Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

**Gray Skye Mourning**

**Summary:**

As Severus Snape lay dying on the filthy floor of the Shrieking Shack, bleeding in the arms of Harry Potter, a profound, devastating realization awakens a long lost love, latent for years and torn asunder by time's cruel fate. Is love strong enough to overcome the pain from the past and ensure Severus' survival? Time-Travel fic. SSHP

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling.

**Warnings:** Rated M for mature situations between Harry and Severus.

**A/N:** This is my first attempt at writing a Snarry fan-fiction. Therefore, I must inform you all that this story, first and foremost, will be a love story. Yes, there will be sexual moments, but they will not dominate. My focus will be the depth of emotion existing between Severus and Harry... the progression from loathing to love that entices all of us who love these two enthralling characters and the endless possibilities that surround them. I sincerely hope you enjoy my story. Here is **Gray Skye Mourning**, just one of those endless possibilities...

- o - o - o - o - o -

**Gray Skye Mourning**

**Chapter One -**

**In the space sundering dawn's divining inception**

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Eradicated by his own evil intent, the monstrous fiend fell, lifeless and unseeing, as the wand that had never been his soared gracefully through the open air in search of its true master. Harry caught it with a trembling, bloodied hand, bringing about the long-awaited cessation of Voldemort's dark reign of brutality. And then...

Silence.

Deafening in its ironic nullity, yet intuitive of the impending celebration. Voldemort was dead, finally and positively gone from this world. It should be the end. It should be enough, Harry thought, as his legs gave way and his knees hit the floor with a reverberating crack. The Hawthorn and Elder wands clattered to the floor, relinquished from shaking hands, blood-smeared fingers outstretched upon the chilled, stone floor to steady himself, as he fought the encompassing dread that was overtaking him.

"Harry! Oh God... Harry!"

Harry's friends were at his side in an instant. Hermione's arms encircled him protectively, allowing his head to rest on her shoulder as she held him. He could feel the warm caress of her fitful breaths cascading across his cheek as she struggled to control her anxiety, yet she retained her consoling embrace.

Soon, Harry became aware of Ron's hands on his face, beckoning him to look up into his apprehensive blue eyes. Ron's panic finally resulted in a fearful bout of inquiries.

"Harry... mate… are you alright? Did he curse you? How, Harry? How did you do that? How did you survive?"

_How did I survive?... Survive... Oh God!_

"Snape! Professor Snape! We... we have to help him!" Harry cried out.

He scrambled to his feet and pulled himself up to a standing position. Weak and exhausted, his legs trembled underneath him as they struggled to support his weight.

Ron moved closer, maneuvering Harry's arm to drape around his shoulders, allowing his best friend to lean on him while he strived for balance. Harry took several deep breaths, ingesting huge gulps of air into his lungs in a futile attempt to palliate his suffocating anxiety.

Hermione placed both of her hands on either side of Harry's face, disregarding the deep scarlet stains of blood befouling his skin. With a tentative tempering tone, she endeavored to bring clarity to his hysterical outburst.

"Harry... he's dead. Remember? He died in the Shrieking Shack hours ago."

"No... he... he could still be alive! I have to go! I... I have to save him!"

"HARRY!"

He heard their agitated cries, urging his return, but he could not comply. He had to get to Snape... had to see for himself what fate was ultimately bestowed upon the man.

Harry hastened past the dazed occupants of the Great Hall, through the Entrance Hall and sped through the grounds toward the portal concealed amid the gnarled bark of the Whomping Willow. As he proceeded down the narrow, twisting tunnel that led to the dilapidated structure, Ron and Hermione following in his wake, his heartbeat quickened.

Harry was terrified to lay eyes on the harrowing image that surely awaited him. When he had left the shack three hours ago, Snape had just barely been clinging to the last threads of life. He scarcely breathed, and his neck, ripped open by a deep, gaping wound, was oozing blood and Nagini's virulent venom. Logically, Harry knew he could not have survived. Every rational deliberation led to the same conclusion, Snape's untimely demise.

Despite the overwhelming evidence, Harry knew he must see for himself. He had to be certain. He just could not give up hope, not after the way Snape had looked at him, his usual cold, apathetic eyes fervent with pain and regret. There was a desperate, emphatic longing that seemed to entreat Harry to know, to understand some unseen truth… and the way he had touched Harry... so tenderly... so lovingly...

_- flashback: three hours earlier -_

_Harry immediately yanked off his invisibility cloak and sank to the floor, nearing the professor. His quivering hands found their way to Snape's blood-drenched neck, clamping down hard on the wound to stall the rapid loss of blood. Snape clutched the front of Harry's t-shirt and spoke with a sickening, raspy voice._

_"Take... it... Take... it..."_

_Harry whirled around in desperation, beseeching Hermione's help. She answered his silent request and handed him a flask from her beaded bag._

_Returning his attention to the injured man, Harry placed the flask under Snape's eyes which were leaking a silvery viscous fluid. Memories, Harry knew, but of what he could only venture a guess._

_When the small flask was full of Snape's final thoughts, Harry placed the cork on the tiny flask, pocketed it and then glanced back into the cavernous eyes of the man whom he had loathed for the last seven years._

_Snape's grip on Harry's shirt tightened as the man trembled, desperate to remain in this world. The professor shuddered and convulsed as he gathered enough strength to voice another request._

_"Look... at... me..."_

_Harry deepened his gaze, his green eyes never once averting their focus from the dark eyes trained on him. After only a moment, Snape's grasp slackened, causing Harry's shirt to hang open in the front, exposing a small portion of his bare chest. Snape's gaze travelled the distance down to the newly revealed flesh. His eyes widened prodigiously and he stared, transfixed, at the small, circular burn on Harry's chest, an unwelcome reminder of the horcrux that had fused to his skin during Nagini's attack on Christmas Eve._

_Snape's long, thin fingers released the fabric of Harry's shirt and ghosted over the abused flesh, fingertips caressing softly, almost adoringly. His dark eyes snapped up to lock with Harry's once more, but this time Snape looked upon him with such intense emotion that Harry's breath hitched and inexplicable tears began to cascade down his face._

_Quivering fingers abandoned their exploration of Harry's burn and instead, found their way to his left hand, which was still pressed against Snape's neck to stifle the onslaught of blood. With a trembling hand, Snape seized hold of Harry's hand and coaxed it away from the gash, turning it over to study the skin on the back. An anguished, choking moan escaped Snape's pale lips when his eyes fell upon the thin, white lines of the cicatrix narrating the ironic mantra, 'I must not tell lies.'_

_Again the jet-black eyes sought refuge within Harry's emerald depths. Snape's breathing was now so labored that it was almost impossible to hear his urgent whispering. Harry leaned closer to the man so that he could discern his professor's final desperate words._

_"Gray? Oh God... Gray? It's... you..."_

_Snape's entire body was convulsing now, wracked with uncontrolled sobs and tremors. His face was drained of all color, but his ebony eyes continued to stare into the emerald depths. Harry was startled to find that he was completely lost within the impassioned eyes of this man whom he had known for years, yet somehow… had neglected to see clearly._

_Harry maintained his firm grip on Snape's tremulous form, panicking when he felt the man begin to slip away._

_"Professor… please… just hold on a little longer. I'll… I'll get you help…"_

_Snape's eyes widened further, and he struggled to speak again, his words coming out in a hushed, desperate whisper._

_"Oh… God… you haven't… you don't even know…"_

_At once, Harry recognized the intrusion. Its familiarity was palpable, as he was well accustomed to Snape infiltrating the dark recesses of his mind. Harry allowed him access, opening his mind to Snape in a show of silent permission, drawing him in._

_He assumed that Snape was searching for something, some long-forgotten memory that might bring clarity to Snape's incoherent words. Harry startled and jerked when he felt the incursion of a memory that was not his own being forced into the depths of his consciousness…_

_Two boys… one easily recognizable, with straight shoulder-length, ebony hair and dark, cavernous eyes of black… the other with hair the color of mahogany and startling slate-grey eyes that resembled a storm cloud reflecting a torrent of ocean waves. Both were gazing into each other's eyes raptly... hungrily... longingly... as though only the two of them mattered and the world around them had fallen away. They were embracing... arms wrapped around each other... fingers woven within strands of hair... synchronized breaths laden with overwhelming endearment... clutching each other desperately as if terrified that they would soon be torn apart. The dark-haired boy was leaning into the other... so close his lips were nearly touching the other boy's. And as they continued to gaze at one another... enraptured... captivated... lost within the depths of their fathomless emotions... tears fell freely from anguished, tortured eyes. A whispered lament could be heard issuing from the trembling lips of the smaller boy... "Promise me, Severus… promise me… promise me you'll live."_

…_Snape withdrew from Harry's mind, relinquished his tight grip on his t-shirt and slumped back against the cold, impartial wall. His gaze lingered on Harry's vivid green eyes for the briefest of moments, and then slowly, gradually, the life seemed to dim from the obsidian depths, tears still streaming down his pallid cheeks._

_"No!" Harry cried out, "Professor… no…"_

_Snape raised a weak, trembling hand and placed it on Harry's cheek. Harry brought his own hand up, encircling his fingers around Snape's wrist, grasping it, holding the shaking hand steady. Snape swept his thumb along the line of Harry's lower lip, smearing the drops of blood that rested there and blending them with Harry's inexorable tears. The action done so lovingly, so beautifully, it caused Harry's lip to quiver at the gentle touch and his breath to catch in his throat._

_"Gray... I'm… so sorry… I… tried…"_

_With those last heartbreaking words, dark eyes disappeared under heavy lids, and the hand that had been resting on Harry's cheek fell to the floor, insentient and demised._

_"Harry… we have to go!"_

_"No…" Harry anguished._

_"Harry!" Ron urged, "Come on… we have to get back!"_

_His friends pulled him to his feet and dragged him away from the dying man._

_"There's nothing you can do, Harry. He's gone," Hermione whimpered, tears streaming down her face as her voice quavered, "We have to go, Harry…. We have to end this!"_

_- end flashback -_

Harry burst into the room where they had left Snape hours before and froze.

Snape was not there.

The only proof of the man's harrowing ordeal was the immense pool of blood spread out on the filthy floor. Harry heard himself cry out... but wasn't certain if it was in despair or relief. He was so frightened that he was about to see his professor's dead, lifeless body, and he was grateful that this was not the case, but he just couldn't understand where Snape could have gone.

So deep in consternation, Harry flinched when he heard Hermione gasp behind him, as she and Ron rushed into the room.

"Oh my God... Where is he?" she questioned, her voice quavering in fear.

Harry spun around to face his friends, eager for them to validate his desperate theory.

"He... he must have survived!" Harry exclaimed, "He must have somehow recovered and..."

"Harry..." Hermione interjected, her face expressing deep regret and sorrow, "No. That can't be. He was dead when we left... or he was very close to death. There's... just no way he could have lived through that. I'm sorry, Harry, but it's... just not possible."

"Then someone must've helped him! He... he must have been taken to the Hospital Wing! Madam Pomfrey is probably tending to him right now!" Harry insisted.

"Harry... I don't think..." Ron replied.

"There's no other explanation, Ron! He's not fucking here, is he? Someone must have helped him!" Harry argued.

Hermione turned to Ron and fixed him with an imploring look, as if begging for his compliance. When she spoke to him, it was in a soft, yet earnest undertone. Harry only heard a portion of her whispered words.

"Just go... check with Madam Pomfrey and the others. Please. I'll stay with him."

With one final reluctant glance in Harry's direction, Ron retreated from the brutal scene and disappeared down the long stretch of tunnel that led back into the grounds of Hogwarts.

Once he had gone, Hermione fixed her attention back onto Harry, who was still staring at the morbid sight in front of him, shaking his head in denial.

"No. No. He's not dead, Hermione. Don't you dare try to tell me he is, because he can't be dead. He just... can't be."

"Harry... maybe... maybe the Death Eaters took his body. I mean, maybe they didn't want to leave any of Voldemort's followers..."

"He was NOT one of them, Hermione!" Harry bellowed, rounding on her.

"I know that, Harry, but I'm just trying to figure out what could have occurred after we left here."

"SO AM I!"

Harry lowered his head, embarrassed by his sudden incensed outburst. He took a long, slow steadying breath and ran his fingers though his grimy hair, wincing as they encountered clumps of tacky material, clinging to his raven locks. He withdrew his hands from his hair and tried to wipe away the repulsive substance from his fingers onto the front of his t-shirt. He blanched when he realized his shirt was already soaked through with the same foul fluid.

Blood... Snape's blood. All over him. The acrid, sickening smell pervaded his senses... like rust, or metal mixed with a trace of a sickening, saccharine scent. Harry swallowed hard to temper his irrepressible nausea and stall the bile that was rising in his tightening throat. He turned away from the repugnant scene and gazed back into Hermione's warm, brown eyes, filled with profound sadness and abiding compassion.

"He might have Apparated. The Shrieking Shack is beyond the wards of Hogwarts," Harry offered, a desperate, tentative edge to his voice.

"He wasn't strong enough to endure Apparition, Harry. Even Side-Along Apparition would have been far too punishing for someone that gravely injured." Hermione responded in a sorrowful tone.

"Then... then someone must have helped him," Harry concluded, "We'll just wait for Ron to come back with news."

Hermione nodded her head, then traversed the meager room, settling herself on the floor in the corner furthest away from the grim remnants of Nagini's attack. Harry followed her lead, collapsing onto the empty space beside her. She grasped his hand, still encrusted with Snape's dried blood, and held it in her own, seemingly unconcerned by the gore. There was a moment of despondent silence surrounding them, but it was soon interrupted by the question Harry knew was coming.

"Harry? What did Professor Snape reveal to you in those memories? Why are you suddenly so... so desperate in your concern for him? It... it just doesn't make sense," She asserted, "What could he have possibly shown you to change your perception of him so radically?"

"You were there in the Great Hall, Hermione. You heard what I told Voldemort. He was never his follower. He was loyal to Dumbledore the whole time. And he... he was... in love with my mother." Harry muttered, the final pronouncement coming out in a faint, uneasy whisper.

Hermione turned to face him and looked directly into his weary eyes, as if scanning for truth within their depths.

"That's not all there is to it. And don't lie to me, Harry, because I know you too damn well," She scolded, "What happened earlier in this room, Harry? He was looking at you so... differently. And he was touching you... and... something substantial obviously transpired to warrant that kind of change in..."

"Alright... OK... I... yes... yes, something did happen..." he began, hesitated for a moment, then pressed on, "Snape must have thought he recognized something, and he... well, he called me by another name. He... he thought I was someone named Gray. He called me Gray. And... and then he entered my mind, you know, like he used to when I had Occlumency lessons with him back in fifth year. And he... he forced a memory from his past into my mind."

Hermione's eyes narrowed in careful contemplation and her brow furrowed, her features tense with fierce focus. She bit her lip in an absentminded, nervous gesture and, after a brief pause, snapped her head back to meet his awaiting gaze.

"What was the memory?" she asked, ambivalence clearly etched on her worried face.

"I'd rather not say. It's just that it was very... personal," he replied, certain that his feeble attempt at diversion would never mollify her persistence.

"Personal? Harry, you said it was a memory from _his_ past. It doesn't even involve you, does it? So how on earth could you possibly consider it personal?"

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, preparing himself for what could be one of the most difficult conversations he would ever have with Hermione. He opened his eyes, but kept them fixed on the grimy floorboards, terrified to look into her eyes as he proffered his unlikely conjecture pertaining to that one intense memory that would forever haunt him.

"It was a memory of Snape when he was younger. He was probably about seventeen, or maybe eighteen. And... and there was another boy around his same age. And they were... they were holding each other... just holding each other. But it was so intense. It was so... intimate..."

Harry took a moment to look up and peer into Hermione's widening eyes. He heaved a heavy sigh as he noticed her blatant shock upon hearing Harry's chronicle of the memory.

"Look, I know it's... surprising, but they... they were in love, OK? And I don't understand it either, but it was so real... so Goddamn real! And I... I can't get it out of my head! And I just don't fucking understand why he would have called me by this boy's name and then shoved this... this private... this obviously very well-kept secret into my mind! I just don't understand why… unless…"

"Unless what, Harry?"

"N-n-nothing. I… I… nothing," Harry stammered.

Hermione seemed to interpret his unspoken illation. She turned around to face him, her hand still grasping his, and gazed into his vivid green eyes. She hesitated for the briefest of moments, then plunged into her next unnerving question.

"You think it was you in that memory, don't you? You think Professor Snape was correct when he believed that you were Gray."

"I… I don't know..." Harry whispered, lowering his head as a wave of embarrassment took hold of him.

"What did this other boy… Gray… what did he look like?" she inquired.

"Well he didn't look like me, if that's what you're after. He had brown hair, not black, and… and his eyes were sort of a blue-grey color. No glasses. No scar on his forehead. But physical characteristics can be altered by magic, Hermione!" he replied, voice rising again in agitation.

"So what are you saying, Harry? That at some point, you're going to find a way to travel back to the time when Professor Snape was eighteen, and then… What? You're going to fall in love with him? Harry, please! This… this is madness! It wasn't you! It couldn't have been you! Professor Snape was just… delirious. He was dying, Harry. He was losing so much blood… he was confused. He just wasn't in his right mind! He looked at you… and saw someone else… someone whom he had once loved. It's actually not that unusual for hallucinations to occur during the last moments before you die…"

"HE IS NOT DEAD!"

Harry pushed himself off the ground and began to pace the short distance between the tunnel opening and the patch of floor that was marred by the dismal remains of quietus. He was so… confused… and completely overwhelmed. What Hermione had just said _did_ make sense. Snape _had_ lost a significant amount of blood. He _could_ have been mistaken.

But Snape had seemed so damn certain! Harry could easily recall the man's moment of recognition. It had come when he had noticed the burn on Harry's chest, a burn that had only existed for the last few months, a burn only ever seen by one other soul – Hermione. Not even Ron was aware that the locket had burned him.

Harry's fingers drifted to the circular scar, tracing the outline of the indecent mark with his blood-stained fingertips just as Snape had done hours earlier.

The burn, however, wasn't what had ultimately convinced the man, Harry reflected. As if he had been seeking some final verification, Snape had sought out the linguistic blemish scarring the back of Harry's hand. It was only then that he was certain. For when his dark eyes had peered back into Harry's once more, it was with immense astonishment, sadness and... so much love.

Harry lifted his hand to study the words carved into his flesh – _I must not tell lies._ It was a distinctive disfigurement, uniquely indicative of his own personal plight. Was it even possible that another boy, from twenty years in the past, had this exact same scar on the back of his left hand?

Harry's fierce contemplation was interrupted by the sounds of heavy footfalls approaching. He spun around just in time to see Ron emerge from the tunnel's end. He was panting, and when he entered the room, he leaned forward and placed his hands on his hips, taking a moment to lengthen and deepen his breathing.

Harry, however, had no patience.

"Did you find him? Where is he? Is... is he OK?"

Ron looked up, meeting Harry's anxious gaze, but shook his head in apology.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I checked the Hospital Wing and the Great Hall. Nobody has seen him. I even had Nearly Headless Nick look in the Headmaster's office and personal quarters, as well as Snape's old quarters in the dungeon, and there's just no sign of him."

"What about McGonagall? Did you...?"

"I asked her... and Slughorn, Flitwick, Sprout, Pomfrey and Hagrid," he consoled, "Nobody has seen him, mate."

"Damn it!" Harry anguished.

"Harry, we're not going to figure this out right now. Why don't we... why don't we just go back to Hogwarts?" Hermione offered, "We should go up to Gryffindor Tower. We could all use some sleep."

Harry didn't want to go. His heart ached just thinking about leaving without knowing what had happened to Snape. But he knew he couldn't spend another minute in this room beset with Snape's blood, reminding him of that gut-wrenching moment when he had felt the life drain from the man who had clung to him in pleading desperation.

Harry nodded in acquiescence to Hermione's suggestion, turned away from Snape's blood and in compliance with his friends' wishes, followed them across the dirty room toward the tunnel. Just as the trio approached the aperture of the passage, Harry felt compelled to gaze upon the brutal scene once more.

He had only just peered past the battered, ramshackle furniture and the decaying floorboards, when a glint of something shiny captured his focus. He squinted and blinked to clear his bleary vision, desperate to gain visual clarity.

Again, a glimmer caught his eye.

Reversing his impetus, Harry rushed toward the tiny reflective flash of light. He dropped to his knees amid the blood and swept his fingers through the sickening fluid, now viscid and cool to the touch. His wandering hands soon found the source of the beckoning glister... a silver chain... and hanging from the chain was a pendant fashioned from a miniature glass vial. Harry grabbed the end of his squalid t-shirt and used it to wipe away the excess blood from the vial's surface with trembling hands. Once the blood had been cleared away, he could just make out the tiny glass container's sheltered contents… a single, black feather.

"Harry... What is that?" Hermione asked, drawing nearer to him.

"It's... it's a sign... a clue. He must have left this for me. He must have been trying to tell me something..." Harry whispered, more to himself than as a reply to Hermione's inquiry.

Despite Harry's quiet tone, Hermione heard the hushed response. She knelt beside him and placed her arm around his shoulders in a show of solace. When she finally spoke to him, it was in a faint, placating tone.

"Harry, that's... just a necklace... just a chain with a pendant. It might not even have belonged to Professor Snape. And if it did… it may have just fallen off when whoever took his body..."

"For the last time, Hermione... HE IS NOT DEAD!"

Harry sprang to his feet and made his way to the passageway entrance, passing Ron who stood motionless, stunned by the scene that had just played out before him. Clutching the feather pendant in his bloody hand, Harry turned back around to look at his two best friends. They were staring at him, open mouthed, speechless in their obvious shock and concern for him. Harry glanced from one pair of astonished eyes to the other and realized that he should offer some type of explanation for his odd behavior.

"Look, guys... I'm sorry. I'm really not sure what the hell is going on here, but... but I just can't believe that he's dead, OK? And I have to find him. I have to save him... not matter what that entails."

Turning away from his friends' bewildered expressions, Harry abandoned the grisly scene and began the long journey down the winding tunnel that led back to Hogwarts... in search of the truth.

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N: **Stay tuned. There is much more to come! I usually update rather quickly… about every seven to ten days. Chapter Two will most likely be posted by July 23rd.

**Please Review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two -**

**And night's acrimonious shade, you approach**

Impelled by his own prolific panic and the spiraling exigency of his current situation, Harry bolted from the Whomping Willow's covert entry and raced across the grounds toward the main doors of Hogwarts. The entrance leading into the school had been blasted wide open. The massive oak doors that had once adorned the castle's magnificent stony facade were now dissevered, lying utterly humbled, shattered into a thousand fragments upon their preceding steps. Harry sprinted past the bits of granite and splintered wood littering the Entrance Hall and crossed the threshold into the Great Hall.

The moment Harry stepped into the overcrowded room, all heads turned toward him and a heavy silence ensued. What seemed like a hundred eyes were trained on him, but Harry paid the avid stares no mind. He scanned the wide expanse beyond the eager spectators, searching for the towering figure of the man who might be able to offer Harry the help he so desperately needed.

"Hagrid!" he called out, "Has anybody seen Hagrid?"

When several people near him shook their heads in the negative, Harry spun back around, intent on checking the grounds and what was left of the half-giant's hut. A hand on his shoulder, however, stalled his progress. He glanced back to discover who had interrupted his quest and was not surprised to see an anxious Hermione returning his gaze, her eyes vitreous with unshed tears and her brow lined with an oppressive disquiet.

"Harry... I'm so sorry," she began, "It must have seemed like we weren't supporting you back there. And that's really not the case. It's just that... this is... a lot to take in. But Ron and I are behind you, Harry. OK? No matter what."

Harry took no time in pulling Hermione into his arms and embracing her, relieved to have the support of his two best friends. He wasn't certain what would be required in finding Snape and ensuring the man's survival, but he was determined to do whatever it took. Receiving his friends' unwavering encouragement only deepened his resolve and boosted his faltering courage.

Hermione pulled away from Harry's consoling arms, wiping away the tears that had broken free from her red-rimmed eyes with the back of her hands. She hiccuped softly as she struggled to ease her shallow breathing. Harry spared her the task of renewing their previous conversation by inquiring about Ron's whereabouts.

"He's with his family... over there," she answered.

Hermione gestured toward the far corner of the Great Hall where the massive hour glass structures that contained the multi-colored stones indicating the rise and fall of house points had once stood. All that remained of the lofty vessels was a plethora of glittering crystal shards strewn about the stone floor among the brightly-colored gems.

Harry's roving eyes shifted away from the remains of the glittering jewels and settled upon the Weasleys. He grimaced as he bore witness to the family's undisguised show of despondency. All of them were fraught with despair, sobbing and embracing each other. Ron was gripped in Mrs. Weasley's arms, the matriarch weeping with abandon against his shoulder, while George was crouched into a sitting position on the cold stone floor, trembling and inconsolable in his calamitous grief.

Harry's eyes wandered toward Ginny. Her disheveled appearance revealed the anguished suffering of losing a sibling. The long strands of her crimson mane were matted and tousled and her eyes appeared swollen from crying. After a moment, her gaze found his.

Dim in expression and spirit, her eyes seemed cold, almost indifferent, contrasting with the pained, sympathetic look which Harry bestowed upon her. She held his gaze for only a brief moment, before dropping her head to stare at the rubble on the floor and then turning back to her grieving family once more.

"Ginny just... needs some time, Harry," Hermione offered, having just noticed the awkward exchange, "She's just mourning Fred right now..."

"She won't even look at me," Harry whispered, his throat suddenly tight as fresh tears emerged in his stinging eyes.

"She loves you..."

"She blames me."

Hermione said nothing in response to Harry's heartbreaking declaration. She didn't need to. Harry had seen the unmistakable apathy directed at him from those pained, brown eyes, shimmering with resentful tears. Some part of Ginny held him responsible for Fred's death... or maybe there was more to it than that.

Perhaps she had never gotten over Harry dissolving their relationship after Dumbledore's funeral. Maybe her bitterness had grown and festered during the nine months they had spent apart, a time when her family was in constant danger because of their close relationship with _Undesirable Number One_.

Harry supposed it could also be because he had abandoned her in favor of attempting to bring about an end to the war. He certainly had not put her first. That he could admit. He had hoped that she would wait for him. But... perhaps love is not patient... or maybe... maybe what they had shared was never really love to begin with...

"Harry, didn't you mention that you were looking for Hagrid?"

"What?" Harry asked, startling when he heard Hermione's question, distracting him from his dismal reverie, "Oh... yes."

"Well, he just came into the Great Hall. There... by the entrance," she noted.

Harry whirled around, scanned the crowd feverishly and breathed a grateful sigh of relief when he spotted the massive form of Hagrid approaching him.

"Harry?" Hermione asked in a timorous voice, "Do you need me to stay while you talk to Hagrid? It's just that I..."

Hermione's eyes swept across the expanse of the Hall and glanced over to where Ron stood with his family, a look of nervous guilt radiating from her eyes.

"Go on… go to him," Harry whispered, and then leaned over to place a gentle kiss her cheek, "I'll catch up with you later. I promise."

Hermione accorded him with a small, melancholy smile before leaving his side and making her way over to the mournful assembly. Harry's gaze lingered for a moment, and he watched as Ron pulled Hermione into his arms, leaning into her and burying his tear-laden face into the curve of her neck as he let go of his anguish, weeping and tightening his grip on her.

"All righ', Harry? I heard yeh were lookin' fer me. Yer not hurt, are yeh?" Hagrid asked as his enormous hand swooped down and clapped Harry on his back, temporarily knocking the breath out of him.

"N-n-no," Harry stammered between a series of coughs and gasps, "I'm OK. I just… I just wanted to ask... Can you identify this?"

Harry held out his right hand for Hagrid so that he could get an adequate view of the tiny glass vial and the small black feather that resided within. Hagrid bent down to better inspect the offering, his eyes squinting at first, then widening in recognition.

"Do you know what kind of animal the feather might have come from?" Harry pressed, "I mean, I'm pretty sure it's a bird, but I don't really have a clue what kind of..."

"That's a Chatham raven feather!" Hagrid interjected quickly, his voice rapt with excitement, "Where did yeh get tha', Harry? Merlin, I haven' seen one o' them in twenty years!"

"A Chatham raven?" Harry questioned, "I've never even heard of that species."

"Oh... well, don' know ter much abou' 'em, meself, actually. It's Professor Snape who's the expert on the Chatham ravens. He knew all abou' 'em, o' course. Even had a portrait o' one guarding the entrance ter his dungeon quarters. He was fond of that portrait fer sure. I think that's the real reason why he kept the dungeon as his quarters instead o' moving in ter the Headmasters'..."

Harry didn't stick around to hear the rest of Hagrid's rambling supposition. He raced from the Great Hall at top speed and headed down the dark corridor that led to the dungeon, only lessening his speed when he neared the potions classroom. Once he was standing directly in front of the familiar door, he inspected the remainder of the gloomy, dank hallway, searching for this raven painting that Hagrid had mentioned and the door that ushered into Snape's private quarters.

Of course, Harry had absolutely no clue where the man's personal rooms were located. He had no way of knowing for certain if he was even in the correct hallway, but he assumed that Snape's quarters would most likely be in the vicinity of the classroom where he had taught for the majority of his tenure at Hogwarts.

Harry turned around and peered down the length of the corridor, attenuating his eyes so that he could decipher the dark perimeter of the passage. His pulse sped up when he noticed, just within the periphery of his vision, a narrow hallway that branched out from the main corridor. Harry drew closer to the subsidiary and turned the corner. His heart nearly stopped when he noticed the large, imposing wooden door, barely visible in the murky shadows. Beside it, hanging amid the cold, damp stones of the dungeon wall, was an enormous portrait of a majestic, black bird.

The great bird was perched atop a lonely branch of a barren, warped tree overlooking a tempestuous ocean which was sentient and restive. Its volatile waves churned as if anticipating an imminent storm. The raven's feathers were pitch-black and lustrous, catching the intermittent luminance radiating through the turbulent storm clouds overhead. Its piercing ebony eyes were intense and fathomless, daunting in their exquisite fervency.

It remained rigid and still as Harry studied it. The raven's dark, attentive eyes stared across the vast ocean beyond as if it were searching for some altruistic lost love, awaiting a foretold, prodigal return. In a slow, languid motion, it turned its magnificent head and fixed Harry with an expectant, inquisitive stare.

Realizing that this raven must be the guardian of Snape's quarters, Harry panicked when he became cognizant of the fact that he had no idea what the password was. The raven only cocked its tenebrous head to the side in response to his blatant unease.

Harry lowered his head and worried his lower lip with his teeth as he pondered his choices. From what he had learned about Snape over the course of the last few hours, he could discern only two possibilities...

"Lily?"

The raven tilted his head in confusion and annoyance, as if disappointed by his first attempt. Harry took a deep, reassuring breath and resigned himself to the inevitable, now knowing precisely what the password must be...

"Gray?"

Harry's second attempt was followed by a resounding click as the heavy wooden door swung open, beckoning his admittance into the dark, abandoned rooms within. He could feel himself shudder with trepidation as he moved forward into the dim space.

Now that he had gotten this far, Harry wasn't even certain what it was he was looking for. Of course he was hoping to find a way to ensure Snape's survival, but Harry was doubtful that he would succeed in procuring an antidote to Nagini's deadly venom or some cure-all potion that could heal the man. Even if he could find such a miracle elixir, the daunting task of finding Snape in order to administer the remedy remained improbable.

Harry felt his panic spike as he realized that it was far too late for that, anyway. It had been nearly four hours since the massive serpent had attacked Snape, forcing Harry to accept the dreadful truth; If Snape hadn't already been treated for his injuries, he would have succumbed to the fatal wounds by now.

No, if Harry were completely honest with himself, neither an antidote for snake venom nor a healing potion was what he sought. It was confirmation he was yearning for. He needed to know if Snape's intense memory had been real. He longed for some irrefutable proof that could pacify his burning desire to understand what it was that he saw in that memory. He needed to find some sort of tangible evidence which could validate that Gray had indeed existed… that he wasn't an unfortunate hallucination caused by Snape's battle with death… that Gray had truly lived... and loved.

Above all else, Harry needed to know, for certain, whether Snape had been correct. He needed to know if he could possibly have been that anguished boy from Snape's memory, if he and Gray were one and the same. For Harry was now beginning to suspect that the only person with the ability to save Snape was not Harry at all... it was Gray.

_"Lumos!"_ Harry whispered into the quiet stasis, disseminating light throughout the gloomy space.

His eyes darted over the scarcely lit room, searching for something that would catch his eye, pull his focus.

Bookshelves lined almost every inch of wall space, their ledges packed with a multitude of ancient, worn tomes and texts. Harry skimmed their spines for anything that would give him pause... a journal, perhaps, or maybe another hand-me-down school textbook like Harry's old Advanced Potion-Making book owned by the Half-Blood Prince. Since Snape was so fond of writing in his potions book, Harry supposed he could have written in others as well, but he found nothing. The shelves only consisted of several volumes of Potions manuals and Dark Arts tomes. There was nothing indicative of a long lost love from the past.

Harry abandoned his perusal of the main sitting room, deciding instead to investigate the bedroom on the assumption that if Snape were hanging on to any meaningful keepsakes from his past, it would be there that he would have stashed them.

As soon as he entered the new room, Harry's attention was drawn to a modest, run-down table situated beside the bed in the furthest corner. Its wooden surface was unfinished and splintered. Just below the worn, scratched tabletop was a solitary drawer that had been left partially open. The rickety drawer hung askew from the table as if the simple act of opening and closing it over the years had eroded its track. Harry felt his heartbeat accelerate as he approached it, feeling a sudden confidence that something of significance lay within.

Harry's hands were shaking as he pulled the drawer open and peered inside. A single object occupied the confined space – a large, leather-bound book, its dark cover faded and worn.

Harry seized the heavy tome and pulled it from the drawer to examine it in greater detail. His heart nearly stopped when he read the book's familiar title emblazoned across the cover in blood-red lettering – _Secrets of the Darkest Art_.

"Oh my God… this… this is… but it can't be…"

Harry rifled through the pages of the book until he located the section he was searching for, the chapter on horcruxes. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he scanned the pages pertaining to horcrux creation and destruction. Then he saw them, the hastily marked underlines and poorly-drawn circles and arrows highlighting pertinent passages, penned upon these pages only a short time ago in a cold, leaky tent while on the run from a madman.

Harry's brain was reeling. His breath caught in his throat as he grappled with the sheer improbability of the situation. How could this Dark Arts book exist in this drawer, when he knew for a fact that Hermione still had it stowed within the magically-enlarged depths of her beaded bag?

He stared at the markings, tracing along the pen marks with his fingertip. The inked amendments looked discolored, as if faded by age, yet he recalled making some of these notations himself. He and Hermione added them only months before...

As Harry relinquished a terrified, tremulous breath and gripped the book in his shaking hands, he realized there could only be one explanation for this anomaly; Snape was given this book… years ago… by someone who has access to it only now…

Harry rummaged through the remainder of the tome, searching for more, now desperate to deepen his understanding. He slowed his frenetic search when he neared the back of the book. The last page had been bookmarked by a folded piece of parchment. Harry reached for the paper and just as he began to unfold it, an old photograph fell from within its creases.

With trembling hands, Harry picked up the photograph and flipped it over to view its image. It was a muggle photograph, a polaroid. Its surface was washed out and cracked, but its content was still discernible; Two boys... the very same two from Snape's memory.

The teenage Severus Snape was bearing an uncharacteristic grin and was holding a small, scaly black winged creature in his arms. Harry was almost certain that it was a newborn thestral, judging from its horse-like face and thin, skeletal body.

The other boy, Gray, was not looking at the camera. His attention was fixed on Snape's brilliant smile, beaming with pride and exuberance. His left hand was placed gently on the tiny creature's head, and Harry narrowed his eyes to decipher the faint markings that were etched into the skin on the back of Gray's hand.

_I must not tell lies_.

Harry's breathing quickened... his heart raced... it _was_ him. He _was_ Gray... and he was going to go back in time. Somehow.

He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat, placed the photo aside and unfolded the sheet of parchment, feeling both terrified and thrilled at the same time. He opened the aged letter, smoothed out its heavy creases and began to read the poem that was scrawled upon its surface, its lines handwritten in a very familiar, cramped narrow script...

_Gray Skye Mourning_

_In the space sundering dawn's divining inception,_

_And night's acrimonious shade, you approach,_

_Luring me with your resonating effulgence._

_Fractured and vacant, I stand before you,_

_Benighted by fate's callous providence._

_A simple caress of your hand awakens me,_

_My heart, forsaken, stirs from its slumber._

_Your gentle touch beguiles my senses, captivates my soul,_

_In love's tranquil embrace, we thrive, entwined, enamored,_

_Deeply, your love flows through me, igniting this fervent blaze,_

_The scent of your skin, the taste of your lips, enraptures me._

_I am yours, completely, wholly, eternally._

_Yet you abandon me, leave me to my wretched solitude,_

_Bereft of your light, my haunted eyes dim and weep,_

_My heart, rent, shattered, screams for your spirit,_

_I ache, bleed, die, in the wake of your absence._

_The memory of you binds me, torments me, as I grieve alone,_

_The breath that once ghosted over your lips, slows,_

_Hindered by your imparted agony, piercing, abiding,_

_And as the imminent tempest looms, I wait for you._

_In the hollows of despair's cruel chill, I linger._

_I can almost feel you here, love,_

_As the storm nears, drawing ever closer,_

_Where the wind gently susurrates,_

_Whispering its sorrowful lament,_

_Reminding me of your breath on my skin, _

_The warmth of your body against mine,_

_And your tears spilling onto my cheek_

_As you cry for my desolation._

_So I await your foretoken return,_

_As I slowly perish, wither, fade,_

_Your desperate plea still_

_echoing in my mind..._

_Survive Severus._

_Promise me,_

_You'll live._

Tears fell from Harry's burning, virescent eyes. His breath suspended, as a strangled, despairing moan escaped him. Trembling fingers desperately tried to wipe away the evidence of his anguished torrent of emotion as his heart ached with a fathomless grief for the boy who had suffered this pain, this miserable sorrow. Harry's sadness deepened when a sudden realization took hold of him, a profound, heart-rending understanding...

_I did this to him._

It didn't matter, though... not really. Harry knew now, without a doubt, that he was Gray, and he had no choice but to go back. He had to do what he must to ensure that Snape would survive his impending attack.

There was no dead body... no proof that Snape had died from his mortal peril. Harry knew what that meant; There was a chance the man had beaten the odds. Harry had to believe that. He had to try.

And he knew that he had to go back in time... because he had already done it.

Harry folded the parchment back into its indented creases and replaced the photograph into the folds as he pondered the arduous task before him. Just knowing that he was destined to go back was not enough. He now must figure out _how_ to make it happen.

Harry was rather clueless about time travel, his only experience with it being that brief escapade in his third year when he and Hermione had gone back several hours to save Sirius and Buckbeak. This, however, was far more complex. A time-turner would never work for this vast amount of time. Not to mention that Harry was quite certain the DA's mission to the Department of Mysteries resulted in the destruction of all known time-turners in Britain. He wouldn't be successful in procuring a time-turner even if he had intended to use one.

A time-turner would be inadequate for another reason as well. The device only took you back, not forward. It was only capable of time reversal. Harry needed a method that would allow him to go back, yet would return him to his proper time as well. He was sure he was not meant to stay. After reading Snape's heartbreaking, lamented poem... Harry knew he was fated to leave.

Just as Harry began to tuck the folded parchment back into its place between the bookmarked pages, a penned notation caught his eye. He skimmed the blemished page and fixed his gaze upon a paragraph near the bottom. A single spell had been circled in red ink, and in Snape's neat scrawl, a solitary entry was written beside it that read... _lunar cycle, one month_.

Harry's gaze shifted from Snape's exegesis and settled instead on the spell that he had circled. His green eyes instantly widened in astonishment as he realized that he had discovered the solution to his dilemma...

_Time Regression Spell_

_Latin incantation (vrbl.) - Tempus Procedere_

_Performed correctly, Tempus Procedere will temporarily transport the caster back to a pre-determined time and place of his or her choosing. Stringent intent is necessary in order to achieve proper placement._

_Warning: This spell is exceedingly difficult and should only to be attempted by the most adept and powerful witches and wizards. Incorrect time placement is highly probable._

_Banned by the British Ministry of Magic in the year 1541_

Harry snapped the book shut, the crucial page still marked by the folded parchment, and rushed from the room. He exited Snape's quarters quickly and raced down the long dungeon corridor toward the Great Hall in search of Ron and Hermione.

Harry had just rounded the corner, when he collided with someone approaching from the other direction. Harry staggered backward, reeling from the startling impact and dropping the book onto the stone floor. He shook his head to clear it, then glanced up to see a discomposed Hermione looking back at him.

"Harry! Why didn't you tell me you were leaving the Great Hall? I was worried about you!" she scolded.

"Sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to upset you. I just needed to..."

"You were down in the dungeons, weren't you?" she interjected.

Harry nodded. A fretful quietude followed as Hermione's gaze left Harry's nervous features and found respite on the leather-bound book lying upon the corridor floor. Its front cover was face-up, the striking red letters of its title easy to discern even in the dim hallway.

Hermione gasped, then bent down to seize hold of the anomalous object.

"This is... but it can't be... I have it..." she spluttered, opening the book and directing her attention to the same section that Harry had sought.

Her eyes enlarged with blatant shock and amazement as she perused the marked pages. After only a moment, Hermione thrust the still open book into Harry's arms and proceeded to pull out her beaded bag from where it was concealed in her sock. She opened the small purse, leveled her wand at the aperture and summoned the book's doppelganger.

It zoomed out of her bag and fell neatly into her outstretched hand. Hermione took no time in opening the book to the same page as its twin and drawing nearer to Harry so she could compare the two.

Harry focused his attention on Hermione, observing her escalating panic as her eyes darted from one book to the other. Finally, she looked up into Harry's eyes and fixed him with dazed, stunned expression.

"You found this in his personal quarters?"

"Yes."

Hermione swallowed hard, gazed back down at the two identical books fleetingly, then trained her eyes upon Harry once more, fear and apprehension emanating from within their depths.

"It really is you, isn't it? You're Gray..." she muttered, "And... and you're going back..."

Harry didn't answer right away. He pulled out the parchment from the back of Snape's book, placed it in the front pocket of his jeans and handed the book to her.

"You keep this. This is the one that should remain here," he explained, "And I take this one with me."

He reached for the book that had previously been inside her bag and rifled through the pages until he came to the last one. He found the Time Regression spell and turned the book around so that Hermione could view it.

"This is the spell I have to use. It will take me back in time and then return me after a month's time. I... I'm not certain if that means a month will pass here as well... but I suppose it's possible it could be instantaneous..."

"Harry, have you looked at this?" Hermione inquired, her voice quavering with fear, "It's extremely dangerous! It implies that it's nearly impossible to perform correctly. Harry... you could end up lost in time... or stuck in some foreign place..."

"Yes I've read it, Hermione. But listen... it's just like third year, OK? Think about it. The only reason I had the confidence to repel all those dementors was because I knew that I had already done it! You're forgetting Hermione... all of this has already happened. The book proves that," he expounded fervently, "Not to mention... I do have a bit of an advantage when it comes to spell casting."

Harry reached behind him and pulled out the Elder wand from his back pocket, waving it in front of her, hoping to ease her tension. Unfortunately, however, her expression remained agitated and fearful.

"Look Hermione... I have to do this! I am the only one with the ability to save him. And I have to save him, Hermione. I have to try. I just can't let him die..."

"But Harry... you'll be going back to when Professor Snape was in his seventh year at Hogwarts. You're going to see Dumbledore again... and Remus, Sirius... and your parents! They have ALL died because of Voldemort and this war. Won't you be tempted to try and save them as well?"

Harry's throat tightened and his eyes burned as new tears welled up at the corners and spilled down his cheek. He took a deep, tremulous breath and held it, attempting to alleviate his spiraling dread.

Yes, he had thought about that. The very idea of seeing them all again, alive and well, all the while KNOWING that they were fated to die, sickened him. But Harry knew enough about the balance of time to know that their deaths could not be undone. He had seen them all, either in death or in resurrected form. He knew for certain they had died. Therefore, their destinies could not be altered.

There was still hope for Snape, though, and Harry was determined to keep the man from Death's oppressive stranglehold.

"I know I can't help them, Hermione. I'm not saying it will be easy, but I know how this works," Harry whispered, his voice faltering.

He looked deeply into her warm, compassionate eyes, still laden with distress, and fixed her with an imploring look.

"Please understand, Hermione... I have to do this."

After a brief pause, she seemed to acquiesce. She took a slow, steadying breath and nodded in consensus.

"Where?" she asked, he voice shaking.

"The Shrieking Shack," Harry answered without hesitation, "Where's Ron?"

"He went back to the Burrow with the rest of the family," she whispered, her head lowered in despondency, "I'll let him know what's going on. Don't worry, Harry... we both support you."

Harry nodded his head, then looked back up and voiced one final request.

"If it is a month until I return, please... please apologize to them for me. The Weasleys... Andromeda... McGonagall... all of them. I assume I will miss several funerals. But I..."

"I know, Harry," she interrupted, "It's OK. They'll understand... Go. Save him."

Harry wrapped his arms around his best friend and held her tightly as grateful tears cascaded down his face, "I love you," he whispered into her ear.

"I love you too, Harry. Please be careful."

Harry pulled away from the consoling embrace, gave Hermione a tender kiss on her tear-strewn cheek and retreated back down the main corridor toward the Entrance Hall. His pace quickened and his heart raced as he exited the school, entered the Whomping Willow's secret passage and sped through the narrow tunnel.

For the third time that day, Harry emerged from the tunnel's end and set foot into the dilapidated edifice. As soon as he entered the room, Harry's stomach churned and roiled at the familiar sickening plash of blood on the floor. He turned from the morbid scene and concentrated on completing his task.

Harry checked his back pockets, making certain he had with him his invisibility cloak and both the Elder and Hawthorn wands. He wasn't sure it was a good idea to take the Elder wand as he knew the Dumbledore from the past would be using it, but he was positive it would be required in order to perform the Time Regression spell correctly.

Next he confirmed that Snape's poem and photograph were both safely secured in his front pocket. After assuring himself that they were indeed still there, his hand brushed up against the cold, silver chain of the feather pendant. He pulled the pendant from his pocket and placed it around his neck, knowing that it must travel with him as well.

Harry took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then opened the _Secrets of the Darkest Art _to the last page. He read through the scant instructions several times before he felt comfortable enough to attempt the spell.

Closing his eyes and concentrating on the time and place he wished to go back to, Harry held up the Elder wand with a trembling hand and articulated the incantation that would send him twenty years into the past...

_"Tempus Procedere!"_

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** I got done with this chapter a little quicker than I had expected. Better early than late! I hope you enjoy it. Next chapter ETA - July 27th. Thanks to all who have taken the time to review my first chapter. I really appreciate it. And I do love to hear your thoughts on my writing. :)

**Please Review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three - Luring me with your resonating effulgence**

The moment Harry finished the incantation, a pervasive energy took hold of him, immobilizing his arms and legs. At the same time, a blinding blaze of light assaulted his vision, prompting him to squeeze his eyelids together to lessen the retinal burn. His lungs constricted painfully, hampering his ability to breathe, as he continued to struggle against the debilitating impediments, desperate to regain control.

Just as his panic had reached an alarming level, the spell's effects fell away, and he found himself on the floor on his hands and knees, trembling and gasping for breath, the Elder wand still gripped in his quivering hand.

Harry pulled himself up onto shaky legs and blinked several times to clear away the residual flickers appearing in the periphery of his bleary vision. When he was once again capable of focusing on his surroundings, he spun around to inspect the site where Snape's blood had been dispersed.

The offensive substance was no longer there.

With increasing astonishment, Harry surveyed the remainder of the room. He was certain that he was still in the Shrieking Shack, but the interior looked… different. The shabby, run-down furniture had all been pushed toward the wall leaving a vacant space in the center of the room, and there was a neat pile of folded blankets stacked on top of a threadbare settee in the corner. The long scratches and deep indentations that defaced the wooden legs of the chairs and tables were the same as Harry remembered, but now they appeared newer somehow... more distinguishable as being caused by the razor-sharp teeth and claws of a vicious canine.

The room was also missing its air of woeful neglect and abandonment. The shelves on the wall were not nearly as dust-covered, and there were discarded butterbeer bottles set out on top of the rickety table alongside a wizard chessboard and two empty boxes of chocolate frogs, giving it a somewhat lived-in, albeit slobbish, appearance.

Breathing out an immense sigh of relief, Harry lowered his head and closed his eyes, the hint of a grateful smile emerging. The spell had worked. He was sure of it. He had succeeded in traveling back in time. And judging from the semblance of this room, he had been deposited in the correct time... a time when the four Marauders were already well-practiced at utilizing the Shrieking Shack on a monthly basis.

Harry turned to exit the room and begin the extensive trek back through the tunnel. Halfway, he abruptly halted his progression when a frightening realization occurred to him, bringing with it a sense of nausea and sending his stomach plummeting.

He had no clue where to go or what to do next. He had expended so much energy into worrying about Snape's fate, discerning the proper steps to take to prevent the impending tragedy and discovering how to travel back in time in order to manage it. In contrast, he had put no effort into how he would actually go about functioning here for an entire month's time.

He took a moment to look down at his bloodied hands and clothes, cringing at his morbid appearance. Anyone who saw him in this condition would think him either gravely injured or possibly very dangerous. Still, he supposed that his blood-soaked clothing wouldn't garner as much attention as the Wizarding World's most powerful wand and the diabolical Dark Arts book he held in his hands.

It was clear he needed help.

Harry reflected on his precarious situation, trying to determine who would be the best person to turn to. McGonagall, perhaps? Or maybe Hagrid? But he was almost certain that if he were to appear in front of either of them in his present condition, they would be frightened into an _act first, ask questions later_ reaction. After all, there was a war going on in this time, too. The Hogwarts staff was bound to be on their guard, especially two of the original members of the Order of the Phoenix.

He also had to acknowledge the fact that going to either Hagrid or McGonagall for help, while looking like Harry Potter, was a dangerous endeavor that could cause a serious time-quandary. They would have no way of knowing who he was now, but in a few years or so, they would. They would also recall an incident in which they were introduced to a seventeen-year-old Harry Potter years before he was supposed to have been born. Harry couldn't risk that. He was sure that they were not meant to know about his venture through time.

He toyed with the idea of transforming his own appearance, but soon decided against it. He had never attempted a self-transfiguration or glamour charm before. Even armed with the Elder wand, the risk of error was too great, considering that his transformation would have to be precise. He was meant to look like Gray, and Harry's skill at human transfiguration was mediocre at best.

In the end, he settled upon the one solution that made sense. He would have to go to Dumbledore. Of course, the Headmaster's reaction could very well be just as extreme as Hagrid's or McGonagall's, but if Harry could divert the man's attention away from his bloody facade and instead focus it on the thin stick of elder in his hand, he might have a chance to gain Dumbledore's consideration.

It was a monumental risk to assume that Professor Dumbledore had been aware that Harry Potter had once masqueraded as a boy named Gray three years prior to his date of birth, but Harry had to make that assumption. He was running out of viable options. Besides, he would be spending a whole month here so it made sense that he pose as a student for the duration of his stay. The only man who could make that happen was Dumbledore.

Making his decision, Harry wrested the invisibility cloak out from his back pocket and flung it over himself, vanishing beneath it. He hurried through the lengthy tunnel and out into the grounds via the concealed entrance carved into the Whomping Willow. The aggressive tree was smaller in stature, but Harry could see little else that was different as he scanned the lush Hogwarts surroundings. Hagrid's hut stood out clearly in the distance, as did the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest. It was definitely spring, as the weather was warm and damp, and the grassy fields were teeming with wildflowers.

May, Harry thought, just like in my time...

He had just begun his ascent of the granite steps leading up to the majestic front doors, when it occurred to him that there were no students or teachers anywhere in sight. The grounds were quiet and static, devoid of their usual flurry of commotion.

For a moment, Harry panicked as he contemplated the unnerving possibility that he had somehow arrived too late, that this was in fact summer and he had missed the students completely. Then he heard a tumultuous cheer in the distance. Spinning around in the direction of the clamor, he unleashed an anxious breath. The deafening uproar had to be the result of the exuberant cheers and applause from hundreds of Hogwarts students and teachers riveted by one of the house Quidditch matches.

Grateful to have the castle virtually to himself, Harry hastened his way through the Entrance Hall, past the Great Hall and clambered up the requisite staircases until he reached the seventh-floor corridor where he knew the Headmaster's office to be. As he approached the familiar stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office and pulled off his invisibility cloak, it glanced lazily in his direction.

"Oh shit..." Harry murmured, recognizing that he didn't know the correct password. Well, he had been forced to guess before, and he knew it was always some kind of Wizarding sweet...

"Sherbet Lemon," He called out. Nothing. The stone gargoyle remained inert. Harry searched his memory for all the passwords he had ever known Dumbledore to use in his time, hoping that the man was in the habit of duplicating their usage, "OK... Toffee Eclairs... Lemon Drops... Acid Pops... Cockroach Clusters..."

The guardian continued to stand sentry, unmoving and obstinate, a bored expression carved into its chiseled visage. Harry took a deep breath and began expelling the names of a barrage of Wizarding confections, optimistic that he would eventually hit on the correct candy.

"Pepper Imps... Drooble's Best Blowing Gum... Skiving Snackboxes... Oh wait, those haven't been invented yet... OK... Fizzing Whizbees... Chocolate Frogs... Licorice Wands..."

At the word _wands_, the stubborn statue leapt aside, and the wall behind it split in two, revealing the moving spiral staircase beyond. Relieved, Harry hurried onto one of its platforms and allowed its slow, upward progression to carry him to the large oak door which prefaced the Headmaster's circular office. He stared at the polished brass knocker in the shape of a griffin, a shiver running through him when he realized that this would be the first time he would be seeing Albus Dumbledore in living form since that horrifying night on the Astronomy Tower. Resigned to see this through, Harry took a few steadying breaths and knocked upon the heavy door.

His knock was greeted with a protracted silence, indicating the Headmaster's absence. Taking the Elder wand out of his back pocket once again, Harry muttered the incantation which would grant him access, _"Alohomora!"_

The office was just as it had been in Harry's time, right down to the multitude of delicate, silver instruments on every surface, the elaborate claw-footed desk in the center of the room and the massive portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses which hung in neat rows along the walls. As usual, the paintings' occupants were steadfastly snoozing, not even stirring when a blood-covered stranger strode into their midst.

Harry's gaze drifted away from the portraits and settled instead, upon the beautiful scarlet bird that was intently staring at him from where it was situated atop a golden perch. Its penetrating, dark eyes seemed to bore into Harry's green ones with unwavering intensity. As it cocked its head to one side, Harry was almost certain that the creature had recognized him, despite the improbability of it.

The crimson bird abandoned its perch and flew toward him, circling overhead three times before it settled onto his outstretched arm. Harry caressed its brilliant red and gold plumage gently, but the phoenix paid no regard. It seemed agitated as it jounced its head frantically while scanning Harry's bloodied appearance. When its large golden beak swept across the smears of blood several times, Harry was curiously reminded of a bloodhound picking up a scent. He concluded that the phoenix must be searching for the source of the blood... looking for a wound to heal...

"No, Fawkes... it's not me," He assured the creature as he continued to stroke its feathers, "I'm alright. I'm not the one who was injured. This is not my blood. It's someone else's... someone who is... very important to me."

Fawkes seemed to comprehend Harry's placating words. He ended his frenetic forage for physical impairment and peered up into the green eyes, now glistening with the emergence of fresh tears.

"That's why I've come back, Fawkes... to find a way to save him..."

"My dear boy, one can hardly fault Fawkes for making such an error. It certainly appears as though you are the one who needs saving," came the unmistakable, authoritative voice of the Headmaster.

Surprised, Harry whirled around with Fawkes still firmly clutching his forearm, and stared into the piercing, cerulean eyes of Albus Dumbledore

The elderly wizard's stance was imposing, yet his demeanor radiated an ironic serenity as he stood motionless just inside the office entrance. He gripped the Elder wand in one aged hand but it pointed downwards as he peered at Harry over half-moon spectacles. The blue eyes narrowed in consternation as they travelled from Harry to Fawkes and then back again. When he spoke once more, his voice was clear and calm, yet commanding.

"Sit, young man. It is obvious you have much to disclose."

Harry did as he was told, settling himself into one of the chairs in front of the desk, as Dumbledore took his rightful seat behind it, steepling thin, tapered fingers in front of his face as he, once again, considered both Harry and the phoenix that seemed determined to remain by the boy's side.

"Professor Dumbledore... I know how bad this looks, but..."

"Fawkes came to you?" The Headmaster asked, interrupting Harry's attempt to elucidate.

"Yes, sir. I think he assumed I was injured and wanted to heal..."

"And you know his name," Dumbledore interjected.

"Y-y-yes," Harry stammered, suddenly unnerved by the Headmaster's stern, assertive tone. He shivered when he saw that Dumbledore's gaze had shifted away from his face and locked onto the duplicate Elder wand which Harry was still holding in his right hand, along with the Dark Arts book. But after only a moment, those penetrating blue eyes were fixed upon Harry's green ones again.

"You know me quite well... well enough to call upon my familiar who, I might add, is rarely influenced by anyone but myself, yet I do not know you. You also sit before me carrying the twin of my wand and a book I know to be confiscated within the shelves of my personal library," The Headmaster recited calmly before placing both long-fingered hands upon the desk, leaning forward slightly and piercing Harry with peremptory look.

"Explain."

Harry swallowed hard past his encompassing anxiety. He hadn't thought this conversation would be quite so unsettling. He took a deep breath, placed both the Elder wand and the book on the desk in front of the Headmaster, and plunged into a somewhat truncated version of recent events.

