Chapter Twenty Nine

Regulus downed the firewhiskey in one swig.

He placed the glass back on the top of the counter, back in the direction of the girl who had served him, though she was now occupied with another punter in the two seconds it had taken for him to finish his own drink.

Without the distraction of his drink, or his work, or the flirty chatter of the much-too-young barmaid, Regulus had to make a more concentrated effort not to let his mind wander back to Hogwarts and his boy, holed up within it. Not to keep turning it over and over, inside and out, all that had plagued him these past few weeks; Slytherin and the Statute, and the Dark Lord, and Greengrass, and Malachi, his boy, and, Muggle Studies, and, so help him, Anchor Ridge.

Regulus glanced around the pub, an entirely familiar one to him, though he hadn't been here in some weeks. Malachi's time at home from school had rendered the need for any other company obsolete throughout the summer months; he was quite content to just enjoy the evenings with his son.

Now, though, Regulus was itching for it; some human contact. His eyes skimmed the various inhabitants, settling first on a redhead opposite who glanced his way – albeit briefly – and then on a blonde who had just walked up to the bar on the other side, who was giving him some very unsubtle come-hither eyes as she did so.

Either would do.

"Another, Regulus?" Melinda, the barmaid – yes, they were on first name basis at this point, his jaunts to this place were so frequent - raised the bottle of firewhiskey she held, already knowing the answer.

Regulus shot her a grin and lifted the empty glass for her to pour; "You are too kind."

"I live to serve."

"Don't we all?" Regulus said, wryly, before nodding at the redhead. She was prettier; "And whatever she's drinking, Mel. If you don't mind?"

"You are shameless, you know that. What about the blonde?"

"What about her?"

"I just saw you two giving one another the eyes."

"Meh," Regulus waved a hand, why not; "Offer her one as well, then."

"You, Mr Black, are a jackass," Melinda stated, though her smile was wide.

"And yet the women just can't resist," Regulus grinned in response and Melinda laughed, shaking her head as she walked away to do as he asked; two drinks quickly poured and handed each women's way.

Both of them eyed him, smiling in gratitude, completely unaware the other was doing the same, and Regulus was still determined he'd go and get better acquainted with the redhaired one; her gaze hadn't lingered on him quite as long as the other. Not so easy, possibly. She might just want to play a bit, first.

Regulus had always liked the chase.

He started and finished off his second drink in one gulp and began to make his way around the bar.

"Well, well. Who'd have thought I'd find Regulus Black in such a dreary, dingy place as this?"

Regulus halted immediately in his steps, eyes quickly finding the source of the oh-so-familiar voice, just as Julia swept into the spot in front of him, preventing him for moving any further.

He smiled, unable to help himself; "I could say the same about yourself, Miss Bradbury."

"Right. I only live two blocks up the road."

"I'd quite forgotten."

"That memorable, was it?"

Regulus laughed and gave a bashful shrug, knowing she knew he was joking, and he told himself that it was just a coincidence, of course, that he'd wanted some female company that night and just so happened to venture down to her local to find it.

"On the prowl?" Julia glanced pointedly in the direction of the blonde, who was watching them.

"Hm. Think I've missed my chance," Regulus said, when the woman watching them turned away, looking unimpressed.

"Well, what about that one, then?" Julia asked, a wry smile on her lips when she indicated in the direction of the other, who was glancing at them, far more subtly from where she still stood. Her glance was coy and really, rather, adorable. It reminded Regulus of Evelyn.

Maybe it was better he was interrupted.

"What are you drinking, Miss Bradbury?" Regulus asked, turning back to the bar and fighting a grin when he saw Melinda watching, shaking her head incredulously as she smirked in his direction.

"You know what I'm drinking, Black," Julia said, leaning her elbows back on the bar, glancing out around the pub; "What brings you down here?"

"Obviously I was looking for you," Regulus stated, eyes twinkling, before he turned his smile Melinda's way when she approached; "Firewhiskey and a Daisyroot, Mel."

"Certainly, Sir," Melinda flashed him a smile.

"Obviously you're hoping to get laid," Julia retorted, as Melinda went to fetch them their drinks.

