Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Hey everyone, and thank you so much for the amazing reviews! I'm so glad you enjoyed that chapter. I really enjoyed writing it too! You guys are wonderful.

I agree that both Harry and Severus have a lot of growing up to do, and they need to get past their prejudices concerning each other. I hope I do a good job of maturing them throughout the story.

As for the whole thing where I fill in some plotholes, I cannot take credit for them. The whole idea of Voldemort needing Harry for the ritual close to the summer solstice is one of the only logical explanations I've seen for why the Dark Lord needed to go through that whole convoluted plot to get Harry to the graveyard. After all, if only a Portkey was needed, Crouch could have simply offered him a cup of tea and, BAM! Harry touches the cup and gets whisked away. You don't need him to win the Triwizard Tournament in order to get him there.

The other plothole I saw was how Harry and Cedric disappeared from the center of the maze, but Harry returned with Cedric's body at the maze's entrance where the whole crowd saw them. The cup must have already been a Portkey, and Crouch rerouted it. I saw this explanation on a forum, and it made sense.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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Severus Snape's face was set in a vicious glower as he made his way back towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. He had levitated the real Alastor Moody to the infirmary and given Poppy a clipped explanation of the events that had just transpired. Needless to say, the matron had been horrified, and she had started working on Moody immediately. "He will recover," she'd said after running her wand over him. "But he needs bedrest, and plenty of nourishment after what that monster did to him." Her face, usually a mask of professional decorum, was twisted in rage so profound that it would have caused many to cower from her.

Snape had departed after that, knowing he was no longer needed. He began to walk back the way he came, knowing he should let Albus know of Moody's prognosis, and also, he should find out whether the Aurors had collected Crouch yet.

His mind raced with all the thoughts that swarmed it. How had no one seen what was going on right under their noses? How had Severus not seen it himself? The man who had been playing Moody had been particularly vindictive towards Snape, but he hadn't batted an eyelid and always returned his own volley of insults. He and Mad-Eye Moody had always despised one another, so why should he have been suspicious about the man's behavior? He tried to reason this to himself, but it didn't make him feel any better. After all, he was supposed to be a spy, wasn't he? He was supposed to notice the little nuances of someone's character that no one else did.

But he had failed. He had failed Dumbledore, he had failed the Potter brat ... but worst of all, he had failed Lily. It rankled deeply that it had been Potter himself that had put a stop to this vile plot. Would Severus have gone through the whole year and not noticed anything? What would he have done when Potter's name somehow came out of the Goblet of Fire?

He couldn't help feeling angry with the Headmaster as well, even though he knew it was illogical. Why should he have noticed anything when Snape, the spy, had not? Well, Moody and Albus have supposedly been great friends for years, one part of his mind argued, while the other part chastized it for laying the blame at the Headmaster's feet when all the staff should be held accountable, especially himself.

Suddenly, he saw something he was definitely not expecting to see as he continued to walk down the corridor. He was close to the DADA office now, and he saw someone crumpled in a heap on the floor. As he got closer, there was no mistaking who it was. There was no way he could miss the messy mop of black hair; it haunted him in his nightmares and tortured him while he was awake.

"Potter?"

For once, Snape's tone was not angry or meant to convey any loathing. Severus Snape had seen many a sight in his life, especially during the years of the Dark Lord's reign - both when he had served him faithfully, and when he had spied for Dumbledore. He'd heard victims begging for mercy, tortured beyond recognition. He'd seen the way poison wracked through one's bloodstream, the agony it caused, and the pure relief when the victim took their last breath. He'd watched as people were paralyzed while the Dark Lord brutalized and then killed their loved ones directly in front of them, with the person knowing they couldn't do anything to stop it.

But somehow, seeing Harry Potter in a heap on the floor, those green eyes alive but at the same time vacant, simply staring into space with no recognition in them, struck something in him which he didn't think existed anymore. At the sound of the Potions Master saying his name, Potter didn't even twitch. It was as if he had just stopped, as if the cogs, the machinery inside him had just quit.

"Potter!" Snape said again, louder this time. The boy still didn't respond, those eyes still gazing into the abyss, an abyss Snape knew all too well.

Wishing Potter would snap out of it, Snape came right up to him, bending down so he was nose-to-nose with the boy. He spoke in his most menacing voice, the low and deadly one he often used when the brat was doing something particularly galling, the one he'd used earlier this evening. "POTTER!"

Still nothing. The emerald eyes stared right through him, the face that Snape hated beyond belief showing no signs that he knew the man was even there.

And as much as Snape didn't want to acknowledge it, he knew exactly what was wrong with the boy. This was something he'd seen often during the Dark Lord's reign. His mind returned again to those scenes where victims' loved ones were killed in front of them in order to punish them for defiance. It had often been witches or wizards who married a Muggle who had been put through this particular brand of brutality. After all, many thought it was much worse to see a loved one tortured and killed rather than to die themselves.

