AN: work is still busy, which is why these are about once every 7 or 8 days. I do finish my stories though, fear not that it won't be finished.

December 25th, 1998

His paper hat was blue this year, and though he still flinched at the cannon-like sounds the Christmas crackers made, Harry had a grin on his face and a warm cup of mulled wine in his hand. He'd dreamed about this last year, Christmas at the Burrow, with no more war on their minds. Music and food and laughter, though in Harry's dreams from last year there were a few more people in attendance.

Still, Percy was there, Charlie had come home from Romania, Bill and Fleur were chatting with Ginny and Neville, and Fred's portrait was sitting atop a few books at his place, so he could see everyone. Mr and Mrs Granger were sitting next to Harry, much more relaxed than they had been upon first being brought to the Burrow by Ron and Hermione. They were still looking around at all the marvels of the Weasley home, and flinching a little when magic happened right in front of them. Harry understood the wonder; he'd absolutely fallen in love with the Burrow when he'd first visited, and it had never lost its charm.

"Pass the pud, Harry," George said, holding his hand out. He was wearing a pink hat, which did not match either his hair or his new jumper, but like everyone else at the table didn't much care.

"How are your NEWT courses going, dear?" Molly asked, sending the hard sauce down toward George, for the Christmas pudding. It floated past the Grangers, who watched it with interest.

"They're all right," Harry said, cutting himself a large slice of treacle tart for his plate. "I've done the potion already, and I don't need to do the defensive work. Next up is transfiguration, I think."

"That was one of my favourite subjects," Molly said. She pointed her wand up at her head and transfigured her green paper Christmas cracker hat into a silvery crown with green and red gems.

"Transfiguration is magic that turns one object into another," Hermione said, her voice low as she leaned toward her parents to give an explanation.

"I'm all right at it, I think," Harry said. He picked up some of the paper wrappings from the crackers and transfigured them into tiny coloured beads.

"And how is Severus?" Arthur asked, pouring some more mulled wine into his glass. "It's been a while since I've seen him, he keeps to himself a lot."

"Our potions professor," Hermione murmured.

"He does," Harry said. The Christmas music in the background had switched to a classic muggle radio station, playing songs that Harry had grown up listening to every December. Mr Granger started humming along, pleased that he recognised the music.

It was warm and cosy in the room, Christmas dinner heavy in their stomachs as everyone chatted at the table and absentmindedly played with the cracker prizes.

"He's okay," Harry continued, not sure what else to say. "Not as angry as he was last year, or during Hogwarts in general."

"Really?" Bill said. "Hard to imagine old Snape being nice."

Harry smiled to himself and rolled one of his tiny beads under his finger.

"He's not actually that old," Harry said.

"Not that nice, either," Ginny said, with a smirk. Neville smiled, but shook his head a little.

"You know, I think he's all right. Became pretty obvious in the end how he was tricking the Carrows."

"He was helpful when I needed him to be," Harry said, shrugging.

"Neville was the true genius though, with how he made the Room of Requirement work," Ginny said, and the look of adoration she gave Neville was evident to all at the table. Fred made a puking face in his portrait, which thankfully Neville didn't notice. The tale of how Neville had outsmarted everyone and made the Room of Requirement bend to his every whim was shared again, for the benefit of any who hadn't heard it.

Mrs Granger leaned over during a lull in the conversation and pointed to the paper that Percy was reading.

"If I may ask, why are you on the front page of that newspaper?" she said.

Percy turned it over in his hand to check, as if he'd not noticed at all that Harry was on the front page. It wasn't a great set of photos, one of Harry going into Ollivander's, and a second of the screened-out windows Harry had caused.

"Harry's famous," Charlie said, returning to the table from the bathroom. "Prophet's still a rag though, isn't it?"

"There's some truth to it," Arthur said. He turned to the Grangers and explained further. "That's the daily paper in our world. They usually report on Ministry activity and daily events, though they can be a little sensational."

