IN BETWEEN DAYS

Mostly, Harry was tired. Every once in a while, he woke in a cold sweat and hurled himself to the loo, retching. He never remembered his dreams, and he didn't care to. Harry didn't care about anything anymore, except sleeping. The Dursleys, thankfully, were leaving him alone, so Harry was able to get plenty of sleep.

It was therefore an unpleasant surprise when his bedroom door slammed open one afternoon. Harry pulled the sheets over his head and rolled over, his back to the door. He heard his Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps, and then Harry's sheet was yanked away. He blinked up at his uncle, who was glaring down at him.

"You've a visitor," he said flatly. "I think he's from that school of yours. Are you going to bother getting up?"

"No," Harry said. "Tell him to go away." He snatched the sheet back from his uncle and burrowed back into bed.

"That's the first sensible thing you've said in your life, boy." Uncle Vernon slammed the door behind him, and Harry drifted back to sleep.

It was a particularly unpleasant surprise when the door slammed back open a short while later.

"Go away," Harry mumbled, not bothering to see who it was. It probably wasn't Uncle Vernon, who would have been wheezing from multiple trips upstairs. This intruder made no sound, which also ruled out Dudley. Maybe it was Aunt Petunia. Harry thought about looking, but he was much too tired to care. Instead he pretended to be asleep, hoping the person would leave him alone.

"Believe me, Mr. Potter, nothing would give me greater pleasure." That voice. Harry jerked upright, fumbling for his glasses.

"Snape?" He said uncertainly. Why would Snape be in his room? It certainly sounded like Snape, but Harry couldn't see anything. He heard a snort.

"Manners, Potter," snapped the sound-alike. "Now if you'd kindly stop feeling sorry for yourself and get dressed, we can be going. As I'm sure even your Muggle-addled brain must grasp, my presence here is distasteful to all involved."

Harry squinted into the darkness, confused. He still couldn't tell if it was really Snape, although there was a great bat shape by the door. Where were they going? Snape hated him.

"Snape?" The sound-alike sighed heavily, and Harry thought it must be the real Snape. No one else could sound quite so put-upon and bored and irritated all at once without ever saying any words.

"Do try to pay attention, Potter. I've been sent to collect you, and am under orders not to leave this house without you. I assume the headmaster would prefer you come willingly, but I assure you, I prefer you to... struggle." Harry heard the cruelty in Snape's tone, but he couldn't quite make sense of the words. His brain felt foggy, and his head had started throbbing. Where were they going? Why had Snape been sent?

"Snape?"

"Mr. Potter!" Snape thundered, and Harry's head exploded. When it was finished exploding, Harry opened his eyes and looked around. This was the most light Harry had seen since... well, he wasn't sure. Since he'd been back with the Dursleys, anyway. His Potions professor was standing over his bed, his wand out and glowing. He looked exactly the way Harry remembered him: hair still long and greasy, nose still much too big, robes still black and starched, and lips still peeled back from yellow teeth in rage. The sheets had been ripped away from Harry's window, and daylight was pouring into his room. Harry squinted into the light, and then looked back at Snape.

"Where are we going?" Harry managed not to say the professor's name again. Snape took a deep breath and lowered his wand. His gaze swept coldly over Harry, who must've looked as if he hadn't got out of bed in weeks, and then over the bare bedroom. Harry followed his gaze and noticed a pile of moldy toast in front of the door. Aunt Petunia must have been shoving it through the cat flap, but Harry couldn't remember her doing it. He frowned, trying to think of the last time he'd eaten anything, and then looked up at Snape, who was studying him cynically.

"Do you care?"

Harry thought about it. "No," he said honestly. "Not really."

"Shall I force you?"

Harry thought about that, too. Now that he was sitting up and looking around, the prospect of actually standing and dressing and packing was overwhelming. He was tired, and his whole body felt weak and heavy. He didn't know where to start. But he wasn't sure he wanted to give Snape the satisfaction of forcing him to do anything, either. He lifted his chin.

"I... no. Sir. I'll come with you. I just... could you... er." Snape's eyebrow went up, and Harry faltered. "I haven't unpacked much, I don't think, but there's a spell. I can't..."

"Be bothered to stop sulking long enough to pack properly? Under any other circumstances, Potter, I would take great pleasure in watching you squirm. However, as time is of the essence..." With another great sigh, he flicked his wand, and Harry's clothes and school supplies flew into his trunk. Harry noticed that unlike Tonks, Snape had mastered the part of the spell that folded everything neatly. "Where is your owl?"

"Hedwig?" Harry looked around, but he didn't see any sign of his bird. Snape's lips thinned, and Harry tried to remember where he'd sent her. "I, uh, I guess she's at the Burrow. With Ron."

"I see. Is there anything else here you care to take with you?"

"My broom." At that, Snape opened his left hand and Harry's Firebolt flew into it. Snape raised an eyebrow in question. Harry looked around and shook his head. He didn't care if he never saw anything from this place again. "That's all."

"Very well." He flicked his wand several more times. Harry wasn't really paying attention, but he noticed his trunk disappear, and he felt a tickle behind his ears. "Come along." Harry tried to stand up, but couldn't quite bring himself to do so. Snape got as far as the door before he realized Harry hadn't moved. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder, greasy hair hanging in his face.

"Shall I force you?" Snape asked again, softly, and there was something in the tone that made Harry look up. Harry was tired and the thought of going anywhere was overwhelming and confusing and his brain felt heavy and he didn't know why. He didn't know where they were going, and he couldn't remember why he had agreed to go anywhere with Snape in the first place, because Snape hated him and he hated Snape and he was much too tired to deal with any of this.

Harry's eyes got wider and wider, and his breathing got faster and faster. His heart was slamming erratically in his chest and the thought of standing up was making him want to vomit. He was dizzy, so he tried focusing on Snape, who turned around, eyes narrowed. It seemed to work, and once the floor stopped spinning, Harry closed his own eyes and tried to get a handle on his breathing. After that was done, he opened his eyes and looked numbly up at Snape.

"I think you'd better."

Snape's mouth twisted and the last thing Harry heard was, "Imperio!"

As for Snape, he hadn't yet acknowledged Harry's presence, which was fine with Harry, as it gave him time to stare. His Potions professor was sitting in the far corner of the bed, his back propped up against the wall, reading. Snape had tied his hair back and was dressed as a Muggle, sort of -- black flannel pyjama bottoms and a faded black t-shirt. Harry's gaze caught on the man's feet, bare and pale, the skin blue-veined and translucent. His forearms, elegantly muscled, were equally pale, and his long, slender neck... Harry swallowed audibly and tried to remember why in the world he was there.

"Something I can help you with, Mr. Potter?" Snape inquired politely, not looking up from his book.

"I can't sleep," he said, not sure where the words were coming from. Had he been trying to sleep? He barely recognized his own voice.

"And this concerns me how?" Snape looked up from his book and fixed Harry with a cool stare.

"I... I don't... Please," Harry whispered brokenly. Snape stared at him for a long time and then closed his book, placed it on the bedside table, and slid off the bed. Harry, suddenly aware he was wearing only his red pyjama bottoms, began to tremble. Snape closed the distance between them, and Harry could feel the man's body heat. He resisted the urge to lean into it, and instead focused on Snape's eyes. They were glinting dangerously, and Harry felt hypnotized, as if they were the only thing keeping him upright. He held on for dear life, swaying slightly, hardly daring to breathe.

"Please what, Mr. Potter?" Snape's silky tones slid down Harry's back and he shivered violently. "Are you cold?"

Harry shook his head. He tried to speak, but his voice wasn't cooperating. Or maybe it was, and he just couldn't hear it over the sound of his heart slamming in his ribcage. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew he hadn't felt this alive in years. And he hadn't felt anything at all recently. He tried again.

"Please save me," he whispered. Snape took two steps back at that, and began circling Harry, unmistakably predatory eyes burning over every inch of Harry's skin. Harry stared at the floor as Snape circled, trying desperately not to move. His body was quivering with equal parts anticipation and dread over what might happen next. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides and his breathing was shallow. It occurred to him that he was hard -- when had that happened? -- and that there was no way Snape would fail to notice.

"Why would I want to do that?" Snape's low purr came from somewhere behind him, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. Instead he curled his hands into fists, the tension singing through his body. He wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry.

"You always save me," he said, suddenly worried that Snape might send him away before he figured out what was going on. Where would he go? He felt Snape's heat behind him and gasped when he felt cotton brush lightly against his back.

"And what exactly--" Harry gasped as Snape's breath ghosted over his ear. "--am I saving you from tonight?" Harry shuddered violently, trying not to moan as he dropped his head back against Snape's shoulder. Harry's hands clutched behind him, his fingers digging into Snape's thighs, fisting in the fabric of his pyjamas.

"Ah! I just..." He struggled for coherency as Snape's teeth nipped at his neck. "I want to feel something," he managed finally. "Anything."

Snape abruptly stepped back and Harry almost collapsed at the loss of support. But then Snape was in front of him, all around him, his right fist in Harry's hair pulling his head back; his left encircling Harry's wrist, twisting the arm painfully into the small of his back; his erection digging into Harry's stomach; his teeth deep in the muscle of Harry's bare shoulder. Harry let out a harsh yelp, not quite a scream, his senses abruptly overwhelmed. He twisted in Snape's arms, trying to get away, trying to get closer, trying to get more, but Snape's entire body seemed made of iron.

By the time Harry realized they were moving, he was pinned against the wall. Snape had let go of his arm only to capture both of Harry's wrists in a painful grip and slam his arms above his head. He brought his other hand to Harry's throat and squeezed slightly, smirking, eyes darker than Harry had ever seen them. A jolt of electricity tore down Harry's spine.

"Anything, Mr. Potter?" he whispered, leaning in to bite down -- hard -- on Harry's earlobe. Harry whimpered. "I'm afraid your options are rather limited when dealing with me." His hand closed again on Harry's throat, and Harry went still as he tried to conserve his breath. But he hadn't been breathing very deeply, and it wasn't long before he started seeing small flashes of light behind his eyelids. His head was pounding harshly and the skin on his face felt stretched and thin. He was full of needles. Panic started to overtake him and he thrashed mindlessly against Snape, trying to dislodge the hand on his throat.

Just as the pain threatened to overcome him, Snape let go, and Harry opened his mouth in shattering relief to suck in a lungful of air. In that moment, Snape closed his mouth over Harry's and slammed their bodies together, shoving a thigh between Harry's legs and trapping him against the wall. Harry, lightheaded and giddy from the sudden rush of oxygen, tried to kiss back, but he didn't know how; Snape was too demanding, his lips hard and punishing against Harry's. The pressure built in his balls as he ground himself against Snape's leg, and then he was groaning as all the nerves in his body shattered into darkness.

When he drifted back to consciousness sometime later, he was sagged against Snape, who hadn't moved. Harry's arms were around the other man's shoulders, his head dropped onto Snape's chest. He was still straddling Snape's thigh, and he was a little cold. His pants were clammy.

He felt Snape's warm hands close on his shoulders and push him back firmly, and then Snape was walking to the leather wingback in the corner of the room. Harry stood stock-still, suddenly very embarrassed and more than a little nervous. Snape dropped gracefully into the chair, looking unruffled and uninterested, and raised an eyebrow.

"Something else I can help you with, Mr. Potter?"

Harry's gut clenched and he looked at Snape uncertainly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"I... er ... I guess not."

Snape crossed his legs and leaned back into the chair. "Then I suggest you go to bed."

Harry's throat closed and he felt a crushing weight descend on his chest. He closed his eyes against the pain.

"Something I can help you with, Mr. Potter?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. He'd heard that before, and recently. Could you dream under the Imperius? How long had it been? Why couldn't he remember? He had so many questions, but he wasn't sure he wanted to ask Snape any of them. He tried for something safe.

"Where are we, sir?"

The eyebrow went up. "I thought you didn't care."

Harry yawned, stretching. "Fine. Where's my bedroom? I'm tired."