"Professor, I'm honestly not sure how much I should tell you. But... I... I guess I should start by explaining that I am from the future. I used a spell that I found in this book to travel back twenty years hoping to save someone who, I believe, is not meant to die in the final battle of this war..."

"This war?" Dumbledore inquired, his eyes widening, "Are you referring to the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters?"

"Yes, sir."

"Young man, the manipulation of time is exceedingly dangerous. Have you any evidence that indicates the individual you wish to save may have indeed been saved? Otherwise you should not have attempted to..."

"Yes! I do have evidence! He was attacked by a massive snake and he was very close to death, sir. But... but... I had to leave him and... when I returned to see if he had perished, his body was missing, and nobody could determine what happened to him," Harry explained, "So, I know that he may have survived. And... well... I also have proof that I went back in time."

"What proof?"

Harry picked up _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ and handed it to the Headmaster who gave him a wary look before skimming through the pages. He paused when he noticed the notations in the margins of the pages pertaining to horcruxes. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he looked up into Harry's nervous features with a dangerous expression.

"Sir... this book... it _is_ yours. My friend summoned it from your personal study a year ago... well, I guess that's nineteen years from now from your perspective. And my friends and I have had it in our possession ever since then. I found another one, just hours ago, in someone else's private rooms. And it _is_ this book, with these same markings, yet it was... older. But my friends and I only penned these notations a few months ago. I compared the two of them side by side, sir. They are the same exact book... one from this time... and one from mine..."

"An overlap," Dumbledore added.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, "And the person who has held on to this book... all these years... is the person I came back to save."

"And what of the horcruxes?" Dumbledore asked, while steepling his fingers again and leaning back into his chair.

"I... I don't think... I don't think I can tell you that," Harry whispered nervously.

Dumbledore did not press the issue. Instead, he went back to scrutinizing the book. When he got to the final page, he paused again. Harry knew he was studying the section that contained the Time Regression spell.

"That's the spell I used, sir. It should return me after one lunar cycle," Harry explained.

"I see. And you managed it with the assistance of the Elder wand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered in a hushed voice, his head lowered as a sudden rush of sorrow and guilt about the circumstances surrounding the Elder wand's indirect change in masters overcame him.

"And am I to infer that you will relieve me of my wand at some point in my future, making you its new master?" The Headmaster asked in a placid, unperturbed tone.

"NO!" Harry exclaimed, "No, sir... I mean, I did eventually become the wand's master... but not because... I wasn't the one who... Professor, I would never..."

"Relax, my dear boy. I am well aware that your intentions are pure. Nothing less than your abiding loyalty to me could ever inspire this level of devotion from my phoenix. My only objective in inquiring about the wand was to determine whether or not I had met my unfortunate demise in your time. As I am quite certain had I asked you outright, you would not have told me. Your reaction was quite sufficient in answering my query."

Harry blinked and remained transfixed as he stared at the Headmaster. He hadn't meant to relinquish the fact that Dumbledore was destined to die in the war. But now that he considered it, just the fact that the Elder wand was now in the hands of another implied that consequence.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry whispered, lowering his head in regret and shame, "I didn't want you to know that."

"It's quite alright, Mr. Potter."

Harry's head snapped up when he heard the Headmaster refer to him by his surname. Once again, he found himself completely nonplussed by Dumbledore's canny insight. He stared, eyes impossibly wide and mouth hanging open as he struggled to vocalize his astonishment.

"How did you... I never told you... I..."

Dumbledore answered Harry's desperate rambling with a contented smile as a soft chortle escaped his lips, "My boy, please don't think me all-knowing. You are the spitting image of James Potter. And, if I am not mistaken, your eyes bear a remarkable resemblance to those of the lovely and talented Miss Evans, whom, if the rumors are to be believed, has just begun to date the brash young Gryffindor. I am not, however, quite shrewd enough to ascertain what your first name is."

"Oh... it's Harry... Harry Potter."

"Well, Harry, am I correct in assuming that the individual you are endeavoring to save is a student here at this time?"

"Yes, sir. He is a seventh-year... in Slytherin House."

At this proclamation, Dumbledore's eyes widened minutely, but if the elderly wizard had been surprised by Harry's determination to save a Slytherin student, he did not give it voice.

"Very well. Then I propose that we disguise you as a seventh-year Slytherin student as well for the remainder of your stay here," Dumbledore announced. He ascended from his chair and approached Harry, who stood up quickly. Fawkes gave a disgruntled squawk when Harry arose, irritated at being expelled from Harry's lap, and returned to his golden perch.

The Headmaster grazed his thumb and one long finger along the thin line of his lips, taut with emphatic concentration, and attenuated his aged, blue eyes as he considered which spells would be required in concealing Harry's appearance. After only a brief moment, Dumbledore raised the Elder wand and leveled it on Harry's face.

_"Scourgify!"_ He commanded.

Immediately, Harry was relieved of the vile layer of dried, crusted blood that had befouled the skin on his face, arms and hands, along with the solidified clumps amid the strands of his raven hair. Dumbledore did not halt his ministrations, however. His wand remained resolutely trained on Harry as the next two spells were issued.

_"Mutare Speciem!"_

_"Visivae Claritatem!"_

Harry felt a peculiar pulling sensation at his scalp as he noticed that his hair was lengthening. Next, his eyes began to sting, and he closed them to ease the sudden burn. When the brief pain subsided, Harry opened his eyes and panicked when he realized that his vision had worsened. His already-poor eyesight had become even more blurred and indistinct.

"You may dispose of those glasses, Harry. I have corrected your eyesight, as well as changed the pigment of your irises," Dumbledore explained.

The world returned to its usual clarity the moment Harry removed his glasses. He gave Dumbledore an appreciative nod as he placed them beside the Dark Arts book on the Headmaster's desk. Then he saw that the man's gaze was fixed upon the lightening-shaped scar on his forehead.

"That will have to go as well, I suppose. Quite a distinguishing feature, Harry," Dumbledore noted in a wry tone, an unnerving gleam of knowing in his twinkling blue eyes, _"Abscondere!"_

Harry detected a tingling sensation in the vicinity of his scar, and his hand automatically drifted up to touch it, his fingers flitting over the place where the mark had once blemished his skin. The raised flesh was now smooth to the touch, bereft of any protuberance.

With one final brandishing of the Headmaster's wand, Harry's stained and soiled clothing were replaced by a crisp, clean school uniform, a green and sliver Slytherin crest emblazoned on the front of the robe. The silver chain and feather pendant that had been concealed underneath his soiled t-shirt, now hung visible atop the viridescent striped tie.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes when he noticed the pendant and swiftly drew closer to inspect it. He grasped the miniature vial between his slender fingers, turning it over several times to study its avian content. After a moment, he released the pendant and gazed at Harry with a troubled expression, his eyes filled with an uncharacteristic dolefulness.

"This student whose life you aspire to save... is it, by chance... Severus Snape?"

Harry's eyes enlarged as he was once again startled by the Headmaster's seemingly clairvoyant intuition. He was even more shocked by the undisguised fear and sadness radiating from Dumbledore's eyes. Harry had never put much thought into Snape's relationship with the Headmaster while the Slytherin attended school, but now he was confronted by clear evidence that they must have been close.

"Yes... it is him," Harry confirmed, "But how did you know...?"

The Headmaster breathed deeply and took a few steps toward his desk. When he reached it, he seated himself on the corner and lowered his head as if searching for the right words to explain. After a long respite where Dumbledore appeared withdrawn and unreachable, he cleared his throat and began to speak.

"The feather in that vial, Harry, is a very rare commodity. It belongs to an extremely elusive magical bird called a Chatham raven. Young Severus is the only student I have ever taught who was successful in calling upon one."

At Harry's bewildered look, Dumbledore expounded further, "The Chatham raven is scarcely ever seen by human eyes. Very few wizards or witches have ever even laid eyes upon one. And muggles are not able to see them at all, not for the last century and a half. They believe the species has become extinct. The Chatham raven, you see, only appears to a wizard or witch whose heart is pure... whose inner beauty most closely resembles the selfless and peaceful spirit of its eradicated people... and whose soul is destined to suffer a great loss similar to the raven's enduring grief."

"And one of these Chatham ravens… came to him, sir?"

"Yes, Harry. At the beginning of last term. Severus approached me and asked for my permission to keep her. As she is not a standard Wizarding familiar, such as an owl or a cat, he required my consent to house her at Hogwarts. I must say, I was astonished by his request."

"Sir... you mentioned something about... about the person who calls upon the raven being... _destined to suffer a great loss_... just like the raven. What does that mean?"

"Harry, perhaps you should ask Severus. Since the raven has become his familiar, he has done much research on the species and has become very knowledgeable about their history, their magic and their unique intuitive aptitude. I daresay his expertise has exceeded my own," The Headmaster remarked. The twinkle that had vacated his blue eyes when they had been discussing Snape's impending accident, had now returned in full.

"Now then, Harry, I expect we should devise a false name for you, as we certainly cannot refer to you as Harry Potter. I believe James Potter would be most suspicious of a Slytherin student bearing his surname."

"Oh... yes... um... sir? Do you have a mirror? May I... may I see myself?"

"Forgive me, my dear boy. Of course you would want to inspect your new appearance."

The Headmaster gesticulated his wand in an elaborate figure eight movement, transfiguring an old quill that had been lying on his desk into an old-fashioned brass-handled mirror. Dumbledore picked up the extravagant mirror and handed it to Harry.

With trembling hands, Harry took the offering and peered into its reflective surface, gasping softly when he saw the shoulder-length, wavy mahogany hair and the cool, slate-grey eyes of the boy from Snape's memory looking back at him. Struck speechless, Harry continued to stare at his reflection, entranced by this final undeniable truth which proved, without a doubt, that he and Gray were one and the same.

"Harry?" Dumbledore prompted, his voice low and gentle, "A name?"

"Gray... I'm Gray... Gray Skye."

"Very well, Mr. Skye. I presume that you are in need of the required seventh-year textbooks, as well as other school supplies?"

"Yes, Headmaster... and... I'm sorry, but I don't really have any clothing or... or any personal items..."

"Consider it done, my boy. I will have one of the school house-elves gather everything you should need for the next thirty days and place it in your new dormitory for you. You shall have it within the hour."

"Thank you, sir. I can't tell you much this means to me. And it's been so... so good to see you again..." Harry's voice cracked and faltered, and he cringed as he felt tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. He had known that this would be tough – seeing Dumbledore again. Harry's heart ached just knowing that there was nothing he could do to save his mentor. Dumbledore would meet his end atop that Astronomy Tower, no matter what Harry said or did to try and prevent it.

As several frustrated tears fell from his grey eyes, Harry was once again surprised to see the majestic phoenix circling him. He reached out to welcome Fawkes, who settled onto his arm. The bird dipped its beautiful scarlet head down and nuzzled Harry's cheek affectionately.

"He is very fond of you, Gray," The Headmaster noted, "Evoking that kind of loyalty from a phoenix is... quite rare."

"It's strange actually. It's almost as though... it's almost like he recognizes me," Harry commented, "But that can't be. Can it? I knew him in my time, but our meeting hasn't even occurred for him yet."

"Ah... but it has," Dumbledore responded, a knowing smile adorning his lined countenance, "The phoenix's timeline is cyclical, Gray. It does not run parallel with our own, which is woefully straight and unyielding. The phoenix's reality overlaps itself in a never-ending, constant revolution of time. Even the phoenix's repetitive pattern of life and death reflects this cycle. It dies in a fiery blaze, yet is reborn from its ashes only moments later. Therefore, it never truly dies and is never really born…. no definite beginning or end. Fawkes exists, at this very moment, knowing all that he will ever know and understanding all that he will ever understand. His magic is not simply restricted to healing wounds with his tears, inspiring hope through his song and lifting heavy loads, my dear boy. His most valuable gift is his immense capacity to _remember_ and to _understand_. A phoenix _remembers_ all that has occurred and all that is yet to occur, and it _understands_ those individuals whose intention is derived from love and loyalty – _understands_ them and _answers_ their call for help… which is why he knows you and why he so readily comes to you when you are in need of him."

Harry looked down at the magical bird still perched on his forearm, and peered into its dark, expressive eyes. Fawkes returned his gaze with a fathomless depth of knowing that seemed to reach well beyond time and reason.

"You know what's going to happen to Snape, don't you?" Harry whispered to the phoenix in a hushed voice. Fawkes simply cocked its vermilion head, emitted a low trilling chirr from his golden beak and nestled against Harry's cheek once more.

"Well, I think it's time we get you settled into your new dorm, Gray," The Headmaster announced, "I will call for your Head of House to escort you to the dungeons. Professor Slughorn has opted to patrol the corridors instead of attending today's Quidditch final, so I'm quite sure he will be easily located."

Harry watched as Dumbledore raised his wand, called forth his distinctive Patronus and articulated his message to the argent phoenix guise. When he had finished, he promptly turned toward Harry and pierced him with a solemn expression.

"Gray... I hope you understand that the events of the future cannot be changed... the incidents that you know, without question, to have occurred _will_ occur. You have no power to change them. You have told me that Severus was attacked by a snake... this event is invariable. You cannot alter it."

"Yes, sir. I do know that. The problem is... I'm not sure how I'm supposed to save him if... if I can't stop the attack. Maybe if I just tell him what is going to happen..."

"No. You mustn't. If you were to warn Severus that he is destined to endure a vicious, life-threatening attack by a giant snake, he will undoubtedly do everything in his power to avoid such an incident. Which, of course, will be to no avail. It will happen. The only thing you would succeed in doing would be to negatively alter his state of mind, encouraging obsessive fear and paranoia. Throughout history, many wizards and witches have meddled with time in order to change an unpleasant event, and while their intentions may have been good, they only ever succeeded in causing others to go quite mad. And in the end, the undesirable event occurs as it was fated to. However, if what you have described to me is true, and Severus' body disappeared without a trace, then you are correct in believing that Severus may have survived by your interference. But you must not achieve your aim by revealing too much to him."

"Then... how do I...?"

Harry's question was interrupted by a firm knock on the heavy oak door.

"Enter," Dumbledore's responded while swiftly conjuring a backpack, placing _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ and Harry's Elder wand inside and handing the bag to Harry.

"You wished to see me, Albus?" came the jovial voice of Horace Slughorn, looking almost the same as he did in Harry's time, round-bellied and walrus-mustached, but with fewer lines around his eyes and perhaps a slightly less corpulent appearance.

"Yes, Horace. I have a new student for you," the Headmaster announced as he gestured toward Harry, "Gray, this is your Head of House, Professor Slughorn. Horace, this is Gray Skye. He will be completing his seventh year here at Hogwarts."

"Pleased to meet you, Professor," Harry said, offering the professor his hand to shake. Slughorn took it amicably, shook it in greeting, then turned his attention back to Dumbledore.

"Albus… a seventh-year transfer... this late in the year? NEWTs are only a few weeks away. Will he be able to cope with the rigorous course load?" Slughorn questioned.

"Horace, I have complete faith in young Mr. Skye here. He was previously home-schooled, and he is well up to the level of our seventh-year curriculum. Have no worries, my good man," Dumbledore conciliated, a small smile playing about his features as he discreetly gave Harry an inconspicuous wink.

"Now, if you'll be so kind as to escort Mr. Skye to his new dormitory and get him settled in, I would be most grateful," He continued, "And, Gray... if you should need me... my door will always be open to you."

"Thank you, sir."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

Harry was vaguely aware that Professor Slughorn was speaking throughout the entirety of their walk down to the dungeons. However, he caught only snippets of the man's monologue... something about having to be careful about the trick step on the third-floor staircase and that lunch is always served in the Great Hall beginning at noon...

For the most part, Harry could not concentrate on the trivial lecture. He could think of nothing but the events of the last half hour.

His meeting with Professor Dumbledore had been... illuminating... to say the least and Harry's brain hurt every time he tried to comprehend the vast profundity of their conversation. He had, without intending to, divulged to the Headmaster much about the future that he probably should have kept quiet. Just knowing that Dumbledore was now aware that Harry will become the Elder wand's newest master was overwhelming. He was completely dazed by the fact that the man now had knowledge that horcruxes will play a significant role in the ongoing war.

But, Harry mused, this has always been the case. All of this had already occurred before Harry's time. He shivered as he suddenly realized... Dumbledore had always known. _Always_. He knew Harry would become the Elder wand's master because of the conversation they had just had in his office... and he was first clued in to the idea of horcruxes, because Harry showed him that book with all those markings. Even the fact the Harry had travelled back in time following the conclusion of the war, revealed to the Headmaster that Harry was successful in surviving that final showdown with Voldemort... years before the prophecy was foretold.

By the time Slughorn had led him to the Slytherin common room, Harry was so deep into his own thoughts that Slughorn had to call his name several times before he was pulled from his intense reverie.

"Mr. Skye?"

"Yes... sorry, sir. What were you saying?"

"I was just informing you of the password. Currently, it is _Puritatem_, however it changes weekly. The prefects take turns generating new ones. And speaking of prefects," Slughorn proclaimed as he swept in through the entryway, Harry following in his wake, "Ah... Mr. Snape! I see you have, once again, elected to study in seclusion instead of joining your fellow classmates out on the pitch. Pity... it appears to be quite a game, if the volume of the crowd is anything to go by."

As soon as Harry heard Snape's name, he rapidly scanned the room, eager to lay eyes on Snape. He wasn't difficult to spot. Curled up on a black leather settee by the hearth, eighteen-year-old Severus Snape sat alone, reading his Advanced Potion-Making text. His head was lowered in rapt consternation and his lank, ebony hair hung on either side of his pallid face, concealing his expression from view. It wasn't until Slughorn had finished speaking that Snape's obsidian eyes slowly lifted and locked onto Harry's smoky grey ones.

"Mr. Snape, may I introduce you to our newest member of Slytherin House... Gray Skye," Slughorn announced, "He will be completing his seventh year with us."

Snape closed his Potions book, stood up from the settee and crossed the room, his hand outstretched in greeting. Harry reached for his proffered hand, grasping it firmly in his own. Snape's long, thin fingers wrapped around the back of Harry's hand and lingered, touching lightly.

Harry stifled a soft gasp as he felt his pulse speed up and an unexplained weakness overtake him. He wasn't certain exactly what had caused his extreme reaction. Perhaps it was because the last time Snape had touched him so tenderly... he was dying amid a pool of blood.

"Well then, I'll just leave you two. I must get back to patrolling the halls. I'll see you in class, Mr. Skye," Slughorn added in valediction.

Neither Harry nor Snape returned his farewell as he departed from the common room. Both boys stood motionless, hands still entwined, eyes locked on one another.

Snape's dark, cavernous eyes were narrowed, and he gazed upon Harry with a suspicious, guarded expression, the deep, tenebrous eyes roving over Harry's features warily. Slowly, their hands broke apart, Snape's fingers brushing alongside Harry's as they withdrew.

Harry dropped his gaze and stared, unseeing, at a nondescript spot on the stone floor, as an unwelcome blush crept across his face.

"Who are you... really?" Snape asked, a low, hushed timbre to his voice.

"What...?" Harry replied as his head snapped back up, "What... what do you mean?"

"You're... nervous," Snape explained, "And you've arrived here with just two months remaining in the term... only three weeks prior to our NEWT exams. It's... odd. Not to mention... I can tell you're using a glamour charm on yourself."

Snape raised a pale hand and placed the tips of his long fingers to Harry's left temple, embedding them into strands of Harry's hair and carding through them languidly until the ends of the brown locks slipped past his wandering fingers and fell back beside Harry's face, "There is auxiliary magic here... and here..." he added as he swept one finger along the skin above Harry's left eye, causing his lids to fall and his breath to hitch at the soft touch.

"...and here," He finished as the same finger glided across Harry's forehead and lingered where the lightening-bolt scar had been only an hour before.

"You are... hiding something," Snape whispered charily.

"S-S-Severus... I... I am concealing my true identity … and there is a lot that I can't tell you... but..." Harry stammered, "...but I promise you... it's for a good reason. You... you can trust me, Severus."

"I don't believe Professor Slughorn referred to me by my given name, Mr. Skye..."

Harry swallowed hard past the lump in his throat as he realized that Snape was right. Slughorn hadn't called Snape by his first name. Just as Harry opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to explain away his blunder, he noticed that Snape's attention was now fixed upon the feather pendant around his neck. Obsidian eyes widened and, after only a brief moment, returned to stare deeply into grey eyes.

"Do you... do you know what this is?" Snape whispered, voice trembling.

Harry was taken aback, not by the question, but by the abrupt change in Snape's features. His guarded, reticent expression had melted away, replaced with a vulnerable openness, his eyes radiating a fragile inner beauty and an abiding warmth. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he gazed into those eyes, momentarily losing himself in their fathomless depths.

"Yes..." Harry answered softly, "Yes... it's a Chatham raven feather."

"Who gave this to you?" Snape whispered, his words were almost inaudible, his voice quavering with overwhelming emotion.

"You, Severus... you gave it to me."

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Well guys, I seem to be consistently ahead of my own schedule. I'm not sure if that will continue, as August is my busiest month. However, I promise that I will do my very best to post updates in a timely manner.

And to all my fellow Snarry lovers out there, it will primarily be our two favorite characters from here on out. This chapter, very Dumbledore-heavy in content, will not be the norm. But, of course, it was essential to my story.

I'm giving myself a deadline of August 4th for the next chapter... but hopefully, I'll get it done before that time.

A HUGE thank you to **YenGirl** for helping me with this chapter! I really appreciate your assistance. :)

**Please Review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four -**

**Fractured and vacant, I stand before you,**

**Benighted by fate's callous providence**

If Harry could have gone back two minutes into the past, just to rescind his impetuous reply, he would have. The instant those truthful words had fallen from his lips, he knew he'd made a mistake. It was evident from the other boy's sharp intake of breath and the widening of his anxious, ebony eyes, alerting Harry to the seriousness of the situation; Snape had not reacted well to his honest response.

Snape continued to stare at Harry with a stunned expression on his pale features. Undisguised fear and panic emanated from the enigmatic depths of his dark eyes, leaving Harry feeling pained and breathless.

After a tense moment of prolonged stasis, Snape's trembling hand relinquished its tight hold on the feather pendant. Obsidian eyes maintained their unwavering focus into apprehensive grey ones even as their owner took several unsteady steps backwards, withdrawing from Harry. Their intense reciprocal gaze ended only when Snape spun around and raced from the common room.

"Severus! Wait! Please... I... I'm sorry..." Harry cried out, but it was in vain. Snape had already made his precipitous retreat.

"Damn it!" he cursed, furious with himself for his monumental foolishness. He never should have disclosed so much, so soon. Of course Snape would be unnerved by a total stranger telling him that he'd done something he had no recollection of doing.

Harry winced when he remembered the nervous, vulnerable look on Snape's face while he was examining the raven feather. He looked so open… so exposed… and there was such an honest, almost innocent expression in his dark eyes.

One that Harry had destroyed in an instant, leveled to the ground by a few poorly chosen words.

Harry threaded his fingers through his hair, scraping his nails along his scalp in agitation as he considered his next move. He thought of going after Snape. Maybe he could mend the damage caused by his rash confession if he had the opportunity to explain. But explain what, exactly? It had been the truth.

Despite his escalating frustration and his desire to put things right, he resigned himself to wait. Snape would return at some point and, after all, Harry did have time. He would be spending an entire month here.

For now, he secured his backpack over his shoulder and made his way down the narrow stretch of corridor branching out from the main room, in search of the seventh-year boys' dormitory. He found it easily and, once inside, had little trouble locating his assigned four-poster. Out of all five beds in the small space, his was the only one without a garish green and silver bedspread. A simple khaki-colored comforter was set atop his bed, embellished by a few dark green pillows and a beige throw.

An amused simper curved Harry's lips as he reflected on the variance, almost positive it was Dumbledore's contribution. He was certain the man was insightful enough to know a fellow Gryffindor when he saw one. The conspicuous lack of Slytherin flamboyance on the bed was a testament to that.

Harry directed his gaze to the foot of his bed where a brand new school trunk had been placed, the initials of his newly-fabricated name inscribed on the front in gold lettering. He opened the heavy chest and marveled at its teeming contents. Inside was everything he would need for his impromptu stay. The topmost layer consisted of various textbooks, a number of potion-making ingredients, two heavy cauldrons, one pair of dragon-hide gloves, a few quills and several rolls of parchment. Harry dug further and found an extra set of school robes, along with several articles of casual clothing and a small bag filled with personal items.

At the very bottom of the case, a glimmer of silvery material caught his eye. Harry seized the fluid cloth and pulled it out, staring at it in wonder. His other hand reached around to feel the back pocket of his jeans. When he couldn't find it, he remembered that his clothes had been transfigured into school robes earlier. The cloak and the Hawthorn wand must have been left behind in the Headmaster's office.

Frantically, Harry searched the rest of the trunk, rifling through the remaining items until at last, he found the missing wand. Breathing an enormous sigh of relief, he pulled it out. While repacking the trunk, he found an envelope addressed to him that he hadn't noticed earlier.

Inside were two pieces of folded parchment. Harry opened the first one which contained rows of familiar, narrow and loopy handwriting.

_Dear Mr. Skye,_

_I hope you will find the contents of this trunk more than adequate to sustain your sojourn with us. In addition to those items you requested, I took the liberty of returning to you the two objects you left in my office. I caution you to be most careful with one of those items in particular, Mr. Skye, for I believe its significance is paramount._

_Enclosed with this letter is your course schedule. Considering your goal while staying here, I took it upon myself to assign you the mirror of Severus' schedule. I daresay it should prove quite a challenge, as young Severus always opts for a rigorous course load._

_If you should need anything at all, please do not hesitate to seek my assistance. Severus is an exceptional young man, and his welfare is of the utmost importance to me. I wish you luck as you endeavor to safeguard his future._

_Prior to your departure from my office, you had asked me how it would be possible to save Severus if you are unable to reveal details regarding his impending attack. To that I can only offer one piece of advice..._

_...follow your heart._

_The simplicity of this counsel may not alleviate your distress right now, but there may come a time when its meaning will inspire understanding._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry's eyes narrowed in confusion after reading the Headmaster's ambiguous advice... _follow your heart_. He couldn't imagine how he could find the answer to Severus' survival in those three simple words. He sighed in discontent, placed the letter back into the envelope and unfolded the second piece of parchment containing his course schedule.

**Monday, Wednesday and Friday:**

8:00-9:50am – Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts

10:00-11:50am – Advanced Ancient Runes

12:30-2:20pm – Advanced Potions

2:30-4:20pm – Advanced Arithmancy

**Tuesday and Thursday:**

8:00-9:50am – Advanced Charms

10:00-11:50am – Advanced Transfiguration

12:30-2:20pm – Elective Potions - Mastery Prep

2:30-3:20pm – Care of Magical Creatures

3:30-4:20pm – Advanced Herbology

8:30-9:50pm – Advanced Astronomy

"Holy shit, Snape!" he exclaimed, gaping at the near impossible workload. The last time he had seen a schedule this demanding it had been during his third year, and Hermione had only managed it with the aid of a time-turner.

Harry scanned the itinerary again to make certain there were no overlapping classes and was relieved to note that they obeyed the constraints of time. His eyes went back to the second of two Potions classes, _Elective Potions - Mastery Prep_.

"Oh, bloody hell. How am I supposed to maintain appearances in _that _class?"

The very idea of taking a Mastery Potions class made him qualmish with dread. The only time he had ever excelled in Potions was when he was in possession of the Half-Blood Prince's textbook. Since the book in question was currently with its rightful owner, and that particular person was not even speaking to him at the moment, he supposed his chances for academic success in that subject were not good.

Harry's stomach twisted even further when his attention was drawn to the two courses he had never even studied before: _Arithmancy_ and _Ancient Runes_. Harry hoped that Snape would warm up to him soon; it was clear he was in way over his head.

Disregarding the daunting schedule for the time being, Harry focused on those basic needs he'd been neglecting all day... or more truthfully... all year. He was in desperate need of food and sleep. Even more pressing than either of those necessities though, was his fervent desire for a hot, thorough shower.

The Headmaster may have been successful in ridding him of the overt layers of blood and grime staining his skin, but he still felt their vile presence. He yearned to expel the vestiges of Snape's struggle with death, even if all that remained of the ordeal was a lingering memory.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

Harry spent more than half an hour shampooing his hair and scrubbing his skin under the scalding spray. He couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed such a luxury. Walking back to the dorms, he marveled at his perfect eyesight, recalling how annoying it had been to make his way out of the steamy bathroom with fogged up glasses.

The inviting sight of his bed tempted him to give in to his crippling exhaustion and crawl into his four-poster, but Harry resisted, reminding himself that he needed to eat first. He rummaged through his trunk, pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a pale blue t-shirt and got dressed.

Spying a mirror hanging on the inside of the dormitory door, he took a moment to comb his wet hair, a task that had never been easier. The long, wavy brown locks were much more compliant than his unruly, ebony mop had ever been.

Resolving not to lose track of his possessions again, he added the invisibility cloak and the Hawthorn wand to his bag, hoisted it over his shoulder and made his way out of Slytherin territory.

The Great Hall was devoid of its typical commotion. Harry stopped by the Gryffindor table before catching his mistake and redirecting his course. The Slytherin table, like the other three, was also empty so he surmised that the Quidditch match must still be in progress. Still, there was a chance that Snape might turn up.

Luck was not on Harry's side, however. He ate his meal in solitude since Snape never appeared. The only soul in attendance was a bedraggled, mangy cat that looked like it could be a progenitor of Mrs. Norris. The unkempt creature leapt onto the Slytherin table and gave Harry's fish and chips an eager sniff before he shooed it away.

After spending far longer than necessary picking at the cooling remains of his lunch, Harry abandoned his pointless vigil. Once again, he considered giving up his search for Snape altogether in favor of submerging himself in the warmth of his new bed, but decided against it. The match would be ending soon. If he could just locate Snape before the students returned, perhaps he could have some time alone with him to set things right.

Harry left the Great Hall and strolled out into the grounds. His first thought was to check the beech tree near the Black Lake. He recalled from his rash excursion into the pensieve during his final disastrous Occlumency lesson, that Snape was partial to studying near that tree. Perhaps he frequented that section of the grounds. After all, it was a popular place to study. He, Ron and Hermione too had spent many afternoons under the shade of the same beech tree preparing for exams.

There was no one there, so Harry proceeded to scour the entire periphery of the lake, but again was unsuccessful. Snape was nowhere to be found.

His next idea took him to the Owlery. Of course, he had no idea if Snape would have kept his Chatham raven with the school owls, but it was at least worth a try. He was halfway to the Owlery when a distinctive caw, very unlike an owl's tranquil hoot and very like the sound a raven would make, issued from just beyond the Forbidden Forest's edge.

Changing his mind, Harry hastened toward the source of the noise. As he drew closer to the boundary of the forest, he could discern two voices beyond the first fringe of towering trees. After pausing to grab his cloak and throw it over himself, he continued his approach.

Just beyond a thick patch of dense wood, he came upon a clearing where the voices grew louder and more distinguishable, one unique voice resonating farther than the other.

"I'm tellin' yeh, Sev'rus. Yeh should give him a chance. Go back an' talk ter the boy. I reckon yeh could do with a friend. It just ain't right... yeh spendin' all yer time studyin' and lookin' after the thestrals."

"He was being deliberately deceptive, Hagrid... concealing his identity. For all I know he was a Death Eater on orders to recruit me."

"Oh come on, Sev'rus. Yeh know Dumbledore wouldn' let filth like tha' go ter Hogwarts."

"Yes... I suppose."

Harry listened to their conversation and watched the surreal scene with rapt attention. He never would have imagined this... Hagrid and Snape... engaged in friendly conversation. It reminded him of all those times he, Ron and Hermione had spent with the half-giant in his time.

Harry fixed his gaze upon Snape who was seated underneath a lofty tree and leaning back against its trunk. Snape's shoes were off and the cuffs of his trousers rolled up, exposing pale, slender ankles. Harry smiled as he watched Snape dig his toes into the earth, uprooting great clumps of dirt and driving them forward, creating long streaks in the soil.

Again, the caw sounded, reverberating throughout the hollows amid the forest's glade. Harry searched the skies for what sounded like a great bird, but snapped his focus back to Snape when the boy emitted a succinct clicking sound with his tongue.

Soon, a huge raven, its wing span at least three feet in length, emerged from within the thicket beyond and settled onto Snape's outstretched arm.

"An' yeh spend too much time with Solus, if yeh ask me," Hagrid added in a reproving tone. "A boy yer age should be makin' friends instead o' hangin' ou' with his familiar. Don' suppose yeh've spent time with anyone since... well, since Lily."

"Yes, well... perhaps I am better off alone, considering how well that friendship turned out," Snape said, a note of bitterness in his voice.

"Sev'rus, just go back an' talk ter the new boy. Here's yer chance ter make friends with someone who's not linin' up ter join You-Know-Who. And yeh said he seemed interested in meetin' yeh..."

"What I said was that he seemed _overly_ interested in meeting me. I don't know if I can trust him. He... he told me something that... that can't be true..."

"Well, whatever he told yeh couldn' be so bad tha' yeh ignore him and run off like tha'," Hagrid admonished, "Yeh're better than tha'."

Snape seemed affected by the scolding. He lowered his head as if in shame and gave a deep sigh.

Silence ensued as Snape stroked the lustrous black feathers of the raven on his forearm. Hagrid busied himself with pulling out huge chunks of raw meat from an enormous burlap sack and flinging them into the clearing.

"Well, tha' should do it. They'll be comin' fer sure with tha' lot."

Soon, Harry heard rustling sounds amongst the trees on either side of him and after a moment, several scaly, black creatures emerged.

The thestrals were cautious, approaching the offered meat with tentative steps. Once they began consuming the food, Harry saw a smaller head peer out from behind the dense trees. The creature stepped forward, shy and frail-looking, but maintained a cautionary distance from the others.

"There she is, Hagrid," Snape whispered, a smile lighting up his thin face as he gestured toward the horse-like beast.

Hagrid pulled a large glass bottle from a leather satchel around his neck. The container was filled with a dull glaucous-green liquid, thick and glutinous in appearance. He unstoppered the bottle and poured half of the viscid fluid into a pail set beside the burlap sack.

"Yeh give it ter her this time, Sev'rus. I have ter see abou' tha' injured unicorn. Yeh'll be alrigh' by yerself?"

"I always am."

A sorrowful look crossed Hagrid's face at Snape's response, but he said no more. Sighing deeply, he swung his now empty sack over his shoulder and left the clearing, disappearing within a mass of dense trees.

Snape ascended from his semi-reclined position under the tree, clicked his tongue again and launched the raven into the air with a swift upwards swing of his arm. He walked to the pail, picked it up and with slow, careful steps, approached the timid thestral.

Despite his caution, she seemed pleased to see him. Her head lifted as he drew near her and she spread her wings in a show of greeting and trust. As soon as Snape set the pail in front of her, she lowered her head and began to drink the thick concoction.

"There you go, girl. All of it this time, alright?" Snape murmured, his hand stroking her long, squamous neck while she drank, "We have to keep your strength up. It should be be any day now."

Harry watched as Snape's hand travelled down the thestral's back and then lower, touching her round, distended belly. It was only then that he realized the creature was expecting.

Snape continued his attentions. He knelt down beside the thestral and, with gentle hands, applied firm pressure to different parts of her swollen abdomen, as if checking that the unborn foul was positioned correctly. He gave a nod of satisfaction and returned to stand beside her while she finished her meal.

Harry wasn't even aware that he had taken off his cloak or that he had begun to inch closer to them. He was enthralled by the sight... and astonished by what he had just heard and seen. If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that he had an altogether different expectation of how the teenage Severus Snape would act. He assumed that the boy would be angry, bitter, hostile – much like the adult Snape. He imagined Snape to be immersed in the Dark Arts, eager to take the Dark Mark and join Voldemort.

The past few minutes were enough to convince Harry that he had been wrong. Wrong about everything concerning Snape.

"You're... so good with her." Harry whispered as he drew nearer.

Snape spun around, his eyes widening as he stared at Harry. After a moment, he returned his attention to the thestral. He said nothing as he stroked her back, yet Harry could see the tension constricting his features.

After a long pause, Snape finally spoke.

"You can see them?" he questioned, a tentative edge to his voice.

"Oh... thestrals? Yes," Harry replied, "A friend of mine died... was murdered... right in front of me. That was three years ago. I've been able to see them ever since."

Snape did not meet his gaze. His dark eyes remained fixed on the creature who was now nuzzling her skeletal snout into his chest. He only gave a slight nod in response.

"What about you?" Harry pressed.

The muscles along Snape's jaw tightened as he swallowed hard. Harry could almost feel his hesitation. Snape's inner struggle was evident as his tenebrous eyes drifted downward and the depth of his breathing shallowed. At last, he whispered his reply in a tremulous tone, still staring at the earthen floor.

"My mother. She... had an accident. I was twelve."

He looked up and his eyes, sentient with profound sorrow, locked with Harry's. There was a tenuous yearning for understanding reflected in the dark, cavernous depths.

Harry's heart clenched as he continued to stare into the shadowy orbs. A deep, hollow ache gripped him, and he blurted out the awful question before he could stop himself.

"It... it was your father. Wasn't it?"

Again, Harry knew he had gone too far when Snape's features changed at once, his open, vulnerable expression transforming into fear. He spun away from Harry, grabbed his shoes and ran from the glade without looking back.

Cursing, Harry snatched up his backpack and cloak and sprinted after him, determined not to lose the Slytherin again. He followed Snape through the thick wood and past the forest's fringe, calling out his name.

When he reached the open expanse of the grounds, Harry stopped abruptly and gasped. His eyes widened and his knees felt weak as he stared, open mouthed, at the scene in front of him.

Snape had halted his insistent flight. He stood paralyzed, a venomous leer of loathing etched on his features as he glared at the two boys facing him.

Sirius Black and James Potter had their wands trained on him, the gleaming Quidditch Cup lying forgotten on the grass beside them. Snape's long fingers were curled around his wand which hung loose at his side, his shoes haphazardly discarded alongside his bare feet.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here, James. It's _Snivellus_," Sirius taunted, a nasty, feverish look in his eyes.

Harry felt sick as Snape's memory from the pensieve came back to him in sharp clarity. The Gryffindors had pursued Snape then, too, taunting him to lessen their boredom. The similarity between this moment and that one was uncanny.

Harry reached into his bag and pulled the Hawthorn wand from its depths while he watched the scene evolve.

"Care to tell us what you were just doing in the Forbidden Forest? That's off limits, Snivelly," James added in a haughty tone. "I'm afraid I'll have to assume you were up to no good. Inventing Dark spells, were you? Or maybe you were just practicing the Unforgivable Curses..."

"He wasn't!" Harry spoke up as he approached the trio and moved to stand next to the Snape. Despite his oppressive anxiety, the Hawthorn wand remained steady in his fingers as he aimed it at the boy who would one day become his father.

"He was with Hagrid. He wasn't doing anything wrong," Harry insisted, his voice stable and calm, contrasting with his escalating emotions.

"Oh look, James! A new snake!" Sirius sneered, "And he's already hanging around with this slime. No doubt he's as Dark is Sinvellus. Let's teach him a lesson, shall we?"

An infinitesimal movement from James caught Harry's eye even though he was staring at Sirius. The incantation to the defensive spell was out of his mouth before the incoming jinx had been articulated to completion.

_"Levicorp–"_

_"Protego!"_

Harry's impenetrable barrier encompassed Snape and himself, the curse rendered impotent as it ricocheted from the protective boundary. When his shield dissipated, Harry stared at the Gryffindors. Their expressions were twisted in fury and frustration, and once again, he managed to divine the ensuing curse.

_"Furnuncul–"_

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

James Potter hit the ground with a resounding thud. He lay stiff and paralyzed beside the Quidditch trophy, his eyes wide with shock. Sirius dropped his wand and lunged at Harry with a howl of fury, fists tightly balled and knuckles white with rage.

_"Protego!"_

It was Snape this time. His face was taut with concentration as he struggled to prolong the spell. Sirius slammed into the protection's periphery and fell in an undignified heap across James' still immobilized form.

When Snape released the protection, Harry approached his father and godfather, feeling a bizarre mixture of sadness and anger. He knelt down and leaned in so that only they could hear him, and issued a cautionary threat they would not soon forget.

"Padfoot and Prongs... I know you. I know the vile bullies that you are now, and I know the men of honor you will one day become. You have goodness in your hearts, yet you waste your energy on taunts and jeers, predatory jinxes and hexes. There is a _war_ going on... every day people are _dying_... and you occupy your time with trivial grudges. You two're better than this. Grow up... and leave Severus and me alone."

Rising, Harry turned around to look for Snape, but the Slytherin was gone. Harry could just make him out in the distance nearing the front doors of the castle. He sighed in frustration and then returned his attention to the dazed visages of James and Sirius, offering them one last bit of advice.

"Oh, and by the way, you Marauders should really consider tidying up after yourselves following your little _monthly adventures_. The Shrieking Shack looks like shit."

Harry smirked as their mouths dropped open, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Ignoring their stunned expressions and irate stammering, he picked up his bag, hoisted it over his shoulder and made his way back to the castle.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

When Harry returned to the Slytherin seventh-year dorms, he could not find Snape anywhere. Rather than resuming the arduous task of hunting for him all over Hogwarts, he opted for sleep at last.

Overwhelmed and exhausted, he gave in to slumber's relentless lure, sinking into the warm, inviting bed. His mind, fraught with unremitting agitation and stress, slowly lost its tight hold on reality, as he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

It was dark when Harry awoke, eyes blinking open and feeling rather disoriented and apprehensive, his fingers groping for his wand. His sleep had been so sound that he wasn't sure where he was at first, his confused bearings flitting between Shell Cottage and the worn tent that he and his friends had called home for so many dreary months.

When the events of the past day came back to him, Harry froze. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself, breathing heavily as a torrent of memories rushed over him, dragging him into a whirlpool of profound relief, heart rending grief, crippling anxiety and provisional hope, until at last, he surfaced with his heart racing and adrenaline flowing through him, while the foremost desperate concern of saving Snape's life took precedence.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Harry opened his eyes, familiar determination stealing through him. He blinked to clear away the vestiges of sleep from his eyes and took belated stock of his surroundings. He didn't know what time it was, but the sounds of light snoring and deep breathing told him that the other beds were occupied and that it had to be late at night – seventh-year students weren't known for getting to bed early, especially with NEWTs just around the corner.

Although the room was tranquil and quiet, Harry felt uncomfortable, sensing a ubiquitous tension in the air. Something was not right.

He sat up, hand going to the nightstand to reach for his glasses in an autonomous motion before remembering that he didn't need them and wouldn't need them for the next month. Dismissing for the moment the vague idea of finding Dumbledore to learn that useful spell, Harry pulled open the silver hangings surrounding his four-poster and peered around the room.

The darkness pressed hard against his searching eyes, causing him frustration. He could only make out indistinct blocky shapes that had to be the other beds in the room. After a while, his eyes adjusted enough to the dim surroundings to discern that three of the beds had their hangings open, allowing Harry to see the vague semblences of their pale, nebulous faces, relaxed in sleep.

It was the bed nearest his that had its inhabitant hidden from view, its hangings fastened.

Harry crept out of his four-poster and approached the other bed. He felt a faint pulse of magic radiating just ahead of him, its fringe at the drapery's edge. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the silken silvery material and slowly pulled it aside. What he saw made him freeze in shock.

Snape was screaming. No sound could be heard, but his mouth was wide open and his entire face was screwed up in terror. Tears were streaming down his pale cheeks, his eyelids clamped shut and his dark orbs unseen.

Harry knew his own nightmares were bad, a part of him even wondering if he had ever looked like Snape appeared now, but Snape's seemed far worse. Harry's heart wept for him... for Severus... for this anguished soul... for this boy who had already suffered so much...

Panicked screams became audible, ringing against Harry's eardrums and almost sending him reeling, as he stepped closer and broke through the magicked boundary. He placed a knee on Severus' bed and leaned in towards him. Raising a hesitant hand, he rested it on a flushed, damp cheek, caressing the skin while soothing susurrations fell from his lips.

"Shhh... It's OK now. You're safe. Shhh..."

Harry's gentle touch and whispered words seemed to lessen Severus' distress. The fearful shrieks ceased, but tears continued to slide from his closed lids, his breathing still shallow and timorous.

Almost in a daze, barely conscious of anything except for the burning need to comfort, Harry ran his fingertips along the furrowed brow, lined with unease and pain, and then lower. His thumb swept across the porcelain skin of one cheekbone, trailing through warm tears, smoothing them, spreading them.

His roving fingers were interrupted when a trembling hand grasped his. Harry gasped, thinking that Severus had woken up and was about to hex him for his demonstrative behavior. He made to pull away, but the hand only gripped tighter, tugging at him.

Gulping, his breath coming out in shallow puffs, Harry allowed the desperate urging, leaning closer to the still sleeping boy. Their fingers laced instinctively, making Harry's breath hitch. He was so close now... so close he could feel Severus' breath, warm and insistent, brush against his lips. Harry stared, mesmerized as the heavy creases in Severus' brow smoothed, all tension melting away. The lips, once taut with strain from screaming, softened.

Staring at those lips made Harry's breath falter again, his pulse speeding up. All at once, Severus' intense memory came back to him. Harry's heart hammered in his chest as he remembered the image of the two boys clinging to one another in desperate longing, lips nearly touching, breathing in tandem, gazing into each other's eyes. He swallowed again and took a deep breath to calm his anxiety as a new and frightening awareness stirred in his mind.

He had known that he was Gray... and he had known that Gray and Severus had been in love... but he had never, not even once, allowed himself to put the two truths together. There were too many other issues that were more pressing at that time, such as wondering how he was going to go back in time, how he was going to function in the past for an entire month and how he was going to save Severus.

Now, however, that inexorable fate was undeniable. He could not contest the obvious any longer.

He and Severus were _destined_ to fall in love.

Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes, permitting the inevitability of this fact to permeate his mind and his heart, his entire being. His chest tightened, erratic breathing becoming even more so as he recognized the startling truth of the matter.

_He wanted it to happen._

The realization terrified him. His eyes snapped open and he stared down at Severus in utter shock. What was he thinking? He wasn't gay! This was impossible... ridiculous... absurd!

Harry knew he wasn't attracted to boys. His preference had always been girls. First, there was Cho and then there was Ginny. The deprecating thought that a total of two girls wasn't much of a sample size made him press his lips together and soldier on. Fleur Delacour – she too had roused his interest on a few occasions.

But not once had Harry ever felt longing for someone of his own sex. The truth of it made him nod to himself. So he couldn't be gay!

Could he?

Frowning, Harry considered the possibility that he could be bisexual, but that didn't make sense either. He just couldn't imagine feeling anything other than platonic interest for another male.

Without realizing it, Harry's gaze travelled back to his and Severus' clasped hands, fingers knitted together like those of lovers. He forced himself to take note of the persistent quiver in every breath he took and the erratic, heightened beat of his heart. Then he pondered the nervous excitement pooling in the pit of his stomach at the feel of Severus' hand clutching his.

They all pointed to one conclusion. Somehow... Harry _was_ attracted to Severus. Even more startling, despite the whirl of confusion inside his head, he longed to see this through, wherever it may lead.

He wanted to know this Severus Snape... this gentle, caring boy who didn't hesitate to tend to the needs of a frail creature... who stood in the face of a bully, his wand at his side, only drawing it in defense... who worried about the possibility of Death Eaters trying to recruit him... who cried out in agony, haunted by the ghosts of childhood demons.

Harry knew that it sounded crazy, that _he_ sounded crazy. The sleeping boy clutching his hand now would one day become the dour, bitter, wrathful Potions Master of Hogwarts! He was Harry's _professor_, for God's sake, and his treatment of Harry for the past seven years had been nothing short of repugnant.

It was unbelievable, even outrageous that Harry could even entertain thoughts of developing any sort of positive feelings for the man, let alone this powerful longing and physical attraction. Despite it all, he couldn't deny his profound connection with Severus. His heart ached for this boy and yearned for his regard... his affection... his touch.

The peaceful sight of the sleeping boy inspired another urge in Harry now, one he was just as powerless to resist. With his heart pounding away, half disbelieving and half fearful of what he was about to do, he brought the slender hand that was still entwined with his closer to him, brushing their interwoven fingers along the hard line of his jaw, relishing the feel of Severus' skin touching his.

Trembling and surprised at his own daring, Harry closed his eyes and turned his head to graze his lips across Severus' knuckles. His breath flitting over the rigid curves, he allowed his lips to part and then close again, leaving behind a gentle kiss on the pale skin.

A soft moan escaped Severus, jolting Harry from his dazed, enraptured state. He lifted his head just as slumbrous eyes blinked open.

Severus jerked upright, leaning back and snatching his hand free of Harry's fingers. The fear and confusion in his widened, red-rimmed eyes was enough to make Harry blush, still shocked and confused by his own actions.

"You! What... what are you doing?"

"You were having a nightmare, Severus. I... I was trying to help you," Harry explained, stumbling a little over his words, "You were... screaming. And I couldn't... I just couldn't let you go through that."

In the brief silence that followed, creaking bedsprings issued from the four-poster closest to Severus' bed as its occupant turned over in his sleep. Harry knew what the sounds meant.

"Your silencing charm has ended. Hold on..." he whispered. With light, deft steps, he hurried back to his own bed, grabbed the Hawthorn wand from under his pillow and returned to Severus who was still staring at him.

Harry hesitated for a moment before taking a seat at the foot of the bed. With his wand raised, he cast the spell to deaden sound and ensure privacy, one that he knew Severus would recognize.

_"Muffliato." _

Severus' eyes widened and then darted toward the lofty stack of books on his bedside table, where _Advanced Potion-Making_ was the topmost book. When he looked back, Harry did not allow time for questions. He looked straight into the cavernous, dark eyes, so filled with apprehension and unease, and met the impending inquiry head on.

"Severus, please listen to me... Yes. That was your spell, but no. I did not steal your book and look through it. I _know_ this spell... because I _know_ you. I know that you refer to yourself as the Half-Blood Prince. I know that you were once best friends with Lily Evans. I know that your father was horrible to you... is _still_ horrible to you... horrible enough to inspire these debilitating nightmares. And I know that one day... in the future... something bad is going to happen. I'm here to make certain that its imminent consequence is favorable. I know all of this because... I'm from the future."

At Snape's indrawn breath and panicked look, Harry paused, took a deep breath and added, "Look, I understand that it's hard to believe, but it's the truth. There's a lot I can't tell you... but I swear to you, Severus, I swear that you can trust me. Please tell me that you trust me."

The moment he finished his fervid speech, Severus' head lowered, eyes staring vacantly at his bedspread. He took several steadying breaths, ran his trembling fingers through his lank, ebony hair and then looked up, eyes alive with sentience, blazing with an impassioned veracity.

Harry's breath ceased for a moment, enraptured by the ardent emotion found within those shadowy depths. After a fretful silence, Severus' response manifested in a hesitant whisper.

"I... trust you. I don't know why exactly, but... I do."

Harry released a grateful sigh, almost collapsing onto the mattress in sheer relief. He allowed a tiny smile to grace his lips, knowing that his face was still flushed from his earlier thoughts and actions.

"But... why did you defend me?" Severus asked, eyes trained on his bed again.

"What... from Sirius and James? Why do you think I defended you? They were bullying you! You don't deserve that. I couldn't just stand by and let them..."

"Are you and I... close... in the future?" Severus interjected. Dark, avid eyes looked deeply into grey ones, longing for truth.

"No... we weren't. Not at all, but... well, we will be," Harry replied, feeling awkward. His voice quavered at the admission, and his last words were barely audible.

Again, he felt scorching heat rise in his cheeks as the memory of the two boys clutching each other in an impassioned embrace appeared in the forefront of his mind. He dropped his gaze as well, unaccustomed shyness returning in a sudden wave, deepening the color of his face and neck.

The ensuing silence prompted Harry to glance up, just in time to see one corner of Severus' mouth turning up in a slight smile. He blinked at the surprising change.

"You know, Gray, you were wrong about one thing," Severus said, a low chuckle issuing from his smirking lips.

"I most certainly would _never_ refer to myself as... the Half-Blood Prince... or whatever that self-absorbed, idiotic moniker was that you mentioned. For God's sake, Gray, where on earth did you get that inane idea?"

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Another early chapter! I just love beating my own deadline. :)

ETA for Chapter 5 will be August 12th, but you should know by now that it will probably be posted before that!

Again, special thanks to **YenGirl** for her incredible literary prowess. I could not have gotten through this chapter without her (specifically the final scene)!

**Please Review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five -**

**A simple caress of your hand awakens me**

"Wait… What? You're not…. I mean, you never... you _didn't_ come up with… You've never even _heard_ of..."

Harry realized he was spouting out incoherencies, but he found it difficult to control his disjointed stammering. His mind was reeling from this unexpected revelation.

Despite Harry's rambling, Severus answered his hard-to-follow inquests with a negatory head shake, a single raised eyebrow and a growing smirk of amusement, intimating the surprising truth.

He had no idea what Harry was talking about and had never referred to himself as the Half-Blood Prince... not yet, anyway.

Bemused grey eyes darted over to the Potions book in a nervous action, but snapped back after only an instant. The distrait movement did not go unnoticed. Severus mimicked Harry's furtive glance, his dark eyes seeking out the other boy's previous focal point. With narrowed eyes, Severus returned his attention to Harry, smirk still in place.

"My potions book?" he questioned, "Gray… I assume from your confounded expression and from that involuntary glance at my textbook, that you are under the impression that I've written this… Prince title… somewhere within its pages. I assure you… I haven't."

"Can... can I see it?" Harry requested, a growing sense of dread pervading his consciousness.

"I suppose. Am I correct in presuming that you've already seen this book… in the future?" Severus countered.

"Y-y-yes," Harry answered, stumbling over the single word acknowledgment. A part of his stunned brain marveled at how analytical the other boy's mind was, to have put two and two together and come to the correct conclusion so soon.

Throat tightening, heart hammering in his chest, Harry realized that he and Severus were entering into dangerous territory. The adult Professor Snape had almost caught Harry with the Half-Blood Prince's potions book back in sixth year. The professor had never actually _seen_ him with it, but he had known that Harry had been in possession of it at some point. Written upon one of its pages was the incantation to Professor Snape's own personal spell, _Sectumsempra_, and he had no trouble that day recognizing its vicious effects as Malfoy lay sliced open and bleeding to death on the cold, wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

The complex time conundrum weighed heavily on Harry as he considered the consequences of his current conversation with Severus. Was it foolish for Harry, as Gray, to admit to Severus now that he would have access to this book in the future? Would this admission cause the future Professor Snape to suspect that Harry Potter might be Gray Skye?

Harry took a deep breath to calm his escalating panic. There was no benefit in worrying about whether his current words and actions would cause his future Potions Professor to become suspicious decades from now since this conversation had already occurred for the man. The damage was already done. Still, Harry thought, he'd better be cautious.

Severus reached over to his bedside table and grabbed the topmost book from the towering stack. After a slight hesitation, he handed the book to Harry, his dark eyes keen with interest as he surveyed Harry's perusal of the text.

With trembling fingers, Harry rifled through the familiar hand-me-down book. Its pages were adorned with Severus' scribbled revisions and amendments, just as they had been in his time. When he reached the inside back cover, his eyes descended to the very bottom where he remembered the Half-Blood Prince's proprietorial statement to have been written.

The space was blank.

Harry was stunned. The significance behind this discovery made his head spin. If Severus hadn't thought up the 'Half-Blood Prince' title... if he'd never even_ heard_ of it until this moment... then the person responsible for introducing it to him... was Harry himself.

"Satisfied?" Severus commented.

Harry ignored Severus' remark while he thumbed back through the pages he had skimmed over moments earlier, wondering what else could be missing from the Half-Blood Prince's textbook. His frenetic search halted when he reached the page containing instructions on how to brew Felix Felicis. He turned the page, expecting to see the very spell that had gotten him into so much trouble in that bathroom a year ago.

A small gasp of astonishment escaped him as he scanned the unblemished page. The handwritten incantation _Sectumsempra_, along with its ominous description _For Enemies,_ was missing from the margin.

Severus had yet to invent it.

Harry looked up and peered into the dark eyes that were still trained on him, emanating a burning curiosity. Harry then looked down, gazing at the book in his hands while he considered how to word his next question. After only a brief hesitation, he plunged into his earnest inquiry.

"What spells have you invented, Severus... besides _Muffliato_?"

Severus narrowed his eyes at the bold question, but answered, most likely to pacify his own desire to understand.

"Just one other... _Levicorpus_. It causes one to be lifted in the air by the ankles. It's not entirely my greatest achievement as, unfortunately, Black came across the spell not long after I invented it in fifth year. I made the mistake of jotting it down on a spare leaf of parchment which I kept in my bag. That moronic, tag-along friend of theirs, Pettigrew, stole it out of my bag during class one day and gave it to Black. He and Potter have been casting it on anyone that annoys them ever since."

"So... just _Levicorpus_ and _Muffliato_... that's it?" Harry pressed, too anxious to brood on yet another example of the Marauders' sins towards Severus.

"Yes. Well... no, I had been working on another, but... it didn't go very well."

"What do you mean?"

"The spell was meant to be an advanced protection spell... for dire emergencies, you know, life-threatening situations. I thought it would be very useful during wartime. Except, I was unsuccessful in controlling the protective shield."

At Harry's furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, Severus expounded further.

"It's basically a shield charm, like _Protego_, but the actual surface of the shield is razor-sharp, like the blade of a knife. If your enemies attempt to penetrate the shield, they will get cut... and badly. However, every time I erect the shield, it does not maintain its form. Instead, it spreads out as if deliberately seeking to harm, slashing through the air like a whip at whomever is nearby. For this reason, I had to abandon the spell."

