AN: I apologize for the lack of updates. High school life is a rollercoaster that I just can't seem to walk away from. The ride is long, and I've been distracted. Sophmore year is just a few months away now. Time flies. x)

Life is fair. Humans are not.

Harry found this to be particularly true as he stood in front of Snape, skull rippling with waves and sharp shards of pain. Images of Sirius kept inching into the front of his mind, openly revealing themselves to Snape's prodding. He picked and poked through each memory, recreating them in vicious ways that made Harry want to scream in despair.

"I see you still wear your heart on your sleeve. Precious Potter can't even clear his mind of all the golden ambitions he clings so dearly to," Snape teased.

"Stop it! Just stop it!" Harry roared, his heart rate elevating dangerously. "If your just going to stand there and be the sadistic git you are, then I won't even try to improve. You'll just be wasting your own damn time."

Snape raised an eyebrow, "And I see that the temper tantrums have not ceased either."

Before Harry could formulate a scathing reply, Snape was diving into his thoughts again. This time he was standing in front of the Mirror of Erised again. His parents were smiling down upon him, but Snape slowly appeared and stood beside the younger Harry, his coal black eyes boring into the innocent green.

Harry couldn't let Snape ruin this memory with his presence. This had happened too many times before, and Harry wouldn't stand and watch helplessly like he had before. He had managed to fight off Voldemort's possession just about a month ago. If he could take on Voldemort, Snape wouldn't stand a chance.

Harry forced himself to resist Snape's influence, pushing down and locking away all his thoughts. Then, he slammed his fist into the mirror and watched as the pieces of glass came crashing to the ground with a deep satisfaction. Snape recoiled from Harry's side and within seconds, Harry was alone with his thoughts once more.

Snape was holding himself up against the opposite wall of the study, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him when he had been shoved out of Harry's memories.

Harry tried not to look too triumphant. How was that for control?

But something was still wrong.

For some unknown reason, Snape still couldn't catch his breath, and ended up in a violent coughing fit, gasping on the floor. Harry watched in horror, unsure of what to do, but knew that he had to do something other than just stand there.

"Professor?" he asked tentatively, and crept closer. The man coughed and spluttered some more, his normally pale face becoming a blotchy red.

Harry's frightened voice seemed to register something in Snape's mind because the man took on a renewed sense of strength and authority. He pushed himself away from the wall and forced himself to stand on his own two feet. He managed to succeed, even though he was still a bit wobbly.

"That's enough for today. Get out of my sight," Snape rasped.

But Harry did not move. "Are you… alright, sir?"

"Don't be an idiot, Potter. Go."

Harry wavered in place for a minute before turning and making his way back upstairs. Once he was safely in the comfort of his bedroom, he analyzed the situation that had just taken place. Snape had almost suffocated to death, and then shooed him away. What was happening? He rubbed his temples to rid of the pain still lingering behind them. His muscles were still smarting from that little session, reminding Harry of the pain Snape had caused him. The git deserved whatever bout of illness came over him.

Harry shook his head, and smiled as the thought reminded him of Ron. Ron would have considered it a blessing for Snape to be gasping for air in front of him, but Harry couldn't help but think that this was a little cruel. The man was still human, regardless of the actions and choices that he had done and made.

And Dumbledore still trusted him, and still trusted Harry to trust him. Surely that still meant something.

But Dumbledore could be wrong. Harry wouldn't be surprised if tonight's act was just pity play and a malicious tactic for getting Harry to lower his guard. Before he would even realize it, Snape would probably be wringing out his neck in the middle of the night.

Honestly, how could he be so gullible? Obviously this was another mind game that Harry just couldn't unravel the rules of yet.

He'd figure it out eventually.

Snape paced around the perimeter of his bedroom, rubbing his tired eyes. He was slowly slipping, and soon he wouldn't be able to hide this illness anymore.

He'd reached a point past denial, accepting the fact that he was indeed ill, and in dire need of medical attention.

