Chapter 14

On Friday, Hermione looked up with surprise when Harry reached around her and dropped a slip of spare parchment on the page she was reading in the library.

Meet me at RR after dinner tonight. Bring Ginny and Ron, it said. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but Harry was already retreating out of the library. He turned around once, walking backwards, shrugged, and then continued on. He had no time for questions. He had to find Luna.

At 7:30 that evening, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna each got up from their respective places and exited the Great Hall, staggering their exits so as not to arouse suspicion. Harry had already dismissed himself from the Gryffindor table under the guise of having an uneasy stomach and refused to meet his friends' eyes as he went, leaving their imaginations to run wild.

It was with some trepidation, then, that they paced before the empty 7th floor hallway and summoned the door to the Room of Requirements.

"Interesting choice of door," Ron muttered. They stood before a massive, ancient mahogany door, expertly carved and glossed, with a beautiful ironwork door knock and doorknob. Hermione turned it and they walked into a grand library with towering bookshelves, about 20 feet tall, complete with moving step ladders. On the right was a long and beautiful writing desk, seemingly recently burnished. And on the left was a crackling fireplace, two overfilled crimson couches, two fluffy chairs of the same pattern, and a coffee table with carved paws for legs. Harry stopped his pacing and blushed a little as he scratched the back of his head.

"I guess I was thinking a bit about all the homework I still have to get done," he said apologetically.

"Oh Harry," Hermione said, practically in raptures. "It's beautiful. I wonder where the room gets all the books and –"

"Well, we've lost Hermione," Ron said through a grin.

"Hello Harry," Luna greeted, standing in the middle of the room and looking around, seeming to trace things with her eyes that no one else could see. She had a pleasant smile on her face.

"Luna," Harry returned, smiling lightly as well. He found Ginny standing in the gloom and she was evidently the only one of the four to remember that they were distressed. She came up quietly, scanning his face.

"Hi Ginny," he said, quietly.

"Hi Harry," she said back. "We missed you."

"I know." He accepted a hug and it reminded him how much he loved the scent of her hair and the feel of her in his arms. He forced himself to let go after only a brief moment and was grateful for the dim lighting as it hid his slight blush as he remembered his immersion dream from a few weeks back. He looked out over the rest of his friends and sighed. "Thanks for coming guys."

"What's this about, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry gestured at the couches and indicated they should sit.

"We don't have that much time and I have a lot to tell you," he said. "Starting, I think, with an apology."

"Look, Harry," Ginny interrupted, "we know you're stressed. We're sorry if we've been – "

"No, please, I need to get through this," Harry cut her off. He took his glasses off and rubbed at his face, and then began an explanation of what had occurred over the summer with Snape, the full explanation. Only a dark look at Ron stopped him from expressing his disgust at the thought of sleeping in Snape's general vicinity. Harry sighed and continued, explaining his nightmares had begun again when he'd had the meeting with Dumbledore.

"I can't tell you what he told me. Yet. Trust me, you don't even want to know. It's kind of…disturbing," he said, grimacing and shying away from the memory.

"But what's going to happen now, Harry?" Ginny asked. "Can't you…well, I mean, you can tell us what happened in Malfoy Manor, right? Wouldn't that be easier?"

Harry sighed and dropped his head into his hands, missing the confused and nervous looks exchanged by his friends.

"You're right, it would be easier," Harry said. He looked up his face pained as he regarded the four. "But I just…can't. I can't even explain why I can't. The words just won't come out. It's like…"

"It's like the whole world will shatter around you if you do, like you'll expose a part of yourself that's private and sensitive and it might make you die a little inside." Harry looked up, dumbfounded, at Luna. The girl had been listening very quietly throughout Harry's explanations until that moment.

"How on earth could you know that, Luna?" Harry whispered. She adopted a ruminating expression, looking up at the bookshelves behind Harry.