In these situations that Snape had unfortunately observed, the witch or wizard had one of three reactions. Once they were untied from their bonds after their loved ones, usually spouses and children, were dead, they would either let out an enraged roar and charge at the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, or they would collapse into tears, holding the corpses and pleading for it not to be true. But the third reaction was precisely what he was seeing with Potter now. Some would go completely silent, their mind simply shutting down. They wouldn't be angry or grief-stricken, they'd just be ... nothing.

And Harry Potter was displaying the exact same symptoms.

"Stay there, Potter," Snape said unnecessarily, knowing the boy wouldn't move. Instead of continuing to the Defense office as planned, he strode as quickly as he could down to the dungeons. After all, his specialty was Potions, wasn't it? And he'd invented a potion that would counteract the catatonia that was affecting Potter.

As he went, he wondered why in Merlin's name he hadn't taken Potter to Pomfrey, as Minerva would have undoubtedly done with Longbottom. He'd seen how the other boy had taken the news of the evening, and recognized that his mind was also beginning to shut down as Minerva led him away. Had he, too, collapsed at some point? He knew she'd taken him to her office, but how long had he been in there before he had become catatonic? Severus knew the infirmary was stocked with this very potion, and Poppy would know what to do. If Snape took Potter there as well, she would surely have enough left for him.

But she's got her hands full with Alastor to care for as well, Snape thought with a sneer. The events of the night had certainly not changed his hatred for the other man; he still detested him. Honestly, Moody had a very similar personality to Barty Crouch, Jr. The only difference was that it went 180 degrees the other way. He had been a devoted Auror, while Barty was a fanatical Death Eater. He reckoned that was the biggest reason no one had suspected Moody of not being himself. Snape had to give Barty some twisted credit for this, at least. The man might be an unhinged lunatic, but he was a very clever unhinged lunatic.

But why should it matter that Poppy had two other patients? She had always been reliable in times of stress - why should adding a third one cause any harm? Why did he, Severus Snape, somehow feel responsible for the little devil's well-being? The boy had been behaving worse than usual in the past several days, only causing Snape's loathing to increase. So why was something pulling at him to take care of the brat now?

It was as if his feet took him to his office without permission. He quickly fetched the potion he needed, and headed back quickly to Potter's side. Indeed, the boy had not moved a muscle - he was in the exact same position he had been when Snape left. Nevertheless, he attempted to reach him again. "Potter, look at me this instant," he growled.

But Potter didn't, and Severus knew that the potion must be administered. He used a spell to open Potter's mouth, and still the boy didn't flinch or protest. Snape put several drops of the potion on the boy's tongue, hoping it would work quickly. He sat back on his heels and waited for it to take effect.

One thing Snape had discovered about this potion was that when one's mind came to alertness again, they were more loose-lipped than usual. Snape hadn't actually foreseen this upon the potion's invention, but after some thought, he understood that when clarity returned to someone who'd had a mental breakdown such as this, they often blurted out their thoughts when they came around. What would be the result when Potter came back to himself?

The usual pattern of venomous thoughts that consumed him whenever anything had to do with the Potter child flew through his mind. He'd probably say something inane; it would surely be something about Quidditch, or some concern over his little friends Weasley and Granger, or he'd spit some nasty comment at him. That attack earlier about how he was sure Snape never had any friends still stung. After all, he had had a friend, and he'd lost her and gotten her killed because he'd been nothing but a power-hungry imbecile. And to hear those words snarled from Potter, his green eyes spitting fire at him ... it was almost too much.

He watched the boy closely as his eyes began to clear, losing their glazed look. His face began to show emotion again, and Snape watched every flicker of movement. He looked on as Potter's eyes wandered around his surroundings, realizing he was in the corridor. Then, his gaze fell on Snape, and his mouth opened.

But what came out was certainly not what Severus had expected to hear. It seemed that tonight was full of strange events.

"I've had enough."

As soon as the words had been spoken, his face filled with a despair so naked that Snape almost took a step back. Never did he think he'd see such an expression on the boy's face. "What?" he asked, his voice low but holding no malice.

"I said, I've had enough, Professor." Harry's voice was soft, holding none of the arrogance Snape so often heard from him. "I'm sick and tired of being let down by this school. And you, sir - you aren't any different. You've hated me from the moment you saw me. What did I ever do to you? Did you know I was looking forward to Potions before you went and ruined it?"

