They were ten minutes into Lupin's visit by the time Severus officially lost patience and decided to return to his bedroom. Sweeping out of the kitchen without a word, he stormed up the stairs by the light of a Lumos and locked his bedroom door behind him.

The peace didn't last long. He was halfway through his first cigarette when there came a knock on the door. Severus's hand was already to his wand by the time he realized it was only the wolf. "What?" he snapped, glaring at the door as though Lupin could see his expression. Perhaps he would feel the vitriol through the tone of his voice and go back down the stairs he'd managed to scale alone. Unless— "Did you leave the boy downstairs, or are you such an abysmal failure at common sense that you decided to bring him with you?"

"It's only me, Severus," came Lupin's calm voice from out in the hall. "Might I come in? There are things I need to discuss with you. Order business."

Severus hovered in the middle of his room, torn. Then, touching the lock on the doorknob, he leaned his head against the grain of the wood and closed his eyes. He sighed and threw the door open. "I am very busy."

Lupin looked at him, and then at the still-smoldering cigarette, with a faintly amused expression. "Yes, I can see that."

With a creak, the door shut again.

Neither of them spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Taking a drag of his cigarette, Severus cast the wolf a baleful look and glanced out his window, at the drab streets below. Spinner's End was as empty as always. "What do you want, then? Out with it. I don't have time to coddle you until you learn to speak."

"We're having another meeting tomorrow," the wolf said. "Will you be available for it? I know you won't be able to bring Harry yet…Do you have arrangements made for him to stay alone? He's not one to cause trouble, so it's doubtful he'll need anything special set up, but—"

"Why," Severus snarled, "do you continue to question my ability to take care of a single teenage boy, Lupin? I have done all that you've asked. I've given Potter a place to sleep. I've fed him, and have filled the pantry to his needs. He has access to a shower, is hidden behind countless wards, and he will have completed his summer assignments long before September."

His bedsprings let out an ungodly screech as he flung himself down onto the mattress, but Severus ignored it in favor of continuing his rant.

"I've even begun teaching him Occlumency. So why— why —do you insist on behaving as though as though I've been beating Potter bloody each and every night? Is this a plot you and Black have cooked up? Trying to catch me in the act, trying to trip old Snivellus up to show everyone what a Dark little creep I actually am?"

"You've begun Occlumency lessons?" Lupin seemed not to have heard a word of what he'd said. "How are they going?"

He felt as though he was going to break his teeth if he continued clenching his jaw like this. "One lesson. It was…Hm. Well, needless to say, Potter is as much of a failure as I'd expected him to be, so there was no great disappointment to be felt. As much as I hope for at least a subtle improvement, I'm sure you've also noticed how like his father the boy is—and by that, I of course mean criticism simply bounces right off of him."

There was no crack in demeanor to satisfy his craving for an argument. Instead, Lupin heaved a sigh and sat down next to him with a screech of bedsprings. "So it didn't go well, I take it? What seems to be the problem? I can't say I'm any good at Occlumency—I've never had a need to practice—but I might be able to offer a hint into Harry's behavior."

"The boy is less eager to learn than a flobberworm," Severus raged, standing up again and pacing around the tiny room. "He was making no effort whatsoever to empty his mind. In fact, each time I told him to try, he appeared to be attempting the exact opposite. He is disrespectful, simple-minded, incapa—"

"Empty his mind?"

"Yes, " he snarled, "and don't interrupt me again. Empty his mind! Don't allow me to see the emotions and memories! He is an abysmal fucking failure!"

His cigarette had gone out without his noticing. Lighting it again, Severus sucked down the smoke like it was a lifeline, fighting back a grimace; they never did taste quite right after relighting them. "He's—" He cut off with a cough, shaking his head. "He is making no effort. Do something about it before I send him off to headquarters, safety violation or not."

Lupin shifted a little on the bed, hand absentmindedly stroking over the corner of his lumpy old pillow to play with a loose thread. With his back to the window, the wolf's face was shrouded by the shadow that seemed to seep in from every corner; it was hard to read his expression. "I'll speak with him. But please, Severus…try not to compare Harry to his father. They are very different people." Then, quickly: "Have things been well otherwise? You mentioned he was working on his summer assignments…excellent news. Has he been able to receive any letters? Ron and Hermione replied to him, but they've received no response, from what I've heard."

