AN: Sorry this took longer than expected. My 15th birthday was last Friday, and it was also the opening weekend of "The Hunger Games", so I let myself slack off. x)

It was late. The moon hung over the gloomy clouds, blanketing them in a radiant light. All was still outside other than the occasional hum of the wind. Meanwhile, Harry was pacing around the makeshift bedroom he usually claimed when staying at Grimmauld Place, but for some reason he couldn't sleep, especially not while Snape was lurking around the house. He might be plotting something like hexing Harry while he dreamt, and he didn't want to take the risk of that happening.

But Harry knew that he didn't need to fear such scenarios. Dumbledore wouldn't allow it, and he was safe as long as the Headmaster knew his whereabouts, or so he assumed.

Speaking of Dumbledore, hadn't he told Harry that he would come to visit later today? Well, it was late alright, and still no sign of him. Harry dismissed this as a sign that the Headmaster was occupied at the moment, but silently wished that wasn't the case. He needed to talk, even though it seemed tedious at the moment. He knew he'd feel better if he released all the grief he had been holding for the past few weeks.

An unmistakable thud resounded throughout the household, and Harry sprang back into awareness. He opened his bedroom door and peeked into the hallway, ears waiting for something… anything. His toes tingled with excitement. He was itching to wander about, to find something of interest in order to break the bubble he had secluded himself in as of late.

The clear sound of glass shattering directed his attention toward Snape's room, which was adjacent to the stairs leading to the first floor. Harry debated whether or not he should see what was going on, fearful that Snape would accuse him of snooping.

His Gryffindor curiosity got the best of him, and he made his way quietly down the carpeted floor, his socks brushing the soft threads. The door had been tightly shut previously, but now was slightly ajar. Harry opened the door fully and was met with the sight of Snape standing over a broken potion vial, it's contents splattered all over the floor. He was cursing under his breath, muttering fervently.

Harry cleared his throat to make his presence apparent. He surveyed the cluttered room filled with books and stray papers, each one scribbled with more notes than the other. One book was sprawled on the floor, binding up, which explained the thud he had heard previously.

"Potter," Snape growled, "What are you doing traipsing about?"

"I wasn't traipsing," Harry snarled in reply. "You woke me," he lied.

Snape ignored his comment, obviously preoccupied with cleaning up the spilled potion.

Harry on the other hand, noted that the man's face was covered in a slick sheen of sweat, and couldn't help but wonder what had caused the clumsiness of his usually cautious, bat-like professor.

"I've no time for your nonsense, Potter. Go back to bed." Snape said, dismissing him.

Harry scoffed, but decided not to push the topic any further. Besides, the potion on the ground was releasing misty pink fumes, though he couldn't place from where he recognized the scent. He left Snape's room and went back to his familiar bedroom, a new sense of drowsiness overcoming him. It wasn't until his eyes were merely slits and his mind was swiftly drifting away that he realized the concoction had been a Dreamless Sleep potion. It must've been powerful if the fumes had been enough to lull his restless self. He was about to consider why Snape would have such a potion on hand, but never got the chance as his thoughts trailed.

Snape shook his head, trying to clear dizziness and apathy that were grasping him tightly. He clumsily mopped up the Dreamless Sleep potion that would've been useless even if he'd had the chance to ingest it. The attempt had been futile.

Needless to say, he had been desperate for an escape from his night terrors, resulting in him turning to the potion for assistance. Seeing as there was nothing to alleviate his symptoms now, he would just have to stay awake and ride this out. Dumbledore had said that there would be breaks in between, and he could sleep when he got to that point.

Snape hoped it wouldn't be long. He was a walking zombie as it was, but knew he had to keep control while Potter was in the house. He couldn't risk falling asleep in such a mental state. Not yet, anyway. Not while the boy was still unaware of his condition. Maybe he'd be able to keep it all a secret. It would take a lot of willpower to push down his symptoms, but he had been through worse, and this was just icing on a layered cake.