"Is that an offer?"

Julia shot him a look, though her smile was still there, and Regulus was pretty certain that it was an offer, one that he really ought not to take up. He had been with Julia frequently, recently, enough that it was almost becoming a habit – a thing – and there could be nothing like that. Not with anyone.

Julia, however, wasn't someone to take no for an answer when she wanted something – he really shouldn't have allowed them to become well enough acquainted to know, even, that about her – and with the way she stood, back to the counter, leaning ever so slightly in his direction with a look in her eyes that told him Julia knew exactly what she wanted that night…

They took their offered drinks gladly, Regulus enjoying the welcome feeling of lightness that gradually made itself known following the next, and the one after that.

"How has your summer treated you, then?" Julia asked, and Regulus realised that as the time had flittered on, they had gradually moved towards one another, enough so they were now standing close enough that their clothing brushed against the other's each time that they moved.

"Delightful," Regulus said, and he meant it – he'd had Malachi, after all – though he realised he actually hadn't seen Julia in months. With the exception of James Potter's funeral, that is, and there had been no opportunities for closeness, then.

He really shouldn't. But, hell, did he want to. It was always better with Julia, than it was with anyone else, the women he picked up and left behind in between.

Regulus let his hand drift, caressing the curve of her hip, and Julia's eyes darkened accordingly, even as she chuckled; "Subtle."

He raised his eyebrows, eyes widening innocently; "I've been less so."

"So you have," she nodded, conceding the point.

Regulus smiled, the hand on her hip slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt at the low of her back, fingertips mischievously drawing circles, and she immediately stepped forward, claiming his lips with her own.

His eyes drifted closed as he reached up, taking her face in his hands; he was desperate to touch, to be touched and felt, nothing brought quite the same comfort as warm arms and soft lips and that feeling of utter connectedness when you lost yourself in another person.

Regulus drew back, touching his forehead to hers, when they were both breathless; "I think a more suited venue is in order."

"Hm." Julia smiled, taking his hand in hers and walking backwards, tugging him to follow; "I quite agree, Mr Black."

Within mere minutes, the two of them were stumbling and fumbling their way across the threshold of a flat that was becoming far too familiar to him.

Regulus pushed the disparaging thought aside.

He wanted, needed, and would lose himself in her tonight.

A few blissful hours, where he could simply forget.

Harry had never been so nervous.

It was absurd.

And what the hell had he been thinking, willingly putting himself forward for a detention with Snape?

Even if the Potions Professor was on their side – and Harry was entirely inclined to believe that he was, not that it made him any less freaked out by his most recent Death Eater activities - it wasn't as if he could just march into his office and demand answers from him.

He was nothing to Snape!

Just a student, and a mediocre one at that, not to mention the son of a man he must completely despise. Or, did. Past tense, Harry reminded himself.

Any notion that Harry had of approaching him with the hope that he might be able to bring back some semblance of a memory of his father for him had been utterly dashed in the face of all of this.

Harry tried to remember back to the last time he had seen Snape, before the big resurrection party of 1994, and he could remember it all pretty well. The almost-teasing about meditation, and the confiding in his feelings about what happened to Pettigrew, and how he had felt entirely able to ask the man for his help – and how the Professor had obliged – and how they had smiled at one another.

Harry tried to hold onto it, that memory, that tiny connection they had made, in the hope that it would give him the strength and the assurance he needed to just push on with this and just ask him exactly what Snape was, why he had helped him and what the hell Voldemort was planning now and what were they going to do about it.

But his conviction was lost the minute he stepped through the door to the Potions classroom, five minutes early for his detention, where he found Snape standing in wait, leaning back on his desk with his arms crossed and his expression completely cut off as he regarded him.

It wasn't cold or furious or, even, irritated; it was just blank.

"Mr Potter."

"Professor," Harry said, trying first for respect.

It didn't get him far.

"Well. One day in and here we are again. It seems the summer months have done nothing to curb your charming enthusiasm for rebellion."

Harry hesitated, unsure if Snape was referring to the specific events of the summer or if he was just speaking generally and being an arse.

"Looks like it."

