Disclaimer: Don't own a thing of it, and that makes me very happy.

Author's Note: Hi folks! I am BACK! And the wedding was ... well, there are so many words I could use to describe it. It was absolutely spectacular. Never has there been a happier event in my life. It was truly beautiful, and I am now married to the love of my life, Ryan. It was a gorgeous venue, and we are so grateful to everyone who made our wedding day what it was. My dad has the license to marry people, and the amazing thing was that he was the one who married us. I could have asked for no one better. It was wonderful.

One thing I did not foresee, however, was the pure exhaustion I felt afterwards. It's a good kind of tiredness, of course, but I didn't realize it would hit me so hard. I had actually meant to get this chapter up several days ago, but I was feeling a little under the weather and couldn't get my mind to focus enough to write. Thankfully, though, I am feeling much better now and am happy to get back to it. I apologize for the delay, and I hope this chapter is worth the wait. I should be able to get a few more up before I go on my honeymoon - I still have seventeen days before that happens.

Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews. I'm really glad you enjoyed the way I portrayed Snape. His dry sarcasm is something that always struck me about him. I think that out of all the characters I have read in books, he's the most sarcastic of them all.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

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Over the next several days, Harry's condition began to improve, but it was much too slow for his tastes. He was able to stay awake for longer periods of time, but the pain was still intense, and his fever refused to break. Madam Pomfrey had explicitly told him that it would take a while, as the poison had done severe damage to his body, but he was running out of patience. He was exceedingly sick of staying in the bloody hospital wing.

Ron, Hermione, and Neville came to see him every day, and they sat with him as much as they could. Predictably, Ron would play chess with him, and Hermione would talk to him about what he missed in classes. Neville would often just sit quietly, a comforting, calming presence in the storm that was Harry's life.

Unfortunately, Ron was still having detention with Snape and Malfoy every evening, and he continued to be very apologetic about not being able to spend that time with Harry. Any irritation with Ron had completely faded, and he now felt sympathetic to his best mate's plight. Harry knew that Ron had no reason to trust Malfoy - why should he? Ron had told him that the blond was still making cracks about his lack of money, and even though Harry had seen some changes in Malfoy, that still made him angry. Malfoy had no right to talk about Ron's family that way.

Harry hadn't seen Snape since the first time he'd woken up after the poisoning, and he couldn't deny that this bothered him. Why was Snape so strange? Why had Harry had such odd encounters with him? Had the last one really been a dream after all?

It was now the weekend, and Harry was beyond bored. Madam Pomfrey had just given him his evening meal, and he ate slowly while Ron, Hermione, and Neville sat with him. He hadn't had much of an appetite lately, and to be honest, the fact that he had been given poison put him off food entirely. How had he ingested it, anyway? He couldn't remember tasting anything odd about his food in the days preceding his poisoning. However, he remembered the research he had been doing with Malfoy, and knew that some poisons were almost impossible to detect.

"You don't have to stay with me while I eat, you know," Harry told them quietly. "I don't want you to miss dinner in the Great Hall."

"Nah, it's all right," Ron said. "We want to."

"Has Madam Pomfrey said how much longer you'll be here?" Hermione asked. "You're looking a little better. It seems like your recovery's coming along."

Harry almost snorted; he honestly must look better than he felt. But right now, he obviously wasn't sure whether it was due to the poison or his actual mental state. He'd honestly lost interest in everything these days. When Hermione discussed classes, he listened, but he felt like he was only going through the motions. Ron beat him at chess every time, and he always had - but Harry felt like he wasn't even trying. Ron often gave him worried looks, so it was plain that Harry was bunk at hiding his feelings.

"Yeah, I suppose," he said as he spooned some mashed potatoes into his mouth. "But she hasn't really said. She's just hinted that I need more time to recover, but I don't know how long that'll be."

"I'm sorry, mate," Ron said sincerely. "Nev and I miss you in the dorm, you know."