"That's the paper that kept talking about Harry and I dating when we were younger," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "They're heavily influenced by the Ministry and often print falsehoods just as much as truths."

"So young Harry here might not be famous," Mr Granger said, his tone just dry enough to convey his teasing tone.

"Whatever I am," Harry said, nodding at the paper, "they're interested enough to follow me around for a story."

He rolled some of the melted candle wax that had dripped onto the table into a long, thin string with his hand.

"Potter in Harsh Negotiations," Mrs Granger read."What do they think you're negotiating?"

"The purchase of that shop," Harry said. "Or the competition against? I've not read that particular article."

"This is that wand fixing hobby you've got?" Bill asked. Harry nodded, and smiled when George pulled his wand out to show off Harry's work.

"Skeeter was trailing me through the Alley," Harry said with a shrug, spearing a piece of treacle with his fork. "I expected her to, and knew she'd follow me there. She can write about that all she wants, it's not true."

"That's brilliant," Ron said. "Keeps her from finding out other stuff you don't want to share."

"You've got loads of secrets, do you Harry?" George asked, tipping his wine glass toward Harry.

"Sort of," Harry said, coughing slightly. He had everyone's attention, but it was a calm focus, and quite unlike the years before when he'd shared things and only upped the concern of everyone in the room. He'd planned to come out to the family, perhaps not when the Grangers were there as well, but it was something he'd wanted to do over Christmas. He'd even practised what he was going to say in the shower, but none of the words were coming to him now.

"I'm doing an interview with Denis Creevey, for his magazine," Harry started. Both Arthur and Molly were smiling at him, and Harry felt some comfort from that. He also knew that Ron and Hermione fully supported him, but the rest of the Weasleys he couldn't quite figure out how they'd react.

"I'm coming out in the magazine. That's what I don't want Rita Skeeter to find out first."

Hermione's smile softened. During their year of camping together she'd gained an edge of subtleness with her care and support, which Harry really appreciated.

"Where are you going, love?" Molly asked, leaning forward with a bit of excitement and eagerness.

Out of the corner of his eye Harry could see that Ron had his head down and was clearly trying not to laugh.

"No, I mean I'm gay, Molly. That's how the muggles say it, they come out of the closet," Harry clarified.

"Oh! Yes, well I knew that," Molly said. She turned to Arthur and gave him a happy but slightly bemused look. "Did you know they say that? Why are they in a closet?"

"I think the closet is metaphorical," Mr Granger explained. "But good for you, Harry."

"Huh," Charlie said. He sipped his mulled wine and looked past Harry as he digested that.

"That's big news, Harry," Bill said, his face kind as he relaxed in his seat and slung his arm over the back of Fleur's chair. "Not an easy thing to reveal."

"Yes," Fleur added, giving him a warm smile. "I hope it goes well for you."

"Like, rather be with a bloke?" Charlie asked, with a puzzled look.

"Yeah," Harry said. The anxiety that had settled ever so slightly once he'd said the words was growing back with ferocity.

"I think that's the whole point," George said, his voice even as he spoke directly at his brother. Ginny was glaring at Charlie, and looking like she was itching to say something.

"Sure, yeah," Charlie nodded, taking another sip. He didn't say anything else, but Harry suspected Charlie wasn't done.

"We've one at the Ministry," Percy said, offhandedly. "He hasn't really told many people, but everyone knows."

Harry pursed his lips in a straight line and nodded.

"You're not really like him," Percy added, talking to Harry as if this was a compliment.

"We're not all alike, no," Harry said. He knew he sounded short, but was trying to keep in his temper.

An uncomfortable silence descended on the table, and Harry started rolling the wax again, concentrating on making it thin and even. Mrs Granger asked Molly about how her clock worked, and the conversation started up again.

Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and aimed it at the wax, muttering a transformation charm. It darkened and thinned out further into a piece of leather, snaking around his plate and spearing the rainbow-coloured beads Harry had made.