Harry fought not to glare.

Snape caught it anyway.

"And the attitude to go along with it. Brilliant. As it so happens, I shall be spared the pleasure, for I have far more pressing matters to attend to this morning."

"Wait, what?"

"Mr Potter," Snape drawled, eyeing him, and Harry was sure he was amused; "You almost seem disappointed."

Harry frowned, realising that Snape knew exactly why he had come, why he had orchestrated all of this, and he was neither falling for it nor entertaining it.

Harry pushed aside his disappointment, the disappointment Snape had instantly picked up on – obviously his new success at meditation had done nothing to help his, apparent, transparency – and glanced away, lest Snape see anything else in his eyes.

This was pointless. There was almost no need for disappointment at all.

It wasn't like he would have been able to get any answers out of Snape anyway. Gone was that tiny bit of warmth Harry had thought he'd seen in him, in their last lesson, even in his voice as he had murmured the incantation during the ritual that had set him free.

Maybe if he hurried, he could catch up with Malachi and see if he still wanted to go into Hogsmeade with him that day before his Uncle Remus made other plans.

"Fine," Harry muttered, beginning to turn away.

"Have I dismissed you?"

Harry hesitated in his movements, turning his head back in Snape's direction with a frown; "You just said -"

"I said that I will not be present for the remainder of the morning. You, however, have demonstrated such a keenness for detention, that I feel I must oblige –"

"But –"

"Do not interrupt me, Mr Potter," Snape straightened up from where he had been leaning against his desk, almost casually. He did not look casual anymore, however, rather he loomed over Harry, in an attempt to teach him another lesson; "If respect is so far over your head, might I instead suggest a little subtlety in your attempts at manipulation next time? Or perhaps, even, a simple; Sir, might I have a word?"

Harry drew in a breath, even as he glowered; "Sir, might I have a word?"

"No, you may not."

Harry made to open his mouth, effectively outraged at the tease, but Snape carried on smoothly.

"The remainder of your detention will be served in silence. Not that you shall find anyone's ear to bend for the next eight hours, even if you should wish to, or however long it takes you to complete this task. In that regard, I suppose I ought to thank you. I had been meaning to see to it that this was done at some point this term. Such a task of great importance has now been struck off my list; my gratitude knows no bounds."

"My pleasure, Sir," Harry returned Snape's sarcasm with as much as he could muster into his own words, past his disappointment and mortification that his plan had backfired so spectacularly, instead only serving to make him look like a complete and utter idiot to the man in front of him.

He had no chance of getting Snape to talk, if that's what he thought of him.

"Well?"

Harry looked up sharply at Snape's soft tone.

Snape glanced pointedly at the massive pile of cauldrons that he had stacked up in the middle of the room. Harry released a huff, glowering in Snape's direction and Harry could have sworn the man's lips twitched and his eyes danced with amusement – clearly enjoying this – before he let the bag slung over his shoulder slip to the floor with a thud and made his way towards them.

"Do try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone, Potter."

With that, Snape left the room.

Harry kicked the first cauldron to foot, with a scowl.

Sunlight flickering through the window, behind curtains that stirred under the light breeze, woke Regulus from his slumber.

Bleary eyes peered around the immediate surroundings, trying to make sense of where he was, before they quickly settled on the playful ones of the woman who had taken him home the night before.

"Sleeping Beauty awakes, does he?"

Regulus grinned.

He rolled onto his back, giving a stretch, if only to put a little distance between them. He had never stayed a full night before, not with anyone since Evelyn. It was an entirely bewildering experience, to wake to the eyes of another.

"You need a new mattress," he stated, by way of greeting.

"What's wrong with my mattress?"

"You can feel every spring biting into your back."

"Well, I'm afraid you're just going to have to put up with it. I have quite an attachment to it, you see. It's served me well."

Regulus met her eyes with a chuckle; "It's you that has to put up with it."

"You know, it's customary to wait until after breakfast to give someone the brush off; at least after spending the night."

"I'm not familiar with the rule."

"Only because you've never stuck around to try it out," Julia flung the covers from herself – utterly, shamelessly naked – and headed in the direction of the door; "Pancakes or eggs, Black?"