Harry stared at him, eyes wide and heart thudding away.

"Was it called... _Sectumsempra_?" he whispered.

Severus nodded, an astonished expression on his face. There was a long pause where they stared at one another, both caught up in the gravity of the moment, rendered speechless by the unnerving paradox of time.

Harry was shocked by Severus' initial intention for _Sectumsempra. _Regardless of how his adult self had used the spell in the future, the eighteen-year-old Severus Snape had only ever imagined it to be used as a means of defense, even giving up on the spell altogether when he couldn't maintain absolute control over it.

This was what surprised Harry the most, once again causing him to question what he thought he knew about the Slytherin. Harry had gone back in time expecting Severus Snape to be... well... the Half-Blood Prince... expert in potions, inventor of Dark spells, as much instigator as he was victim, left arm poised to take the Dark Mark.

For the second time today, he was forced to admit his ignorance.

To be fair, there were several valid reasons for Harry's assumptions. He recalled Sirius telling him once that Snape knew more Dark curses as a first-year than most seventh-years. Of course, that must have been an exaggeration. Harry hadn't really believed the slander when his Godfather had said it. Sirius had obviously been prejudiced by his childhood grudge.

However, that wasn't the only basis for his false presumption. Even those memories given to him by the adult Professor Snape in the Shrieking Shack indicated that the Slytherin had been immersed in the Dark Arts in his youth. Harry's own mother had implied as much when she argued with Severus the night following their OWLs.

As Harry reflected on that memory, he realized that it had occurred almost two years ago from this current time. That night when Severus had begged for Lily's forgiveness outside of the Gryffindor common room was at the end of their fifth year. It was obvious to Harry now that sometime between that moment and this one, Severus had taken on a different perspective. He wasn't the Dark Arts-loving, bitter, muggle-loathing pre-Death Eater portrayed in that memory.

He had changed.

Harry thought about his own experience with the current teenage Severus Snape. He recalled the confrontation by the Forbidden Forest only hours ago with his father and Sirius. Both Gryffindors had their wands leveled at the Slytherin, ready to instigate a fight at any moment, yet he stood down, his wand lowered by his side. Only when it appeared as though Harry was about to be attacked, did Severus take defensive measures.

Harry shook his head to clear it, a faint ache building behind his eyes. He pressed his fingers against his closed lids to temper the intensifying throb, while considering what to say next.

"I think..." Harry began, still rubbing his eyes, "I think maybe we should leave it here for now."

Blinking open his burning eyes, he saw the confusion still evident on Severus' pale face.

"Severus, is it alright if we... if we talk some more tomorrow?" he added, "I mean, you know, after classes?"

At Severus' nod of agreement, Harry began to rise from the bed, but was halted by the feel of gentle fingers wrapping around his wrist. Harry's head snapped back, grey eyes locking with obsidian ones.

"Gray..." Severus whispered, a slight tremble in his timbre, "Thank you... for... for helping me... during my nightmare."

Harry responded with a small smile and a nervous nod, cheeks flushed with sudden heat again as the memory of his lips against the pale knuckles sprang to mind. Severus' grip loosened, his long fingers unhurried as they withdrew from Harry's skin. Heartbeat speeding up at the soft caress, Harry forced his gaze downward, staring at the stone floor, hoping to conceal his rekindled blush.

Exhausted, his mind still reeling from their stunning conversation, Harry hastened back to his four-poster and climbed into the warm bed, eager for a few more hours of sleep. Once he was secured beneath the covers, he raised his wand and canceled the _Muffliato_ spell. Just as the spell's effects dissipated, Harry heard Severus chuckle, a faint utterance issued amid the quiet laugh...

"Half-Blood Prince... ridiculous."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

"Gray... Gray, wake up! God knows you've slept enough..."

"Huh? Wha– What time is it?" Harry mumbled through a sleep-induced fog, eyes squeezed shut and right hand fumbling about in search of his non-existent glasses. He wasn't coherent enough to register the use of his new name.

"It's seven-fifteen, and if you don't get up now you're going to miss breakfast as well as your first class... or should I say, _our_ first class."

Harry abandoned the fruitless search for his glasses and pushed himself up into a sitting position, blinking away the remnants of sleep. Once the world came into focus and his brain caught up with his vision, Harry peered up.

An annoyed Severus Snape was looking down at him with what looked like Harry's course schedule in his right hand, his arms folded across his chest and a glower of chagrin discernible on his pallid features.

"Why is it... that you seem to have the exact same schedule as myself? Coincidence, maybe? Or perhaps it was the brainchild of a certain jovial Headmaster who loves to have his hand in things."

Harry took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair, fingertips lingering on the unaccustomed length and softness, pondering exactly how much to disclose to Severus. He couldn't come right out and tell the boy that he was only here to make sure Severus survived a deadly snake attack two decades from now, but he had to tell him more than the ambiguous advisory he'd mentioned the night before.

"Severus, remember last night when I told you that I was here to ensure that a positive outcome is achieved following a terrible event?" he ventured at last.

After Severus' succinct nod, Harry continued, "Well, that future event... it involves you."

Dark eyes lowered, unseeing as they drifted back and forth along the floor by Harry's bed. Then Severus swallowed hard, released a shaky breath and lifted his gaze to meet Harry's again.

"So... you're here to... to help me?"

"Yes. That's why the Headmaster gave me the same schedule as you. I guess he thought it would be wise for us to... spend most of our time together."

Severus took another languid, steadying breath. He nodded before placing the schedule back on his bedside table. When he turned back around, Harry was startled to see that his expression had changed into one of sheer amusement, that familiar smirk lighting up his thin face.

"Mastery Prep Potions, Gray? I hope you realize there are only four of us in that class, and it's not even offered every year... not unless there are students who show an immense aptitude for Potion-Making," he goaded, smirk growing, "Do you think you can handle it?"

Despite the panic that should have swamped him at Severus' warning, Harry couldn't help but revel in the playful banter, enjoying the brilliant smile on Severus' face as he teased Harry. He was aware that his heart suffered two tugs at the same time; a pang at how Professor Snape in his time had never teased or even smiled like this, and a warmth at the impish expression and the spirited look in those dark eyes.

"Well... I don't have anything to worry about, do I?" Harry answered cheekily, "Not with the Half-Blood Prince by my side."

Severus' laugh was even better than Harry could have imagined it. Not that he had before the last twenty-four hours. All at once, that thin, pale face was rendered animated and full of life, low rumbling chuckles falling from those grinning lips. The tenebrous eyes were aglow with such welcome vivacity and emotion that Harry couldn't help but laugh along with him.

After a few moments, Severus somehow managed to formulate a directive, pulling both of them back to a semblance of normalcy.

"Come on, Gray. Get dressed. I'll wait for you in the common room."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

The moment they entered the Great Hall, Harry knew there would be trouble.

Sitting at the Slytherin table while surrounded by future Death Eaters was a challenge for which Harry had not been prepared. He had never given much thought to who the other Slytherins were during Severus' seventh year, but after sitting down with him at the far end of the table, Harry wished he had.

Every single eye at the table was leveled at him. A rigid silence ensued while they stared at him and followed his every movement.

Harry attempted to avoid the pressing weight of their penetrating glowers of instant mistrust and wariness, but found it almost impossible not to glance in their direction every few seconds. He noticed that Severus never once looked up from his plate. Harry was certain that the boy was aware of the overt glances in their direction, but whether it was because he was used to it or whether he was just skilled at ignoring uncomfortable situations, he wasn't sure.

Trying to serve himself some food under the strain of forced quietude and the tension of scornful looks, Harry was distracted by a flash a crimson near the entrance to the Great Hall. It was followed by an amiable laugh that seemed to permeate the vast room. He spun around in his seat and strained his neck to get a better look, an audible gasp escaping him when his eyes connected with the owner of that melodious sound.

Lily Evans, walking hand in hand with James Potter, strolled in through the open doors of the Great Hall, a magnificent smile lighting up her heart-shaped face. She seemed to bounce with every step, a ponytail of long crimson tresses swinging back and forth from where it was tied with a gold ribbon at the back of her head. Her brilliant, virescent eyes never left James' face as he continued to entertain her with conversation while making animated gestures with his free hand.

Harry knew he shouldn't be staring at her with every Slytherin at the table openly scrutinizing him, but he just couldn't stop, his eyes greedily drinking in the sight of his mother at the age of seventeen. Young... happy... lovely... _alive_. The last time he had seen her, just a mere day ago in the Forbidden Forest, she was but a whisper of life, an echo of spirit, called forth by the magic of the Resurrection Stone.

But right here, right now, in this very room, she was alive, breathing, bounding, laughing, full of vivacity and exuberance. The image nearly took Harry's breath away, his eyes gaining swift moisture, his throat swelling as he continued to watch her with rapt attention.

Harry's intense fervency was soon interrupted by a commanding voice issuing from the opposite end of the Slytherin table.

"Snape... who's your friend?"

Harry tore his gaze away from Lily to see the questioner ascend from the table and approach him and Severus, striding toward them with a confident, intimidating gait. He was a tall, brawny boy with chiseled features and a fake grin that seemed out of place amid his arrogant, haughty expression. His auburn hair was perfectly parted and well-groomed, and his teeth were a gleaming white, giving him the unmistakable look of an affluent Pureblood heir that had been pampered since the day he was born.

As the boy neared them, Harry stole a quick glance at Severus who shook his head an infinitesimal amount. That told Harry all he needed to know; this was not someone to underestimate.

"This is Gray. Gray Skye. He will be finishing his seventh year with us," Severus informed in a monotone voice. The muscles around his jaw were tight and his gaze was cast down, eyes averted from the boy as he replied. It was obvious that Severus was uncomfortable in this boy's presence and his anxious, tense aura put Harry on guard even more than he had been.

"Well, Gray, welcome to Slytherin house. I'm Avery. Caedis Avery."

"Avery, pleasure to meet you," Harry answered in a short, clipped tone as he stood up and shook the outstretched hand in mock formality.

Meeting Avery's cold, blue eyes with his own unwavering gaze, recognition came to Harry at last. He felt every muscle in his body stiffen and he pursed his lips together, willing himself not to say something he would regret. He knew what the future held for this pompous, overindulged boy.

Avery would one day become a vicious Death Eater. He was in the graveyard the night Cedric was murdered, and he fought alongside Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries.

At that thought, another scene from Professor Snape's memories surfaced in Harry's mind, Lily accusing Severus of being friends with Avery. However, if current tensions were anything to go by, that friendship had now dissolved.

"I take it from your lack of accent that you're local. Home-schooled, were you?" Avery asked.

"Yes, I was," Harry replied, his muscles still taut with the strain of concealing his anger, his voice flat.

"What changed? I mean, it's a little late to alter your method of education," Avery pressed, eyes narrowing in suspicion, as well as agitation at Harry's unfriendly tone.

"I... well, my parents... they had to..." Harry stammered, frantic to find a believable explanation but coming up with nothing.

"His parents are healers, Avery," Severus announced, turning at last to face the interrogator, "They recently were called upon to assist in the opening of that new Wizarding hospital in Germany, Barmherzigkeit Klinik. They will be out of the country until the end of July."

"Healers, huh? Hmmm... Skye... I don't know any British Pureblood wizards by that surname, Gray. You _are_ a Pureblood, aren't you?"

Harry's eyes widened only for the briefest of moments. Harry glanced at Severus again, hoping his ability to fabricate falsehoods under pressure would continue.

"Not that it is any of your business, Avery, but his father is part of a very old, well-established Norwegian Pureblood family," Severus added, his tone cool and calm, even as his deception deepened. "Gray's mother is British, and I think you'll find her line is quite pure. I take it you've heard of the Prewetts?"

Avery's disdainful expression transformed into one of mild interest upon hearing the details of Gray Skye's blood status. His cold, disapproving blue eyes turned away from Severus and focused instead on Harry, looking him up and down. Their probing gaze, narrowed in circumspection, scanned him as if searching for flaws on which to pass judgment. After a moment, Avery turned back to Severus, a malicious grin in place.

"So, Snape... your new friend is a Prewett. Considering the whole line of Prewetts are known blood-traitors, I'm not so sure he's much better than that filthy mud-blood girl you used to..."

Harry was on his feet in an instant, his wand leveled at the Slytherin's smirking face. Blinded by fury, he pondered the incantations to a hundred different hexes as he struggled to manage his overwhelming rage. He wasn't even aware that he was trembling until Severus grabbed his wrist, steadying his tremors.

"Gray... no... don't..." Severus whispered, applying firm pressure on Harry's wrist, coaxing his arm down.

"Bravo, Mr. Skye," Avery praised, his hands clapping together in a slow, mock applause, "I knew we'd get there in the end... and I must compliment you on your choice of friends... Snape's a fucking blood-traitor too."

Avery turned from them, an amused chuckle escaping him as he strolled back to join the others. Every one of the Slytherins had been watching the scene unfold and was now laughing along with him, their chortling interjected with snide taunts and jeers of ridicule, while those from the other tables stared wide eyed at Harry for having pointed his wand at the burly Slytherin.

"Severus... I'm sorry... I shouldn't have reacted like that, I just..." Harry began, belated chagrin tempering his rage, along with thankfulness that his future parents were seated at the other end of the Gryffindor table and had not heard the interchange.

"No, you shouldn't have," Severus interrupted in a curt tone.

The two ate in silence after that. Harry was convinced he had wrecked his tentative friendship with Severus and spent the next twenty minutes or so swallowing food he had no appetite for while trying to figure out if Severus would ever speak to him again.

When most of the Slytherin students had left the Great Hall and the table only consisted of the two of them and a few first-years, Severus turned to Harry, fixed him with a penetrating stare and spoke in a hushed, yet urgent undertone.

"Gray, you must be very careful around Avery. He, Mulciber and Rosier are designated to be Marked as soon as they graduate. You must control your rage around them, _especially_ if your anger is directed at them for their bigotry. Their families are extremely powerful, and their influence is far-reaching. The lie about your status as a blood-traitor is just deprecating enough for it to be believable, but I caution you to keep your mouth shut around them at all costs. Being a Pureblood in Slytherin will keep you from being harmed, even if your family are known blood-traitors, but _not _if you continue to pull that Gryffindor shit!"

"Gryffindor? I... I'm not... I..."

"Oh for God's sake, Gray, I spent most of my childhood as a Gryffindor's best friend. I know one when I see one. You're about as Gryffindor as they come."

At Harry's look of outright astonishment, Severus got up from the table, threw his bag over his shoulder and turned back around to face Harry, a wide grin lighting up his features.

"Come on. Defense Against the Dark Arts starts in five minutes. I suppose if yesterday's confrontation with Potter and Black is anything to go by, you should be able to get through it well enough with little assistance from the Half-Blood Prince!"

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

"...as you all should well remember, today's lesson will be a continuation of Friday's practical. In just a few minutes, I will ask you to break up into your assigned pairs to work on casting a nonverbal defensive shield. Just as we did last week, I will ask one of your pair to cast the shield, nonverbally of course... and, no Miss Greengrass, whispering does _not_ count as nonverbal... while the other will cast a few minor jinxes at their shield. Then you will switch."

"Now then, we do have a new member of our class today... Mr. Skye, is it?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, trying hard to maintain eye contact with the Defense Professor. It was difficult considering the Marauders and Lily were also in this same class. His heart was nearly beating out of his chest at the sheer unbelievable irony of the situation.

"Mr. Snape, since I usually partner with you due to the previous odd number of students, I think it will work out nicely if you and Mr. Skye pair up for the remainder of the term."

Professor Gazzoni bid all the students out of their seats, and with a swift flick of his wand, relocated the desks to sit in neat rows along the back of the classroom. As the students formed their pairs and proceeded to separate areas around the room, Severus made his way to the very back corner, beckoning Harry to follow with a slight jerk of his head.

"I will be circulating around the room to check on your progress, class, so you'd best be productive the entire time," Professor Gazzoni announced, "You will have fifteen minutes for this exercise, and if all goes well, we will have another go at the Patronus charm."

At the professor's words, there was a collective groan. It was obvious that the students were not looking forward to working on their Patronuses. Harry wholeheartedly agreed, though for a different reason.

The very idea of conjuring his Patronus in front of his future parents, whose doe and stag Patronuses were the reason his was a stag, was terrifying. After yesterday's face-off with Sirius and his father, Harry was certain the Marauders were wary of him since he had not held back in implying that he had inside knowledge about them and their secrets. He was certain they had no idea that Harry was James' and Lily's future son, but casting the silver stag in front of them would give them a huge hint.

Harry also didn't want Severus to see his Patronus. Severus' Patronus was a doe, the exact replica of Lily's because he had loved her, a love so enduring that he had cast nothing but the argent doe throughout the entirety of his life. If Harry were to cast his stag here... now... in front of all of them... the repercussions could be nothing short of disastrous.

Harry's utter panic must have been blatant, because when he peered over to look at Severus, the dark eyes were narrowed in keen interest, one corner of his mouth upturned into a crooked simper.

"Worried about casting a Patronus, Gray?" Severus inquired.

"Actually, yes. I... I don't think it's a good idea for... certain people to see it," he replied, his eyes darting around the room in search of his future parents and the Marauders.

"Are you worried about your specific Patronus being recognized in the future?"

"Um... yes. And... well... my Patronus might... well... uh... correlate with someone else's here..." Harry added, fumbling over his words.

There they were – his young parents-to-be were in the far corner of the classroom diagonally opposite from him and Severus. Remus and Sirius were directly beside them. Remus' young appearance and less lined face gave Harry's heart another pang. He turned his attention to the first couple and watched as Lily had no problem holding her defensive shield while James threw a series of stinging hexes at it.

"Professor Gazzoni is heading our way. Cast your shield," Severus directed.

Harry spoke the incantation in his head, and at once, his shield formulated. Severus hurled a powerful jelly-leg jinx at the center of the barrier, just as the professor reached them. The curse dissolved on impact. Professor Gazzoni gave an affirmative nod in acknowledgment, then moved on to the next closest pair, which happened to be Avery and another Slytherin boy. Harry suspected it was either Rosier or Mulciber, but wasn't certain which one.

With the professor's attention diverted, Severus continued their previous conversation in a low voice.

"Listen, Gray... you have little to worry about in this class. Out of the sixteen students here, there are only four who have been successful in producing a fully-fledged, corporeal Patronus. Does your Patronus take the form of a common creature or a magical creature?"

"It's a common creature... but what does that have anything to do with..."

"Patronuses that take on the form of a magical creature are quite unusual. Professor Dumbledore's is a phoenix. That is exceptionally rare. If you had told me that yours is a magical creature, like his is, I would advise you not to cast the charm. However, if it is a common animal representation, as you say it is, then you shouldn't have anything to fear. Duplicates are not so uncommon."

"Really?" Harry asked, feeling a bit more at ease with the idea, "So... who can cast one here?"

"Remus Lupin can, that's the boy working with Black. His is a wolf. And both Sean Smith of Hufflepuff and Kelly Thompson of Ravenclaw can produce one. Coincidentally, they produce the same Patronus, a tiger," Severus informed him.

"Oh... the two that produce the tiger... are they... are they together?"

Obsidian eyes narrowed in an instant, fixing Harry with an unusual glare.

"No, Gray, I told you... it is merely a coincidence that both of their Patronuses take on the same form. But if it were not, I would certainly expect you to ask me if they were related... not if they were in a relationship. You do understand the theory of how a Patronus gets its form... don't you?"

"Well... yes. A Patronus either takes a form based on its caster's inner spirit, which is called the true Patronus, or it can replicate the Patronus of either a family member or someone they are in love with..."

"No," Severus interjected, "That last part is not correct."

"What? Yes, it is," Harry argued, "I know of... two instances where someone's Patronus took on the form of someone they were in love with..."

"No, that's not how it works. You are mistaken. The Patronus can only ever take on the replica form of another if it is a coincidence, as in the case of Smith and Thompson, or if the two people are part of the same immediate family, usually passed down from parent to child."

"B-but..." Harry spluttered, confused by this information, "But... I thought..."

"The two instances of which you had referred, are you certain they were the _exact_ same Patronus?" Severus asked.

Harry thought back to the first time he'd ever encountered this situation. It was when he'd seen Tonks cast her Patronus at the beginning of sixth year. Hers had changed its form in accordance with her growing feelings for Remus, and it took on the form of a wolf.

Lowering his head and squeezing his eyes together to heighten his recollection, Harry attempted to formulate an accurate picture in his mind of what Tonks' wolf Patronus looked like. His eyes snapped open when the details of that memory became more pronounced. He _was_ mistaken. It wasn't a wolf... not exactly. It was a werewolf.

"Oh... wait... I guess I was mistaken about one of those situations. They... they weren't exact replicas, but they were... similar..." Harry expounded.

"Yes. That's how romantic love affects a Patronus' form. If two people are in love, and only if that love is shared between true soul mates, then one of the lovers' Patronuses will change to a form that _complements_ the other. _Complements_, Gray, not _replicates_."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion as he pondered this new information. It did make sense in the case of Remus and Tonks. Tonks' Patronus was a werewolf and Remus' was a wolf – complementary creatures. Now that he thought about it, this idea held true for his mother and father as well. A doe and a stag were not the exact same form; they complemented each other.

Why then, was Severus' Patronus a doe if it wasn't because he had been in love with Lily? Could it have been a coincidence like the two tiger Patronuses in their class?

"Anyway," Severus remarked, pulling Harry from his focused reverie, "the fourth person in the class who can produce a Patronus is myself."

Harry's eyes snapped up, meeting the dark, shadowy eyes in an intense gaze. He took a deep breath to alleviate his renewed panic as he weighed his choices. Since neither his mother nor his father could successfully cast a corporeal Patronus yet, it might still be safe to cast his stag. However, if Severus produced the silver doe and he the stag, there would be more leading questions that he was not ready to answer.

"Time's up, ladies and gentleman. I have checked your nonverbal shields at least once and I must say that you've all improved tremendously since last week," the professor announced, "Now, let's see if we can keep that competence going, shall we? Please spend the next thirty minutes practicing the Patronus charm with your partner. I am aware there are still only a few of you who have achieved more than silver vapor, but I am confident that we can do better than that by the end of term. I will be walking around to check your progress. Begin."

Again, Harry turned around to watch the four Gryffindors in the corner, just in time to see Remus raise his wand and call out the familiar incantation. A huge silver wolf erupted from the end of his wand, greeted by the tumultuous applause by the other three. It circled the four Gryffindors and reared back on its hind legs, before disintegrating into a fine grey mist.

"Show off," Severus muttered, before raising his own wand and articulating the same spell.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

Harry gasped, shocked by the startling image in front of him. He blinked several times before he allowed himself to believe what he was seeing. The magnificent silvery creature was enormous and breathtakingly exquisite. It was the most impressive Patronus Harry had ever laid eyes on. It glowed with a brilliant, almost blinding luminosity, and Harry felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched it circle them, its movements majestic and graceful. It was beyond beautiful... but it was not a doe.

It was a Chatham raven.

Harry's heart raced and his breathing quickened as, all of a sudden, a profound understanding came to him. This raven was Severus' true Patronus, a representation of his inner sprit, his soul, his very being. This raven was his _original_ Patronus. The doe came later, but its precipitous transformation had nothing to do with Lily Evans. If Severus had truly been in love with Lily, and that love had been powerful enough to render a Patronus change, then Severus' Patronus would have transformed into a stag, like James' Patronus, so that it complemented hers. But this was not the case.

The simple fact that this brilliant, powerful raven Patronus would one day _change_ into a doe implied that its transformation would be complementary. It could not be a replication form which would have manifested as an original Patronus, like Harry's stag taking the form of his father's. No... at some point, this raven would evolve into the complementary form of _someone else's_ Patronus, and that someone was Severus' soul mate. The love of his life.

Harry shivered hard as he realized that there was only one person that could be, a fact that caused a dizzying surge of excitement to course through him.

"Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Snape! Excellent technique and manifestation, as always!" Professor Gazzoni exclaimed as he approached them, "Now... Mr. Skye... let's see what you can do."

Harry knew it was risky. He knew this could very well cause suspicion in the future, not only in Severus, but in the Marauders as well. But he didn't care. Breathing hard, heart pounding in his chest, Harry kept his eyes locked on Severus' intense, dark eyes, burning with a fervent curiosity. The words to the incantation were out of his mouth before caution could override them, the memory of Severus' hand entwined with his own in the forefront of his mind...

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

The immense silver stag burst from the Hawthorn wand, its radiance dazzling as it charged through the classroom. All eyes turned to watch the striking creature as it circled the room once before returning to Harry.

Just as it neared its caster, the stag changed course, drawing closer to Severus instead. With slow, tentative steps, it approached, its luminescent head tilted to the side as if studying the boy. Harry watched, both shocked and fascinated, as Severus raised his arm, his long fingers outstretched in a gentle gesture of trust, persuading the stag to inch closer. When the Patronus reached him, Severus placed his hand on its translucent head, just beneath its antlers, in a show of affection and tenderness. The stag leaned into his touch, resting its long, slender neck against Severus' chest, nuzzling him on the cheek. The warm exchange took Harry's breath away.

He had never seen his Patronus interact with anyone but himself! He hadn't even realized it was possible...

"And another ten points to Slytherin! Well done, Mr. Skye, well done indeed!"

Paying little attention to the professor's praise, Harry's regard remained transfixed on Severus as he continued to stroke the stag's head, a serene, contented expression adorning his features.

After another moment, the stag vanished into a fine silver mist, pulling Severus from his mesmerized state and prompting him to look up, meeting Harry's enraptured gaze. The two said nothing as they stared at one another, both immersed in the significance of the last few minutes. A long respite ensued, finally broken by Severus' hushed, timorous words.

"I've... I've never even heard of that happening before. I... I didn't know that Patronuses could... could interact with anyone but their caster..."

Harry allowed a small smile to curve his lips at Severus' flummoxed expression and his declaration of confusion. The grin soon turned reciprocal as a hesitant smile emerged on the Slytherin's startled visage.

"Alright class, there are only ten more minutes to work in your pairs. Then I will ask you to return to your desks and begin your assignment which will be due this Friday. I want three feet on the theory of how a Patronus chooses its form as well as its uses in Defensive Magic," Professor Gazzoni directed.

The professor's instruction seemed to pull both he and Severus back to themselves, their eyes finally turning away from each other. Harry took the opportunity to steel a quick glance in the Marauders' direction. All three were glaring at him, expressions of deep suspicion and mistrust obvious on their faces. James in particular, wore a wild, frantic look, his features twisted in apprehension. When his narrowed, hazel eyes pierced Harry with a curious, inquisitive look, his head tilting to the side in questioning, Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked away.

He sought the fourth Gryffindor in the room, who was the only one not staring at him. She alone seemed unaffected by the earlier scene. Lily stood apart from the others, her wand raised, as she chanted the words to the charm several times with only silver vapor to show for it.

Turning away from the the Gryffindors, Harry saw Severus digging through his school bag. He pulled out a quill and parchment and motioned for Harry to follow him over to the desks near the back of the classroom. If the Slytherin had noticed Gray's riveted focus on his former best friend, he gave no comment.

"Come on Gray, let's start on our essay. Professor Gazzoni won't care if we end this practical a little early... not after that display," Severus remarked, his usual smirk in place.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

The rest of the day proved to be a huge challenge for Harry. For one thing, two out of the three remaining classes that day were courses of which he had absolutely no understanding. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were difficult subjects to learn even when attending beginner classes. Harry had the unfortunate disadvantage of having to try and decipher the material at the advanced level.

As it turned out, Severus was a huge help. The Slytherin sat next to him in both classes and kept his notes in plain view so that Harry could read his commentary whenever he felt complete confusion, which turned out to be often.

Advanced Potions was a little easier. Harry got lucky. Professor Slughorn had explained that they would be spending the entire week reviewing sixth-year potions that could possibly come up in their NEWT practical. This particular day's assignment had been to brew the Draught of Living Death, and since Harry had been quite successful in brewing this potion during his sixth year, he was able to produce a decent draught. Of course, it was nowhere near the quality of Severus' potion, or Lily's for that matter, both of which got raving reviews from Slughorn, but it at least it earned an approving nod from Severus. If only the man had been as generous with approval in his later years as a Potions Master!

During lunch and dinner, Harry and Severus again ate at the very end of the Slytherin table, far away from the others. They took advantage of their distance from the rest of their housemates by speaking in hushed voices, Severus pointing out each one of the Slytherin seventh-years to Harry, as well as informing him the threat each one posed to someone who wasn't exactly a 'Pureblood' zealot.

Severus explained that the boys sharing their dorm were Caedis Avery, Evan Rosier and Miles Mulciber, all three dangerous in their own right. There were only three Slytherin girls in the seventh year, two of which, Severus informed Harry, kept to themselves and were only interested in settling down with a proper Pureblood boy and starting a family. The third, Laurel Greengrass, according to Severus, was also considering taking the Mark when she graduated, but apparently was receiving pressure from her family to wait.

Despite the stress of his advanced classes, the massive amount of homework he was given and the overwhelming information about the four future Death Eaters sharing his living quarters, Harry had trouble focusing on anything but the surprising events of their Defense class that morning. He could not stop thinking about Severus' raven Patronus and the fact that it would one day become the silver doe, a visual representation of his unwavering love for Gray Skye.

The idea was overwhelming, and the more Harry pondered it, the more confused he was over the whole thing. He had been so certain that the doe was a symbol for Severus' love for Lily. After pondering further on what had happened this morning, he realized it was because the adult Professor Snape had implied as much in those memories he had given Harry. After all, those memories were given to him _before_ Professor Snape had recognized him as Gray Skye. So, perhaps, the memories were meant to be inferred by Harry Potter as a tribute to Lily, Severus' long lost best friend.

Harry recalled a scene in one of those memories when Dumbledore asked Professor Snape if he had grown to care for Harry. A livid Snape had brandished his wand and articulated the incantation to call forth the beautiful silver doe. She had appeared and circled the room with graceful steps before vanishing through the vaulted window. Dumbledore had turned to Severus, who had tears falling from his dark eyes, and had asked him... _After all this time?_... to which Severus had answered... _Always._

Harry had been certain this was a conversation about Severus' undying love for Lily, but now he knew that couldn't have been the case. The doe didn't represent Severus' love for Lily, it represented his love for Gray.

Then it hit Harry. Dumbledore knew. He always knew. He knew that Severus and Gray had fallen in love as teenagers. He also knew that Harry Potter was Gray Skye... but he never disclosed that secret to Severus. Never.

Perhaps this was the real reason why the elderly wizard was so keen to have Severus teach Harry Occlumency. Maybe he was trying to get Severus to see what he was too blind or too stubborn to see... that his most hated student was actually his soul mate, his abiding lost love from the past. Only that ruse hadn't worked, Harry mused wryly, and in fact, had widened the rift even further between teacher and student.

Harry remained deep in thought as he and Severus left the Great Hall, unaware that the other boy was speaking to him until they neared a deserted dungeon corridor leading to the Slytherin dorms. Severus stopped walking and turned then, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder to halt his forward movement and yanking him from his musings.

"Gray? Are you even listening to me at all?"

"What? Oh... sorry. What were you saying?"

"I... I was just wondering if you wanted to... to go with me to feed Spera. That's... that's the thestral. I thought maybe... well... it was just an idea. Never mind..." Severus murmured, an uncharacteristic stammer to his words.

He had already turned to go, when Harry's brain caught up with his surroundings. Reaching for Severus in an instinctive motion, Harry grabbed his wrist, halting the other boy's progression. Severus turned back to face Harry, his wrist still clutched in Harry's grasp, his expression the same as when he had first discovered Harry's feather pendant. There was such an open, honest hope emanating from his dark, emotive eyes, that Harry found himself lost within their depths, just as he had been then.

"Yes. I want to go with you," Harry whispered, "I really do."

Severus kept his eyes locked with Harry's as he nodded in understanding. After a brief moment, Harry's gaze travelled down to his own hand, which was still holding Severus' wrist, lingering when he noticed the faint quiver of Severus' hand below his.

Whether it was because he wanted to ease the slight tremor or because of his own desire to feel Severus' hand in his again, Harry wasn't sure, but almost without thought, he released the slender wrist and allowed his fingers to drift down to touch the trembling hand.

While the tips of Harry's fingers and thumb ghosted along Severus' quivering fingers, caressing the pale skin, a soft gasp issued from the other boy. Grey eyes shot back up, their owner certain he had gone too far, but the obsidian orbs were now focused on their hands too.

Harry glanced down again and watched as the pads of their fingers touched, each one of his fingers lining up with one of Severus', then sinking in between his, closing themselves together as if they were one instead of two, entwining them, uniting them. Harry felt his own hand quiver as Severus' calloused thumb brushed across the very edge of the raised flesh on the back of Harry's left hand.

Harry's heartbeat began to accelerate and his breathing shallowed, just as it had the night before. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of the warm hand in his and the tender caress of Severus' thumb sweeping along the side of his scar. Grey eyes opened once again when he felt Severus raise their entwined hands, turning them so that the dark eyes could view the faint blemish.

Severus took a moment to study the scar, brushing his thumb along the etched letters a few more times, before lifting his gaze to look into bemused eyes once more.

"You must not tell lies?" He whispered in a timid, nervous tone. "Then... then tell me, Gray... please..."

His words faltered, and Harry was surprised to feel Severus squeeze his hand, as if afraid he might pull away at any moment.

"... you said last night that we will become close..."

Severus paused again to peer down at their hands while he brought his other hand up, gliding his fingertips along the scar. The roving fingers continued their caress, making their way along Harry's wrist, then ghosting up the underside of his forearm and back down again. The light touch drew shiver after shiver from Harry, making him feel lightheaded and weak.

Harry drew in a huge, steadying breath and held it while those dark, impassioned eyes locked with his again and Severus continued his tentative question.

"...when you said... close..." he asked, voice impossibly quiet, yet laden with apprehension. "Is... is this what you meant?"

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Well, I didn't meet my August 12th deadline for this chapter, but I was pretty close! As I mentioned before, August is a very busy month for me. So... I am giving myself more time for the next chapter. I think I should be able to complete Chapter six by August 27th, two weeks from now.

Once again... thanks to my amazing Beta **YenGirl**. You are the best!

**Please Review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six -**

**My heart, forsaken, stirs from its slumber**

Harry was mesmerized by Severus' penetrating gaze, drawn in by his open, honest expression of hope. Seconds seemed to stretch out into an eternity as he looked deeply into the onyx eyes, so beautiful in their vulnerability yet forlorn with an enduring pain. Severus' pale features exhibited a profound insecurity, even as the daring question fell from his quavering lips; his intrepid grip on Harry's hand remaining resolute, despite the faint, persistent tremors wracking their woven fingers.

Breath ensnared, heart hammering and a sudden frisson of heat traveling down his spine, Harry answered him at length, giving the shocking truth a tentative voice.

"Yes... yes... this is what I meant," he responded in a tenuous whisper, "Is this... is this OK?"

Severus lowered his head, his dark eyes settling on their entwined hands again. He worried the right side of his lower lip between his teeth in a nervous gesture just as a shaky breath broke free. After a moment, his eyes lifted and he gave a timid, protracted nod while the corners of his thin lips turned up into a small, hesitant smile.

Harry's heart warmed at the sight. He answered the shy grin with one of his own before the sudden heat of embarrassment in his cheeks and neck prompted him to look away again.

"Gray? Are you... have you ever...I mean, is this normal for you... or is this...?" Severus stammered, his words coming out in a series of rushed awkward splutters.

Harry looked back at him, surprised to hear Severus' usual impressive vocabulary reduced to half-sentences and incomplete thoughts, and startled when he noticed for the first time a faint blush on the normally pallid skin.

"No. This is... this is all new for me," Harry replied, grey eyes flitting between that dark, anxious gaze and that lower lip once again caught between Severus' teeth. Harry felt a sudden, mad urge to run his finger along the smooth skin of that lip.

"But I... I want this," he finished in a shaky whisper, lowering his head to glance at their clasped hands. He mimicked Severus' earlier gesture, bringing his other hand over to their joined hands, caressing Severus' pale inner wrist with the tips of his fingers and skimming them along the porcelain skin of his forearm.

A shudder ran through Harry when he realized it was the very spot that would one day be marred by the indecent mark of an evil monster. He heard Severus' breath hitch at his touch, pulling him from his morbid musings and causing him to return his focus to Severus' face. The dark orbs were unseen now, hidden from view by his lowered lids.

Harry's own breath seemed to slow along with Severus' as he studied the rapt features, his own face softened in a quiet euphoria.

Gradually, jet-black eyes emerged from behind heavy lids and the small, contented simper returned.

"I think... I think that I want this too," Severus remarked, eyes locking with Harry's again, his voice breathy and trembling.

"Then... what now?" Harry inquired in a quiet, hesitant tone, laden with unease.

"Perhaps we should just focus on one thing at a time," Severus answered. His gaze drifted to their hands once more, and Harry shuddered as the slender thumb again swept along the side of his scar.

"Let's just... go down to the forest to feed Spera. We can talk more there, and it will be a bit more... private," Severus added, his eyes snapping up to meet Harry's.

Harry nodded in agreement, the intensity of Severus' gaze prompting him to emit a faint, anxious chuckle. He could feel his flushed cheeks reddening still further and found himself looking away again, sudden shyness gripping him, causing his heart to race and his nervous panic to heighten. How was it that he had enough courage - just barely though - to allow one of the Darkest wizards of all time to cast the killing curse on him, yet felt almost paralyzed with fear at the thought of a private conversation with Severus after this latest disclosure?

"Gray... one thing at a time, remember? And if you think I'm not terrified by all of this too... well... I guess you don't know me nearly as well as you think you do," Severus added while glancing down at their hands once more, as if fascinated by the sight of their entwined fingers.

Harry took a moment to study Severus' features, taking time to notice the pink tinge to the alabaster skin, while still conscious of the slight tremor affecting the slender hand clasped within his own. He felt a new rush of affection for Severus, realizing that the boy was just as nervous as he was about this development, but he still felt compelled to ease Harry's rising panic by admitting to his own apprehension.

Silence permeated the narrow hallway, broken only by their slow, timorous breathing. Then Severus raised his head and locked gazes with Harry, renewed smiles emerging on both blushing faces as they stared at one another.

"And it might also be a good idea to... limit this sort of thing while we're in public," Severus added, his blush deepening. The smooth hand gripping Harry's squeezed one final time, then its hold slackened as it withdrew.

"Oh... yeah... you're right," Harry agreed, letting his empty hand fall to his side. It felt strangely cold now, bereft of the warmth from Severus' long fingers. Harry's own fingers fidgeted as they closed into a tentative fist held loosely at his side, as if the sudden loss caused an uncertainty of purpose.

"So... to the forest, then?" he asked.

"Yes, but I'll meet you there. I want to grab something from our dorm room first," Severus answered, his faint blush still discernible in small patches across his cheeks and neck. He took several steps toward the Slytherin common room before turning around to face Harry again.

"Just give me a five minutes. You know where to go, right? I'll meet you in the clearing," he announced, his grin returning as he turned again and disappeared down the narrow, dark corridor.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

Harry wasn't quite certain why Severus had insisted on stopping by the dorm first, or why he seemed adamant that they meet in the clearing, but he was still grateful to have some time by himself to reflect on what had just occurred.

Once he reached the glade, Harry sat down in front of the same tree he had seen Severus reclining against the day before, his focus settling on the long trenches in the soil which had been generated by Severus' delving toes. Smiling to himself at the endearing memory, he leaned back against the tree, closed his eyes and allowed the details of the last half hour to come streaming back to him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry slowed his thoughts, choosing to dwell on the exquisite feel of Severus' hand against his and the sensation of those long, elegant fingers ghosting the length of his forearm in a gentle caress. The soft, hesitant touch had been so intoxicating, so electrifying. Even the feather-light feel of Severus' thumb sweeping along the scarred flesh on the back of his hand had sent shivers through Harry's entire body, causing his breathing to stutter and his heartbeat to speed up. The exhilarating sensation of Severus' warm skin brushing up against his had felt so intimate that even now, just recalling the memory of that touch and bringing it to the forefront of his mind, was enough to affect Harry physically. He felt himself becoming excited… even aroused.

"God, how is this possible? I just - I just can't understand..." Harry burst out, eyes snapping open as he ran his fingers through his wavy brown locks in a nervous, absentminded gesticulation, face again flushing hot.

Pushing off hard from the ground in one quick motion, he stood up, his feet launching into agitated pacing while he struggled to gain control of his unexpected feverishness. He was still grappling with the confused feelings he was experiencing for Severus, and now he was faced with the fact that he was actually becoming excited... sexually... simply by a few soft caresses and some innocent hand-holding.

What was happening to him?

Harry stilled his nervous pacing and took several deep breaths now, striving to calm his heightened physical and mental state. This really wasn't _that _unusual, he tired to convince himself. After all, he was at the pinnacle of his adolescence. This was the period of time when it was normal to feel strong spikes of desire.

Besides, It wasn't as though being aroused by someone's touch was foreign territory for him. Harry had felt the kindle of sexual excitement before with Ginny, having dated her for two whole months before breaking up at the end of sixth year. Their time together had included several occasions when he had felt himself becoming turned on while in the throes of a heated snogging session.

Well, if truth be told, Harry's state of arousal with Ginny had never really been that intense, not even when she had pressed her slim, lithe body against his while they were kissing. He recalled one rare incident when they had absconded to the Astronomy Tower just before curfew. They were leaning against the stone wall of a secluded alcove, locked in a tight embrace, and Ginny had kissed that spot just below his ear that had always proved extra sensitive.

He clearly remembered feeling a physical reaction that night. It had been strong enough that he had opted to pull away from her in order to maintain a semblance of control over the situation. With a sense of chagrin, he realized now that his action, while wholly commendable, wasn't what most of his peers would have done.

Feeling that spark of arousal only happened when their physical contact had been extensive or prolonged. Since he and Ginny hadn't advanced much in the way of intimate touching - not that she was unwilling, Harry was honest enough to admit to himself - those experiences were sparse. To be frank, the whole of Harry's formative teenage years had been far too encumbered with trying to avoid an early death at the hands of Voldemort, thus leaving him with very little time to spend tending to his developing carnal desires.

Not once, though, in all of those moments with Ginny, had he ever felt such a burning desire as he had moments ago. It had felt as though his entire body was trembling in anticipation... and all from a few simple touches and timorous looks. Never before had his body, heart and soul longed for someone with such passion, such intense fervor. Every part of him seemed to ache for more of Severus; more of his soft caresses and timid glances, more of those nervous gasps and anxious grins, more time staring into those impassioned, dark eyes that seemed to reach something deep inside of him... something that until now had slumbered within him, a previously dormant yearning which was now restless and stirring.

Harry closed his eyes again. With a soft exhalation, he gave into his wish and imagined gazing into those shadowy depths, so vulnerable with a distant sadness, yet open with a profound hopeful longing. He imagined touching Severus' flushed cheeks with the fingertips of both hands and brushing his thumbs along the hard line of his jaw. He pictured threading his fingers through the strands of thin, ebony hair at the nape of that pale, slender neck and how the dark hair would slide in between his fingers.

Would the skin on the back of that neck be as warm and soft as the fingers that had caressed Harry's arm, as soft as that lower lip that had drawn his attention again and again, captured between those crooked teeth that somehow held the same charm as their owner?

Skin prickling with a heated blush, Harry visualized himself leaning closer to Severus, close enough to feel his shaky breaths, warm and inviting, flitting across his own lips, close enough to imagine hearing the other boy's heart racing with his own.

If he did that, would Severus pull away? Or would he draw closer and press those soft, thin lips to his…

"Gray?"

"Wha–? Huh?" Harry stammered as he was ripped from his trance-like reverie. His eyes snapped open and he whirled around in the direction of the familiar voice, fresh color surging into his cheeks as embarrassment seized him. All of the sudden, he was very thankful for his loose-fitting school robes, for he was certain his arousal would be evident otherwise.

"S-S-Severus! I - I'm sorry... I... you startled me!" he finished lamely.

Head lowered to conceal his now fiery blush, he edged closer to Severus and was surprised to notice a similar color on Severus' face as well. Perhaps he wasn't the only one reminiscing about their actions in that empty dungeon corridor, Harry thought.

Despite the slight awkward start to their meeting, Severus dove into the task at hand, offering Harry the same burlap sack Hagrid had carried into the forest the day before.

"Here, if you start with the meat, I'll get Spera's potion ready. I assume you know what to do since it is quite obvious you were spying on me and Hagrid yesterday," Severus chaffed.

For just an instant, the onyx eyes fixed Harry with a mild glare that was so evocative of the adult Professor Snape's that Harry had a hard time not cowering in perceived admonishment. A moment later, the reprimanding look vanished and Severus returned his attention to the contents of his school bag, a vibrant, playful smirk emerging on his thin face as he rummaged through it.

Desiring nothing more at that moment than for his deep blush to recede, Harry turned away from Severus. Recalling Hagrid's actions the day before, he pulled chunks of raw meat from the burlap sack and tossed them into the middle of the clearing. When he finished, he turned back to find Severus emptying the contents of a large glass bottle into the feeding pail, the same thick and glutinous substance he had seen yesterday.

"What is that stuff, anyway?" Harry asked, approaching the other boy to get a better look at the odd-looking concoction.

"It is a gestative nutritional potion, devised specifically for the needs of thestrals. It consists of foods rich in the amino acids that are capable of strengthening a thestral's meager muscular system," Severus explained, his dark eyes spirited with uncontrolled verve as he continued to expound on the subject he adored.

"The most prevalent ingredients are seaweed and soy protein, both of which contain large amounts of Leucine, an amino acid that maintains and strengthens muscles. Those two ingredients are responsible for the green hue and viscid consistency. There's also alfalfa and chicken eggs, both rich in Ornithine, another amino acid for muscle development, and kale for its large quantities of Aspartic acid which increases energy at the cellular level."

"Wow." Harry blinked. "You must have done a lot of research about that potion to understand it so well. Do you prepare it for her yourself?"

"Yes. Every Saturday, I brew enough for the week ahead. But I didn't have to research the potion… not the way you implied. It is my own potion. I invented it."

Severus gaze drifted down, as if self-conscious of his achievement, but Harry wouldn't allow him to shy away.

"Severus, that's incredible! You should be proud of that. Have you invented many potions?"

"A few," Severus answered with a shrug. Then he looked up, his eyes focused on the far edge of the clearing from which a faint rustling sound was issuing. "Here they come."

Several thestrals emerged from the thicket, their thin necks elevated, snouts high in the air as they tracked the lingering scent of blood. With avid steps, they approached the offered meal and tore into the meat.

"Where is she?" Harry whispered, his eyes darting back and forth, seeking the smaller thestral's slight form.

"There" Severus answered, arm outstretched and index finger pointing to the very tree Harry had sat in front of earlier. Spera's small head was just discernible peeping out from behind one of its low hanging branches.

"She often hides from the others, especially when they are feeding," Severus explained, "It's instinctual for a pregnant thestral to protect her unborn foal from any possible danger and that includes the others' aggressive tendencies while eating. It is best to let her approach us. She'll come when she feels it's safe."

A few minutes later, the frail creature emerged from her sanctuary, advancing with small, tentative steps toward the two awaiting boys. Harry kept still, pleased that she didn't seem to mind his presence, while Severus met her advancement with a slow easy approach of his own. He lowered the pail and coaxed her to it with gentle words of encouragement.

"That's it, girl. Come on, you're safe now," he whispered, a warm smile adorning his features.

Spera reached the pail and eagerly partook of the offering while Severus rewarded her efforts by stroking her slender neck. His smile grew as he continued his ministrations, dark eyes alight with sentiment.

Harry was awed by the alluring sight, just as he had been the day before. Severus was so gentle with the thestral, so careful with the comfort he bestowed on her. With each tender touch, it was as though Severus offered more and more of his heart to the creature. The beautiful exchange made Harry's heart ache again, for this caring, selfless boy, as well as the cold and distant man he would one day become. A part of him still wanted to ponder on _why_, but the scene before him was too tempting to ignore right now.

"She means a lot to you, doesn't she?" Harry muttered as he inched closer to the two.

Severus' glowing expression of altruistic regard fell in an instant, the muscles lining his jaw tightening and a trace of despair emanating from his eyes.

"Yes. She does," came his whispered response, "I'm going to miss her so much."

"Miss her? Why, what do you mean?" Harry inquired. His confusion deepened further when Severus turned to face him, his dark eyes attenuated as if pondering the reason for Harry's question.

After a short pause, Severus took a deep breath, his frown clearing as understanding came to him.

"You haven't taken NEWT-level Care of Magical Creatures, have you, Gray?" he asked, his voice flat, despondent.

"No, I dropped the class after my OWLs. Why?"

"If you had continued with the classes, you'd have learned that pregnant thestrals die the moment their newborn foal takes its first breath."

"What?" Harry was shocked. "How... how can that be? I don't understand!"

"Thestrals," Severus began, his tone reminiscent of his future self's teaching voice, "embrace the spirit of death, as well as its emotional aftermath… the devastation _and_ the beauty. This is why only those who've seen death, who truly have an understanding of death's power to ravage as well as to inspire, are able to lay eyes upon the creatures. However, nothing conveys the quintessence of death's sacrifice or the intrinsic benevolence of this species more than the selfless act of the mother thestral.

Severus' brooding gaze fell upon Spera before returning to Harry's now distressed visage.

"You see, Gray, thestrals symbolize not only death, but the never-ending _cycle_ of life and death. The thestral's instinct is to perpetuate this pattern. Their inherent tendency dictates that when a new thestral is born, one must die in its stead. In other words, either the unborn foal cannot survive the birth, or the mother must die so that the foal can live. Magizoologists who have studied the species have surmised that the mother thestral is cognizant of this cyclic paradigm. In other words, she is conscious of the fact that she has a choice. She needn't die. Yet she chooses to. And _this_ is what makes her so beautiful…. she willingly gives up her life for her foal… her sacrifice is inspired by her abiding love… Gray?"

Harry knew he was not reacting well to what he was hearing, but he felt powerless to stop it. All at once, his breaths were coming out in short, desperate gasps, his stomach was twisting, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. His legs seemed to have lost their ability to support him as he sank to the ground, trembling. Hot, anguished tears spilled from his burning eyes.

"Gray… what's wrong? GRAY!"

Aware of nothing but his suffocating misery, Harry's voice faltered, his attempt to answer Severus coming out as a whimper as he leaned forward and concentrated on slowing down his erratic breathing. Struggling to comprehend his extreme reaction, Harry's mind replayed Severus' speech about the mother thestral's ultimate sacrifice, searching for what had triggered his current panic.

It didn't take long.

The similarity between the pregnant thestral's sacrifice and his own mother's untimely death was too obvious to ignore, eliciting a latent pain from deep within him to surface. Harry tried to divert his thoughts away from his mother's murder, but all he could think about as he continued to take in huge gulps of air, tears streaming down his heated cheeks, was that horrible memory he was forced to relive last Christmas Eve while trapped within a demented monster's mind...

...his mother... arms spread out... begging... pleading... screaming for the life of her child...

_No... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please no… Take me... Kill me instead..._

"GRAY!"

_Not Harry! Not Harry! Please… I'll do anything..._

"GRAY! ANSWER ME!"

"I... I c-c-can't… I can't… I'm s-s-sorry..." Harry cried, his voice quavering, barely audible between his desperate panting. He felt two trembling hands on his face, coaxing him to look up into anxious, ebony eyes.

Severus was kneeling in front of him, his gentle touch quelling the worst of Harry's terror. Exhaling, Harry leaned into the touch and gazed upon Severus' pained and frightened expression as the boy spoke again, his voice a low, hushed timbre.

"What's wrong, Gray? Why are you in so much pain?"

"Severus… I can't tell you. I- I'm sorry…."

"Shhh, it's OK. Shhh," Severus soothed, his thumbs sweeping along Harry's tear-streaked cheeks, wiping away the wetness.

Harry brought his hands up to Severus' wrists, closing them in a desperate grip, as he continued to lose himself in the compassionate eyes trained on him. As Severus' soothing words continued, Harry's heart clenched in pain and regret for what the future held… for this beautiful soul who would one day grow to loathe him because of his very existence and the imminent tragedy surrounding his presence in this world.

"Severus…. promise me something?" Harry whispered, his grip on the thin wrists tightening, reminding himself of that heartbreaking moment in the Shrieking Shack when he had held the adult Professors Snape's wrist, steadying the convulsing hand on his cheek, giving comfort while the man battled for his every breath.

"Anything," Severus responded, his voice cracking with emotion.

"When she dies…. please, please... don't blame the foal…"

"What? I - I wouldn't…!"

"Promise me! Please..."

Instead of answering, Severus withdrew his hands from Harry's damp cheeks and stood up. He reached for Harry's left hand with his own, covering the carved words on the back with his palm, curling his fingers and lacing them in between Harry's.

A shaky gasp escaped Harry as a powerful feeling of comfort and safety washed over him. When the hand gave a gentle yet insistent tug, he placed pressure on his still weak legs and surrendered to the silent request, allowing Severus to pull him up to a standing position and turn him around. Harry leaned back on the taller boy who walked behind him, his right hand gripping Harry's shoulder, guiding him with slow, cautious steps over to where Spera was still drinking her supplement potion.

When they had reached the creature, Severus directed their entwined hands toward the thestral's swollen belly, placing Harry's palm on her smooth, squamous flesh and guiding it down to her distended underside. Surprisingly, Spera was undisturbed by their proximity. When their hands finally stilled, Severus move closer to Harry, his chest pressing up against the other boy's back, his head tipping forward, so close that Harry could feel his every breath flitting across the side of his neck and hear the nearly silent command.

"Wait."

A long moment elapsed with the air silent and expectant around them. The quietude permeated the space, interjected only by their slow, steady breathing and the sounds of Spera drinking. With every intake of breath, Harry felt his anxiety lessening. Then...

"There."

Harry gasped as he felt a hard kick against his palm, the action emphatic and impatient. His hand was then dragged down, just in time for him to experience another tenacious movement from the foal.

Again, Severus moved their hands, guiding them toward the very center of Spera's abdomen and applying pressure to Harry's outstretched fingers, encouraging him to press into the firm, taut flesh. He leaned even closer, lips almost touching Harry's ear.

"It's faint, but you can feel it…."

It took a full minute for Harry to still his movements enough to feel anything, but at length he discerned the rapid, persistent beat of life pulsing beneath his fingers, its rhythm strong and resolute. He felt the corners of his mouth turning up in a hesitant smile as he was confronted with proof that this beautiful new life was real, with beating heart and kicking limbs, longing for life, anxious to breathe and run and feel...

"Gray, look at me."

Harry's breath hitched at the familiar command, once again drawn back to those anguished moments on the dirty floor of the Shrieking Shack. It was the first time Harry had ever looked deeply into the eyes of his Potions Professor, the first time he had ever seen such torment and sorrow, and that look had changed him forever.

Submitting to the request just as he had done days ago, Harry turned his head to gaze into those dark, emotive eyes, so open, honest and laden with warmth. Their bodies were close and their hands still knitted together, that tiny heartbeat flitting against their fingertips. Harry held his breath, awaiting Severus' next words.

"I may not know the real reason behind your request or why you were so upset, but I promise you, Gray. I promise you, I will not blame the foal."

Harry closed his eyes, another tremulous breath escaping him, as he felt the release of a heavy burden. A dormant ache inside him seemed to dissolve, alleviating some of his previous spiraling dread. Severus may not understand the significance behind Harry's impassioned plea, but the sincerity in the boy's voice as he issued his emphatic promise along with his heartfelt display with Spera seemed to heal some wounded part of Harry's heart.

After a moment, Severus stepped backwards and pulled Harry with him, drawing them further from Spera.

"And… I… I have something for you," Severus muttered. Withdrawing his left hand from Harry's grasp, he reached inside the front pocket of his robes and pulled out a small glass vial, filled with a shimmering gold potion. He pulled out the stopper, pocketed it and then reached for Harry's left hand once more.

Pulling it close to his chest, Severus turned it over so that the white lines of the linguistic cicatrix were displayed, stark and distinct, contrasting with Harry's tanned skin. After a brief hesitation, Severus held the small bottle over Harry's hand, allowing two golden drops to fall onto the marred flesh.

With gentle motions, Severus spread the drops with his fingertips. The tender ministration prompted Harry's breath to hitch as he relished the feel of the soft caress even as his traitorous body stirred again. Grey eyes travelled up to watch the expression of careful determination on Severus' thin face, his dark eyes fixed on the scar as he continued to work the potion into his skin.

Soon, Severus' movements stilled. Dark eyes found grey, then receded, focusing once again on the back of Harry's hand which was now tingling.

Harry shivered as the slight prickling sensation in his scar caused goosebumps to erupt along the entire length of his left arm.

"Most people would not be so trusting as to allow an unknown potion to touch their skin," Severus commented in a hushed tone, eyes still downcast.

"I'm not most people," Harry replied, "and I trust you, Severus."

The other boy gave a tiny nod but did not look up.

"What does the potion do?" Harry asked.

"It fades scars," came the faint response, quieter, more hesitant, Severus' eyes still trained on Harry's scar. "But not right away. It must be applied every day for at least a month before you begin to see results. And it will not work if the scar is very old… older than five years or so…."

All at once, Harry understood Severus' sudden, aloof behavior, the averted gaze and hesitant voice, the return of the slight tremble in the hand still holding his. This potion was another of Severus' own inventions, one he needed desperately as a way to conceal the visible manifestations of his father's heinous abuse.

Without hesitation, Harry withdrew his left hand from Severus' and placed it on the side of his face, noticing for the first time the hint of a scar along his right cheekbone, the taut skin slightly pinker in color and smoother than the surrounding skin. Harry traced the almost imperceptible mark once with the pad of his thumb and then brushed back the strands of ebony hair that had fallen across his hand, tucking them behind Severus' ear.