"It's a bit how I felt when my mother died," she offered. "It's a fairly difficult to explain to someone who hasn't suffered what you did, I suppose, because the things you are feeling are so strong, they are hard to put into words. Even when you know a great many words, they don't ever seem to be quite right."

"And when you're hurting," Ginny input quietly, "the most important thing in the world for you is to feel like you are being really understood." She offered Harry a sympathetic, but pained smile, which she shared with Luna.

"You're very lucky, Harry," Luna continued, "to have Professor Snape now."

"What? Why?" Harry asked, taken aback.

"Professor Snape," Luna said, eyes wide and wearing an odd smile. "I've always thought him to be a very interesting man who could see things in people without them needing to use words. Sometimes, I think he looks for the wrong things, but if you show him the right ones…".

"Oh."

-SSS-

"I spoke to my friends yesterday," Harry said on Saturday morning. He was sitting across from Snape in his dining room, a cup of tea before each of them. Snape folded down his newspaper to look at Harry who was fiddling nervously with his mug.

"Were they able to impart any meaningful words of wisdom?"

"Luna did." Snape raised an eyebrow and set down the paper entirely.

"You invited Miss Lovegood?"

"Well, yeah, sir," Harry said, shrugging and leaning back in his chair. He had to resist the strong urge to rub at his eyes which seemed to be stinging perpetually now. "She's a good friend and she's smart. She looks at the world differently."

"Indeed," Snape said pensively, crossing his arms. "Her unconventional beliefs propagated by her father and her abominable behavior at the end of last year notwithstanding, Miss Lovegood has a remarkably high grasp of reason and intellect, tempered by humility and innocence, which sets her apart from other Ravenclaws, and even your Miss Granger. You say she imparted you with some good advice?"

Harry, who had been staring with his mouth slightly ajar, having never known Snape to praise anyone other than his Slytherins, shook his head a little to clear it.

"Yeah…but I don't like it. I'm not sure you will either," he said with a grimace.

"Try me."

Harry looked around the empty room to stall. His brain was a little foggier than usual and there was a headache pulsing behind his left eye that he was trying desperately to ignore, likely owing to his complete lack of sleep the night before. He'd stayed in the hospital wing as part of Dumbledore's contrived excuse as to why he'd be disappearing for the whole weekend – down with dragonpox – and Harry had been nervous about falling asleep in earshot of Pomfrey.

"Potter," Snape growled in warning. Harry turned back but looked down at his mug.

"She said, basically, that you should use Legilimency on me, sir. She said it might help me feel…" He trailed off, unwilling to complete the sentence.

"Perceptive girl," Snape said, almost to himself. Harry looked up and caught a smirk, but there wasn't any malice in Snape's eyes. "It may interest you to know, Potter, that this is more or less along my same lines of thinking." Harry looked away again and blinked furiously at the traitor tears that were gathering in his eyes.

Snape stood up and beckoned Harry follow him to the living room with a wave of his hand. Harry forced himself to follow and sunk deeply into what was quickly becoming his regular spot on the couch. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he kneaded his eyes with his palms and then rubbed gently at his temples.

"You have a headache," Snape's voice said, from his usual leather chair.

"Didn't sleep last night," Harry muttered. His eyes were half closed and he missed Snape frustrated eyeroll. The man summoned a vial of green potion from the kitchen. He placed it on the table before Harry with a loud thunk.

"I have discussed this weekend with the headmaster, Potter," Snape started, as Harry downed the vial. "We have come to the conclusion that the best way to tackle this is by approaching from two or three different avenues at once. We have limited time, not just because of practical considerations, but because your health is hanging by a thread. This is your last chance, so I suggest you take it seriously."

"Of course I will, sir," Harry retorted. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"And don't think, Potter," Snape continued with a snarl, "that I will be especially tolerant of disrespect, either. I shouldn't have to remind you that you are imposing on my quarters and on my time."