The music continued to play and talk moved to the subject of muggle and wizarding Christmas traditions, with Arthur looking delighted to find how many similarities there were. Harry could tell that he was still being watched, Arthur glancing at him once in a while to see how he was doing, but done subtle enough that it didn't break the conversation with the Grangers. He appreciated it, but still felt like his happy mood from earlier had been deflated, and more and more he just wanted to go home and burrow in his couch blanket nest.

Harry pushed his chair back and shoved the beaded leather string into his pocket as he stood. Most of the plates had been picked over enough that no one was really eating anymore, so Harry set them to float over to the kitchen, using his wand to navigate. Mrs Granger smiled as her plate neatly rose and joined the queue.

"I'll help," Ron said, setting the glasses to go and following Harry to the kitchen. George joined them, clapping Harry on the back as he dropped an unused pile of napkins on the windowsill.

"He's been away a while," George said. "Maybe too long."

"It's fine," Harry said, not looking at either of them and instead paying more attention than necessary to ensuring the plates stacked nicely on the worktop. "This is part of the gay experience. The hatred."

"It's not really hatred," George said, "Charlie's not like that. Doesn't think before speaking and he's always been a bit awkward."

Bill came into the kitchen and dropped off the gravy and serving spoons. "We're all guilty of that sometimes, but it's not an excuse."

"It sort of is though," Harry said, answering George. He was going to say something else, but Charlie came into the kitchen just then, to the sounds of laughter from the dining table.

"Here's the mince," Charlie said, putting the plate of mince pies next to Harry and grinning as if he'd made a joke. It didn't land with anyone in the room.

"Right. As per my last," Harry said, as Ron made a face and Bill punched Charlie's arm. He'd been having a nice dinner and evening, and now was itching to leave. If this was what it was like with Charlie, he was reconsidering that he'd ever come out to anyone else.

"Don't be an arse," Bill said. "Harry's gone through a lot and he's just told us something really personal."

"It's a bit weird though isn't it? Telling us that?" Charlie asked, looking around. "I spend months with the guys at the dragon reserve. Couldn't imagine wanting to spend even more time with just one of them."

"Neither can I," Harry said. He moved to the back kitchen door, where the coats were hanging, brushing past Ron.

"Just you, Charlie," Ron barked. "You're the only one here making it weird. If you don't like it, go back to the bloody dragons."

"Fuck off, Charlie," Fred said, pointing his finger at his brother through the portrait. He'd been bouncing through portraits to keep up with the action.

"Fred," Molly warned from the table. "The swearing is unnecessary."

"Charlie's being a twat," George called, from the kitchen.

"All right all right," Charlie said, holding his hands up in defeat. "I don't have a problem with it, I just don't get it. That's all I'm saying. Thanks for sharing, Harry."

"Yeah," Harry said. "I think I'm going to go home."

"You don't need to leave, Harry," Bill told him.

"I'm all Christmas'd out," Harry lied. He called his goodbyes to Molly and Arthur and the Grangers. "Say happy Christmas to Hermione for me."

"Yeah, right," Ron said, yelling to Hermione that he'd be back and following Harry out the door.

Harry couldn't apparate into his own flat, but rather the downstairs lobby, and he was relieved to find it empty. He'd just managed to get to his own door at the top of the stairs when he heard the faint crack of another apparition.

"Don't listen to his opinion," Ron said, bursting through the door a few seconds later. Harry knew he was coming, and had just sat down on the couch.

"He spends all his time with a rough crowd and they probably all talk this rubbish."

"He's not the only one though, Ron," Harry said, unfolding one of the blankets and piling it on himself. He was still wearing his good Christmas dinner outfit, and debated with himself if it was worth trying to transfigure his dress trousers to lounge ones. "There'll be other who react just the same, or worse."

"Maybe," Ron said, sitting down next to Harry. "Maybe it won't be a big deal."

"It will be," Harry said. "Wizards are still old fashioned. Muggles are a little less so and they still beat the shit out of gay people sometimes."