A soft gasp issued from Severus' lips as Harry's fingertips trailed through the thin, black strands. Their exploration did not cease, but ghosted over the soft skin just behind Severus' ear, lingering on a spot just below it where Harry felt the raised indication of another scar. He applied gentle pressure to turn Severus' face just enough for him to view the faded line that stretched all the way down Severus' slender neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

"I hate how much he's hurt you," Harry voiced, his tone fierce, teeth grinding together as he fought his swelling rage.

Severus looked into the angry grey eyes and brought his right hand up to capture Harry's wrist, long fingers encircling in a firm grasp. His focus was penetrating, tenebrous eyes filled with an emotion Harry couldn't quite place, its fortitude fervent, passionate and unwavering.

"Don't, Gray, please don't," Severus pleaded, "Please, I… I don't want to talk about my father…"

Harry let his hand fall, taking Severus' hand with it. Without thought, their fingers laced once again as they continued to stare into each other's eyes, caught up in the vehemence of the moment.

"You don't have to talk about him, Severus, not if you don't want to. I promise not to bring him up again."

Severus lowered his head, eyes cast down again as he nodded. He fiddled with the potion bottle for a moment, his dark eyes following his own nervous, agitated movements, before reaching into his pocket for the stopper, sealing the small vial, and then placing it in Harry's right hand in a decisive gesture.

"Here, this vial is for you," Severus murmured, "I have more in my school trunk."

Harry gripped Severus' hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of encouragement and thanks. He knew first hand how difficult it was to face someone who was aware that your home life was less than ideal, the pain and the humiliation of admitting that the very people who were supposed to love and care for you, did nothing but cause you pain.

Harry felt a reciprocal squeeze and, once again, the soft caress of Severus' thumb brushed across the scar that still felt warm and tingly, the tender touch sending shivers through him.

"I don't suppose you can tell me how you got that scar?"

"No. I can't," Harry replied, "You're not meant to know about it or even see it again until…"

"Until?"

Harry swallowed hard, head lowering to try to conceal the new tears pooling in the corners of his eyes as he recalled the moment when Professor Snape had recognized Harry as Gray, the anguished, tortured moan that had fallen from his lips… the look of utter despair and pain twisting his features at the revelation that it was Harry Potter all along…

"Gray? I think maybe we should… leave it here for now," Severus whispered, repeating Harry's words from their conversation in the middle of last night. "Besides, we have homework to do. We could work together. Unless you think you can write that Arithmancy essay without my help, that is."

Harry looked back up, relieved to see a familiar smirk curving Severus' lips. He wiped the fresh tears from his eyes with the heels of his hands while a quiet chuckle issued from his tentative grin.

"Yeah. Yeah, I could use the help."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

The rest of the evening could be described as a typical weeknight for a seventh-year NEWT student, with no fewer than five hours of feverish essay writing, meticulous note-taking and painstaking required reading. Harry and Severus did not even leave the Slytherin common room and retire to their dorm until well after midnight.

Despite their arduous workload, Harry found that he enjoyed the experience of studying with someone as fastidious as Severus. Hermione had always been a diligent study partner, yes, but even she paled in comparison to Severus.

The boy was an absolute sponge. He seemed to be able to retain every single word he had ever read, making sense of everything with little effort. He also had the uncanny ability to explain the material to Harry so that he could comprehend it, taking the time to expound on the typical elucidations in innovative ways to give more clarity, even those subjects which Harry had no previous knowledge of.

He didn't think he had ever learned so much in just a few hours alone, prompting him to ponder why and when the man's teaching method had changed. The adult Professor Snape certainly was not blessed with the same patience or creative approach as his younger counterpart. Somewhere along the line, he had lost his resolve to enlighten and inspire, opting instead to bark orders and instill fear. The reality of this fact saddened Harry, causing him to mourn the loss of the teacher he might have had, but didn't. He wanted to think more on what had happened to bring about this negative change but he was already drowning in homework and struggling to keep up with Severus.

Feeling both mentally and emotionally exhausted from a very intense and stressful day, Harry was grateful when, at one o'clock in the morning, Severus conceded that enough of their homework had been completed to call it a day. Or night, as it were.

Harry didn't need telling twice. He had just enough strength to change into his pajamas and brush his teeth. Climbing onto his four-poster and crawling under the warm covers, he fell into a deep sleep in no time. Images of gentle fingers brushing against his skin and the sensation of soft, ebony strands of hair sliding through his fingers flickered through his numb mind as he drifted off into a sound, contented slumber.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

The next morning felt like a repeat of the day before to Harry. Once again, Severus had to rouse him from his deep sleep since he had forgotten to cast an alarm spell for the second night in a row. After enduring just a minute of Severus' chastising words and admonishing glares, Harry staggered out of bed, showering and dressing at a hurried pace so as to not irritate him further.

The one good thing about waking up late was that their other dorm mates had already left, something Harry was thankful for. During breakfast, he and Severus again sat far away from the others at the Slytherin table, Harry taking special care not to allow his gaze to wander toward the Gryffindor side of the room. After yesterday's confrontation with Caedis Avery, he was wary of any action on his part that could provoke a second face-off.

Their first class of the day was Advanced Charms. Harry was looking forward to a lesson where he was not only familiar with the material, he also knew the teacher. Professor Flitwick had been his Charms teacher for all six years of his previous Hogwarts education, and Harry was well accustomed to his style of teaching as well as his expectations from students.

Feeling at ease for the first time since beginning his seventh-year schedule, Harry entered the familiar classroom with an air of confidence lacking in yesterday's lessons. He took a seat next to Severus near the middle of the classroom and listened while Professor Flitwick greeted the class and explained that they were going to begin learning Atmospheric Charms today.

Harry felt a rush of gratitude toward Severus for insisting that they read chapter twenty-six of their Advanced Charms textbook last night. It had turned out to be a wise move considering that the entire chapter dealt with Atmospheric Charms, their intricate wand movements as well as their varying incantations. He smiled to himself when he glanced over and saw the _I told you so_ expression on Severus' face, his smirk of amusement blazing, eyes narrowed and a single eyebrow raised in mock gratification.

As tiny Professor Flitwick clambered up onto a large stack of books to demonstrate the different wand movements needed for performing a Rain Charm and a Snow Charm, Harry let his eyes roam about the room, curious as to whether his parents took Advanced Charms as well.

Lily Evans was easy enough to spot. She sat near the front of the classroom just beside the windows, her bright crimson hair dazzling in the sunlight that was streaming in. Her gaze was fixed on Professor Flitwick with rapt attention while he spoke, her wand hand raised slightly, mimicking Flitwick's every gesticulation in miniature while her lips mouthed the incantation along with him.

Seated beside her was, of course, James Potter who unlike Lily, was not paying the professor any mind. His head was turned toward the redheaded witch beside him, unabashed hazel eyes roving over her face, drinking her in while a contented smile played about his lips.

To James' left sat Sirius. Slouching in his seat with his head lowered, the brazen Gryffindor seemed far more interested in a piece of parchment he was perusing under his desk than anything going on around him. Harry leaned forward and caught a glimpse of Sirius' eyes, narrowed in concentration as they darted back and forth across the surface of the paper.

After a moment, Harry shrugged and looked around for Remus. His eyes paused at first on the boy sitting directly behind James, also wearing Gryffindor robes and sporting light brown hair and a pallid complexion, but this student was shorter than Remus and his hair was a mousier brown. The boy glanced around, revealing eyes that were brown and beady, watery in appearance. His hands twitched every now and then as they lay across the desktop, as if their owner had trouble keeping still, and his fingernails tapped against the desktop, revealing a nervous, anxious demeanor.

With a sudden leap of his heart, Harry realized he knew this boy.

This was that skittish, cowardly, duplicitous _traitor_, Peter Pettigrew.

A rage he hadn't felt since the moments following Sirius' murder roared to life inside Harry as he stared at the boy who would one day betray his parents and frame his godfather. Peter's treachery was the impetus precipitating the deaths of Lily and James, the reason Sirius was wrongly accused and imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve long years.

Fists clenched and pulse racing, Harry took several deep breaths as he struggled to control his accelerating fury. He should have seen this coming. He knew he would be seeing the Marauders again. _Of course_ Peter would be among them at some point.

Harry had been so focused on the pain he would have to endure at seeing his parents again, as well as Remus and Sirius, that he had given no thought at all about the two-faced rat. Regardless of his oversight, his current harsh reality remained.

Peter Pettigrew was here right now, alive and sitting just a few feet away. Harry fought desperately to rein in his oppressive anger.

"Alright, class," Professor Flitwick called out, "Please pair up and practice both the Rain Charm, _Pluvias,_ as well as the more difficult Snow Charm, _Nix._ Keep in mind the subtle wrist flick I just demonstrated. If omitted, your snow will not freeze!"

Harry stood up automatically and felt a hand grab his robe sleeve, its grip unrelenting as it pulled him to the far corner of the classroom. He permitted its urgent directive, but his grim eyes never left the traitor as he was pulled away.

"Gray… what the hell is wrong with you? You look as though you're about to kill someone!" Severus whispered, his tone hushed but insistent. The urgency in his voice prompted Harry to break his fixed glare on Peter and look into the apprehensive eyes of the boy who was gripping his arm, grounding him, preventing him from lashing out.

"Look, I detest Potter and Black as well… but you mustn't provoke…"

"It's not them!" Harry retorted through gritted teeth, his whole body shuddering as he grappled with his overpowering ire.

"Then who?"

Almost without conscious thought, Harry's eyes snapped back to Peter, who was now crouched down beside his school bag, frantically rummaging through it. Narrowed black eyes followed Harry's line of sight, finally settling on his same focal point just in time to see Peter pull his wand out from his bag, a look of relief obvious on his face.

"Pettigrew? Gray, I hardly think he's worthy of this extreme reaction… I mean… he's an ass, yes, but…"

"I hate him!" Harry managed to spit out the words with vehemence, anger beginning to bubble over as he heard the very voice which could set his wrath over its precarious edge.

"Sirius!" Peter called out, drawing nearer to Harry and Severus, "Sirius… over here! There's lots of room here… Sirius… _come on!"_

Desperate for distraction from his burning rage, Harry whirled around to see what was causing Peter's impatience. Sirius was still standing beside his desk, transfixed, the parchment he had been examining in secret earlier gripped in both hands. His blue eyes were wide and he was staring at a single spot on the parchment.

"What the fuck!" Sirius blurted out, "James! Get over here… look at this!"

The next few moments were a frantic blur of confusion, several things happening almost at once.

Harry watched, frozen to the spot, as Sirius strode over to James and grabbed him by the shoulder, wrenching him from his conversation with Lily. After a few choice words at being interrupted, James acquiesced to Sirius' urgency and looked down at the parchment clutched in his friend's hand.

"Holy shit!" came James' response, a similar look of shock on his face as he snatched the parchment from Sirius.

"James! Lily!" Peter yelled, "Can you _please_ get Sirius to listen to me? I've been waiting over here for…"

At the mention of his parents' names issuing from that traitor's mouth, Harry's wavering control splintered. He pulled free from Severus' tight grip on his arm and lunged at Peter, wand raised as he charged forward.

"Gray… No!"

Harry heard Severus' dire warning, but ignored it, his overwhelming rage spurring him on, impelling him to act on his uncontrollable fury. In one swift motion, he grabbed Peter's robes and slammed him against the stone wall, a sickening crack reverberating throughout the room as the boy's head made contact with hard surface.

It was near impossible, but Harry refrained from casting a curse, opting instead to use the thin stick of wood in his hand to pin Peter in place, pushing the end of it into his neck, immobilizing him and hindering his breathing. The only sounds emitting from the incapacitated boy now were a series of strangled gasps and pained moans.

Harry's own breathing was labored and ragged, his arms trembling violently even as he held the rat animagus steady. He could hear voices yelling, feel several people grabbing onto him, clutching his robes and attempting to pull him away from Peter, but he stood his ground long enough to lean forward and whisper into the traitor's ear.

"You'll die by your own hand, Peter. You'll die in a filthy dungeon prison cell betraying your twisted master… just like you betrayed your best friends, you - you spineless, piece of filth!"

"Mr. Skye! That is _enough!"_

At Professor Flitwick's deafening reprimand, no doubt aided by a Sonorous Charm, Harry's arms grew limp, his vengeful adrenaline dissipating, transforming into despair and deep, aching regret. He released his hold on Peter who slumped to the ground. With his head lowered, Harry staggered backwards into Severus whose arms had come up to wrap around the front of his chest, pulling him away from Peter.

Harry allowed Severus to steer him, but his eyes remained on the boy in front of him, curled up on the floor in a fetal position, whimpering and panting for breath. Kneeling beside him were Lily and Sirius. Lily was running her fingers through the frightened boy's hair while whispering assurances, but Sirius remained motionless, a stunned look on his face as he stared at his terrified friend.

An overwhelming sense of terror engulfed Harry as he gazed down at what he had done, his body trembling and flushed with the heat of embarrassment and worry that he might have roused suspicion with his actions, putting his true identity at risk. He turned away from the disturbing scene and scanned the rest of the room. With the exception of Peter, Lily and Sirius, every other person including Professor Flitwick was staring at him, their faces twisted in either shock or disbelief.

All except one.

A solitary figure stood near the front of the classroom, apart from the gaping crowd and his fallen friend, his eyes fixed on the piece of parchment clutched in his trembling hands. His face was ashen, bloodless. His pale lips were parted, quivering, his expression blank with shock.

Harry watched in confusion as James lifted his head and turned to face him. Hazel eyes met grey just as the parchment fell from James' slackened fingers, turning over once in the air as it fluttered to the ground. Harry's eyes followed its descent, squinting to discern the elaborate script handwritten in bright green ink on the front.

His breath caught in his throat as he read the hauntingly familiar words…

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs_

_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mishchief-Makers_

_are proud to present_

_THE MAURADER'S MAP_

Heart hammering in his chest, mouth suddenly dry, a powerful sense of foreboding took hold of Harry as new understanding came to him.

The map never lies. This could only mean one thing.

James Potter knew who he was.

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Whew! Another deadline met! I wasn't certain I would make it.

Look for the next chapter to be up by September 10th (fingers crossed).

Special thanks to **YenGirl**, for helping me fine tune this very emotional chapter! It was a tough one. :)

**Please Review.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven -**

**Your gentle touch beguiles my senses**

The room was spinning. Time seemed to slow down as if hindered by the oppressive strain of disquiet.

As the seconds ticked by, reluctant in their progression, Harry's gaze remained fixed on his future father's face while the sounds of Peter's mewls and whimpers melding with the urgent whispers from his fellow classmates assailed his ears.

Harry fought to control his encompassing panic, but a sudden wave of vertigo took hold of him, forcing him to clamp his eyelids together and shut out the distressing image of James' stunned expression. Concentrating on the simple act of taking in air, Harry breathed in and out, trying to find a steady rhythm, desperate to slow down his reeling brain.

What the hell was he going to do now?

There was no denying it this time; he had really screwed things up.

How could he have forgotten about the map?! It was one thing to blank out on Peter Pettigrew's miserable existence, but it was quite another to dismiss the one magical item that could be his own undoing. It had helped Harry more than once, uncovering Pettigrew's deception back in his third year and Barty Crouch Jr's the following year.

True, in both instances, the map had been confiscated before all the pieces of the puzzle were put together and the traitors exposed, but the artifact had divulged their secrets nonetheless. It had been key in identifying duplicity _twice_ in his lifetime already!

And yet Harry had _still _managed to overlook its capability to reveal fraud… right at the moment when it was imperative that his own identity remained undercover.

It seemed unbelievable that he had not considered any of this earlier, or the fact that _of course_ the Marauders would have the map with them. They had _invented_ the damned thing, for God's sake!

Taking into consideration Harry's encounter with Sirius and James the other day, it was easy to understand how they could have become mistrustful of him. His taunting words of warning may have seemed innocuous at the time, but now he realized he had revealed too much. At that time, Harry had only hoped that his words might instill some fear in the truculent Gryffindors, enough to deter them from bullying Severus. To his chagrin, his impulsive chastisement had created suspicion instead, prompting James and Sirius to turn to the map and seek out the tiny dot labeled 'Gray Skye' in order to keep a watchful eye on him.

It might have been funny at another time, imagining the two Marauders huddled over the map for hours, scanning its surface in search of 'Gray Skye' and coming up empty handed, but Harry was in no mood to be amused.

His position now had turned very precarious.

"Mr. Skye! That abhorrent display will cost you one hundred points from Slytherin, and I will personally be escorting you to the Headmaster's office. I am sure Professor Dumbledore will be very interested to hear about your despicable behavior towards Mr. Pettigrew!"

In contrast to his usual squeaky lilt, Professor Flitwick's voice was now a lower and more threatening timbre.

Harry's eyes snapped open upon hearing the strong admonishment, his heart still clenched tight with fear, regret and mortification. Instead of seeking out the speaker, his grey eyes settled once again on the one person in the room whom it seemed was aware of Harry's true identity.

James returned Harry's stare with wide, ambivalent eyes, his mouth agape, shaking his head in astonishment. It looked as though reality had caught up with him. He swallowed and blinked several times, a trembling hand going up to his head and fingers raking through his unruly mop of raven hair in a nervous gesture. That familiar action was so reminiscent of Harry's own habitual move that he gasped at the sight.

Hazel eyes focused on grey ones again and then dropped their gaze downward to study the fallen parchment, its flamboyant title page lying out in the open, overt to any searching eye. In one swift motion, James bent down, retrieved it with a trembling hand and shoved it into the front pocket of his robes. His eyes darted back and forth, giving away his apprehension, as he scanned the classroom to be certain his covert action went unnoticed.

Despite Harry's and James' silent exchange and the latter's hasty act to conceal the map, Professor Flitwick paid them no mind, his irate scolding continuing as his fury escalated, while the other students stared at him, too shocked to even find amusement in the rare sight.

"…NEVER before have I witnessed such unprovoked violence in my class... such... such blatant disregard for school rules!"

At length, Professor Flitwick ended his tirade and swept over to where Peter lay curled up on the ground, quivering and whimpering. The crowd of students parted when he approached, backing away to give the man room as he knelt down beside Peter's prone form. Raising his wand, he gesticulated it in several elaborate movements above the student, muttering incantations under his breath.

After a tense moment, an audible sigh escaped the professor, relief evident on his flushed face. He stood up and turned to face James who was only now beginning to show a trace of color on his ashen cheeks.

"Mr. Potter, please help Mr. Pettigrew to the Hospital Wing. My diagnostic charms do not indicate any serious injury, however Madam Pomfrey will want to examine him herself. Take Mr. Black with you as well... it looks as though you both could use a Calming Draught."

James walked over to Peter as though in a fog, his motions autonomic, almost devoid of conscious control. He crouched down beside his sobbing friend and hooked his arm under the other boy's, hoisting him up.

This was the catalyst that seemed to rouse Sirius from his debilitating shock. All at once, his blank expression receded, replaced by one of determination. He went over to grab Peter's other arm and pull it around his shoulder for support.

Harry watched their slow progression out of the classroom, torn between regret and fury at the sight of the traitor being assisted by James and Sirius.

"Mr. Snape, Miss Evans, I am placing both of you in charge during my absence. I will return shortly. Class, you are to return to your practical assignment."

Severus' hands which were gripping Harry's shoulders from behind tightened their hold the instant Professor Flitwick called out those two names, before relaxing into forced calm. Harry did not miss the brief reaction, nor did he miss the sharp intake of breath drawn in at the words 'Miss Evans,' followed by its shaky release a split second later. For a moment, he wondered why Flitwick would call upon Severus to help Lily maintain order and then he remembered that Professor Slughorn had referred to him as a prefect during their introduction in the Slytherin common room.

Severus' constricting hold on Harry loosened just as a faint, yet urgent directive issued from his thin lips, edged with fear, "Stay away from Black, Gray. You are in danger. He will be out for revenge now..."

The words yanked Harry from his stupor, but left him feeling bewildered. Of course the remaining three Marauders would be furious about his unprovoked attack on Peter, but Severus' cautionary remark seemed so dire. Harry might have expected that level of warning had he just enraged a future Death Eater… but Sirius?

Before he could ask Severus what he meant, Harry's robe sleeve was grabbed by a fuming Professor Flitwick. The tiny professor tugged on his sleeve as he escorted Harry unceremoniously from the classroom and through the empty corridors toward the seventh floor.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

The walk to the Headmaster's office had never seemed so lengthy, or so arduous. With each step, Harry's sense of foreboding deepened. Though it was apparent from Professor Flitwick's forcible exhalations and stern expression that his ire had not diminished, he said nothing to Harry as he ushered him through the empty halls leading to Dumbledore's office.

In the strained silence, Harry pondered the possible outcome of his inevitable conversation with the Headmaster. What worried him most was not the disappointment he was certain to encounter from Dumbledore, but the information he would end up divulging to him. Harry had known the Headmaster long enough to know that even if he was able to refrain from vocalizing his true reason for the attack, the elderly wizard was blessed with a keen enough insight to ascertain the truth.

Despite his goal to remain reticent, Harry knew he would have to offer Dumbledore some type of elucidation as to why he had attacked a defenseless student, especially one of his future father's best friends. It would be dangerous to disclose too much though since the Headmaster was not meant to know about the rat animagus' treachery yet.

Or was he?

Harry was struck anew by the breadth of deception the Headmaster had been successful in keeping quiet. The man had harbored more secrets in his lifetime than even Tom Riddle – huge, life-altering secrets, deceptions that could reshape wars, splinter trust, heal wounds and inspire devastation. Could this be just one more secret that he had succeeded in concealing all these years?

Was it possible that Dumbledore was aware that Peter Pettigrew had been the real traitor, the person responsible for James and Lily's deaths all along?

Sirius and Remus were both cognizant of the fact that someone close to Lily and James was duplicitous. Harry knew this to be true. He remembered both of them admitting during those tense moments in the Shrieking Shack at the end of Harry's third year that they each thought the other guilty of double-crossing.

Neither of them had suspected Peter at the time.

But what if someone else had?

"Ice Mice."

It seemed to Harry, lost in his thoughts, that the walk to Dumbledore's office had taken just seconds to traverse. His heart hammered in his chest upon hearing Flitwick utter the password, prompting the gargoyle to leap aside and allow them admittance onto the moving spiral staircase.

Harry took several deep breaths to assuage his growing panic as the platform revolved and ascended, each rotation bringing a sharper edge to his trepidation. He searched his memory frantically as they neared the large door, trying to recall any detail that could shed light on what was guesswork and what was fact, desperate now for some clue that would indicate whether the Headmaster had actually known that Peter was the Potters' traitorous friend.

All of a sudden a memory came back to him; a whispered conversation Harry had overheard four years ago while concealed beneath his invisibility cloak at the Three Broomsticks. He recalled hearing Professor McGonagall tell Madam Rosmerta that Dumbledore had urged James to use _himself_ as their secret-keeper and _not_ one of his friends.

Wait, that wasn't correct - not just one of his friends - specifically Sirius Black.

Dumbledore was suspicious of Sirius, not Peter, a fact which gave Harry pause as he pondered the significance of this insight. His intense contemplation only perplexed him further as he could not fathom why Dumbledore would end up suspecting _Sirius_ in the future, when Harry's actions today should have cast doubt in the Headmaster's mind regarding _Peter's_ loyalty, not _Sirius.'_

It just didn't make sense.

A reverberating sound of hard knuckles on solid wood, followed seconds later by the authoritative command of "Enter," ripped Harry from his introspection, slamming him back to his harsh reality. Panic that had receded with his thoughts surged back with a vengeance as Harry watched Professor Flitwick push open the heavy oak door and step inside.

"Headmaster, I'm very sorry to have come unannounced," Professor Flitwick prefaced upon entering, Harry following in his wake.

"Nonsense, Fillius, you are always welcome and… ah, Mr. Skye is here with you, I see. No trouble in your seventh-year Charms class, I hope?"

"Unfortunately, yes, Headmaster, there was. Mr. Skye has assaulted another student; the attack was quite brutal and absolutely unprovoked. Considering the severity of his infraction, I thought it best to let you deal with him."

"Yes. Thank you, Fillius. You may go."

Harry could feel the Headmaster's penetrating gaze on him, could almost detect the waves of displeasure radiating from the old man's cerulean eyes as Professor Flitwick left the office, but he could not bring himself to look up. He kept his attention on a dull, tattered crimson feather near one of the clawed feet of Dumbledore's desk; an ashy remnant from Fawkes' last burning day. Harry gazed at the frayed plume with unseeing eyes, his thoughts drifting back to Peter, and what Dumbledore would be able to decipher from their impending exchange.

It wasn't until he heard his long-time mentor clear his throat that Harry acquired the fortitude to look up and face the solemn, lined visage. Immediately, those searing, blue eyes seemed to penetrate his soul, fixing him with an impaling glare that was equal parts vexation and burning curiosity. The intensity of it made Harry's heart ache and his body tremble as he awaited the man's inevitable question. Although that fierce stare spoke volumes, the taut lips uttered only one word.

"Who?"

Swallowing hard past the lump in his throat, Harry met the Headmaster's disapproving stare head on and answered him, sounding every bit the courageous Gryffindor, his voice steady and unfaltering, despite his inner turmoil.

"Peter Pettigrew, sir."

The Headmaster's eyes narrowed as he contemplated Harry's answer. Leaning back in his chair with elbows finding respite on the armrests while the tips of long fingers met in a habitual steeple, he deepened his penetrating gaze into wide grey eyes, lengthening his focal point, infiltrating Harry's psyche… his mind… his very soul.

Harry flinched when he felt the subtle hint of intrusion, and almost without thought, closed his mind to further penetration. His own instinctual reaction surprised him as this was the first time he was ever successful in erecting a viable Occlumency shield. He had never been able to achieve one during those disastrous Occlumency lessons during fifth year with Professor Snape.

His shields were strong and unremitting, and Harry used them to push back against the Headmaster's probing mind. A small gasp issued from him as Dumbledore abandoned his search and withdrew from his mind. Shoulders slumping, Harry closed his stinging eyes and lowered his head, shaking it to make sense of his now muddled, disarranged thoughts. When he lifted his gaze to peer at Dumbledore again, he was surprised to see the hint of a smile on the older man's face.

"Occlumency, Gray? I must say that I am pleased to discover that your mind is properly protected. Am I to assume that I am the one to have taught you?"

"No, sir. Profe-… I mean… No, you asked someone else to teach me," Harry replied, chagrined at his near slip. He could discern by the Headmaster's attenuated eyes, and the long moment of silent repose stretching between them, that what little information he did offer, or rather his _lack_ of information, was being filed away in the aged wizard's brain, stored in some deep recess of his mind for consideration later.

Harry took a deep breath and tried for a calm and reassuring tone.

"Professor Dumbledore, I can't tell you why I reacted the way I did when I saw Pettigrew this morning, but I can promise you, it won't happen again. And I am truly sorry for putting Professor Flitwick through that…"

"…but not Mr. Pettigrew?"

Harry hesitated, mouth dry, pulse racing again, searching his brain for the right words to explain his actions. In the end, he decided to answer in the only way he knew how… honestly… but void of details.

"No, sir. I'm not sorry for what I did to him, but I assure you, it won't happen again."

The Headmaster's eyes remained narrowed as he leaned forward in his chair, locking gazes with Harry once more. He spoke a single quiet request, one that both startled the younger wizard and eased his tension.

"Let me in, Harry."

Again, Harry felt a subtle nudge against the periphery of his mind. This time, he allowed the intrusion. Careful to focus on nothing but his desire to avoid another confrontation with Peter and achieve his goal of saving Severus, Harry took a few steady breaths and released them as flashes of his attack on Peter streamed past his consciousness in quick succession, slowing down at the images of Severus pulling him back and concluding with the Slytherin whispering his dire warning about Sirius.

Dumbledore seemed satisfied for he broke their connection and leaned back in his chair once more, a pensive look on his worn face as if reflecting on the images he had just witnessed. When he spoke again, he said nothing about the specifics of the attack or Severus' cautionary words, returning them to Harry's promise to avoid another confrontation with Peter.

"I believe that your wish to maintain your distance from Mr. Pettigrew and prevent this type of occurrence in the future is sincere, Gray. However…"

Dumbledore's brief pause was followed by a quick flourish of his wand and a fleeting pulse of blue light. As the blinding flash dissipated, a single piece of parchment materialized on the surface of Dumbledore's desk. Even upside down, the name 'Peter Pettigrew' stood out to Harry, written in red ink at the top. Craning his neck a bit, he saw that it was a course schedule.

"It looks as though it will not be possible for you to avoid Mr. Pettigrew's presence. He is enrolled in four of your classes: Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology and Astronomy. Avoidance will not be feasible… unless of course, you wish for me to change _your_ schedule."

Harry brought his hand up to his hair, running his fingers through it in agitation while he released an uneasy sigh. Yes, this would be difficult. Just the idea of seeing the rat traitor so often made him sick to his stomach, but he didn't have a choice. He couldn't just opt to change his schedule. Severus was enrolled in these classes too, and the whole point of Harry's time here was to spend it with Severus and figure out how to ensure his survival twenty years from now.

Harry was not willing to sacrifice any time with Severus even if it meant enduring the presence of Pettigrew. Despite the pain and frustration it would cause him, Harry knew what he must do.

"No, professor. Please don't alter my schedule. I can do this. I can. You have my word," Harry asserted, "I... I just... I have to make sure I stay with..."

"...with Severus?" the Headmaster finished, his tone lighter and warmer than it had been, the alluring twinkle Harry was so accustomed to seeing permeating from the Headmaster's blue gaze emerging as he continued.

"Tell me, Gray... how are things going with the two of you?"

All at once, Harry felt heat rise in his cheeks. He lowered his head to conceal his fiery blush as his thoughts raced back to those fervent glances and soft caresses he had shared with Severus. Harry's throat felt dry and he swallowed hard to alleviate the parched, tight sensation.

After a long, awkward moment, he lifted his gaze and noted the Headmaster's amused visage, a silent observation that Harry had stayed silent for way too long.

"Oh... um... yes. It's going well. I mean, he... he doesn't... well, he doesn't hate me like I thought he might."

A hearty chortle escaped the wide grin stretching across the aged face, but Harry could tell Dumbledore was trying to hide his delight at his flustered response. He blushed even more when the Headmaster brought his hand up to his face, brushing the very tips of his long fingers across his upturned lips, as if trying to force his smile to ebb. When he lowered his hand, the grin had been replaced with a more somber expression.

"No, Gray, I never imagined he would hate you. Quite the opposite, actually. By now, I'm sure you have ascertained that Severus does not trust easily, but when he does, he is a very open and caring young man."

"Yes, sir. I do see that. It's just... surprising... I mean, he's so different than I expected," Harry explained.

"Different? What had you expected?" Dumbledore inquired, and Harry could see the plain, sincere look of interest radiating from those impassioned blue depths.

"Well... I... I..." Spluttering again, Harry grappled with his words, hoping to answer in a way that would not lead the Headmaster to any foregone conclusions about Severus' future allegiances, "It's just that I was lead to believe that Severus was interested in the Dark Arts in his youth... so I figured..."

"Ah, I see," Dumbledore replied, "You believed Severus to still be... on the wrong side... so to speak."

"Yes, sir."

"Although it is true that Severus was most assuredly headed in that direction, as is the case of many of our Slytherin students, he has experienced a change of heart. He is no more a 'future Death Eater' than myself."

Those familiar words brought a sense of deja vu to Harry, making him shiver. How many times had he heard Dumbledore defend his Potions Master like this, to students and professors alike? While it was a relief to know that the adult Professor Snape had always been loyal to the Headmaster, it made Harry shudder to think how easily the Light could have been vanquished had the man placed his true allegiance with Voldemort instead. He felt cold at the thought and winced as the pangs of a headache started pulsing behind his eyes.

"Gray," Dumbledore voiced, pulling Harry from his distressing thoughts. "Have you asked Severus why he chose to abandon his desire to become a supporter of Voldemort?"

"No... no I haven't, actually," Harry muttered, wondering to himself why he hadn't asked Severus such a pertinent question.

A part of him did want to know what had caused Severus' perspective to change so much, especially since it was obvious that, at some point, his resolve to follow the Light would dissolve and Severus would revert back to his original aspiration to become a Death Eater. The reasons behind both abrupt changes were important, and Harry should have asked Severus – but he hadn't.

Harry exhaled and clamped his eyes shut. He brought both hands up to his now throbbing head, pressing his fingertips into his aching temples to soothe the gnawing pain. His brain felt heavy, burdened and overwhelmed, as if it had not had time to recover from the anxious tedium of the past year and the crushing stress of the past few days. What with insufficient sleep, unaccustomed long hours of study into the night and the sudden outburst of emotion at Pettigrew, Harry felt close to collapse right now.

"I think perhaps," the Headmaster announced, "it may be a good idea for you to forego the remainder of your morning schedule for today, Gray."

Dumbledore's voice came as though from far away. With difficulty, Harry opened his burning eyes.

The Headmaster summoned a potion vial from a nearby cabinet and handed it to Harry with an understanding smile. He walked around his desk and sat down on its edge beside Harry, watching him as he downed the entirety of the elixir.

Dumbledore took a deep breath before issuing his next directive.

"I suggest you go back to your dorm. I will inform your professors that you are too ill to attend the rest of your morning classes. Take this time to regroup, as it is obvious that you have been through much trauma this morning."

Nodding, Harry stood up on weak legs and lifted his head to meet the Headmaster's gaze once more.

"Thank you, sir."

He did not know what else to say.

"Gray, I do hope you realize that I will have to allow Professor Flitwick to assign punishment as he sees fit."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

With one final glance at the Headmaster's forlorn, sympathetic smile, Harry turned to go, catching a fleeting glimpse of scarlet as he exited the room. Fawkes' faint trill of despondency echoed in his ears as he closed the heavy oak door and began his descent down the spiral stairs.

Anxious to dive under the covers of his four-poster and lose himself in heavy slumber, Harry began his trek back to the dungeons at a hurried pace. The pounding in his head had receded somewhat thanks to that headache remedy, but his brain was still mired in confusing thoughts and unanswered questions.

Harry yearned to just forget about everything, at least for a while, and sleep until lunch. This morning had been an absolute disaster and he felt as though he had strength for nothing more.

Just as he had descended the third floor staircase and entered the narrow stretch of hallway which led to the Hospital Wing, a faint voice called out from a very close proximity. Its tone hesitant, uncertain.

"Harry."

Spinning around to find the source of the odd whisper, not even realizing that he was reacting to his given name, Harry answered in a hushed undertone, squinting his eyes and scanning the seemingly deserted corridor.

"Who – who's there...?"

The speaker was revealed a second later when a shaking hand emerged out of thin air and grabbed at something unseen. Silvery fabric shimmered into being and fell to the floor, revealing James Potter with his face pale and wan and his expression devoid of its usual brazenness.

Harry swallowed past the hard lump in his throat, but said nothing as he stared at the trembling boy, waiting for the inevitable.

"That is your real name, isn't it? Harry... Harry Potter?"

It had come to this. Harry had to make a decision here and now, there was nothing else for it. No one was around. He could draw his wand on James, attempt to _Obliviate_ him. Harry had never cast an _Obliviate_ before, but he was aware of the theory behind the spell and he had seen Hermione do it. If he used the Elder wand, he was sure he could manage it. A muscle in his right arm twitched as he contemplated reaching into his bag for the wand, but he halted its progress when James' next words fell from his lips.

"You're my... my son, aren't you?"

It was both a statement and a question, the words filled with hope and awe.

Harry released a huge breath he had been holding, and with it came a muffled whimper of anguish and relief, its liberation fostering a firm decisiveness.

No… he couldn't do it. He could not raise his wand to his future father and force him to forget what might very well be the only opportunity they would ever have to speak to one another _alive_.

My God! This man would sire him in just a few short years, help to bring him into this world. Then he would be murdered after spending just over a year with Harry, too short a time to form a real bond with his infant son.

How could Harry take away this memory from this man knowing what the future would bring?

His decision made, he answered James' timid question, his own voice trembling and cracking as he spoke.

"Yes. I'm your son."

James took a few steps closer to him, his eyes scanning every inch of him as he drew closer. When he was mere feet from Harry, he halted. He was close enough now that Harry could discern the myriad of emotions conflicting just beyond those wide, hazel eyes, his features portraying a dizzying jumble of confusion, anger, apprehension and hope.

James took in a huge breath and held it, then spoke again, his voice still faint, laden with emotion.

"You... you don't look like me. Are you...?"

"I do. I do look like you," Harry interjected, "I'm just... concealing my appearance while I'm here."

"Oh."

James dropped his gaze for a moment as if collecting his thoughts. When he lifted his eyes to focus on Harry once more, there was more than a trace of fury flashing in his narrowed eyes. His brow was furrowed, his features twisted, a scowl etched on his pale face.

"Why?" he asked, his voice stronger now, his tone terse and sharp.

"Why? You mean... why am I here?" Harry asked, confused about the vague question and sudden hostility radiating from the boy who had seemed so hesitant moments ago.

"_Of course_ why are you here! Why _everything_! Why are you in Slytherin? Why did you attack Peter? And why the fuck are you best friends with Snivellus..."

"DON'T call him that," Harry warned. He was still bewildered by James' sudden change in behavior, but anger was beginning to build in the pit of his stomach again. His ire was short-lived though, its intensity diminishing when he noticed the emergence of tears in the corners of James' eyes and the softening of his features.

When James spoke again, there was such desperation, such pleading in his voice, Harry couldn't help but to feel sympathy for him, despite his frustration with the boy for his ignorance.

"Please... please explain this to me. I just... I just need to understand..."

"Yes, you _do_ need to understand," Harry interrupted, an eerie sense of calm overtaking him as the words fell without effort from his quivering lips. "You need to understand that you are wrong, James. You are very wrong about Severus. He is _not_ Dark. And he is _not _the person you should be concentrating your efforts on. At this very moment there is a wizard out there who is gathering strength, and he will not hesitate to kill anyone who gets in the way of his rise to power. Are you listening to me? You need to stop this vendetta against Severus, let go of all these petty, meaningless adolescent grudges, and concern yourself with what is good in your life... what is most important... protecting your loved ones... You need to grow the hell up, James, and start making the right decisions... the right _choices_ for the people you love... because you never know when you might... lose them."

The fragile shell of his calm had started to crack midway through his speech. Harry choked out the last two words, and was barely able to suppress the sob that was building deep in his throat.

Letting his gaze drop to the floor, he brought his hands up to his face, not surprised to find his cheeks wet with tears. As he wiped them away with trembling fingers, two gentle hands came to rest on both of his shoulders. Teary grey eyes locked with vitreous hazel ones and Harry was astonished to see the first real look of care and concern leveled at him by his future father, evidenced by the lone tear roving down James' cheek.

All at once, the pain and anguish he had been trying to restrain broke free. Feeling powerless to stop it, Harry gave into it as his weak legs folded beneath him and he fell to the floor, weeping with abandon. James dropped to the floor alongside of him, his hands never leaving Harry's shoulders as they fell.

"Harry... I'll stop, OK? I'll leave Snape alone. I promise. But what did you mean? What did you mean about losing the people I love?"

Harry averted his eyes from James' imploring, desperate look, squeezing them together to block out his terrified expression. He shook his head violently, more to entreat himself not to answer than as a reply to James' distressed question.

"No... I... no... I can't tell you anything else... I'm sorry... I shouldn't have..." he choked out, his words hindered by anguished sobs and persistent gasps.

"OK. It's alright. You don't have to say anything else, OK? Just... let's just sit here for a while."

It would have been an odd sight to behold had anyone walked by; two students sitting side by side on the floor, one Gryffindor, one Slytherin, leaning against the cold stone wall in utter silence. As Harry tried to even out his erratic breathing and wipe away the lingering tears from his emotional outburst, James sat stock-still, staring at the floor with wide eyes.

Breathing in the calm and tranquility of the moment, Harry allowed the gravity of their conversation to permeate his spirit and attempted to wrap his brain around the last few minutes.

He knew he would not _Obliviate_ James. He just could not do that to his own father, could never be so cruel as to take this moment away from him, from both of them. Which, of course, could only mean one thing; his father would remember this moment for the rest of his brief life. The words they spoke to each other today would stay with him from this point forward. Harry imagined them lingering in James' thoughts as he asks a beaming Lily to marry him, appearing in the forefront of his mind as his young wife gives birth to a tiny, raven-haired baby boy, tormenting him as he tries to keep his family safe from Voldemort's maniacal clutches.

Would James obsess over this conversation? Would he replay each word in his head over and over again searching for Harry's every meaning? Would he come to cherish this moment? Would it mean the world to him that his future son had tried to lead him down the right path?

One thing was for certain, Harry realized, still feeling half dazed. By revealing his true identity to his eighteen-year-old father, he had, without intending to, given James confirmation that his son would survive Voldemort's attack on the Potters. He wondered if James would share that fact with his wife. Would he comfort a distraught Lily Potter while holed up in Godric's Hollow by admitting to her that he had once had a conversation with an alive and healthy teenage Harry Potter? Would this allow his future parents to persevere in their darkest moments while hiding out from a madman?

"Harry... can I ask you something?"

James hesitant question splintered the heavy silence and pulled Harry from his reverie, the inquiry sounding louder than the speaker had intended in the wake of oppressive quietude.

"Yes. I'm not certain if I'll be able to give you an answer though," Harry replied.

"I just wanted to know... who is your mother?"

Harry turned to face James, smiling slightly at the nervous look in the other boy's eyes. James' yearning for confirmation that his one true love was actually his future wife and the mother of his child was obvious in his worried expression and the way his hands were twisting around one another in an agitated, restless manner.

"I have been told my whole life that I look exactly like my father," he told the anxious boy, "...except for my eyes. Everyone says that I have my mother's eyes."

Harry watched as James' eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing, his confusion evident as he waited for his future son to continue.

"Green. My eyes are a brilliant shade of emerald green, just like my mother's," he finished, his smile growing as he noticed James' unconcealed expression of joy and relief, new tears gathering in those hazel eyes as he breathed out a huge sigh. James' smile soon mimicked Harry's, their euphoric grins beaming as they gazed at one another.

All of a sudden, James blinked and sat up straight, eyes widening.

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed, shattering their brief contentment. He glanced at his watch and shot up off the floor in one rapid motion, "I have to go. It's almost ten o'clock! I'm supposed to be in Transfiguration in eight minutes, and McGonagall's already given me detention three times this term for being late. Are... are you in that class, too?"

"Yes, but Professor Dumbledore has told me not to go. I'm supposed to take the morning off to... uh... regroup," Harry responded while picking himself up off the dusty floor and straightening his robes.

"Oh, right. And I suppose you're not going to tell me what the hell that was all about, are you?" James asked, his voice laced with strain, irritation blatant on his features again.

"No. I'm not… I- I- can't tell you…" Harry answered, his heart breaking again, "But I can promise you that it won't happen again."

James said nothing, probably because he knew Harry would not divulge any more information. His only response was a small, curt nod, the tension in his face palpable, a mixture of anger and confusion contorting the features that had been so relaxed and at ease just a moment ago.

Harry turned to go, feeling troubled and sick to his stomach again, but turned back around when the Gryffindor called out to him.

"Harry... you realize that Sirius knows, right?" he said, a new emotion flitting across James' features as his gaze locked with Harry's again. Harry swallowed hard when he realized that what he was seeing on the Gryffindor's pale face was... fear.

"Yes, I saw him looking at the map," Harry answered, then waited, wondering where this was going.

"You should be careful," James whispered.

"What? What do you mean... be careful? Look, if he's seen the map then he's at least thinking that I'm related to you, right? So, just talk to him. Tell him... I don't know... tell him I'm a distant cousin of yours or something..."

"Harry. He knows. OK? He knows you're _my son_."

"But I..."

James heaved a huge sigh of frustration and interrupted Harry, plunging into a series of rambling, terse explanations.

"He _knows_... He knows that 'Harry' is the name I've picked for my son, alright? And he's not completely clueless. Those things you said to us on Sunday... about the Shrieking Shack... and you referred to us as the Marauders! You called him Padfoot and me Prongs! These are secrets we have _never_ told _anybody!_ Don't you see, Harry... he _knows!"_

"OK. Alright, I'll admit that this is not ideal, but... OK... so you both know who I am. Just... tell Sirius not to tell anybody..."

"You are not listening to me!" James looked like he was fighting with himself as he struggled to find his next words. He ran his fingers through his hair again, scratching his nails along his scalp, a habitual gesture Harry was quite familiar with having done the same thing countless times when consumed by panic.

"You... you just... need to be careful around Sirius, OK? Just... stay away from him and... keep Sniv- er, Snape away from him, too. Look, I have to go. I'm going to be late."

With that, James turned from him abruptly and hastened down the corridor, his robes billowing behind him as he went. Harry watched him go, stunned and perplexed by the strange turn their conversation had taken.

Had he just been warned for the second time this morning to be wary of his own godfather?

But... why?

Harry's stomach clenched and twisted once again, an ominous feeling of alarm gripping him as he made his way back to his dungeon dormitory.

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** I sincerely hope that you've enjoyed this chapter, despite its lack of Severus/Harry interaction. But don't worry, I am already hard at work on Chapter 8 which _will_ feature some lovely moments between our favorite pair.

I have already been asked more than once... 'When will they kiss?'

Have no fear. It will be coming up soon... very soon. I promise. And I aspire to make it worth your wait!

A big thanks to my Beta, **YenGirl**, once again, for making this chapter much better than it would have been had she not helped me.

I'd also like to thank the thirty plus reviewers that have posted reviews since my last update. Your kind, encouraging comments mean the world to me. It was way more than I had expected, and I am very pleased that this story is becoming so well received.

Next chapter should be posted by Sept. 24th. So, stay tuned.

**Please Review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight -**

**Captivates my soul**

Harry was late again.

After shoving his feet into his shoes and sweeping his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair, he seized his school bag and slung it over his shoulder as he tore from the dorm at lightning speed.

He had collapsed onto his four-poster over two and a half hours ago. Despite the myriad of worrying thoughts and emotions wreaking havoc inside his brain, sleep had taken no time to procure him. His mind had been eager to let go, opting for the blissful void of slumber rather than the distress of his oppressive reality.

Glancing down at the battered face of Fabian Prewett's watch for the second time in the last minute, Harry sprinted through the empty dungeon halls, cursing his stupidity. What would Severus say if he knew that Harry had once again, fallen asleep without casting an alarm spell?

The word _dunderhead _immediately came to mind. Harry smiled despite himself, then schooled his features as he neared the familiar Potions classroom.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor Slughorn!" he managed to vocalize as he burst in, his breaths coming out in a series of labored puffs. "I... missed lunch... and I..."

"Relax, my dear boy!" said Slughorn, his avid grin huge as he greeted his newest student, "I would have found it simply astounding had you managed to find all your classes on your first week here! Why, I recall being half an hour late to Transfiguration class on _my_ very first week at Hogwarts. Of course, that was due to that nasty trick step on the third floor staircase, you know. I waited there nearly twenty minutes until Professor Tofty came along and freed me from the blasted thing. I'll never understand why that step hasn't been fixed. Oh well, that is neither here nor there…"

Harry breathed a huge sigh of relief as he listened to Slughorn's lighthearted, albeit rather long-winded greeting, feeling reassured by its lack condemnation. After this morning's public reprimand in Charms class, he was grateful to be welcomed by the man's buoyant tone and cheery demeanor.

"Come in, Mr. Skye, and take your seat beside Mr. Snape. He has graciously agreed to let you shadow him for the remainder of the term as you are so late in joining us," Slughorn continued, gesturing toward the back corner of the classroom.

Harry followed his direction and saw a scowling Severus glaring at him. A mere second after their eyes met, Severus' gaze dropped down to his own hands, his attention fixed on the meticulous slicing of a flobberworm, his features becoming more and more rigid with each downward lash of the silver knife.

Harry gulped as he approached his assigned workstation, feeling his stomach drop a little further with each step he took. It was obvious that Severus was seething, and after all that Harry had been through that day, he really didn't think he could endure the other boy's displeasure too.

Severus' autonomic slicing and impenetrable focus only ended when Harry came to stand right beside him. After a brief hesitation, he abandoned his silver knife in favor of his Ebony wand, raising it a small degree and pointing it toward the front of the classroom.

"_Muffliato,_" he whispered before turning those narrowed, tenebrous eyes towards Harry, his expression grim.

"I'm sorry, Severus. I missed lunch and..."

"Where _were_ you?" Severus interrupted, "And what the hell is going on with you? For God's sake, Gray, you attack that cretin, Pettigrew... then you get sent to the Headmaster's office, which by the way, was _hours ago_... you didn't turn up in Transfiguration... you skipped lunch... where the fuck were you?!"

Harry's eyes widened as he listened to the furious rant, noticing Severus' pale complexion turning a deeper shade of scarlet with each angry word he uttered.

In the silence that followed Severus' admonishment, Harry took a moment to scan the room, imagining he would see several faces turned toward them in confusion. He knew that _Muffliato_ would keep the sounds of the boy's venting down to a low, inconspicuous hum, but he was certain the rest of the class must have noticed Severus' abrupt change in demeanor, as well as the irate gesticulations of his wand as he waved it around without caution, several gold sparks issuing from the tip every time it slashed through the air.

Somewhat to Harry's chagrin, he saw the room was all but empty. Only three other students were in attendance and they were all seated at the front row of the room with their heads facing away from them, engrossed in their own potions.

Harry did a double-take and his heart leapt when he caught sight of the shiny crimson ponytail of the girl nearest them, her head lowered as she studied the steaming contents of her cauldron. He couldn't see her face from where he was standing, but he had no doubts as to who she was.

The fact that Lily Evans took Mastery Potions should not be surprising, Harry realized, since Slughorn had sung her praises to him last year. He felt the corners of his lips turn up a fraction as he watched Lily grab a piece of parchment and a quill from her bag and with feverish motions, drive the quill across the blank sheet, filling its surface with her ardent note-taking.

"Are you going to answer me, or are you going to continue to stare at Lily?"

Harry swung back to Severus.

"Wh-what? No... I mean, yes. I'm going to answer you... I..."

"And I wouldn't bother if I were you. She's spoken for, in case you haven't already realized. Besides, she hates you right now more than she's ever hated me!" Severus spat. He turned away from Harry, slamming his wand onto the worktable and grabbing another flobberworm and his knife.

"Wait a minute… what? Hold on!"

Harry snatched Severus' knife away from him and placed it next to the discarded wand. Grasping the boy's empty hand in his, he dragged it off the table, out of sight from the others. When their fingers wove together as was their habit, Severus' focus strayed to their clasped hands for a brief moment before lifting to lock with Harry's.

"Listen to me, Severus. Please. I didn't mean to worry you, OK? Professor Dumbledore sent me to my dorm for the rest of the morning to... collect myself. I had intended to come to lunch, but I fell asleep and... well, you know what an idiot I am... I forgot to cast an alarm spell. So, I slept through lunch, and…"

Harry chanced another quick glance at Lily who was still busy writing out her Potion notes, then turned his gaze back to look into those anxious, ebony eyes again, relieved to find a hint of exasperated mixed with the anger now.

"…and the only reason I look at Lily sometimes is because I sort of... know her... in the future. That's all, Severus. Were you thinking that I… I mean, you didn't actually think that I had… um… _feelings_ for her… did you?" Harry asked, the tentative edge to his voice revealing his own nervousness.

The swift drop of Severus' gaze and the way he hunched a shoulder in a defensive move was answer enough. Harry stared at him, a part of him balking at the absurd idea, but judging from those angry words and actions a moment ago, it certainly seemed that way.

Harry swallowed hard and took a deep breath as he waited for Severus to answer him, suddenly curious as to whether his apparent jealousy was because of his growing feelings for Gray or because of his previous longing for Lily.

After a long pause, Severus responded, eyes still downcast, cheeks still red, his voice no more than a whisper.

"I wasn't sure what to think... I just... You stare at her so often, and you defended her yesterday against Avery. I guess I started to think that perhaps…"

"No! No, Severus. It's not like that. I swear to you," Harry urged. "Look at me, please."

Severus clamped his eyes shut, his face taut with tension as he took several deep, tremulous breaths. Gradually, ebony eyes emerged, locking with grey ones for a brief moment before shifting downward to stare at their clasped hands. As if the sight of their laced fingers brought repose from his unease, Severus' breathing slowed and his features softened, his deep flush receding.

After another moment, he squeezed Harry's hand, sweeping his thumb along his scar, and spoke again, his words hesitant.

"I'm sorry. I got carried away… I.. I was just so worried about you."

Dark eyes snapped up to meet Harry's again, sincerity radiating from their depths, filling Harry with warmth and putting his fears to rest. All his tension seemed to melt away as he gazed into those caring eyes, losing himself once more in their resonating fervency.

Reciprocating Severus' earlier gesture, Harry tightened his grip the boy's trembling hand and pulled it close so that their clasped hands rested against his stomach, compelling Severus to edge nearer. When Harry spoke again, he kept his eyes fixed on Severus', hoping to convey by the depth of his gaze, that he was the only person in the room Harry felt this way for, the only one who had ever made him feel so comfortable, so safe, so cared for.

"I'm sorry I worried you, Severus. But I need you to believe it's not Lily I have feelings for," Harry stated. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

"It's you."

In an instant, the insecure look in those tenebrous eyes transformed into one of profound relief. Thin lips curved into a shy smile just as a solitary quavering breath escaped them. Harry's heart warmed at the sight and he found himself unable to look away. He was drawn in even further when Severus' easy, contented expression changed again, placated dark eyes becoming ardent, sultry as they pierced Harry with an almost hungry look.

The world around them seemed to fade away as they stood motionless, staring at one another, lost in each other's eyes. At length, a slight movement drew Harry's focus downwards, catching sight of Severus' lower lip held between those crooked teeth again. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he fought the sudden burning desire to press his own lips to the captured lip, to coax it away from those worrying teeth… to soothe it… taste it…

Terrified he had been staring at those lips too long and shocked by his own intrepid compulsion, Harry's gaze shot back up, hoping his intentions had not been as obvious as he had feared. A rush of heat coursed through him when he saw those obsidian orbs focused on his own lips now, which suddenly felt parched under the intensity of his gaze.

When Harry's tongue darted out to wet them and ease their trembling, a quiet, breathy moan of longing issued from Severus. Heart racing, waves of excitement rippling through his body, Harry heaved an anxious breath and held it. His brain felt dizzy, numb, his only thought the nearly overwhelming need to feel that hushed, eager moan and surge of hot breath brush against his lips. He yearned to draw that heady breath in, devour it while those soft, warm lips moved against his in a searing kiss.

"Oh, Mr. Skye…I almost forgot..."

"Shit!" Severus cursed under his breath, jerking away from Harry as he flung his arm onto the worktable, his long fingers fumbling for a second before closing around the thin stick of ebony.

"_Finite Incantatem,_" he whispered, canceling the _Muffliato_ just as Professor Slughorn approached them.

The professor appeared not to have noticed their fervid interchange or the agitated scrambling that followed. He was too busy trying to locate something inside the front pocket of his robes as he neared them.

"Now where did I put it? Ah, yes, here we are… Professor Flitwick asked me to deliver this to you."

Slughorn had pulled out a small scroll of parchment bound by a red ribbon and an official-looking wax seal. Harry averted his face as he took it, certain the intensity of his previous thoughts would be evident by his flushed cheeks.

"Thank you, sir," he replied, hoping his breathless tone wasn't too obvious. He unrolled the parchment and scanned its missive, Severus leaning over his shoulder to read along with him.

Harry felt the lingering vestiges of excitement and elation he had been enjoying just moments ago vanish the instant he finished reading the stern pronouncement.

_Mr. Skye,_

_As a result of your behavior in my class this morning, I have decided that your punishment will be best served in detention. You are to report to my office every Saturday remaining in this term, beginning this Saturday, at 8am sharp. Do not expect to be dismissed until well after noon._

_Do not be late._

_Professor Flitwick_

"This day just keeps getting better," Harry mumbled as he rolled up the parchment and stuffed it in his bag.

Severus said nothing. His only reaction was the brief wry smirk of amusement on his thin face as he grabbed his knife once again, renewing his efforts with the flobberworms.

They were quiet for a while, a heavy silence stretching between them. Harry wondered if Severus was reminiscing about what had just transpired or if the boy's detailed preparations for whatever potion he was creating was enough to monopolize his thoughts. The persistent tinge of pink to Severus' cheeks seemed to indicate the former was true.

Their strained reticence was broken several minutes later when something Severus had mentioned during his angry outburst came rushing back to Harry, chipping away at his resolve until he could no longer remain quiet.

"So… Lily hates me?" he asked, cringing at the childlike question and the vulnerable edge to his voice.

Severus gave Harry an exasperated sideways glance, but answered him.

"Well, what did you expect would happen after you attacked one of her boyfriend's best friends? She is a Gryffindor, and as I'm sure you know, they happen to be quite stubborn in their loyalty toward their friends, as well as rather vehement in their hatred for their enemies. You, Gray Skye, have succeeded in catapulting yourself to the top of the Gryffindor enemy list in two short days. You said you know Lily in the future, then you should know that she is a very forgiving person. However, you may have just crossed a line with her this morning. Once that line is crossed, there's no going back... I should know."

The last few words were tinged with bitterness, Severus turning away when he uttered them.

"Wonderful," Harry murmured. His tone was dripping with sarcasm, but his insides convulsed and twisted as he considered the fact that his future mother despised him. The very idea made him sick to his stomach and he gritted his teeth, brimming with frustration again. The dull ache just behind his eyes resumed its torment, and Harry pushed his fingers and thumb into his eyelids to soothe the pulsing pain.

Taking a deep breath and resolving himself to ignore the throbbing in his head, Harry rummaged through his bag for his Advanced Potions book. After locating it, he pulled it open to a random page and plopped it down on the desk just beside Severus' work area. He had no clue what Severus was working on, and was just about to ask him, when he caught sight of the ingredients laid out in neat piles alongside the already bubbling cauldron: flobberworms, daisy roots, salamander tails, sopophorous bean, skinned shrivelfig and unicorn hair.