"If you don't want me to be here, sir," Harry ground back, "then I'll just leave. I'll find another way. I always do." He stood up to storm out but Snape was much quicker and had him by the shoulders again in a flash.

"You idiotic boy," Snape hissed, and Harry flinched back from his fury. "You are incapable of compromising, Potter, incapable of seeing anything besides what is directly before you. What you do not see is that you are NOT invincible." Snape released one shoulder and moved his hand under Harry's chin instead, forcing him to look up. "What are you feeling, Potter? Right now. Force it into words."

"Rage, sir," Harry spat back in his face, "Frustration. Bloody pissed off." He paused, and then continued at a slightly lower tone. "Exhausted." He tore himself away from Snape's grasp all together, but did not move away, just rubbed angrily at his face. "Shakey. Desperate. Alone…" He continued quieter still, wrapping his arms loosely around himself. She was right, he thought distantly. Luna was right. Words aren't enough.

"Sit down."

Harry sat. Snape moved around the coffee table and sat beside him on the couch as Harry traced him through lidded eyes.

"I'm going to use Legilimency on you," Snape said levelly, and Harry nodded once, resigned, the fire gone out of him. "This will, however, be different from last year. This time I don't want you to try to fight me, but nor do I want you to give me free reign of your mind. I want you to control the images I am shown. Pick a memory or a dream and focus on it. Just one. Like how you occlude. That is the memory I want to see."

"Can't we just use a pensieve?" Harry asked, tiredly.

"The effect would not be the same," Snape said, shaking his head slightly, "Legilimens do not just witness memories, they also feel, at least in part, some of the emotional impact of them. As Miss Lovegood indicated, the point is to communicate without words your complex responses to these events, not just to expose them to a third party." Snape paused, grimaced a bit, and then looked back at Harry. "Additionally, I think it would be best if we use this time to establish a level of trust between us."

"I have to just trust," Harry asked dubiously, "that you are going to stop at the one memory and not go rooting through my brain for other things?"

"Is that so impossible to consider?" Snape challenged.

Harry shrugged, frowning.

"I would remind you, Potter, that you are not dealing with one of your hot-headed Gryffindor friends or even the headmaster, who rarely lays all his plans out on the table for others," Snape said slowly. "You are speaking with a Slytherin and when you deal with a Slytherin, you must learn to think as they do. Ask yourself, Potter, what do I have to gain by getting you expelled for rule breaking?"

Harry considered the question. "Well, I mean, you hate me," he ventured bluntly, not looking at the man. "But, when it comes to the war, you don't usually put your own personal sentiments as priority, I guess, or you wouldn't have been a very successful spy."

"Go on," Snape said, evenly.

"Hogwarts is the safest place for me, so getting me expelled would be entirely counter-productive for the war efforts. I mean you could give me detention, I guess, but that's nothing new." He turned to look again at Snape, who appeared to be waiting for him to work it out with unusual patience. "You really just want to help me, don't you?" He couldn't keep the slightly desperate undertone of ragged hope from his voice.

"Potter, there are many people in just this castle who are desperate to help you," Snape responded, still evenly. "I concede, I am one. Unlike them, however, I also actually have the means of doing so, but only if you will let me. Recall that mental health is a two-way street. You must give as much as you are given."

"Alright," Harry said finally. "And thanks."

"You may thank me when we have succeeded," Snape returned, curtly. "Close your eyes and summon a memory. Start with a menial one, if you want, for practice." Snape shifted over to sit on the coffee table before Harry and waited. Harry closed his eyes and scrolled through his past. He was still a bit woozy from exhaustion, so holding tight to just one would be a bit difficult. He wished he was outside instead of the dungeon. The fresh air and breezes tended to calm him and help him think.

His eyes fluttered open.

"Got one."

"Good. Now just think about it and relax. The difficult part is mine, not yours." Harry nodded and pinned himself on the memory, but there was still a tense knot in his stomach from anxiety. Relax, he chanted to himself, forced in a calming breath and, when he felt ready, looked up directly into Snape's black eyes.