Fred popped into his portrait for a second, looking a bit breathless.

"Mum's tearing Charlie a new one," he told them. "And your old lady said to stay as long as you need."

He disappeared again, just missing the balled-up paper that Ron threw at the picture frame.

"Hope he doesn't call her that in person," Ron said. "Won't go down well at all."

Harry huffed a small, humourless laugh. He picked up the remote and flicked on the television, leaving the sound low.

"Did the muggles ever try it?"

"To attack? Yeah," Harry said, with a shrug. "Luke and I were threatened a few times when we went out."

"Huh," Ron said, sitting back against the couch.

"That's part of the point of this," Harry explained, tossing the remote to the coffee table, It's a Wonderful Life playing on tv. "I don't exactly want the entire wizarding world to know my sexual preference. It's none of their bloody business. But they're going to find out and they're going to make a big deal of it and I need to get through that."

"Because otherwise you'd have to live in secret for the rest of your life," Ron said, his brows furrowed as he tried to follow Harry's steps. "And you can't date people when you're keeping this secret."

"You definitely can. It happens a lot in the muggle world, and probably here too," Harry patiently said.

"That's…yeah," Ron said, scratching his chin. "I can't think of any gay wizards I know."

"Because we hide," Harry said. "It's fear. And once you say it, you can't take it back."

Silence settled over them, Ron clearly still thinking it over, as on tv George Baily was pleading with Henry Potter for help. Harry flexed his sore hand in the blanket folds, working out the dull ache. He pulled the beaded leather out of his pocket with his other hand and draped it around his wrist, concentrating enough on wandless magic to make it connect together, much like a bracelet Harry had once seen a few years earlier.

"We," Ron repeated. He had an expression on his face that Harry recognised from their chess games, the ones that Harry very often lost.

"I assume there's more than just myself," Harry said, attempting nonchalance.

"Harry," Ron said, calling him out on his evasiveness. "You hate the papers. But you're going to a magazine to willingly do this? So quickly after coming back? Who is he?"

Harry bit his lip and debated how he was going to answer that. It had been a running joke through the years by many that Hermione had been the brightest of their group, but Harry felt that had unfairly knocked Ron down a few pegs. Ron was a fantastic strategist, and could often think ahead of Harry's actions to see what the end goal was. Even when Harry didn't want him to.

"We're not dating. Not yet," Harry quietly said. Ron nodded, and Harry saw his mistake a few seconds too late. He was too relaxed in the blanket, and Ron had longer arms anyway, so when the torn gift wrap was noticed on the coffee table, Harry had no chance of snatching it up before Ron did.

"For your future successes," Ron read out, off the pristine card he'd untangled from the crumpled paper. "Severus."

Harry could feel how red his face had become, and empathized with George Bailey on the television, who was standing on the bridge and contemplating jumping into the river.

It hadn't been that long since Snape had been a hated professor of Ron, nor was it that long since Snape had accidentally cursed George's ear off, or oversaw the cruelty of the Carrows at Hogwarts. From what Harry knew, Snape had kept mostly to himself since the war, and there had been no opportunity for Ron to know him in any other capacity.

"Severus," Ron repeated, looking from the note to Harry.

"He's different than you remember," Harry quietly said.

"Yeah, clearly," Ron laughed, but the humour was missing from his tone. "Severus Snape."

"Severus Snape," Harry repeated. "Nothing's started yet, but I want the chance to see if something could."

He'd had a shite end to the evening, and though he was feeling like he'd already been kicked around, Harry stuck his chin out in defiance. Ron was his best mate, but they'd definitely had some strong arguments before and Harry knew they'd do it again. He felt like he could be happy with Severus, possible, and he wasn't going to let people stand in the way of him trying.

"All right," Ron said, making Harry suspicious. Ron leaned forward and grabbed Fred's portrait, knocking four times on the frame.

"What?" Fred said, sticking his head in on the diagonal.

"Can you send Hermione over?" Ron asked, glancing at Harry. "Maybe with some of the mulled wine."

