The sun had just set over the horizon by the time Snape awoke again. He was uncomfortably aware of how stiff his muscles felt. It was as though he'd been wrung out like a towel, all tangled and constricted. He tentatively sat up in bed, rubbing a hand over his face. Something clicked against the window as he disentangled himself from the clutches of the bedcovers, and he curiously strode over to investigate.

A snow white owl greeted him with a freshly caught mouse gripped in her mouth. Her golden eyes blinked at him expectantly. Snape was sure he'd seen this animal before, and vaguely deduced that it must belong to Potter.

"You're not entering this house with that monstrosity in your mouth." Snape snarled, lip curling in disgust.

Hedwig quickly grew annoyed, flapping her wings fervently in discontent. When Snape proceeded to ignore her, she gave off an ear shattering screech.

Snape screwed his eyes shut as the beginning of a migraine worked its way through his temples. He didn't even take the time to notice another figure stepping into the room.

"What's going on?" Harry interrogated, sweeping into the room and over to the window.

"Ah, I suppose this endearing creature is just displaying affection at the prospect of meeting a new companion," Snape hissed, eyes glaring at Hedwig's. "Get it and that rodent out of here before I kill it."

Harry frowned. "Not an owl person, huh?"

"Not after being privileged enough to meet all of Dumbledore's messengers over the years."

Harry slid the window open and complimented Hedwig's new catch, then sent her off to continue her hunt for the remainder of the night.

"No letters today, Hedwig. The night is yours," Harry rubbed her head as a goodbye and watched her take flight again before shutting the window.

"Sorry about that. She loves showing off her achievements."

"Much like her master," Snape growled, but made no further comment.

Harry surrendered with a sigh. He was actually getting quite used to Snape's remarks by now. They all lacked the personal attacks that Harry used to always find hidden in them. Suddenly, they didn't matter at all. The man's cynicism was actually bearable for once.

And the fact still remained that Harry wasn't exactly sure what Snape's condition was at the moment. Dumbledore hadn't really stuck around to give out all the logistics of the potion Snape had been forced to take. Therefore, until Harry deemed his foe fit to argue with, he'd keep his composure.

"You missed Dumbledore again, but don't worry, I told him you weren't dying or anything, so he shouldn't be back for a while," Harry murmured, making his way back to the doorway.

Oh, there was just so much that Snape wanted to say, but his fever was jumbling his thoughts together in giant clumps and clots. He couldn't formulate a decent argument even if he tried, so he just settled on brooding for the meantime.

"Erm-," Harry rubbed the back of the neck awkwardly. "So, do you need anything?"

"Potter," Snape said sternly, "I assure you that I am not in need of a nursemaid at the present time. Please direct yourself out, or I will personally see you on your way."

"I see you're feeling better," Harry rolled his eyes.

Oh, oh, how Snape wanted to just hex the brat's head off, but lacked the energy to do so.

The fifteen year old rocked on his heels for a moment before hesitantly saying, "You slept the day away, so you should probably eat something. You should have some water at least."

Snape's expression grew more murderous by each passing second. "Potter, my threat of petrifying you still stands."

"Dumbledore warned me of your threats. He specifically mentioned that I should pay them no mind. So, some tea, then? Great." Harry murmured, refusing to give up this early in the game. He would prove to Snape that he was capable of being as obstinate as he was.

Snape scowled, but followed Harry down the stairs to make sure no poisonous substances were mixed into his tea while he was caught off guard. The boy might've been playing nice now, but that didn't mean that he didn't have some underlying strategy to turn this entire situation upside-down. He was just a teenager. He couldn't be trusted.

But it turned out that Harry did not, in fact, slip anything remotely dangerous into the mug, and handed Snape his tea without a single snide comment.

Snape sat at the dining room table, musing on the fact that the only time he had entered this room in the past was for a meeting of the Order of The Phoenix. He never stayed long; he'd always tried to avoid Black as much as humanly possible. He watched as Harry sat down across from him, Quidditch catalog at hand. Snape raised an eyebrow at him, wondering why he was dawdling.

"Dumbledore also said that you need to be supervised lest you faint again." Harry elaborated, flipping a page casually.

That was one memory Snape didn't fancy reminiscing.

"Potter, I'm sure you could be spending your time more productively elsewhere rather than clinging to me like a hungry dog," Snape said, taking a sip of tea.

"Yeah, I could be," Harry agreed absently, making no move to abandon the seat he was situated in.

The entire scenario was rather foreign and confusing for Snape. The boy was genuinely attempting to help him and Snape had no choice, but to put up with his sudden desire to help. Snape was forced to stay inside the house, which ruled out the possibility of just leaving the boy here and going out for a nice firewhiskey. He would most certainly splinch himself if he apparated, and he couldn't walk the distance. Hell, he could barely walk at all.

He finished the rest of his tea with this train of thought before standing up and making his way back up the stairs. The action took more effort on Snape's part than it should have, but he managed to hold his ground and make his way successfully into the bedroom. When Harry was convinced that Snape wasn't going to keel over and die anytime soon, he left the room and went to go tend to his own business.