Snape stepped aside and bowed mockingly. "One floor up, second door on the left. Sweet dreams." His robes snapped as he turned, and Harry closed his eyes. Maybe he could just rest out here for a little while, until he wasn't quite so tired.

***

At some point, Harry came to the realization that he was in an actual bed, and no longer on the sofa. He couldn't remember how he'd got there, or how long he'd been there, but the bed was very comfortable, and he was very tired, so he rolled over and went back to sleep.

***

The door to his room slammed open, jarring Harry awake. It was still dark, but somehow the air changed, and Harry knew it was Snape. He sat up and rubbed his eyes as Snape launched into a speech, sounding very far away. Harry had to work to hear him.

"Mr. Potter. As much pleasure as it gives me to think of you starving to death in darkness, isolation, and despair, there are others who seem to be laboring under the laughable impression that you are destined for greater things. I must therefore insist that you join me for meals, starting tomorrow. They are at eight, noon, and six. You will be on time, you will be presentable, or you will be sorry." He paused for questions, heard none, and slammed back out of the room.

Harry blinked, yawned, and lay back down, trying to think. He wasn't sure what to think about. He couldn't think about Sirius. He couldn't think about Dumbledore. He didn't want to think about Ron or Hermione or Neville or any of his friends. He'd let everyone down, and Voldemort was going to kill him, and Harry wished he would bloody well get on with it. He wanted to die, preferably before anyone else did. Maybe Snape would kill him.

Snape. Someone else Harry wasn't sure he should think about. How long had he been under the Imperius? Harry felt like there was something he should know, should remember, but he couldn't quite touch it. What happened? What were they doing in this house? Where was this house? Was anyone else here? How long would they stay? Were the Death Eaters after them? The questions were endless, and Harry had trouble concentrating long enough to list them; answering them was almost unthinkable.

Harry remembered that once he had hated Snape, but now Harry hated only himself. He still felt twinges of dislike in Snape's general direction, and he certainly didn't trust the man, but it was nothing Harry couldn't ignore for a while. That decided, he set the alarm for the first time in recent memory.

The bedroom wasn't large, but it was much nicer than the one he'd had at the Dursleys'. It was decorated in dark blues and reds, and the furniture all matched. The bed was bigger than his four-poster at Hogwarts, and he saw that his trunk was at its foot. His broom hung on the wall opposite the bed, along with a few pictures of himself, Hermione and Ron that he recognized from third year. There was a small closet, where his robes were hanging, and a small chest of drawers where he figured he would probably find the rest of his clothes. His books were arranged categorically on a bookshelf, and a fully stocked writing desk was in the corner opposite his bed. Acres of green countryside were visible out the window. It felt rather homey, really, and Harry stared at everything, wondering who had taken the trouble to try to make him comfortable.

He was still staring when Snape opened the door. Harry gave a start and looked over at the clock, which informed him he was 10 minutes late. Snape's eyebrows went up and Harry looked at the floor. The air in the room was suddenly much thicker.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said silkily. "Do you remember the conversation we had yesterday?"

Harry nodded numbly.

"Well?"

Harry looked up, but didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure why he couldn't get out of bed. He felt paralyzed and useless and scared, and he had a splitting headache. He didn't know what Snape's definition of "presentable" was, and he didn't know where the shower was, and he was having serious doubts that he would actually be able to make it through a meal. He wasn't hungry, anyway, and now that he was thinking about food, he was getting a bit nauseated.

"I... I don't know, sir. I planned to come to breakfast. I set my alarm and everything. I just... I don't think I can." He wondered if Snape would imperio him to the shower, and a quick jolt of amusement and something else washed over him, and then he was in a tailspin. The floor started to shift underneath him and his breath came fast and shallow. He tried to focus on Snape -- it had worked last time -- but he couldn't see him.

"Potter!"

Harry opened his eyes -- oh. Snape was only a few inches away, shaking him. Harry dragged a hand through his hair. It was a mess.

"What happened?" he asked.

Snape straightened, but didn't back up, leaving Harry at eye-level with his crotch. Harry swallowed and looked away, cheeks flaming.

"I believe you were having an hysterical fit at the thought of my company at mealtimes," Snape said.

"Uh... oh. Okay." The next words were out before he could stop them. "You know I never have any idea what you're talking about, right?"

"I could hardly have failed to notice that fact, Potter," Snape said dryly. "Look at me." Harry looked up, but he couldn't quite make his eyes focus on Snape's. There was just a blurry black blob in front of him. His breathing started to pick up again, and then he heard a resounding crack! as Snape's hand connected with his cheek.

Harry sat frozen for a second, and then hurled himself at Snape with a feral cry. Snape grunted in surprise as his back crashed against the doorjamb. Harry went for his wand but couldn't find it, so he settled for beating his fists into Snape's chest. He wasn't sure how long it lasted, and then...

He's going to murder me. Harry stepped back, staring at the Potions master in wide-eyed horror. He'd hit Snape. A lot. And Snape was just standing there, glaring and twitching and snarling, and Harry was absolutely sure the next words he heard were going to be avada kedavra. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, and waited for death.

"Well, Potter, now that you are vertical, and -- I assume -- quite finished assaulting me, kindly take a shower. You reek of teenage boy. The bathroom is across the hall." Harry, surprised to be alive, opened his eyes and found himself staring at Snape's wand. "Go!"

Harry went.

He stood in the shower for a long time. He didn't remember the last time he'd taken one, and it actually felt quite good. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand it, and thought about Snape. He was rapidly losing the ability to think about anything else -- when he was awake, anyway, which thankfully wasn't very often.

What had just happened? Was Snape trying to provoke him? Why hadn't Snape fought back? Again, there were too many questions, and Harry got lost trying to list them all. He really needed Hermione for this sort of thing. He had no idea what Snape was up to.

The water started to get cold as he thought about it, and he shook his head, trying to focus. He washed his hair as quickly as he could -- when had it got so long? -- and stepped out of the shower. He reached for his glasses, which were on top of a set of unfamiliar robes. He put them on and opened the door.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter, I cannot smell you from here."

Harry walked automatically towards the sound of Snape's voice, which was coming from the foot of the stairs. Harry looked downstairs doubtfully, suddenly noticing the trembling in his legs. This was the longest he could remember being out of bed for ...

"How long?"

"Excuse me?"

"How long have I been..."

"Sulking? Moping? Pouting? Utterly useless, even as a Muggle?" Snape paused, but Harry didn't say anything. "Three weeks."

Harry reeled. Three weeks? He wasn't sure if he had been expecting a longer time, or a shorter one.

"Oh," he said weakly, and started down the stairs. He made it about half way before his legs gave out. Snape's levitation spell caught him before he fell, and he was floated safely to the kitchen table. Harry, trying to look around, realized that the downstairs of this house was laid out exactly like the downstairs of the Dursleys', although the decor was strangely bland, like the houses in those Muggle decorating magazines Aunt Petunia got, the ones that looked like no one actually lived there. Something tugged at the corner of his memory, but Harry found himself seated at the kitchen table before he could think too much about it.

Harry looked at Snape but decided he wasn't ready to talk to the man, andjudging by the unpleasant sneer on Snape's face, that was fine with him. There was plain toast and a glass of something thick and clumpy and green on the table. Snape sat down across from Harry, and surprised him by not having anything nasty to say about falling down the stairs.

"Eat, Potter. Eat slowly, but eat."

Harry picked up his toast and eyed the green stuff. He looked at Snape and tried to raise an eyebrow. Snape smirked, but said, "That will go down best if you drink it all at once."

Harry shrugged and reached for the glass, which shattered suddenly in his hand. Green stuff spattered all over his robes. Harry looked up, startled and confused, and saw that Snape had his wand out and his lips were thin with anger. His robes were conveniently free of green stuff.

"The proper response, Potter, when someone hands you a potion to drink, is not to drink it!"

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times. "But Dumbledore's been telling me to trust you for years," he objected.

"And you offer unquestioning obedience to Professor Dumbledore in all things, of course." Harry glared at him, but Snape didn't elaborate, and he didn't seem to expect Harry to answer. With a few waves of his wand, Snape had cleaned up the mess and summoned another glass of clumpy green potion. "Drink."

Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Really?"

"Potter," Snape snarled. "Ask me what it is!"

"Oh." He looked at the potion and shrugged. "I don't care," he said truthfully. It didn't seem important.

Snape gritted his teeth, looking murderous. "Of all the stupid, selfish..." he growled. "You don't care? While it is a regrettably safe assumption that I am not attempting to kill you, Potter, there are plenty of people who are. There are even more people, however, who are seemingly waiting around for you defeat the Dark Lord in glorious battle, preferably on Hogwarts grounds so Gryffindor can win the House Cup."

"What?" Harry gaped. He had no clue what Snape was talking about.

"Eat your toast."

Harry took a small bite and remembered, a little, why he didn't like Professor Snape.

***

Breakfast passed in silence after that. Harry managed to eat half his piece of toast before feeling too ill to continue, and he drank his green potion without ever bothering to find out what it was. It tasted terrible, but he felt quite a bit better after he'd finished it. Snape glared at Harry the entire time, but said nothing more until they were finished.

"After meals, you will clean up."

"I will?"

"You will. I, after all, am cooking. It's how these things are done."

"Yeah, I bet you slaved away over my piece of plain toast."

Both the eyebrows went up this time. "Careful, Potter."

"Is this a Muggle house? Sir?"

"You are still an underage wizard, Potter, and this is still summer. You are not to do magic, and you will find few things in this house to tempt you otherwise. There is, obviously, no such restriction on me."

"That's not fair. What if you try to kill me?"

"I shall succeed and retire to the south of France. Do you have homework?"

Harry wasn't any closer to figuring out what was going on with Snape, although he hadn't tried all that hard. He just knew it was weird. His suspicions about the house had proved mostly correct -- it was almost an exact replica of the Dursleys', although where his cupboard should have been, there were stairs to a basement, which Snape had converted into a potions laboratory. The laboratory was the only room in the house aside from Harry's bedroom that showed any sign of being occupied. Harry had stuck his head into every room in the house, and not one looked as if Snape slept there. Maybe Snape just didn't sleep.

Harry wasn't sleeping, either. Once Snape had forbidden him to sleep all the time, he found it impossible to sleep at all. He was restless and jittery, and if Snape accidentally left him a few minutes to himself, he paced around the house like a caged animal. He wasn't allowed to leave, or write letters, so he'd been through every drawer in the place, poked around in every nook and cranny, and he still wasn't able to find out anything about who normally lived here, or even where they were. He watched Snape as carefully as he could, which was hard when he spent all his time in Snape's presence trying not to look at him, but Snape gave nothing away. Harry started to wonder if maybe he should try asking.

***

"It was an Unforgivable," Harry said, glaring at Snape across the kitchen table. Snape sipped his tea and stared back. "Will they send you to Azkaban?"

"You're not that lucky, Potter," Snape said, snorting. "Besides, you submitted."

"To coming with you! Not to the Imperius!" Harry felt anger stirring deep within his belly, and remembered that he used to be angry all the time.

"Spare me, Potter. My intentions were clear."

"I don't remember," Harry said, eliciting a frown from Snape. "The curse, I mean. I don't remember what I did, what you made me do. I... it seems like I was under for a long time."

Snape sipped his tea silently, his swallows loud in the silent room.

"Are you casting aspersions on my character, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked quietly. This conversation suddenly seemed like a very bad idea.

"Er. No."

"Good. I should hate to think you would do such a thing after all I've done for you."

***

Snape was drugging him. That was the only explanation. He poured potion after potion down Harry's throat, lips thinned in anger: Harry hadn't asked about any of them. There were green clumpy potions and purple bubbly potions and red slimy potions and potions that tasted suspiciously like water. Harry was sometimes able to go for hours without thinking of Sirius, without passing out, without descending into any kind of depressed or panicked state, without losing time. He didn't collapse on the stairs or in the shower and he didn't dream of death and pain and torment. Snape had to be drugging him.

"Drink."

"What is it?" Harry eyed the clumpy green potion suspiciously, as if he hadn't been drinking it three times a day for the past ten days. This earned him The Eyebrow, as Harry had taken to calling it.