For some inexplicable reason, those words struck Snape like an axe to the gut. If the boy had screamed them at him, like the time he had spoken with such venom and disrespect in his class a few days ago, Snape would have retaliated with something even worse and put him in detention for the rest of the year, forcing him to do the most disgusting tasks possible. But this was somehow different; the words weren't shouted in anger, they were simply stated in an emotionless monotone. Though his emerald eyes were filled with clarity again, they seemed deadened as they stared at him. Snape felt like they were gazing deep into his soul, condemning him for his actions, passing judgment on his character.

"Potter," Snape said, his voice still without heat. "I understand that tonight has been a very difficult night." At this, Potter's face formed into a twisted smile that made a shiver go down Snape's spine. That smile reminded him way too much of whenever he looked in the mirror. Without even processing what he was saying, he continued, "I think it would be best if you came to my quarters tonight. I think a Dreamless Sleep Potion will give you sufficient rest."

Potter snorted quietly, his lip curling in derision. "And what makes you think I trust you?" he asked, his tone still dead. This Potter was so unlike the spoiled whelp Snape had been dealing with for what seemed like an eternity now. "I don't trust any adult. What have they ever done for me?" He laughed, a sound which held no humor or happiness. "How do I know that the potion you'll give me isn't poisoned? Well, maybe I shouldn't even care if it is."

If Potter had said this several hours ago, Snape would have had to pick from several nasty retorts his mind would have supplied. How many times had he heard this sort of diatribe from some melodramatic teenager who thought the world revolved around them? And he had thought Potter suffered from this the worst. The boy thought he had to be involved in everything, that he had to save the day, that he had to play hero, play martyr.

But Snape knew that the effects of this potion ... they forced a person to speak from the heart. Potter wasn't exaggerating or trying to get attention. He truly didn't care enough about his life to worry about whether his hated Potions Master was about to poison him. Something was extremely wrong with this picture.

"Potter." Snape spoke again as he forced his eyes to meet the stricken, haunted emerald gaze of Potter. "I assure you, the potion I will give you is not poison. It is Dreamless Sleep Potion." He forced himself to smirk, trying to resume his normal persona. "After all, it certainly would not suit me to poison the one and only Harry Potter, would it? Professor Dumbledore surely would not want me instructing his dunderhead students anymore."

Snape didn't think there was a time in his life when he'd felt more unsure of himself. He thought it would help him if he reverted to his usual sarcasm, but it did not. And Potter didn't even flinch at the words; the bitter smile remained on his face. "Yeah, I'm so beloved," he said, displaying sarcasm of his own - something Snape had never heard before. Since when was rash, reckless, arrogant Potter able to produce a comment that was so similar to something Snape himself would say?

"Well, come on then," Snape replied quietly, not knowing what else to say. He began walking down the corridor, Potter following him as he stared dully onward.

Several minutes later, they arrived at Snape's office. After going inside, Snape pointed his wand at something that to any outside observer would look like a closet. He whispered the password to it, and it suddenly expanded, revealing a hidden door. Snape opened it, and beckoned for the silent boy to follow him.

Potter took no interest in his location as they stepped through the door and into Snape's living room. The door closed behind them, and Snape walked towards the couch. With a few muttered spells, the couch was now a bed with sheets and blankets.

"The bathroom is this way, Potter," Snape said, pointing Harry towards a hallway, where there was a door at the end. "There are towels in there, and toothpaste." He wandered into the kitchen, which was opposite the living room. Retrieving a spoon from the silverware drawer, he transfigured it into a toothbrush. He came back into the living room, and saw that Potter was still waiting for instructions. He tossed the toothbrush to him, and Potter caught it. "Go in there and get ready for bed, Potter," he told him.

Without any arguments, Potter did as he was told. Instead of feeling satisfaction, Snape only felt disgust. How many times had he wished for nothing more than the stupid boy to do as he was told? But this certainly wasn't the way he wanted it to happen. The disgust he felt was not directed towards the boy, though; it was clearly directed at himself, and he refused to think about why.

Several minutes later, Potter reappeared from the bathroom. Snape had retrieved the Dreamless Sleep Potion from a cabinet located in his room, and he handed it to Potter. "Here," he said curtly, feeling extremely out of place. "Get some rest, Potter. I will see you in the morning."

"Yes, sir," Potter said obediently. Seeing no more reason to stay, Snape walked out of the room. What else was there left to say? Sweet dreams?

Or how about: Why are you not the Potter I've always known?

Or worse still: Why are you reminding me of myself?

It was better to say nothing at all, Snape realized as he got ready for bed himself. He spared no thought for Albus, the Aurors, Moody, Crouch, Minerva, or Potter's little friends, who would undoubtedly wonder where he was. He was too full of strange thoughts and emotions to care about any of it.

All he knew was that he, Severus Snape, had a broken, desperate Harry Potter sleeping in his quarters.

And he somehow knew, instinctively, that everything was about to change.