Snape on the other hand, sulked at the fact that he had been stripped down to his most miserable state. He felt like a man that had lived a hundred years too long. He couldn't read; his eyes deciphered words at an alarmingly gradual rate. He couldn't write any letters; his hands shook with horrible tremors, and worst of all, he couldn't brew any potions with his useless hands. His concentration was completely off, and he would just end up scalding himself before making any notable progress.

Thus, he was forced to let his mind control the rest of his body, forcing him to succumb to yet another round of sleep.

He woke up in a cold sweat, adrenaline pumping through his veins after having dreamt some ridiculous dream once more. Nightfall had arrived yet again, and Snape grew aware of his dire need for water. His tongue felt like cardboard against his teeth, which indicated his dehydration.

This time, he didn't take the chance of getting up to get the water himself. The trip was long, and he didn't think he'd be able to make it that far.

Ultimately, he was left with two options. He would either have to call Harry for assistance, or shrivel up and die here in silence. Choice two seemed like the obvious winner, but Snape knew Albus wouldn't let him off that easy. The man would find a way to raise him from the dead to make him complete any tasks the man had set upon him. There was a reason he had forced Snape to stay in this house with Potter, but he wasn't exactly sure what lied underneath the man's auspices just yet.

So, Snape stowed away his pride for the meantime, deciding that survival and a quick recovery were more important at the moment.

"Potter," he groaned, angry at himself for this display of vulnerability.

He was met with no response.

"Potter!" he shouted in a sharper tone, knocking on the wall behind him for good measure. The sound would vibrate throughout the boy's room, and would be impossible not to notice.

Still no response.

Snape's initial thought was that Harry had left, or now refused to help him. What a coward. First, he had clung to him like a second skin all day, and now he decided that he'd helped enough? Well, that just wouldn't do. Snape was going to have to-

THUMP.

His thoughts came to a screeching halt at the sound. His next concern was that the house had been attacked or infiltrated. Surely, there were dark wizards downstairs that had discovered their headquarters, making it no longer safe. What if they had taken Potter? Where was that boy, anyway?

Snape whipped out his wand and stumbled out of bed, kicking away the rumpled bedcovers. He felt a renewed surge of energy fill him as he swung his door open and quietly listened for another indication as to where the sounds of distress were coming from.

Another thud followed the first, and the sound led Snape directly to Black's dusty, old room. He kicked the door open without a second thought, only to be met with the sight of Harry crouched on the ground, back faced toward Snape.

"Potter?" Snape called slowly, wand still raised.

Green eyes turned to face his black ones. The emerald orbs were filled to the brim with unshed tears, and held an emotion that Snape had only seen once before in his entire life. It was the same expression Snape's face had held when he discovered Lily had died. The eyes that had stared back at him in the mirror that day were so lost, dead, and cold, as though the soul behind them had gone missing.

And now, as Snape stared at Harry's hopeless eyes, he was reminded of Lily, crying after having been insulted by another Slytherin boy in her second year at Hogwarts.

Snape knew no more hatred at that precise moment. He spoke before he could stop himself.

"What's happened?" he queried, not moving from his place in the doorway.

Harry offered no response, and simply hung his head.

The possibility that they had been attacked had still not been vanquished from Snape's mind.

"Are you hurt?" he prodded.

Harry's breath hitched as he turned away from Snape once more. The older man took time to survey the area, noting the smashed glass surrounding Harry.

Snape concluded that it was Harry who had caused the ruckus, and that the headquarters remained to be safe and out of Danger's way. He lowered his wand with a sigh.

Snape was at a loss of what to do next. His need for water had been dismissed as a low priority right now as he observed the crying teenager huddled on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees. He didn't turn to face Snape again, so Snape took it as his cue to step into the room.

"Get up, Potter. Why are you such a blubbering mess?" Snape said exasperatedly even though he already had a good guess as to what had happened. This was Black's room, after all, and Harry hadn't entered it since the man's death. Obviously, this was what had him so worked up.

Really, this was just another reason as to why Snape had never wanted children of his own even though he worked with them everyday. He wasn't good with tears or melodramatic teenagers. It simply wasn't his forte. After all, he had never been consoled as a teenager so he certainly didn't know how these things were supposed to go. He usually managed to avoid situations like these at all costs.

Harry lifted his head up from his knees and gave Snape a withering glare. "Go away, Snape. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, believe me, I came here out of my own greedy interests. I was merely calling you to fetch something for me when I realized you were nowhere to be found," Snape replied coolly.

"Sorry, your servant is taking a recess," Harry grumbled back, standing up and brushing some dust off of his trousers. "I better clean up this glass," he added numbly.

"Stop," Snape muttered as he caught a glimpse of Harry's blood streaked hand. "You've already managed to slice your hand open. I'll clear up this mess."

Without waiting for a reply, Snape flourished his wand once, and all the glass from the broken mirror was repaired as though no harm had ever been done.

"Now, come along," Snape commanded, sweeping out of the room.