But he'd rather go to St. Mungo's than ever convey his story to Potter. There was no way he'd let the pest become his nursemaid, and he still wasn't entirely sure that the boy would stay once he became aware of his condition.

One thing was certain; he wouldn't be able to just ride this out. He wasn't sleeping, he'd been coughing up his lungs in the silence of his room (it was charmed, thankfully), and his temper was rising as his head had begun to ache from the early onset of a low grade fever.

He assured himself that this was normal. This was expected. Everything was still going completely according to plan. He just had to stop panicking. Really, there was no point in fussing over it. If he focused his attention elsewhere, maybe he wouldn't even feel it come or go.

There was the denial again.

Probably just a secondary side effect of the potion as well.

Still, Dumbledore had wanted this. That was the whole reason he'd been ordered to do this anyway. He was supposed to let Potter find out. Was he just supposed to crawl into Potter's arms, begging to be saved from this perpetual nightmare?

No, of course not. He would do it with more dignity than that, or so he hoped.

Night came without warning and Snape was forced to stay awake yet again, not risking the chances of letting himself freely fall into the clutches of another nightmare.

But this night held more than just vivid dreams.

Snape was trying to keep himself awake, charming another pillow to knock him on the head every once in a while, but was finding it increasingly warm and stuffy in the room. He felt trapped within his own body. Just mere hours later, he could practically feel the heat radiating off of his face. He was burning with fever and had opened the window as wide as it would go.

To make matters even worse, the dizziness was returning, and to Snape's displeasure, he realized he couldn't even move across the bedroom without stumbling over his own feet.

He'd nearly smashed his forehead on the nightstand as attempted to leave the room to get a glass of water.

Therefore, he was quite literally forced to remain on the bed now, with nothing more than that wretched pillow to reinforce his grip on his very own sanity.

And then, he grew cold. Terribly cold.

His body convulsed with powerful shivers, and he wrapped the bedcovers snuggly around himself against his better judgment. Making himself warmer wasn't going to help the fever. Unfortunately for Snape, he didn't have any good judgment left in him whatsoever.

That probably explained why he had the nerve to get out of bed and walk into the downstairs kitchen to retrieve a cold compress. He brought a blanket with him, teeth still chattering as he cursed under his breath, begging for a release from this illness' wrath.

He turned the faucet and ran a worn washcloth under the cold water, dreading having to put the thing on his forehead.

He felt pathetically vulnerable and almost laughed at how ridiculous he must've looked wrapped in a blanket, shivering and tripping over his own two feet. He'd be kissing the floor and crawling just to get back up the stairs again. The journey seemed so long and tedious from where he stood.

He vigilantly placed one foot in front of the other, ignoring the vertigo clawing at him.

If he managed to come down, he would manage to get back up.

Five strong steps was all it took to drain the remainder of his energy reserves. Snape's knees buckled involuntarily beneath him, sending him crashing to the carpeted ground. His body screamed at him to stop being such an idiot, to finally give in to the temptations of sleep and rest.

Snape groaned, shutting his eyes tightly as his stomach did flips and his brain pounded beneath his skull. It was cooking itself at this rate.

Just when he thought things couldn't get worse…

"Snape?" a reluctant voice called from the top of the stairs.

Snape hadn't prayed in almost 15 years, not since Lily had died, but at that very moment, he prayed that he would just die to be spared the embarrassment of all his pride leaking from his body.

And suddenly, Snape's body wasn't his own. Something instinctive had taken over. He was just an animal with a stranger's soul encased somewhere deep down.

He withdrew his wand from where he lay on the ground and pointed it at Potter's face.

Harry didn't seem intimidated in the least. If anything, he seemed even more determined to come closer.

"Are you mad?" he screeched, snatching Snape's wand from his hand. The empty hand thudded to the floor in defeat, and Snape groaned once more, sleep already claiming him from where he lay.

"Have you lost your mind? Get up! What's wrong with you?" Harry interrogated, eyes cold and hard from being awoken by the clamors of the scene that had just taken place.

Snape couldn't formulate an answer. He just laid there, lifeless and defeated. He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of an answer. He just wanted to die. Right here and now. Couldn't he have that one last wish?