"I'm not your messenger," Fred grumbled, giving Ron a two-fingered salute. They did hear him shout Hermione's name as he walked out of the frame, however.

"Wine?" Harry asked, giving Ron a wary look. He'd been preparing himself for a shouting match, not drinks.

"Look, I'm not exactly pleased at the idea of it being Snape. He's absolutely nothing like Luke. And I can't picture him being that nice," Ron said. "But you wouldn't try this just for a laugh."

"I don't exactly find my dating situation that funny," Harry said.

"Right," Ron said. "So, we watch this muggle movie and wait for Hermione to get here. And then you can explain what's going on."

"Nothing's going on. I'm not dating him," Harry pointed out, to which Ron rolled his eyes.

"Fine, then why you trust him so much, or what happened last year at the bothy. Why he thinks so highly of you to get you a Christmas gift. Take your pick."

Harry scowled at Ron, who'd crossed his arms triumphantly.

"Mate, we've got your back on this. But we haven't seen him outside of school or the war, so if we're going to defend and support, show us why he's more than just the arsehole spy in the dungeon."

"This might be easier if we had a pensieve," Harry said with a sigh, just as Hermione walked through the door.

…

December 26th, 1997

"Been a while since you've been in the dorms," Harry said, standing at the sink and attempting to wash his mug.

Snape was staring at him from his side of the bed, having just woken up, hair curtained in front of his face.

"Excuse me?" Snape silkily said.

"Last night," Harry said, accidentally smacking the edge of the sink with his mug. He still hadn't turned around, but could feel the intensity of Snape's glare.

"Potter, you'd better be very careful with what you say next," Snape warned.

"I'd better be careful?" Harry asked, spinning around and facing Snape. "I'm not the one who forgot all the privacy spells. You've been in my head; you know what I am…"

"I would say we are fairly even on that point," Snape snapped back. "Unless you have conveniently forgotten all of my private information that no other student has?"

"I stopped being just any other student when he returned," Harry bluntly said. "And I have never shared what I know."

Snape stood up and walked over to the worktop, picking up the nerve-healing potion and flicking off the cork with surprising ease for his left hand.

"Not even to Granger and Weasley?" Snape asked, pouring a measure into a little cup that was on the worktop. "I doubt that."

He swished the potion around in the cup and downed it all. Harry remained silent, and Snape narrowed his eyes.

"No. They don't know about me yet, either," Harry finally said.

Snape's expression fully displayed how truthful he thought that was.

"Not that it matters right now anyway," Harry continued. "Not a lot of dating or sex when you're on the run in the middle of a giant war."

He picked up the bottle that Snape had left uncapped and poured himself his own measure, grimacing at the potion.

"Yes, well, some of us came to that conclusion a lot sooner," Snape said. He stalked past Harry to the bathroom, the domineering effect slightly less effective as he was still in pyjamas and barefoot. "I prefer not to take sleeping potions."

Harry downed the medicine and grimaced, bracing for the burning to start again through his arm. The nerves were regrowing, but at a slow pace that Harry wasn't fully pleased with.

The bathroom door unexpectedly whipped open again, and Harry almost dropped the stopper he was trying to put in the potion bottle.

"We are here only as long as we need to be for the potion to work, Potter. Nothing more. It is dangerous enough that we are disadvantaged, but in the same room for this long is a concerning risk. We are, perhaps, two of the most important people in this war, and after this, you will go back to assuming I am the enemy."

"I'm aware. I've plenty of practise at that," Harry said, sipping some water to get rid of the potion taste. "But I have appreciated your information drops."

Snape looked like he was about to say something else, but didn't quite know how to take Harry's thanks, so just gave an awkward nod and shut the door again.

What a mess, Harry thought, kneeling down to add more wood to the stove. The bothy was warm enough, but he knew with the potion starting to work on their arms that any chill in the air would make the pain worse. But he couldn't imagine having to deal with this curse on his own. Hermione may have been able to stop it, or maybe not, but she would have done her best. Would it have been enough? Or would it have permanently disabled him in such a dangerous time of the war?