"Both."

Regulus tucked a hand beneath his head, lying in the familiar bed and staring at the familiar ceiling, and reminded himself not to get used to this; the welcome domesticity of all of it. He enjoyed this sort of thing too much. The warmth, the belonging. Too much for any good to come of it. He was, had always been, entirely weak under another person's kindness.

"Here you are, Sir," Julia said, stepping back into the room a short while later, now dressed in a t-shirt, and carrying a plate in each hand. One of eggs, scrambled, and another a tower of pancakes, drizzled in something sweet and sticky, with pieces of berries scattered along the side. She placed them on the bed and got back under the covers next to him.

"Mornings look good on you," Regulus said, matter-of-factly, reaching for one of the forks on the plate and taking a stab and mouthful of the eggs.

"You look pretty damn cute, yourself, Black," Julia grinned, rolling a pancake and lifting it with her fingers, and the sticky stuff got everywhere, dripping down onto the bare skin of her thigh next to his face.

Regulus didn't even hesitate, leaning down and licking it off in a deliberate motion, and he felt her jump, startled, before she laughed, and Regulus lifted his head, shooting her an unabashed smile, and reached for a pancake of his own.

"I always figured you for an early riser," Julia said, with a glance in the direction of the timepiece.

It was well past ten.

"I don't live to much of a schedule," Regulus stated, through a mouthful; "No one to need me when my son isn't home. Even then, I think I've started to tread into the dreaded 'embarrassing Dad' territory and he would much rather be holed up in his room than listen to me prattling on."

"How is he doing?"

"Malachi? He's fine."

His son was not fine.

Julia got out of the bed, heading from the room, and returning a few minutes later with glasses of fruit juice, holding one out to him and he gladly accepted, taking a long drink, only then realising how thirsty he was and there was the tell-tale light pounding of a dehydration headache brought on by his drinking the night before.

Julia climbed back into bed beside him and Regulus resisted the urge to draw her to him, lifting a strawberry instead; "I didn't realise you put on such a good spread. I've been missing out."

"You'll know for next time."

Regulus met her eyes, licking the syrup from his fingers, and she watched him, eyes darkening as she did, and it made him smile, the way that she didn't even bother to hide how she wanted him.

Julia leaned in, as if reading his thoughts, kissing him, soundly.

Regulus did not resist. He loved to kiss.

The rest of his body loved it as well, it seemed, as it quickly stirred at the sensations evoked by her touch.

Julia drew back, fingers toying with the hair at the top of his chest; "Do you have somewhere to be?"

"Other than this bed?"

"I wasn't suggesting an entire day in bed, Regulus," she said, using his name and laughing, with a twinkle in her eyes, and it both warmed and frightened him, how much he liked it.

Regulus slid his hands up her thighs until he grasped her from behind, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him, to straddle him; "Either way, I'm all yours."

"I'm quite satisfied myself."

"Little tease."

"You're the one that pulled me up here."

"True enough."

Julia leaned down, lips going to his neck and she bit down on the flesh, making his breath hitch, before her tongue flicked out to soothe the burn.

Her voice was a murmur against his ear; "You're the tease here, Mr Black."

Regulus wasn't sure quite what she meant but he didn't get much time to dwell on it, his mind already becoming a lust-induced haze at the feel of her weight and her thighs and her breasts against him. He reached down, tugging the shirt up and over her head; "Well, you're in luck today. I fully intend on following through with my promises."

Julia shot him a smile, that he mirrored, before he grasped her once more and flipped her so that she was now below him, eliciting the most delightful laugh and an equally delightful sigh before her fingers wound into his hair and drew him back down to her.

Regulus nuzzled in close.

Happily fooling himself for a little while longer, utterly helpless to resist.

"Well, I never thought I'd see the day that Severus Snape would come to me looking to place a student in one of my classes," Charity Burbage said, with a laugh in her voice.

"Wonders never cease, as they say," Severus offered by means of explanation; "I am confident you will find Mr Black an amicable student."

"Oh, I'm sure I will. I can't say he and I have had much to do with one another thus far, but I do tend to have a special fondness for any and all students that come my way. Some of us have to, after all," she said, with a teasing looking in her eye.