Harry's eyes quickly grew concerned, and suddenly it was Lily who was standing before him, her brilliant green eyes blinking worriedly at him. Her eyes were all he could see. Those beautiful, almond-shaped eyes.

"Lily," he mumbled into the crook of his arm, which was outstretched before him.

"What?" Harry glowered. He wasn't sure what Snape had just said.

Thank Merlin he wasn't.

Snape let out a final groan before letting the lethargy claim his exhausted figure.

There was an emptiness that seared through his chest, ripping him open and then sewing him closed again. Something would tug at his soul persistently before finally relinquishing its hold. Sounds that made no sense meshed together, whispering into his ears over and over again.

Then his eyes caught a sliver of ruby red hair before finding the clusters of freckles and those hauntingly emerald eyes. He took in the way her eyebrows rose and the way the skin under her eyes wrinkled as she smiled. Her cheeks grew rosy as she caught his hand, pulling him forward to walk with her.

And suddenly he knew. He knew that though they lived in two separate worlds, their hearts sang the same sorrowful cry. His was for her and her's was for her son. Two cries that would never merge together, never meet again because of everything that had been broken.

He felt as though he'd been out for mere minutes, maybe even seconds, but it was morning now, and rays of sunlight were pouring through the window. He covered his eyes with one arm and was surprised to find that he was now in his bed, and that the cold compress had finally found its way to his forehead.

"You're a right, good git, you know that?" Potter drawled angrily.

Snape squinted at the teenager, failing to form a sufficient glare.

"I take it this is your doing?" Snape spat, referring to how his body had ended up in the bed.

"Kreacher's, actually. He apparated your body upstairs. What the bloody hell were you thinking? Did you think I'd just gladly let you drop dead to the floor? Gave me a bloody heart attack," Harry went on, shoving a glass of water into Snape's trembling hands.

"Language," Snape hissed, but allowed the boy to continue his rant. He needed to hear someone shout, to make sense of everything, and since he was in no condition to do so himself, he would have to settle on someone yelling for him even if it was directed toward him.

"Dumbledore's been here. Did you honestly believe that I wouldn't figure this out? You expected me not to notice if you just fainted in the middle of the night, and never woke up again? Do really think that I'm such a bloody idiot? Dumbledore and his master plans. Once again I wasn't told anything, so thanks for that. I just saved your bloody life is all. What does that matter?" Harry said bitterly, his face growing a darker shade of red with each word.

Snape's scowl grew more pronounced. He huffed, "Don't title yourself a hero just yet."

Confusion grew in the pit of Snape's stomach. Why had Potter bothered to go through all of this?

Harry was apparently in no mood for Snape's scathing words today. "Next time you drop to the floor, I'm just leaving you there. Dumbledore will have to come to collect you."

Snape sneered. "Why didn't you consider doing that in first place?"

"You think that after all I've seen, all I've been through, that I would willingly let someone die in front of me? I don't care who you are. You're not Voldemort. I don't want you dead. I know what watching people die is like. I didn't need a reminder last night." Harry spat.

Snape frowned, but didn't reply. Instead, he focused on mustering up the energy to get out of bed. This was absolutely degrading. Potter's son was standing before him with that all-too-familiar look that clearly said, 'You owe me.'

It was the same look Snape had seen after James had stopped by at the Hospital Wing after the werewolf "incident" to make sure he hadn't died. This was history repeating itself. Saved by a Potter? Utterly preposterous. The thought made him feel even more sick than he already was.

James had that same annoying and… concerned look that Harry wore right now. It was just so foreign and against all the other scenarios he had expected.

Snape propped himself up on his elbows.

"Are you MENTAL? Where do you think you're going? You collapsed last night, or has your delirious mind already forgotten?" Harry bellowed, seriously agitated. He shoved Snape back down with a single hand.

"I'm going to get Dumbledore. You obviously can't stay here anymore. You need St. Mungo's. Your fever has fried your bloody brains by this point," Harry said resolutely.