Harry couldn't help but smile when he realized that he actually knew which potion required this combination of ingredients - an Elixir to Induce Euphoria! He recalled making this particular potion just last year as a desperate attempt to get Slughorn to divulge the untampered horcrux memory he so desperately needed. That attempt was a failure, but his execution of the potion had been flawless, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince's comprehensive modifications.

Emboldened by that memory and eager to prove himself, Harry watched as Severus carefully placed the sliced flobberworms into the cauldron, one slice at a time, the fluid within turning from a dull green hue to more of a pastel pink with each addition. Severus stirred the pale potion clockwise four times, then paused.

"Unicorn hair," he instructed, pointing to the pile of fine, silver strands.

Remembering the detailed notes from the Half-Blood Prince's book about the importance of adding just a few hairs at a time for best results, and rather surprised that he remembered this much, Harry plucked three hairs only from the pile and placed them on Severus' outstretched palm.

"Hmm," Severus murmured as he took the offering, his left eyebrow elevated and an expression of mild surprise adorning his features as he added the hairs to the cauldron.

Harry continued to assist Severus, handing him each ingredient, one by one, until at last he asked for the final component.

"Just the daisy roots left, then it needs to simmer for fifteen minutes," Severus explained.

Harry gave him the roots, then looked around the workstation in confusion, feeling as though they had forgotten something. He could have sworn he had added another ingredient to this potion last year… something that, judging by the heavily underlined handwritten passage in the margin, had come highly recommended by the Prince… something to counteract some crazy side effect.

What _was_ it?

"Oh, yeah!" Harry exclaimed as the elusive memory returned to him. He left a very bemused looking Severus behind as he took off for the potions cabinet and returned a moment later with a fresh sprig of peppermint in his hand.

Severus eyed the item with an inquisitive look.

"Peppermint? Why on earth would you want to add...?" his voice trailed off before he had even finished his inquiry, an introspective, far-off look in his eyes. All of the sudden, the deep ruminative expression transformed into a massive grin, his dark eyes alight with excitement.

"Of course… the peppermint will interact with remaining blood in the salamander tails, neutralizing the side effects of singing and nose-tweaking! Brilliant, Gray!" Severus exclaimed.

With his beaming smile illuminating his pale face and unbridled zeal radiating from his eyes, he grabbed the herb from Harry and began to slice each leaf into long slivers. He dropped the thin pieces into the cauldron one at a time, each one hitting the surface of the bubbling yellow liquid with a quiet hiss, the invigorating aroma of peppermint in the air increasing with each addition.

Harry was mesmerized by Severus' rapt state, the Slytherin acting almost as though he had already taken a dose of his own Euphoria Elixir. His eyes were fervent and spirited, his motions so animated, so purposeful, Harry couldn't help but grin as he watched him put the finishing touches to the elixir.

The potion finally complete, Severus turned to Harry, his wide smile still in place.

"How did you come up with the idea of adding peppermint to counterbalance the side effects? You gave me the impression that you were not good at potions," he said.

"Me? Severus! I didn't come up with the idea of adding peppermint. You did!" Harry insisted, bewildered by the odd question.

He was certain he had read that tip in the Half-Blood Prince's book. It was written right beside the instructions on how to brew a proper Euphoria Elixir. He remembered that much of the book's directions had been crossed out, with several handwritten corrections crammed alongside the original instructions. In the margin beside them, there was a lone directive scripted sideways, underlined three or four times with heavy, bold ink strokes...

_Add sliced peppermint leaves to kill side effects_.

Harry was just about to explain this to Severus when he noticed him scribbling something in his Potions book. Peering over the taller boy's shoulder to get a better look, a bizarre feeling of shock and deja-vu seized Harry as he saw the heavily corrected text on the page and read the familiar words Severus was writing sideways along the margin...

_Add sliced peppermint leaves to kill side effects_.

Severus finished his scripted instruction by dipping his quill into his ink bottle once more, returning to his book, and underlining his addendum three times. Each long swipe of his quill seemed to increase Harry's incredulity and utter bafflement.

"There. Now I will never forget your suggestion," Severus praised, turning back to Harry, his smile wider than ever.

"No, I won't either," Harry added, his own smile emerging. The relentless ache behind his eyes that had plagued him throughout most of the day had receded now, seemingly chased away by the sight of that wide, beaming smile and those spirited black eyes.

Harry reveled in its absence, a curious sense of serenity washing over him as he considered the sheer irony of this bizarre paradox of time.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

In comparison, the second half of the day was far better than the first. Not only did Harry manage to avoid attacking any more future Death Eaters or revealing his identity to any more family members, he also succeeded in understanding the subject matter in all three of his afternoon classes. Most of the credit, once again, went to Severus. If it hadn't been for the studious boy's insistence that they read ahead in all their textbooks the night before, Harry was sure he would have been lost.

True, Mastery Potions had started out rocky and a bit awkward, but after that extraordinary incident with the Euphoria Elixir, Harry found himself much more at ease and able to concentrate in all his classes. He supposed that just understanding that the timeline was pliant enough to engender such an ambiguous twist gave him hope that one way or another, everything would fall into place.

The future was set; it was just the process of _getting there_ that was full of surprises.

Their second class of the afternoon, Care of Magical Creatures, was probably one of the most informative lessons in that subject Harry had ever experienced. Hagrid would always remain one of Harry's closest friends for his staunch loyalty and warmhearted temperament, but as a teacher, Harry had to admit he was lacking. The half-giant's fanatical zeal for savage beasts had always instilled more fear than enthusiasm in his students, thus creating a less than adequate learning environment.

In contrast, Professor Kettleburn was interested in teaching them about all types of magical creatures, not just those endowed with fangs, claws and venom. Harry knew from his reading the night before that the class had been learning about several different species of magical birds. Today's lesson dealt with the mannerisms and inherent magic of a flightless bird known as the Diricawl.

Harry found it fascinating that Muggles were aware of its existence but knew it as the Dodo bird, a species that they believed to be extinct simply because they were unaware of its magical ability to vanish when threatened.

The class got the opportunity to observe this phenomena first hand when Professor Kettleburn brought out a live Diricawl. The bird took one look at the eager faces gawking at it and promptly disappeared with a faint _pop_ and a puff of feathers.

The lesson was interesting, but Harry had to admit that his enjoyment was heightened by the absence of the Marauders. Since Severus mentioned that both James and Sirius took this class, Harry theorized that both boys had opted to ditch class to either discuss that morning's unbelievable revelation or to avoid him.

The final class was Herbology and it too was bereft of the two brash friends. The only Gryffindors in attendance were Lily and Remus, both of whom, it seemed, went out of their way to avoid even looking at him. Harry cringed when he noticed the empty workstation right next to Remus in Greenhouse Five where they were working, realizing that it was probably Pettigrew's usual seat. Despite the overt reminder of his thuggish behavior that morning and the cold disdain radiating from the Gryffindor side of the greenhouse, Harry made it through the entire class without too much trouble.

Harry's only real concern throughout their afternoon classes and during dinner, was that with the exception of their time together during Mastery Potions, Severus appeared to be agitated and aloof. At first, Harry wasn't too worried, figuring that Severus was just stressed out from the day's events. Considering how both their emotions had fluctuated between panic, anger, jealousy, passion and finally exhilaration in only a few hours, this was quite understandable.

It wasn't until they emerged from the spiral staircase leading to the Astronomy tower for their evening class that Harry's mild concern for Severus escalated to full scale trepidation.

As soon as they stepped onto the open platform and drew closer to the school telescopes, Severus stopped dead in his tracks, his whole body stiffening. Harry noticed the faint tremble of Severus' hands as he pulled his school bag closer to him and reached inside, emerging a second later gripping his wand, the act itself odd since wands were rarely used in Astronomy.

"What's wrong?" Harry whispered.

"Black," Severus responded.

The desperation in that hushed tone sent shivers down Harry's spine. Following his fixed gaze, Harry turned his head, searching for his godfather.

Sirius stood near the edge of the tower's balcony, one hand clenching the iron rail in a strained grip, his fierce blue eyes piercing Harry with an icy glare of loathing. Never had Harry imagined that his future godfather, usually so good humored and easygoing, could look at him like this with such abhorrence, such absolute hatred. It filled Harry with intense dread, as well as a profound sadness to look into the eyes of the man who would be like a father to him in the future and see nothing but revulsion and contempt.

When those hate-filled eyes abandoned Harry and slid over to fix Severus with the same deadly stare, narrowing further, Harry's foreboding escalated. Sudden fear for Severus surged through him, overcoming his initial sadness.

Perhaps the two warnings he had received from James and Severus earlier that day, pertaining to Sirius' propensity to avenge his friends, was warranted. Harry had hoped that because Sirius was privy to the knowledge that Harry was the son of his best friend, the rash Gryffindor would refrain from instigating anything, but the depth of pure malice permeating from his angry gaze made that a doubtful prospect.

After a long, tense moment, James approached Sirius from behind, gripped his shoulder and whispered something into his ear, hazel eyes darting up to meet grey ones every few seconds while he spoke. Whatever James said to persuade Sirius to abandon his psychological assault seemed to work. Sirius turned away and began to prepare his telescope for the evening's lesson.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Harry turned to Severus and found the Slytherin sickly pale and trembling. His eyes were clamped shut and he was bending over slightly as if trying to catch his breath.

"Sev–"

Harry hadn't even finished vocalizing Severus' name before those dark, shadowy eyes snapped open and fixed him with a desperate, pleading look, as if begging Harry to let this go, to ignore the fear and pain radiating from within those obsidian orbs. Harry succumbed to the silent request and resisted the strong urge to comfort Severus, to pull him close, wrap his arms around him and ease his tremors, calm his fear.

The next hour and half felt like an eternity to Harry, his attention split between Severus' heightened state of anxiety and the endless stream of noxious glares directed at him and Severus from the other side of the platform by his future godfather. The tension was so great that Harry hadn't even attempted to create his map of the Andromeda galaxy that they were supposed to be working on. He spent the entirety of the class trying to figure out how to persuade Severus to disclose why his reaction to Sirius' hostile glares had been so severe.

Severus didn't give him that chance.

The instant Professor Menkar dismissed the class, the Slytherin stuffed his map into his bag and made a mad dash for the stairway, descending it with record speed. Harry hastened to follow him, struggling to keep up with his hurried pace and calling out for him slow his progression.

At long last, Harry neared him just as they passed the fifth floor stairwell, their proximity close enough that he was able to reach out and grab the sleeve of Severus' robes.

"Severus! Stop… please… just stop!"

Severus stilled his frantic pace, coming to a reluctant halt. His head remained lowered, dark eyes cast down, as he whispered another eerie warning.

"Gray, we _need_ to get back to our dorm. We are not safe right now."

"Severus, look… I know Sirius is furious because of what I did to Pettigrew, but I'm sure it will blow over. I'll admit he seems angrier and more forbidding than I had expected, but I _know _Sirius, OK? He may throw some stupid hex at us or something if he sees us, but it's not like he's going to…"

"…going to what, Gray? Kill us? You may know Sirius Black in the future, but it is obvious that you know _nothing_ about what _this_ Sirius Black is capable of!"

"You can't really think he would to try to kill us!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes! That is exactly what I think!" Severus raged, his face contorted in desperate anger and frustration, before abruptly changing into an expression that emanated deep suffering.

Lowering his head again, he resumed his speech, the words coming out shaky and hesitant.

"He… he's tried to kill me before..."

Then it hit Harry.

The Shrieking Shack. Sirius' horrible prank during their fifth year to lure Severus down the secret passage that led to the dilapidated building and right to a fully transformed werewolf – the scheme that had only been thwarted because James had risked his own life to save Severus from a violent end. The adult Professor Snape had mentioned it to Harry more than once.

No wonder Severus thought Sirius capable of murder. Loath as Harry was to admit it, Severus had every right to be frightened. The prank was reprehensible, shouldn't have even been referred to as a prank, but Harry had always assumed it to be horrible judgment on his godfather's part. He had believed, or maybe _needed_ to believe, that Sirius' intention had been only to scare the Slytherin, not to maim or kill.

There was just no way Sirius truly wanted Severus dead.

Harry grabbed Severus' trembling hand and pulled him down the corridor and into an empty classroom, bent on easing his fear by trying to explain that Sirius may be livid with them right now, but he would never attempt to kill them. Somehow, he had to make Severus understand that his future godfather had made a huge mistake that night, that he was _not_ capable of murder.

The classroom they entered was small and dark. No light shone in through the windows, the new moon depriving the night of illumination. Harry lit a nearby candle with a flick of his wrist and a wave of his wand, then returned his attention back to Severus.

"Severus, I know what he did to you. And it was horrible… unforgivable…. but I honestly believe he did not intend…"

"Did not intend…? And what exactly do you think his intention was when he left me alone and paralyzed, bleeding to death in the Forbidden Forest?"

"What? Wait a minute… I thought… the passage leading to the Shrieking Shack… I thought James stopped you before…"

"Just forget it!" Severus turned away from Harry and reached for the door.

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest, his thoughts racing, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as a horrid understanding struck him. That prank on Severus was not Sirius' only attempt to harm the Slytherin. There was more to their violent history… much more.

In one swift move, Harry leapt between Severus and the closed door, grabbing his outstretched hand before it could reach the doorknob. He was trembling and so was Severus, Harry discovered as he leaned closer to him, their fingers lacing together once more.

"Please," Harry whispered, "Please… what don't I know, Severus? What did he do to you? Please tell me."

Severus started to pull away from him, but Harry reacted without hesitation, seizing his other hand and pulling him closer, their bodies almost touching now.

"Please tell me," he urged, his voice soft, pleading.

A strangled, gut-wrenching cry issued from the taller boy, his body shaking with the effort to staunch his tide of anguish. Harry strengthened his grip on Severus' hands, comforting the trembling boy until his emotional release subsided.

After a moment, Severus spoke in a hushed, timorous tone.

"It was near the end of last term. I was in the forest with my raven, Solus. I had been in there for a while… looking for a safe place to house her. She had just come to me the day before and I just… I just didn't want to keep her in the Owlery.

"I remember hearing a noise, like the snapping of a twig under someone's foot. I knew I wasn't alone, but… but I couldn't see anyone. Before I could even draw my wand, I was hit with a body-bind curse. The next thing I knew, I was on my back, paralyzed, and… _he_ was kneeling next to me."

Harry could feel his emotions unraveling, flitting between blinding anger at Sirius and absolute terror at what Severus was going to tell him next.

"As soon as I saw the dagger in his hand and felt him pull up the sleeves of my robe, I remember thinking that he was going to carve something into my forearms… something reminiscent of the Dark Mark… just to humiliate me for my past associations… but… but that was not his plan…"

"What did he do?" Harry whispered, fear starting to suffocate him. Tears were beginning to fall from his stinging eyes, but he made no move to wipe them away. He refused to curtail what comfort he could give Severus by removing his hands from the trembling ones squeezing his in an almost painful grip.

"He… he sliced b-b-both of my wrists…" Severus choked out. His whole body was quivering now, anguished tears cascading from his closed eyes as he tried to continue, "I c-c-could still feel the cold blade of the knife... even after he left…"

"Oh God. He left you there… still in the body-bind… didn't he?"

Severus nodded, tears streaming down his pale cheeks as he squeezed his eyelids together. Harry withdrew his hands from Severus' desperate grip, moving them up to his wrists, wrapping his fingers around them. He believed every heart-wrenching word Severus had uttered, knew without a doubt that this horrible incident occurred just as Severus said it had, but he still needed to feel the evidence of his godfather's attack first-hand. He needed this final confirmation that Sirius was not at all the person he thought he was.

With gentle movements, Harry skimmed trembling fingertips along the skin of Severus' wrists and swept them across the soft flesh of his forearms, searching for the scars. They did not take long to find. He was certain Severus must have had applied his scar-fading potion to them, for he had never noticed them before by sight, but the raised flesh remained intact.

The very fringe of both slashes started just below each wrist's pulse point. The thin lines felt smooth to the touch as Harry traced the long blemishes with the pads of his thumbs. They extended all the way up to the inside of each elbow, and as he followed their morbid path, he felt more pain in his heart than he had ever thought possible. His throat closed up, raw and painful, his heart aching fiercely as he imagined the immense panic and fear Severus must have felt while he lay on the ground alone... bleeding… _dying_.

Harry too, had been the victim of a body-bind at the start of his sixth year, but the pain of a broken nose from Malfoy's heel could hardly compare to this callous, cold-blooded murder attempt.

"Severus… how… oh God, how did you survive?"

"Solus… she flew to Hagrid and led him back to me."

"Did you tell Dumbledore?"

Severus just shook his head, still looking down, "No, I never told anyone who did it. I didn't think it would make a difference, anyway. The last time I accused him of trying to kill me, nothing was done."

"I just… just can't believe… how could he have done this?!" Harry raged, brain reeling in shock, anger pulsing through his veins.

"I'm sorry, Gray," Severus whispered, eyes still leveled at the ground.

Harry blinked in shock.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry? Severus, none of that was your fault! He tried to kill you! You have NOTHING to feel sorry for!"

"Black obviously means something to you… for you to be this upset at hearing what he did…"

"Oh God... is that what you think? You think these tears are for him?"

Unable to hold back his emotions any longer, Harry withdrew his hands from Severus' forearms and placed them on his pale, tear-stained face, applying gentle pressure, coaxing the boy to look into Harry's own watery gaze. When their eyes locked, Harry was astonished at the amount of pain and doubt he saw emanating from those fathomless, dark eyes.

Driven by the overwhelming need to comfort Severus and a deep yearning to make him understand why he was crying, Harry slid his hands past those damp cheeks. He threaded his fingers through the long strands of ebony hair and then wrapped his arms around the taller boy's shoulders, pulling him close to his own trembling body.

Harry rested his wet cheek against Severus' and placed his lips along the shell of one delicate ear, whispering the reassurance he so desperately needed Severus to understand.

"These tears are for you, Severus. Not him... you... just you. I'm crying because he hurt you."

Something seemed to break inside Severus. Harry felt it when the boy's arms clung to him, his grip tightening, those long, elegant fingers grasping at the material at the back of Harry's robes. An anguished choking sob filled the small dark room as Severus' legs gave way and he collapsed onto his knees, Harry holding on to him as they fell, embracing him, clutching him.

Harry hugged Severus' thin, quivering body as he leaned against the classroom door, drawing him closer, allowing him to rest his head on Harry's shoulder as the he wept. Severus' warm tears mingled with his own, drifting down the nape of Harry's neck where he could feel the labored breaths flitting across his skin.

Running the fingers of his left hand through the soft, black hair, now damp with tears, Harry wrapped his right arm around the slender waist, holding him against his body, wanting to be closer, needing to ease the boy's pain in any way he could. He had no idea how long they stayed like that, entwined on the cold, stone floor of an abandoned classroom, holding each other, comforting each other.

As the anguished sobs started to cease at length, the only thought whirling around Harry's over-burdened mind was that this was probably the only time anyone had ever held Severus like this since his mother died. The only time anyone had bothered to show this beautiful soul any kind of comfort.

Any type of affection.

Any sort of love.

That last thought made Harry gasp, his aching heart now pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to break free from his chest. Turning his head slowly to the side, he glanced at Severus who was now relaxed and tranquil in his arms, his breathing beginning to even out, his dark eyes unseen behind heavy lids.

Reality struck Harry hard, filling his heart and body with warmth and excitement and wonder like he had never felt before. Never had he guessed that this could happen so fast. Never had he imagined it would be so intense, so encompassing, so clear and real, so undeniable.

In fact, a part of Harry thought it might not happen at all, despite the memory the adult Professor Snape had implanted in his mind, of the two of them in a strikingly similar pose as they were right now.

But it did happen. It had already happened, and as unbelievable and crazy as it seemed, Harry knew it was the truth.

This was love.

He was in love with Severus.

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Just a note of clarification. I got a few comments after my last chapter was posted that indicated some discontent about Sirius being portrayed negatively in this story (which of course, has been intensified by this latest chapter). In light of those comments, I would like to explain my thoughts about Sirius…

My intention with this story is not to bash his character, or to make him into a bad guy. Believe it or not, I am actually a big Sirius Black fan. In fact, after Harry and Severus, he is my favorite character (I've always favored the characters with the more complex personalities!).

I see the teenage Severus and the teenage Sirius as similar, at least in one way. They both had horrible childhoods. Rowling doesn't ever really touch upon Sirius' upbringing, other than he ran away when he was sixteen and he hated his family, but it can be inferred that his childhood must have been quite traumatic… he was a member of a Dark, pure-blood family who supported muggle domination, his parents loathed him for not adopting that ideology, his own brother was heavily favored by his mother… I can only imagine Sirius was very unstable as a teenager. I also see him as very easily becoming obsessed with a deep, vengeful hatred of Slytherins, after years of harboring rage towards his family and not being able to express those feelings.

This is my take on the seventeen year old Sirius Black. This is my point of reference. Understand… he will eventually become the man Harry knows in the future. But in my story, he's not there yet. He is lost, unhinged, bitter, angry and blinded by hate incurred by childhood injustices. He'll change… just as James will… just as Severus will... but not quite yet.

So, if you're irked by Sirius' current role in this story, I implore you to see it through. My intent is never to bash characters… only to show that they are fallible… that they make bad, sometimes horrible mistakes, but that they learn from them and through their experiences… that they're human just like all of us.

The next chapter will take some time. I'm giving myself until October 15th. I hope you'll all return for that chapter as it will include Harry and Severus' first kiss… and more.

Thanks again to the very talented **YenGirl**, for Beta-ing this chapter. I'd also like to thank the nearly fifty reviewers who took the time to comment on my story since my last post. Your words of praise and encouragement are the spark that keeps me going! :)

**Please Review.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine -**

**In love's tranquil embrace**

_"Expecto Patronum."_

The hushed incantation breached the sustained silence and resonated eerily through the dark, empty halls of Gryffindor Tower. A brilliant silver stag erupted from the Hawthorn wand, igniting the dim corridor with dazzling radiance.

After cantering once around its caster, the translucent creature approached the hand reaching out for it, eager argent eyes peering up into grey ones, awaiting direction.

"Go and wake James Potter. Tell him..."

Harry hesitated, chewing his lower lip as a sudden rush of nerves assailed him.

He had never done this before. Of course, he was aware of what the spell entailed and had seen it done a couple of times by Dumbledore and once by Arthur Weasley, but preforming new magic was always a little disconcerting. Considering the fact that he was attempting this particular variant of the Patronus Charm for the very first time while standing outside the Gryffindor common room at three in the morning in the hopes of meeting his future father, his typical new-spell jitters were more acute than usual.

Taking a deep breath to quell his unease, Harry continued with his directive.

"Tell him Gray Skye needs to speak to him outside his common room. Now. And be careful not to wake anyone else. Can you do that?" he asked the silvery guise, uncertain as to whether it even possessed the ability to express understanding.

The conjured stag responded with an affirmative nod. Abandoning its docile stance, it whirled around and leaped through the wall beside the Fat Lady's portrait as if the solid wall was a mere illusion, its lingering luminosity dissolving into a haze of fine silver mist. The action was so swift and soundless, its only ripple of consequence was the almost inaudible grunt from the Fat Lady who continued to slumber in her frame.

Left alone in the ensuing darkness, Harry took a moment to reflect on what had prompted this latest after-curfew exploit, his thoughts snapping back to those emotional minutes with Severus after their Astronomy class last night. His heart ached just remembering the immense pain and sorrow reflected in those ebony eyes as Severus told his harrowing tale. Harry's own misery deepened further when he recalled those anguished tears spilling down those pale checks as Severus broke down and wept with abandon, trembling hands clutching Harry in desperation.

The stunning revelation that he was in love with Severus only amplified Harry's fierce determination to take away some of Severus' enduring pain and loneliness. He remembered pulling the sobbing boy closer and whispering assurances until the worst of Severus' anguish had diminished and his vice-like grip on Harry's robes had eased.

Time lost all meaning in that empty classroom; the only measure of the passing minutes were their slow rhythmic breathing and the intermittent tightening of fingers clenched in fabric as they held on to one another. It wasn't until after they left their secluded sanctuary that Harry checked his watch and realized with a start that nearly an hour had elapsed since the end of their Astronomy class. All intentions for another round of late-night studying foregone, Harry spent the next twenty minutes ushering a still shaken and exhausted Severus through the narrow dungeon corridors, past the crowded Slytherin common room and into the empty seventh-year boys' dormitory.

Severus remained withdrawn the entire time, even when Harry helped him into his four-poster and pulled the thick green and silver comforter over him. Those soulful eyes, however, never once left him, expressing a multitude of intense emotions that left Harry's heart aching and his mind troubled and anxious.

Harry returned to the Slytherin common room after that, aspiring to complete his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay that was due first thing the following morning. He gave it up after fifteen minutes of staring at the blank parchment. Even the thought of Severus berating him for not finishing his assignment did not work, he simply could not concentrate with his mind so perturbed.

Deciding to finish his assignment over breakfast, Harry abandoned the packed common room and returned to his dorm, hoping to lose himself in the healing power of sleep and thus, put an end to a very confusing and emotional day. Unfortunately, his mind refused to allow him repose.

Four hours later, Harry was still wide awake and staring at his silver bed hangings, unable to quiet the whirling spinning maelstrom inside his head as that gut-wrenching conversation with Severus replayed itself without pause.

Four hours of mentally picturing Sirius' horrifying act on Severus.

Four hours of battling his escalating rage while questions spun around endlessly inside his mind, questions with no real answers.

How _could_ Sirius have done that?!

How could he have _sliced_ open Severus' wrists and left him there to die?!

How could his future godfather have been so vicious... so heartless... so _murderous?!_

After suffering through a dizzying torrent of unremitting emotions and blinding frustrations, a new question emerged in the forefront of Harry's overburdened mind, one that burned inside him with such intensity that he was compelled to seek out the answer, regardless of the lateness of the hour.

"Christ, Harry! Why the hell did your send your bloody Patronus to wake me? It's the middle of the night! The damned thing nearly scared me half to death!"

At the sound of his future father's irritated rebuke, Harry was instantly ripped from his compulsive musing. He spun around and watched as the disheveled form of James Potter clambered through the portrait hole and out into the dark hallway. His eyes having adjusted to the darkness, Harry could just make out the boy's unruly clumps of raven hair that stuck up at odd angles near the back of his head.

James' left hand reached up to flatten his hair in a practiced move, while his other hand gripped what looked like his wand, held low at his side.

_"Muffliato,"_ Harry commanded and then, _"Lumos!" _

The spell cast an unnatural light throughout the gloomy hallway, chasing away the encompassing dark, and both boys squinted to lessen the resulting burn. Once Harry's eyes had adjusted again, the question which had consumed his thoughts burst forth from his taut lips before he could put any thought behind it.

"Did you know?!"

"What?"

"Did you know that Sirius tried to KILL SEVERUS!" Harry raged, all semblance of self control unraveling as his volume surged to a thunderous level, teeth grinding together as he struggled to channel his fury.

"WHAT? NO! Sirius didn't try to kill Snape, whatever he might have told you! That was just a prank! I mean… no… not a prank exactly…" James answered. He sounded flustered, his eyes wide and anxious, "Look, Harry, it was stupid. Sirius wasn't thinking, alright? He saw Snape snooping around the grounds that night, trying to find out what Remus was up to, and well, he just acted on impulse. That was all. When Sirius got back to the common room and told me what he'd done, I stopped it, OK? No harm done. Professor Dumbledore even agreed… it was just… it was just really bad judgment…"

"I'm _not_ talking about that!" Harry hissed, interrupting James' floundering explanation, "Last term… in the forest… when he ATTACKED SEVERUS AND LEFT HIM FOR DEAD!"

Immediately, James' face paled, eyes widening further, shock and confusion evident on his ashen face. After a moment, he lowered his gaze, eyes narrowing and brow furrowing in thought. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting back and forth repeatedly along the stone floor as if their owner was desperate to understand some baffling puzzle.

When James finally lifted his gaze, there was an altogether new expression on his face. Harry was unnerved by the look of utter panic and trepidation radiating from those troubled, hazel eyes.

"Are you talking about… about the _end_ of last term?" he questioned in a hushed, hesitant timbre.

Harry nodded, his own unease escalating as James lowered his head again and let out a harsh, strained breath.

"No. No, that's not right. That was a suicide attempt. Snape…. he… he tried to kill himself. The whole school knows that," James insisted while shaking his head in firm dissent, but his quiet, shaky voice revealed ambivalence.

"A – _what?_ That was NOT a suicide attempt!" Harry hissed, aghast at the idea of the whole school believing Severus had tried to kill himself. "Sirius _attacked_ him! He took his knife and slashed Severus' wrists! He tried to murder…"

"NO!" James shouted, head snapping up at last, his face twisted in anger as he pierced Harry with an infuriated glare, "No. Sirius couldn't… he wouldn't... he would _never_…"

James stopped mid-sentence as if suddenly derailed from his determined resolve, his enraged expression changing into one of anguished surrender. He brought both hands up to cover his face, trembling fingers scrubbing across pale skin before raking through disheveled, matted hair and grasping the nape of his neck. Slowly, his head fell once more, just as a tremulous breath issued from his colorless lips.

Silence suffused the corridor; the only sounds were the uneasy breaths of both boys and the faint hum of the encompassing _Muffliato_ spell. James' gaze remained fixed on the stone floor as he continued to take in deep, trembling breaths, his hands still curved around his neck, head lowered.

At long last, he spoke. Harry winced at the sheer misery and despair emanating from his weak, defeated tone.

"I... I didn't know. I suspected. I mean, Snape seemed so fearful of Sirius after that, and he even started to avoid Lily. He was _never_ like that before. I tried to tell myself it was a coincidence. I... I just didn't want to believe that Sirius could take his hatred that far."

"Is that why you warned me yesterday to stay away from Sirius? You thought he might attack me like he did Severus?" Harry pressed on, determined to make sense of this disturbing truth.

"No, Harry. No. He knows you're my son. I don't think... no, I _know... _he would never do something like that to you. But..."

"But what, James?! Please explain this to me because I really don't understand! None of this makes any fucking sense!"

"He hates Slytherins, Harry! I don't know how much you know about the Black family, but the whole lot of them were in Slytherin. And with the exception of his cousin Andromeda, they're all Dark... more than that... they're twisted, Harry, pure evil. Sirius' mother and father were horrible to him. They ignored him, beat him, locked him up... all because he didn't believe in the family tradition of Pureblood bigotry and muggle domination. His childhood was a damned nightmare!"

"But that's no excuse for what he did!" Harry insisted, a hint of desperation to his voice now as his previous rage battled with a growing sense of empathy for Sirius. He recognized how much his future godfather's upbringing seemed to mirror his own, but that didn't excuse his horrifying behavior towards Severus.

"No. It's not," James agreed, "but Sirius just can't get past that hate. He doesn't see Slytherins as people. He just sees them like he sees his family... vicious and sadistic... as cruel as any Death Eater! And in his opinion, Snape is the worst, associating with scum like Mulciber and Avery and always trying to worm his way into Lily's life! He thinks Snape is a threat to Lily, a threat to all of us! Then _you_ show up, Harry... my own son... and you're a Slytherin as well! You attacked Peter, and you're always hanging around with Snape! Honestly, Harry, I don't think Sirius will hurt you... not like he did Snape... but... but I had to warn you! Sometimes, I'm just not sure how far his rage will take him."

Harry took a deep breath while his brain tried to catch up with everything James had told him. He was still so angry, so frustrated, but more than anything, he was completely confused. Some of what James said did make sense. Harry could understand how Sirius could have grown to hate Slytherins considering his abusive family, but he _still_ couldn't wrap his brain around the idea that his godfather was capable of something as extreme as attempted murder.

"God, I just don't know how Sirius could have changed so much!" Harry burst out, " I knew him in the future, OK? And he wasn't like this! He was never cruel or – or violent! He was sometimes rash and hot-headed... and he wouldn't always think things through before acting... but he wasn't a cold-blooded killer! He was caring and sympathetic and loyal. You made him my godfather, for God's sake, and I loved him! He was the only father figure I've ever kno–"

The instant Harry registered the terrible implication behind his last few impulsive words, he snapped his mouth shut and froze, bile rising in his throat where it burned like acid. With his heart pounding in shock, he clung to the impossible hope that James hadn't heard what he had said, that he was too distraught over learning the truth of Sirius' wrongdoing to have discerned the true meaning behind Harry's words.

But James _had_ heard.

And worse... he'd_ understood_.

The stunned expression on his future father's face gutted Harry. His heart felt as though it was being ripped out of his chest. Wishing more than anything that he could rescind his accidental disclosure, or deny the truth, he opened his mouth to try to explain... explain what, he had no idea... but nothing came out apart from an anguished, strained whimper.

James closed his eyes. He took in a sharp, forced breath and held it for a long, long moment that Harry could only measure in heartbeats of painful regret. Then those eyes snapped open and he spoke, his voice an eerie dead calm, flat and lifeless.

"Don't... _don't_ tell me anymore. I don't want to know," he ordered.

With an impatient gesture, he passed his hands over his moist eyes and turned away from Harry, taking a few steps toward the open portrait hole where he paused. With one shaking hand gripping the side of the open frame, he turned his head to the side, just enough for Harry to make out his profile and to hear him speak in a strained whisper.

"Sirius won't harm you... or Snape. I'll take care of it. You have my word."

Harry continued to stare at him, guilt and hope crowding his throat until it was almost impossible to breathe.

James turned to look more fully at him, shoulders going back as he took a deep breath before continuing, a new strengthened resolve permeating his every word.

"I've spent the last seven years being a follower. I let Sirius' hate color my own intent. I allowed my best friend's prejudice to blur that line between what was right and what was easy. And I never spoke a word in protest against what we were doing... all the bullying... the ridiculing... the taunting... even when I _knew_ we were going too far... even when I knew we were wrong."

Eyes glittering with passion, James shook his head as Harry stared at him, mesmerized.

"No more. That's in the past now. I'm done being influenced by Sirius' hate. Maybe... maybe it's time I influence _him_."

James paused here and swallowed, his eyes looking up to lock with his future son's as he continued.

"I may not be able to protect you in the future... but I... I can do so now."

Those last few words came out broken, strained with emotion, but filled with such fierce determination that Harry felt his throat close up, tears blurring his vision. He cherished every single word James uttered for their sincerity and significance, despite the knowledge of this future loss weighing his heart down. Blinking hard to clear his vision, Harry watched James turn away from him and step through the portrait hole, disappearing behind the golden frame.

Somehow, Harry made his way through the empty corridors and back to the dungeons, each autonomous step bringing him closer and closer to the heart-rending truth, the repercussions of this latest disclosure fostering a new, bittersweet understanding inside him.

_This_ was what changed James Potter. This was the impetus for and the moment that marked his transformation from bully to hero.

His father _knew_ he was fated to die.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

The next few days could only be described as exquisite torture for Harry, his encumbered mind having to cope with an excess of stress from varying sources.

To start with, his classes were nothing short of grueling. Harry swore he had never before been burdened with so much homework. Since he and Severus had skipped their usual late-night studying session after Tuesday night's emotional incident, they both found themselves behind in their classes and had to work harder and longer hours just to catch up.

Arithmancy alone had Harry seeing red. That initial confidence he had enjoyed after their first class vanished when Professor Vector announced on Wednesday afternoon that they would be tested on their ability to construct a complex numeric chart that could divine future tragedies. Severus was quick to point out with an amused smirk on his face that Harry should be rather proficient at predicting future misfortunes, until he was fixed with a stony glower that would have put the adult Professor Snape to shame.

In addition to the onslaught of academic pressure, Harry had to deal with the nearly tangible tension in every class he attended with the Marauders. Peter Pettigrew returned to classes on Thursday which made the Transfiguration lesson that day particularly stressful, as the class was now comprised of all four Marauders plus an irate Lily whose frequent cold glares in his direction devastated Harry, each one like the stab of a knife to his heart.

Lily's glowers weren't the only looks of loathing Harry had to endure; Remus' stares were just as virulent. Harry surmised that Sirius and James had not disclosed his true identity to the werewolf, if the pure depth of fury from those enraged brown eyes were anything to go by. Peter, too, often looked in his direction during their shared classes, but his quick glances were the easiest to dismiss, being fleeting and spasmodic, his jittery movements betraying his obvious fear and apprehension.

What Harry found most shocking was Sirius' abrupt change in behavior. It was clear to Harry that James had made good on his promise to deal with Sirius. The brash Gryffindor appeared subdued and almost deflated in their classes together. On occasion, Harry would catch sight of James, who would give him an almost imperceptible nod and then look away.

Sirius, however, never looked at Harry or Severus. Not once.

Severus, it seemed, dealt with Sirius' radical shift in demeanor by ignoring the entire situation altogether. For the remainder of the week, he acted as if unaffected by the upsurge of Lily's and Remus' glares as well as the unusual absence of Sirius' vicious stares, but Harry could tell by the Slytherin's relaxed manner and fierce attentiveness in class that he was still relieved by Sirius' lack of threatening regard.

Aside from having to put up with Lily and Remus' hostile looks, Harry also had to contend with the merciless heat wave afflicting Hogwarts. The temperature over the past few days was sweltering. Professor McGonagall had mentioned in class on Thursday that this was the hottest spring on record in Scotland's history, and Harry doubted there had been one hotter even during his own lifetime. Even the cool stone walls of Hogwarts castle failed to temper the stifling summer-like heat.

As if all that weren't enough to deal with, Harry began to notice Caedis Avery giving him odd looks, both during class and when he and Severus were holed up in the corner of the Slytherin common room studying. Harry might have expected glares of hatred or even repulsion from the future Death Eater, but Avery seemed to be observing him, his intense scrutiny making Harry feel as though he were under surveillance, exasperating his already anxious state. Severus had urged Harry to ignore it, insisting that Avery's interest had simply been peaked by Harry's attack on Pettigrew and that if left alone, the boy's avid interest would abate. Harry tried to disregard those penetrating cold stares, but found the whole situation more than unnerving.

On top of the maddening amount of homework, the probing scrutiny of Caedis Avery, the furious glowers by certain enraged Gryffindors and the oppressive heat plaguing Hogwarts, Harry was tormented by his greatest distraction.

Severus Snape himself.

After the intensity of their ardent exchange during Mastery Potions and the torrent of emotions they had shared in that abandoned classroom later that same evening, Harry found it difficult to concentrate on anyone or anything else. As much as he had hated seeing Severus in so much pain Tuesday night, he could not deny how intoxicating it had felt to hold the distraught boy in his arms, feel that slender body pressed up against his, those warm, languid breaths caressing his neck, that soft, heated skin caressing his own.

Their last class on Friday was particularly challenging in that regard. After struggling through his numeric chart in Arithmancy, Professor Vector had told them all to begin reading the next two chapters in their Arithmancy textbook for the remainder of class. Harry spent the last twenty minutes trying to read the same paragraph over and over again while stealing sideways glances at Severus, watching those thin lips move in time with his reading, tongue swiping across them every few minutes. Harry could tell whenever Severus came across a rather difficult portion of the text by the way his brow would furrow and those crooked teeth would nip at the corner of his lower lip. Harry found himself mesmerized by the enticing image and by the end of the class, was almost out of breath with arousal, his skin flushed and heated.

On Friday night, Severus insisted that they continue studying, due to the fact that they were still not as caught up as he would have liked and because they would be losing precious homework time on Saturday because of Harry's upcoming detention. Harry had tried to suggest that they take their studying session down to the lake where it would be a bit more private, hoping to gain some alone time with Severus, but much to his irritation, Severus had vetoed his suggestion and told him that the common room would suffice, the glint of wily amusement in his dark eyes giving the impression that the Slytherin was up to something.

Exactly what that was did not begin to come to light until after Harry returned from his Saturday detention with Professor Flitwick. Excluding the short break for lunch, he had spent a full six hours removing every book from the tiny professor's vast personal library, dusting each shelf and book by hand, and then returning the heavy tomes to the shelves in alphabetical order by levitating them one at a time with the use of_ Wingardium Leviosa_. By the time Harry had dragged himself back to the dungeons, he was exhausted, and felt downtrodden and spent.

It wasn't until he noticed the piece of parchment lying atop his four-poster that his mood perked up. The parchment had only a solitary word scrawled upon its surface near the very top in a meticulous, cramped handwriting that was very familiar.

_ Gray, _

Perplexed by the seemingly unfinished letter, Harry picked it up to examine it in more detail, thinking that perhaps there was more written on the back. He nearly dropped the parchment in surprise when, the moment he touched it, more words materialized.

_ Gray,_

_ Meet me in the clearing. I want to show you something._

_ – H.B.P._

_ PS: Bring your school bag with all your homework. We WILL be studying._

Harry couldn't hold back his wide grin at seeing those initials and realizing what they stood for. He was once again astonished by the acronym's ambiguous origin and elated that Severus was starting to warm up to the title that he had initially deemed ridiculous.

Feeling a giddy curiosity coursing through him and chasing away his previous exhaustion, Harry scrambled around the room getting ready. He wasn't even chastened by the fact that Severus had apparently guessed at the reason for his distracted air over the past few days, judging from the last four words in the note. After ridding himself of his dust-covered clothes, he grabbed a clean white t-shirt and khaki shorts from his trunk and dressed at top speed.

Harry made sure his school bag had the required textbooks and parchment before adding Severus' letter, both wands and his invisibility cloak. He stopped by the washroom to brush his teeth and wash his face and hands. While drying his face on one of the school hand towels, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above the sink and cringed at the pink tinge of excitement on his flushed cheeks. In a last minute attempt to cool off, he turned the cold water on full blast and plunged his whole head under the faucet, reveling in the invigorating chill.

With his hair sodden, rivulets of cool water dripping down his neck and soaking the back of his shirt, Harry sprinted through the dungeon corridors, dodging students here and there, adrenaline surging through him. He only slowed his pace once he exited the castle and stepped out into the blazing sun, not wanting to overheat again.

As soon as he crossed the forest's perimeter, past the fringe of towering trees, the temperature dropped and the air became crisp and tranquil. Harry enjoyed the feel of the cool, tempered air on his damp skin as he continued navigating through the dense trees until at last, he reached the clearing.

Severus was sitting on the ground, reclining against the same tree he had leaned against a week ago when Harry had watched him from under his invisibility cloak. He was dressed in grey shorts and a baggy black t-shirt, bony knees drawn up enough to prop his Advanced Charms book against his thighs. He peered up over the top of the textbook as he heard Harry approach, his ebony eyes spirited and eager.

Harry watched Severus stand up and place his book inside his open school bag before slinging the strap over his shoulder. He found himself inexplicably speechless as those dark eyes pierced him with an intense, fervent look, their owner advancing towards him with slow, relaxed steps.

Severus only stopped his progression when he was mere inches from Harry, so close that his warm breaths flitted across Harry's flushed, damp skin with each exhalation. Lifting a steady hand, Severus placed it on Harry's shoulder, fingertips sweeping across the wet fabric of his t-shirt, along his heated skin, then slowly carding through the strands of drenched hair near the nape of his neck.

Harry's eyelids fluttered shut for a moment at the exquisite touch, before lifting once more, his grey orbs laden with ardor. With his heart hammering inside his chest, Harry stared into those cavernous black orbs, a rush of excitement charging through him, breath held in anticipation.

"You're wet," Severus drawled through a crooked smile, dark eyes roving over Harry's features as if drinking him in. "What did Flitwick do to you?"

"I… um… what? Nothing. I mean… I had to clean," Harry stammered, feeling nervous. Severus' fingers were still entangled in his hair, those long fingers twisting around the wet strands. Harry swallowed, his throat tight and his mouth dry.

"I… I was just hot."

"Hmm," Severus murmured, his eyes fixed on his own fingers woven in Harry's hair.

Soon, those fingers released their hold and drifted down, trailing a path along Harry's neck, across his shoulder and down the length of his arm. The featherlight touch sent shivers though Harry's body, causing the fine hairs on his arms to stand up. Slender fingers ended their journey only when they reached Harry's hand, the very tips of each gliding across Harry's calloused palm before sinking in between his own fingers, embracing them.

"Come on. Let's go."

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, Severus beckoned Harry to follow as he turned and headed toward the thickest part of the tree line. His stride was decisive and confident as he navigated along a narrow path obscured by wild, overgrown brush and gnarled tree roots protruding from the ground at odd angles. Wherever they were going, it was clear to Harry that it was someplace Severus had frequented, judging by the ease at which the Slytherin maneuvered through the dense wood without hesitation.

"Where are we going?" Harry called out, starting to feel a twinge of unease as they neared the deepest part of the forest, the sun's radiance dimming under the heavy blanket of foliage, the air becoming cooler and thinner.

Harry heard a low rumbling chuckle before Severus issued his playful response, "Where's that Gryffindor courage, Gray?"

"OK. How is it that you are so convinced that I'm actually a Gryffindor, anyway? For all you know, I could be a Hufflepuff."

Severus stopped, spun around and fixed Harry with a complacent expression, one eyebrow raised and a mischievous grin in place.

"Were you able to read the note that I left for you?" he asked.

"Yes. But what does that have to do with..."

"Then you're a Gryffindor," Severus interrupted, whirling back around and continuing his swift progression along the path.

Harry blinked and had the fleeting thought that if Severus had been wearing his school robes instead of his casual clothes, they would have billowed out behind him in a rather impressive imitation of his older self.

"I charmed that parchment," Severus threw over his shoulder, "to only reveal my handwritten message when touched by a Gryffindor."

"Why, you sneaky..."

"We're here," Severus announced, cutting off Harry's lighthearted chiding. He came to an abrupt halt and released Harry's hand, turning back around to face him.

Harry gazed at Severus with a baffled expression after scanning their surroundings. Nothing looked any different than it had the entire time they had been walking. The forest was just as dense, the trees just as menacing and dark, the overhanging branches and vines just as wild and oppressive.

"Severus, what are we doing here?" he chanced.

Severus circled around Harry so that he was standing close behind him. Placing his right hand on Harry's shoulder, he extended his left arm out in front of his face, pointing to an empty space to the right of a single, decrepit, knobbly tree in front of them. The tree looked to be older than any other in the forest, its bark splintered and chipping away, with several of its limbs split and bereft of leaves.

"That's where you'll see it," he whispered.

Harry shuddered, not realizing just how near Severus was until his faint words brushed past the sensitive skin along his neck. Harry felt his pulse race again as Severus continued to speak to him in that soft, hushed tone.

"Close your eyes."

Harry let his eyelids fall, his body trembling now as he could feel every one of Severus' hot breaths on his neck and along the shell of his ear. His own breathing grew erratic when he felt those warm lips feather across his ear, softly, barely there, as the boy issued another directive.

"Think of me. Think of me bringing you here... wanting to show this place to you. Concentrate on_ my wish_ to bring you here," he whispered. "Now. Open your eyes."

Harry did as he was told. He uttered a sharp gasp at the sight before him and took a step back, coming up against Severus.

Amid the gap between that gnarled, rotting tree and the worn path they had been traveling on, where moments ago there had been nothing but a dark patch of bushes and low-hanging branches, there was now a cobblestone path. Its stones were flat and smooth, and they were lined on either side by an unadorned wooden fence. Scores of red and yellow wildflowers poked up from the rich soil surrounding the fence, long coils of ivy wrapping round each post.

Speechless, Harry peered past the fence, wide grey eyes following the direction of the cobblestone pathway. His breath caught in his throat when he glimpsed a beautiful white stone cottage at the walkway's end just a short distance away.

It was as big as Shell Cottage and just as breathtaking, with magnificent stone walls crafted from white quartz. Each crystalline rock glistened in the sun that shone through the narrow breaks among the trees. Two wide bay windows were positioned on either side of a massive, gothic arched door, long tendrils of ivy twisting around its heavy oak frame.

"Come on. I'll show you the grounds," Severus said, grabbing Harry's hand again and pulling him along the stone path.

The insistent tug yanked Harry out of his stupor enough to finally comment on the astonishing sight.

"Severus! This... this is _amazing!_ How did you find this place? I mean... what _is_ this place?"

In the very front of the cottage, Harry noticed a small garden teeming with herbs, flowers and vegetables. Beyond the garden was a small pond with a rustic wooden dock that jutted out into the very center of the brilliant blue water.

When they reached the front door, Severus stopped again and turned to face Harry. He paused for a moment as if collecting his thoughts, hesitation and a hint of anxiety discernible just beyond those dark eyes.

"A few days after I was attacked, Hagrid asked me why I had been in the forest that night. When I explained that I had been searching for a safe location to keep Solus, he told me about this place. See..." Severus pointed to a small barn-like structure adjacent to the cottage. It was narrow, but lofty, with a partially open roof. It reminded Harry of a smaller version of the school Owlery.

"She spends most evenings in there. But she's not usually here during the day. I don't expect we'll see her until after sundown," he added.

"So, who built this place? How did Hagrid know about it? I mean... I've been in the Forbidden Forest countless times and I've never seen this place!"

"It was built and maintained by the Hogwarts Gamekeeper that preceded Hagrid. His name was Ogg. Apparently, Hagrid is quite unusual in his desire to be housed outside of the forest. For centuries, the Gamekeeper of Hogwarts has always resided somewhere within the forest. Ogg, it seems, was a rather skilled wizard, as this place has several complex repelling charms and protective spells surrounding it. It can only be seen by those who are deliberately brought here by someone who already knows of its existence."

"Like the Fidelius Charm?" Harry asked, remembering when he had been shown Number Twelve Grimmauld Place for the first time by certain members of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Yes, it's very similar, but not nearly as dire. There is no 'secret keeper' exactly. The spell simply reads intent. No one, other than those who are intended to, can lay eyes upon it. The repelling charms extend beyond Wizards and Muggles. That pond is a tributary of the Black Lake, but merpeople and grindylows are incapable navigating to these waters. Actually, all aggressive beasts are unable to access this location. The only creatures who roam freely through these grounds are thestrals and unicorns."

"Wow. So, can I always get in... now that you've shown it to me?" Harry asked, fascinated by the depth of magic.

"Yes, now that I have granted you access, you will always be permitted to pass through the magicked barrier. You must only think of me as you approach the aged oak, and it will appear before you just as it did today," Severus explained.

"Who else knows about this place, I mean besides you, me and Hagrid?"

Severus stared at him, consternation flashing across his features before he looked down.

"No one," he answered. "I... I haven't told anyone else about it..."

Harry could have hit himself as he studied the boy's sudden nervous demeanor, belated understanding coming to him. Severus considered this place his safe haven, his home away from the bullying taunts and violence inflicted on him by his enemies, away from the snide remarks of his fellow Slytherins who considered him nothing but a blood-traitor, away from the pain inflicted by his abusive father and away from all the injustices.

Away from everything that wasn't good.

And yet, he had allowed Harry into this haven. He had chosen to bring him into his own, private sanctuary.

Harry took another quick look around the grounds, taking notice of the Muggle gardening tools resting against the fence and the cauldrons that were set upside down in a row along the front stoop, a towel underneath them as if they had been put there to dry. He studied the plants in the garden, recognizing many as being used in potion-making.

The place was lived in and loved. It was Severus' home, his heart, his center, his safe place, his _everything_ and he wanted to share it with Harry.

"Thank you, Severus," Harry whispered, fully aware of the tears building at the corners of his eyes, but not caring to hide them. "Thank you so much... for showing me this place... for trusting me... It means so much to me."

Severus' tenebrous gaze remained fixed on the cobblestones under his feet, but he nodded, squeezing Harry's hand and sweeping his thumb along the edge of his scar in a practiced move.

"So," he said after a while, breaking the easy silence between them and lifting his head at last. "Ready to study?"

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

Not keen on plunging straight back into their studies, Harry convinced Severus to first give him a detailed tour of the cottage and the grounds.

The cottage interior was laid out as one large room, much like a studio apartment. There were no walls separating the small, basic kitchen, the sitting area with its two well-worn leather chairs positioned opposite a couch covered in dark brown wool and the solitary bedroom which contained a plain wooden nightstand alongside a large bed topped with a plush beige comforter.

At the very heart of the open space was an enormous square hearth that stretched up to the ceiling, all four sides made from the same quartz stones as the outside walls of the cottage. Each side of the hearth had an arched opening cut into the base of the stone facade so that the heat from its girded flames could permeate throughout the entire room.

Near the hearth stood three wooden perches for birds to roost. Severus explained that Ogg had housed several birds during his time, and in fact, had adapted the protective charms surrounding the place to permit all species of magical birds to come and go as they please. Severus had even caught a fleeting glimpse of Fawkes near the garden one afternoon.

Beside the small kitchen was a long table which had been fashioned into a small Potions Lab. There were two brass cauldrons on the table and several glass jars filled with various common potion ingredients lined up in neat rows. Severus explained that this was where he brewed Spera's nutritive potion every Saturday, as well as where he'd developed many of his other experimental potions.

Harry adored the cottage, but he much preferred the outside grounds. The garden, which Severus was responsible for planting and maintaining, was absolutely beautiful. It was full and lavish, brimming with all sorts of exotic herbs and unusual flowers. The side that housed the rows of vegetables were neat and meticulously organized, but the other half was wilder, almost untamed with its tangled vines twisting around the perimeter posts and its lofty flowers towering high above the other plants, as if recalcitrant in their growth.

Of all the things that captivated Harry about the grounds, however, none was more alluring than that pond whose waters drew from the Black Lake. Maybe it was part of the magic of the cottage or the simple fact that the reservoir was so much smaller, but the water was the most vibrant shade of aquamarine that he had ever seen. Its surface sparkled, as reflections from the blazing afternoon sun flickered and bounced off its vitreous facade, making Harry yearn to sit on the edge of the dock and dip his feet into the cool water.

Severus, however, insisted on a _work first, play later_ schedule. They spent the next three hours in the cottage sitting room, finishing their homework and reading ahead in all their books in preparation for next week. Their only break came at six o'clock when their hunger pangs prompted them to move to the small table in the kitchen area where they spent the next half hour reading while consuming several roast beef sandwiches that Severus had packed for them and an entire pot of tea.

Finally, Severus looked up over the top of his Advanced Potion-Making book and posed the question Harry had been hoping to hear all afternoon.

"Do you want to go outside and sit on the dock for a while? I suppose we've studied enough."

"Yes! Yes, let's go!" Harry answered with feverish haste. He bounded off his chair and, as if afraid Severus would change his mind, snatched his book out of his hands and tossed it onto the table. Seizing the other boy's hand, Harry pulled him to a standing position and made for the door, towing a chuckling Severus behind him.

As soon as they stepped outside, it was apparent the weather had undergone a significant change. Despite the setting sun's lingering radiance just visible in evanescent flashes amid the dense trees, a thick layer of low clouds had formed in the east, blanketing the atmosphere and binding the day's heat to the earth.

The air was now muggy and oppressive, every intake of breath an arduous task, as if the moisture-laden air leached their energy with each labored gasp.

The billowing mass of low clouds roiled and churned as it chased the preceding wind, each tinged with hues of deep indigo and fuchsia, undulant shadows from the sun's waning light. The sight was stunning, and Harry could not help but stare up at the turbulent view as he and Severus drew nearer to the dock.

"There's a storm approaching," Severus remarked. He too was staring up at the swirling clouds overhead, watching their volatile movements.

"Yeah… but not yet," Harry responded, a devilish grin lighting up his face. He dropped Severus' hand, paused for a moment to consider the rather bold idea circulating around his brain and then gave in to his instinct, allowing that Gryffindor courage Severus had teased him about earlier to take control.

Harry kept his eyes locked with Severus' while he toed off his trainers and grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands, pulling it over his head in one quick motion. With his shirt still dangling from his clenched fist, he searched Severus' face, hoping the other boy wasn't put off by his sudden daring.

The brief look of shock in those dark orbs was soon replaced by one of charged interest as they feasted on Harry, roving over the newly exposed skin of his chest and stomach, pausing for just a moment to gaze at the feather pendant hanging from the silver chain around his neck.

Harry felt his insides squirm, nervousness and excitement pooling in the pit of his stomach as he held his breath and waited for some response from Severus. Heat coursed through him as those wandering eyes finally snapped up to meet his again.

"Hot again?" Severus drawled, his voice low and husky with what seemed like desire.

Harry's brain felt foggy, his whole body quivering from the inside out.

"Yes," he confessed.

They stared at each other, silently acknowledging the welcome return of that attraction between them, the soft sounds of their timorous, shallow breaths permeating the air. Then Harry gave Severus a nervous smile and dropped the shirt he had been clutching. With an effort, he turned towards the pond and taking a deep breath, dove into the tranquil, inviting water.

The instant he plunged into the cool depths of the pond, Harry felt his muscles relax. The searing heat that had been surging through him diminished and his racing heart started to slow its feverish pace. He reveled in the sensation of the brisk waves rushing past his skin as he propelled himself further through the shallow waters. After halting his propulsion, he dug his toes into the fine silt lining the bottom of the pond, then spun around and pushed himself back toward the dock.

Needing to breathe, Harry emerged from the water just shy of his destination. He ran his fingers through his soaked hair and took in a huge gulp of the sweltering air. After blinking several times to shake off the residual water drops from his lashes, he peered up, intending to convince Severus to join him.

To his surprise, the dock was deserted.

Worried that he had gone too far and scared Severus off with the impulsive removal of his t-shirt, Harry started wading through the water which just came up to the middle of his chest, toward the small ladder that hung off the side of the dock to find him.

"Looking for someone?" a soft voice purred in his ear.

Harry froze where he stood, desire rising in him as warm breath grazed the sensitive skin along the side of his neck. Water dripped from Severus' sodden ebony locks onto Harry's shoulder, trickling down his back and making him shudder. His heart sped up again as Severus edged even closer to him and placed a warm, wet hand on his shoulder, soft fingertips spreading those cool drops across his skin. Another strong wave of desire flooded him, taking over his senses, clouding his thoughts. He tried to focus on breathing normally as those slender fingers tightened their hold on his shoulder, urging Harry to turn around.