"Yeah," Neville agreed. "It's not the same."

Harry smiled at them, appreciating their friendship more than anything. "Do you have another detention, Ron?" he asked.

"Yeah," Ron groaned. "I think it'll be the last one, though. The bathroom's almost finished. Can you believe we had to paint the walls without magic?"

Harry could only imagine how supremely boring the whole thing was. "How's Malfoy?" he asked curiously.

"He's Malfoy," Ron replied. "I suppose he's all right. If you call his cracks about my family all right," he said, and Harry could clearly hear the resentment in his voice.

"No, of course I don't think that's all right," Harry said, feeling a pang of guilt at the way he had tried to get Ron to understand the changes he'd seen in Malfoy. "You know how I feel about your family, mate."

Ron shook his head. "I know." He sighed, looking pensive. "I suppose he's been less awful than usual," he said reluctantly. "Maybe it's because Snape's there."

Harry felt a jolt go through him at the sound of the Potions Master's name. He couldn't understand the hurt that rose up inside him at yet another day passing with Snape completely ignoring him. Why hadn't he come to see him since that strange encounter they'd had?

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked instantly, sensing Harry's downward spiral.

"Nothing," Harry said quietly, not wanting to discuss it. He knew it was ridiculous - this was Snape, after all. Snape, the man who he'd despised for so long. Snape, who constantly insulted Harry's father, a man he could barely remember. Snape, who accused him of being coddled and spoiled and privileged.

But it was Snape. Snape, who had taken him to his quarters on a night when Harry's emotions had been swallowed in darkness. Snape, who had actually treated Harry with decency the next morning as they'd sat at his kitchen table eating breakfast. "Accio bezoar!" Snape, whose voice had broken through the sheer agony of the poison flooding through his veins. Snape, whose face had been the last thing Harry had seen before falling unconscious and the first thing he'd seen when waking up. Snape, who had said he deserved to live, and sounded absolutely sincere about it. Snape who, in that brief glimpse of the other side that Harry had seen while hovering between living and dying, Lily Potter had told him to trust.

Ron looked supremely dissatisfied at Harry's answer, but said nothing. Hermione, too, looked like she wanted to question Harry further. Neville, however, simply nodded, accepting that Harry did not want to elaborate.

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Harry's friends had stayed for several more minutes, and then, Ron had to be off to detention. Hermione and Neville both said they had homework to do, and so they left Harry to rest, although it was plain they were loathe to do so. But they could see that Harry didn't feel like talking anymore, and so they respected the space he needed. Harry had never been more grateful to have such good friends.

Feeling like he truly had nothing else to do, Harry began to work on some of his own assignments. He did some reading about dark curses for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and was very disturbed by the material he discovered. He shouldn't have been, though - after the horrific poison that had ravaged his system, why should it shock him when he realized the lengths witches and wizards were willing to go to hurt one another? There were some curses out there that, even though they weren't the Unforgivables, they came very close. There were curses which could damage the organs, curses which could do a lot of harm to other parts of the body, and, worst of all in Harry's opinion, curses that could affect the mind.

Unfortunately, this put Harry in a darker mood. And the more time that went by, the darker it became. He suddenly felt suffocated, like there wasn't enough air in the hospital wing that he could breathe. Not long before, he had been given another dose of fever-reducing potion, along with the potion that would eventually clear the poison from Harry's system. He certainly felt less hot and shaky than he had before embibing them, so he knew the way he felt was due to his deteriorating mental health.

When it was that he fell asleep he didn't know, but the next thing he remembered was coming awake to the sound of a familiar voice speaking with Madam Pomfrey. He would recognize that voice anywhere, since it haunted his dreams now.

"I have the potions you requested," Snape said, no hint of emotion in his tone at all. It might as well be a brick wall speaking, for all the inflection the words held. "Has Potter's fever still not broken?"

"No," Pomfrey said. "But it has been coming down. That poison did a lot of damage to his system."