So he sat on his bed restlessly, charming his pillow to knock him over the head whenever he dozed off. It was incredibly irritating and Snape had almost torn the pillow into pieces just as the sun began to crack over the horizon. Finally, he stood and made himself a steaming cup of tea in the kitchen, taking extra care to make sure he didn't drop anything this time.

His appetite was nonexistent this morning, but he forced himself to have a piece of toast with orange marmalade. He had to keep what little strength he had left. An owl arrived midway into his meager meal, dropping off the Daily Prophet and a brief note from Dumbledore.

"I shall stop by in an hour. I hope you are faring well."

~Albus

Snape sighed and tossed the note aside, taking another sip of tea. He knew he'd have to wake Potter to inform him, since the Headmaster would most certainly want to speak with him.

Wake Potter.

Snape curled his lip up in disgust, but then twisted his face into a tight smirk.

This should be fun.

He made his way back upstairs and stood outside the door of Potter's room. Then, he swished his wand twice and stepped back.

"What! Agh!" Harry shouted in distress as his pillows slipped from underneath his cheek and proceeded to beat him over the head. His covers flung away from his body as though being burned and the mattress floated upward, leaving him hovering in midair. Unfortunately, Harry made the mistake of rolling away from the ravenous pillows, and groaned as his body made contact with the hardwood floor.

Snape smiled triumphantly at each sound of irritation.

Harry snatched his glasses off the nightstand, put them on, and crawled across the floor, shielding his head from the pillows. He clawed at the doorknob, trying to pry open the door. It took a few tries, but surely enough it came flying open. He dove for his exit, belly-first, and was met with the embarrassing sight of Snape towering over him with a look of feigned surprise and amusement.

A final smack from a pillow nearly knocked Harry's glasses off of his face, and they slipped down the bridge of his nose.

He tried not to imagine how ridiculous he looked right now. Bed-head, pajama-clad, and nearly kissing the floor.

"Snape," Harry hissed in an accusing tone. "You did this!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Snape said casually. "Get up. Professor Dumbledore will be here shortly." Harry brightened up just the slightest bit, rubbing his aching head. Still, he rose from the floor and made his way to the bathroom to clean up before venturing down to the kitchen in search of food.

He was just about to settle on preparing some eggs when a sharp "pop!" cut through the silence. Then, Kreacher the house elf stood at Harry's feet, his head bowed in mock respect. Bright blue orbs gazed at him expectantly, but held a glare of disapproval as well.

"Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black," he repeated for the umpteenth time.

"He answers to you, now," came a deep voice from the doorway.

Harry spun around to meet Snape's black eyes.

"What?"

"Black's dead. He's your house elf," Snape said very slowly and simply, treating Harry as though he was mentally incapable of understanding.

Harry glared at Snape, but turned back to Kreacher. The thing must've been hiding out somewhere last night, surprised by his new guests.

"Half-bloods…" Kreacher murmured to himself.

If this was indeed the case, if Kreacher truly belonged to Harry, that meant that he had to answer to his every command.

"Hand me the eggs, Kreacher." Kreacher sneered, and was obviously trying to resist the order. His defiance resulted in him banging his head on the counter as punishment, shrieking at the top of his lungs.

"Kreacher, stop!" Harry roared over the elf's howls, but he didn't seem to hear.

"NO! WON'T! BLOOD TRAITORS IN THE HOUSE OF BLACK!"

Snape's eyes glinted.

"Stop! I'm sorry, okay? Just stop it!" Harry begged, trying to get Kreacher to calm down.

Then, the magical bond kicked in, and Kreacher instantly came to a halt, his eyes growing sullen once more.

"Harry Potter," he muttered quietly, "Destined hero of the wizarding world."

Harry sighed, but made a note to never command Kreacher to do anything ever again. Just let him mope about.

"I'm assuming you are capable of making yourself breakfast without any further incidences?" Snape sneered.

