead, his toes tingling as the blood rushed back into them, and he wrapped his arms around his legs. He had not wanted Snape to see that memory. He didn't even want to acknowledge its existence. But he'd had no choice. Now, he was just waiting for Snape to ridicule him for it.

He heard the wooden chair scrape and curiosity drove him to look. Snape had reseated himself, but was leaning his head on one palm again, his fingers covering most of the lower half of his face. He looked like he was wrestling with something.

Harry said nothing, did not know what he even should say and preferred the silence anyway.

Finally, Snape straightened and his features reschooled themselves into something a bit less complex.

"I believe," he started, not looking directly at Harry, "I may owe you an apology." Harry's jaw dropped a little, but it was hidden from view by his knees. "I thought a little foray into your mind would be a good object lesson to remind you what you are meant to be defending against, and also as an introduction to the kind of Occlumency I would be teaching you. I did not anticipate that you would be prepared with a memory to block me out, given that that," he emphasized, raising his eyebrow, "had not even been what I instructed you to do last night."

"I know," Harry responded, unfolding a little but still looking down, trying to hide the blush in his cheeks. "I tried to find something real to ride to the surface, like you said, but I couldn't. So, I just, I dunno, refocused on something else. It worked, anyway." He chanced a look at Snape and found the man was still looking at him as though he were a puzzle to be solved instead of a boy he hated.

"That it did," Snape confirmed quietly. He sat back and crossed his arms. "Potter, I wonder if you realize that what you just did, in essence, was Occlude me."

"What?" Harry asked. Snape nodded, and adopted a wry look on his face.

"All last year, I taught a boy whom I felt was utterly incapable on focusing on one thing, incapable of managing his emotions, incapable of even summoning the will to do so," Snape airily ranted, "But here you sit, curled in on yourself like a puppy whose been kicked all his life, perfectly capable of blocking mental attacks. What, I ask myself, has changed between then and now? Your motivation, surely, but what else? That is not a rhetorical question."

Harry glowered at his tone for a moment, then considered how to answer.

"Well, being tortured within an inch of my life for starters, I suppose," he said out loud.

"And how exactly would that help your ability to occlude, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, and for once the question didn't seem sarcastic.

Harry scratched the back of his neck. As he brought his hand down, he caught sight of the little white lines where the fresh crescent moons had been hurriedly healed on his palm. He looked at them and remembered the pain and suffering he had endured in Malfoy Manor, pain that had even followed him into Hogwarts, into his dorm, into his bed, torturing him quietly every night so that he mutilated his own flesh while asleep.

"I did it before," he said quietly, still looking at his palm. "Pushed the world out with a memory." He lowered his hand and straightened a little, looking at Snape, who was listening attentively.

"It hurt so badly, everything they did, and it never seemed like it was going to stop." His arms, which had been loosely hugging his legs, slid instead to wrap around his torso as he recalled all the pain, the hunger, the hopelessness.

"I remember," he continued, a little raggedly, "thinking about the fire and what had set it off, back at the Dursley's." He cracked a sad smile, glanced at Snape and then away. "Dudley, my cousin, is an idiot. He'd been trying to cook bacon while his parents were away that night. When I smelled the smoke, I went downstairs to the kitchen. He was gone, but there was this open package of bacon just lying on the countertop." He passed a hand distractedly through his hair.

"I remember, after the first couple crucios and everything else, I kept thinking that word, kept thinking of that stupid bag of bacon sitting on that counter. It consumed my thoughts, blocked everything else out for minutes, even hours at a time. I thought I was going mad, but, I mean, maybe I was. I jumped in front of a Killing Curse not long after that," he finished with a touch of dark, dry humor.

He looked up.

"Bacon," Snape said.

"Bacon," Harry confirmed.

The word seemed to drift through the air, slowly penetrating Harry's brain. He covered his face with his hands and started to laugh, silently, so his shoulders shook with the effort, his head ducked to hide the smile. But the laugh turned into a sob rather quickly, and the tears thickened to cascade down his face, spilling out of his hands, speckling the white blanket beneath him. For the first time since he returned, he allowed himself to cry openly at the injustice of it all. He'd cried tears for Sirius, for his friends at the Ministry, for his parents. This time he was crying for himself, and it felt both awful and wonderful.

Suddenly, he felt the now familiar wave of cool wash over him of a calming spell, and he felt himself relax against his will. Exhaustion followed, and he felt himself unable to open his eyes. He strayed in and out of the darkness of unconsciousness without realizing it, just as another wave of calm surrounded him, slowing his heart and calming his breathing. Distantly, he felt hands on his arms and shoulders, coaxing him to lie down. He obeyed their gentle pressure, falling onto the pillow gratefully, rubbing clumsily at his eyes, which had lost his glasses at some point. Another wave descended, and he breathed in the chill air, and then disappeared into the dark.

-SSS-

He was dreaming, he realized. He knew it was a dream, but he pretended to himself that it wasn't. He was looking out over Hogwarts Castle from the Astronomy Tower, except, instead of the grounds, the castle was surrounded by fog. Everywhere he looked, he saw white billowing fog, more like smoke. As he watched, some bits parted and he could see creatures of all sorts in it - acromantulas, hippogryffs, thestrals, dogs, cats, unicorns, vampires, werewolves, grindylows, rats, bowtruckles, seated giants. The merpeople of the Black Lake rose up out of the water and the fog parted around them as they reached out webbed fingers to touch the owls which flew past just above the surface.

A cool wind started in the east and whipped around him, running chilly tendrils through his hair. Then it blew down onto the grounds and ushered off the smokey fog, revealing the grassy floor. Looking up at him from the lawn were his parents. He gripped the wall of the Tower and watched them wave to him. Then they turned, holding hands, to greet a unicorn. He cast his eyes over the rest of the grounds and found Hermione and Ron, Ginny and Luna, Neville, Seamus, and Dean, Lupin and Tonks, Hagrid and Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the rest of the Weasleys scattered about. He smiled and felt light in his heart because he could see that they were happy.

Movement on the ground caught his attention. On the coast of the lake, Snape was standing with two adult thestrals and a foal thestral between them, hooves in the mud. Snape patted them all, and then, as though feeling Harry's eyes on him, looked up. Harry met his eyes and was startled to find that he was smiling. Harry waved, and felt the light in his chest grow.

He opened his eyes.

A single candle was lit and dancing on the desk, casting wavering shadows, and Harry's eyes were still blurry as they were without glasses but, even so, he found Snape's eyes glinting in the darkness.

"Go back to sleep, Potter," Snape said quietly. Harry, still thinking of the smiling Snape patting the thestral foal, twitch the corner of his lips in his own smile before allowing his eyes to drift closed.

-SSS-

Author's Note: Anyone else having trouble imagining an openly smiling Snape? Hahaha. Only in dreams.