Conceding to the subtle persuasion, Harry turned to face Severus. His eyes were immediately drawn to the sight of that soaking wet t-shirt clinging to that lean body. He swallowed past the lump his throat, a sudden apprehension gripping him upon realizing that Severus had kept his shirt on before plunging into the water, thinking that perhaps he had been too bold in removing his own. His anxiety dissolved the instant that warm hand on his shoulder drifted down and those soft fingertips skimmed across his bare chest. The feathery touches inflamed his already burning desire and a quiet moan escaped him.

Harry's whole body quivered as Severus continued to touch him. He closed his eyes and focused all his attention on the intoxicating feel of those caressing fingers gliding across his collarbone. Their unhurried exploration ceased for a brief moment as they closed around the feather pendant and pulled it aside. Harry gasped when he felt the addition of more fingers ghosting over the marred skin at the very center of his chest, tracing the outline of the scar left behind by the horcrux locket. Another sense of deja vu assailed him at the familiar caress, the memory of the adult Professor Snape touching him the same way prompting a new surge of emotion that only seemed to add to his feverish state.

Opening his eyes at last, Harry lifted his gaze, seeking out those impassioned eyes. Severus was still examining Harry's scar, his brow furrowed, confusion and concern emanating from his narrowed eyes. In a practiced nervous gesture, he worried his bottom lip as he scanned the abused flesh, that soft lip vanishing, caught between those uneven teeth.

The enticing sight drew another hushed moan from Harry's lips, his body reacting to the stimulus. A part of him wanted to withdraw from Severus, certain his arousal would soon be noticed despite the water encompassing them. But when those dark eyes snapped back up to lock with his own, Harry couldn't hold back his overwhelming desire any longer.

He raised a trembling hand and drew it across Severus' cheek and then further back, threading his fingers through the dripping, black hair and tightening his grip. Tugging lightly, he pulled Severus closer to him.

In an instant, the hand that had been clutching the pendant feather encircled his neck, those elegant fingers carding through his own brown locks. Harry's heart was pounding in his chest as he felt Severus' other hand move up to his face, brushing across the line of his jaw, then traveling down to his chin. When an inquisitive thumb swept across his lower lip, just as it had in the Shrieking Shack, he was completely undone.

He closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to calm his racing heart and the strong excitement and emotion stirring inside him. He had never been more aroused in his life and he could not stop himself from shaking. His need to be closer to Severus, to press his lips against those enticing thin ones was so intense and yet he was afraid. Squeezing his eyes shut tighter, he tried to gather his thoughts, to make sense of what was happening.

"Look at me," Severus whispered.

Harry's heart nearly stopped upon hearing those familiar words, bringing back that gut-wrenching moment only a week ago in the Shrieking Shack when those exact same words had escaped the same pair of lips, twenty years in the future.

Harry submitted to the command now just as he had then, opening his eyes and locking his gaze with Severus. In an instant, the disturbing memory faded and Harry lost himself in those dark, passionate eyes.

Time seemed to slow down as Severus rested his forehead against Harry's, their swift exhalations mingling between them. Then, with a tiny shifting of his head, he brushed his thin lips across the corner of Harry's mouth.

With a moan caught in his throat, Harry shuddered and turned towards Severus, allowing the boy to have more of him, offering his mouth with lips already parted. His whole being pulsed with longing when he felt Severus' lips press against his at long last, every hot surge of sensual breath the boy exhaled flooding his mouth, ensnaring his desire and heightening his arousal.

When Severus moaned into his mouth, Harry thrilled at the almost guttural sound. He tightened his grip around Severus' neck to pull him closer. Closing his lips around Severus' quivering lower lip, he captured it and made it his hostage, nipping at it with his teeth and then sucking on it to relieve the sting.

The moment Harry opened his mouth to taste more of Severus, a warm and eager tongue swiped across his upper lip. Breath hitching at the unexpected caress, he nearly whimpered as ripples of exquisite pleasure rushed through him. The needy sound seemed to be the permission Severus was waiting for; he engulfed Harry's mouth with his own, that eager tongue now strong and insistent as it explored Harry's mouth with abandon.

Never had Harry felt anything like this as he clung to Severus' shoulders. He had kissed before, yes, but those kisses had never been more than a physical act; lips and tongues and heated breath. This... this was deep, desperate, passionate. This kiss was slow and sensual, yet intense and fiery, with eager tongues and caressing lips and heavy labored breaths. Every movement filled with desire and emotion, every moan laden with yearning and want.

The feel of those warm lips as they captured his mouth and that strong tongue sliding alongside his own seemed to tear at something deep and raw inside Harry, penetrating his heart and soul, evoking a rapturous hunger and longing he had never experienced before.

Severus' hands, still woven in Harry's hair, released their tight grip and traveled down, fingers gliding along the bare skin of Harry's upper back, then plunging into the cool water and settling on the small of his back. They wrapped around Harry's waist and pulled him closer in a tight embrace.

Harry's breath caught in his throat at a low growl issuing from Severus and caught again as he felt the boy's aroused body against his own, the intimate embrace causing jolts of pleasure to race through his trembling limbs.

A distant part of Harry's mind was expecting him to recoil or at least move away from this new, forbidden stimulation, but he couldn't deny how good it felt, how much it excited him and how intense his need was becoming.

Head spinning from lack of oxygen, Harry finally ended their heated kiss and opened his eyes, pulling back just in time to see Severus' eyes blink open. The passion in those dark orbs nearly took his breath away. He couldn't look away, he didn't want to.

A drop of rain fell onto Severus' cheekbone, wandering languidly down the heated skin before falling into the cool water.

It was ignored, as were the next few drops that splashed into the surrounding pond.

They stood motionless, staring at one another, breathing in each other's breaths with their bodies crushed together while the rain came down in earnest, plummeting from the dark skies in a steady downpour that pelted their already soaked hair and skin.

Then something in Severus' emotive eyes shifted and sharpened. He tightened his grip around Harry's waist, obsidian eyes never leaving grey ones as he pushed forward again, rocking his hips and thrusting his hard length against Harry's.

"Oh God... Sev–... Ohhh..." was all Harry could manage as his knees almost buckled at the stimulation. He tightened his arms around Severus' neck, pleasure pulsing through his body in thick relentless waves.

Severus pressed his lips to Harry's again and held them there. He breathed out a single word in a rush of hot, heady breath against Harry's trembling mouth.

"More?"

Mind reeling at what 'more' might mean, but knowing without a doubt he wanted to find out, Harry swallowed hard past the tightness in his throat and uttered just one word in reply.

"Y-yes..."

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Thanks to all of you who have reviewed since my last update and those of you who have made this story a favorite. I really appreciate your continued support. Special thanks to **YenGirl**, as always, for her tireless Beta efforts in making this story better. :)

I'm hoping to post the next chapter by the end of the month, probably by October 29th or so. Stay tuned, it's only going to get more intense from this point on!

**Please Review.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten -**

**We thrive, entwined, enamored**

Lost in a haze of amorous desire, Harry paid no regard to the blinding flash of white that splintered the leaden sky. He continued to cling to Severus, body shivering with need, his brain dizzy with emotion. Not until the fleeting luminescence faded and the deafening crack of thunder reverberated menacingly through the fledgling night did he take notice of their ominous situation.

The ear-splitting sound that fractured the charged air made him jerk his head backwards, eyes snapping open to lock with fervent ebony pools through the blurred torrent of whipping winds and driving rain.

"We... we'd better go inside," Severus breathed out, his voice raspy and labored, each throaty word punctuated by an erratic breath. "Come on. We shouldn't be out in this."

Slender arms released their tight, urgent hold around Harry's waist as their owner withdrew. Severus turned around and reached for the lowest bar of the ladder, ascending it at a swift pace. Harry followed his lead, his trembling limbs accomplishing the mindless task of gripping each rung and pushing his weight further up the ladder without conscious thought, his mind elsewhere.

Intoxicating images and vivid sensations that made up the lingering vestiges of their last few minutes of passion consumed Harry's saturated brain. He could not stop himself from focusing on the arousing feel of those lips sliding along his, that strong tongue exploring his mouth or those hot breaths flooding him, filling him. Every thrilling touch and stirring caress, each passionate moan and fitful breath excited him as they replayed themselves over and over inside his head, whirling around his brain, electrifying him, arousing him further, then hurling him back to that one word that had been his undoing.

_More?_

That enticing question echoed throughout his muddled thoughts as he raced on shaky legs toward the cottage in Severus' wake. His heart hammered inside his chest, the frantic beat thundering in his ears and catching in his throat, competing with the resonating din of the intensifying storm. The sounds of forceful raindrops bombarding the dock and pelting the stone walls of the cottage mingled with the roaring thunder claps as bright streaks of lightning split the starless sky. Harry's bare feet plunged into several muddy pools of rainwater as he ran, his pace hurried, frenetic, but still sluggish compared to the whirlwind pounding of his heart.

Both he and Severus were out of breath by the time they arrived at the front door, having sprinted the short distance at top speed. Harry clutched a slight stitch in his side, his fingers massaging the mild ache as he watched Severus grab the old-fashioned brass door handle and twist the knob, throwing the side of his body against the door in his eagerness to escape the downpour.

As soon as the heavy oak door swung open, Severus made for the far corner of the large room, heedless of his wet footprints across the wooden floor. He knelt in front of the small bedside table and wrenched open its solitary drawer, pulling out a thick white towel from its depths before standing up and turning around.

Harry stood frozen just inside the closed door, immobilized by the excitement still coursing through his body and the intensity of that black gaze. He hardly noticed the growing puddle of water at his feet, courtesy of his soaked state.

Severus said nothing as he drew closer with a slow, steady stride, strands of wet hair sticking to one cheek. He stopped his approach when he was only inches away. With a faint tremor to his movements, he brought the towel up and placed it on Harry's chest. They stared at each other for a silent moment before Severus dropped his gaze, ebony eyes roving over the sight of his own hands holding the towel against Harry's exposed skin.

Harry's breath hitched when Severus pushed the soft fabric higher and began to wipe away the water droplets from his neck and collarbone. Captivated by the unexpected ministration, his eyes fluttered shut just as Severus moved to stand behind him, those gentle hands moving the towel in slow circles across his back and soaking up the remaining droplets there. Harry remained still when Severus returned a moment later to stand in front of him, sweeping the towel down the length of one arm and up the other, then grazing it across his shoulders.

When that towel began to descend, Harry's breath caught in his throat, his stomach muscles quivering and tightening at the gentle, intimate touch. Lost in the sensation of Severus' ministrations, he started when he felt the towel drop to his feet and those soft, warm hands coming to rest on his hips just above the waistband of his shorts, thin fingers almost squeezing his flesh.

Harry kept his eyes shut, not needing his vision to discern the diminishing gap between them, not when he felt those hot, tremulous breaths ghosting across his lips. The intense jolt of pleasure surging through him when those warm lips pressed against his spurred him into action. Wrapping his arms around Severus' neck, he pulled him close as he nipped at that lower lip with his teeth, sucking on it and running his tongue across it.

Severus responded to his fervent actions with alacrity, raising his arms and cupping Harry's face in both hands. He stepped forward, forcing Harry backwards, feet tangling in the folds of the damp towel until his back made contact with the door of the cottage. Severus then pushed his eager tongue into Harry's mouth.

Impelled by the waves of heady desire coursing through him, mindless with excitement, Harry allowed Severus to explore his mouth while sliding his hands down to grasp the boy's hips. His fingers clenched around the dripping wet fabric of that baggy t-shirt, tightening every few seconds as his body seemed to pulse with need, his arousal pressed up against Severus' thigh. Aching to touch some part of Severus' bare skin and explore his body in turn, Harry slipped his hands under the soaking wet shirt and slid his thumbs into the empty belt loops near the back to anchor them, his fingertips just touching the surface of Severus' lower back.

In a flash, Severus uttered a gasp into Harry's mouth and tore away from him. He took several steps backwards, his motions frantic and desperate.

"Severus! What– what's wrong?" Harry burst out, shocked by the unexpected reaction. Had he done something wrong? But… but he hadn't done anything!

Severus did not look at him, shoulders and arms trembled as he clutched the bottom of that baggy t-shirt in a white knuckled grip. His long fingers were twisted around the sodden fabric, his ebony eyes pained and anxious as they darted back and forth along the floor.

The seconds stretched into half a minute of strained silence, broken only by their erratic breathing. Studying the boy's nervous demeanor, a disquieting thought began to unfurl inside Harry's mind, dampening his ardor and giving rise to a growing suspicion. Perhaps Severus hadn't pulled away because he was shy, but because he was _fearful_.

It was then that Harry remembered what Severus had said a few days ago while massaging that scar-fading potion into the skin on the back of his hand.

_"And it will not work if the scar is very old... older than five years or so..."_

Was he hiding something, something he hadn't been able to fade? Was that why he hadn't removed his t-shirt before joining Harry in the pond?

Suspicion spiraling to dread, hoping he was wrong yet almost certain he wasn't, Harry approached Severus with cautious steps. He placed both hands on the distraught boy's cheeks and coaxed him to look up.

"Severus? Do you... Do you have scars on your back? Is that why...?"

Harry's voice cracked and died away before he could complete his question, the lump in his throat preventing him from continuing.

"Did your father...?"

Once again, Harry faltered, but there was little need to continue when those anguished black eyes suddenly glistened with unshed tears. He threw his arms around Severus' neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, relieved when the other boy didn't hesitate to reciprocate the gesture, those slender arms wrapping themselves around Harry's waist.

Brushing a soft kiss on a damp cheek, Harry whispered the impassioned words that burned inside his own aching, wounded heart and spilled forth in a rush of emotion.

"I'm sorry, Severus. I'm so sorry he hurt you like that. I hate that he's caused you so much pain."

After a moment, Harry withdrew, just far enough to look into those dark, shimmering pools. The ache inside his chest intensified when he saw tears spilling from them and cascading down those pallid cheeks. Sweeping his thumbs along both cheekbones to wipe away the warm drops, Harry spoke again, needing Severus to understand.

"Listen to me, Severus. I don't care if you have physical marks... scars... it doesn't matter to me. It doesn't make any difference in the way I see you… the way I feel about you."

Harry trailed his right hand downwards and placed it over Severus' heart. Pressing his palm flat against the wet fabric, he could feel that pounding heartbeat, strong and resilient, racing underneath his outstretched hand.

"This… _this_ is what matters to me. _This_ is what I see when I look at you… I see your heart, your beautiful heart… not the scars left behind by that bastard," Harry urged, a fierce spike of fury edging his tone as he finished, incensed at the idea of Severus bearing the physical evidence of his father's brutality. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his surging anger before continuing.

"And I'm sorry that I upset you. I shouldn't have... but I only wanted to... to touch you," Harry whispered. He was nervous about his admission, his voice trembling as he looked back up into those tearful eyes.

Severus' lower lip quivered and he bit down on it, his eyes never leaving their intense connection with Harry's. With slow, tentative movements, his trembling hands found both of Harry's wrists, encircling them and guiding them down to hang loosely at Harry's sides.

Heart clenching in disappointment, Harry realized that despite his comforting words, Severus was still going to withdraw from him.

He was wrong.

Long, trembling fingers drew his attention downwards, curling around the ends of Severus' baggy t-shirt and then stilling.

Harry eyes snapped back up to stare into the dark orbs that now showed a touch of determination within their depths. Another movement caught his attention, prompting him to lower his gaze again. He stared, mesmerized, as those hands traveled up, pulling the shirt along with them at a torturously slow pace. The soaking wet fabric was gradually stripped away, pulled over those drenched strands of ebony hair that clung to that slender neck, revealing an expanse of pale flesh that was covered in goose bumps and tiny rivulets of water from the dark, soaked locks.

Widened grey eyes feasted on the breathtaking sight, wandering over the expanse of perfect porcelain skin, taking in the lean muscles of those slender arms, the flat stomach and then up to gaze at taut nipples, their dusty pink shade in stark contrast with the creamy white surrounding it.

Harry's pulse raced as a wave of heat coursed through his entire body, making him feel hot… feverish. This wasn't the first time he had seen a male chest other than his own, but it was the first time he had wanted to touch one. He wanted more than anything to touch Severus, to run his fingers across that smooth skin, but he waited for consent, needing that verbal assurance before he could act.

Severus gave it to him. Taking one step closer, he grasped Harry's hands and placed them on his bare chest, right over those puckered nipples.

"I want you to touch me," he whispered as he withdrew his own hands in silent permission, dark eyes vanishing beneath their lids and those soft, thin lips parted, emitting deep, quavering breaths of anticipation.

Harry swallowed hard, ghosting his fingertips over lean pectoral muscles that quivered under his touch, brushing thumbs over the hard nipples and pressing lightly into the puckered skin. His efforts were rewarded by a sharp intake of breath and a groan that issued from the back of Severus' throat. Its growl-like timbre sparked another wave of warmth and pleasure to rush through Harry and settle low in his abdomen where it smoldered and flourished. He felt a surge of sharp arousal pooling around his midriff and lower, pulsing and rippling through his whole body.

Emboldened and barely breathing, he slid his hands lower and pressed his palms against the cool skin of that quivering stomach before moving outwards, following the waistband of the wet shorts. His searching fingertips found the sides of Severus' slim waist and gripped the soft flesh there, fingers digging in, thumbs pressing into the sides of that firm stomach.

A ridge of raised flesh just above Severus' right hip made Harry's heart give a painful lurch. Slowly, he traced the scar's smooth line with the very tips of his fingers, just as he had that night in the abandoned classroom when he discovered the faded slashes on Severus' forearms. This scar felt more severe, its smooth surface more pronounced, indicating a painful laceration too old to have reaped the benefits of Severus' scar-fading potion.

Following the scar's contour, Harry's fingers advanced further up Severus' back, but stopped when they encountered another raised scar that traversed the first. His now trembling fingers changed course, tracking the new scar's progression.

But he soon found another.

Then another.

And another.

Breath held, his heart slamming painfully against his ribcage, Harry took a step back. He was shaking as a feeling of compulsion rose within him, urging him, pushing him to circle around Severus. He felt compelled to gaze upon those horrible marks with his own eyes even though he knew the sight would break his heart.

He was right.

Severus' back was _littered_ with scars. There were dozens of long, ghastly marks crisscrossing the pale flesh and intersecting at odd angles across the whole length of his slender back.

A sharp exhalation pushed past Harry's shaking lips at the sight. When hot tears welled up in his eyes, it was all he could do to hold back the sob that wanted to escape his swollen, painful throat. He could feel his emotions swelling inside him, anger and deep despair in equal amounts choking him and quickly clenched his fists and ground his teeth to hold them in.

Blinking away his burning tears, Harry focused on Severus. The boy was hunched over and trembling badly, face buried in his hands, wet hair falling on either sides of his head to expose the back of that pale, vulnerable neck.

Quelling his own rage at seeing the horrific evidence of Tobias Snape's cruelty, Harry edged closer to comfort the boy he loved. He slid his arms around Severus' waist and pulled him close, drawing that scarred back flush against his own chest. Ignoring the leak of hot tears from his eyes, he feathered his lips along the pale skin of one thin shoulder, kissing the soft skin, soothing the faint tremors again and again until the muscles beneath his tender touch relaxed and those fitful breaths deepened and slowed.

All was quiet and still for one long, peaceful moment.

Harry wasn't sure when his comforting ministrations transformed into slow, sensual caresses, lost in the very pleasant task of ghosting his lips over the length of Severus' shoulder and then further up, trailing kisses along that slender neck. His fingers had found an equally enjoyable activity, drawing tiny circles on Severus' stomach, feeling the muscle jump and quiver in response.

He breathed in deeply, relishing the lingering scent of the wild, rain-drenched forest permeating from the pale damp skin, melding with a faint aroma of old books and fresh peppermint. The distinctive smell invaded his senses, inflaming his latent desire. With a groan, he gripped Severus tighter, needing to feel more of him in his arms, his eager fingertips drawing larger circles across that flat stomach, growing more and more daring as the deep and even breathing began to shallow again. He continued kissing his way up that slender neck, tongue darting out to lick and to taste, teeth nipping and lips closing around the sweet flesh to suck, his lower body tightening with renewed ardor.

Knowing that Severus could feel his erection lengthen against his backside brought none of the initial embarrassment Harry had felt in the pond. He just couldn't get enough of the boy wrapped in his arms, his only thoughts centered on the intense need and desire coursing through him, the fierce yearning to be close to Severus, to give pleasure to him, to be intimate with him.

A low growl caught him by surprise and prompted him to still his movements, his body shuddering at the quick spike of arousal engendered by the raw, uncontrolled timbre.

Then Severus whipped around in his arms and latched onto his mouth, devouring it with hungry lips. One hand gripped the back of Harry's head with those long fingers sinking into wavy brown locks, while the other splayed over Harry's back and pulled him close, crushing their bodies together and trapping Harry's arms between them. Severus' tongue was tenacious as it worked its way inside Harry's mouth and swirled around the eager tongue it found there. Heedless of the moans filling his mouth, Severus tightened his grip on Harry's waist and stepped forward, driving them further into the room, controlling their every movement.

Dizzy and breathless, and now confused at the sudden emergence of Severus' dominance, Harry was barely able to think, let alone protest it. Wrenching his hands free, he allowed Severus to guide them, their steps awkward and fumbling as they attempted to move without breaking their heated kiss.

All at once, the backs of Harry's legs hit something and he fell backwards onto a soft landing, pulling Severus with him. It was the bed, Harry realized, but his thought splintered a moment later by the feel of that warm body atop his and that needy tongue plundering his willing mouth. The stimulating sensation of Severus' chest sliding over his sent his desire skyrocketing.

Severus shifted his hips, aligning their erections and sending a burst of pleasure rippling through Harry, forcing a gasp from him. Then, with a sharp thrust, Severus bucked those hips forward, grinding their hard aroused lengths together, just as he had done in the pond.

The exquisite weight of Severus' body pressing him into the mattress and the rapturous feeling of that hot tongue pushing in and out of his mouth increased the pleasure a hundredfold. Harry could not stop himself from crying out, his limbs trembling.

"Ahhhh...!"

"Does it feel good? Do you like it?" Severus breathed the words into Harry's mouth in a hot rush of shaky breath, his voice faint but urgent, each word vibrating against Harry's wet lips.

"Yes! Yes... Mmmm... don't stop..."

Those hips pushed forward again and Harry shuddered, pushed swiftly to the edge of bliss. He was close... he knew he was close. There was a small, distant part of him that said he should be embarrassed to be getting off like this, but it was small enough to ignore, buried under the overwhelming feeling of absolute ecstasy. It was an erotic combination of sharp, pulsing surges of exquisite pleasure, the frantic thundering of his heart in his chest, and the indescribable euphoria swirling around his brain. Every part of his body seemed to be on fire, heightened by delirious desire and powerful emotions... and Severus, especially Severus.

There came another thrust.

"Oh my God..." Severus whispered, then groaned, low, deep in his throat. "Oh Gray..."

And another.

His entire body taut and quivering with tension, Harry used his teeth to pull that enticing bottom lip into his mouth and sucked. Hard.

When Severus groaned again, the heady growl-like sound sparked another jolt of rapture through Harry. He grabbed handfuls of Severus' shorts in a desperate grip and pulled him down, just as Severus pushed forward again.

"Ohhh! Oh fuck...!" Harry cried out, knowing he was just seconds away from orgasm. He couldn't say anymore, Severus was kissing him again, long fingers twisting around wet strands of his hair as he drove that strong tongue further into his mouth. Those hot, trembling breaths came fast and hard into his mouth now, and Harry had never felt so on the edge, so exquisitely close to release in his life.

With a grunt, Severus thrust his hips one final time, causing both their tense and aroused bodies to fall off that precarious edge.

Eyes squeezing shut as his orgasm ripped through him, a torrent of pulsing pleasure raced through Harry's entire body, taking him, freeing him. He wrenched his mouth free and cried out, tightening his grip on Severus' shorts, his hips bucking up to grind against that hard erection again and again as he rode out the most intense climax of his life.

As the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed, Harry opened his eyes just in time to see the ecstatic look on Severus' face and hear the low, breathless moan of unleashed desire fall from those parted lips. Seeing those beloved features tight with sharp euphoria, sent another ripple of arousal through Harry's trembling, sated body.

The next moment, Severus collapsed on top of him, his body limp and pliable, his fast, persistent breaths brushing against the side of Harry's neck. Without hesitation, Harry wrapped his arms around him, palms gliding across those raised scars as he held him in a tight, loving embrace.

He listened to Severus' breathing slow down and lengthen, feeling the steady pulse of his heartbeats thrumming against his own chest, conscious of only one thought.

For the first time in his insane, abnormal, perilous life...

Harry felt like he was home.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

The first thing that clued Harry in to the fact that he was _not_ waking up in his own four-poster in the Slytherin dorm was the wonderful warmth enveloping him. It came from the lean body pressed up against his back with one slender arm snaked around his waist and long, thin fingers resting on his bare chest.

Blinking open his heavy lids in an attempt to curtail his sleep-induced fog, Harry saw it was still dark. He shifted around to lay on his other side so that he could gaze upon the alluring sight of a sleeping Severus, thrilled that he was close enough to make out those sharp features, softened and relaxed in tranquil slumber, a lone strand of ebony hair lying across one cheekbone.

Harry listened again to the deep, placid breaths escaping those slightly parted lips, his heart swelling with emotion as memories from last night came rushing back.

Wait... was it_ still_ night?

Blinking again, Harry lifted his head and looked around. The entire room was dim, the only illumination coming from the glowing embers from the hearth and two small candles on the kitchen table that Severus had magicked to continuously burn.

The pervading silence then registered, making Harry realize the thunderstorm had ceased. Peering out through the closest bay window, he squinted in an attempt to see beyond the paned glass. Judging from the wan light of the slivered moon high in the sable sky, he concluded it must be hours before dawn.

Shifting his weight to his left elbow, he raised himself up. With slow, careful movements, he removed Severus' arm from around his waist and let it rest on the sheets before sitting upright, cringing when he felt the presence of something cool, wet and sticky on his bare stomach.

Glancing down, Harry could just make out a viscid substance adhering to the skin on his lower abdomen, gluing his boxer shorts to his body. His face prickled with heat, a strong surge of embarrassment taking hold of him as he realized what the substance was.

Neither he nor Severus had bothered to clean themselves up. In fact, the last thing Harry remembered was holding Severus in his arms. They must have fallen asleep right after...

"God... I can't believe we did that," Harry murmured, an odd mixture of elation and shock flooding his brain. He had actually made out with Severus!

No, they hadn't just made out, they had brought each other to orgasm. One exquisite, unbelievable, breathtaking, mind-blowing orgasm.

A sheepish grin emerged on Harry's face and his fiery blush deepened as he recalled how amazing it had felt to have Severus on top him, kissing him, holding him, thrusting against him. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. If he weren't careful, he was going to get himself worked up again, and right now he had more important things to deal with.

Taking care not to interrupt Severus' deep slumber, Harry rose from the bed and moved through the room, edging toward the candlelit kitchen where he remembered leaving his school bag. He found it on the floor beside the kitchen table and quickly pulled the Hawthorn wand from its depths. He cast a cleaning charm on himself to remove the remaining evidence of last night's fun before lighting his wand with a muted _Lumos_.

Shifting his focus to his next most pressing need, Harry hastened over to the small washroom in the far corner of the room. Once behind its closed door, he relieved his full bladder, then washed his hands and face. For the second time since arriving in this time, he cursed his mediocrity at Transfiguration, realizing that he had very little chance of successfully transforming something into a usable toothbrush. He settled for rinsing his mouth out with the cool water from the tap instead, swishing it around for a full minute before spitting it out... just in case he were to receive more of those fiery kisses from Severus.

Having tended to his discomfort, Harry left the washroom and crossed the room with swift, silent precision, anxious to return to that warm bed and its sleeping occupant. Perching on the edge of the bed, he saw that Severus had turned to lie on his back. His eyes roved over the flawless, pale flesh of that chest, then lower to that perfect, flat stomach.

His blush returned when he noticed that Severus seemed to be in the same awkward predicament that he had been in moments ago. The waistband of those grey shorts had drifted down a few inches, exposing two protruding hip bones and a small amount of fine ebony hair trailing from his navel and disappearing beneath the fabric. Just above that waistband were lingering vestiges of dried semen covering the pale skin.

Worrying his lower lip to lessen his sudden embarrassment, Harry weighed his options. The first one was to do nothing and just let an embarrassed Severus deal with it himself. His other option involved a bit of daring on his part, but it seemed the most practical solution.

Holding his breath to ease his anxiety and praying Severus was a heavy sleeper, Harry directed the his wand at the unsightly dried smear and whispered the incantation to clear it away. With his lower lip captured in between his teeth, he waited in nervous anticipation, but Severus did not wake, merely grunting in his sleep before turning away from Harry to curl up on his other side.

Grateful that his bold move went unnoticed, Harry released a massive sigh of relief and gave into his longing to be close to Severus again. He placed his wand on the bedside table and then crawled over to Severus' warm body. Slipping his arm around that slender waist, he pressed his chest up against the boy's back, ignoring the raised scars and reveling in the feel of their skin touching again.

Harry took several deep breaths and closed his eyes, entranced by the unique, intoxicating scent of Severus' skin and lulled by the rhythmic sounds of his slow, metered breaths. In no time, his body relaxed and his mind drifted, once again succumbing to the alluring draw of sleep.

After what felt like only a minute, Harry awoke with a start, his deep slumber quashed by a deafening shriek. He shot up out of bed and snatched his wand off the table in one swift, reflexive move, blinking several times to extinguish the lingering haze of sleep from his eyes as he glanced around the room, his sluggish brain trying to grasp what had pulled him from his slumber.

Again, the strident noise punctured the silence, This time, Harry was able to identify the noise as being the unmistakable caw from a great bird. The loud, piercing sound came from somewhere outside, yet it echoed loudly throughout the cottage interior. Whirling around to investigate further, he took a few steps toward the window and peered out, scanning the narrow strip of crimson light emerging just above the tree tops in search of the noisy bird.

A low groan from Severus interrupted his scrutiny and he spun back around just as that long, lean body on the bed unfurled itself, arms reaching up in a lazy stretch. Sleepy, dark eyes came into view as their owner blinked and squinted, struggling to attain sentience.

"Mmmm... good... you're awake," Severus mumbled sleepily once those dark eyes managed to focus on him. After threading his fingers through his mussy ebony locks, he yawned, stretched once more, then rose from the bed.

"Can you let her in? I'll just be a moment," he added while heading for the washroom.

"Oh... Uh... Yeah. Sure," Harry responded, stuttering slightly, still feeling edgy from being woken in such an abrupt manner.

Another resounding caw pulled Harry from his unease and he traversed the room at a hurried pace, hoping to forestall a fourth ear-peircing cry. As soon as he opened the front door, the sight of a huge raven flying straight at him made him drop into an instinctive crouch. It swooped in through the doorway, its great wings bringing in a gust of wind as it circled the room twice before settling on one of the perches beside the hearth.

Straightening up, Harry closed the door. He turned around to study the majestic bird: the lustrous feathers, that large, curved beak and those glinting jet-black eyes that seemed deeper and darker than any moonless night.

As if cognizant of being examined, Solus turned her beautiful head in one slow, languid motion and fixed her penetrating gaze on Harry, her action and her intense, introspective look eerily familiar. After a moment, Harry realized why. Just a week ago, this impressive raven had studied him with that very same look from within the confines of a magnificent golden frame. The sudden comprehension that Solus was the guardian of Professor Snape's dungeon quarters and the inspiration behind that huge portrait sent shivers up and down Harry's spine.

After a long moment where it seemed to Harry that _she_ was studying _him_ just as much as _he_ was studying _her_, she cocked her head to the side and emitted another caw, this one faint, but higher pitched, almost trill-like, reminiscent of Fawkes' distinct soulful warble.

"She likes you," came a low, hushed voice behind him, startling him.

Harry's brief surprise soon gave way to delight as a pair of slender arms slid around his waist, intersecting at his stomach and pulling him back into a warm, firm body. He shivered when familiar lips placed a soft kiss just below his ear, heat stirring in his abdomen.

"Um... you'd better stop kissing me there unless you want a repeat of last night," Harry admitted.

Severus chuckled. He removed his left arm from around Harry's waist and placed his fingertips in the exact spot those lips had just kissed, caressing the skin with feather light touches.

"Sensitive there?" he purred in his ear, those lips brushing his skin again, "You know where I'm sensitive, Gray? My stomach. Your little cleaning charm in the middle of the night gave me _quite_ the rush."

Harry's eyes widened as Severus' words sunk in. He spluttered, trying to say something in response, but could only manage to voice a few nonsensical utterences. Severus snickered again, then planted another quick kiss to that sensitive spot as if to impress upon him how much he enjoyed the other boy's flustered state. He ended his teasing a second later, releasing Harry and walking over to Solus who, Harry noticed, was still eyeing him with interest.

With the same care and attention he had bestowed upon Spera, Severus stroked the stunning creature's head, sweeping his fingertips down the length of those shiny, black feathers. Only then did the bird break eye contact with Harry and center her focus on Severus. She looked up into Severus' dark eyes as if searching for something, then closed her eyes and buried her head under one wing.

"She's beautiful, Severus," Harry said, watching with rapt attention as Severus continued to caress her.

Severus smiled and nodded, but said nothing for a long moment. When at last he spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent.

"When she came to me, I didn't know anything about Chatham ravens. I only knew what Professor Kettleburn had mentioned once in class last year... about them being extremely mistrustful of both Muggles and Wizards, and how rare it is when one actually chooses to reveal themselves to a wizard."

"Reveal themselves..." Harry repeated, confused by Severus' choice of words. "Wait, what do you mean... _reveal themselves?"_

Severus turned his attention away from the snoozing bird and approached Harry, grabbing his hand and leading him over to the sitting area. Harry followed and took a seat right next to him, sinking onto the worn wool-covered cushions of the couch.

Taking a deep breath as if preparing for a lengthy exposition, he responded, his knowledgeable tone reminding Harry, not for the first time, of the teacher Severus would one day become.

"Chatham ravens are rarely seen. Muggles cannot see them under any circumstances and actually believe them to be an extinct species of bird. You see, Chatham ravens have the ability to conceal themselves, not out of fear like the skittish Diricawl, but simply because they deem most humans untrustworthy. They only show themselves to those wizards and witches whom they believe possess a certain... disposition."

Harry furrowed his brow as he considered what Severus just told him, trying to supplement it with what Professor Dumbledore had told him about Chatham ravens a week ago. He recalled the man saying something similar... something about Chatham ravens only appearing to a wizard or witch whose heart was pure, who possessed an inner beauty... or was it a selfless spirit? Harry had difficulty recollecting everything the elderly wizard had told him and what he did remember, didn't entirely make sense. He still felt confused, like he was missing something...

"Eradicated..." Harry mumbled in an undertone, still frowning as he struggled to sharpen the details of that conversation.

"What?"

"Eradicated. I remember now. Dumbledore told me last week, when I first arrived in this time... he said that Chatham ravens only choose to appear to those wizards or witches whose inner beauty most closely resembles the peaceful spirit of its eradicated people," Harry expounded, "though I honestly don't know what he was talking about. I mean... who were these eradicated people?"

Severus sighed and glanced at Solus who was still sleeping under her wing. Then he turned back to Harry and took another slow, tempered breath.

"The Chatham ravens are native to a series of small islands that bear their name, just east of New Zealand. The people indigenous to these islands were known as the Moriori. They were a peaceful tribe of Polynesian Wizards who settled the islands many thousands of years ago. They lived their lives by a strict code of non-violence and passive resistance. The Chatham ravens were attracted to the beautiful spirit and pacifist nature of these people and thus became their guardians. Or their protectors, if you will. About a hundred and fifty years ago, after centuries of peace, the Moriori were invaded by a barbaric tribe of Muggles called the Maori. They laid claim to the islands, then proceeded to massacre the entire Moriori tribe, slaughtering hundreds of men, women and children in a savage one-sided battle and enslaving those few who did survive."

"But..." Harry interjected, "You said they were Wizards, and that the Maori were Muggles! I mean, all they would have needed to do would be to..."

"Gray, they didn't believe in using their wands to harm another human, not even in defense. This was their code, the very core of their belief structure," Severus answered. His voice was sad, laden with regret. He paused for a moment, then cleared his throat and began again.

"Heartbroken over losing so many of their people, the Chatham ravens stayed on the islands, refusing to abandon those remaining members of the Moriori tribe who survived the attack. In a desperate attempt to provide some small measure of comfort to these grief-stricken survivors, the ravens altered their inherent magic to only be seen by them, hoping to encourage them to persevere, despite their loss. Of course in the end, it was to no avail. The survivors died in pain, enslaved and anguished, and within a few short years, the tribe was no more.

"Very little is known about the ravens after that since precious few have laid eyes upon them. But throughout modern wizarding history, there have been rare occurrences where certain wizards and witches have been chosen by these birds. These chosen individuals, along with those closest to them, can see the ravens and are permitted to care for them. Unfortunately, there is a darker side to being chosen..."

When Severus stopped here, Harry's heart began to speed up. He remembered Dumbledore mentioning something about this too, about those chosen ones being... _destined to suffer a great loss just like the raven_. Harry felt a slow creep of panic building deep within him as he considered the Chatham raven's ominous prophetic magic.

Sensing Severus' growing unease, Harry pushed past his own foreboding and grasped his hand, twining their fingers and giving a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

Severus kept his eyes trained on their laced fingers then continued with his explanation. There was a tinge of fear to his voice now, his teaching timbre forgone.

"The Chatham raven is not only skilled at seeing into a person's soul and deciphering their intent, it also has the ability to anticipate intense loss and pain that a person is destined to suffer in the future. And..." Severus faltered again, and Harry could feel the soft quaking of the hand clutching his own, "...and it chooses a wizard whose heart is pure, like those of the Moriori, but who also possesses the inner strength needed to endure their impending loss, just as the raven continues to endure the loss of its cherished people."

"So..." Harry began, startled by how rasping his voice sounded, his tone hindered by an onrush of anxiety that seemed to be trapped in his throat. Clearing it, he tried again, "so because Solus came to you... does that mean you're destined to endure some... some painful event... in the future?"

"Yes."

Again, Harry felt the tightness in his throat, the breakneck speed of his pulse, his stomach roiling with trepidation as his mind whirled and spun, trying to process this dreadful portent.

"In the days following Black's attack, having not yet had the time to research Chatham ravens, I had assumed that the attempt on my life was the predicted trauma I was to suffer," Severus added, "but I was mistaken. After further study, I learned that the event is never one involving physical pain. The raven's intuitive skill lies with divining an emotional tragedy, one that evokes deep mourning from intense loss. Needless to say, I soon realized that my loss was yet to come; further evidenced by the fact that Solus was still with me."

At Harry's perplexed look, Severus clarified, "Chatham ravens do not stay to witness their chosen wizard's suffering. No one knows exactly why. Perhaps it is simply because the ravens have already seen such great suffering in their native people that they are unwilling to subject themselves to more. Regardless of the reason, they leave just prior to the event. It is said that the chosen wizard can actually sense the significance of their raven's departure, feel the imminent tempest as it looms."

He took a deep breath and lifted his head, meeting Harry's worried eyes.

"In other words, when Solus finally does leave me, I will know my impending hardship is close at hand."

Harry's mind was racing now, one pressing question taking precedence over the myriad of thoughts and emotions tormenting him.

_What was this traumatic loss Severus was destined to endure?_

An onrush of distressing theories surged through Harry's head, all battling for his regard, and he took a deep breath as he struggled to slow the ruminative incursion and ascertain the truth.

He knew one thing for certain: the adult Severus Snape's life was riddled with trauma. The man had suffered numerous horrors throughout his harsh life, but Harry knew of only two that were nightmarish enough to engender deep, agonizing grief and mourning; the death of Lily Potter, brought about, in part, by Severus' own decision to relay that prophecy to Voldemort, never knowing the devastating truth about who it referred to; and the death of Albus Dumbledore, who had ordered a reluctant Severus to issue the final, deadly blow.

By themselves, each of these tragedies were enough to break someone, destroy them, or at the very least, cause immense pain and suffering. After all, what could possibly prove more painful than causing – deliberately or otherwise – the death of a beloved one?

Without another thought, Harry threw his arms around Severus and pulled him into a strong embrace, wanting to comfort him, needing to soothe the boy who had already been through so much, yet whose path in life was far from over and destined to be fraught with pain.

Silence ensued as they held each other, the seconds stretching into long minutes. Then Harry pulled away just enough to bring his hands up to Severus' face. Resting his palms along the sharp curve of Severus' jaw, his fingertips disappearing amid the ebony locks, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to those soft lips. Despite the feather light touch, despite his tender intentions, Harry's heart began to pound in his chest again. Not because of desperate, physical need or carnal desire like last night, but because of the intense, profound emotion that was filling him, washing over him, pervading his senses and warming his entire body, his very soul.

Desperate for more – more of this exquisite, raw emotion overtaking him – Harry deepened their sensual kiss. Severus responded by tightening his grip around Harry's back and pulling him closer, but the kiss remained slow and deliberate.

Harry found there was something _so different_ in the way Severus was kissing him now; devoid of aggression, those warm lips parting just a bit, tongue barely touching Harry's as it slid across his lips, those long fingers gliding along the bare skin of his back.

It was pure bliss, something Harry never wanted to end.

"Sev'rus! Sev'rus!"

That deep, distinctive voice made Severus jerk backwards from Harry, jumping up from the couch and snapping his head towards the door.

"Shit! That's Hagrid!" he blurted out.

Leaving a bemused Harry just getting up from the couch, Severus darted over to the kitchen table, snatched up his wand and pointed it at the large bay window beside the door. One _Alohomora_ and two _Accio_ charms later, he was in possession of Harry's discarded t-shirt from the dock along with his and Severus' shoes. All items were soaking wet, necessitating a hurried drying charm.

As the two of them grappled with their attire, the half-giant's booming voice bellowed once again, louder this time, his approaching footsteps thundering as he neared the cottage. Solus lifted her head and gave a disgruntled cry, clicking her beak and spreading her enormous wings as if protesting the interruption.

"SEV'RUS! Yeh in there?"

"Hold on! I'm coming," Severus called back. He grabbed the brass doorknob and turned for the briefest of moments to fix Harry with a mischievous look, one eyebrow raised and a crooked smile in place. Then he turned back and wrenched the heavy door open.

"Hagrid! What on earth could be so urgent that you..."

"It's Spera! She's in labor... bin contractin' fer at least half an hour now!"

Severus' entire body went rigid at once, eyes widening and jaw going slack as he stared at Hagrid. Although his instinctual reaction may have been prompted by shock, Harry thought he could detect a trace of fearful apprehension on his face.

Things moved at a tremendous pace after that. Severus shook off his stationary stance a split second later and raced to his potions work table, shoving several glass jars and vials aside in his haste to find what he was searching for. When he spun back around, he was fastening a small black backpack and throwing it over his shoulder.

"Where is she?" he asked, his tone anxious and urgent.

"In the clearing," Hagrid answered, "and we'd better hurry... tha' foal's kickin' her like mad! Persistent little thing, it is!"

With Hagrid in the lead, the three of them took off at top speed, sprinting across the open cottage grounds, down the cobblestone path and out into the dark, feral forest, dodging low hanging tree branches and hopping over roots. For all his immense size, Hagrid was swift and sure-footed as he led the way. Harry's heart pounded almost as fast as their urgent footfalls, its tenacious hammering so intense, he could feel the pulsating, urgent cadence in his ears and in his throat, in his very brain. The relentless rhythm felt like a driving beacon, compelling him onward.

Soon, they reached the glade where Spera lay next to the same tree Harry had seen her hiding behind only days ago. Severus reached her first and sank to his knees. He placed a hand on her long, scaly neck and caressed her, calming her with gentle strokes and soothing touches.

As Harry neared them, he saw Severus tipping his head closer to Spera's skeletal muzzle and heard the soft, hushed voice.

"It's OK, girl. Everything's alright. We'll take care of you... and your baby."

The tender, comforting words tugged at Harry's heart, filling him with both aching sorrow and intense dread. He knew what was to come, knew it was close at hand now; the bittersweet moment when one life would begin and another would end.

"Sev'rus... did yeh bring tha' pain potion? I think she's in a righ' bit o' pain. She's bin shakin' pretty bad," Hagrid explained, "and pantin' too."

With haste, Severus ripped open his black bag and pulled a glass bottle and a small bowl from its depths. He unstoppered the vessel with trembling hands and tipped its contents into the bowl, filling it with a shimmering, opalescent liquid. Severus cursed under his breath when some of the potion spilled over the edge, the tremors in his hands hindering his control.

Harry knelt down and placed his hands on Severus', stilling their nervous shaking. Long stands of ebony hair hung down in curtains, concealing the thin, pale face, but Harry could hear the quaver in every forced exhalation, every hampered breath. Wrapping his fingers around Severus' hands, he applied gentle pressure, prompting those troubled eyes to look up. They locked with his own just as he whispered words of encouragement.

"Severus... you can do this. I know you can."

Taking a slow, steadying breath, Severus nodded, closed his eyes and swallowed hard, then turned his attention back to Spera.

With profound gentleness, Severus slipped his hand under Spera's slender equine head and lifted it, placing it on his lap. He set the bowl just under her snout and persuaded her to drink with hushed words of encouragement. She relished the potion, taking long swipes of it with her tongue while Severus bore her weight, supporting her, caressing her. When she finished, Severus moved his hand along the thestral's bony back, then swept it down along her swollen abdomen, pressing into the taut flesh with the tips of his fingers.

"I think the foal is positioned correctly, Hagrid," Severus said, his voice stronger now as he continued to stroke Spera's distended belly. She seemed calmer now as the potion took effect.

Hagrid joined them, kneeling beside the thestral's hind legs to examine the labor's progression. He spent several minutes mimicking Severus' examination, pressing his hands into the firm abdomen and feeling the foal beneath the trembling squamous skin. Soon, he moved his hands further down, grasping her spindly, tapered tail and pulling it aside. When he lifted his face, a broad smile split his beard in two.

"The foal's comin'! I can see its hooves!" he exclaimed.

Harry inched closer to get a better view of the foal as it struggled to emerge. Just as he neared Spera's hindquarters, the thestral stiffened, her muscles tight and rigid as she bore down amid a contraction. A moment later, her tense body seemed to relax, her muscles slack enough to quiver beneath her scaly skin. Harry peered down and felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw the inception of two gangly legs appear, sheathed tightly in a thin, gossamer membrane.

"You there... Gray, is it? Hold her in place, would yeh? And Sev'rus, keep her calm. I'm goin' ter help her along a bit," Hagrid announced.

Harry complied, placing his hands firm against Spera's hips, pressing down just enough to ease her shuddering and keep her still. He watched as Hagrid turned his focus back to the new foal. With a tenderness incongruous of his massive size, yet wholly befitting his sweet, gentle nature, the gamekeeper wrapped his large hands around the foal's thin legs and tugged, coaxing the tiny creature away from its mother's safety and warmth. Harry stared with wide eyes, transfixed, as the frail creature gradually emerged; a small bony mass folded in on itself, encased within its protective, life-sustaining sac.

Once it was out, Hagrid scooped up the tight bundle and placed it beside Spera's head. Harry had no idea where the exhausted thestral garnered the strength after appearing so fatigued only moments ago, but she immediately lifted her head from Severus' lap and began to nuzzle at the thin casing surrounding her foal, nudging it with her snout and nipping with her teeth. As soon as the protective tissue tore open, the new born foal was revealed.

Harry couldn't hold back the euphoric grin that stretched his lips as the infant thestral attempted to lift its weak head and stretch out its quivering, lanky limbs. Trembling all over, the feeble creature extended its small muzzle toward Spera who nudged it, nestling close. She caressed her newborn with such love and fondness, Harry had to blink away the warm tears that blurred his vision. He wiped them away, not wanting to miss a second of this beautiful moment and was in time to hear a sharp intake of breath from the baby and see those lustrous, black eyes blink open for the first time.

The sight was breathtaking – the single most awe-inspiring, heartfelt moment he had ever witnessed, but when he glanced back at Spera, the blissful joy in his heart vanished. Her head had fallen back onto Severus' lap again, and she was still.

Her dark eyes were wide open but blank and unseeing, her long, tapered limbs that were trembling just seconds ago now lay motionless on the muddy ground. Her body, so alive, so animate as she strove to bring her offspring into this world, was now limp and insentient, devoid of life.

Harry felt sick, his stomach giving a lurch as he realized what had happened. New tears formed in his stinging eyes, and he was powerless to stop them as they fell, unhindered, down his cheeks. He knew this was going to happen. Severus had told him days ago that they would lose Spera. He remembered breaking down upon learning of the mother thestral's impending demise, but seeing her lifeless body with his own eyes made it far more real than any amount of words ever could.

Harry sucked in a quivering breath and looked at Severus, unable to bear the sight of Spera's lifeless form any longer. The tearing pain in his chest deepened as he took in Severus' reaction, trembling hands hanging loosely at his sides, head lowered and thin face shadowed once more by those lank ebony strands.

Pushing past his own heartache, Harry inched closer and placed his arm around the shuddering shoulders. Hagrid must have noticed Severus' escalating distress as well. He reached out a massive hand to cup Severus' chin, persuading the distraught boy to look up into his kind eyes, blazing with compassion and warmth.

"She had a good life, Sev'rus," he consoled, "A life she gave up so tha' her foal could have a good life, too. She knew love, Sev'rus. An' tha' love was pure an' strong, just as strong as tha' foal of hers. He's a bit on the small side... but a fighter. He'll do her proud."

Severus closed his eyes and shook his head. Whether it was in repudiation of Hagrid's words or in anguish, Harry wasn't sure, but the tear sliding down Severus' cheek prompted him to tighten his grip on the shaking shoulder.

Releasing Severus' chin, Hagrid gathered the lifeless thestral in his arms and got to his feet.

"I'll be righ' back," he said, his tone heavy, hindered by sorrow. Despite his encouraging words to Severus, there were large tears falling down his cheeks and dripping onto his bushy beard as he held Spera close to his chest. With slow, labored steps, he exited the clearing and disappeared through a narrow gap amid the treeline.

The moment Hagrid departed, Severus unleashed a raw, gut-wrenching cry that Harry knew he had been repressing, as if he had been desperate to hold onto his anguish until it was just the two of them. Harry wrapped both arms around him and pulled his shaking body into his own, one hand on the back of Severus' head, fingers combing through his hair, and the other encircling his back.

"Shhh... it's... it's OK," Harry whispered, "Hagrid's right. Spera left us because she loved her baby. You were the one who told me that, remember? We... we just have to... see it from her perspective. We have to try to understand that love... wait, hold on..."

Sudden inspiration coming to him, Harry pulled away from Severus and crawled over to the newborn thestral who was just a short distance away, digging his front hooves into the ground and trying to push himself upright, spindly legs quivering under the unfamiliar weight. Harry placed his hands around the small creature's middle and scooped him up into his arms. On his knees, he shuffled back to Severus, deposited the restless foal onto the boy's lap and then waited.

A long moment passed by in anticipitory silence. Severus remained motionless, except for the tremors racking his arms and shoulders. At first, the small thestral writhed in Severus' lap, struggling to gain some balance in his new position before finally extending his thin neck. Wide, spirited eyes staring up into tearful, black ones, he issued a high-pitched, wavering mewl. The tone of that little, quavering cry was needy and insistent. It tugged at Harry's heart, as did what happened next.

With a low sob, Severus embraced the frail creature and pulled it close, one hand supporting his unsteady head, pressing it into his chest, right next to his heart. Harry watched and waited until Severus' head lifted, tearful, shimmering black pools locking with his own, enhanced by the beginnings of a hesitant, still doleful smile.

Shoulders sagging in relief, Harry moved closer, resting his left hand on the thestral's small head. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Severus' tear-tracked cheek, his heart swelling with so much love for this boy, he was unable to stop the whispered words from escaping his lips as they brushed the shell of Severus' ear.

"He needs you, Severus. He needs you now that she's gone. He needs you so much. And he loves you. He'll always love you. I promise you... He'll love you forever."

More tears fell from Harry's eyes as he pulled away from Severus, the dual meaning behind his words both adding to his heartache and easing it. At that moment, he didn't care that Severus had not discerned the hidden implication at the heart of his words, words that pertained to his own abiding love far more than it did to the emotions from a newborn thestral. He only cared that Severus had heard them, felt them and maybe one day, would understand their true significance.

The seconds passed in silence once again as they gazed deeply into each other's eyes. At length, Severus' meager smile grew. Harry found himself mirroring the gesture, his aching heart almost overflowing with intense, raw emotion.

"OK, boys... look here."

When Hagrid's booming command broke the intensity of the moment, Severus obeyed his request and turned his head to look up at the half-giant. Harry's gaze, however, remained fixed on Severus. He could not tear his eyes away from the brilliant smile that lit up that thin face, its radiant power easing his own despair and strengthening his spirit.

Despite his steadfast attention on Severus, Harry was distracted when a bright flash of light came into his field of vision, followed a split second later by a brief clicking sound.

"Now Professor Burbage swore this new muggle contraption would... Well, look at tha'! Merlin, it does work!" Hagrid exclaimed, "Here, Sev'rus. You can have this. She tol' me it'll get easier ter see, we jus' have ter wait."

Blinking a few times to clear the echoing flashes of light dancing in his vision, Harry saw Hagrid bend down to place something into Severus' outstretched hand. His breath caught in his throat when the image on the polaroid photograph came into sharper clarity, intensifying his sense of awe and wonder.

He remembered seeing this photograph. Though its surface had been cracked and faded when last he saw it, stashed within the pages of that old copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ that he'd found in the adult Severus' bedroom, Harry had little trouble recognizing it. He swallowed hard as he gazed upon the hauntingly familiar image:

_The teenage Severus Snape with a wide, exuberant grin, his arms around a small baby thestral..._

_Gray Skye, staring at Severus with such affection, such fervent adoration, his left hand resting atop the tiny creature's head while the thin white lines carved into the back of his hand stood out in stark definition – 'I must not tell lies.'_

"There yeh go boys!" Hagrid beamed, "Now yeh'll never forget, will yeh? Those photos are supposed ter last forever!"

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** OK, so I didn't meet my initial deadline, but I sincerely hope you found this chapter enjoyable and worth the wait. It was a rather intense one and took me a while to get it right. Of course, I could never have done it without the exceptional talents of my Beta, **YenGirl** – Thanks, girl! Your time and hard work are greatly appreciated! :)

In case you are interested, all the information in this chapter pertaining to the Moriori and Maori tribes of the Chatham Islands is based on historical fact, the only embellishments being, of course, that one tribe consisted of Muggles, while the other consisted of Wizards. If you'd like to read more about the native people of the Chatham Islands and their fascinating history, search for **Moriori** **People** or **Chatham Islands**. I wrote this narrative based on information I found on the Wikipedia pages for both subjects... as well as the Wikipedia page about Chatham ravens. Yes, these ravens really did exist, but just like in my story, they are now extinct.

I hesitate to give an exact date for my next chapter, mostly because I need some time to tend to all those other things I've neglected over the past few months, especially since the holidays are fast approaching. But don't worry. It won't be too long. I am going to shoot for mid-December. If it will be longer than that, I will update my Bio with a new ETA.

**Please Review.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven -**

**Deeply, your love flows through me**

_Forever._

That one word echoed again and again inside Harry's encumbered mind, its meaning strangely amplified among the droves of vertiginous thoughts and emotions battling for his attention.

At first, Harry had trouble deciphering why it had flustered him to such an extent. Hagrid's use of the word had been commonplace, easy enough to understand. The everyday term had only been spoken as a means of description, its application straightforward within its comprehensive context. Hagrid had simply meant to impress upon him and Severus the significance and longevity of the polaroid photograph; to emphasize the fact that this moment would live on within its glossy surface for a lifetime or longer.

Yet somehow, despite its ordinary usage, that single word had thrown Harry, confounded him, prompting a resident anxiety within him to flourish.

_Forever._

Once more, Harry gazed down upon the photograph still gripped in Severus' hand. The last time he had seen this photo, a mere week ago, it was washed out and faded, its surface dull and cracked with two of its corners peeling away and a small rip near the very bottom. It was a pale, damaged imitation of its original form, senescent from years of handling and exposure to the light. Now, as he stared at the image's crisp lines and bright, vivid colors, so sharp in contrast and clarity, Harry found himself unable to deny the variance, nor its significance. His throat tightened and his heartbeat raced as he considered this simple photograph, this small verification of love lost over time. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to still his shaking hands and calm his pounding heart as an abstract insight bloomed and festered inside his already fraught mind, enkindling a kind of tragic understanding.

_Only twice_ in Harry's lifetime would he gaze upon this photo: the first time was twenty years from now while rifling through the pages of a Dark Arts book, the photograph washed out and discolored, and the second was now with its image new and unblemished.

In contrast, Severus would hold onto it throughout the years, cherishing it during the interim, for all those moments existing between now and then. He would witness the photo's slow transformation from vivid to faded, feel the memory encapsulated within become dimmer and more distant with each passing year. As days dissolved into weeks and months into years, Severus would gaze upon this photograph over and over again as the image gradually degraded, the beautiful moment snared within its surface subject to the cruel, rigid passing of time.

Twenty years of time.

Twenty years of forever... _Severus' forever_.

_This_ was why Hagrid's seemingly inconsequential comment felt more like a knife to Harry's chest than a cheerful, endearing remark and why his heart suddenly ached with constricting despair. The agonizing truth engendered by that one benign word was too hard to ignore, too blatant to disregard, and Harry swallowed hard past the lump in his throat as he permitted this painful insight further reflection.