"What are you doing?" Harry murmured as the pair entered the bathroom.

Snape snatched up Harry's hand.

"We're going to fix this," he stated, pointing to the gash on Harry's palm with his wand. His hands shook slightly with tremors, which didn't go unnoticed by Harry, but he successfully managed to clean the wound without much trouble. He returned to his bedroom and then back to Harry with an eerily green potion. He uncorked it and let three drops fall onto the open gash.

"Ouch!" Harry yelped, attempting to pull away his hand from the wrath of Snape's potion by using his free hand to claw at Snape's wrist as a sign to release him.

"Hush," Snape said, swatting Harry's uninjured hand away. He watched calculatingly as the skin began to heal itself gradually. Snape seemed satisfied with the result and flicked his wand once more to wrap the hand in an adhesive bandage. It was fastened together snuggly before Snape finally released Harry.

Harry glared once more at Snape, though its effect had died down due to Harry's inability to look intimidating through puffy, bloodshot eyes.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'll be getting myself some water and turning in for the night. In theory, your hand should be healed by the morning with no scarring. However, do tell me if you experience any side effects such as numbness. It may be that your hand has turned to stone since the potion isn't commonly used on wizards under the age of sixteen." Snape murmured with a dry smile.

"Git," Harry sniffed, rubbing a hand fervently over his face.

Snape made his way out of the room, but stumbled. The energy he had acquired before seemed to have dissipated sooner than he would have liked. Thankfully, he caught himself on the doorframe.

"I'll get the water," Harry mumbled.

Snape made an irritated noise, but nodded nonetheless. Harry entered the bedroom not a minute later, glass of water now at hand. Snape took it from him and chugged it greedily, foggy mind clearing after fighting the dehydration.

"Now, Potter. Tell me one thing, did you purposely slice your hand open?" Snape speculated, placing the empty glass back on his nightstand.

"No," Harry said indignantly, green eyes sparking defensively. "Why would I do that?"

Snape gave Harry another calculating look. "Everyone copes with grief differently," he stated from his seat on the bed.

"I'm not here to just help you, am I? Dumbledore wants you to keep an eye on me. He thinks I'll do something stupid like hurt myself intentionally because of what happened to Sirius," Harry said knowingly.

Snape glowered. "Yes."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I wouldn't do anything that stupid. It would be an insult to his memory," Harry spat bitterly.

Snape felt himself drowning in the fervent, green gaze again. "You have a right to be upset."

"Do I? Because it seems like everyone just expects me to be the hero. I'm not a hero. I don't know what I'm doing half the time, and I don't know why a total stranger is out on the loose, trying to kill everyone I ever knew. I don't even have a good reason to fight him anymore," Harry ranted, frustrated with himself.

Just as Snape had stowed away his pride before, he decided to stow away his anger at Harry along with it. He understood the boy more than he would ever know.

"You know that's not true. You're going to keep fighting this war," Snape stated matter-of-factly.

"And why is that? Why does everyone expect that from me?" Harry tried to keep from shouting.

"Because you'll fight for everyone you've lost."

Harry sighed in defeat. He seemed to be confiding a lot in Snape lately. He hoped this wasn't some new trend he had formed. Why would he be telling all of this to Snape as opposed to everyone else? Maybe because he knew that Snape didn't care what Harry did or said. They had no expectations of each other. Still, they listened to each other, despite their mutual hatred.

"How do you know that? You're a Death Eater! What do you know about losing people you care about?" Harry exclaimed helplessly, green eyes shimmering with pain again.

Oh, how Snape hated to see those eyes on the face of his worst enemy. The boy was so very much like James, but it was at times like these that Snape couldn't help but see Lily's anger and frustrations being released through Harry. He was more like his mother than he would ever realize. It was no use arguing with the boy like this, so he remained calm for Lily's sake. He hoped she wasn't witnessing this little scene unfold.

"Everyone has lost friends and family to the war," Snape replied, emphasizing the generalization.

"And it's partially your fault. I hate you. I really hate you," Harry said shakily. "Yet, I'm helping you, and I don't want you dead. I hate that Sirius hated you, and it makes me feel like I should be hating you for him. He would want me to hate you. He would never understand why I'm helping you."

"Why are you helping me, then?" Snape asked.

"I don't know. You've known me since I started Hogwarts, and Dumbledore has always been saying that I should trust you. You saved me from falling off my broomstick in my first year. Why did you do that? I could ask you the same question; why did you help me?"

Snape was stumped. It was a rare occurrence, but he couldn't reply to that question without giving himself away.

"Don't read into it too much," Snape growled. "I think you've had enough tantrums and excitement for one night. Go to bed."

Harry glared at Snape for a bit longer, but turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Snape sighed. So much for being civil to one another.

And as he went back to sleep that night, he wondered if it was a disgrace to Lily's memory to refuse to tell Harry the full recount of what had happened the night when his mother had died.

Yet, he could rest assured that James would be rolling in his grave the day Snape revealed his old friendship with Lily to Harry.

And that made Snape feel just the slightest bit better.