The invasion was swift but not deadly. Harry simply found himself engulfed in the memory of standing on the tip of the Astronomy Tower the day he'd run from Dumbledore's office. He'd stood there for over an hour, enjoying the feel of the buffeting breezes as they flowed through his clothes and hair. Distantly, he was aware he was still on Snape's couch, and that Snape was there too, watching through him, but it did not take away from the majesty of the grounds splayed before him or the peace.

Then, suddenly, he was remembering a different memory, this one of a dream. Without intention, he dragged Snape into the memory of standing on that same Tower, looking down at all his friends and the creatures of Hogwarts, shrouded in white, billowing fog. He found Dream-Snape down there again, petting the thestrals and then turning around with a smile Harry had never actually seen on the man himself.

Snape broke the connection. Harry closed his eyes and collapsed backwards, heavily leaning against the back cushions of the couch. He focused on breathing and replanting himself in the present moment.

"Sorry," he muttered out loud, without opening his eyes.

"I take it the second memory was from a dream?"

"Yeah, sorry," Harry repeated, and then opened his eyes to look at the ceiling. "It was hard to stick to just one, I guess. Thinking is hard when you're sleep deprived." He looked over at Snape, who looked part disturbed and part thoughtful.

"What happens now?"

"Now you will take a nap," Snape said, returning to his usual neutral expression.

"A nap?"

"Lie down on the couch, Potter. Occlude your mind, focus on an immersive memory or feeling, and relax. Your body is crying out for sleep. Listen to it."

"But won't I just wake up with another nightmare?"

"Most likely," Snape agreed. "Escape it, as before, if you can. But if you cannot, I will rouse you. This time, however, if you have a nightmare, as soon as you open your eyes, I'm going to use Legilimency you again and re-examine it with you."

Harry blinked at him. "Wait what? Won't that mean I'm going through the same nightmare twice, back-to-back? That sounds awful."

"We're not going for pleasant, Potter. We're going for effective. To face these nightmares, you need to feel as though you are understood, as though someone can empathize. Once I've gone through it with you, I will be able to do so. That should, in theory, calm your mind and help you in the long run, as uncomfortable as it will be in the moment."

Harry winced. He looked up at Snape, in his usual black attire, minus the robe which was hanging on a hook by the door. He glanced over Snape's pale features and found himself remembering what he looked like in the hospital wing. And then, even further back, what he looked like as Harry launched himself through the air towards him, into the path of the Killing Curse. He'd only had a split second before his life was destroyed in the horrible green light, but in that second, he'd glimpsed Snape's broken and bloodied face, his robes darkened in places where other wounds were seeping, his eyes sunken into his skull with pain, hunger, and fatigue at least as great as Harry's had been.

"Are you…" he hesitated, trying to figure out the right words, if any existed at all, "Are you fully recovered, sir, yourself? From what happened in Malfoy Manor?"

Silence.

"I only ask because sometimes," Harry continued in a rush, feeling the glare on his bowed head, "Sometimes, I dream about that night, just before I died. I couldn't see you very well, really, because I'd lost my glasses way before that point, but in my dreams I can, and you look…well, not great. I just…I just wanted to warn you in case I have one of those."

"I'm touched, Potter," Snape said a bit snidely, but it lacked its bite. Harry glanced up and found Snape rubbing at his hair. "I have no doubt most of your nightmares will be disturbing for the both of us, but trust that I'm fully prepared to deal with such things. Reluctant as I am to ever quote the headmaster, he was correct when he told you some weeks ago that I know this path very well. I have trod it a long while. I advise you to focus on finding peace for yourself."

Harry nodded, clamping his mouth shut instinctively on the question that had popped to his lips, about if Snape still had nightmares. That was not a jar he wanted to open quite yet.