Sheer dumb luck, he had, that's what McGonagall had told him a few times before. Dumb luck that he'd ended up here with Snape, and dumb luck that he'd found that potion recipe card at Grimmauld Place at all.

But it wasn't luck, Harry admitted to himself. Not really. He sat on the bed and stared out the window. Snape had known Harry would find it, known that Harry would look for any mementos of Sirius or his parents, and that Harry would recognise the potion card being out of place. Would recognise the writing on it. There was of course the chance that Snape was setting him up, playing a very long game. Harry knew that, but also knew he wouldn't survive if he tripled guessed everyone, and Snape's information via the recipe card had not only been helpful over the last few months, but also accurate every time.

As much of an arse as he tended to be, Snape seemed to be a man of his word, when he'd decided on a course to take.

Harry's eyes went slightly out of focus as he remembered a hot summer day, happy noise echoing all around him in a crowd of people, an impossibly tight blue shirt with wiry muscled arms, light grey jeans, intense stare as–

"Potter," Snape said, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He was wearing one of Harry's shirts, instead of his long-sleeved wizarding one, with his sleek black trousers, and seemed to know exactly what Harry was thinking.

"I will be training outside. Separation may be key to continuing our roles as enemies."

"Right," Harry said, coughing slightly to cover the roughness of his voice.

…

"Hedwig," Snape said, fiddling with the dial on the wireless. He didn't ask about the password, and Harry wondered for a second if Snape knew that that had been the name of his owl. Probably, Harry thought. Snape knew far more than Harry usually realised.

The mood of the radio broadcast when it loaded was sombre, no music, no chatter, just Lee saying hello. Harry immediately leaned in toward the radio, dread filling his stomach.

"There's not much to broadcast today," Lee said, and his voice was breaking. "It's River, here, just by myself."

"No," Harry said. He reached out to grab the radio but Snape stopped him, before Harry accidentally switched the dial.

"This morning there was a Death Eater raid in a village not far from here," Lee continued. "I won't say where here was, but you may or may not read about it in the Prophet. Several muggles were attacked, and in the process of defending them, we lost one of our own."

Silence again, and Harry blinked his eyes rapidly, pushing back tears and shaking his head.

"It's still important, very important, that we must continue to fight and protect our neighbours, protect ourselves. We will win."

"Good bye, Fred," Lee finally managed, before his half sob was swallowed by radio static.

"NO," Harry shouted. He pushed away from the table and stood up, not even caring that he'd knocked over his chair. Not Fred. No. They could not have lost one of the Weasleys. He moved to the sink and then shook his head, unsure of whether he was going to be sick or not.

"No no no," Harry said, slamming his fist down on the worktop. His right arm flailed and hit the edge near the sink, causing an explosion of pain to radiate from his bicep up into his shoulder, where the nerves had started to regenerate.

"Potter," Snape said, coming toward him.

"No!" Harry shouted, pulling his wand and pointing it at Snape. "This is your fault!"

Snape held his good hand up, slowing his approach.

"He shouldn't have died, it should only have been me," Harry said, his breath catching as he started to sob. He crumpled to the floor, dropping his wand and landing with his legs folded underneath him. Harry dug frantically in his pocket for his DA coin, unable to see much through his tears. "I need to see them; I need to go."

"You can't," Snape said. He was standing near Harry and knelt down. "That's exactly what the Dark Lord wants you to do."

Harry fumbled with the DA coin, pressing it a few times and not managing to get much of a message working. He finally dropped it in frustration.

"I don't care, I'm going," Harry snapped, except his arm didn't work and he couldn't get off the floor, and it just made him angrier. Images flew through his head, Fred and George breaking him out of Privet drive, on the quidditch team, giving him the marauder's map, of breakfasts and dinners at the Burrow. Things he'd never get to experience with them again. Things George could only ever do alone now.