Letters…He'd warded his house against unfamiliar owls years before. "I will see to the letters. Rest assured…I'm not intending on isolating the boy."

"I am very glad to hear of it."

They were quiet, both studying separate sides of the room, as Severus finished his cigarette and Banished the smell with a vague wave of his wand. There were new cinder marks on his floor. "I'll need to be making tea soon," he muttered, not entirely to himself.

It was very suddenly that Severus realized Lupin had long since made himself comfortable on his awful bed, and that they had been holding an actual conversation for more than a fraction of a second. The bubble popped and he came back to himself with a sickening jolt. He opened his mouth to instinctively begin insulting Lupin, to call him a filthy werewolf and force him out of the room, when his hand twitched—and a blinding, searing pain shot through his left arm.

He almost didn't catch his automatic gasp, barely managing to restrain himself in time. Gritting his teeth, he forced his body to relax, Occluding so intensely his vision nearly greyed out. "I do believe you've overstayed your welcome, Lupin," he spat, and the man seemed vaguely startled.

"If I said something wrong…" the wolf began, getting slowly to his feet, but Severus cut him off before he could go on.

"It's about time for you to leave, don't you think?" The Mark was burning white hot against his skin. There was no time to waste. Shoving past Lupin, Severus pulled his wardrobe open and yanked down the first pair of robes he saw, throwing them onto his bed without a backwards glance. The mask came next, tugged out of the depths of his wardrobe drawers, and flung to the side. "Lupin. Leave. Now. "

No response. The wolf hadn't moved; he could feel those judgemental eyes burning into his back, searing as hot as the Mark on his arm. Gripping the roots of his hair with one hand as he pulled his potions-equipped satchel out with the other, he wheeled around and said in the most dangerous voice he could muster, "Get out of my goddamn house, werewolf."

"Godric and Jesus—Severus, you might have thought to say something," Lupin snapped back, looking for all the world like he was on the verge of strangling him. Good. "What will you do about Harry? Is he well-protected on his own here?"

Godric and Jesus was right. "He's fifteen. I assure you, he knows how to open a bag of crisps. So now, for the last fucking time, get out of my house. Make yourself dubiously useful and tell the headmaster I've been Called."

Lupin finally deigned himself to leave the room. Slamming it shut with a wave of his hand, he changed clothing as quickly as possible, jamming his feet into his boots and tucking the mask beneath the cover of his robes. Severus opened the door to find the wolf exactly where he'd left him. For the love of—

Gripping him by the collar, Severus dragged them both down the stairs and through the bookshelf. It was only when they reached the kitchen and he met Potter's gobsmacked face that he realized he was still holding tightly to Lupin. "Fix yourself something to eat tonight," he ordered the boy, stepping quickly away from Lupin and reaching towards the stove to gather up the Polyjuice he'd brewed days before. "I will be back late. Possibly, I won't return until morning. Stay inside the house. Do not go up the stairs. Empty your mind tonight before you sleep. I repeat, do not go up the stairs. Lupin—after you."

He spent only enough time to force the werewolf out of his house before he pulled away and Disapparated without a word.

—

It wasn't yet dawn when Harry found himself abruptly awoken. Groggy and confused, he rubbed at his eyes, squinting into the darkness of the sitting room. He'd…heard something move. Had it been a dream? He'd been having a…very strange one…He yawned and brought his hand up to cover his mouth. Pulling his knees close to his chest, he hunkered back down into the dip of the couch where the cushions met the back, and closed his eyes—

Only to hear it again.

He sat up this time. Breathing quickly, Harry reached for his glasses on the side table and put them on. Was somebody trying to break in? Another sound, a soft scrape, and he could scarcely bring himself to move. He slowly pulled his wand out from under his pillow. Should he be expecting an attack? Could he call Snape somehow?