"Why the sudden caution, Potter?"

"You're drugging me."

"Very astute. Drink."

Harry drank.

"Did you sleep well, Professor?" This earned him The Eyebrow. Then nothing. Harry rolled his eyes and went back to his porridge. "Nevermind," he muttered. And then, before he could stop himself, "Did you sleep at all?"

"Forgive me if I fail to see how my sleeping habits are any concern of yours."

"D'you ever talk like a normal person? Couldn't you just say, 'Why?' or, 'What's it to you, Potter?'" Harry's Snape imitation was passable, and he was rewarded with a brand-new facial expression: The Smirk. Harry added it to his mental list, which so far included The Eyebrow, The Sneer, and The Glare.

"I could, yes, if these 'normal people' of which you speak weren't all a bunch of ignorant half-wits with the vocabularies of three-year-olds."

Harry rolled his eyes again. "My sleeping habits seem to be a pretty big concern of yours. I thought I'd..." Harry stopped, blushing. That hadn't been what he'd wanted to say. But when he dared to look at Snape, the man's face was strangely blank.

"I am drugging you."

Harry blinked, a little surprised. "Yeah, I know."

Snape stood up and walked to the living room, motioning for Harry to follow. Harry trailed after him, breakfast forgotten, and curled himself at the end of the blue sofa. Snape settled into a burgundy leather wingback which Harry thought was terribly uncomfortable.

"Shall I stop?" Snape's face was still blank, but the question took Harry by surprise. He blinked.

"I... tell me what you're giving me. And I don't need to know the histories of every ingredient in every potion, and how delicate and subtle everything is. Sir." Harry grinned weakly, trying to show that he'd been joking. Mostly. Snape narrowed his eyes, but answered the question.

"A restorative, for nutrition and hydration. An incredibly powerful sleeping draught. A strength potion. A calming draught. A focusing draught. A muscle relaxant. An analgesic -- a pain-killer, Potter."

"Wow. That's a lot." He had the feeling Snape had left something off the list, but he wasn't sure. He'd need to keep better track.

"Yes. You'll have to stop taking them at some point, but I don't advise doing it all at once. Once you are back on a suitable diet, you may stop taking the restorative and the strength potion. I've been decreasing the potency of those each day. The same is true of the analgesic. I think you will be finished with that soon -- perhaps tomorrow." Snape sent a hard look his way, and Harry was suddenly uncomfortable. He really didn't like being the sole focus of the man's attention. "It is ultimately up to you, but it is imperative that you inform me of any decisions you make, so I may adjust the rest of the potions accordingly."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of this information. Did he really need all that stuff? He looked uncertainly at Snape.

"Er. What do you think?"

"Is the famous Harry Potter actually asking for my opinion?"

"You know I don't know anything about potions," Harry grumbled. "And I can't very well ask Hermione." He still wasn't allowed to send owls, and he wasn't sure he'd want to, anyway -- what would he say? But he thought the option might be nice.

"I think not, Potter. Besides, even Miss Granger--"

"Hold on." He furrowed his brow as something Snape had said earlier clicked into place. "Did you say, earlier... Do you spend your days making potions? For me?"

"Hardly, Mr. Potter," Snape snapped.

"But you said you've been decreasing the potency of that one! And that you'd have to adjust all the other ones if I decided to change one of them!"

Snape sighed, and for a minute Harry didn't think he was going to answer.

"Mr. Potter, your use of pronouns is overwhelming. Please stop until you can assign them proper antecedents. Moreover, diluting a restorative is hardly something that requires brewing a new batch, as any reasonably competent first-year should know, let alone an incompetent sixth-year such as yourself. Adjusting the rest of the mix is slightly more delicate, but the changes themselves are relatively simple."

Harry blinked. He'd actually caught most of that.

"Now," Snape continued. "You can either stop taking the sleeping draught, and continue with the calming and focusing draughts, or the other way round. Do you understand the effects?"

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, considering.

"If I stop taking the sleeping draught, I won't be able to sleep. Or I'll have nightmares. So I'll have to take more of the others to be functional during the day. But if take stop taking those, then I won't be functional, and I don't see what that's got to do with anything. I'm confused. Sorry, sir."

"You are fortunate I cannot deduct points, Potter. You will eventually be expected to function without the use of potions at all." Snape's tone hadn't changed, but something about his expression gave Harry the idea that Snape found this distasteful. "Getting through the day without will be very difficult for a while, and you will need your sleep. If you're not getting any sleep, the days will be harder. If--"

"I want to stop taking all of them."

"And just when I thought we were communicating," he muttered. "No, Potter, that is not an option."

"Then I need to think about it, sir."

Snape's eyes narrowed, but he eventually nodded his consent. Harry decided to try taking advantage of the professor's relatively talkative mood, and leaned a little closer to Snape's chair.

"Sir, can you tell me what's going on? Where are we? Why are we here? How long do we have to stay?"

Snape shot him a considering look. Harry tried not to fidget.

"You will be safer if your knowledge is limited." Harry's mouth opened in outrage and he was half off the sofa before Snape snapped, "Do not interrupt, Potter!"

Harry's jaw clamped shut, and he sank stiffly back to the sofa. Snape sighed.

"I realize that the previous limitation of your knowledge is one of the contributing factors to our current situation, and that in combination with your unfortunate blend of hubris and recklessness it produces an infinite capacity for mischief, but it cannot be helped. You will have to trust me. I will tell you what I can." He paused, and seemed to be waiting for Harry to catch up. Harry nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.

"As you know, the dementors of Azkaban are no longer under the control of the Ministry of Magic. They have joined the Dark Lord, allowing the Death Eaters held in Azkaban to escape. As you can probably guess, none of these people can be counted among the members of your fan club."

"Yeah, I know all that," Harry cut in irritably.

"Mr. Potter, as someone who asks so many questions, tell me something: Has it occurred to you to try listening to the answers?"

Harry sighed and mumbled an apology. He was a little worried about where this conversation was going, and wanted it to get there soon.

"Sources close to the Dark Lord--"

"You, sir?"

Snape went very still, and Harry cursed himself. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Excuse me?" His voice was pitched low and dangerous, and Harry's skin started to prickle.

"I... Sorry, sir, for interrupting. I was just wondering if you were the one to find out. I mean, I know... Dumbledore said..." Harry gave up. Snape was just staring at him, his eyes glittering in a way that made Harry very nervous.

"Did he," he murmured. "And I assume your fan club has been told?" Harry nodded slowly, a little unsure about what was happening. Surely Snape couldn't think that Harry wouldn't know of his work for the Order? Something seemed to shift behind Snape's eyes, and he got up, went to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a glass of scotch. Harry tried not to remark that it was well before noon. When Snape sat back down, he seemed back to normal.

"Excellent. Now. I believe we were discussing your situation. The Dark Lord is active again, and he has assigned no fewer than four Death Eaters the task of hunting you down and killing you. He has tired of games."

"But... they can't. Only Vol--"

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name!" Snape snapped. "I've warned you before, Potter. But yes, I know about the prophecy. The Dark Lord does not, hence the orders."

"Oh. Do you know who V-- who the Dark Lord sent?"

Snape leaned back in the chair, looking oddly smug. He swirled the scotch in his glass.

"Me."

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He swallowed audibly. Snape took another drink.

"You."

"Mm."

Harry couldn't do anything but stare, and Snape's eyes flashed.

"Potter, if you're about to ask me when and how I plan to kill you, so help me--"

"No! I... it's just a surprise, that's all. What did you tell him? How are you going to get out of it? Did he send anyone else?"

"As we are speaking of your life, Potter, you could try to do me the courtesy of paying at least some attention. I believe I already mentioned that he sent no less than four people after you. Several weeks ago, the Dark Lord issued orders to hunt you down and kill you. Bellatrix Lestrange, in particular, was eager to get her hands on you; she mentioned wanting to familiarize you with the finer details of the Cruciatus Curse. As if such existed."

Harry closed his eyes, and her mad laughter rang in his ears.

"In addition to myself, he has assigned Avery to assist the Lestranges in their task. The three of them have been working together, and I on my own. They had been doing rather better, in a manner of speaking. It was really only a matter of time before Lestrange tracked you to your relatives'. She was planning to murder your aunt, bringing the wards down and allowing her to get to you.

"She had Rodolphus watching the house, but he is... easily distracted. I extracted you with a minimum of fuss, and here we are. You are missing. The circumstances of your disappearance are suspicious and unknown, and the entire Wizarding world -- myself included -- is looking for you. I cannot tell you where we are. Your disappearance has caused confusion and dissension among the ranks of both sides, and each is using that confusion to their own ends. We shall wait here for the dust to settle."

"Um... then what? What happens when we get back to Hogwarts?"

Snape took another sip of his drink. "What makes you think we're going back to Hogwarts?"

Harry felt himself turn green. "Oh. But... we can't just stay here! I have to kill him, so I'll have to show up sometime. Won't my reappearance stir things back up again? Are you just going to go back to Vol-- to the Dark Lord and say, 'Sorry, mate, couldn't find him'?"

"Yes, that is precisely what I will say," Snape snapped. "No one else will be able to find you, either, so it's not as if the failure will be mine alone. I will be punished, of course, but there may be mitigating factors." He shook his head, and Harry got the impression he hadn't quite meant to say that. "Regardless, Potter, my fate at the Dark Lord's hands does not concern you."

"He'll kill you." The notion bothered Harry, and he wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want anyone else to die because of him, or because of some other reason. He squirmed in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable under Snape's intense stare.

"At which point your chances of passing Potions increase a thousand-fold. Now. Speaking of potions. Have you made a decision?"

Harry wasn't ready to move on, but Snape was obviously done discussing his plans. Harry tried to make his eyes flash at Snape.

"I want to stop taking all of them. Sir."

Snape sighed, obviously exasperated.

"I've already told you that is not an option."

"Just to see what it's like! Isn't that what I should be doing? Don't you tell us to test everything, sir? I don't know what anything does or how it effects me. I just want to try a day or two without any potions at all and see what happens, and then we can decide."

Snape was silent, considering. Finally he nodded and said, "Very well. No potions. Two days."

"Thank you, sir."

Harry wasn't sure what happened next. He started talking, first about the dream, and then about Sirius. Then Snape's arms were around him, and he was still talking and sobbing and he was sure he didn't make any sense, but he needed to be rid of all the dreams and the death and the doubts that had been inside him for so long. Somehow it was okay that it was Snape because it wasn't like the man could possibly hate him any more than he already did.

When Harry woke up again, he was back in his bedroom, and Snape was there. Harry wasn't sure if it was weird or comforting for Snape to be watching him like that. Snape had transfigured Harry's desk chair into an overstuffed lounge chair, and was, well, lounging. He was wearing Muggle pyjamas -- black flannel bottoms and a faded black t-shirt. His hair was tied back. He looked almost human. Harry felt his mouth drop open, but he was too shocked to do anything about it.

"Professor?" He tried to say. It came out sounding like, "Rawwwugh." Then he coughed, and Snape was pressing a glass of water to his lips and ordering him to drink. The Dark Mark on his left forearm leered at Harry, and he closed his eyes against the sight.

"The unfortunate side effects of hours of screaming and crying, I'm afraid," Snape commented dryly. Harry finished the glass of water and looked at Snape, who put the glass down and crossed his arms. Now that he was no longer in shadow, Harry realized the left side of his face looked like someone had used it for a punch-bag. The eye was nearly swollen shut, and there was a nasty cut on his mouth.

"Oh, god. Professor. Are you all right? I think-- I attacked you."

"Very observant, Potter. These unprovoked assaults of yours are becoming quite a habit. Fortunately -- or perhaps unfortunately -- for you, I shall live. I will be in quite a bit of trouble the day I can't fend off a crazed teenager." He paused. "And you?"

"I've been better. Are you sure you're all right? That's a-- I'm really sorry."

"I assure you, Potter, I'm fine. The cuts and bruises are superficial, easily charmed away. I left them to make a point."