"Lie down," Snape repeated. He removed himself to his favorite wing backed chair and summoned a book from his bookshelf – one of the Latin ones, Harry noticed – as Harry lay down, kicking his shoes off. "Focus on your breathing and your immersive memory. Relax."

Harry closed his eyes and attempted to do so. He flicked through memories, trying to find one that would suit. After a long, fruitless search, he opened an eye and glanced at Snape. Might as well go with a classic, he thought to himself, and decided to use the same memory he'd used before in these very rooms - Snape's hand on his shoulder. It had spoken of security on that night, what seemed so long ago, and with Snape sitting there now, keeping watch over his sleep, ready to pull him out if it became overwhelming, that feeling of security was intensified.

Finally, he relaxed.

Familiar images swirled in and out of focus in his mind as he tried to sleep, recalling casual anxieties – McGonagall scolding him for forgetting his homework, Binns actually pacing between desks to make sure students were paying attention, Ron accidentally swallowing a love potion that made him swoon over Neville, Ginny angry at him for him forgetting her birthday – but the real nightmares were slow in coming. He fell into the darkness of unconsciousness gratefully, for the first time in days.

He was abruptly awoken not by a nightmare but by a very real hand clamped over his mouth. His eyes shot open, and he found Snape leaning very close to him, a finger to his lips. Harry, heart pounding and highly disoriented, sealed his mouth nonetheless and didn't utter a sound when Snape pulled his hand away. A knock sounded at the door, three heavy ones in a row, and realization finally dawned in Harry's mind. Snape pointed at the guest bedroom, having already cleared the table and vanished his shoes somewhere. Harry walked over quickly and closed the door behind himself. Without a second's hesitation or even a twinge of shame, he pressed his ear to the door.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said. It didn't sound like an invitation, but neither did it sound like a surprise.

"Sorry to disturb you, Professor," Draco Malfoy responded. "I wondered if I could have a word."

"I'm not overly fond of social calls, Mr. Malfoy, especially at the weekend. What is the topic in question?"

"The war, sir," Malfoy responded, very quietly.

"You'll have to be more specific."

"The school, then. Hogwarts. You may have deceived everyone about the Dark Lord, but I know for a fact that you care about this school, and at least some of the students in it."

"You do, do you?"

"May I come in, sir?"

Hesitation. Harry pressed his head harder against the door, enough to cause his skull to protest.

"I suppose you had better. I expect you to be brief."

The shuffling of robes and scratching of wooden legs against the stone floor. They must have sat at the dining table instead of the couch. Harry was secretly grateful for that. He'd only been sleeping on that couch a moment ago, after all.

"Now what's this about, Draco?" Harry's eyes narrowed at the use of Malfoy's given name.

"Were you…Did you really betray the Dark Lord because you wanted to or because Dumbledore forced you, sir?"

"The subject of my loyalties is not up for discussion, Draco. I will say, however, that you will soon learn, if you haven't already, that the complexity behind human motivation causes it to defy every category we may be tempted to place it under. The Dark Lord sees in white and black, Mr. Malfoy, friend or foe. I do not. And I rather suspect you don't either. But back to the matter at hand. What would you like to discuss regarding the school?"

"The war is getting more real, sir, every day," Malfoy started again, evidently reluctant to approach the topic head on. His voice lowered and Harry strained to hear. "The attacks are happening more frequently, and my father tells me the climax is just around the corner…You've always told us that you regard your House with the highest respect and that you would do all within your power to protect us…them. You betrayed the Dark Lord, but I wanted to know…to see if…"

"You wanted to see if, when the storm descends, I will still stand by the House of Slytherin and defend your classmates," Snape finished for him. He paused, and when he continued, he spoke slowly and clearly. "Draco, I do not know how many steps down this path you have taken, nor do I wish to be told. You are one year shy of coming of age and are fully capable at this time of making your own choices. I would, however, remind you that this is not a game. These are not chess pieces being played between two grand masters for honor and glory. We are discussing the lives of witches, wizards, and children, people who will be thrown down and slaughtered on both sides, people whom you and I both know by name. I do not know how you will react to seeing them thrown down, but I will do as I have always done and work to defend not just your Housemates, but every student on this campus to whom it has been a haven."