"Harry," Snape said, kneeing on the floor and awkwardly pulling Harry to him. Snape smelled of muggle department store deodorant and cheap 2 in 1 shampoo that Harry had stocked the bathroom with. His chest was surprisingly warm, and Harry fought the embrace for a second before collapsing into it.

"None of them were supposed to die," Harry said, his voice partially muffled by Snape's shirt, and broken by hiccoughs. Harry stayed that way, shaking as he tried to regulate his breathing and stop the tears from coming. He knew it wasn't just Fred, knew that he was crying for the boy who'd lost his parents, his mentor, his friends. For the boy who was tired of everything.

Snape's arm stayed around him, a strong source of warmth and steadiness as Harry worked through the shock. The little bothy was silent, save for the cracking of wood in the stove, and Harry's uneven breathing.

"Stay where you are," Hermione's voice suddenly said, and Harry raised his head from where it was buried against Snape. Her otter patronus was on the floor next to them, front feet on Snape's thigh as if trying to get to Harry. "Ron is safe, stay hidden."

Harry shook his head, his desire to run and go find his friends building again.

"She is correct," Snape said. He let Harry go and awkwardly stood up, using the chair next to him as a brace. "Mourning can be done when it is safe."

Harry nodded, and turned away. He knew Hermione was right, but he felt so disconnected and lonely that he was sorely tempted to defy safety and go to the Burrow anyway. And he knew that if Snape wasn't there, he would have.

Harry spent twenty minutes in the bathroom, having a proper fit of anger and tears under a silencing spell that prevented Snape from hearing him. He suspected his actions weren't exactly that secretive though, as once he left the bathroom Snape had wordlessly handed him an anti-headache potion.

"Tomorrow," Snape said, sitting on his side of the bed with a book in hand, "we will discuss the next steps."

"I thought we were to remain enemies," Harry sullenly said, rubbing his eyes. They'd gone slightly itchy from the tears, and Harry knew drinking water would help but he stubbornly didn't want to. "Too dangerous for us to both know everything."

He climbed onto his own side, collecting the blankets he was using and creating a nest around himself.

"Have you any idea why I took the role of headmaster?" Snape asked, opening the book he'd chosen.

"No," Harry muttered, pushing back and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "I assume either Dumbledore or You Know Who ordered you."

"Both," Snape said. "I am there to give the appearance of the Dark Lord's control over the school, whilst doing my utmost to ensure the students do not come to grievous harm."

"The Forbidden Forest," Harry said, stretching his leg out as he sat against the wall. "You've been sending them to the Forbidden Forest as punishment."

It was still a terrifying place to be, Ron had been correct about that. But Snape had been sending them with Hagrid, doing the best he could to mitigate the punishment in the background.

"Yes," Snape said. He was on his side of the bed, also using the wall as a back rest, and didn't move his leg when Harry's landed alongside his. "Control of the school is key."

"It was the place he considered home," Harry said, shrugging. He didn't really have the energy to talk much about strategy. Didn't really care any more.

"Correct. There is information that must remain confidential until the right time," Snape said, "but I believe some shared sooner will be of aid to end the war faster."

"Don't wait too long," Harry said. He'd picked up a note pad to write on while he waited for his headache to go away. "I know I'm going to die in the end."

Snape's hand stilled on his own book, and he glanced up at Harry. He looked like a professor asking a student to confirm just how wrong they were.

"What, exactly, do you think you know?"

"It's been in the prophecy the whole time," Harry tonelessly replied. "Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. And you confirmed it yourself yesterday. Seven."

He tossed the notepad to the side of the bed and slid down, so he was laying on the mattress. Exhaustion was creeping in, and Harry didn't feel like fighting it. He couldn't stop thinking of Fred, of George and Ron, of how he ached to be with the family right now. And the fear of them hating him because closeness to him brought this death upon them.

"It's something I've suspected for a while now," Harry said, pulling up the blankets around him like a protective shell.