"Oh." Harry stared, waiting. Snape just stared back. "Well? Are you going to tell me what that point is?"

"No. Integro." The swelling went down, and the cuts closed up. They didn't quite heal all the way, but he looked much better. Snape sat back down and crossed his ankles.

"Big surprise," Harry muttered under his breath.

And then he remembered that he was sitting in his bedroom with Snape, and they were both in their pyjamas. He looked at Snape's feet, blue veins showing through thin skin. Harry got the strangest feeling he'd seen them before, which couldn't be right. He wondered if the rest of Snape's skin... No. No, he didn't wonder anything of the sort. He didn't even like Snape. He should definitely go back to sleep. He rolled over.

"Oh, no, Potter. It's time to get up. Past time."

"What? But... I'm so tired."

"Indeed. But as I recall, you insisted on this little experiment, and I am therefore bound to ensure you see it through. Get up."

Harry couldn't help noticing that Snape himself hadn't moved. And that Snape was barefoot. Why did he keep looking at Snape's feet? He pushed himself to the edge of the bed, stood, and then promptly sat back down, head swimming.

"Perhaps not so fast, Potter."

Harry tried again, more slowly. He wobbled on his feet a bit, and then steadied. He looked around bleakly. He really was tired, and he didn't see why he should have to go to breakfast anyway. He wasn't hungry. The night had left him exhausted and drained, and everything seemed pointless. He sat back down.

"Well, Potter?" Snape inquired mildly.

"I can't."

"I see. Petrificus totalus." Harry's body went rigid. Snape stood and stretched, and Harry thought it was probably a good thing he wasn't able to make any noise. He probably would have had a choking fit. Snape levitated Harry across the hall into the bathroom, stashed him in a corner, and started the shower. He turned around and, eyes on Harry's, muttered something under his breath that Harry didn't catch. Harry felt a rush of cool air, and realized he was naked. His eyes widened in horror and a blush raced over his body. Snape, eyes never leaving Harry's, floated him into the shower, ended the petrificus, closed his eyes deliberately, and turned his back. Harry was mortified.

"Pervert."

"Do try to be a little more precise with your insults, Potter, else our time together is going to be frightfully dull. I believe the word you want is 'pederast.'"

Harry glared at Snape's back and jerked the shower curtain shut. He heard the door open and close, and Snape was gone.

Harry stared at the shower wall, fury and embarrassment slowly melting away into confusion. Snape had been careful -- very careful -- to keep his eyes to himself, which at least helped with the embarrassment. But the whole situation had been more than a little strange. What had that spell been? Why did Harry know what Snape's feet looked like? Was Snape going to try to kill him when they returned to Hogwarts? Were Ron and Hermione worried about him? He frowned. He had no idea what a pederast was.

Some distant part of him recognized his state of mind as being exactly what it was before Snape had started drugging him -- everything felt heavy and far away, and he couldn't concentrate on anything. He tried to think about that, about maybe asking Snape for help, but the door cracked open and he jumped, startled.

"Potter, you've been in here for almost an hour. Dare I ask what's taking so long?"

"Shut up."

There was a brief pause in which Harry remembered who was talking to and winced.

"Five more minutes, and I shall be forced to come in and get you." The door closed. Harry turned the water off, dried himself, and pulled his pyjama bottoms back on. He didn't feel like wearing robes today. He went to his room, pulled on a clean t-shirt, and then went downstairs for breakfast.

He slammed himself into a chair and glared at Snape, who was sitting across the table. He lifted a single black brow.

"What's a pederast?"

Snape's lips twitched as Harry's eyes widened. Of all the questions he could have asked, that had been the last one he'd meant to. Snape accio'd a dictionary from -- where? -- and slid it across the table. Harry read aloud, valiantly fighting the blush that crawled across his face.

"'Pederast. A man who has sexual relations with a boy.'" He looked up at Snape, who was looking back, eyebrow raised, faintly amused.

"Are you?" Harry almost clamped his hand over his mouth. He needed to just stop talking. Snape's eyebrow climbed a little higher.

"Having sexual relations with a boy? Unless they've changed the meaning on me, Potter, this hardly qualifies." He gestured languidly at the breakfast table, and Harry felt his face heat up.

"I'm not a boy!" Harry felt his mouth drop open, and this time he went ahead and clapped a hand over it. His face was on fire. Where had that come from? And why was Snape smirking? "I... That's not what I meant."

"I'm aware of what you meant," Snape said, mercifully ignoring Harry's gaffe. His voice was mild, but his eyes were flashing, and Harry noticed the vein at his temple start to throb. "You tell me. Am I?"

Harry tore his eyes from Snape and stared at a particularly shiny spot on the kitchen table. He swallowed his embarrassment -- he could not believe he was actually having this conversation with Snape, of all people -- and tried to think about it honestly. He thought about Snape, barefoot in his room. He thought about the point he'd made to keep his eyes on Harry's when he'd undressed him, and how Snape had even closed his eyes before he turned around, just in case. He thought about how he'd held Harry in the night, soothing his screams and letting Harry exhaust himself. He thought about how he'd begged Snape not to go, not to leave, and he hadn't. What Harry tried very hard not to think about was Snape having sexual relations with anyone. Particularly him.

"No," he said in a small voice. He took a deep breath and looked up. "I'm sorry, sir. You've never... I never should have..." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I apologize." He hoped Snape would realize he meant it. He opened his eyes to see that Snape's black gaze had hardened. The vein at his temple was still throbbing. Harry looked down, confused. He'd thought Snape wanted an apology. Now he wasn't sure what to say.

"Is there anything you'd like to ask me, Potter?"

Harry's head snapped back up in surprise. Since when did Snape invite questions? Harry thought about it. There were about a million things he wanted to ask, but he got the impression Snape wanted to hear a very specific question. Harry went back to staring at the shiny spot on the table, trying to force his mind to focus. It was useless. He couldn't even think of all the things he wanted to know, and he was sure he wasn't going to be able to guess what Snape wanted to hear. He was worried about what Snape might say if he got it wrong, and he had no idea what Snape was playing at and he was much too tired to try to figure any of it out. He went with the best answer he had.

"No," he said quietly.

"No," Snape repeated flatly.

"'Course there are things I want to ask you," he snapped, frustrated. "But there's no point. You're not going to answer any of my questions." He risked a quick glance at Snape, but the man hadn't moved. He desperately wanted out of this conversation. "I'm cold, sir," he mumbled, trying to change the subject. Snape was silent for a few long moments, and then he accio'd a jumper, finished his porridge, and said nothing further.

***

Harry broke one glass and two bowls trying to wash the dishes. He didn't finish any of the reading Snape told him to do, and he cut his fingers less than five minutes into skinning shrivelfigs. He got colder and colder, and ever more exhausted. Snape seemed farther away, and after lunch, Harry told him to bugger off, collapsed on the couch, and fell asleep.

Snape was in his pyjamas, sitting in the wingback, staring coldly at Harry. There was no sign of a book near him, and Harry wondered absurdly if that's what Snape did in his room -- sat and stared at the wall. He tried to look at anything except Snape, but there was nothing else to look at, and Harry felt his eyes creeping towards the Potions master.

"Something I can help you with, Mr. Potter?" Snape's voice was etched in ice, and Harry shivered.

"I-- I don't know, sir."

"Then I suggest you figure it out."

Harry stared into Snape's eyes for what felt like an eternity, finally tearing his gaze away in a sudden bout of self-loathing. He hated this. He hated that he couldn't concentrate and he hated that he didn't know what was going on and he hated that he didn't even care. He hated Snape and he hated himself and he hated that Snape was so nonchalant about everything while Harry was being eaten alive. He looked back up.

"I hate you," he spat, surprised by the vehemence of his own voice. The conversation didn't seem real; it was as if he were watching it from a distance instead of participating. He felt his lips curl when Snape raised that damned eyebrow.

"I assure you, Mr. Potter, the feeling is entirely mutual."

"Then why are you helping me?"

At that, Snape stood and started advancing slowly on Harry, eyes hot and flashing. It was all Harry could do not to shrink into himself as Snape closed the distance between them. He'd been growing, but Snape still towered over him, and even in his pyjamas, the man was intimidating.

"What makes you think I'm helping you?" Snape's voice was low and dangerous, and Harry felt something clench in his belly. "What makes you think I'm not helping myself?" He reached out and trailed a single long finger down Harry's bare sternum. Harry exhaled sharply as his consciousness collided abruptly with his body. He went from feeling afloat to feeling hyperaware of everything: the air currents in the room; Snape's steady heartbeat and his own thready pulse; the creaking of the floorboards under his weight; even the crackle of the light bulb above them.

"You hate me," he said. "You have to hate me." Snape's hatred was the one thing he could count on. "I'm balls at Potions and I think you're ugly and greasy and I looked in your Penseive and would you stop looking at me like that?"

"How would you like me to look at you?" Harry shivered as Snape's silken voice washed over him. Every muscle in Harry's body was tensed and quivering; he was now fighting desperately not to lean into Snape. The man was radiating heat and something else Harry didn't want to think about.

"I don't want you to look at me at all!"

Snape smirked and leaned in close to whisper intimately in Harry's ear. "Then perhaps you ought to consider not showing up in my bedchamber half-naked with a tent in your trousers."

"I don't--" But he did. He flushed crimson and closed his eyes. He felt Snape pull away and circle behind him. "Oh, God," he said, as realization crashed down. "We've done this before."

"It was rather better last time," Snape confirmed, hot breath ghosting over Harry's ear. "You talked less."

"I should never talk again," Harry muttered. His mouth always got him into trouble with Snape. He had no idea what it was going to get him now. He wasn't sure he cared. Not as long as Snape kept nipping at his earlobe like that.

"Tell me why you're here, Potter, and then we can see about impeding your speech." Harry dropped his head back on Snape's shoulder with a low moan as a long-fingered hand came up to caress his throat. He was supposed to think? He could barely hear his thoughts over the slamming of his heart in his chest.

"I-- I don't know."

The hand stopped, and Harry almost collapsed when Snape drew away from him. Harry whimpered and opened his eyes. Snape had circled back around and was standing in front of him, arms crossed, eyes glinting dangerously.

"Figure it out, Potter, or go back to your own room."

The words hit Harry like a bucket of ice water. "But I don't even know where your room is!" He protested, trying to stall. He wasn't sure he could say what Snape wanted to hear, but he didn't want to leave.

"Fascinating." So much for stalling. Snape stared at him for several long seconds as Harry tried to gain some control over himself and his thoughts. He looked miserably at Snape, who went and sat back down in the wingback.

"I can't do this," he whispered. "I can't-- I feel-- I don't... I don't understand. I don't like you, but this--" He gestured vaguely between them and willed Snape to understand. "At least it's something, yeah? I don't think I have to like you."

"No, you don't, but you do have to be a little more specific about what you expect to get out of our -- association. Should you want something from me, Mr. Potter, you'd best learn to ask."

Harry looked at him dubiously, waiting for the part where Snape said, so I can laugh at you.

"You'll say no."

"Perhaps," Snape said, and then snorted as Harry shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. "What of your vaunted Gryffindor courage? You've faced down the Dark Lord, Potter, and you're afraid I'll say 'no'?"

"No," Harry snapped, glaring at him. "But you've faced down V-- the Dark Lord a lot more than I have. You're a lot more... something," he finished lamely. Snape looked like he might laugh, if he weren't Snape. Instead he pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at the ceiling.

"If you find me so intimidating, what are you doing here?"

"I already told you!" Harry yelled, bringing Snape's eyes back to his own. "I'm sick of not feeling anything, of feeling numb and dead and hollow! When I cut my fingers earlier, skinning shrivelfigs, I didn't even notice! I don't know what's wrong with me, but you-- you make me angry, and it's something and at least I feel it when you touch me and I don't care what you do to me. But you can't ask me to tell you what I want, because I DON'T KNOW!"

Harry drew in a ragged breath and looked at the floor. He was shaking, hands clenched into fists and blood singing with the adrenaline that came from conflict and desire and tension. He was sure he'd never been harder in his life.