"But Dumbledore can't win, Professor," Draco scoffed, scraping the legs of the chair again as he stood. "Potter won't win. Even if you kill the Dark Lord, he will come back eventually. He did it before, and he can do it again. There's no point in fighting him. He has already won."

"There is every point, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, also standing. "This is why war is the responsibility of men, not boys. The wisdom of years reminds us that there will always be another Dark Lord, there will always be another battle to prepare for, another tyrant trying to take over the world. It has been so since the beginning of time. But years also teach us that there will also always be people willing to fight and die to overthrow them. Sometimes it takes years, sometimes decades, but there is always a fight to be had." Snape paused in his tirade for a moment. In a lower, more intense voice he continued. "We are Slytherins, Mr. Malfoy. So is the Dark Lord. So are your parents. We each have the ability and willpower to seek after that which we consider to be of most value. But we each also get to choose what we consider to be valuable. If you are determined to stand by his side, then so be it, but I advise you to do so from a position of pride and ambition, seeking to acquire what you consider to be of value, not from a place of fear. That is the difference between a Slytherin and a coward."

Silence. Harry imagined Draco was quietly fuming, trying to come up with a retort. But the voice that eventually answered was level.

"Thank you for your time," Malfoy said, paused, and then, "Good luck, Severus."

"Likewise, Draco."

The door snapped shut.

Harry sank back against the door, his heart beating rapidly, his mind racing just as quickly. He dwelt on Malfoy's words only for a moment – he'd already known Draco was involved in the wrong side of the war and knew he'd probably be up to something this year. Snape's words, however, turned over and over in his mind. He realized that he'd never actually stopped to consider what it meant to be a Slytherin, or why anyone would even want to be one unless they had malicious intent. But, hearing Snape speak, he realized that he might have fallen in the same rut as Draco, seeing the world in black and white, good and bad. In the end, Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs were each just seeking after what they considered to be most valuable, and just did so using different skill sets. What was Snape seeking after? He asked himself. He shook his head slowly. Not a clue.

He stood up, still leaning against the door, and listened again. It was silent out in the hall, and Harry imagine Snape wanted a moment to himself. He removed himself to the bed, where he sat cross legged, still in his socks, against the back wall. He felt faintly less groggy than usual. He didn't see a clock nearby so he wasn't actually sure how long he'd slept, but it must have been at least an hour or two. He wrapped his arms around his middle, and fingered the bumps still present from the chain scar which he could feel through his clothes. The cream Snape had given him to reduce it had helped with the redness, but it was still rather visible, and it had done nothing for the uneven skin.

He stood and conjured another mirror, stripping off his tee-shirt and brightening the lamp. He sighed as he peered at himself, taking in his ever-messy hair, still tired eyes complete with dark purple half circles beneath them, his pale skin, the long, wicked scar cutting across his chest. Then he stepped closer, drawing his wand and lighting the tip. His hand started shaking a bit, but he forced himself to look. Just where his clavicle met his right shoulder, in the bright white light of the Lumos, he could see a small thin line approximately the width of a small dagger. He traced it with trembling fingers.

A knock sounded on the door, quick and sharp.

"Enter," Harry called, but did not move from before the mirror. His eyes found the rest of them, one by one.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing, Potter?" Snape said, coming into the room. He squinted against the bright light of the lumos which stood out against the yellow light of the lantern, also burning brightly. He came up behind him and Harry slid his eyes up to meet Snape's in the mirror.

"Can you borrow a pensieve, Professor?" He heard himself ask. Snape stared down at him.

