Severus watched for a second as his student, angry and tired, agonized over his shoes. It was obvious Potter wasn't going to offer an explanation about what had led to him literally passing out. The Potions Master moved towards the couch quietly. At this point, it wasn't about gathering information for the Headmaster; he needed to know for his own peace of mind.

Potter hissed a swear and threw down his shoe in frustration. "Sorry…Sir."

Severus sat carefully on the couch, as far from his student as possible to prevent spooking the irritable young man. "Potter, I want to know what's bothering you."

The Gryffindor looked at him sideways with a half-hearted glare. "So that's it," He murmured with a huff of disbelief. "I might've known." He stood, gathering his shoes in hand. "I'm fine, there isn't a thing wrong with the Headmaster's pet. That should satisfy the old man's curiosity."

Severus scowled. "Potter, sit."

Potter rounded on him, shoes still clasped in one hand. "What do you think this is, Snape? I'm not a frightened little kid anymore, remember? I've killed a man; compared to him, you don't even raise my blood pressure. You can give all the detentions you want, take points until Gryffindor is so far behind it'll take a decade to earn them back, but I'm not just going to magically bear my soul for you to spit on all because you demanded it!"

He turned to leave again and Severus followed closely. "Potter, that is enough! You aren't leaving here until you tell me what is wrong, if I have to force Veritaserum down your throat!" He grabbed a too-thin wrist. "You are waifishly thin and practically dead on your feet! I'm concerned about your health, you idiot boy!"

Potter rounded on him again. "Why the hell should you care now, when you never have before?!" He demanded, wrenching his arm from Severus' grasp.

The Potions Master didn't answer, only glared back into the dangerous green gaze. "You have to tell someone," He said, softening his tone. "I promise, whatever you tell me now will not be told to anyone beyond the Headmaster, and I will only tell him what I deem important."

The Wizarding Savior continued to glare at him for a long moment in a battle of wills. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly. "Fine."

"What?"

"I said 'fine'," Potter spat. "Who knows, maybe you'll actually listen, unlike my so-called friends."

Severus straightened to his full height and gestured to the couch. The young man stomped over, still defiant, and sat down on the edge of the nearest cushion, setting his shoes down. "I was told your friends don't know what is going on with you."

Potter scoffed. "They know," He said. "They just don't understand, so they assume that it's got to be something else."

Severus moved over and sat on the couch. Not terribly close, but near-enough to the tensed younger wizard to be able to reach out a hand should he try to leave again. "So, what is it?"

"Nightmares," Potter said shortly. "Stupid, ordinary nightmares that no one should have to carry around in their head."

Severus scowled, and when green eyes glanced at him, the Gryffindor sighed.

"Fine," He said again. He ran his hands over his face. "I'm dead on my feet because I can't sleep for fear of what I'll see when I close my eyes. I can't sleep because every time I do, I dream about the life that I took. I can't eat because every waking moment I'm being hounded by hero-worshippers praising me for being a murderer, and it makes me sick. And I've lost the desire to try, knowing that none of this will ever go away, that I'll never escape the reality of what I've done. I will never be free of the burden of the murder I committed while the world cheered me on."

Severus stared at his student aghast. Even if he'd expected total honesty, which he hadn't, he could never have guessed what was weighing so heavily on the 7th Year's soul. He had been there, taking Death Eaters out from the shadows, when Potter had lost his beloved dogfather to the veil. He had seen the final battle, as Potter's recklessness endangered the lives of him and his friends; he'd seen Potter try to cast the Unforgivable on Bellatrix, had witnessed the courageous Gryffindor step between Albus and Voldemort, ending the Dark Lord's life with a blast of semi-accidental magic when his shield had exploded, rather than shattered, under the pressure of a powerful Killing Curse that, wonder among wonders, had rebounded at the Dark wizard that had cast it. How could Potter feel guilt for defending, not only himself, but all of Wizarding Britain? And why had it taken over a year for the guilt to start eating at him like this?

Carefully, Severus reached out a hand and placed it on a tense shoulder. "Potter-"

"Don't," Potter said, resignation in his tone. He shrugged off Severus' hand and stood, turning away. "I killed a man, okay? It doesn't matter what he was, or what he'd done, nothing changes the fact that at his core he was still just a man. Nothing can make what I've done alright."

Severus stood as well, in case the young man tried to make a break for it, shoes or no shoes. "Potter, the Dark Lord-"

"Tom."

The interruption was so soft that Severus almost missed it. "What?" He prayed that Albus hadn't.

Potter sighed, wrapping his arms around himself as if he were cold. "His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle, okay? I sort of knew that already, because of the diary in my 2nd Year, but…I never really connected the dots between the memory of Tom and the bastard trying to kill me. In my head, they were two different people. Then, last year, Dumbledore started showing me memories of Riddle during our private 'lessons'. I don't really understand what he was hoping to accomplish, though I could guess that he was trying to show me that Tom had always been moving in the direction of evil, but that's not what I took from it. " He turned to face the Potions Master, green eyes evasive. "He was an orphan, just like me, and he could have been helped. It wasn't fair! He was robbed of his childhood by the cruel Muggle orphanage he'd been stuck in, and instead of nurturing whatever good was inside of him, the Wizarding World just left him there each Summer to rot!"

Severus found himself unable to respond. This was guilt, sure, but there was a deeper issue underlying it…fear. He stepped towards the broken 17 year old. "Potter, you are nothing like Tom Riddle."

For a moment, Severus thought he had guessed wrong at the underlying tension in Potter's words, but then thin shoulders slumped.

"What makes me so different?" Potter asked softly.

Severus sighed and gently guided the young man back to the couch, sitting next to him. "Well, for one, you're a wreck at Potions," He answered, trying to lighten the dark mood. He was heartened slightly when he received a soft chuckle. "But, there are a million other reasons, Potter. Not the least of which, the fact that you're this broken up about it. Yes, the Dark Lord was a student of Hogwarts once, too; but he never felt remorse for his misdeeds."

Potter surprised him by leaning tiredly into his chest, still hugging his own arms to ward off an impossible cold. "I want to believe you, Snape, but my nightmares…every night, I dream of the horrible things I saw through his eyes in 5th Year, but I see myself doing them in his place. If I'm nothing like him, then why am I dreaming about inflicting so much pain and suffering?"

The Potions Master sighed as he wrapped a comforting arm around Potter's shoulders. This was going to be a long night, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. Most of his adult life he had been doing the thankless job of protecting his Snakes, but none of them had ever needed him like Potter did now. He could still feel the old disgust and anger boiling beneath the surface; old habits die hard. However, for now, he would offer what little comfort he could. For now, this wasn't the son of James, nor even the son of Lily, this was a broken and battered teenager who needed someone to tell him everything would be alright.