"Progress at last," Snape said dryly. "Strip." It was his classroom voice, all honeyed steel, capable of sending first-years flying from the dungeons in terror, and Harry was fumbling with his pyjama bottoms before he even registered what was happening. Once it did register, he hesitated and looked up.

"Or?" He asked softly. Snape crossed his legs and fixed Harry with a flinty stare. Finally he shrugged.

"It makes no difference to me, Potter. You can obey, or you can leave. The choice is yours."

Harry took a deep breath, gathered as much resolve as he could manage, took another look at Snape, and bolted for the door.

Wrenching it open and hurling himself out of the bedroom, Harry realized he was in the upstairs hallway. He didn't stop to be confused. Instead he ran to his own room, slammed the door, fell to his knees, shoved both hands in his trousers, threw his head back, and jerked desperately on his prick. He came almost instantly, harder than he ever had in his life. Unsettled but drained, he collapsed to the floor and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Harry woke with a start. He was on the floor of his room, hands in his pants. Snape was rapping on the door.

"I'm awake!" He called, desperate for Snape to stay out of his room. Why was he -- oh. Oh! He climbed to his feet slowly, stiff after a night on the floor. He was glad there was no one there to see him blush. Snape knocked on his door again, and Harry's stomach clenched. He wasn't sure he could face him after what had happened last night.

"I'm awake!" He called again, louder.

"So you've said," came the reply. "Breakfast is in 15 minutes. I thought to spare you a repeat of yesterday's performance."

Harry eyed the bed, wondering if he could just hide underneath it. Or at the very least, under the covers. Between the shower incident, when Snape hadn't looked at him, and the bedroom incident, when he most certainly had, Harry didn't know what to think. And now he knew there were two bedroom incidents, but he still couldn't remember the first one very well, and he didn't understand why. What he really wanted to do was stay in his room and think, or maybe just sleep some more. He certainly wasn't hungry. The only thing that got him up was the thought of what Snape might do if he had to come in after him.

Harry changed into a different pair of flannel trousers and pulled on a t-shirt. He hadn't been feeling much like a wizard lately, and didn't bother with robes. Once he was as dressed as he felt like getting, he opened the door cautiously and peeked outside. There was no sign of Snape, so he darted across the hall to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. He didn't bother combing his hair; it never made any difference.

It was with no small amount of trepidation that he padded downstairs to breakfast. Snape was already at the table, sipping tea and eating porridge. Harry blushed furiously, sat down, and stared at his food in revulsion. His stomach churned angrily.

"I-- I'm not hungry, sir," he said weakly. He was sure he'd vomit if he tried to eat. Snape rose silently to get him a glass of water. Harry drank it quickly, no less grateful for the water than the distraction it provided. Snape sat back down and Harry stared at the table while Snape stared at him. He didn't last two minutes.

"I'm sorry!" He blurted. He looked up at Snape, who had raised an eyebrow. Harry was suddenly uncertain; maybe Snape hadn't felt the tension.

"For?"

"For... last night. For leaving like that." It was almost true. "I just-- it was-- I--"

"Spare me your adolescent histrionics, Potter. I know why you left. And as I said last night, it makes no difference to me. The choice is yours."

"Oh," he said, oddly relieved. He just wanted things to go back to normal, whatever that was. He tried to say so, but instead he asked, "Will I get another chance?"

"Which part of, 'the choice is yours' is unclear to you?"

"Oh," he said again. Something about that didn't seem right, but he couldn't put his finger on what. "All right. Can I have the potions back, please?"

***

"Well. That didn't work." Harry drank his clumpy green potion gratefully and looked at Snape. He was worried about how spectacularly he'd fallen apart without the potions. Snape had made him go the second day without, but had given him a sleeping draught before bed. He felt much better now, although the second day had passed in a haze.

"Did the organ that passes for your brain happen to absorb anything during your little experiment?"

"Er, that I should do what you say?" Harry winced inwardly at his choice of words. That's what he got for trying to be clever with Snape.

"Precisely," Snape said, apparently ignoring the double meaning. "Once you're off the restoratives, I'll start reducing the daytime regimen. The calming draught first, then the focusing draught. I think it's best if you continue to sleep for now. I'm not sure my face could go another round."

Harry nodded, grateful to have someone else making the decision. He really didn't feel up to it right now, and he didn't remember enough of the previous two days to be able to tell which potions would have helped most. What he did remember... he shook his head. It felt like a dream, although he knew it hadn't been. He knew he'd have to deal with it soon, but he needed time to think, and to think, he apparently needed potions.

He'd finished all his summer prep, and he was spending a little bit of time helping Snape in the potions lab. Ingredients arrived by owl once a week, and Harry was in charge of putting them away and doing what other minor prep work Snape trusted him with, which wasn't much. Snape did finally allow him to go outside and work in the garden, and Harry was grateful for the physical labor and the chance to get lost in his thoughts. He found they alternated between Snape, the charms that kept the garden hidden from what looked like a quaint Muggle village, and Snape. He felt better than he had in weeks, which still wasn't very good, but at least it was progress, and he was coming to the grudging realization that he had Snape to thank for it.

As for the Snape Issue, as he had taken to thinking of it, he still didn't know what to make of it. He'd examined the upstairs hallway and discovered the blank wall at the far end was actually a glamour that concealed Snape's bedroom door. And now that he knew that, he spent a great deal of time staring at that door, and thinking about that door, and wondering about that door, and if he thought of anything else it wasn't for very long. He wished he had someone to talk to, but there was only Snape, and that was out of the question. But between his curiosity and his hormones, he didn't expect to last a week before tiring of the numbness and knocking on Snape's door again.

***

Harry was taking motherwort clippings in the garden when he heard the back door open. He looked up and tried not to stare. He'd never seen Snape outside before, and the sunlight didn't do anything for his complexion. Snape definitely looked better in the dark.

"Potter. I'm afraid I must run some errands. I assume you will prove up to the challenge of making yourself a sandwich without doing yourself grievous bodily harm. I am expecting a delivery today. If it arrives while I am out, do try to restrain yourself."

"What kind of delivery?" Harry asked, knowing he was more likely to get an answer to that question than to the one he really wanted to ask, which was, What kind of errands? Or, better yet, Can I come with you?

Snape glared down the length of his prominent nose. "That is not your business, Potter," he said. Harry rolled his eyes. It was probably potions ingredients. They showed up once a week. "Do you require anything from outside?"

Harry looked up, surprised. "Er, some chocolate frogs would be nice," he said. The meals Snape had been cooking were all scrupulously healthy, and Harry hadn't had chocolate in a month. He'd probably die of shock if Snape got him any, though, so he tried to think of something else. "And maybe a calendar? I don't even know what day it is."

Snape nodded slowly.

"I imagine that could be arranged. The calendar, at any rate. I shall be back this afternoon. Do endeavor to stay out of trouble while I am away. That means you don't leave the grounds, read my mail, or blow anything up. Is that clear?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go. Sir." Snape shot him a suspiciously half-hearted glare before wrapping his robes around his chest and Disapparating with a soft pop.

***

A grey barn owl swooped up to Harry 15 minutes later, three miniaturized bundles tied to her legs. Harry let her inside the house and gave her a treat, rubbing her head for a few minutes and thinking about Hedwig. He missed her. He also missed his friends, who were still painful to think about. He'd treated them horribly last year, and though he knew he needed to come to terms with what had happened, he didn't think he was ready yet. He was lonely, but he wanted to be left alone. Snape seemed to understand that, and Harry was beginning to suspect he had far more in common with the Potions master than he'd previously thought. It had been a shock when Snape hinted he might not go back to Hogwarts, but right now, Harry wasn't sure he really wanted to. He wondered how much longer summer holidays would last.

The owl flew off with a satisfied hoot, and Harry eyed the packages she'd left. They'd returned to actual size as soon as he'd untied them, and they were sitting on the kitchen table. Two of them obviously contained potions ingredients, so he carried them carefully to the basement. He thought about unpacking them but decided against it. Maybe he'd come back to it after he finished the rest of his chores. The third package looked to be a bundle of mail, and included the last week's editions of the Daily Prophet. He pulled them out, planning to set them aside for later, when he noticed a small picture of himself blinking up tiredly from the corner.

BOY WHO LIVED STILL MISSING

It is Day 21 of the Harry Potter Watch. The Boy Who Lived disappeared without a trace on 24 June. He vanished from the home of his Muggle relatives, who were found obliviated. The Dark Mark was visible above his home for hours, although no casualties have been reported. The Ministry for Magic believes Mr Potter is still alive and has asked the entire Wizarding community to be alert for any clues to his whereabouts, as the young wizard is believed to be vital in the fight against You-Know-Who. Please contact Percy Weasley at the Ministry, Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or the editor of the Daily Prophet with any information.

Harry wasn't sure what day it was, but that paper must have been at least a week old. He flipped quickly through the rest of the stack in growing panic. They all carried the same short message on the front page: He was missing. Snape had mentioned it, but somehow seeing it in print made it much more real. And Snape hadn't said anything about the Dark Mark. His friends probably thought he was dead by now.

He skimmed through the rest of the news. Aurors had thwarted a Death Eater attack on some Muggle-borns in London. No one was injured, but neither had any Death Eaters been caught. Harry, feeling ill, folded up the papers. There was nothing he could do about it from here, anyway. He was about to go back out to the garden when he noticed the Hogwarts seal peering out from the stack of letters. He flipped through the envelopes, curious. Only two carried return labels, and they were both from Professor Dumbledore. He opened the first one without thinking, suddenly desperate for news. It was a letter for Professor Snape, dated two weeks prior to the paper he'd read.

Severus,
I regret to disturb your much-needed holiday, but Harry Potter has disappeared. The usual channels have proved ineffective. Your assistance in this matter is required immediately.

Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore

Harry's breath left him in a rush and as his body went numb. A cold sweat broke out over his body and he stumbled into the toilet, heaving, the letter dropping unnoticed to the floor. Snape had betrayed him. Snape was going to kill him. Snape had lied to him. Snape. Snape... Snape had his wand. Harry had to find it.

He lurched back to the kitchen, where the stack of mail caught his eye again. He tore hysterically into the pile, ripping all the letters into pieces and throwing them on the floor. Panic shot through him, hot and white, and he knew that now he really had to find his wand.

He ran upstairs and threw himself against the wall where he knew Snape's door was. The wards took him by surprise, and he let out a scream of pure rage when he bounced off them. He beat his fists against the wall until they were bloody, and he became aware of power gathering around him, flowing off him; he was thrown to the floor when the wards exploded beneath his fury. He tore the door open and ran into the room, pulling out all the drawers and emptying them on the floor. He ripped the mattress off the bed and almost tore the cupboard door off its hinges in his haste to open it. When he emptied everything he could find, he stood in the middle of the room and looked around desperately. There was no sign of his wand. His panic left him as suddenly as it had overtaken him, and he collapsed brokenly on a pile of Snape's clothes, sobbing.

"Learn anything interesting?" Snape's voice was low whisper that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end. Harry sat up and leaned against the chair, rubbing at his eyes. He didn't need a mirror to know how bloodshot and swollen they were.

"Would you just kill me and have done with it?" He said bitterly. He couldn't even muster any anger over Snape's betrayal. He must have been expecting it, and Harry was overcome by a bizarre, disassociated calm. He wanted everything to be over.

"It is unwise to tempt me, boy." Snape's lips curled and he took a step closer. Harry's lips mirrored the expression.

"Whatever."

"Indeed." There was a flash of movement, and something landed at Harry's feet. He looked down. His wand! He reached for it, and then jerked his hand back, suspicious. He looked up at Snape, who was so irate he was shaking. He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come off it. I didn't read your bloody mail."

"You are a poor liar, Mr. Potter. There is a letter addressed to me lying open on the kitchen floor and the rest of my mail has been shredded. Did it not occur to you that those letters might hold important information about your life? Or has your adolescent snit fit finally reached the point where your disregard for your own life now equals the disregard you clearly hold for everything else? Although, of course, this is entirely my fault for thinking you had some modicum of sense or responsibility. But I see now what a tremendous oversight it was on my part to fail to add 'do not destroy personal correspondence,' 'do not breach wards,' or 'do not rifle through personal possessions' to the list of forbidden activities." Snape's voice had started in that deadly whisper but had risen throughout his speech, and Harry's anger rose with it, blossoming in his belly and threatening to overshadow everything else he was feeling. He shot to his feet, snarling, wand forgotten.