"Touché," Severus raised an eyebrow, though his lips twitched at the prod; "Then I shall inform him of the confirmation?"

"Of course. The first Slytherin I have ever taught. It would be my pleasure," Charity smiled, widely, as if she truly meant it –she did, Severus was certain – and he gave only a nod of gratitude before he made his way from her classroom.

Severus took his time.

He was in no real hurry to return to the Potions Classroom, for he knew that he would be faced with either unending unanswerable questions from Harry when he did, or, just as equally exasperating, a tiresome demonstration of the fact that he was dealing with a fourteen-year-old boy who had absolutely no control over his emotions or his temper.

He was in no mood for such attitude.

And certainly, he was not in the mood to play the boy's games. To blow up a cauldron in middle of class, intentionally, to secure an audience with him; Severus didn't think even Harry Potter could be so foolish as to do so!

Just when Severus had been beginning to wonder if he had underestimated him. He had demonstrated some capabilities of critical thinking during his escape that summer, after all.

Not to mention, yesterday's fiasco with regards to Malachi and the bloody Statute had already drawn out whatever little patience he had remaining, following his recent weeks by the Dark Lord's side, and he was not at all impressed by the new attitude Regulus' son had seemed to develop in his absence, either.

Severus only hoped his faith in that matter – that there was no way such a kind, sweet boy could ever be lured to the darkness – was not misplaced.

Severus would have to watch him, even more closely, for the foreseeable future.

These boys!

They would surely be the death of him. He, Severus Snape, who hung off the arms of the two most powerful, most ruthless wizards of all time, to be brought to his knees by the antics of teenage boys.

Potter and Black, round two, indeed.

Severus caught sight of Remus Lupin up ahead.

Oh, goody.

He fought not to roll his eyes when it became apparent he was waiting for him, outside his office door. He drew in a bracing breath a few steps before he reached him.

"Severus," Lupin said, immediately, before Severus could say anything in greeting; "A word?"

Lupin's tone was uncharacteristically cold, which was a welcome change from the pitiful faux-kindness he sought to present to him the previous year when they had been thrown together in this place as colleagues.

"For you, Lupin? Anything."

Severus pushed open the door to his office, walking in first, and simply leaving the door open behind him for Lupin to follow.

The door had not even closed on its hinges when the Defence Professor began to offload his current woes.

"Detention. On the first day, Severus."

"Indeed," Severus turned, eyeing him; "Though I cannot claim to be as shocked as you seem to be about it. It is hardly a rare occurrence."

"You can say that again," Lupin's eyes were dark with unbridled anger and Lily would be pretty peeved to know that Severus found the werewolf's outrage more than a little entertaining.

It seemed Harry's childish antics did have some benefits, after all.

Lupin's prattling went on; "You'd think with you claiming the boy is 'family', only three months ago, you would find the heart to let a little misdemeanour slide within the first hour of the school term. For the sake of his first Hogsmeade visit, if nothing else."

"Now, Lupin, you are not seriously suggesting that I should be lenient towards a student because of my relationship with him? That is hardly ethical."

"Ethical," Lupin breathed out, humourless laughter in his tone as he did; "And you are certainly one to preach ethics, aren't you, Severus?"

"Touchy. That time of month?"

Lupin's eyes flashed.

"Even you could not be so heartless. This is Harry's first Hogsmeade visit. The first opportunity he has had to attend –"

"Now, let us not be revisionist, Lupin," Severus interrupted him, with an unaffected drawl; "You cannot claim to be ignorant to the fact that Harry has, in fact, attended numerous Hogsmeade visits for the past year. Without permission, perhaps, but he has certainly never missed an opportunity to do so. Something your very own creation from yourself and your cronies' school years no doubt assisted him in."

"Speaking of which, I'll have that back, if you please."

"I should think not. It will be destroyed; such items are a gross violation of privacy and I do not want to be wandering the halls wondering if Remus Lupin is looking in on my bathroom habits."

"Heaven forbid I should discover another of your dirty little secrets."