"Silence, Potter. You're the one driving me mad. I can still perform a perfectly acceptable 'Petrificus Totalus'."

"You wouldn't dare," Harry growled.

"I would. Your assistance is no longer necessary, nor welcome. So, get out."

"You're unbelievable," Harry gaped, "but I don't know why I would've expected anything else. Certainly not a 'thanks'. No, that would've been too much. I don't have any expectations of decency from you anymore."

"And you would know all about decency wouldn't you, Potter?" Snape mocked.

"Let's just settle this already. Why are you so intent on hating me?"

"Why are you so intent on letting me live?" Snape retorted. "I thought you couldn't stand even looking me in the eyes after Black's death. Surely, you're still blaming me for that as well."

"I'm not here to find some sort of justification for what was done to Sirius. I meant it when I said I don't want you dead. Not on my watch anyway. You're just cross because you're still angry about what Sirius and my father did to you all those years ago. So, you got humiliated in front of the whole school, big deal. You call that bad? I watched people get murdered by someone who didn't even know them," Harry replied heatedly.

"Oh, please, Potter. You think I haven't seen people die? I've seen more than you could possibly imagine, and I knew all about your saint father and his wonderful sidekicks. "

"Yeah, but he still grew up better off than you, didn't he? He married, had me, and worked toward bringing people like Voldemort down. He died innocent, but yet you have the nerve to stand before me when you worked for the people who killed my parents. He tried to fight evil, but you're just a part of that evil. Innocent people like my parents, Cedric, and Sirius died, but you still live. Tell me why is that?" Harry ranted, breathing heavily.

"You don't know me. You don't know why I've done the things I've done, and it's none of your business anyway," Snape said plainly.

"Not my business? You're part of the reason why all of my family members are dead! Why haven't you been killed off yet? Why did Dumbledore spare you? Why does he still trust you after all you've done?"

The fifteen year old paced back and forth, trying to control his temper. Immediately, he regretted what he had said. He had gone too far and it wouldn't be wise to attack Snape in his state. Fighting could kill him, and though Harry felt that at the moment he didn't care anymore, he knew that it wasn't true. He was just angry, and anger caused rash decision making and dangerous consequences.

"Why don't you go and ask him then?" Snape responded simply. He wasn't looking to pick a fight right now. He was too tired to shout. He would let the boy blow off steam and leave. At least no harm would be done if Snape didn't provoke him too much. It might keep the teen at bay for a while, giving Snape a chance to tend to himself.

"I have." Harry sighed, stopping his pacing. He stared at Snape dead in the eyes, silently challenging him to say something.

"This has nothing to do with your hatred for me," Snape noted casually.

"I'm living in my dead godfather's house with his room right across from mine, his possessions all untouched. What do you think this is about?"

"I didn't kill, Black."

"I know," Harry said slowly. "I know. I just can't stand this place. I can't stand any of it, and to know that Dumbledore planned all of this is even worse."

"Dumbledore has fooled many. He's a powerful wizard, but won't tolerate those who stand in the way of his plans."

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to start badmouthing Dumbledore. He's done a lot for me. I owe him."

Snape tried to soften his tone to show that he wasn't trying to provoke Harry. "Go, Potter. Just stay in the house, and don't do anything predictably stupid."

Harry smirked. "The same could be said for you."

Snape scowled. "Cheeky brat."

In the end, Harry obliged and left the room after giving Snape another calculating look. Both of them needed to be alone. This was a lot to take in.

It wasn't until Harry had made his way back in the kitchen that he realized that the previous confrontation was the only one between him and Snape that hadn't turned out to be catastrophic. They had both calmed. They both knew that there was little to no choice in how their situation was unfolding.

He would play nice, for now. The man was as sick as a dog, and this was a fight which held no victor. Old prejudices never sought victors in their midst.

Humans might've been unfair, but it took courage to be able to back down from them. Some wars weren't worth fighting. Some wars couldn't be won. Some wars were better left surrendered.

After all, there were bigger wars to fight.