"No, the oversight on your part was kidnapping me! You LIED to me! No one knows where I am! My friends all think I'm DEAD!"

"Oh, spare me, Potter. You have no concern for what your friends think. Tell me, how many of their letters did you burn, unopened, while you were sulking with the Muggles?"

The shot hit Harry like a punch in the stomach and he charged towards Snape, giddy with anger.

"I was NOT SULKING! I was DEPRESSED! MY GODFATHER IS DEAD AND I KILLED HIM!!" Harry stopped short, shocked, but then the words started pouring out of him again as if he were helpless to stop them. "I thought, and I should have known better, I thought you came to HELP me, to take me away from the Dursleys. And I was feeling better, I was feeling... something, but you're just like everyone else. You're just USING me to get whatever it is you want and you LIED to me and you said..." Harry stammered to a halt, much of his anger spent, and looked uncertainly at Snape. Some of the man's anger had gone out of him, but Harry could tell he was still furious. Snape took another step and closed the distance between them. Harry had to crane his neck back to keep his eyes on Snape's, and he could feel the other man's breath on his face, but he refused to back away.

"Do you have a brain in your head, boy?" Snape sneered, making it obvious what he thought the answer was. "Do you not understand the concept of 'in hiding'? I told you of your disappearance. I told you the entire Wizarding world has been looking for you. Where was the lie in this? At which point did you become confused as to my meaning? Because I thought it was rather clear."

"At the point where you said Dumbledore knew what was going on! But he sent you a letter that said I disappeared! That said YOU had to help look for me!" Harry watched, fascinated and a little concerned, as Snape's expression shifted from irate to amazed.

"Potter," he choked. "I do hope this is an ill-advised prank on your part."

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again, drawing his brows together in confusion.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin. Downstairs. Now." Snape turned on his heel and disappeared in an impressive swirl of robes that sent Harry straight back to his first year at Hogwarts. Harry blinked after him, confusion draining away his anger, and finally trudged downstairs. Snape was sitting in his uncomfortable wingback, a glass of scotch in his right hand and a glass of something else in his left. Harry eyed the scotch.

"Can I have some?"

"Scotch?" Snape snorted. "No. You have proved yourself to be utterly incapable of using what few brain cells you have left, so I do not think it wise to kill off any more. You can, however, have this." He handed the other glass to Harry, who eyed it suspiciously. "Sit."

Harry wanted to tell him sod off, but he realized it would probably be much wiser to do whatever Snape said just now, especially considering he'd left his wand upstairs. He sank tiredly into the couch and sniffed at the potion Snape gave him.

"What is it?"

"A balancing potion, Potter. Your mood swings are in danger of bringing down the house, and both of us with it. Drink it, and while you're doing so, I want you to listen very carefully." Snape's tone was cold and condescending, and Harry's lip curled. As if Snape didn't have mood swings. A retort sprang to his lips, but Snape's next words stopped him short. "Your treatment at the hands of the Wizarding world has been barely shy of criminal. You have been told since age 11 that the fate of the world rests on your rather narrow shoulders, and our esteemed headmaster has been laboring under the misapprehension that allowing you to flaunt the rules at every turn will somehow prepare you for your heroic destiny. Instead it has imbued you with an incomprehensible tendency to do the first thing that enters that fool head of yours without thought or regard for the consequences or implications of your actions. This will change, Potter, and soon. You are no longer dealing with the headmaster. You are dealing with me, and me alone." Snape's voice crackled with menace, and Harry heard the threat in the words. He swallowed nervously as the reality of his isolation and utter dependency on Snape came crashing down. Deciding he could use a little balance just then, he quaffed the potion.

"Now," Snape continued. "About your most recent fanciful notions. Do you remember anything at all of what I told you about your situation?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer.

"Stop. Please forget I asked. Clearly you do not. Yes, you have disappeared. I can hardly credit your charge of kidnapping, however, as you came willingly -- Imperius Curse aside. Tell me why you are here."

Harry looked at him suspiciously, wondering if this was another question he wasn't supposed to answer. Snape waited silently, swirling his scotch.

"Death Eaters are trying to kill me."

"Death Eaters are always trying to kill you, Potter. Try again." Snape took a sip of his drink, and Harry got the impression he was keeping a mental tally of points to take away from Gryffindor whenever they got back to Hogwarts. It was probably in the thousands by now.

"The Lestranges found the house. They had plans in place. It would have worked. Except-- hold off. It wouldn't have worked! Vol-- the Dark Lord has to do it himself." Snape's eyebrows lifted, silently urging Harry to continue. "Oh. But he doesn't know that, and we don't want him to find out. Right. So, you brought me here. We're hiding, stirring up trouble by not being around, and then waiting for it to settle out." He frowned, and narrowed his eyes at Snape. "But I don't see why no one on our side knows where I am. It's suspicious. Sir."

Snape's eyebrows climbed to his hairline.

"Is it really possible that you -- orphaned by betrayal -- believe every member of Dumbledore's precious Order to be trustworthy?"

Harry blinked and wilted into the couch.

"Oh. I thought Dumbledore hand-picked everyone."

Snape snorted contemptuously. "Our illustrious headmaster sometimes trusts... unwisely," he said darkly, pushing his hair out of his face. His lips curled briefly, and then his voice returned to its normal clipped tones. "There is a spy in the Order, Potter. Possibly more than one."

Harry felt, for the third time that day, that he'd been punched in the stomach. He wasn't sure he could take many more surprises. "W-- Who?"

"Potter," he growled. "If we knew who the spy was, do you think there would still be a spy?"

"But aren't you a double-agent?" He thought Snape knew who Voldemort's recruits were. "And can't Dumbledore just read everyone's mind and check?"

Snape rolled his eyes, and finished the last of his drink. "This is no game, boy," he growled. "There is no word for what I am, and you're a fool if you think Dumbledore isn't dipping into everyone's mind every chance he gets. He doesn't know."

Harry hugged his knees to his chest, feeling exhausted and despondent and not balanced in the least. He was tired of arguing with Snape, and he didn't want to think about Dumbledore poking around in his friends' heads. "I'm sorry I ripped up your mail, sir. I really didn't read it, though."

"The headmaster's letter carrying undeniable proof of my treachery appeared to you in a vision, then? Perhaps in your tea leaves?"

Harry ground his teeth. Couldn't Snape just accept his apology? "Any of your other mail. I didn't read anything else."

"Very thoughtful, Potter. You have my thanks."

Harry took a deep breath. He wasn't sure how much more of Snape's sarcasm he could take. "What now?"

"Have you finished all your summer assignments?"

"You know I have, sir."

"Good. Go upstairs and get your wand. Put my room back in order while you're up there. After you have something to eat, we will begin training."

"Training? I thought... the Decree--"

"Potter, what did I just finish telling you?"

Harry sighed, feeling small, and thought for a few seconds. "That I'm only dealing with you. I know, sir. But you just got done telling me a lot of things, and I need to think about them." He still wasn't sure everything was adding up.

Snape's eyes glinted with something that might have been approval coming from anyone other than Snape. "Do try not to hurt yourself in the process."

Harry managed a half-hearted glare and stood to go get his wand.

"Potter." Snape's voice stopped him as he reached the stairs. "Bellatrix Lestrange killed your godfather. You would do well to remember that." Harry stiffened, and then looked over his shoulder at Snape, but the professor was already in the kitchen. Harry nodded slowly, squared his shoulders, and started up the stairs.

Snape's sleeping draught may have served to keep Harry's nightmares at bay, but the man himself was quite adept at preventing any semblance of rest. That night was no different: Harry was plagued with fuzzy, half-remembered images of Snape's fist in his hair, Snape's hand on his throat, Snape's tongue in his mouth, Snape's body against his own, and before Harry was aware of what he was doing, he was standing in front of Snape's door at half-four in the morning trying to list all the reasons he shouldn't open it.

His brain had other ideas, and was refusing to focus on anything other than the knot in his stomach and the lump in his throat and the sweat on his palms and the fact that he wouldn't have any of those things if he went back to his own room. He knew those things meant he was nervous, and he hated being nervous and he hated Snape for making him nervous and he hated himself for letting Snape make him nervous. But being nervous was better than being nothing, and at some point during the argument his brain was having with itself, his body had pushed the door open and Harry had stepped through.

Snape wasn't sleeping, although Harry hadn't even considered that possibility until he was already inside the room. Instead Snape was reading on his bed, and he didn't bother to look up. Harry stared, wide-eyed and dry-mouthed; he'd been living with Snape for a month now and had seen him in his pyjamas before, but he'd started to associate the sight of that pale skin with... other things. He swallowed.

"I-- how did you know I was there?"

Snape snorted. "Give me some credit for knowing what goes on in this house, Potter. You're hardly stealthy." He licked his index finger and turned the page. Harry gulped and tried not to think about how that tongue tasted. Like bergamot and smoke, his brain supplied helpfully. Which is weird because he doesn't smoke. Maybe--

"I couldn't sleep!" Harry blurted. "And you sa-- do you ever sleep?"

Snape glanced up irritably. "We have had this conversation, Potter. My sleeping habits do not concern you, and if you are in need of another sleeping draught, you know where to find them." He went back to his book. Harry's skin started to itch with irritation. He ground his teeth and wondered if it was possible to get addicted to arguing.

"That's not what I want," he snapped.

"Oh?" Snape inquired, sounding bored. He turned another page. Harry narrowed his eyes; nobody could read that fast. He took another step into the room, called on the spirit of Godric Gryffindor for courage, and put his life on the line.

"I want you."

Harry had never felt silence before, but the room was suddenly so thick with it that Harry thought he might choke. Snape didn't move, but Harry could tell he had stopped pretending to read. Harry himself was trying not to breathe, not that he thought he'd be able to if he tried. A bead of sweat trickled maddeningly between his shoulder blades and he shook with the effort of holding still. Finally, Snape sighed, closed the book, and looked up.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, sounding tired. Something deep inside Harry shattered.

"So? You're a teacher," he snapped. "Teach me."

"Teach you. Teach you what, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked acidly, and Harry felt his veins begin to hum with anger.

"How am I supposed to know? You won't tell me anything!" He yelled, increasingly fed up with Snape's evasions, the way he answered questions with sarcasm and more questions but never with actual answers.

Snape's eyes flashed and he slid slowly off the bed. Harry took an involuntary step backwards as Snape got closer, and then another and another as Snape advanced on him. He grunted in surprise when he stumbled into the wall; rooms were always so much smaller when Snape was in them.

"What would you like me to tell you, Mr. Potter? Hm? What do you wish to learn?" Snape's hands closed over Harry's shoulders and pinned him roughly to the wall. He sounded angry, and Harry stared into those fathomless eyes and wondered what Snape could possibly be getting out of any of this. He was sure Snape didn't do anything for free. And then Snape bent his head and licked Harry's bottom lip, and coherent thought rushed out with Harry's breath as he exhaled sharply.

"Shall I teach you to use that mouth for something other than insolence?" The low, rumbling words went straight to Harry's cock, and he tried to press his body into Snape's as Snape sucked on his lower lip. Then Snape bit down, and Harry tasted blood.

"Ow!" He shouted, twisting his shoulders to dislodge Snape's grip, and then shoved the other man backwards with all his strength. Snape stumbled back, probably due more to surprise than to being pushed.

Harry wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand and glared balefully at Snape, who was looking entirely too smug. Harry imagined he was planning his speech about how Harry couldn't follow directions, how he spent all his time whinging about not being able to feel anything but couldn't handle it when he finally did, how he was always running away when he was supposed to be brave.

