[a/n: content warning for the squeamish]

Days later, Harry had a dream. He was chained to a dungeon wall, and there were rats. He had to stay awake, or they'd start in on his fingers and toes. He jerked awake to the feel of teeth nipping at his thumb. He looked down and saw the blackened remnant of the digit. Necrotic, diseased, dying, dead. He had to stay awake. They would come for him... wouldn't they? Magic fixes everything. He would stay awake. Harry jerked again, pulling himself out of slumber by sheer determination (and the pain of another rat-bite).

Most people woke from nightmares screaming. Not this time, not for Harry. He woke, and shook, shivering in his bed. He wanted hot chocolate. He wanted Remus Lupin... Warm and kindly Remus, who was not dead. Harry felt himself stiffen, waking with impotent energy.

Harry looked at the moon - it was past three in the morning. Perhaps he could nip down to the kitchen - it was just a few halls away...

Harry stood and stretched. Then he entered the common room, relieved that at this time of night, he didn't need to watch for rats. They'd strike in the daytime, skulking at the edges of the room, sending spells towards Harry that he could dodge... most of the time.


"Mister Potter, what have I told you about roaming the hallways?" Snape said, somehow exiting a brewing chamber as Harry trundled along (all food tucked away in pockets, a lesson Dudley had taught him repeatedly).

"That it would be exceedingly unwise to do so without plausible deniability." Harry responded. Hermione had a few Sherlock Holmes novels that Harry had been reading, and the diction was rubbing off.*

"Why, then, are you trundling around in the small hours of the morning?" Snape asked.

Harry shrugged.

Snape settled in place, "We can stand here all night, if you like. Or you could tell me. It won't save you a hiding, but might spare you a few strokes."

Harry looked up at Snape, and felt like a fly frozen in amber. Snape... had said that completely mildly. Uncle Vernon never managed to threaten (or punish) without being steaming mad. So... it felt very, very odd to see Snape, of all people, bargaining with Harry for information. Not threatening, not demanding.

Harry studied Snape, the tall and lanky man who tended to hide his thinness under thick woolen robes. He seemed serious. "Ever had a bad dream?" Harry started, not expecting a response. "I wanted some warm milk..."

"You did?" Snape said, raising his eyebrows.

"I haven't tried it before!" Harry said, "Nott said that I was such a baby about my dreams that I should just have a mug of warm milk, and then I could sleep like the baby I was."

Snape studied Harry Potter, "You don't seem offended."

Harry Potter shrugged, "I was disturbing his sleep. He gave me a concrete suggestion, buried within a pointed barb. Don't take offense when someone is trying to help."

Snape snorted, lightly, "Wise words for one so young. Where on earth did you think you'd be obtaining the warm milk from?"

"The-" Harry broke off. I must be losing my touch. I'm not supposed to know where the kitchens are. The Twins had told me, last life, and even that had taken a while. I don't even have the excuse of 'accidentally seeing' the Twins entering. I also wager none of the Slytherins know.

Harry shifted back and forth from foot to foot.

Snape seemed content to let him manufacture an answer. Probably also content to punish me for lying, if I'm going to be so bloody obvious about it.

"My friend Hermione Granger tends to forget to eat when she's busy working -" Harry started. "She mentioned that there are Hogwarts kitchens somewhere in the cellars." Harry smiled, "I figured I'd find them and fix myself some warm milk."

Snape looked at him, and - for a wonder - said nothing about his friendship with a Muggleborn Gryffindor. "I believe we can square these books by giving you four detentions. Do not break this rule again, or you will find yourself saddled with a month's worth, at least."

"Thank you, sir." Harry said, gratefully. He was well aware of how sharp Snape's tongue tended to be, and knew that he'd gotten off relatively clean.

*Harry has free time. Harry likes mysteries, and I like using my vocabulary while writing. Everyone wins!

[a/n: The rats being mentioned are some of the older Slytherins, who have taken to using Harry as target practice.

If you think this is going unnoticed, I invite you to think again.

How believable is Harry's excuse to Snape? Leave a review?]