"I am aware." Snape still sounded completely emotionless. "But if you say things are going in the right direction, his recovery will progress further."

"Do you have any idea who the culprit might be?" Pomfrey asked, and Harry could detect anger and disgust in her tone.

"No." Snape's tone was curt and clipped now.

"Don't worry." Madam Pomfrey spoke softer now. "You will."

Harry then heard the sound of Snape's footsteps as they began to walk towards the door. He wasn't even going to spare Harry a glance, was he? He was just going to keep pretending that they'd never had the conversation they'd had.

And Harry, feeling drained and exhausted and overwhelmed, suddenly felt a surge of pure, unadulterated anger. He wasn't going to put up with this anymore. He needed answers. He needed to know why his mum had told him to trust Snape. He needed to know what the bloody hell was wrong with the man. "Professor Snape?" he asked, his voice coming out much louder than he had intended it to.

Harry felt his heart speed up as the sound of Snape's footsteps stopped. "What is it, Potter?" The impatience in his voice couldn't be hidden.

"Why do you keep ignoring me?" Harry wanted to stop his voice from rising, but he couldn't. The hurt swelled up inside of him, transforming into a white-hot rage.

"I was under the impression that you would rather spend time with your friends," Snape drawled, his tone snide now. "I fail to understand your histrionics."

Harry glowered at Snape in fury; he had come closer to the bed now. "You're unbelievable," he spat venomously. "I don't understand you at all."

Snape sneered at him. "Exactly what, pray tell, do you wish to understand about me?"

Harry supposed that Snape wasn't expecting an answer to that question, but Harry was about to prove him wrong. He was sick of the constant confusion he now felt surrounding the man. He was sick of not being able to figure him out. Harry had come across many people in his life, especially since he'd started attending Hogwarts. But absolutely none of them had caused such a tidal wave of emotion in Harry before. For three years it had mainly been hatred and fury, and he suddenly wished with all his being that he could go back to the days when he couldn't stand the sight of the man. Why in Merlin's name did Snape have to keep poking his nose into everything? He was a slimy, greasy, disgusting, rude bastard who had been a Death Eater. He'd participated in murdering people like Harry's parents. He'd gone along with what Voldemort wanted.

And at that moment, Harry blurted it out. "You hate me, but you want me to live. You insult my friends for no reason and constantly go on and on about my father, a man I barely remember. How wonderfully nice that you find pleasure in saying horrible things about a man who was murdered by someone who you served. I haven't forgotten that Crouch said you were a Death Eater. Yet, you want me to survive? You don't make any sense, sir," Harry raged, all the hurt and betrayal he felt flying out of his mouth in one great torrent. "Crouch called you a traitor. What happened? Why did you turn away from Voldemort? Is that why you keep saving my life, to make up for what you've done? If that's the case, why do you continue to treat me like dirt? It's like you want me to hate you. It's like you want me to think you're a horrible person. Well, you're certainly doing a good job of it. Well done, sir."

Harry's throat felt constricted by the end of his tirade, and he simply couldn't say anymore. He finally looked away from Snape, whose face had gone bone-white during Harry's rant. He felt tears prickling at his eyes, and blinked them back furiously. He wasn't going to bloody cry over bloody Snape, of all people. It was completely and utterly unfathomable. The poison must have actually driven him insane. Maybe it had affected his mind just like some of those dark curses Harry had been reading about only hours previously.

Snape raised his wand then, and for a split second, Harry thought the man was going to curse him for his impertinence. But in the next second, he recognized the charms that were being cast - Snape was seeing if there was anyone in the room that shouldn't be there. Harry remembered how, for some reason, Rita Skeeter had gotten hold of the story about Crouch's capture, and Harry, Neville, Snape, and McGonagall's involvement.

Once Snape seemed satisfied with the results of the charms, he faced Harry, and there was something very, very dark in his black eyes. They were like endless tunnels, and Harry found himself getting lost in their haunting gaze. It was like staring into an abyss that was trying to swallow him whole.