Harry refused to answer him, and prepared his breakfast in silence. Snape sat at the small table in the middle of the kitchen, reading the Daily Prophet with a mug at hand. It definitely wasn't tea because Harry could smell yet another potion. He made sure to keep his distance from any possible fumes this time. It vaguely had scents of coffee mixed into it. Perhaps some type of energizing potion?

When Harry had filled his plate, he reluctantly sat across from Snape, knowing he might be scolded for eating in the living room, or in bed.

"I presume you won't be greeting the Headmaster in those clothes," Snape said, monotone from behind his newspaper. Harry furrowed, but Snape pointed to the boy's socks, which had a hole at the top, revealing a protruding toe. Also, his t-shirt was well worn, and he was still in his pajama pants.

"I'm going to change, obviously," Harry said defensively.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to put your fragile emotions at unease," Snape replied slyly.

Anger boiled inside of Harry. He was sick of Snape and his snide comments. The bastard always had some crafty remark.

"I presume you won't be greeting him with that hair," Harry spat, unable to restrain himself.

The effect was instantaneous. Snape's pupils narrowed and before Harry could duck under the table for protection, Snape had levitated Harry's pumpkin juice and splashed it over him, making sure to drench his entire t-shirt.

Snape tried not to look too pleased with the result.

Harry stood up, soaking wet and spluttering. "Git." He stormed from the table and made his way back upstairs and into the bathroom.

Dumbledore had obviously supplied the house with food and other resources for their stay seeing as Harry found a clean tooth brush and other toiletries waiting for him in the bathroom drawer. That explained the fresh abundance of food as well. Somehow, he just couldn't imagine Snape shopping for groceries. The image itself was ludicrous.

The man was socially inept. Half the student body was still spreading the rumor that he was a bloodthirsty vampire biting into the necks of innocent first-years during their detentions.

After all, the overgrown bat deserved it. His greasy black hair and black eyes were enough to make anyone hate him. Not to mention the fact that he was a bully in the classroom, feeding off the sheepishness and humiliation of his students. Nothing would ever make up for all the "Dreadful's" that Harry received in the man's Potions class. The man was vile.

Was he even mentally capable of showing gratitude and affection, or Merlin forbid, love?

Definitely not.

"Harry, m'boy!" Dumbledore greeted warmly as he entered Grimmauld Place. "It's about time we had the chance to converse." Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was fearful that if he opened his mouth, all his emotions would break through his mental dam, flooding out into the open endlessly.

But Dumbledore wasn't focused on Harry at the moment, his eyes lingered over Snape, who was hunched over a book in the sitting room. His expression was calculating as he took in the man's posture. Snape gave in to the temptation and looked up from the reading, his eyes lifeless and droopy.

Albus silently interrogated him, watching him for just a few more seconds before making up his mind, and turning back to Harry.

"Harry, I think it would be best if we took a walk outside. It's a lovely day, and my old legs could use a good stretch," the Headmaster said loftily.

"Erm, okay," Harry agreed. He didn't mind leaving this building in the least. Personally, he wanted to get away from it all for a little while.

Dumbledore shot one more look at Snape before walking out the door.

The pair stepped out into the lustrous morning sunshine. The summer air was hot on their faces, but the weather was still considerably mild. The birds sang from their trees, concealed by a cloak of green leaves. Big, fluffy clouds played in the sky, floating slowly along. Harry could swear he saw a witch's hat in one of them.

"I sense something is troubling you, Harry. Is Sirius a contributor to this?" Dumbledore asked softly.

Harry nodded once more, fighting the urge to drag his feet as he walked. "He was the only family member I had left, and Voldemort's lot claimed him as well, just like all the others. His death was in vain. Nothing was gained from that battle besides destruction."

"No, Harry," Dumbledore began, "The death of a loved one is never in vain. For someone to have loved, and to have been loved in return, is worth enough to make a world of difference. I trust you won't do anything rash because of this loss."

Harry exhaled air he didn't know he had been holding. "No, I can't let down the entire wizarding world because of this. I know now that I have to fight. Neither can live while the other survives. I have to be the one who survives, or I have to at least try."