"I told you, a pensieve would not serve our purposes." Harry turned around to regard him and noted the way Snape's eyes couldn't help but trace the massive chain burn for a moment, before returning to meet Harry's gaze.

"There's something I want to show you, Professor," Harry heard himself say again, all the while his heart threatened to pound through his chest as panic filled him. "I need you to see something, but I don't want to see it with you."

Snape regarded the boy further for a long moment. Harry turned his back on him and returned to look at himself in the mirror, his fingers finding a new white line of the same length, just under his right ribcage. Snape watched him trace it, his brows lowering, and then he swept out of the room with a muttered, "wait a moment."

After a couple of minutes, Harry seemed to come back to himself, shaking his head as though to clear it. He turned and pulled his shirt back on, turned off the lamp, and went back out into the sitting room. Snape wasn't there. Harry sat himself in his usual spot on the couch and occluded his mind, taking himself back up to the Astronomy Tower, as he waited with his eyes closed.

The fireplace flared green and Snape stepped over the hearth. Harry didn't open his eyes, but he was clearly not asleep as his head was up and his back was straight, legs crossed on the couch, as though meditating. The large stone pensieve thunked on the coffee table. Harry opened his eyes and found Snape looking at him intensely. Are you sure? he asked himself. Are you sure it's Snape you want to show this to? The man's words to Malfoy, and also earlier to himself about trust, drifted back through his mind, however, and reminded him that, whatever this man thought of him personally, he knew far more about war than Harry possibly could, knew the risks, knew the tragedies, and knew how to handle them. And with Malfoy's haunting words about the climax approaching, Harry realized he really, desperately needed to deal with this now.

"Can you help me pull out a memory?" Harry asked quietly. Snape sighed and moved over to the couch again. Harry didn't flinch when he drew his wand, nor did he take his eyes off of it.

"Recall the memory you wish me to see, bring it to the forefront of your mind and I will do the rest," Snape said, wand at Harry's temple. Harry closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and remembered. He felt the wand pull away from his temple and something icy there too, but he didn't open his eyes until he felt Snape shift in his seat to deposit it into the dish. Harry bit his lip and banished the tears building in his eyes through sheer force of will.

Snape was watching him, the memory glowing blue and swirling in the pensieve.

"What is it I am going to see?" he asked slowly.

"Something that happened in Malfoy Manor that I never told anyone. It's…not pretty. And I need you to promise to not show anyone else." Harry met those eyes, deep dark holes normally either brimming with anger or entirely devoid of all emotion. Now they held caution and a touch of concern. Snape nodded slowly and turned to the penseive. He leaned in and was drawn into the vortex. Harry watched him, his heart pounding again, and then leaned back and returned to his mental Astronomy Tower to wait.

15 minutes later, Snape re-emerged and Harry's eyes shot open. Snape didn't look at him for a long time, staring straight ahead at the stone fireplace, hair falling haphazardly around his face. Harry said nothing to draw him out and just watched with bated breath.

Suddenly, Snape drew himself up off the couch, still not looking at Harry, and moved to the kitchen where a long narrow grey cabinet stuck out of the wall. Harry had assumed it was full of cooking spices, but when Snape opened it, cutting through the wards with swift, sharp wand motions, hundreds of gleaming vials were lining the 6 shelves. He drew one out and pocketed another, before setting about making two cups of tea. Harry watched curiously from the couch as he opened the first vial and poured it into his cup with the tea. He conjured a tray and brought over both cups, setting them beside the pensieve, and set the other vial beside Harry's cup.

It was the familiar blue calming drought.

When Snape brought his cup to his lips, it shook in his hand, but with rage or something else, Harry didn't know. He picked up his own cup, and drank from it, the deep woodsy flavor of the unfamiliar tea filling his head with calming images of forests where one could run for days and never meet a single person. He sat back and smiled lightly.