"I am not a nice person, Potter." Snape's voice was low when he spoke. "Any foolish notion that there is anything worth liking about me ... Potter, you are nothing more than a child who does not understand the intricacies of the world. You know absolutely nothing of my life, of the choices I have made, of what I have done. You cannot even begin to comprehend it, you ridiculous, arrogant, insipid child. It is plain to see that you are not well, and still recovering from the effects of your poisoning."

"Don't you dare patronize me!" Harry shouted at him, anger encompassing every inch of his body. "Do you really think that just because I'm stuck in this room with a fever that won't break and I'm feeling so bloody weak, it means I can't feel angry or betrayed or upset? And I'm not a child, thanks to the fact that my life seems to be in danger every other day and I've had to be the one to deal with it!"

"Oh?" Snape's black eyes flashed. "So you're telling me that you didn't want to go haring off into danger to save a thrice-damned stone that didn't even need saving? Had your tiny brain ever thought of telling an adult what you suspected?"

"I DID tell an adult!" Harry roared. "I told Professor McGonagall! She told me to go to bed like a good little boy," Harry said sarcastically. "I was only eleven, and therefore didn't know what I was talking about. She didn't have to say that in order for me to understand her perfectly." Feeling reckless, he blurted out, "We thought it was you trying to steal the stone for Voldemort!"

Snape, however, didn't react the way Harry thought he would to this confession. "I am perfectly aware of what you thought, Potter," he smirked. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not stupid."

"Oh really?" Harry bit back at him. "Well, McGonagall didn't believe me, so we had to go and save the school. Is it such a shock that I didn't want the man who murdered my parents to come back?"

"Has it ever occurred to you, Potter, that you don't know everything?" Snape snarled, suddenly looking just as enraged as he had on the day that Harry had accused him of being glad Lily Potter was dead. "You and your little friends ... your actions that day were almost catastrophic. Think back, Potter. Put that ridiculous mind to work and THINK! Are you so proud of your so-called heroics that you don't remember that when Quirrell stood before the mirror, he couldn't get it to do as he wished? It is only because you came along and confronted him that everything could have been lost! If you had done as your professor had asked you to do and stayed in your dormitory where you belonged, Professor Dumbledore would have known something was amiss, discovered Quirrell and the Dark Lord by the mirror, and done what he needed to do! Your actions, Potter, almost got you killed, and got Weasley concussed. You were playing hero, Potter, and it was entirely needless. I repeat, you are nothing more than a ridiculous, arrogant, insipid child who has no idea what you are getting into."

Horror. Pure and utter horror. That was the only emotion Harry felt now. Truly, he had never thought about the end of first year in the way Snape had just described it. He'd never put two and two together about Quirrell, Voldemort, and the mirror. It made a terrible, awful amount of sense. And because he had confronted Quirrell, the man had died. His ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher might have been a horrible person, wanting power in all the wrong places, but Harry couldn't hide away from the fact that he'd been responsible for his death. And Snape had brought it home to him like no one ever had.

Dumbledore had given him house points. His friends in Gryffindor had been so proud of him. They'd given him a hero's welcome upon his return from his near-death in the hospital wing. Others in the school had looked at him admiringly. And at that moment, Harry realized that he hadn't deserved any of it.

"And yes, Potter," Snape sneered, turning away from him, as if he couldn't bear the sight anymore. "I was a Death Eater. And I enjoyed serving the Dark Lord. I enjoyed getting revenge on my enemies." He suddenly turned back, his bottomless black eyes meeting Harry's stricken green ones. "I am not a nice person, Potter," he reiterated. "Now go to sleep. And if you ever demand my attention again, you will regret it faster than you can blink."

And with that, he literally stormed from the hospital wing, his black robes billowing out behind him, and leaving Harry still gaping after him with nothing but horror, shock, and guilt.