Severus' eyes narrowed; "Watch it, Lupin."

Lupin held his gaze, his outrage over this little incident with Harry seeming to lead to the development of a backbone, an occurrence which Severus never thought he'd have the pleasure of witnessing, but Severus would not allow the wolf to throw his circumstances with Lily and Grace in his face to win an argument.

No way.

"If Harry is missing out on this much longed for trip, then he has only himself to blame," Severus stated, diverting the conversation elsewhere, lest he lose his temper. He still had Harry to deal with, after all, and he did not want his resolve rattled by bloody Remus Lupin, of all people.

"You're actually enjoying this," Lupin said, accusingly, not letting it go.

Severus crossed his arms across his chest, eyeing him; "Would it surprise you more if I were? Or if I weren't?"

Lupin shook his head, with an expression of utter disgust, that Severus couldn't care less about.

His words, however, were another matter. In this case.

"Harry and Malachi have been looking forward to this trip for months. You'd know that if you had been there this summer, for the family you claim to care for."

Severus could feel the coldness that coursed immediately throughout his veins at the statement, while he spoke, icily; "Excuse me?"

Lupin held his look, not backing down, his eyes telling him it all; everything he had thrown at Lily some months before. That Severus ought to defect, to be there, to hold Harry's hand as a parent, a father, rather than guide him as a soldier as the Dark Lord made his approach. That Lily would lose her son, over this, if they carried on any longer this way. That they could protect their daughter, if they only relied on the power of love. As well as all the other dragonshit the wolf had spieled and had left Lily with that day, until she was eventually a complete nervous wreck when Severus had come home and found her some hours later, and he felt his blood go from cold to positively boiling at the recollection of it.

Severus stepped towards him, no longer playing games or enjoying this, his eyes dark and his voice low; "You are allowed access to my home, to my child, only due to my good graces, Lupin," he glowered at him; "Do not forget that."

Lupin shook his head, returning his look evenly; "If you think you can use Grace to make me stand back and watch you put Harry through another year of misery, Severus, you're sadly mistaken."

"Why, Lupin, I must say you are almost inhuman when someone dares to cross you. I am quite quaking."

Lupin released a puff of air through his nose, eyes deadly serious when he spoke; "Just try me."

Severus' eyes narrowed.

But nothing further was said, Lupin turning on his heel and storming from the office, slamming the door behind him in his wake.

The pile of cauldrons seemed to go on forever.

Harry reached up, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, as he puffed out a breath at the exertion of scrubbing, yet another, cauldron and he looked despairing at the pitiful pile of them to his left that he had actually managed to complete in the hours since he had been here.

He was such an idiot.

Why, why had he opted for this rather than just go to Hogsmeade with Malachi; he should have known that Snape would see right through his plan, that he would turn it all around and make a fool out of him.

Harry sighed, dragging the newly cleaned cauldron over to the tiny pile of polished ones, and made his way, unenthusiastically, back in the direction of the dirty ones to fetch another.

The door to the classroom burst open with such force that Harry jumped.

He looked sharply at the intruder – Snape, obviously – who looked absolutely furious, certainly not the calm and amused Professor who had left him a few hours before.

Harry frowned, unabashedly curious at what had happened to cause such a drastic change of mood.

"That'll do, Potter."

Snape bit the words out, a blunt dismissal, before he turned on his heel, making to leave.

"Wait!"

Harry blurted it out before he could think about what he was saying.

Snape stopped, glancing over his shoulder at him.

Harry drew in a breath, mustering all of his Gryffindor bravery – he surely needed it, to confront a known Death Eater, after all – and simply said; "I know what you are."

For a moment, Snape did not react.

And then, the man's eyes closed, looking for all intents and purposes as if he would go insane at the very words spoken; "Potter."

"Please, Sir. You can't deny it. I know it was you."

There was a heavy silence, in which the words sunk in.

Snape flicked his wand, abruptly, and the door to the classroom slammed shut. He turned back, striding towards him with that familiar determination, the very one Harry had immediately identified as he had knelt in the muck in front of the cauldron during the ritual that brought Voldemort back to life; "Sit."