"It is extremely brave and wise of you to be acknowledging this in such a way, Harry," Dumbledore encouraged, his blue eyes twinkling once again. "However, you must remember that you are not in this battle alone. There are many people who would fight for you, which is why this is not a one-sided war. Love is the most powerful weapon you can ever wield, Harry."

"Thank you, sir," Harry whispered, unsure of any other way to respond.

"All will fall into its rightful place, especially when things seem most grim. Trust me, Harry."

"I trust you, sir." Harry replied confidently. He didn't doubt Dumbledore's judgment.

"Speaking of trust, I think it is time for you to make amends with your professor." Dumbledore remarked, studying Harry's reaction over his half-moon spectacles.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think that's going to work out very well." Harry admitted.

"If you truly trust me, Harry, I need you to trust in Professor Snape as well. This will prove to be very crucial in the near future."

"Crucial, sir?" Harry retorted, confused.

"I want you to resume your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape, and you will need to successfully accomplish this skill."

Harry bit his tongue to keep his mouth from falling open. "Sir, you don't understand-"

"I'm aware of the current circumstances, Harry. Regardless, it is essential for you to obtain this skill while staying with Professor Snape."

First live with Snape and now resume the Occlumency lessons? What was Dumbledore playing at? Obviously, it would be another disaster in the making.

"These lessons might also help you to control your emotions over Sirius. Your mind will need to be cleared and focused." Dumbledore explained subtly.

Harry stared blankly at Albus, green eyes lost in the blue. "Your word, Harry?"

Harry just couldn't find himself to form the word "no" in front of Dumbledore, so settled on the alternative.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. The word was just barely wrenched from within the depths of his throat. He couldn't believe he was going along with this, but could see Dumbledore's reasoning. Occlumency was important in survival and protection. It would prove to be a vital component in keeping information from Voldemort.

Still, he couldn't shake the nagging voice in the back of his head, which was spewing venom at anything having to do with Snape.

The pair walked back to the headquarters and said their goodbyes in the corridor. Snape was nowhere to be found, and Harry wasn't about to go searching for him. Let the git hide out for a while. The young wizard made his way upstairs, looking forward to seeing Hedwig resting in her cage. Dumbledore had spelled all of his belongings into Grimmauld Place before he had even arrived. He silently wondered if he might be able to learn that trick someday.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore explored the ground floor in search of Snape. He finally spotted him in the study across from the dining room, dozing fitfully in an armchair. A fresh coat of sweat covered his face as his body convulsed in fear from whatever nightmare he was experiencing this time around.

"Severus?" Dumbledore whispered, reaching out an arm and placing it on Snape's shoulder.

The man woke with a gasp, jumping and springing into action, his wand out and pointed forward in a split second. He was obviously prepared for any surprise attack, but as he took in Albus' familiar face, he relaxed, throwing his head back with a long sigh.

"Has your condition worsened?" Dumbledore whispered.

"I don't think so. It's been like this for days now," Snape replied groggily, pushing himself to sit up.

"Have you gotten any sleep?"

"Yes."

"Be honest," Dumbledore admonished.

"Just now, since you left with the boy."

"What about last night?" Dumbledore inquired.

"I couldn't sleep. I couldn't trust myself not to have a fit in my sleep," Snape explained indifferently.

"You cannot function like this. You are putting both yourself and Harry in danger by being unaware of what is happening during the day. You have to inform him, Severus."

Snape grumbled something indistinguishable, then rose from the armchair, making his way toward the door.

"I won't fall asleep like this again," Snape promised, but Dumbledore still didn't seem pleased.

Eventually, the Headmaster left and Snape was left alone in the study.

Snape vaguely wondered if he'd be as lucky as to be struck by lightning anytime soon; a creative end to a miserable life.

Dumbledore had undoubtedly relayed to Harry the next bad news. Occlumency lessons. Snape couldn't decide who it was going to be more torturous for.

But this was not the time to chicken out. He'd start the first lesson tonight. The boy was going to finally learn this, even if it killed him.