"Why, Harry, did you not bring up this memory while recounting the events of your abduction for the Ministry?" Snape asked without preamble, his voice low and rumbling. The use of Harry's given name did not escape Harry's notice. "They would have had Lucius Malfoy Kissed by a dementor on sight." Harry shivered.

"McGonagall said to not get too emotional," Harry said, sounding defensive to his own ears. "That and…I honestly didn't want think on it too hard. I don't usually."

"It's why you flinch," Snape said, putting his cup down a little harshly. "It's why you can't bear to have anyone touch you without warning." He finally brought his eyes over to Harry for the first time since re-emerging. The sympathy Harry found there, from those particular eyes, made Harry want to throw the cup against the wall just to hear it shatter. He put it down instead and drew his legs up to his chest.

"Why did you show it to me?" Snape asked, still facing him.

"Because war is coming, sir," Harry responded through a sigh. "Because, whether I like it or not, people are going to be counting on me to lead the fight against Voldemort and I need to be ready. And I don't feel ready, sir. I feel scared and hopeless and tired and that memory is one of millions which just saps at my strength and my stupid bloody Gryffindor courage. I can't let it. I just can't." He stopped rambling, removed his glasses, and rubbed at his face. "Sorry," he added, a bit muffled.

Snape said nothing, though Harry strained to hear his response. Finally, Harry raised his head from his knees and found Snape in that same vulnerable position he'd been in a couple times before, head in his hands, elbows on his knees, looking both exhausted and frustrated.

"Sorry, sir," Harry ventured again.

"Stop apologizing," he snapped, stilled a moment, then rubbed his face. "Is this why you don't want to speak with the headmaster?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is this pressure you've put on yourself to be a hardened war general, leading the way to victory against the world's most dangerous villains the reason why you don't want to speak to the headmaster?" Snape snarled, although Harry wasn't entirely sure the anger was for him. "Are you ashamed?"

"No," Harry said slowly, shaking his head. "I mean, yes, I feel ashamed, but that's not why I don't want to talk to him." Snape blinked at him.

"Why then?"

Harry looked at him, considering. "That's a story for another day, I think, sir," he finally answered. "An entirely different disturbing memory. Unsurprisingly, I have quite a lot of them," he added dryly, taking a sip of his tea. Snape shook his head in disbelief or dismay and sat back. He regarded the boy, scanning his face, eyes tracing his chest as though he could see through to the wounds he now knew were there.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Physically?" Harry clarified. "Alright. Better than I was before I fell asleep. How long was I out for anyway?"

"2 hours. You didn't seem to be too uncomfortable during that time." Harry shook his head.

"No nightmares, actually. Just a couple stray thoughts and then real sleep. It felt good."

"I would imagine so. Are you tired now?" Harry shrugged and then shook his head, surprised.

"No, sir, not particularly."

"Good. I think we'll have an early lunch, and then you can spend some time doing homework." Harry felt almost relieved to see the smirk return to Snape's face. A disturbed Snape was almost as unusual as a surprised Snape, and not nearly as enjoyable. Which reminded Harry…

"That's alright, Professor," Harry said airily, trying to keep his face straight. Snape turned to him as he moved to stand. "Did anyone ever tell you, by the way," Harry continued, raising his mug to his lips, "that the Sorting Hat tried to put me in Slytherin?" He glanced over at Snape and found him mid crouch, face flat, staring back at him. Harry smiled into his cup. "Good thing Draco had come along and introduced himself before then, sir, or I might have been one of your little snakes. Can you imagine?" He dodged the hand that came up to cuff him in the ear, splattering half the contents of his mug onto his chest as he unashamedly laughed out loud.

-SSS-

Author's Note: So, I know I haven't actually told you what the memory was yet, but this chapter was getting very long. Next one you'll find out, probably. Poor Harry and Sev are having a rough year, huh?

Also, now might be a good time to mention that I'm a Slytherin, if Sev's little monologue didn't tip you off. *smirks unashamedly*