"I don't think so, Snape," he snarled, pulling his t-shirt over his head and throwing it in the corner. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He yelled, stripping his trousers off and almost falling over in the process. He braced one hand on the wall, and stepped out of his pants, leaving them in a puddle on the floor. "There! I've stripped! This is what you told me to do and I've done it, and you-- you can't--"

He stammered to a halt and stood rigidly in the middle of the room, suddenly horribly aware he'd gone too far. Snape was watching impassively, and Harry's muscles spasmed as the impulse to run warred with the impulse to just let go and hope Snape caught him. If only he could be sure Snape would. He straightened his glasses. He looked at the bed, trying to see the name of the book Snape was reading, trying to do anything except think about the fact that he was standing there starkers in front of his potions professor. It was useless. He flushed crimson and waited for Snape to say something scathing about how ugly he was.

"Embarrassed, Potter?"

Harry fixed his eyes on his feet and nodded miserably. He felt the air change and realized Snape had circled behind him, and he didn't have time to tense further before warm hands closed on his shoulders. He was pulled slowly backwards into something that might have been an embrace, except Harry was sure Snape had never embraced anyone in his life. He exhaled slowly as the hands slid down his arms. The right caught his wrist and pulled his arm across his stomach, the left snaked across his chest, and then... nothing. Snape just stood there, Harry held rigidly in his arms.

"Relax, Potter," Snape said into his hair. "I don't bite."

Harry let out a bark of hysterical laughter.

"Yes, you do," he said, but he relaxed slowly into the warmth behind him. "God," he breathed, letting his head fall back into Snape's chest. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

Snape didn't say anything, and Harry lost track of the time they stood like that. Some part of his brain was still screaming at him to run far, far away: He didn't trust Snape, and the things he said didn't add up, and he thought he could feel the Dark Mark burning his chest. But he could count the times he had been touched with anything that resembled kindness, and he was so tired of being cold and numb all the time, that he told the voice to bugger off. He closed his eyes, and let himself melt into the body behind him. It didn't feel like affection, but he'd take what he could get.

"I never said anything about sulking! I want to think! And I can't-- when you're--" Harry broke off, frustrated, and dragged a hand through his mess of hair. "I need to be in my room."

Snape snorted. "Potter, do you expect me to believe you intend to spend the rest of the day sitting idly in your room, staring out the window, thinking? You'd sooner manage a treatise on the mystical properties of tindertwigs."

Harry had never even heard of tindertwigs, which, he supposed, was Snape's point. He clenched his jaw. "What's so hard to believe about it?" He asked irritably. He was upset that he'd fallen asleep standing up in Snape's arms, of all places, and now Snape was back to being a git. They'd been arguing all morning.

"Spend the day in the garden if you must, Potter, but I expect you to get some work done. And before you ask, no, you are not excused from Occlumency lessons this evening."

Harry scowled. He wasn't looking forward to taking up Occlumency again, though he could no longer deny its importance. His scar had been quiet this summer, but when he'd tried to explain that to Snape, the professor had launched into a lecture about wasted opportunities and false senses of security and something about windows. Harry had said he didn't think Voldemort would try the same trick twice, and Snape had pointed out how brilliantly it had worked last time, and Harry had smashed his teacup, and now they were back where they'd started.

"Do I get a Pensieve?"

"Certainly," Snape said stiffly. "I shall be sure to treat it with the same respect you showed mine."

Harry paled and studied his fingernails as the silence stretched between them. "I--" He took a deep breath and met Snape's eyes. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't-- I shouldn't have. And... I haven't told anyone."

"Very kind of you."

Harry's temper flared but he reined it in; he'd deserved that. He looked away. "Right, then. Nevermind." He heard Snape suck in his breath. "About the Pensieve!" he said quickly, glancing back at Snape. "Not the apology. I meant that. But I don't need a-- I mean, I don't think I could embarrass myself in front of you more than la-- I already have."

"You're a resourceful young man, Potter," Snape said dryly. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

Harry's head snapped up and he stared at Snape, baffled. He couldn't tell if Snape was serious or joking, and both options were equally appalling. Snape, as usual, wasn't giving anything away.

"I-- you-- whatever," he said, shaking his head. "I'm going outside."

Harry went out to the garden and threw himself down on a patch of grass. There was some work to be done, but not enough to keep him busy for the rest of the day. The air around the perimeter of the garden shimmered and crackled with the charm that kept the neighbors' noses elsewhere. Harry basked in the feel of the magic humming around him; he might not be looking forward to Occlumency lessons, but he was definitely looking forward to being able to do magic again. His hand drifted to the waistband of his trousers, where his wand was. He felt a lot better now that he had it back -- a little safer, a little more comfortable, a little less dependent on Snape. He laced his fingers behind his head and settled in to watch the clouds drift past.

It was a gorgeous day, warm but not hot, and as he stared into the brilliant blue sky he suddenly missed his old life so much it hurt. He yearned to be at the Burrow with Ron and Hermione, racing around on broomsticks, laughing at the twins' latest pranks and worrying about school. Instead he was so deep in hiding that even he didn't know where he was, and he was with his second- or maybe third-least favorite person in the world after Voldemort and Malfoy, and he was laughing at things that might not even be jokes. And, more than anything else, he was worrying about Snape.

Harry ran through the list of inconsistencies. It nagged at him that the Dark Mark had been sent up over his house. Clearly someone wanted the rest of the world to think he was dead, but who? And if the Daily Prophet was saying he was still alive, it hadn't worked. Maybe the Lestranges sent it up so they wouldn't look so bad for missing their chance to kill Harry. Or maybe they wanted to give the impression that they took Harry, to throw off the Order.

The Order was another problem. He listed the Order members he knew, trying to figure out which of them might be a spy. The Weasleys. Remus. Tonks. Kingsley. Moody. McGonagall. Old Mrs. Figg. It didn't seem possible that any of them had turned. But if there was a spy in the Order, he supposed it made sense that Dumbledore wouldn't want anyone to know where Harry was. But it didn't make sense that Dumbledore himself didn't know. Unless he did know, and he'd just written Snape that letter to throw off the spy. Or to throw off the Ministry; Harry wasn't sure where they fit into everything else. He rubbed absently at his scar. This was giving him a headache. He didn't know how Snape dealt with it all the time. Maybe it explained his unpleasantness.

And what was Snape doing? If Dumbledore and Voldemort had both given him orders to look for Harry, how was he explaining his absence? And wouldn't a spy in the Order blow Snape's cover? Maybe Snape was in hiding, too.

None of which even touched the question Harry really wanted to ask, which was what had been happening in Snape's bedroom. He thought lines had been crossed somewhere, but he wasn't sure when or where or why, or who started it. He sometimes suspected he might be using Snape -- they didn't like each other, after all, and he doubted Snape wanted him -- but the idea that Snape would let himself be used was laughable. On the other hand, hadn't Snape made an offer? Harry could stay if he was willing to obey orders. He wondered what kind of orders, and if "strip" was always going to be the first one. He groaned as the memory of that whipcrack voice telling him to strip sent desire spiking through his belly and straight to his cock. This was exactly why he'd wanted to stay in his room. He couldn't very well wank in the garden, charmed or otherwise. He eyed the shed speculatively and stood up.

He was halfway there when he heard a series of crashes come from the house. His wand was in his hand before he realized he had drawn it, and he inched slowly towards the door, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Another series of crashes, louder than the first, and then Snape was flying out the door, robes spread behind him like bat wings. Harry bit down hard on his tongue to still the stupefy he'd been about to cast.

"Hand!" Snape bellowed, charging straight towards Harry at a dead run. Harry wasn't sure what he meant, and he stumbled backwards, wide-eyed, as Snape launched himself through the air. There was a deafening roar and a blinding flash of light in the background, and then Snape was on top of Harry, sending both of them sprawling in the grass. Snape grabbed Harry's wrist and pressed something into his hand, and Harry felt the nauseating jerk of a portkey behind his navel. He wrapped an arm around Snape as their bodies left the ground and the wind howled around them.

"Is that your usual reaction to portkeys, Potter?" Snape asked. He'd come to a stop a few feet away, and was already brushing himself off.

"Shut it, Snape," Harry muttered, and vomited again. "The last portkey--" He broke off. Now probably wasn't the time to talk about it, and Snape had heard it all already. He stood up shakily, pleased to see he'd been able to hold onto his wand, and that it was still intact.

He'd been hoping to land in Dumbledore's office, or maybe Twelve Grimmauld Place -- somewhere familiar. Instead, they seemed to be somewhere in the countryside. Harry saw hills, and trees, and a river he'd come only a few feet shy of rolling into, but nothing that he could call familiar. Except, of course, Snape, who had transfigured something into a cup and was examining the river water. He sniffed at it and then handed the cup to Harry.

"I believe it's safe to drink."

Harry was too shaken to do anything except drink it, but he felt marginally better for it. He handed the cup back to Snape, who transfigured it back into a rock and dropped it.

"What happened?"

"I should think that much would be obvious, Potter, even to one with your marked lack of observational skills." He laid his wand across his left palm and murmured an incantation. There was a brief shimmer of gold light, and then the wand began to hover about an inch above his hand. It rotated in a circle and then seemed to point back up the hill. "We were found," Snape said, and then started in the direction his wand was pointing.

"Who found us?" Harry called to the retreating back. Snape threw an irritated glance over his shoulder.

"Forgive me for not stopping to get their names, Potter. Do you plan to stand there all day?"

Harry made a face and hurried up the hill. "But-- did you see them? Did they see you? Where they Death Eaters?"

"Presumably."

"Well, don't you know all the Death Eaters?"

"Potter," Snape said icily, "I am not the Dark Lord's confidante. We do not scheme over butterbeers. I am not privy to his plans, I am not friends with all his followers, and I would greatly appreciate a little silence from you while I try to get us out of this mess."

They'd reached the top of the hill, and the wand seemed to be pointing them towards a grove of trees in the distance.

"Why? There's no one here. How'd they find us?"

Snape wheeled on him suddenly, and Harry stopped in his tracks at the anger blazing from the man's eyes. "Let me think, Mr. Potter. Understand, this is pure speculation, but I would hazard a guess that the vulgar display of magic you unleashed while breaking down the wards to my bedroom so you could have your little temper tantrum probably had something to do with it."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Oh."

"Quite." Snape whirled back around and stormed towards the grove of trees.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. This was his fault. Again.

"Apologize later, Potter," Snape threw over his shoulder. "Walk, now."

Harry jogged after him, feeling slightly ill. "Er, what happened to the house?"

"Destroyed."

Harry stopped dead as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Snape got several meters away before he finally stopped and turned. Harry could hear the sigh from where he was.

"But... my cloak," Harry stammered. Everything he cared about had been in that house. "My broom. I--"

"Potter," Snape snarled, striding back towards him. "Would you please, just this once, do as you're told and shut your mouth? I know it must pain you greatly to think about having to follow the rules once you return to Hogwarts, but I should think the fact that our lives are in danger might lend you a little focus."

"I don't care about making trouble, you bastard! It was all I had left from my father!"

"Your father passed along plenty, boy, including irresponsibility and arrogance. The cloak is not important. Now--"

"TAKE IT BACK!" Harry yelled. "You don't know anything! I just--"

"Silencio!" Snape hissed, and Harry felt like a sock had been shoved in his mouth. "I refuse to have this argument with you, Potter. When we reach our destination, you may call me all the names you like. Until then, you will be quiet and you will do exactly as I say. Do you understand?" Snape's eyes were threatening to burn a hole through Harry's head, and he finally nodded sullenly. Snape lifted the charm. "Good. Now be silent, and follow me. Keep your wand at the ready, and if you even think about turning it on me, I shall hex you into next week."

Harry bit down on his tongue to keep from saying anything, and trudged miserably after Snape until they reached the grove. Once there, Snape's wand glowed blue for a few seconds and then dropped into his hand. He muttered a string of Latin under his breath, and then the air shimmered as a rickety wooden door materialized in front of him.

"Potter, come put your hand next to mine." Harry moved to stand next to Snape, who had placed his hand flat against the center of the door. Harry did the same, and the door pulsed three times and then flashed out of existence; there was only darkness on the other side.