Harry frowned but did so, immediately, hoping that obedience, respect, may lead to him getting the answers he sought.

Snape turned to face him, in front of the desk which Harry had chosen, his tone clipped when he spoke; "Have you experienced any further nightmares, Mr Potter? Throughout the summer?"

"Not for a while, Sir. Not for the past month, at least."

"Nothing at all? How about since your return to Hogwarts?"

"Nothing. I've been practicing meditation. I…I'm doing good, I think," Harry realised it sounded pathetic, like he was hoping for praise, but Snape breezed on, offering neither a sneer nor a pat on the back at the statement.

"The Dark Lord is aware of your connection. As far as we are aware, he is using his own skills in occlumency to prevent you from witnessing anything further regarding his dealings or whereabouts."

Harry frowned, immediately intrigued; "I…how does he know? Has…has he been seeing into my head, too?"

"How he learned of it is irrelevant. What is relevant, however, is that he is now engaging in attempts to block this connection. As such, should you see anything – at all – no matter the content, you must assume that it is an attempt to manipulate you. Do not respond to anything that you see, do you understand?"

"Yes."

Snape stared at him, his dubiousness written all over his face.

"Yes, Sir," Harry repeated.

Snape glanced away, seeming to contemplate what to say next, but the silence dragged and Harry thought he'd try a question, instead.

"So. He could be watching us, now? In my head?"

"The Dark Lord cannot simultaneously block and tap into the connection. Though whether or not he could do so, at will, is not something that has been confirmed or disputed; nor has the question of whether or not he has done so at all."

"Oh. Okay. Good," Harry nodded, relieved.

"Nonetheless, discretion is certainly something to be strived for. As such, it would serve us both well if you would get your verbal runs under control. Immediately."

"My…runs?"

"Indeed. Do tell me, Mr Potter, how many people have you seen fit to inform of the details as to your great escape from the Dark Lord some weeks ago?"

Oh.

Harry hesitated.

He knew better than to actually answer.

"Too many, is, I believe, the answer you were looking for," Snape said, tersely, looking entirely vexed with him when he did; "There was a reason why you were not grandiosely swept from the clutches of your captors that night, and should he who assisted you in your escape have gone to such efforts to ensure that it was done so, so delicately, one can assume that he would not be happy with word of his involvement being announced to every ear that happened to turn your way in the aftermath."

Harry swallowed, feeling himself redden.

"You claim you know what I am. Need I explain to you the necessity for discretion, Mr Potter?"

"No, Sir."

"And are you frightened of me, now, Mr Potter?"

"What?" Harry frowned.

He was freaked out, sure. Snape was, well, a badass, and not in a cool, inspirational way either. But in an I-definitely-don't-want-to-get-on-the-wrong-side-of-you kind of way. But Harry couldn't claim to be frightened, not really. He didn't, as Malachi had previously joked, think Snape was going to chop him up and use him in a potion any time soon.

Or ever.

He was, had been since the moment his cell door clicked open, entirely certain that Snape was on his side.

Harry was starting to feel incredibly foolish.

"No, Sir," Harry said, honestly; "I'm not."

Snape neither warmed nor hardened in response to the statement. Merely regarded him, silently.

And then he lifted his timepiece; "It is a little after midday. I believe there is still time to seek out your Defence Professor, should you wish to engage in the festivities of the day."

Harry was shocked.

"You mean, Hogsmeade?"

"What else could I possible mean, Mr Potter?"

Harry simply stared at him, saying nothing.

Snape lifted his eyebrows, saying only one simple word.

"Go."

Harry's lips twitched, and then he smiled, turning from him and making his way from the room.

Nothing much was answered, nothing at all really. He certainly didn't come away knowing anything more about Snape or about Voldemort, or any of the questions he had been ready to pose in the scenario he had rehearsed in his mind, of their first encounter since the event had taken place.

But that didn't matter, in the face of the settlement that had happened within his own mind at the realisation he had come to in those few moments that they had spoken.

Harry realised as he thought about it, about all that happened that night and all the confusion that he had been feeling ever since. It wasn't that he didn't trust Snape that had been bothering him since he had made his escape that night.

It was that he did.