_Forever._

The harsh truth of the matter was that his forever and Severus' forever were not the same, and they never would be. They were following two different passages through time that had somehow managed to flex and curve, intersecting briefly, exquisitely, yet were destined to diverge. His time with Severus within this reality would soon come to an end. Their paths would separate; the bend would straighten and the finite magic that had allowed this twist of time would return him to his own time. His own forever. Without Severus.

_No, not without Severus,_ Harry reminded himself, willing his stricken mind to believe it. He closed his eyes to lessen the sting as new moisture formed at the corners. Driving the heels of his hands into his lids, Harry swiped the tears away with angry, forceful movements while desperately trying to suppress his fearful thoughts.

_No. Severus will be there when I return, and he will survive. He will. That's why I'm here. I have to believe that... I have to..._

"An' here comes the rest o' the herd. Look!"

Hagrid's zealous announcement prompted Harry to halt his distressing introspection. He opened his eyes in time to see several thestrals emerge from the thicket, their wings spread wide and their skeletal heads rearing.

The largest among them, a male, shoved past the others, his movements aggressive and urgent as he pushed his way to the very front of the group. His pitch-black eyes were narrowed in what could only be described as a display of intimidation, and as he approached the center of the clearing, his long, thin neck lowered and his features distorted in a truculent glower, he fixed his intense gaze on Severus.

"Sev'rus," Hagrid said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, but his tone insistent, "Let the foal go now. He needs ter be with his own kind. Tha' big one's his father. He'll take care o' 'im."

Severus' jaw tightened, and he swallowed, his beaming smile foregone. Pulling the baby closer to his chest, he dipped his head so that one of his cheeks grazed the soft fuzz sticking up at the top of the foal's tiny head. Ebony eyes disappeared for a moment beneath their lids as he continued to hold the creature, swift moisture gathering at the corners of those anguished eyes once more.

"Sev'rus..."

Again, Hagrid's whispered prompting had no affect. Severus only squeezed his eyes tighter and lowered his head another inch, his hair falling on either side of his face, hiding it from view.

A high-pitched bray fractured the strained quietude as the annoyed thestral reared up on his hind legs, his front ones swiping at the air before landing forcefully on the ground. He snorted and shook his head in clear agitation, his hooves raking through the dirt and leaving behind long, deep trenches while his enormous wings stretched out on either side, exerting his aggression.

Fearing the possible ramifications of ignoring an irate and rather impatient thestral, Harry placed his hands on Severus' forearm and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Let him go, Severus. You'll see him again. You will. But he has to go now."

Once again, Harry's own words struck something painful and raw inside him, the dual implication behind them an unpleasant reminder of his own impending departure. The tragic parallel hung in the air, mingling with the uneasy stillness like a somber presage of what was to come. With enormous effort, Harry ignored the painful allegory, forcing himself to concentrate on Severus' current plight.

Severus seemed to have been reached by Harry's encouragement. He lifted his head, his dark gaze locking with the fierce, penetrating eyes of the massive beast. After a long, protracted moment with the air profuse with mounting tension, Severus loosened his grip on the baby and slowly lowered him to the ground.

The father thestral gave another loud, harsh cry as he took a few steps nearer. The instant he was close enough to touch the newborn foal, his abrupt, aggressive manner changed. Lowering his bony head, he nuzzled the baby's head and neck with slow, gentle caresses, then stuck his snout under the foal's belly, nudging and prodding, coaxing the small creature to put weight onto his shaky legs.

The foal obeyed the insistent urging. With his thin, lanky limbs trembling beneath him, he pushed up onto their wobbly support. Inexperienced and woefully unbalanced, the foal swayed where he stood, anxious whimpers and bleats issuing from his little snout.

With slow, patient movements, the father moved even closer, scraping one hoof across the damp earth until his long, tapered front leg rested alongside the foal, supporting him. Parent and child remained like that for several minutes before the foal, in an unexpected spurt of energy and confidence, pushed off from his father's bracing support and began to walk with quivering limbs toward the other thestrals, his head jouncing as he mewled and chirped.

Averting his focus away from the spirited newborn, the large thestral once again leveled his piercing gaze upon Severus. With a sudden terse shake of his slender head and a low, guttural sound issuing from deep in his throat, he pivoted, turning back toward the rest of the herd and following them out of the clearing and back into the dark, wild forest.

Harry placed one hand on top of Severus' and the other around his shoulders, pulling him close. As he wrapped his fingers around the boy's hand, he leaned in and whispered into his ear once more, not even chagrined by the fact that Hagrid was witnessing their tender exchange.

"Come on. Let's go back."

With surprising pliancy, Severus yielded to his prompting, allowing Harry to pull him to his feet, his head still lowered and a heartbreaking, empty expression on his face.

Their fingers laced and Harry felt Severus squeeze his hand, his thumb sweeping across the edge of Harry's scar in a habitual move. Turning away from the sight of their entwined fingers, Harry settled his gaze on the third occupant of the glade, just as the half-giant addressed him.

"Gray? Yeh'll take care o' 'im?" Hagrid asked, his eyes sparkling with the lingering vestiges of spent tears.

"Yeah, I will. I promise."

With a swift nod, Hagrid turned from the pair and headed for the forest's edge.

The instant he vanished amid the dense trees, Harry pulled Severus into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around the boy's back, drawing him close. Severus requited the gesture at once, his own arms encircling Harry and his head coming to rest on his shoulder.

After a long, quiet moment, Harry withdrew just far enough to look deeply into those soulful, wounded eyes, their shadowy depths revealing a profusion of fresh pain born from this latest loss. The sight made his heart ache.

Moving closer, Harry placed the palms of his hands on Severus' tear-tracked cheeks, the very tips of his fingers disappearing among the dark locks. Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to those soft, thin ones, imparting an unhurried, deliberate kiss, hoping his tender touch would be enough to lessen Severus' pain. He wanted so much to take away his love's suffering, _all_ of his suffering; not just his current anguish over losing Spera, but the inevitable heartbreak that was to come.

Dumbledore had told Harry to _follow his heart_. The elderly wizard's advice was passed on as a possible means to save Severus' life, but not his heart. This venture through time might result in Severus surviving Nagini's attack, but how could Harry safeguard his emotional perseverance? Was there something he could do or say to lessen the boy's imminent pain? To diminish the acute sorrow he was almost certain to endure through the long years spent in emotional solitude?

His disturbing thoughts and desperate questions were soon interrupted as his kiss was returned with astonishing gentleness. One of Severus' hands lingered on Harry's lower back while the other came to rest at the nape of his neck, long fingers weaving through strands of mahogany hair as their owner deepened the emotional kiss.

Harry felt his heartache temper as those soft lips moved against his. Each warm, quavering breath grazing his lips seemed to dull his anxiety, each light caress of those fingertips on his skin eliminating more of his crippling dread. Every distressing thought about his finite time within this reality and his anxiety over Severus' future pain seemed to dissolve, washed away by a whirlwind of blissful emotion that suddenly felt strong enough to surmount any hindrance... overcome any anguish... withstand any expanse of time...

As their impassioned kiss ended, grey eyes emerged to lock with ebony ones once more. Another silent moment ensued while they gazed at one another, a thousand beautiful thoughts and emotions passing between them without voice, through a single fathomless look.

Not a word was spoken as Harry reached down and grasped Severus' hand, but when he turned toward the thickest patch of trees and began to lead them back through the forest, one particular word made a re-appearance inside Harry's mind.

_Forever._

This time, he accepted its emergence, welcoming its deep, limitless implications and profound significance with fervor as he permitted its meaning to relate to one specific application.

Love.

Regardless of what was to come, his love for Severus would last forever...

Faded polaroid photographs and time regression spells be damned.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

Despite only knowing of the cottage's existence for fewer than twenty-four hours, Harry found returning to its safe, warm environment a welcome relief, especially after their rather pendular morning. Perhaps it was the fact that it was the place Severus called home, or maybe it was because there were no jeering classmates around. Regardless of the reason, Harry felt more at ease and comforted within its four walls than almost anywhere else.

He was certain this was true for Severus as well. The moment they entered the sitting room, the emotionally drained boy collapsed onto the couch, exhaled a harsh breath, then closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the worn cushions.

Harry followed suit. After taking the seat right beside Severus, he held in an anxious breath and waited, convinced the other boy would want to talk about what had just occurred. Losing Spera and handing her baby over to the father thestral had hurt Severus, and Harry wanted to do anything he could to comfort him.

Instead of giving his pain a voice, however, Severus merely turned his head, fixed Harry with an desolate expression, then turned back to his previous position, dark eyes disappearing under their lids once again.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Harry lowered his gaze to Severus' right hand, grey eyes falling upon the polaroid still clutched within its firm grasp. He was sure Severus was oblivious to its presence. He had not so much as glanced down at it since leaving the clearing.

"Severus?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Severus interjected in a hushed, broken tone. "I just want to... can we just talk about something else? Do something else?"

"OK. Homework?" Harry proposed with reluctance. Secretly, he hoped Severus would decline that particular suggestion. He was not in an academic mood by any stretch of the imagination.

Grateful for Severus' quick, negatory head shake and resolved grimace, Harry tried again.

"Well, are you hungry? We could eat breakfast."

"I don't want to go back to the castle... not yet. I am in no mood to experience our housemates' disdainful, self-righteous modus. Whatever hunger I am currently feeling would most certainly vanish under their haughty sneers."

"OK. Well, I suppose we could... "

Harry was just about to suggest skipping breakfast altogether, but stopped to ponder their situation further. Like Severus, he wasn't too keen on sitting at the Slytherin table after what they had just been through, but he had to admit to being pretty hungry. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to see if there was any food in the kitchen. At the very least, he knew there was tea there as Severus had made them a pot just last night.

Deciding to investigate further, Harry got up from the couch and entered the modest kitchen, hoping to find something that would suffice as a viable breakfast. When he opened the refrigerator door, his hopes were dashed. The shelves were bare but for two boxes: one labeled _Miscellaneous Potion Ingredients_ and the other labeled _For Spera_.

Sighing, Harry pulled out Spera's box and peered inside, recognizing almost immediately that it consisted of those items needed to make her gestative nutritional potion. There were several bunches of kale and alfalfa sprouts, a container of what looked like seaweed, and a small jar labeled soy, all of which Harry was not about to consume for breakfast unless he was very near starvation.

After removing those ingredients from the box to have a clearer view of what remained, Harry noticed a full carton of eggs. Smiling to himself at finally locating something worth eating, he next pulled out the second box from the refrigerator and looked inside, his grin widening in an instant.

_Miscellaneous Potion Ingredients! Seriously, Severus?_

The box consisted of a lush variety of vegetables, no doubt from Severus' own garden. There were many different kinds of peppers and root vegetables, potatoes, bulbs of garlic and several small onions. In addition to the vegetables, there were a number of different varieties of fresh herbs: parsley, chives, lovage, thyme, sage, coriander and peppermint, all wrapped individually in neatly labeled bags, right beside a small container of dried tea leaves.

After a thorough foraging of the kitchen's cabinets and drawers, Harry located the remaining items he needed: two frying pans, a large wooden spoon, a sharp knife, a bottle of olive oil and a jar of sea salt. The last two items were found under the kitchen sink in a box labeled _Trigger Potion Ingredients_. Harry had no clue how salt and oil could possibly be used in a potion or even what a Trigger Potion was, but he was thrilled to have what he needed to make an omelet.

For the next fifteen minutes, Harry set to work, finding an easy, familiar rhythm in the chopping of peppers, onions and garlic and the peeling and slicing of potatoes. He was well-practiced at preparing breakfast, having done it countless times at the Dursleys. His Aunt Petunia would never permit him to cook the family dinners, probably because she didn't trust him with the more expensive ingredients, but he was always expected to make breakfast and sometimes lunch. Most times, he was not able to reap the benefits of his cooking. Petunia rarely, if ever, allowed him to partake in the family meals, opting instead to throw a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese his way and usher him off to his bedroom, or cupboard, in those early years. Regardless, Harry was happy to have gained the skills needed to create a half-decent breakfast and was eager to do something nice for Severus.

Harry wasn't certain when Severus had entered the kitchen, so engrossed in his endeavor, but after dishing out the sauteed chive potatoes onto two plates beside two vegetable omelets, he turned to find the Slytherin already sitting at the table, a look of sheer incredulity on his face.

"Where did you get...? I mean, how...?"

Snickering at Severus' uncharacteristic befuddlement, Harry sat down beside him and handed him a fork.

"Honestly, Severus. 'Miscellaneous Potion Ingredients'? Most people would classify those items as food!"

"Yes, well. Perhaps. Though I suppose that all depends on your specific requisites at any given time."

Harry chuckled once again, amused by Severus' witty rejoinder, as well as the tinge of pink emerging high on the boy's cheekbones. Despite Severus' quick reply, It was obvious that Harry had succeeded in catching him off-guard by his playful teasing.

Averting his gaze from Harry, no doubt in an attempt to conceal his blush, Severus focused his attention on the steaming breakfast on his plate. He cut off a large piece of the omelet with his fork, placed it in his mouth, then immediately closed his eyes as he chewed the bite, smiling more with each passing second.

"Is it good?" Harry asked, trying hard not to sound too anxious for praise.

He knew Severus' answer would be complimentary, judging from the boy's rapturous expression, but Harry was still eager to hear his opinion. He had never cooked for anyone but the Dursleys before, and they weren't exactly big on giving accolades.

"This is... _amazing," _Severus whispered, his voice soft, almost sultry.

That unexpected sensual tone sent Harry's eyebrows up, his mind immediately flashing back to last night when Severus had whispered huskily into his ear while in the throes of passion. Embarrassed by the odd correlation and by the sudden surge of heat flaring in his own cheeks now, Harry turned his regard to his plate of food, shoveling potatoes into his mouth to keep his mind off that silky voice.

They ate in enjoyable silence after that. Harry had to admit that the food was quite tasty, but found even more pleasure in watching Severus devour each bite, a look of elation on his face. He had never seen Severus enjoy food this much before, not even the excellent dishes at school.

When they finished their meal, Severus pushed his plate aside then grabbed Harry's hand, his dark, fervent eyes alight with intrigue.

"Where," he drawled, his lips curving into his usual crooked simper, "did you learn to do that?"

"To do what? Cook?"

"No. Not just cook, cook like_ that! _That was exquisite!"

"Severus, it was just... you know... eggs and herbs and vegetables. I mean, alright, I did take a chance by adding the sage. I had never worked with it before, but I figured it would go well with the eggs and garlic. Although, honestly, I'm not sure how I even knew they would work so well together since I was never really allowed to eat anything that I–"

Harry stopped his rambling the instant he realized he was dangerously close to revealing too much. He had been about to mention that his aunt and uncle never allowed him to eat the food he was forced to cook for them. Both his mandatory servitude and the fact that he was raised by someone other than his parents were truths he should not be admitting to Severus.

Harry bit his lip as he struggled to find words to explain the abrupt end to his narration. He looked up to see Severus staring at him, those dark eyes narrowed as if in contemplation.

"Your parents never let you eat what you cooked?" he asked, his tone hushed, hesitant.

"I... I..." Harry stammered, trying to explain without giving away too many details, "I just didn't grow up in a very... caring environment."

"Wait a minute. Are you telling me they _forced_ you to cook? And you weren't even permitted to eat with them!?"

Harry swallowed hard, his anxiety escalating. He could feel his muscles tense and his skin prickle with heat, a thin sheen of perspiration forming on his forehead and the palms of his hands. He twisted them together in agitation, his heartbeat steadily increasing. It wasn't the subject matter that was so unsettling; it was Severus' obvious anger on his behalf that caused him unease.

Taking a deep breath, willing himself to calm down, Harry tried for a tempered tone as he responded.

"Severus, you said you didn't want to talk about your father. Well, I would rather not discuss my... um... childhood either."

"What else did they do to you?" Severus demanded, ignoring Harry's plea, his eyes piercing. There was a blazing, furious look to those ebony orbs that Harry had never seen before.

"Nothing! It wasn't that bad!"

"Did they beat you?"

"No. I... no."

"Gray..."

"NO! They didn't beat me! Look, it's not a big deal, Severus. Really. They just ignored me. They only ever paid attention to me when they needed me to cook or clean. OK, so they didn't let me eat very often and they locked me up a lot. But, honestly, it doesn't bother me anymore, alright? It doesn't matter!"

Severus got up from the table so fast that Harry actually flinched, nervous as to what the irate boy would do next. He was surprised to find Severus standing next to him a second later, leaning down to grab his wrists and pull him to his feet. After a brief moment where those dark eyes just gazed into Harry's, an unreadable expression to those pallid features, Severus pulled Harry into his arms.

"It_ does _matter, Gray. It _does_. They _never _should have treated you like that! Do you hear me? You deserve so much better."

Severus' words were spoken into Harry's ear in a fervid rush, their volume no more than a whisper despite the fierce passion behind them. With one arm snug around Harry's shoulders, the other arm tight around his lower back, Severus held Harry in a strong, inescapable grip.

In spite of the constrictive nature of the hug, Harry felt his body relax. He let his forehead fall forward, resting it on Severus' shoulder as those vehement words washed over him, suddenly aware that no one had ever told him these things. Not like this... not with such impassioned conviction... never with this level of solicitous fervor.

Harry felt the inception of treacherous tears gathering in the corners of his eyes again, his breathing becoming more and more shallow as he listened to Severus' heartfelt words.

"Don't _ever_ say it doesn't matter! Don't you dare. It _does_ matter... because _you_ matter, Gray! Don't you understand? You _deserve_ to be cared for... cherished... loved."

Harry's legs felt weak, his whole body shuddering, the sudden recognition of just how much he needed to hear this blindsiding him, nearly choking him. Sixteen years of abuse and neglect and he had _never_ been told that he was deserving of something better, that he was worthy of compassion or love. The idea that these words of comfort were so strikingly similar to Harry's own impassioned ones offered to Severus just last night did not even occur to him.

Logically, he knew the Dursleys' treatment of him was abhorrent, but somehow, the notion that he mattered enough to be treated with kindness had never truly penetrated his heart, had never reached his soul. Hearing those words now from Severus, spoken with such force and compassion, made him acutely aware of how deep this divide was between comprehension and acceptance.

Unable to hold back his emotions any longer, his heart aching and his throat burning, Harry squeezed his eyelids together, prompting those anguished tears to break free and spill down his cheeks. He let them fall, unabashed in this long overdue release of latent suffering. Clinging to Severus, he claimed this pain, owned this anger and hurt and sorrow that had been buried deep inside him for far too long, while other things took precedence over his life.

Severus held Harry while he wept, kissing his neck and cheeks until the last of his pained tears had fallen and his hurried, erratic breaths had slowed and evened out. At length, Severus pulled away and looked at him, his thumbs coming up to wipe away the remaining tears from his skin as those emotive ebony eyes gazed into watery grey ones.

Harry wanted to say something, anything, but his every attempt to speak seemed to fail, the words faltering before they could reach his quivering lips.

As if aware of his predicament, Severus offered him one more gentle kiss and an understanding smile, then voiced a surprising question.

"Gray... do you even like to cook?"

Harry swallowed as he tried to retrieve his hindered voice, then answered the unexpected question in a somewhat hoarse whisper, "Well... I like to cook for you."

"Good. That settles it then. You cook... I clean. Now go sit while I clean up this horrendous mess you've made in my kitchen," Severus commanded, a roguish smirk lighting up his thin face, one that seemed to vanquish all Harry's remaining tension.

"Then, Gray, I believe we _do_ have some unfinished homework to do."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

One immaculate kitchen and two completed Atmospheric Charms essays later, Harry and Severus found themselves in need of more than the small cottage could offer. Harry had commented that he could really go for a shower, part of him not able to stop himself from imagining how Severus might look naked and covered in soap. He had just begun to feel his cheeks and neck color with a fiery blush when Severus admitted that the cottage had no workable shower or bathtub, explaining that Ogg had not bothered to install one since he had preferred to bathe in the pond.

Due to the lack of adequate bathing facilities coupled with the fact that their food supplies did not lend itself to another meal – unless that meal was also a vegetarian one – they opted at last to return to the castle to bathe and eat lunch.

Upon entering the Slytherin common room, it was more than apparent that their lengthy absence had been noted. They were greeted with suspicious glares from every one of the room's occupants, not only from their fellow seventh-years, but also from a number of younger students. There were several pairs of narrowed, wary eyes darting back and forth from one of them to the other, enmity and mistrust evident in each penetrating glower.

Severus swung his school bag off his shoulder, pulled out his Transfiguration book, then spoke to Harry in a forced undertone.

"You go first. I'll stay here and study. When you return, I will take my shower. It's obvious that our continual and near constant time spent together has not been perceived favorably."

With that, he withdrew from Harry, sat down on a black leather armchair in the corner of the room and began to read his textbook.

Not wild about remaining in that unwelcome environment a moment longer than was required, Harry hurried to the dormitory, gathered what he needed for a shower then rushed off to the washroom. Fifteen minutes later, he returned to the seventh-year dorm, dripping wet and wearing only a towel. He opened his school trunk, pulled out a clean shirt, a pair of boxers and some jeans, and was just about to dress when a snide voice from behind him caused him to freeze where he stood.

"Well, well, well, Skye. I see you and Snape have finally elected to grace us with your presence."

Harry whirled around to see who had addressed him and came face to face with a smug Caedis Avery. There was a wicked gleam in his icy blue eyes and a malicious sneer playing about his smirking lips.

"Where I go and with whom is none of your business, Avery," Harry countered, his teeth grinding together in irritation.

"That may be, but Snape_ is_ my business, and you seem to be spending an awful lot of time with him."

"He is NOT your business!" Harry raged. He could feel his fury bubbling over, anger and frustration he hadn't felt since that confrontation with Peter last week beginning to seize him.

"Oh, but he_ is _my business, Skye. He is considered to be a valuable commodity to someone very powerful... someone who has a special knack for spotting real talent... someone who does not give up easily and always gets what he wants in the end. Personally, I find Snape to be nothing but a filthy, know-it-all, blood-traitor, but _he_ seems to believe that Snape's skill far outweighs his pesky habit of... ah... latching onto unsavory lowlifes."

Again, Harry ground his teeth, his wrath nearly overwhelming him as Avery's intentions became clear.

"He is not interested, Avery! He has no desire to be a Death Eater!"

"But he did at one point, not so long ago. Old habits die hard, Skye. There very well may come a time when Snape's allegiance may change once again. There is much he can gain by–"

"Fuck you! He's not interested! Do you hear me?" Harry spun around and grabbed his school bag, snatching the Elder wand and leveling it at Avery in one lightning-fast move. He struggled to quell his rage as he took several steps closer, the Wizarding World's most dangerous wand aimed directly at Avery's heart.

Avery made no move for his own wand, which only seemed to deepen Harry's fury more, opting instead to broaden his malicious smirk, his cold blue eyes alight with amusement.

"You're quick... and powerful," he praised, his tone light despite the looming threat of a wand being directed at him. "Your Patronus last week was quite remarkable. And I must admit to being rather impressed by your unprovoked attack on that sniveling Gryffindor shit, Pettigrew. You've got a bit of a violent streak in you, don't you, Skye? Perhaps the Dark Lord could find use for you as well."

Blinded by rage, Harry charged forward, a reckless proclivity taking him over. He pushed Avery into the wall just as he had done to Peter, his wand pressed up into the boy's neck.

"I am only violent when I'm around evil, twisted bastards like yourself, Avery. And I would NEVER join that hypocritical, power-hungry monster! Did you know that Voldemort is a half-blood? Hmmm? Did you know his real name is the same as his Muggle father? Oh no, I guess not. Lord Voldemort would never disclose the fact that he was once a skinny little half-blood orphan named Tom Riddle to his mindless drones, would he? I suppose he might lose some support if his Death Eaters were to discover what a lying sanctimonious piece of shit he really is!"

Harry withdrew from Avery, pleased to see that his verbal tirade had the desired effect. Avery's eyes were huge, his mouth slack and his skin pale, drained of all color.

"Stay the fuck away from me and Severus or I'll show you just how violent I can be!" Harry threatened.

Shaking off his countenance of shock and overt fear, Avery schooled his temporary panic, brushing his fingers through his now tousled hair and straightening his shirt. He took a deep breath, swallowed, then fixed Harry with one last venomous look before turning and making a swift exit from the dormitory.

Harry sank onto his bed, sudden weakness assailing him, his stomach twisted in knots. He glanced down at the Elder wand still clenched in a white-knuckle grip in his right hand and shuddered, not quite able to shake the ominous feeling of foreboding taking hold of him.

"Shit," he murmured, his unease multiplying with each passing second as a slow, steady trickle of fear crept into his consciousness. He really did need to control his impulsive behavior.

"Nothing good can come from this."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

The whole next week seemed to fly by in a blur, Harry finding the days a bit more manageable now that he had become more accustomed to his classes. That was not to say the week did not pose its challenges. Harry alternated between trying to ignore the constant stream of savage glares from the seventh-year Slytherins and desperately trying to disregard Lily's somewhat curious stares. It was the exact opposite of last week with her and the Marauders gifting him with irate glowers and the Slytherins looking upon him with mild interest. Harry wasn't certain why his future mother seemed to have renounced her previous annoyance with him, but he suspected James must have had something to do with it. He, Lily, Sirius and even Remus had all but abandoned their angry glances in his direction.

For the most part, Severus handled the increased hostility from their dorm mates with relative ease, his features a mask of indifference during their classes. Harry seemed to be the only one who noticed the subtle signs to the contrary such as the tightening of the muscles lining his jaw and the slight acceleration of his breathing every time Avery directed one of his fiercer glares at them.

Harry had not told him about his confrontation with Avery, having no desire to reveal anything that would facilitate another lecture about controlling his Gryffindor tendencies.

Since his days were spent in lessons and thinking up creative ways to disregard animosity, evenings were what Harry most looked forward to. He and Severus, on those nights when they didn't have Advanced Astronomy, took advantage of the unseasonably warm spring weather by studying beside the pond on the cottage grounds, only going indoors once the emergence of dusk made reading too difficult.

Hagrid had paid them a visit early Monday evening, bringing with him his burlap sack filled with raw meat along with the suggestion that maybe the thestrals should be fed on the cottage grounds from now on instead of the clearing. The half-giant mentioned something about the cottage being a _much safer place ter feed 'em since it's protected from forest predators_, but Harry had the distinct impression he had only said that to ensure that Severus got to see the baby thestral more often.

Harry had to admit that Hagrid's sneaky tactic was a brilliant one. Every time the herd of thestrals emerged from the surrounding trees to consume their offered meal, the new foal would come bounding past the food and straight into Severus' awaiting arms, nuzzling the boy's neck and giving his face exuberant licks in greeting.

Harry had teased Severus endlessly about it, telling him that perhaps he preferred the foal's affections to his own. Most times, Harry's playful chiding only resulted in an exasperated glare from the other boy, but on Wednesday evening it had inspired Severus to instigate a somewhat retaliatory make-out session after the last thestral had left the grounds, one that swiftly drove Harry to a state of mind-numbing bliss.

Ten _glorious_ minutes of mind-numbing bliss, of Severus pressing hungry, wet kisses down the length of Harry's neck, and then lower, along his collarbone with the neckband of his shirt stretched and pulled roughly aside. After forcefully pushing their textbooks and homework out of the way, Severus had pressed him to the ground, leaning over him, his erection digging into Harry's hip. That hot, eager mouth had wasted no time latching onto Harry's neck again, his tongue giving long licks up and down while the very tip of his tongue flicked and teased that sensitive spot just below his ear, driving Harry mad with desire. Harry's arousal had increased even more when he felt a hand creep under the waistband of his trousers, those long fingers slipping beneath his boxer shorts.

Those ten minutes would have undoubtedly led to more, had it not been for the damned rain. Of course, just like last time, the arrival of inclement weather had not immediately curbed their passion. While the rain came down in relentless sheets, soaking the two of them mercilessly, Harry had clung to Severus, focusing on the feeling of those fingers sliding underneath his shorts, drawing closer and closer to his hard length. With a desperate moan caught in his throat and his breath coming out in hot, needy huffs, he had bucked his hips and arched his back… needing that touch… wanting so badly to feel those fingers wrap around his pulsing need.

Just as eager fingertips grazed the length of his hard, throbbing erection, Severus gave a sudden yelp of pain and leapt off of him like a shot, his hands coming up to cradle the back of his head. It seems Mother Nature had become more insistent for golf ball sized hail had begun to pummel the grounds with frightening intensity, beginning with the back of Severus' head.

Dripping wet and sporting a few bruises, they had quickly sought shelter indoors. Unlike the last time they'd run to the cottage to escape the weather, he and Severus did not pick up where they left off. They'd spent the next few minutes spelling their clothing, textbooks, school bags and all their parchment dry, then another hour and a half re-writing their formerly completed, but now ruined Transfiguration essays that were due the following morning.

The whole incident had prompted a very vexed Severus to suggest that they restrict their _recreational_ activities, as he called them, to Saturdays and Sundays only, insisting that their studies should be their priority since their NEWTs were just a week and half away. Harry had reluctantly agreed, but had a difficult time concentrating on anything but those wandering fingers for the next couple of days.

On Friday night, he and Severus found themselves forced to do their studying inside the cottage as the weather had not improved much after that volatile storm on Wednesday. The heavy downpours had subsided by Friday afternoon, but the grounds were still saturated and there were massive puddles of rainwater everywhere. Severus made mention of the fact that it was just as well, explaining that he needed to do testing on his experimental potion project for Mastery Potions and that it would require several hours of brewing and detailed note-taking.

"Can I help?" Harry asked after watching Severus curse and mutter under his breath for the past three hours, his hand flying across his notes and scratching out line after line of his previous observations.

When Severus didn't answer right away, Harry pressed the issue, having become bored with his Ancient Runes homework of finding and deciphering ancient codes hidden in Egyptian Hieroglyphics.

"Look, I know I'm not all that adept at potions, especially experimental ones, but maybe if you tell me what you're doing... you know... talk through it a bit... you'll be able to figure out what's not working. After all, I am technically supposed to be working _with_ you on this project."

Severus reflected on Harry's statement for a full minute before becoming acquiescent, beckoning him over to his worktable with a quick jerk of his head. Only after he had joined Severus did Harry realize just how complicated this project was. Severus had three cauldrons simmering at once with several flasks filled with various colored concoctions set up alongside them. Dozens of pages consisting of heavily corrected notes were sprawled out across every spare space of the worktable, many completely unreadable with multiple drops of ink smeared across their surfaces.

"This," Severus pointed to the first of the three cauldrons, "is a base for a Retorquentis Potion, one of my own invention. It has taken me most of the year to get this right as it is highly complex. Most people, even many Potions Masters, don't even attempt to brew these kinds of potions, let alone invent one."

"Wow, Severus. That's impressive! Except... I'm sorry, my Latin really isn't that great. What exactly is a Retorquentis Potion?"

Severus smirked, his amusement at Harry's deficient knowledge blatant.

"Retorquentis in Latin means _Linking_. This is a Linking Potion, and a very potent one at that."

Harry was too embarrassed at this point to ask further questions, but his features must have given away his confusion. Severus heaved a sigh of mild irritation, rolled his eyes, then plunged into more details.

"Perhaps it would make more sense if I simply give you an example of another Retorquentis Potion. I assume you've heard of Polyjuice Potion?"

"Oh. Yeah. Of course I've heard of that one. That's a type of Retorquentis Potion?"

"Yes. It is a Linking Potion, though the link is merely a physical one. The person imbibing the potion becomes linked temporarily to the donor, having consumed some physical portion of said person, usually hair or skin shavings, and the potion manifests that link by transforming the drinker into an exact physical replica of the donor."

"Alright, that makes sense. So, does your Retorquentis Potion create a physical link also?"

"No. It does not. In fact, currently, it provides absolutely no fucking link whatsoever as I am unable to find a Trigger Potion that yields the right results!" Severus seethed, his earlier calm lecturing tone escalating in volume as his frustration grew. "I am out of ideas, and there are only two weeks remaining before I must present it to Professor Slughorn!"

He slammed his stirring rod down onto the table and brought both hands up to his face, his fingers gripping clumps of his hair in agitation.

"Severus? Keep talking," Harry urged. "Tell me more about it. Maybe something will come to you. And, honestly, I still have no idea what you're talking about. Like these Trigger Potions. What do they do?"

Severus removed his hands from what was now a tangled mess of black hair and took a deep, fortifying breath before replying.

"A Retorquentis Potion _needs_ a Trigger Potion in order to work properly. In the case of Polyjuice Potion, a simple Concealment Draught consisting of lacewings flies and fluxweed, added to the base during the second stage of brewing, acts as its Trigger Potion. It serves as a kind of guide for the potion, directing it – inspiring it, in a way – to generate the specific link required for physical duplication."

Harry of course had no idea a Concealment Draught was even needed for Polyjuice since it was Hermione who had brewed it back in their second year.

"Without that Concealment Draught," Severus continued, "Polyjuice Potion does nothing but cause a mild headache, nausea and, strangely enough, a temporary change in eye color."

At Harry's increasing look of surprise, Severus expounded further, "Research, Gray. I brewed an altered form of Polyjuice Potion and tested it on myself during Christmas break, its only difference being the omission of lacewing flies and fluxweed."

"Who was the donor?" Harry asked.

"Avery, unbeknownst to him of course. It was not a pleasant experience as I ended up with those wretched blue eyes of his for two days."

Biting his lip to stop himself from laughing at the picture forming in his mind of a blue-eyed Severus Snape, Harry pulled them back to the subject at hand.

"So, without the right Trigger Potion…"

"Without the right Trigger Potion," Severus repeated, then continued, "a Retorquentis Potion is completely ineffective. It will only initiate a tentative, imprecise connection to the donor. It will simply employ whatever is added from the donor and utilize it to engender a random, weak assimilation, but it will be generic, undefined. In other words, if I am unable to find the proper Trigger Potion for my Retorquentis Potion, my project will be an absolute failure."

Severus paused here and turned his focus to the second cauldron, taking his stirring rod and using it to whisk the contents agitatedly.

"I was so certain that the Euphoria Elixir would work as a Trigger Potion, especially after you came up with the idea of adding peppermint to counteract the side effects. But it still does not generate the correct link! All my testing indicates no link at all!"

"Euphoria? Severus... what kind of link are you trying to produce?"

At once, Severus' face became flushed and he lowered his gaze, that bottom lip caught between his teeth where it was nibbled in an obvious display of nervousness.

"I... well... I had hoped to create a... a mind link, of sorts," he answered, his voice softer, more unsure.

Harry narrowed his eyes, confused as to why the discussion of a mind link would bring about such an anxious reaction from Severus.

"You mean... similar to what occurs during Legilimency? A link that would allow someone access into someone else's thoughts and memories?" Harry questioned.

"Well, no. Not exactly. Although I do confess that the concept of Legilimency is what inspired me. I was reading a book about Occlumency and Legilimency from my mother's library last summer and found it very intriguing. Not knowing anything about the subject beforehand, you can imagine how much I..."

"Wait. You don't know anything about Legilimency... or Occlumency?" Harry asked.

For some reason, he found it shocking that there was ever a time when Severus Snape had no knowledge of mind magic. The idea not only surprised him, but it also prompted a niggling sense of unease to manifest in the back of his mind.

"Well, _now_ I know a bit, having read most of that book. Anyway..."

"Hold on a minute… So, you probably wouldn't recognize it if someone were to cast a non-verbal _Legilimens_ on you and peer into your mind, especially if it were very subtle and the wizard performing the spell extremely adept at it..." Harry muttered, more to himself than to Severus. There was something bothering him about this, some deep discontent that seemed to grow and fester inside his mind, causing his heart to race and his stomach to twist in apprehension.

"What exactly are you on about?" Severus asked.

Harry's eyes widened as the source of his indistinct anxiety came into sharp clarity.

"After Sirius attacked you... You told me that you didn't tell Dumbledore who did it. Is that right?"

Severus narrowed his eyes and fixed Harry with a suspicious look. After a moment, he nodded.

"But did the Headmaster ask you? Did he sit you down and ask you who did it?"

"Yes, but I told you, Gray, I wasn't about to reveal..."

"Son of a bitch!" Harry raged. "He knew! He _knew_ it was Sirius that attacked you and he didn't do anything!"

"You think he penetrated my mind to find out who attacked me?"

"YES! Christ... that's why he remained suspicious of Sirius, even after I attacked Peter! He had proof that Sirius had a history of attempted murder. That's what made him suspect that Sirius was the one who..." Harry stopped short, realizing that in his anger he was close to divulging something Severus was not meant to hear.

Harry wasn't aware that he was shaking, so lost in his anger at the Headmaster for his presumption, for his persistent toxic secrecy, until Severus grabbed him and pulled him into an embrace, quelling his tremors and easing his fury.

Slowly, Harry felt himself relax in Severus' arms, the sharp edge to his wrath softening, his erratic breathing evening out and deepening. Slender hands came up to his face, coaxing him closer, those soft lips meeting his own in a tender kiss.

Harry spoke, his lips still touching Severus', "How are you not upset about what I just told you?"

"I _am_ upset," Severus breathed out, his lips brushing against Harry's, "but you were even more upset. You needed me. It pains me to see you so distraught. My longing to comfort you is much stronger and truer than any..."

Severus' whole body froze. He pulled back and fixed Harry with a curiously blank expression. A moment later, it was replaced by a huge grin that stretched across his thin face. He whipped around and grabbed a piece of parchment, his movements frenetic as he dipped a quill into his ink bottle and began to scribble feverishly across the page.

"Sev–"

"Truth! It's truth! I am such an idiot! Veritaserum... but, shit! There isn't enough time to brew that before NEWTs. I suppose a weaker truth serum would accomplish the same end... yes... YES! That would actually work even better!"

"Sever–"

"Come on, Gray. Let's get back to the dorm. It's late and we'll need to get some sleep if we're going to get up early and go into Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade? What... why?"

"For ingredients. Looks like I have a new Trigger Potion to brew!"

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

Harry awoke the next morning to the wonderful feeling of a warm hand on the back his neck, long fingers twisting around the ends of his hair and pulling lightly. Before his slumberous mind could gain enough cognizance to work out what had precipitated the glorious sensations, his lips were blanketed by another pair.

Torpid grey eyes remained firmly closed. Sight was not required, Harry determined. He would know those lips anywhere... and that intoxicating scent... and the feel of those soft strands of hair falling onto his cheeks as that deliberate tongue explored his mouth.

"Mmmm... Severus..." he breathed out when the boy abandoned Harry's mouth in favor of sucking on his neck with fervor.

"Shhh... you'll wake the others," he whispered.

"What?!"

Harry's eyes snapped open at once. He shot straight up in bed, his whole body tensing as he nervously scanned the dormitory, expecting to see their dorm mates asleep in their beds – or rather _praying_ they were asleep and not gaping open-mouthed at the sight of he and Severus making out. After blinking several times to clear the sleep from his bleary eyes, Harry once again looked around the room but was surprised to find it empty. Every single bed was made, each with its hangings drawn back and neatly tied.

Severus' hearty chuckle made Harry's cheeks burn with embarrassment and he turned to see the boy's face radiant with impish amusement.

"That was _not_ funny!" Harry chastised, but soon found himself unable to curtail his own reflexive grin. Severus' sense of humor was unpredictable and quite devious at times, but Harry had to admit that he rather enjoyed the boy's teasing nature.

"Well, I thought a little sensory overload, followed by an artful scare-tactic would be more sufficient in rousing you than a simple 'Gray, wake up!'_._ Be grateful I didn't climb into bed with you."

"You're evil," Harry murmured.

"I know. Now, get up and get dressed. It's already half seven and I want to be at the apothecary by eight."

"Severus, I told you last night. Flitwick is never going to let me miss detention!"

"Ah... never say never," Severus chanted in a sing-song voice. He wore a satisfied smirk on his thin face as he held up a piece of parchment in his right hand.

With haste, Harry snatched it away and began to read its brief message.

_Mr. Skye,_

_Your detention this Saturday has been postponed. You are to report to my office at 10:00am. Do not be late._

_Professor Flitwick_

"How did you manage this?" Harry asked, his eyes wide with astonishment.

"It wasn't difficult. I simply informed Professor Flitwick that you and I are in desperate need of certain specialized potion ingredients for our Mastery Potions project. Since today is our last opportunity to visit the village before NEWTs, he agreed to delay your detention so that we are able to purchase them. Of course, it helped that I approached Professor Slughorn and got his rather earnest approval beforehand."

Harry's shocked visage transformed into a wide grin, thrilled that Severus' Slytherin shrewdness was instrumental in ensuring that he would be spending the bulk of his morning with Severus instead of playing the part of an obedient house-elf for his Charms Professor.

"And I've already procured breakfast," Severus announced, holding up a brown paper bag, "Two bacon sandwiches and a flask of pumpkin juice. We can eat on the way. I expect Hogsmeade will be packed before too long, and I would rather not be forced to wade through the mindless droves of eager third-years on their way to Zonko's, just for a quick stop at the apothecary.

"So… what are you waiting for, Gray? _Get up!_ "

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

Harry found the morning walk into Hogsmeade enjoyable. He took his time munching on his breakfast while listening to Severus rattle on about what ingredients they would need to purchase in order to brew the new Trigger Potion. He didn't have a clue what the boy was on about, but he found the future Potions Master's enthusiasm entertaining.

"We will need porcupine quills for certain, at least a dozen of them. All truth serums require either porcupine or echidna quills as a base ingredient if it is to work properly, and since echidna quills are difficult to come by, porcupine quills will have to suffice. Of course, we will also have to examine their stock of fluxweed carefully. The last time I purchased some there, it was completely worthless. How they get away with selling fluxweed that hasn't been picked at the full moon is beyond me."

Harry listened to Severus' detailed itinerary with only partial attention, his mind drifting back to that fervent kiss Severus had woken him with, hoping they would be able to pick up where they left off after the conclusion of his detention. After all, it had been days since their last _recreational activity_.

His daydreaming was cut short the moment they stepped foot into the apothecary, his blissful musings replaced by a heightened sense of anxiety. In the very back of the shop stood Avery, Mulciber and Rosier, all of them glaring at him and Severus with looks of utmost loathing.

"Just ignore them," Severus whispered as he made his way over to the first aisle and began to peruse the shelves.

Never taking his eyes off the three Slytherins, Harry moved to stand behind Severus. With his body now partially hidden from their prying eyes, Harry slid his school bag off his shoulder and pulled out the Hawthorn wand. He slipped it into the sleeve of his jumper and out of sight.

Severus remained unaware of Harry's covert move, too busy scrutinizing the stock of fluxweed and Harry was grateful for his ignorance. He wasn't certain Severus would deem his cautionary action necessary.

Harry's tension increased a hundredfold when the next patrons entered the small shop. Remus, Sirius, Peter, James and Lily strolled in, the latter giggling as she dragged a reluctant-looking James further into the store.

"Lily, be quick about it, would you? Sirius and I want to visit Honeydukes before it gets too crowded," James pleaded.

"You shush! It won't take me long. I only need to find... ah, there it is," she announced, grabbing a small jar of what looked like dandelion roots from a nearby shelf. She walked over to the register with James in tow and pulled out a small purse to pay for her purchase.

Harry realized that he had been staring at his future mother yet again and quickly averted his eyes. His gaze met Avery's next, not surprised to see the boy still staring at him. This time though, that haughty face was twisted into an unnerving, almost wicked grin. Pale blue eyes darted to Lily for a split second before turning back to Harry's, that malevolent smile widening.

With a growing sense of dread, Harry tore his gaze away from Avery, his head snapping back to where his future parents had been only seconds before. He hoped that at least one of the Gryffindors had noticed the dangerous look that had just been leveled at them, but all five Gryffindors were gone, the door to the apothecary closing with a faint click.

"I suppose I'll have to buy one of each," Severus conceded, catching Harry's attention with a heavy sigh. His ams were now full of various ingredients. "Gray, can you help me carry these?"

Following Severus to the register with his right arm cradling five different jars of fluxweed, Harry's sense of foreboding deepened when he saw all three Slytherins nearing the exit. Avery grabbed the door handle and turned around, offering Harry one final diabolical smile and a wink before hurrying from the shop.

Seized by sudden, irrevocable panic, Harry dumped the jars onto the counter.

"Sev... I... I think we should go. Let's go. Right now. We can buy these later," he blurted out, pulling his wand from his sleeve as he moved towards the door.

"Why? We're here. Why on earth would you want to leave and come back lat–"

Severus' inquiry was cut short when a blood-curdling scream pierced the air. Harry knew that voice without thought or reflection. He'd heard that scream numerous times before, its dire tone sounding more terrifying and urgent than it ever had in his haunting memories.

Racing from the shop at top speed, wand held at the ready, Harry frantically searched for the five Gryffindors. The streets were crammed with fleeing students, all of them moving with urgency as they ducked for safety in nearby shops, but there was no sign of Lily or the Marauders. Harry was vaguely aware of Severus calling his name in the distance but he had no time to double-back. He had to find Lily.

Another chilling cry rung out, resonating amid the panicked shouts from the crowd. It was followed by the unmistakable crackle of curses splitting the stagnant air. With his heartbeat thundering in his ears, Harry turned toward the sound, rounding the corner and sprinting down a small alleyway alongside the apothecary until at last he found them.

The sight that met his eyes made him freeze in shock, fear coursing through him, nearly strangling him.

Lily lay motionless on the ground with James crouched down beside her. His future father's body trembled as he gathered her prone form into his arms. He held her in a desperate grip, rocking her back and forth and whimpering incoherently, his wand lying forgotten by his side. Sirius was kneeling next to the couple, his body rigid, a look of horror on his wan face. Standing a few feet away from them was Peter. The boy's eyes were wide with fear and his arms and shoulders were shaking badly. Harry tore his gaze away, his eyes darting over to Remus whose wand was leveled at a point further down the narrow street, his intended target obscured by the alley's darkness.

An instant later, the attackers emerged from the shadows, their wands drawn. Avery sauntered over to the Gryffindors with Mulciber and Rosier at his heels. He peered down at Lily with a mixture of repulsion and triumph, but his inspection was fleeting. Soon, those cold blue eyes found Harry's and a vile grin stretched across his face.

Unable to control the blinding fury swelling inside of him, Harry charged forward, pointing the Hawthorn wand directly at that complacent sneer, the inception of a hex forming on his lips.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

Sirius' enraged shriek distracted Harry. He faltered, stopping dead in his tracks, and watched as his future godfather awoke from his trance-like stupor and bounded forward, his own wand leveled at Avery now.

"No, Sirius! Don't!" Remus cried out, but Sirius paid his friend's warning no mind. A blinding flash of violet illuminated the dim backstreet as Sirius' curse was shouted with a howl of fury.

_"Confrin–"_

_"Protego!"_

Mulciber's answering protection spell engulfed himself and Avery, rendering Sirius' blasting curse impotent. It ricocheted off its boundary and dissolved into a shower of harmless indigo sparks.

Again, Harry aimed his wand at Avery, the curse a mere second away from formulating, but the Slytherin was faster.

_"Crucio!" _

Avery's curse hit Sirius square in the chest. The Gryffindor crumpled to the ground instantly, writhing the pain, his face screwed up in agony as screams issued from his bloodless lips.

"NO! Sirius!" Harry shouted, running forward, redirecting his wand to now point toward his future godfather.

_"Protego!" _he shouted, hurling the spell at Sirius in a desperate attempt to stave off the Cruciatus' effects. The shield was no match for the Unforgivable, however, doing nothing to alleviate Sirius' suffering.

_"Diffindo!"_

_"Reducto!"_

The combined effects of Harry's and Remus' simultaneous curses were blocked by yet another shield charm, this one cast by Rosier, its protection encompassing all three Slytherins now while Avery's _Crucio_ sliced right through it to further torture its victim. The Slytherin's grin was almost feverish with pleasure while he watched Sirius twitching and jerking from the impact of his spell.

Unwilling to watch his godfather suffer a moment longer, Harry lunged forward, throwing himself in front of the curse. At once, his body seized up as the full force of the spell hit him. He gasped, his muscles clenching and his teeth grinding together, as what felt like every nerve in his body seared with excruciating pain.

Terrified shrieks filled the air, merging with distinct shouts of more curses, the confused clamor assailing Harry's ears as he fought to stay upright. He heard several more of Remus' curses. They echoed inside his enfeebled mind, mixing with other bellowed incantations, James' own defensive spells joining the werewolf's.

"GRAY!"

Severus' panicked scream in the distance broke through all the others, coming to Harry through a haze of debilitating pain. He opened his eyes to mere slits, seeking him out. Hot tears burned his eyes, obscuring his vision, and he swayed with the effort to remain conscious. Just as he thought he could no longer endure the stabbing, biting, agonizing pain, the spell was lifted. Instantly, Harry's trembling legs let go, weakness overtaking him as he collapsed onto his hands and knees. Panting and wheezing, trying to will his lungs to take in more air, he raised his head to see Severus running toward him.

"Severus..." he gasped, choking, his voice catching in his throat.

"I'm not quite done with you yet, Skye," hissed Avery, his voice was deadly soft, but his intended threat resonant.

With extreme effort, Harry turned his gaze back to meet those cold, malicious eyes head on. Avery's twisted, sadistic grin broadened just as his next curse barreled toward Harry.

_"Paraliticorum Cerebrum!"_

"NO!"

Severus' scream was deafening. It pierced Harry with a ubiquitous exigence, filling his heart and mind, his very soul, with overwhelming dread.

The next second, Harry's entire body locked as a strangled gasp was forced from his constricting throat. Panic gripped him as what little control he had over his quivering limbs vanished, his wand slipping from his fingers. He fell forward, his forehead striking the hard surface of the paved road with a sickening crack.

Terrified screams and cries assailed Harry's ears just as gentle hands grasped his shoulders, turning him over. Those same hands trembled as they pulled him into a close embrace, arms wrapping around him, holding him. Faint, sorrowful sounds met Harry ears, heart-rending susurrations whispered to him as desperate pleas.

"No... no... no..."

Warm tears fell onto Harry's cheeks and neck and quivering lips brushed against his face, the pleading words escaping them becoming more desperate, more anguished.

"No... Please, God... no..."

Harry opened his bleary eyes, his lids heavy, sluggish, willfully fighting his control.

"S-Severus..." he breathed, but no sound was heard, his numb lips moving in muted silence.

Anguished, ebony eyes locked with his own. Harry clung to the image in desperation, trying to hold on, even as his vision began to cloud and dim. The encroaching darkness crept in with slow, torturous malice, gradually overtaking him, consuming him, eclipsing his sight, his breath, his mind...

Until only darkness remained.

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Well, once again I missed my initial deadline. I do apologize for making you all wait. Hopefully, you found this latest chapter to be worth that wait.

As always, I must thank **YenGirl** for her help. Thanks Yen! I know how busy you've been lately and it means a lot to me that you took some time away from your hectic schedule to look over my chapter! :)

I would also like to thank all of you who have reviewed since my last update, as well as those of you who have added **GSM** to your favorites list. Your support and encouragement is very much appreciated.

As for my next chapter, I am hoping to post it by the end of January. If that changes, I will update my Bio page with a new ETA. In the meantime, feel free to check out my Christmas Snarry, **Vocal Benefaction.** It is a three-part story (two have already been posted and the third will be posted just before Christmas).

Happy Holidays, everyone! :D

**Please Review.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve -**

**Igniting this fervent blaze**

Cold.

Raw, biting, bone-chilling cold.

Invasive and sharp.

Piercing.

Hostile.

Long arctic tendrils took possession of Harry, winding tight coils around his body and spirit. They twisted and squeezed, wrenching his semiconscious mind from the hollows of nothingness and plunging him into a harrowing lucidity. It was as though his entire body were submerged in an icy abyss. His flesh burned and prickled with intense, gnawing pain, inside and out, the vengeful cold like a thousand needles penetrating his skin.

Panic seized him. Something was very, very wrong. It wasn't supposed to be this cold…

Stinging, stabbing, stifling cold.

He was _drowning_ in cold.

A violent shiver ran through him just as a frigid breath pushed past his clenching throat to escape its bitter hell. His lungs opened up painfully, drawing in a desperate, ragged breath in return. The warm, life-sustaining air froze the moment it filled him, turning into icy vapor that was glacial enough to numb flesh in an instant.

"...has a pulse now and he's breathing on his own, Albus. Your counter-curse... I think it's working!"

All at once, the cold changed, morphing into a searing, burning heat. It consumed him like insatiable flames, like white-hot metal pressed against raw flesh. The fiendish fire within attacked every nerve in his body, surging through him like the very blood coursing through his veins. With every frantic, erratic pump of his heart, the incendiary demon thrashed in perfect time with his pulse, a driving, twisted cadence of agony.

Harry tried to cry out, putting every ounce of energy into willing his voice to deliver his desperate plea, but no sound came out. His lips remained sealed, eyes shut tight.

"Wait... something's wrong. His heart is racing. If this keeps up, Albus, he'll go into cardiac arrest!"

Voices.

Muffled and distorted voices, as if traveling through a torrential storm or a vast immersion of water. They sounded panicked and fearful. Desperate.

Harry tried to turn his head toward the urgent sounds, but his body disobeyed his every command. And still the relentless heat surged through him, scalding his skin and searing his insides, devouring him with excruciating potency.

"Poppy, where is Professor Gazzoni?"

"I've already sent Horace to retrieve him, Albus. They should be here any–"

"I'm here! I'm here... what was the curse? What was he hit with?"

Again, Harry attempted to reach out to the voices. They were closer now, louder, more distinct. But his every effort to move... to cry... to scream... only seemed to add to his physical torment. The burning ache inside him continued to intensify, crippling him with sharp, stabbing jabs of pain, wracking his limbs, his chest, his head, everywhere, with its endless rhythmic torture.

Pulsing.

Thrumming.

Throbbing.

Ripping.

Every nerve ablaze with fierce spikes of unbearable, meticulous, blinding pain.

"It was a paralytic curse, Daniel. It essentially shut down his entire nervous system. Albus was successful in restoring most of his brain function, but he's not reacting well. He may actually be experiencing a great deal of pain… and his heart..."

"Oh God..."

"What does that mean?! Can you help him? Please... _please_ help him!"

"Horace, take Mr. Snape to the dungeons. He should not be here for this."

"NO! I'M NOT LEAVING HIM!"

Severus' anguished voice tore through Harry like a razor-sharp blade, filling him with more pain and terror than anything he had experienced so far. He could feel his panic consuming him now, taking over, his debilitated body losing the fight, relinquishing all resistance.

_NO! Oh please... dear God... please let me survive this! I can't leave him... not like this... not yet..._

"Albus, we're losing him! He won't last five more minutes like this. I have no choice… I'm going to have to induce stasis."

"Do what you must, Poppy."

_"Temporaria Dormitabis!"_

At once, pain's tight hold slackened and the volatile burning vanished. Darkness laid claim to Harry once more as he slipped through the abstruse cracks of consciousness. Unknowing and insentient, he surrendered to its promise of oblivion, willingly falling into its deep, boundless cavern of nihility as the spell swept him back into nothingness.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

Harry was swimming.

The dark waters of the Black Lake rushed past him in a series of cool ripples as he propelled himself further into the reservoir's deep, intimidating recesses. He shivered the more he descended, his skin quickening with brisk jolts of sensation, like sparks of electricity or prickles of static heat that would dance and surge through him in a flash.

In truth, there was a small part of Harry that considered this scenario quite improbable – that part of his brain which was steadily gaining a modicum of coherence. But there was another part of him, some foggy, indistinct part that was certain he was indeed in the lake, driving further into its inhospitable depths.

The sensation of being entombed beneath the lake's considerable volume of murky water seemed so tangible. He could feel the oppressive weight pushing down on him, compressing his chest and squeezing his eardrums, while his lungs and throat constricted under the waters' tight stranglehold. The pressure encasing him was like a forcible embrace from an unwelcome friend.

But... no... no, he _couldn't_ be in the lake. That just wasn't possible.

Harry grappled with his own dim cognizance, striving to understand the odd sensations that were plaguing him. His entire body did in fact feel like it was underwater, his head throbbing as if an unremitting weight were pressing on it, squeezing it, giving rise to the feeling of falling deeper and deeper into some dark abyss.

All the while, his skin tingled with undulating waves of stimulation. He shivered once again – not from cold – but from this strange acute hyperawareness. Although he felt very little pain, his body was brimming with sensation, as if the stagnant air that encased him was potent enough to send his nerves into overdrive by simply brushing past his skin.

Harry squeezed his eyelids more tightly together and shifted. The soft surface that had been cushioning the back of his aching head now lay beneath his ear, muffling the faint thrumming that was flitting in and out of his auditory perception. Stretching his legs, he flexed and straightened the taut muscles, causing another wave of tingling sensations to rush through him and his fingers to clench and constrict involuntarily.

There was something warm covering his hand. Curious, he pulled his fingers inward again, closing them around the source of the warmth. His fingertips were met with the soft, smooth skin of the back of a hand whose calloused palm lay atop his own. Turning his hand slightly, Harry was able to trace the contour of one knuckle with his index finger, following the long line of just one of the slender fingers that were resting on the sensitive skin of his inner wrist. They were delicately curled around the joint, encircling it, cradling it almost possessively. The familiar shape and hold sent Harry's heart and soul soaring with a welcome feeling of safety and contentment.

For he recognized that touch, knew with absolute certainty whose hand lay upon his own.

_Severus..._

Harry tried to open his eyes but was met with an unpleasant resistance. His lids felt as if they were glued shut. Frustrated, he compressed the closed lids together more firmly then wrenched them apart with all the force he could muster. He regretted his actions a second later when a brilliant light assaulted his retinas, compelling him to clamp them shut once more. The glaring illumination was almost blinding, triggering hot, stinging tears to pool at the corners or his eyes and roll down his cheeks. Harry let them fall, not certain he had the strength or the dexterity to wipe them away. With his eyes still closed, he took a moment to breathe and sift through the ambivalent jumble of thoughts whirling around in his brain.