"Er. What's--"

"Quiet, Potter," Snape warned, as he grabbed Harry's upper arm and pulled him through the door. The air was thick and heavy around him, and Harry felt like he was swimming. It was over quickly, and he and Snape emerged in a small, dark room. Harry couldn't see anything at all, but Snape seemed to know what was happening. Letting go of Harry's arm, he took a few steps and then hauled open a creaky door. Light spilled into the room, and Harry saw that it was just an empty wooden shed, a few feet square. Snape stepped outside and gestured for Harry to follow.

Once Harry crossed the threshold, the shed sparkled briefly and then disappeared, leaving them standing in the middle of a dense, dark forest. Snape looked around and then slid his wand back into his sleeve with a satisfied grunt.

"Follow me, Potter," Snape ordered. "You can put your wand away." He started walking, the trees and shrubs bending out of his way and then closing up behind him. Harry hurried to keep up, not sure whether the forest was friendly.

After about 15 minutes, Harry was starting to breathe heavily. The terrain was difficult; the trees didn't seem to be giving him as wide a berth as they were giving Snape. They were also climbing a rather steep hill, and Snape's long legs were carrying him much too fast for Harry to comfortably keep up.

"Sir," Harry panted, "could you slow down a little, please?" He hadn't been getting much exercise at the house, and he hadn't yet recovered all his strength. Snape slowed a bit, but didn't acknowledge Harry in any other way. Harry tried again. "Where are we?"

"Where do you think we are, Potter?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Harry asked, irritated. "I can't see anything!"

"Are you blind?" Snape asked, sounding curious.

"No," Harry snapped, and Snape stopped with a sigh. He turned around and looked at Harry the same way he'd looked at essence of slug last week.

"Potter, I thought I had instructed you to try thinking once in a while. Is the weather the same? The time of day? We're in a forest. Do you recognize any of the trees, the shrubs, the flowers? Do they grow near Hogwarts? Near your home? It's rained here recently -- the ground is still soft; has it rained at the house?" He tapped Harry's forehead. "Use your brain, Potter. You might enjoy it for a change." He turned and started walking away, and Harry stared after him, a little shocked. He'd never really thought about it before.

"Oh," he said weakly. He started looking at the trees. "I, um... I never..."

Snape whirled on him again, and Harry stumbled backwards in surprise.

"Let me guess. You've never bothered to observe your surroundings. You have no idea what that flower is--" He jabbed his finger at a group of small orange petals spread like a web under one of trees. "--or where it might grow, let alone what it's used for. Imagine my surprise. This is going to be impossible." He turned away again and stormed off, moving faster than ever. Harry glared and rushed after him, determined not to ask him to slow down again.

Harry shivered and wondered for the thousandth time where they were going. The air was thick and heavy with magic, and a small part of Harry was holding out hope that they were in the Forbidden Forest. Any minute, he thought, the trees would thin and he'd see Hagrid's hut and he could go in and sit by the fire. The evening air had a definite chill to it, and Harry had only been wearing a t-shirt when they left; it had long ago been soaked through with sweat. His muscles couldn't decide if they were hot or cold. The wet shirt wasn't helping, and Harry considered taking it off and throwing it at Snape's head. Snape would turn around and yell at him, and then Harry wouldn't have to ask if they could stop and rest for a bit because they'd be busy screaming at each other.

Harry was so caught up in imagining Snape yelling at him that he forgot to pay attention to his footing, and a particularly squirmy tree root caught him by surprise. It lashed out at his ankle, tripping him, and the back of his head crashed into the base of a tree trunk. Pain shot through his body and then concentrated in his skull, which seemed split in two. His vision blurred and he stared up at the tree, absurdly trying to remember if ones like it grew near Hogwarts. Snape's sneer swam into focus, and Harry closed his eyes.

"Idiot," Snape growled, pressing something soft to Harry's head. "If I wanted your neck snapped, Potter, I should like to do it myself. You ought to have said something."

Harry groaned, and hoped it sounded angry. He was too tired to even think about moving, and now that he was on the ground, he never wanted to get up again.

"I'm sure you'd've listened," he mumbled, unable to inject the necessary bitterness into his voice. He heard a heavy sigh.

"Are you able to move?" Snape sounded irritated. Harry groaned again, and wondered dimly why he'd want to do a thing like that. His bones felt cold. There was warmth emanating from somewhere and he curled towards it. The warmth shifted slightly, and Harry realized it was probably Snape. He paused, decided he didn't care, inched closer, and tried to go to sleep. "No you don't, Potter," Snape said in his ear.

"Why not?" Harry tried to ask, but it sounded incoherent even to his own ears. He squirmed closer to the warmth and tried to sleep again.

"Potter!" Snape snapped, shaking his shoulder. Harry opened his eyes and looked blearily at Snape, who looked absolutely livid. Harry smiled sleepily, unable to care about Snape's problem, not that he'd any idea what it was.

Snape sighed again, heavily enough to blow some of Harry's fringe off his forehead. "You cannot sleep until the bleeding stops, Potter. It isn't safe."

"Why not?" Harry asked again, hoping Snape would launch into a boring lecture that would put him straight to sleep. Instead, Snape sat down, his back to the offending tree trunk, and started jostling Harry around. Harry gave a weak sound of protest, but quieted when he found himself settled between Snape's legs. He lay his head back onto Snape's shoulder, and Snape quickly wrapped his robes around both of them before returning the pressure to Harry's head.

"As much as I would love to detail the finer points of mediwizardry, I fear attempting to teach you anything in your current state would be an even more futile endeavor than usual."

It took Harry a while to remember that he'd asked Snape a question, and longer to remember what that question was. By the time he'd figured out what Snape was talking about, he'd decided he was so happy to finally be warm that he didn't care how insulting Snape was.

"Okay," he said around a yawn. He closed his eyes and inhaled, breathing in the scent of blood and sweat and Snape. He thought about trying to pinpoint what it was Snape smelled like, but decided quickly it was useless; Snape smelled like Snape, like a million potions ingredients and spices and smoke. He breathed in again and snuggled into the warmth, too tired to pay much attention to his aching head. It was all right if he didn't move, and he was certain it'd be better in the morning.

"Potter."

Harry groaned. "Don't you ever stop talking?"

"Eyes open, Potter, or I shall be forced to resort to... drastic measures."

Harry opened one eye and looked sideways at Snape's chin. "Going to hit me in the head?"

"Very tempting," Snape murmured. "But as I am trying to keep you awake, not knock you unconscious, I rather thought..."

Harry's other eye snapped open as he felt Snape's free hand glide down his chest, over his stomach, and under his t-shirt. He froze, torn between wanting to pull away and wanting to melt back into Snape. Long fingers trailed teasingly up his chest, and he sucked in a breath as they circled his nipple. A jolt of electricity shot through him and he arched into the touch, suddenly aware of Snape's chest against his back, Snape's thighs against his own. His mind made up in favor of melting, he closed his eyes and moved restlessly against Snape, moaning softly.

He was entirely unprepared when Snape's fingers closed on one of his nipples and twisted sharply. He yelped in pain and lurched forwards, trying to break out of Snape's hold. But Snape suddenly kicked their legs out straight in front of them, and then crossed his over Harry's thighs. His other arm snapped across Harry's chest like an iron band, and Harry was trapped.

Snape twisted Harry's nipple a little bit farther and Harry, unwilling to make another sound, bit down on his tongue.

"Awake?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping pressure on my head?" Once he said it, he realized there was still pressure on his head. Snape must have charmed the cloth he was using so both hands would be free to torment Harry. "I hate you," Harry snarled.

Snape let go of his nipple and Harry cried out sharply as the blood rushed in painfully. "A shame," Snape said dryly, "when I'm so very fond of you." He slid his hand from Harry's shirt and wrapped both arms around Harry's torso, pulling him closer. Harry was still uncomfortably aware of all the places their bodies touched.

"I don't understand you at all," Harry muttered under his breath.

"You are full of shocking revelations."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because, Potter, as I have said before, there are those in the Wizarding world who seem to think you have more value alive than dead. Allowing you to bleed to death in a forest would hardly be looked upon kindly."

"'Kindly,'" Harry spat out bitterly. "You don't have the first idea about kindness."

"And you do?" Harry winced slightly as Snape's arms tightened around his chest. "Tell me, then. What would have been the kind thing to do? Let you die? Let you bring yourself off against my leg?"

Harry went crimson with shame and rage. "No," he growled, struggling uselessly against Snape's hold. "The KIND thing to do would've been to slow down or look back or ask after me or stop to rest. Then we wouldn't be here."

Snape snorted. "Oh, spare me the recriminations. We wouldn't be here if you'd been paying attention to where you were going. We wouldn't be here if I hadn't been so foolish as to leave you alone with my mail. We wouldn't be here if your blasted godfather had stayed home. There are a million circumstances we cannot change, Potter, and they have brought us here. I suggest you learn to deal with it."

"LEAVE SIRIUS OUT OF IT!" Harry yelled, twisting in Snape's arms. "And let me go!"

"If you insist," Snape said casually, unhooking his legs from Harry's and opening his arms. Harry shot forward angrily and then fell immediately to his knees, vision swimming. The sudden movements started his head throbbing painfully, and he saw the ground spinning closer. He threw his arms out to catch himself, but Snape's arms caught him instead. He felt himself hauled back against Snape's chest, and then Snape's robes were once again around them both.

"Go to sleep, Potter," Snape said in his ear. "The bleeding has stopped."

"I hate you," Harry whispered fiercely. "I hate you." He repeated it until, for the second night running, he fell asleep against Snape's unmoving form.

Standing and stretching, he watched Snape get to his feet.

"Er," Harry said. "Good morning."

Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry rolled his eyes, and tried again. "Where are we going? How far is it? I'm hungry."

Snape snorted. "Another hour should do it. Perhaps two."

***

"Oh!" Forty-five minutes later, Harry stopped in his tracks. They'd reached the top of a hill and had almost literally stumbled over the ruins of a small castle. The remains of a square tower filled the northwest side of the hill. It had once been at least four storeys tall, but it no longer had any roof. One of the walls was completely gone, and Harry could see the bare outline of the stairs inside.

Looking around, Harry realized that this must be where they'd been headed all along. There really wasn't any place else to go; the north side of the hill dropped off into a steep cliff, almost 100 meters high. When he went to investigate, Harry saw a body of water at the bottom, mist clinging to its surface. The other side of the water was too far away to see, and Harry didn't know if it was a lake or a river, or even the ocean. The north and west sides of the hill were lined with a low, crumbling wall; in places it was almost one storey high, but in others it was low enough to climb over. Harry, suddenly invigorated, had the urge to clamber over every inch of the place. He'd never seen anything like it. He looked around for Snape, eyes bright with excitement.

Snape was leaning, arms crossed, against one of the taller portions of the outer wall. He was watching Harry with something like amusement on his face.

"Can I... Where... Is this... Are we..." Harry trailed off, flushing.

"Eloquent as always, Potter." Snape tossed his hair out of his face and smirked. "Let me see if I can do any better. Yes, this is our destination. We are in Scotland, but that is all I can tell you about our location. You are welcome to explore the ruins if you wish, but you must eat first."

A stab of disappointment shot through Harry at not being able to explore right away, but his stomach growled at the thought of food. He looked around doubtfully. "Eat what, sir?"

Snape's smirk got wider and he pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the tower. Harry followed without being told. When he climbed over the low wall, he felt a tingle run over his body. He looked around and quickly realized that he was inside the tower -- the intact tower.

"Oh, wow," he breathed, looking around. They had passed into a large stone foyer that narrowed into a long hallway lined with torches. The foyer itself was also lit with torches, and the walls were covered with portraits that were neither Muggle nor Wizarding; their eyes moved, but they were otherwise still. To the right was a wide stone staircase; to the left was a large set of wooden doors.

Snape gave him about 30 seconds to look around, and then strode down the long hallway, robes swirling behind him. Harry trailed after him, examining the portraits, which were examining him back. A few of them looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't figure out where he had seen their subjects before. None of them had nam