"Professor, I'm sorry…I-", hurrying along the empty halls, Harry was cut off by a raised hand. Gulping, he fell silent as he trailed after his dangerously silent teacher, wondering just where the hell they were going. He was positively sure, that this unknown destination wasn't anywhere he particularly wanted to be. So, when they came to a sudden halt outside an empty classroom, his nerves were instantly tingling in warning apprehension. Swallowing down his reservations, as he had no damned choice in the matter, he inched into the room, skirting by Snape as he held the door ajar.

That same door closed shut with a snap, as the professor pointed to a desk in front of the teacher's podium with a surprisingly quiet "sit, Potter." Feeling distinctly numb around the edges, with the dredges of his mothers screaming still ringing in his ears, Harry did as he was told. Again, really, what other option was there? He flinched instinctively as Snape, instead of sweeping to the teaching desk, perched on the side of the table he was seated at.

"Look at me, Potter," he commanded, and Harry slowly wrenched his gaze upwards, utterly unprepared for the mocking commentary he was sure was about to spew forth and coat him in its viciousness. But the look on Snape's face was…well it was odd. It wasn't definable, and certainly not habitual. Harry found himself frowning in confusion as that expression bore down upon him, accompanied with a raised brow.

"How are you feeling?"

It was a relatively simple question, quite similar to "what time is it?" or "what lesson have we got next?" but as Harry gaped, he might as well have been asked to explain the meaning of life. He found himself stuttering and stammering over the equally simple "huh?" he eventually managed to offer, his mind whirring with the now rapidly consuming conundrum that was Severus Snape. The same Snape was forced to bite his lip to prevent the natural, acidic retort to the less than impressive "huh?" and closed his eyes briefly.

"You were screaming Mr Potter," he rephrased, "I am inquiring as to the state of your health, in the immediate aftermath of such."

The boy blinked so rapidly he was in danger of splattering his glasses with irritation based tears.

"Why?"

Harry couldn't help it. It was the most obvious question. A year ago Snape had all but professed a burning disappointment that he hadn't either been beaten to death by a violently volatile tree, or at the very least, expelled. And yet, now, here he was…apparently of his own volition, chit chatting about such mundane topics, such as the mental health of the student he went out his way to wheedle, torture and torment. It was as confusing as an intelligent Crabbe, or a pleasant Malfoy. It didn't sit in tandem with the natural order, and Harry was having one hell of a time trying to get his thirteen year old brain around it.

Snape for his part could have asked himself the same question, but being a man of academia, he already knew the answer. He just didn't like the answer. He really didn't like the answer. But, it was what it was, and they were where they were, and this whole horrific situation would be made slightly more tolerable if this infernal boy would master the art of speaking in something other than monosyllables.

"Because I am asking Mr Potter," Snape drawled, in superb deflection, "I believe, as a teacher, that is my right." Gnawing on his lip, Harry had to hand the man that. Looking down at his hands, he fidgeted in his chair, before bursting out into speech that made Snape question, not for the first time, if children in neighbouring lands were quite as irksome as his nations youth. He rather doubted, on the whole, that they were. "I'm sorry I fell asleep in your lesson sir," Harry was muttering miserably, "I was just…tired. Look, you can give me more detention or whatever."

Snape raised a brow.

"Can I indeed?" he drawled, "Why thank you for your permission Mr Potter, that indeed makes my job considerably easier."

Harry reddened.

"I didn't mean it like that, I just mean that-", Snape once again cut him off with a raised hand. "Control yourself Potter," he instructed, but not unkindly, "I assure you, I have neither interest nor inclination in punishing you for falling asleep in my lesson."

The startled Gryffindor gaped.

"You don't?" he asked incredulously, and watched with mounting confusion at what he could have sworn was a fleeting smile cross Snape's face, as he shook his head. "I don't," he confirmed silkily, "I am however, inclined to have my question answered, at your leisure, of course."