Pushing the blankets away, Harry eased off the couch as soundlessly as possible, moving on silent, socked feet to the kitchen where the noise had come from. He strained his ears to listen for the slightest sound. There—by the back door. His heart was racing in his chest. Raising his wand, he inched forward until he was next to the table. The moon was on the other side of the house, he realized as he tried to scan the dark room for any sign of intruders. There would be no moonlight to guide his way. A Lumos would help, but…although a qualified wizard had been guiding him through Occlumency, Snape wasn't here, and one hearing was enough for him.

Something moved on the kitchen floor—something in all black, something—in a cloak—

Oh, hell, Snape was lying on the floor.

"Sir?" Harry sputtered, dropping to his knees beside the motionless lump masquerading as his Potions professor. "Sir, are—are you all right? Sir?"

The only response he received with a soft noise, like Snape had tried to grunt but it hadn't quite made it past the back of his throat. What little Harry could see of his face was lax, as if he'd finally passed out. His eyes cracked open; they looked fevered, glazed over. "Potter…"

"What do you want me to do?" he demanded, hands hovering anxiously over the man. Should he help him up? Should he levitate him, or…

"…Go back to bed."

For a moment, Harry wasn't sure he'd heard him properly. "Er—come again?"

"Go."

"You have no further news for me, Severus?"

His scar was prickling. How had he not noticed until now, he wondered? Snape had been at a Death Eater meeting. And Voldemort had done…

Something.

Thinking about it made his head hurt. Whatever he'd done to Snape, it hadn't been good, else he would be his usual self instead of lying prone on his kitchen floor. "Professor, can you help me get you standing? Is there anything I can get for you? Do you need a potion of some kind?"

"Taken them. Go," Snape said, in a voice barely heard over the sound of his labored breathing.

Harry made up his mind on an impulse. Settling his hands firmly on Snape's shoulder—trying to ignore the violent jolt that came in retaliation—he gripped the man's robes and heaved him a few centimetres off the floor. "Help me get you up. Help me—stop, hang on, never mind—"

There was blood on the floor, underneath Snape's chest, though it didn't seem to be spreading. Where was it coming from? Was it a serious wound? His arm, Harry realized when he passed a hand hesitantly over his robes. His shoulder was saturated in it. Suddenly quite desperate to get Snape talking again, he scrambled for a safe topic of conversation. Was there a safe topic of conversation, when it came to Snape? Would he even remember any of this when he came to in the morning? "Tell me how to clear my mind during Occlumency," he ordered, before adding a hasty "sir." Injured or not, he wasn't in a hurry to bring Snape's wrath down on him.

For a moment, Snape didn't reply, and Harry's worry began to grow. Then, faintly: "What d'you think about when you're going to sleep?"

"Er-"

"Don't."

"Don't…what?" Harry asked, now trying to roll his professor over to ease him into a sitting position.

"Don't…think. At night. About…"

"About…" He hoisted the man up, wrapping his arms around him and tugging. Snape's boots dragged along the floor as Harry tried to pull him out into the living room. Should he have removed them? "Professor?"

"'Magine something. A lock. An…ocean. Quiet your mind…"

"Is that what you use?" They were now by the sofa. How was he supposed to get him up onto it?

"Dunner like the ocean."

"The lock, then?" Harry asked, but there was no reply: Snape had passed out. His head lolled back on his shoulders and his mouth parted open. If it weren't for the trail of blood they'd left through the house, he could have been asleep. The sofa was sure to be stained come morning. That is, if he could somehow find a way to get Snape onto it.

His breath caught slightly. Not daring to hope, Harry leaned down so that he was close enough to Snape's ear to whisper into it. "Were you friends with my mum?" he breathed, screwing his eyes up.

Snape didn't respond. Harry tried not to feel crushed.

The sun was beginning to rise by the time he managed to get Snape onto the couch. Eyes burning as he blinked, Harry looked down at himself, at the bloodstains smeared into his shirt. It had been Dudley's, once; not a great loss. He changed awkwardly, peeking at his silent professor as he did so. Then, looking around, his eyes settled on the chair by the fireplace. It would have to do.

Pale sunlight crept across the floor as Harry settled in. His eyes felt heavy. He curled up in the armchair, and tried to find sleep.