There was a brief silence as Harry struggled to even recall said question, and a slightly less brief silence, as he struggled to answer it. What kind of a question was how are you feeling anyway? How did the man think he felt? How did a normal person feel listening to their mother throw themselves at the mercy of a murderer, to protect their child from instant death? He shook his head, the asinine quality of the question suddenly grating on his nerves.

"Peachy," he muttered mutinously, sifting his gaze downwards, "I feel just peachy." The minute the words were out his mouth, he cursed himself. He was in the rare, the oh so incredibly rare, position of having a siesta in Snape's class and getting away with it, and he had to go and get mouthy. Looking up tentatively, expecting to see the familiar snarl looking down at him, his confusion was once again peaked as the look that adorned his teacher's face could very well be accused of being…understanding.

Harry felt his earth shift on his axis.

Ignoring the cheek of his student with an easiness that frankly astounded him, Snape racked his brain. He usually dealt with things with a clinical adherence to experience. But…he sure as hell didn't have any experience with students; especially one's named Potter, who took a snooze during his lesson, before proceeding to scream bloody murder in the midst of their slumber. He ran an appraising gaze over the boy, and sighed.

The bags under his eyes were dark, and hadn't appeared overnight. His face was pale, and somewhat gaunt. His eyes bloodshot and generally haggard. All tell tale signs of sleep disruption, and the signs he remembered all too well from his own turbulent childhood. Being cognisant of the fact that he'd left his class in the hands of a teenage girl, he thought all the more rapidly.

"That potion I gave you this morning Potter, you must take it tonight, you understand?"

The boy nodded immediately.

"And you must take yourself to bed as early as possible tonight. That potion works best when it has a lengthier application, which can be petered out over time. But in the beginning, it is imperative you are in your bed no later than eight o' clock. Do you understand?"

The gaping, wide eyed expression staring at back at him would indicate that Potter did not understand. Snape closed his eyes wearily, and wondered if this was his purgatory. Dealing with children, who apparently spoke English as their first language, and yet, seemed unable to understand a word of it.

"What part of what I just said is causing you such consternation, Mr Potter?"

Harry flushed.

"It's just…it's just, well… I have detention with you tonight sir, remember?"

To the kid's intense, unparalleled and utter astonishment, Snape waved a dismissive hand. "We will re arrange your detentions, for such time as you are capable of getting through the school day without a little catnap, Mr Potter."

Standing, he brushed down his robes and eyed a still gawping Harry sternly.

"Eight o'clock at the very latest Potter, I will know if you defy me. Do you understand?"

Somehow, someway….the young Gryffindor managed to incline his head in a show of the requisite comprehension. "I must return to my lesson," Snape clipped in response, "and you may as well get yourself to the Great Hall. I am sure your friends will collect your belongings. Lunch will be soon underway in any case. Clear?"

Once again, the tousled dark head bobbed up and down, but under the mop of hair the mind was whirring. What if Snape, like Quirrell, was possessed? What if underneath that frame of hair, rested a less conspicuous, more deadly form of Voldemort. He instantly eyed the dank curtain suspiciously, as Snape moved to the door with instructions to get himself up and out of the classroom. Clambering slowly to his feet, his head still reeling from the bizarre morning he was living through, Harry kept a firm eye on all aspects of his teacher's head.

Standing back and allowing the boy to inch past him, Snape had to swallow down a rare chuckle as he correctly surmised what was going on in the kid's head, as he seemed to be desperately analysing every aspect of his head. Snapping the door shut behind him, and resealing the classroom with a silent incantation, he looked down at the still staring offspring of the woman who was wreaking such havoc in his life, and allowed himself a small smirk.

"There was a reason Quirrell wore that ghastly turban, Mr Potter."

The last vision he had, before he turned and swept down the hall was that of the most confused looking child he had ever seen in his life.

Only when he was far away, did he allow himself the elusive chuckle and a very quiet bout of murmured speech.

"Oh Lily…he's yours alright."

…

TBC

….