He wasn't in the Black Lake, but lying in one of the many beds that flanked the Hospital Wing. He might be twenty years into the past, but he had spent so many hours here in his own time that divining his bearings was relatively simple. The pungent aroma of healing potions and antiseptic alone was enough to prompt recognition. Add to that the slightly scratchy feel of the sterile school-issued linens that were currently wrapped around his bare legs, and ascertaining his location became very easy indeed.

It took Harry a few seconds longer to recall the reasons behind his current stay in the school infirmary. Soon however, the memories came streaming back in a flood of distressing flashes, exploding inside his head.

The apothecary.

Terror filled screams.

Lily's body cradled by James.

Sirius being tortured.

Harry's breathing quickened, bringing more uncomfortable sensations to him – the dryness of his mouth and the sandpapery feel of his throat. New images raced across his mind, each worse than the one before.

Avery's curse.

The excruciating pain.

And just before he lost consciousness... Severus' anguished, grief-stricken pleas... Severus, who was here with him now, holding his hand.

Harry opened his eyes once more, this time with caution, cracking them to mere slits in an attempt to block out the unwelcome light. Grey orbs barely shone through the narrow apertures as he strained his stiff, aching neck and propped himself with difficulty onto one weak elbow to catch a glimpse of the boy keeping vigil by his bed.

The sight before Harry filled him with a conflicting mix of relief and worry, both easing his panicked heart and suffusing his soul with concern.

Ebony hair lay splayed out on one pale, lean arm, the very same arm whose slender hand was mantling Harry's. The black strands were clumped together in a dark tangled mass, looking much greasier and more unkempt than Harry had ever seen it. Severus' head was resting upon that outstretched arm, his thin face hidden from view, covered by his own knotted hair. Despite not being able to see the boy's face, Harry could tell he was sleeping. Deep breaths issued from under the shock of matted hair in a slow, easy rhythm, the slender shoulders rising and falling in time with each steady breath.

"Severus..." Harry choked out, his voice weak and gravelly. The single word vibrated in his throat where it burned like acid, sending tremors of prickling heat to surge in waves through his entire body. He trembled reflexively and fell back onto his pillow as his vision began to spin, the Hospital Wing suddenly appearing askew and blurred.

"Shhh... don't try to talk just yet, Mr. Skye," came a hushed, soothing voice as a warm hand covered his forehead. Both voice and hand were so familiar that recognition came to him at once.

Harry closed his eyes at Madam Pomfrey's gentle touch, hoping the dizziness he was experiencing would soon ease now that he was denying the vertigo its visual catalyst.

"Here... drink this," she commanded. "It will alleviate the worst of what you're feeling."

A slender arm slipped under his shoulders and hoisted him up a few inches. Then the cool surface of a glass vial was pressed to his dry lips. Harry swallowed the tepid contents greedily, relishing the feel of the elixir sliding down his burning throat and coating it with tempering warmth. In an instant, that soothing warmth spread throughout his entire body causing those sharp jabs of stinging pain to diminish and his tight, clenching muscles to loosen and relax.

"Can you open your eyes for me, Mr. Skye?" the matron asked as she lowered Harry back onto his pillow.

For the third time in the span of only a few short minutes, Harry opened his eyes. The room was much dimmer now, no doubt magically darkened by Madam Pomfrey to lessen his discomfort.

"W-wh... what happened?" he whispered. His throat still felt very tight and scratchy, but there was a strange numbness affecting him now. Although the pulsing aches in his muscles and those strange, crawling sensations on his skin had not ceased, their severity was greatly diminished with the effects of the potion.

"You were hit with a very Dark curse, Mr. Skye. One I did not recognize. It nearly killed you. Now stay still while I examine you."

Madam Pomfrey spent the next few minutes waving her wand over him and muttering what he supposed were diagnostic spells. She examined his eyes, ears and throat and then listened to his heart.

All the while, Harry's gaze kept drifting down to Severus who remained in a deep slumberous state beside him. He noticed the small wooden chair that Severus was perched on, his back hunched over while the rest of him lay slumped across the side of Harry's hospital bed at an odd angle.

"Are you experiencing any dizziness or pain?"

Harry blinked and looked back up to the matron's kindly face.

"Yes... some," he croaked out, "but it's not as bad as it was before you gave me that potion. Thank you. That really helped."

"You're welcome. Now if you'll excuse me, I must inform the Headmaster that you've woken. He'll be pleased to know that you've returned to us. In the meantime, sleep some more. You are far from recovered, young man, and your body is in desperate need of rest. You are not to leave this bed. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, but..."

"The Headmaster will be able to give you more details, Mr. Skye. For now, you must rest." Her grave expression spoke of her adamance more than the words themselves, a glint of unremitting finality in her dark brown eyes. She turned to leave, but Harry called her back, his voice straining as he tried to speak with more volume.

"Wait, Madam Pomfrey. I... I only want to know... is... is Severus OK?"

As she turned back around to face him, her fierce, no-nonsense expression softened, dissolving into one of sympathy and understanding. Her gaze left his, sweeping over to take in the sight of the sleeping boy bent over and curled up alongside Harry.

"He hasn't left your side," she whispered, her tone gentle and reverent, very unlike her typical stern timbre. "I gave him a dose of Dreamless Sleep several hours ago and insisted that he lay down on one of the other beds. But alas, I see he's managed to fight the potion long enough to return to his usual spot."

She continued to stare at Severus for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. At length, she seemed to come back to herself and turned back to Harry. When she spoke again, her usual pragmatic demeanor had returned.

"Now don't you worry about our young Mr. Snape here. Nothing's seriously wrong with him. He's only in need of a good night's sleep... and perhaps a shower. My repeated attempts to sway him toward either end were met with deaf ears. I swear that boy has more stubbornness and defiance in him than most of the Gryffindors at this school," she chided, shaking her head. "Worse than even Mr. Potter when he was waiting for Miss Evans to awake from her curse."

"Lily? Oh God... is... is she OK? And Sirius? Is he–?" Harry stammered, suddenly panicked as he recalled the first sketchy details of Avery's attack. Lily had been cursed! His chest tightened and his heart sped up at the memory of both his future mother and godfather lying in the alley, unconscious and in pain.

"They are both fully recovered, Mr. Skye. Mr. Black was released from my care just a few hours after the attack, only needing a potion to counter the lingering effects of the Cruciatus, and Miss Evans was well enough to leave the following morning. The curse she was hit with was a bit graver, but she has since made a full recovery."

Harry released a huge breath as relief washed over him, the tight knot in his chest loosening, limbs trembling against the sheets.

"You should wake him," Madam Pomfrey said, startling Harry. He looked up to see that she was once again eyeing Severus. "He will want to know you've finally regained consciousness."

With that, she turned from him and swept from the room, her stiff cotton robes rustling as she retreated at a brisk pace.

Harry lowered his gaze to look at Severus once again, taking in his bedraggled appearance. Madam Pomfrey had said that Severus had stayed by his side while he had been unconscious, but she hadn't mentioned how long that had been. Judging from Severus' dirty hair and obvious sleep-deprived state, it must have been longer than a single day.

Still weak and plagued by alternating bouts of numbness and oversensitivity, Harry did not even attempt to prop himself up again. Instead, he shifted so that he was now lying on his side, facing Severus. The movement was slight but was just enough to prompt another wave of prickling heat to race through him. Harry inhaled a sharp breath and held it until the unpleasant sensation passed, then continued with his objective. He reached out and grasped the stray ebony locks shrouding Severus' face with shaky fingers, gently tucking them behind his ear, noticing as he did the stubble on the boy's chin and jaw and his gaunt, sallow complexion. Harry's heart clenched at the sight, distressed at just how ill he looked.

"Severus," he whispered, his fingertips running along the rough, patchy bristles that stippled the wan skin and coming to rest on the back of the sleeping boy's slender neck. He applied gentle pressure there, his fingertips tracing small circles on the warm skin while his thumb followed the contour of the newly exposed ear.

"Mmmm..." Severus murmured. Sleepy, dark eyes blinked open, then snapped up to lock with Harry's.

"Gray! Oh God... you're... you're awake!" he cried out. He stood up in one swift, abrupt motion, his chair clattering to the floor as he abandoned it in favor of perching himself on the edge of the bed.

Harry had no time to respond. Severus collapsed on him an instant later, long arms going around him, face buried in the hollow of Harry's neck. He started weeping, spilling warm tears on Harry's skin that felt like drops of liquid heat, burning their way down his neck. Severus' rapid, shallow breaths also added to his torment, brushing against his neck and causing the skin there to prickle and sting. Harry disregarded the onslaught of uncomfortable sensations, wrapping his arms around the distressed boy and pulling him closer, reveling in his familiar scent.

"You almost died," Severus murmured, the words barely discernible, choked out in a rush of quavering tones amid shallow, irregular breaths. "That curse... it was meant to kill you. I can't believe you survived... I... I just can't believe it. And you were in so much pain. You couldn't move... or speak... but I knew that you were in pain... and there was nothing I could do... I was so afraid I was going to lose you..."

"Shhh... Severus, please listen to me," Harry whispered, pulling him closer and pressing his lips to the warm, sensitive skin of Severus' ear. "You will never lose me. I may leave... for a while... but I will always come back to you. Always."

His words seemed to shatter some final barrier inside Severus, prompting him to release a strangled, gut-wrenching sob. Those long fingers clutched the thin fabric of the back of Harry's hospital gown as their owner completely broke down, shoulders shaking as more tears spilled from tortured, dark eyes.

Harry ignored the sharp pulses of pain battering his own body under Severus' weight. He tightened his hold on the boy, whispering words of comfort against the shell of his ear and caressing his neck and back with trembling hands.

As the minutes wore on, Harry could feel his shoulder and pillow getting soaked with Severus' tears. It seemed an age before those anguished cries quieted and the broken, erratic breaths began to slow and steady. Harry's arms were shaking with the effort of keeping them wound tightly around Severus, when the boy suddenly tensed and shot straight up, long arms pulling away abruptly.

"Oh... Oh shit! I'm not supposed to jostle you... I'm sorry!" Severus said as he withdrew, a look of sheer panic twisting his features. "You're... you're not still in pain, are you?"

"A little. But it's not too bad," Harry replied. Ignoring his own discomfort once again, he grabbed Severus' trembling hand and laced their fingers together, squeezing a little in an effort to convince him of the truth behind his words.

When Severus still looked uncertain and anxious, Harry intensified his efforts.

"Severus, I'm OK now," he affirmed. "There's still some pain, but I'm alright. Really."

At Harry's reassuring words, Severus released a shaky breath and closed his eyes, concealing those shimmering pools of ebony from view. The paltry action was just enough to inspire more drops to escape the swollen lids and slide down the reddened cheeks of that thin, haggard face.

Harry watched him, his heart aching at the sight. He hated seeing Severus looking so lost and in pain, knowing that the suffering he endured was for him.

With no regard to the persistent tremors tormenting him, wanting nothing but to ease Severus' suffering, Harry tightened his grip on the slender hand still entwined with his own and guided their clasped hands to lay upon his own chest, directly over his heart. The rhythmic thudding of his heartbeat pulsed like a mnemonic cadence of his own vitality and Harry hoped the sentient beat could somehow convey the depth of love that resided within – prayed that its steady meter could convince Severus of his own desire to live and love and thrive.

Bringing his other hand over, Harry brushed his fingertips along Severus' wrist and forearm, caressing the warm skin with slow, gentle touches. He stayed silent through his ministrations, listening to the sounds of those fitful breaths deepen and slow and watching until anguished tears no longer fell from wounded eyes.

After several long minutes, those eyes emerged once again, fixing their gaze on Harry. The fearful, panicked look within their depths was mostly gone now, replaced by one of newfound calmness.

Harry breathed a huge sigh of relief, his own tension easing now that Severus' demeanor was more relaxed. In the ensuing silence, while Severus wiped his eyes and nose on the back of his hand and ran his fingers through strands of disheveled, ebony hair, Harry voiced the question he had yet to ask.

Though in truth, he was starting to dread the answer.

"How long was I unconscious?"

Dark eyes lifted to lock with Harry's, but Severus remained silent. Then he looked down, focusing on the thick wool comforter covering Harry's legs. The Adam's apple in that long, pale throat moved as its owner swallowed, the muscles growing tense in a blatant show of unease.

"Severus... how long?"

"...Five days."

"Oh fuck!" Harry exclaimed, almost jerking upright in shock.

Five days? He was unconscious for _five whole days!?_

Shocked speechless, Harry's mind moved at a dizzying pace as he attempted to digest this disturbing news.

Oh God. What... what day was it now? Had he really been out all this time? Without eating? Or going to the bathroom or – or brushing his teeth? Or had Madam Pomfrey taken care of all his basic needs?

Harry swallowed hard, his cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. He tried to temper his feeling of mortification, telling himself it _had_ happened before.

He had been out of commission for three days following that altercation with Quirrell at the end of his first year. When he awoke from that bout of recuperative sleep, he hadn't even spared a moment's thought to his personal hygiene or how his bladder had been relieved during his stasis.

Well, he had also been eleven then, and far more enthralled with the towering stack of Wizarding treats left for him by his friends than who had taken care of him.

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself, but an even more distressing thought occurred to him, one that sent his stomach plummeting and his heart hammering.

Five more days... _gone!_

Oh God, how many days did that leave him? His brain raced even faster. He had arrived in this time two weeks ago. Avery cursed him on Saturday morning. Add five days of unconsciousness and that meant that today was Wednesday... which only left nine days remaining until the time regression spell completed its magic and sent him home!

"Both the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey thought you'd be out longer, Gray," Severus continued, oblivious to Harry's anxious thoughts and internal computations. "They said it was a miracle you even survived the curse."

That last word snapped Harry out of his internal panic.

"So, what _was_ that curse Avery hit me with?" he asked, realizing that this rather pertinent piece of information had still not been explained. "And why the hell do I feel like my entire body is a live wire?"

"It was a paralytic curse, Mr. Skye, one that essentially shut down your entire central nervous system," came the commanding voice of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry turned his head to see the Headmaster stride in through the double doors and approach his bed with slow, measured steps, Madam Pomfrey following closely behind.

"In order to restore your brain function, I had to cast an exceedingly strong counter-curse," Dumbledore continued. "The results, I'm afraid, were rather traumatic to your system and almost proved too much for you. Given your extreme reaction, Madam Pomfrey had no choice but to place you in a magically-induced coma. The coma put your body and mind into a kind of stasis, causing the effects of the counter-curse to slow down so that your body had time to adjust to the return of neuro-cognition. This is why you've been unconscious since the attack."

Harry gave an uncertain nod, trying to process the lengthy explanation.

Dumbledore smiled at him before concluding.

"The sensations you're experiencing now are not unlike aftershocks following a massive earthquake. In time, your nerves will become accustomed to relaying the brain's signals once again, and when that occurs, your pain and tremors will diminish. Madam Pomfrey informs me that as long as you follow her instructions and rest, you should be well enough to leave the Hospital Wing in a couple of days."

The Headmaster now stood directly beside Severus and as his long-winded explanation drew to a close, he placed an aged hand on the boy's shoulder.

Severus stiffened at the minimal touch, his whole body becoming rigid with overt tension. When the hand tightened its grip in an obvious attempt to bestow comfort, Severus released a harsh breath and looked away from the man, his brow furrowing and the corners of his mouth curving downward into a grimace of bitter disdain.

An overwhelming sense of alarm took hold of Harry as he watched the uncomfortable exchange. He couldn't help but think that Severus' recently acquired knowledge about Dumbledore's duplicitous actions was the cause of his sudden contempt. The non-consensual mind invasion alone would be reason enough, but the man's complete passivity after garnering the truth must have wounded Severus deeply. As Harry looked upon the two of them now, it was clear that whatever trust had once existed between them, had been damaged by the disclosure – a disclosure Harry, himself, was responsible for revealing.

Harry's worried thoughts were interrupted when the Headmaster turned his attention more fully to the distressed boy under his grip and addressed him.

"Mr. Snape, I believe it's time you returned to your common room. Mr. Skye and I have much to discuss, and I believe you would do well to spend the remainder of the afternoon catching up on some much needed sleep. Madam Pomfrey informs me that you've not slept more than two hours at a time since Saturday. You are welcome to visit Mr. Skye after you've rested... perhaps after dinner? It's just past noon now. That should give you plenty of time to regroup, as well as allow Mr. Skye the time he needs to recuperate."

Dark eyes darted over to Harry's in silent supplication, as if pleading for him to refuse the dismissal. One look into those haunted, weary depths, however, was all it took for Harry to reject the unspoken plea.

"Severus… you need sleep. Please. You can come back later tonight, OK?" Harry squeezed the slender hand still entwined with his own, hoping Severus understood the intent behind his request. He couldn't stand to see the other boy looking so exhausted and unwell.

With a heavy sigh, Severus got up from Harry's bed, grabbed his school bag from beside the fallen wooden chair and then exited the Hospital Wing.

Once he was gone, Harry turned his attention back to the Headmaster, lifting his gaze to meet those penetrating cerulean eyes. They were bereft of their usual twinkle, emanating a portentous disquiet instead.

The look sent chills down Harry's spine and caused his stomach to twist with apprehension. He stared into the piercing depths, unwilling to look away despite his growing unease.

"Avery intended to kill me," he announced, fracturing the strained quietude. It wasn't a question, but he waited for a reply from the elderly wizard anyway, eager to discern the man's reaction.

"Yes, he did," Dumbledore admitted. "Thankfully, he did not succeed."

"And I assume Avery was not entirely acting on his own volition," Harry pushed.

Instead of responding to the blunt statement, the Headmaster turned his head to the side and spoke over his shoulder, his voice carrying to the mediwitch who was still standing at the foot of Harry's bed, now wearing an expression of growing dismay.

"Poppy, would you be so kind as to give us some privacy?"

"Albus!" she snapped, her mild distress escalating to irritation in an instant, "I've already told you... Mr. Skye needs to rest! He is still fragile and you should not be discussing anything that would cause him to relapse!"

"I assure you, Poppy, I will do my very best to ensure that Mr. Skye remains calm."

Madam Pomfrey said nothing more, though her ire was blatant. She fixed the Headmaster with a furious glower that, had it been directed toward anyone other than the formidable wizard, would surely have caused that soul to cower and flee under the heated gaze. Turning around, she traversed the room with impressive speed, muttering vexations a little too loudly under her breath as she pushed open the door to her office and vanished behind it.

Dumbledore righted the chair that had fallen over and sank onto it with a heavy, leaden sigh. One long-fingered hand came up to stroke the silvery beard, brow furrowed in consternation as he seemed to contemplate his next words. After another encumbered exhalation, he finally spoke.

"It seems Caedis Avery was carrying out orders given to him by his father who happens to be one of Lord Voldemort's most loyal followers. You are currently considered a threat to Voldemort's goal of recruiting Severus into his ranks. According to young Mr. Avery, he was instructed to poison you. However, he took matters into his own hands and cursed you with what I can only guess is a spell of his father's invention. Dexter Avery always did have a flare for spell invention, to our detriment, of course."

"And you know all this... how?" Harry asked, trying with every ounce of self-control he possessed to sound calm. Inside, his anger was mounting. The Headmaster's interrogation techniques were about to come to light, and Harry wasn't certain he would be able to hold in his fury when they did.

"We apprehended Mr. Avery immediately following the attack, along with Mr. Mulciber and Mr. Rosier. After a lengthy conversation with all three boys, I was able to ascertain the facts," Dumbledore explained, though the details regarding _how_ these facts were attained remained unsaid.

"I see," Harry replied through gritted teeth, his hands balled into tight fists. He knew he shouldn't be this upset with the Headmaster. After all, the man did save his life, but Harry could not seem to stop his temper from rising.

"So, where are they now? In class? Or perhaps they're in the Great Hall eating lunch?"

The Headmaster looked genuinely surprised at Harry's words, or maybe it was Harry's insolent tone that prompted the expression of shock to appear on the lined face.

"No. They are no longer students at this school, Gray. All three boys have been expelled. In addition, Mr. Avery has been arrested for attempted murder by use of an illegal, Dark curse. Being of age, his trial is set for late June, though I doubt with his father's influence at the Ministry he'll see any prison time."

Harry felt something inside him snap, his precarious control unraveling quickly now that the sheer injustice of the man's disciplinary practices were laid bare.

"Is that typical, Headmaster?" he questioned in a fierce tone. "Do students normally get expelled and sent to Azkaban when they attempt to murder another student? Or is that punishment only reserved for _Slytherin_ students who commit such violent acts? I wonder if a _Gryffindor_ perpetrating that same level of deadly intention – not _once_ but _twice_ – would be subject to the same severe retribution."

At once, the older man drew in a sharp breath of shock and his complexion paled, giving the wrinkled face a ghostly, wan appearance. Heavily lined eyelids lowered, obscuring those haunted pools of blue from view. Leaning forward, Dumbledore placed two trembling hands to his face in a gesture of obvious shame.

Harry did not regret his words, but nonetheless, his heart clenched at the sight of his mentor in such a pitiful state. It was easy to see that the implied accusation behind his statement had caused the man pain. Harry hadn't seen him display this level of guilt and regret since their discussion about young Ariana's death during those ethereal, dream-like moments at King's Cross station – though he still wasn't entirely sure he hadn't imagined that entire conversation.

After a moment of tense silence, Dumbledore lifted his head at last. Hands falling to his lap, he spoke in a tremulous tone that was very unlike his normal authoritative one.

"There is not a day that goes by that I do not agonize over my actions following Sirius' brutal assault on Severus. More than once I have yearned to go back and handle it differently, though I remain convinced that my efforts to enact punishment would have been in vain."

"In vain? What the hell do you mean _in vain_?! You could have at least expelled Sirius! He shouldn't have been allowed to–"

"Orion Black is a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, Gray – a senior Board member, at that. He would not have allowed his heir to be expelled, however much he loathes the boy. The shame it would have brought upon the House of Black would have been unacceptable in his eyes. He would have dismissed me from my position as Headmaster had I even attempted to suspend him, which of course would have rendered me powerless to oversee Severus' safety. I was not willing to let that happen… not with Voldemort so aggressively pursuing him."

"But... but you haven't done anything to keep Severus safe! Sirius was never punished!_"_ Harry raged, jerking up from his reclined position and then falling back to prop himself on his elbows, his arms shaking with the effort to stay upright. "He could've attacked Severus again!"

"No, Gray. He couldn't have. If he had so much as raised his wand to Severus with the intent to injure, maim or kill, I would have stopped him the moment he attempted to act on his malice. I placed a highly complex and powerful tracking charm on Sirius after his attack on Severus. It reads intent, as well as tracks the usage of harmful spells. If Severus had been threatened in such a way, I would have been alerted instantly and had I been indisposed at the time, Professor McGonagall would have been notified in my stead. In fact, this is how I was able to come to your aid so quickly when Mr. Avery attacked you. The tracking charm was triggered the moment Sirius pointed his wand at Mr. Avery. I dare say his intention was to severely injure the boy when he cast that blasting curse."

Harry took a deep breath and laid his head back onto his pillow. It was throbbing again, pulsing with intense jolts of blinding pain. Placing his fingertips to his temples, he rubbed at the gnawing ache, hoping to lessen the twinges. His efforts only resulted in furthering his suffering and he winced as the pain shot through the back of his neck and down his spine.

"Enough for today, I think," Dumbledore announced, rising from his chair. "Madam Pomfrey is quite correct; you need to rest."

He turned to go, but paused as he passed Harry's bed, turning back around to offer one final earnest profession.

"Gray… Harry… I do regret the suffering Severus has had to endure as a result of my contentious decision making. Sometimes the circumstances, accompanied by the best of intentions, culminate in a choice being made that is neither fair nor kind. However, everything I did was done to ensure a peaceable end. I assure you, my goal was always–"

"The greater good?" Harry interjected, more than a touch of bitterness to his tone.

An acrid silence followed his cutting remark, resonating throughout the room and permeating his already aching heart with deep regret. He turned away from the Headmaster, knowing that the wounded look he was sure to glimpse in those aged, blue eyes would be too much for him to bear. He _had_ meant to be cruel, had every intention of inflicting pain when he recited the notorious phrase that served as a reminder to the Headmaster of his own personal guilt and grief. Now that he had said it, however, Harry wanted nothing more than to take back those harsh, vindictive words.

Stubbornly, he lay still and listened to the steady, rhythmic sounds of retreating footfalls, the clack of heavy boots on stone becoming fainter and fainter. They were followed by the murmured swish of the infirmary doors swinging past one another.

_The greater good._

Was this for the greater good?

Severus was now fully aware that Dumbledore had known all along who attacked him. He also knew that Sirius was never punished for that vicious crime.

What _greater good_ could come from the Headmaster's betrayal of trust?

From what Harry could tell, regardless of how well-intentioned Dumbledore's motives were, he had done nothing but alienate an already guarded and mistrustful boy. Would this breach of trust stay with Severus and torment him for years to come? Would the Headmaster's misguided decision to refrain from punishing Sirius, contrasting with his quick determination to expel Avery, spell the beginning of the end for Severus' resolve to stay on the side of the Light?

Harry knew one thing for certain; mistrust and suspicion born from this betrayal had already engendered a fracture to form on the surface of that fragile resolve. Although tiny, it was undoubtedly entropic. It would grow and augment until that insignificant fissure grew into a great divide. Harry found himself wondering what would prompt the final push, that last impelling force that would blow this negligible fracture wide open and drive this beautiful soul into the awaiting arms of Darkness.

For Harry knew where all this culminated. Severus Snape _would_ become a Death Eater. It was an invariable event, one fated to occur. Severus would be marked as a servant to Voldemort no matter what steps Harry tried to take to prevent it.

But maybe Harry wasn't completely powerless. Perhaps there was some way to protect Severus' spirit, some means to make certain that his heart and soul would remain untouched by the sadistic evil that awaited him.

The rash, desperate notion sounded more than a little vague and quite foolish, even in his own mind, but it was all Harry had. He didn't think he could just stand aside and let this tragedy unfold – a tragedy he was just now beginning to realize was partly his fault.

Exhausted and in pain, Harry squeezed his eyelids together and buried his face in his pillow, desperate to forestall the tears that threatened to fall, his heart aching with regret and sorrow.

Nine days left.

Nine days to save the man he loved from a gruesome end.

Yet so far, all he'd managed to do was ensure him a lifetime of pain.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

"Gray... are you awake?"

Harry was sure he was dreaming. That voice, he _knew_ that voice. It was so familiar...

Soft and feminine.

Warm and soothing.

It was a voice that at one time, only ever existed for him in the form of panicked screams in a memory buried deep in his subconscious – a memory that would only surface when Harry's soul was threatened. But there were other times when he'd heard that voice. Once, in a shadowy graveyard, the voice like a beacon of love amid of sea of evil, and then again, in the darkest and most perilous bowels of the forbidden forest with death lying in wait, eager to claim him. Both times, the voice had given him what he needed to persevere, the courage to do what needed to be done. He could still recall the delicate lilt to the gentle timbre, undulant waves of sweet, dulcet music washing over him... calming him... quieting the tempest of fear and pain that raged within him.

It was a voice belonging to a soul who perished long ago. Yet it was speaking to him here, now. Warm and tangible and animate.

Yes... he must be dreaming.

"Can you hear me? Gray?"

This was new. In all the times he had heard the voice, it had never once called him Gray.

Harry opened his eyes, blinking several times, his brain thick and his thoughts muddled. He raised his head off the pillow and pushed himself up to a sitting position, once again ignoring the waves of pain racing through his body and the uncomfortable tingling to his skin. At the vision that met his eyes, he quickly pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and rubbed, trying to clear his blurred and obviously faulty eyesight.

He could have sworn he saw his mother sitting beside him.

"I... I'm sorry. I guess I shouldn't have woken you..."

Harry took his hands away from his face and turned his head, locking his gaze with the two brilliant, almond-shaped eyes of emerald that were fixed upon his own fabricated grey ones. Breath held and eyes wide, he stared at his future mother, hardly daring to move lest the miraculous vision dissolve.

"Well... I see that I've disturbed you. I guess I... maybe I should just go. I really shouldn't have–"

"No!" Harry croaked, his voice hoarse from his recent sleep and the days of dormancy during his induced slumber. He cleared his throat, took a deep, tempering breath and tried for a calmer tone.

"Wait. Please don't go. Stay... please."

Lily Evans stared at him, a glimmer of uncertainty radiating from her vivid green eyes as she nodded once and took a seat in the small wooden chair beside the bed. She swept the fingers of both hands through her long crimson tresses, brushing the curls off her shoulders so that they fell down the length of her back and then lifted her head in a display of firm determination.

"I came here to thank you, Gray," she said, her voice controlled and calm. "James and Remus told me what you did. Although I've no idea why you would have put yourself in harm's way for a group of students you don't even know – Gryffindors, no less – I wanted to let you know that I appreciate it. Very much. James and I are certain you saved Sirius' life. I can't imagine what would have happened if that _Crucio_ had stayed on him for much longer... and... and who knows what other atrocities that monster would have committed had you not have stepped in!"

Lily shuddered, her head lowering as her speech began to lose its composed aura. When she looked up, her eyes were glistening with tears.

"I... I'm just... very grateful to you. And..."

She paused to wipe away her fallen tears. When she lifted her gaze once more, her expression had changed, the still shimmering pools of emerald flashing fierce determination.

"And there's something I want to ask you," she announced. Her voice, too, had taken on a more assertive tone, one that wholeheartedly matched her gritty demeanor. She paused again, whether to garner some type or courage or to allow Harry a moment to prepare, he wasn't certain. After the brief respite, she voiced her query, intent green eyes boring into grey ones all the while.

"Why did you attack Peter?"

It sounded more like an order than a question. Harry swallowed hard, his throat impossibly tight and his mouth dry, panic consuming him. He knew he could not tell her the truth, but he had to say something. He just had no idea what he could possibly say that would appease her.

He settled for a somewhat unforthcoming response.

"I can't tell you that," he said. His voice sounded feeble, even to his own ears, though this time, he knew its weak tone had little to do with lack of usage. He swallowed again and forced himself to press on. "Lily, I'm sorry. I truly am. But there are certain things–"

"I'm not meant to know?" she finished, one delicate eyebrow ached high, partially obscured by wispy strands from her crimson fringe. She leaned forward, her hands perched on the edge of the bed, and fixed Harry with a potent look, those virescent orbs blazing.

"Gray, who are you... really?"

Heart racing and mind reeling, Harry looked away, his future mother's vehement look and emphatic request momentarily stumping him.

Did she know? Had she figured out that he wasn't who he claimed to be? Had she noticed the glamour charm – like Severus had? Or had James told her something?

"I... I don't know what you mean," he tried, his gaze still averted. Now that it came right down to it, Harry wasn't certain he could look her directly in the eyes and lie to her. He had to though. He couldn't tell her the truth. He didn't want to risk saying too much like he did with James. He just couldn't do that to her.

"Look, I know you're lying," she blurted out, her tone indignant. "And it's obvious James and Sirius are privy to whatever it is that you're hiding. God! After you attacked Peter, I thought for sure they would retaliate, but the next thing I know, they're both just pretending the whole thing never happened! And if I even _mention_ you to James, his face turns chalk-white and he looks as though he's going to lose his lunch. Then you go and throw yourself in front of that _Crucio_, saving Sirius' life... and probably mine, too. On top of all that, you were here for what? Less than a day? Before suddenly becoming Severus' best friend!? _Severus Snape!_ The boy is possibly the most mistrustful, wary human being on the planet! Yet somehow you were able to break through that prickly, guarded exterior in fewer than twenty-four hours?!"

There was a lull to her angry tirade where she lowered her head again and exhaled a sharp breath. Harry glanced at her small hands clasped together in her lap, delicate fingers tensing and tightening their grip every so often, causing the knuckles to whiten.

After a moment, her head snapped back up. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, but still emphatic.

"Gray, I'm not an idiot. I _know_ something strange is going on! And if you don't want to tell me what it is, then fine. But don't you _dare_ insult my intelligence by feigning ignorance. Do me the courtesy of respecting my ability to see the obvious."

Her last few words, spoken with irritation, had wounded him. The admonishment felt like a punch to the chest, leaving him breathless and riddled with guilt and torment. For the first time in his life, he had an inkling as to what it might feel like to be reprimanded by a parent.

Taking another deep breath, he met her piercing gaze head-on, and launched into what he hoped would be enough information to mollify her vehemence, but not so much that it would help her guess his true identity.

"I'm sorry, Lily. You're right. I'm not who I pretend to be. I'm actually not even from this time; I'm from the future."

Harry stopped here to gauge her reaction. She was still staring at him, her eyes transfixed, but they were wide with astonishment now and the irritation emanating from them just moments before had all but vanished. She tilted her head to the side and opened her mouth a fraction as if to say something, but snapped it shut again a second later. Harry took advantage of her silence and continued his fragmented explanation.

"That's why I've been concealing my identity and why I'm unable to tell you certain things. James and Sirius only know who I am because they have this... um... magical object that revealed my real name to them. James has promised not to divulge my true identity to anyone else because it would be dangerous for too many people to know who I am. I'm sorry, Lily, but you just can't know anything else. I just– just can't tell you. I..."

He had been doing fine. His voice had started off strong, his words firm, confident, informative. But now that his explanation had become more personal, the facts edging closer to the heart of his grief and sorrow and anguish, he found himself unable to continue. His mind was spinning and his heart was pounding at a furious pace as a reckless voice inside his head begged him to disregard the laws of time travel and prevent the impending evils that were fated to occur...

_Tell her! Tell her you're her son and that she and her future family will be in grave danger. Tell her not to trust Peter Pettigrew and that she and James need to run away... hide themselves in a place far from here. Tell her to use someone trustworthy as their secret keeper and not a traitor masquerading as a friend! Just tell her! Tell her... save her..._

"I can't!" Harry cried, uncertain whether he'd spoken the words out loud or if they only existed as anguished echoes resonating inside his own head. Panicked, he brought both hands up to clutch fistfuls of his hair, squeezing his eyes shut to ease the pulsing pain in the back of his head that had returned to add to his torment. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in his own heart – the torture of trying to suppress his desperate desire to save his future mother from a horrible fate.

_There's nothing I can do! She's going to die no matter what I say... or do... but how can I not warn her!? I have to do something!_

He was pulled from his suffocating misery when soft, warm hands encircled his wrists, coaxing his trembling hands away from the now matted strands of mahogany hair.

Harry's heart gave a lurch as he realized that this was the first real touch he could ever remember receiving from his mother in living form. She had touched him before, but not like this. This touch was warm and tangible – so much more real and meaningful than the barren, insentient touch from her conjured spirit or from the magicked echo of her soul.

Helpless tears welling up in his eyes, Harry fought the sudden and overpowering urge to throw himself into her arms. He held himself back and only allowed that soothing, tender touch to guide his movements, eyes remaining shut while he concentrated on slowing down his frantic breathing and racing heartbeats. The relentless throbbing in his head was still intense, but he ignored the pain. When at last he opened his eyes, he turned to see those brilliant green orbs staring at him, filled with worry and a touch of fear.

"It's alright, Gray," she whispered. "You don't have to say anything else. I won't ask any more questions. I promise."

Harry nodded, his eyes cast down again, unwilling to look upon those sparkling jade eyes any longer knowing they had only a few short years left to radiate their owner's fiery spirit and zest for life. So caught up in his debilitating inner-turmoil, Harry hadn't even realized he was crying until a wayward drop slipped past his lower eyelid and rolled down his cheek. He lifted a shaky hand and wiped it away, turning away from her, not wanting Lily to see his pain, terrified she could somehow discern that the tears he cried were for her.

There was nothing he could do.

Dumbledore's warning about meddling with time echoed in his brain – the man's cautionary words explaining how countless wizards and witches went mad once they'd been alerted to their impending suffering.

There was nothing he could do.

Except let each event run its course on the unyielding tracks of fate.

Yes...

As clear and sudden as an epiphany, Harry knew that the only thing he could do was to ensure Lily's final years were free from the inevitable pain and duress that came from knowing about one's own divined demise.

He would not disclose the horrors that lay in wait for her.

He would not mar her remaining years of life by divulging the awful truth that she and her future husband were marked for death.

He would remain reticent and by doing so, give her the freedom to experience every joyful moment between now and then, allow her to live her life and take pleasure in the elation of being young and in love... the bliss of being newly married... the joy of being a mother even for so short a time.

_This_ would be Harry's gift to his mother. To Lily Evans Potter – the woman who would one day willingly die to protect him, who would gaze into the twisted face of evil and with boundless courage, would sacrifice her own life so that her child might live. His silence now would be the one selfless act of devotion he could bestow upon her. It would serve as a symbol of his abiding love, a tribute to her strength and kindness and beautiful spirit.

Harry knew he could not prevent her death, but he would be damned if he would deny her a life worth living.

"Gray? Are... are you OK?"

"Y-y-yes," he stammered, his voice husky again. He cleared his throat, swallowing what remained of his doubt and fear, and met her concerned gaze once more. "Yes... I'm alright now. Sorry that I kind of lost it there for a minute. I... I just have trouble dealing with all of this sometimes. It's challenging... to have to pretend to be someone that I'm not."

"I can imagine," she sympathized. She had long since released his wrists. Both of her hands were lying in her lap again, her fingers twisting around one another in nervous agitation. After a long pause of uncomfortable silence, she rose from the small wooden chair and swung her school bag over her shoulder.

"I should go now," she said. "I'm sorry if I upset you."

She turned to go, but Harry called her back.

"Wait, Lily..."

She stopped and turned back around, her eyes locking with his once again as she waited for him to continue.

"I... I just wanted to ask how you're feeling. Madam Pomfrey told me that the curse Avery cast on you was pretty bad, but she didn't go into any details."

At Harry's words, she dropped her gaze and stared at the floor, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as if the very idea of answering Harry caused her unease.

"Professor Dumbledore said it was a curse that Avery's father invented," she explained, her voice faint and trembling slightly while her gaze remained fixed on the floor. "Its effects are similar to the effects of being near a dementor, causing the victim to relive their most painful memory over and over again."

Lily fell silent, eyes still trained on the floor.

Harry watched her. He had no idea what traumatic memory she was forced to remember but knew enough not to ask, certain she would never divulge something so personal.

She gave him an inadvertent clue, however, when her eyes suddenly snapped up to meet his and she voiced a seemingly out of the blue question.

"Is he happy?"

"Who?" Harry asked, taken off guard.

"Severus. He just seems so much calmer and contented now that you're in his life. It's obvious he loves you," she said. Her voice was hushed, no more than a whisper, but her words carried with them a fierce conviction. "And I have no idea if you feel the same way or not, but..."

She paused, fixing Harry with a stern expression, the blazing intensity of which left little doubt in Harry's mind that Lily Evans had once cared very deeply for a scrawny abused boy from the wrong side of town.

"...but don't hurt him," she added. "Please. He's already been through so much pain. He shouldn't have to endure anymore."

Before Harry could even gather his thoughts to generate a response, she was gone, the double doors to the infirmary swinging past one another in her precipitous departure.

Tearing his gaze away from the doors, Harry glanced up at the large clock on the wall opposite his bed. Its ornate brass hands indicated that it was nearly dinnertime. Severus would soon be here.

With a heavy sigh, he rested his pounding head on his pillow once again, letting his weary eyes hide behind their lids as he tried his best to ignore the myriad of conflicting thoughts and emotions swirling around his overburdened mind. Lily's visit had evoked a surge of happiness to well up inside his heavy heart, but the joy of speaking with his future mother had been tainted, tinged with pain and sorrow and regret. Harry may be resigned to his passive role in this time, but the pain of knowing the end to the tragic tale was pure agony.

Closing his eyes, he tried to block out his distress, to let go of all the panic and fear and guilt. But as the persistent lure of sleep began to claim him, his mind drifted back to Lily's warning about Severus. Her final words refused to be dismissed, flitting across the indistinct edges of his hazy, slumberous consciousness and filling him with consuming, heart-rending dread.

_No, Severus shouldn't have to endure any more pain... but he will._

_And there's nothing I can do to stop it._

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

Not surprisingly, Harry's brief nap was fraught with nightmares and frequent moments of wakeful panic. He hadn't suffered a worse bout of restless sleep since those horrible nights in that freezing cold tent with Ron and Hermione, all three of them terrified that their hideaway would be swarmed by Death Eaters at any moment. At least now when he woke, he was fairly certain he was not in any imminent danger.

Harry's reprieve from his uneasy slumber came around seven o'clock that evening when he was woken by the gentle brush of soft lips against his own. The kiss was tender and sweet and Harry immediately opened his eyes, eager to drink in the sight of his love. The image of a clean, shaven and well-rested Severus leaning over him warmed his heart even more than the feather light kiss had.

The next couple of hours were spent enjoying each other's company. Harry devoted most of that time to taking small sips of the lukewarm chicken broth Madam Pomfrey had served him for dinner. She had assured him that his body was now ready to handle small amounts of mild food, in addition to the nutritive potions she had been spelling directly into his stomach during his coma.

Harry, however, had his doubts. Not three minutes after taking his first bite of the buttered toast that had accompanied the broth, his stomach had clenched and churned, sending several unpleasant waves of pain through his weakened body. Needless to say, Harry abandoned the toast after that, in favor of an all liquid dinner.

Severus occupied their entire first hour together perched on the side of his bed while obsessively keeping vigil over him. He watched Harry like a hawk, gazing at him with nervous agitation every time he brought a spoonful of broth to his lips as if terrified Harry would suddenly forget how to swallow and choke on his meal. It took Harry a full thirty minutes to assure Severus that this was not the case, that he truly was healthy and able enough to eat and that Severus needn't stand sentinel by his bedside to ensure his continued survival.

Once convinced of Harry's well-being, Severus plunged himself into a rather heavy dose of feverish studying. Harry guessed that he had probably paid little to no attention to his accumulating schoolwork while Harry had been in his coma and now that he was sure that Harry was okay, academic panic had begun to set in.

In contrast, Harry couldn't seem to muster the same enthusiasm about his studies. The prospect of getting all Os on his NEWTs didn't hold the same appeal it might have in light of his other concerns.

While Severus immersed himself in his schoolwork, Harry's mind kept wandering back to the attack. He couldn't help but feel anxious about the fact that he and Severus had yet to discuss it. After all, Harry had almost gotten himself killed by jumping in front of a _Crucio_ in order to save Sirius Black – the very person who had once tried to murder Severus. This must weigh heavily on Severus' mind, yet he hadn't so much as mentioned Harry's self-sacrificing act, let alone question his reasons behind it.

Around nine-thirty, just before curfew, Harry finally garnered the courage to inquire about Severus' thoughts on the matter. Unfortunately, it didn't go well. As soon as Harry started talking about the Cruciatus curse that Avery hit Sirius with, Severus stiffened and turned away from him, telling him that he didn't have time to discuss such things with NEWTs only days away.

Harry knew it was a frivolous excuse, one that was voiced as a means to hide the hurt and confusion Severus must be feeling, but Harry did not press the issue. He knew they would have to talk about it at some point though. For the time being, however, it seemed Severus was content in the fact that Harry was alive and well. He supposed that was enough for now.

By ten o'clock, Madam Pomfrey arrived to usher a very vexed Severus out of the Hospital Wing, insisting that her patient needed to sleep. A furious Severus then spent the next ten minutes arguing with her. He finally acquiesced, but only after succeeding in getting the mediwitch to promise he could visit before breakfast the next morning. He was still fuming as he slung his overloaded school bag over his shoulder and strode towards the double doors, a disgruntled scowl marring his thin face as he stormed out.

Despite the somewhat juvenile nature of Severus' tantrum, Harry couldn't help but be warmed by the boy's display of stubborn insistence that he be allowed to remain by his side. Smiling to himself, he laid his still throbbing head on his pillow, pulled the heavy wool comforter over his shoulders and closed his eyes. This time, a deep, peaceful sleep found him almost instantly. The lingering memory of Severus' soft, loving kisses and the warmth of their fingers woven together was Harry's last sentient perception before letting go and drifting into blissful, mindless oblivion once more.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

Harry woke up under a veil of complete and utter darkness.

He had forgotten just how pitch-black this part of the castle became in the meager hours of the morning, the feeble light from the crescent moon providing only the scarcest of illumination through the infirmary's lofty windows.

With the darkness pressing hard against Harry's eyes, he narrowed them to mere slits to gain some semblance of visual clarity. The action did nothing to improve his diminished sight, but as he turned his head in further attempt to discern his surroundings, he became aware that his head no longer pounded and ached. His throat, however, was another matter; the searing pain there felt as though he had recently swallowed broken glass.

Grateful for at least a partial reprieve from his near constant pain, Harry propped himself up and reached over to his bedside table, his fingers fumbling in the dark for the glass of water Madam Pomfrey had set out for him. As soon as his hand closed around the cool glass, he slid it across the wooden surface and brought it to his parched lips, taking several large gulps of the soothing liquid to ease the soreness.

Once his discomfort had lessened, Harry reached over once more to return the glass, but flinched and swiftly withdrew when his hand brushed against something unseen, almost dropping the glass in shock. A slow creep of panic began to build within him at the unexpected contact, his heart speeding up and his breath catching in his throat. Whatever had just grazed his hand was definitely not the bedside table, nor was it the small wooden chair beside his bed. It had not felt nearly as rigid nor as unyielding, but instead firm, pliant and warm.

Harry couldn't help but shudder when he came to the unnerving realization that the _thing_ that had just brushed against him was probably a _living_ _thing_.

With his heart now thundering in his chest, he scanned the room for a second time, desperate to find the source of the phantom touch amid a sea of heavy blackness. Seeing nothing only heightened his anxiety. He quickly thrust his hand under his pillow and snatched up his wand. With the thin stick of Hawthorn gripped tightly in his raised hand, he cast a _Lumos_ and then inspected the room once more.

Even under the luminescent glow of the magicked light, the room revealed nothing.

"Who's there?" he called out.

There was no answer. Harry swallowed, still holding his wand up. He might be imagining things, but he had learned to trust his instincts – instincts honed by seventeen years' worth of perilous misfortune. Right now, these instincts were telling him that he was not alone.

They were proven right a second later when a hand emerged out of nowhere at the side of his bed. It grasped at the air around it as if reaching for something solid, then extracted a shimmering mass of silvery fabric out of nonbeing. The material fell to the floor as the hand released it, revealing a head that was lowered, its face concealed by locks of dark, wavy hair. A body emerged a fraction of a second later, seated comfortably on the chair beside Harry's bed.

James, Harry thought.

But when the figure lifted his head, the deep blue eyes that pierced him were not those of his future father.

"Hello, Harry," came the cool, wily greeting of Sirius Black.

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Whew! This is my longest chapter yet. It also happens to be the most challenging chapter I have ever written – thanks to the intense array of emotional and physical pain I put poor Gray and Severus through. Ah well... I did list this tale as Romance/Angst. I think I am certainly living up to that second genre. ;)

Just like always, I have to give credit to my very talented Beta, **YenGirl**, for the huge amount of help she gave me on this chapter. It simply would not be the same without her knowledgeable guidance and assistance. Thanks so much... I know this one was rough.

ETA for Chapter 13? Hmmm... let's shoot for March 10th. If that changes, I will update my Bio with a new ETA.

And for those of you who are eager for another intimate Snarry moment between these two characters, the next chapter will definitely deliver... hint, hint. :D

**Please Review.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen -**

**The scent of your skin, the taste of your lips**

Piercing blue eyes pinned Harry with an impenetrable look. A fathomless array of conflicting emotions shone through those pools of blue, wayward and variant, like icy flames of ill-intent or restive waves of painful regret. Unbridled, the emotive torrent churned and roiled just beyond those cool, sapphire depths as if fettered by a mere precarious whim.

Harry countered the penetrating gaze with one of his own, grey eyes unwavering even as a surge of cold panic swept through him. Heart racing and breath held, he swallowed hard, hoping to push past his own rising unease long enough to find his voice.

"Sirius..." he breathed.

Though spoken in a tentative whisper, the sound of his own voice articulating _that_ name, the name of his future godfather, seemed to elicit his own jumble of confused emotions to rise within him, a disparate mix of razor-sharp fury, deep sorrow and devastating guilt.

"Why are you here?" Harry demanded, the abrasive question tumbling out of his mouth before he could put any thought behind it. Rage was beginning to take precedence over all other emotions now as the image of those faint scars on Severus' forearms flickered across the periphery of his mind. Gritting his teeth, he struggled against the sudden and overwhelming urge to raise his wand to the boy who had put them there.

Sirius leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing for the briefest of moments. The hostility in those cool depths had waned slightly, replaced by a look of derisive mirth as one corner of his mouth turned up in an uneven leer.

"It's interesting you should ask me that. I was just about to ask _you_ the same question... Harry."

His name, Harry noticed, was added as an afterthought, tacked on at the end as if considered an insignificance or more likely, a fallacious injustice.

"I should think my stay in the Hospital Wing doesn't require explanation," Harry replied, his tone curt but not yet betraying the precarious rage brewing just below the surface. "You were there, after all. Unconscious at the time... but you were there. You know I was cursed."

For the first time since taking off the invisibility cloak, Sirius averted his determined gaze from Harry, making his own hands his new focus. Withdrawing them from the safe refuge of his folded arms, he pressed his palms together with fingers splayed, rubbing them against one another with harsh force. It looked to be some type of nervous habit, judging from the accompanying tightness in Sirius' jaw and the taut, furrowed appearance of his brow.

"I'm not talking about the Hospital Wing," he bit out, eyes still trained on his clenched hands. "I'm asking you why you are here at Hogwarts... _now_... in _this_ time... when you're not even supposed to be born yet!"

Sirius' tone turned from innocuous to threatening in a matter of seconds, his eyes glaring as they snapped up to Harry's once again.

Tightening his grip on his wand instinctively, Harry felt his own anger spike at the hostile remark. The fury inside him was pulsing now, restless and yearning for release.

"Please tell me," Sirius continued through gnashed teeth, "that your reason for being here isn't because… because of _him_."

"Why I'm here is none of your business, Sirius!" Harry spat, his barely maintained control dissolving at the allusive mention of Severus. Irrepressible rage was consuming him now, the grip on his wand so tight that the skin on the back of his hand was almost pure white from lack of circulation. He could feel his heart racing at a tremendous speed, thundering in his chest, the quickened pace and intensity of which causing caustic bursts of sharp pain to course through him.

"It damn well _is_ my business!" Sirius countered, his face flushed with angry color and his volume rising. "You're my best friend's son... my _godson_, for fuck's sake! I think I have the right to know why you're here... _and_ why you're hanging around with slime like Snivellus! That snake is nothing but a foul, greasy, Dark-Arts-loving Slytherin piece of–"

Sirius did not finish his rant, but Harry could hardly spare a moment to ponder why. Those sharp surges of pain had intensified and he was finding it hard to breathe. Leaning forward, he drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on them. With his eyes squeezed shut, he took a slow, labored drag of air into his lungs and let it out, the exhalation strained and tremulous as if resistant to part from him. Both of his hands shook violently as they clutched the linen sheet covering his legs, his wand now lying discarded on the bed beside him. That odd, out-of-body sensation of swimming in the lake had once again returned, his body brimming with jolts of static-like ripples and his chest and head tight with unremitting pressure.

A faint murmur reverberated in his ears, garbled and indistinct, as if coming to him from far away. Relinquishing his tight grip on the sheet, Harry brought his trembling hands up to his face and placed his fingertips to the skin just beside his ears, pressing hard in an attempt to clear his faulty hearing and make sense of the puzzling drone. Not until he felt a hand on his shoulder and another gripping one of his wrists did he realize that the muffled murmur was in fact the sound of his own name being spoken over and over again with urgency.

"Harry! Harry... answer me, goddamnit!"

Grey eyes snapped open in surprise, their owner jerking back from the sudden touch. With his breaths coming out in rapid, shallow puffs and his chest still tight and throbbing, Harry stared with wide eyes at the unexpected, yet unmistakable look of concern and fear on Sirius' pale face.

"Shit, Harry! What the hell just happened? Lily... she... she said you were OK now."

Harry looked away from Sirius, letting his head fall back onto his knees again as he inhaled several more deep, steadying breaths. He _had_ to calm down. It was a well-known fact that Madam Pomfrey possessed numerous ways of monitoring her patients from afar and he really didn't want her alerted to his current plight... _or_ to his uninvited guest.

This was between him and Sirius.

"I'm still recovering," Harry hissed, his voice strained, hindered by the effort to stifle his seething emotions and persistent pain. "That curse damaged my nerves so it's going to take some time before I'm completely healed. As for your first question... I'm not going to tell you why I'm here. So stop asking me. It has nothing to do with you."

Harry paused here to take in Sirius' reaction, part of him expecting the boy to fly off the handle again. Indeed, it looked as though Sirius was fighting that very urge, his jaw tense and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"But there _is_ something I need _you_ to explain to _me_," Harry continued, grey eyes boring into blue ones in an intense, penetrating glare. "I want to know why."

"Why what?" Sirius growled, not missing a beat.

"I want to know why you tried to kill Severus!"

If Sirius was surprised that Harry knew about his attack on the Slytherin, he didn't show it. Those deep blue orbs betrayed no hint of shock at all. Instead, they radiated an open defiance as their owner once again leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, his chin lifting in a display of cool indifference. The tension in his face did not ease though, and Harry got the distinct impression that the boy's sudden nonchalance was feigned, or at least exaggerated.

"I don't owe you an explanation," Sirius replied at last.

Despite their callous implication, the words lacked his typical biting snarl, Sirius sounding much more unsettled than Harry could ever remember hearing him.

The shift in demeanor drove a sizable dent into Harry's resolve but did not sway him from his objective. Pushing past his growing uncertainty about the whole situation, he swallowed hard and plowed on.

"You should have been expelled for what you did to him! More than that... you should have been thrown into Azkaban!" he lashed out, his anger escalating again. Drawing in another deep breath, he tried to calm himself before continuing in a more tempering tone. "Sirius, he is _not_ what you think he is. He's not Dark!"

"That bastard knew more Dark spells as a–"

"As a first year?" Harry finished, disgusted at hearing one of his future godfather's favorite slanders against Severus yet again. "Yeah. I know. I've heard this speech before. And I still think it's bullshit."

"Harry, he's a Slytherin... _and_ he's after Lily! Look, James didn't exactly go into details about... well, about who your mother is. But I assume... I mean... the way you defended her..."

"Yes," Harry affirmed, "Lily's my mother. But you're wrong about Severus being after her. He did love her, yes. But... but he doesn't anymore. Not like that. Either way, though, you shouldn't have tried to murder him! My God, Sirius... you slit his wrists! You cast a body bind on him, carved him up like some piece of meat and then left him for dead!"

"I KNOW!" Sirius roared, raw anguish permeating his voice. "Christ, don't you think I know that!? Don't you think I hate how far I went that night!? When I saw him on the map, walking into the Forbidden Forest alone, I followed him with the intent to hex him... to hurt him... I _wanted_ to hurt him... but I... I..."

"So... what? Are you trying to tell me you hadn't planned on killing him?!"

"Harry, you don't understand! He was a danger to Lily! He was harassing her! He kept coming up to her, begging for her forgiveness and pleading with her to be friends with him again. James and I threatened him. We told him if he didn't leave her alone, there'd be hell to pay. But it made no difference. He just wouldn't leave her the fuck alone! Then I overheard him telling her about some... potion he was making for her... for the both of them! There was no way in hell I was going to let that twisted snake poison her... or... or slip her some fucking love potion! So I thought if I scared him enough... if I hurt him..."

Sirius stopped abruptly and lowered his head, drawing in a deep breath. With a trembling hand, he combed his fingers through his wavy hair and then looked back up, his blue eyes filled with a deep, pleading despair.

"Harry, I swear to you. I didn't intend to go that far... but... but once I started I... just... couldn't stop... I..."

"Shut up," Harry hissed through gritted teeth, unable to listen any longer. His eyes were closed again, hands balled into fists so tight, his fingernails were cutting into the skin of his palms. The self-induced injury brought with it more intense waves of pain, his arms shaking from the physical discomfort as well as from the conflicting emotions roused by his future godfather's feeble excuse.

The truth was that deep down, Harry _had _wanted this – some explanation for Sirius' savagery, however lacking it might be. He knew he would never be able to regard the boy's brutal actions as reasonable, or even understandable, but he had hoped that by becoming familiar with Sirius' side of the story, this oppressive feeling of disillusionment he felt towards him would lessen. For Harry could not deny that even now, after listening to his future godfather's rationale – a rationale born from some overblown, twisted sense of revenge and protection – Harry's heart still yearned to make amends, to forgive, to restore that guileless feeling of staunch reverence he had once felt for the adult Sirius Black.

After all, they _were_ the same person. This angry, misguided boy sitting in front of him would grow up to be the man who would one day rush into danger without a second thought to his own safety, just to protect Harry. With utter disregard to rules or consequences or ethics, he would break out of Azkaban with a maniacal obsession to murder a traitor in Harry's midst, break through the wards of Hogwarts wielding a knife, revenge spurring him on, and then live a whole year in a cave feeding on rats and discarded bones just to make sure he was close enough to defend Harry from any looming peril.

The adult Sirius Black would have done _anything_ to keep Harry safe – maim, torture, kill, even die. A_nything_ for Harry.

And now, as Harry opened his eyes and turned his gaze back to the eighteen-year-old version of that man, he realized the stunning truth of the matter...

The two really weren't all that different.

Only now, instead of being the motivation behind Sirius' fanatical, protective behavior, Harry was just a spectator, seeing it all from the perspective of the supposed enemy. The shocking realization made his heart ache with a profound sense of erosive loss, even as this newfound knowledge fostered a kind of bittersweet understanding.

Understanding, however, was not the same as forgiveness. As their eyes locked once more, Harry could not stop his next words from escaping his quivering lips, voice barely above a whisper.

"I can never forgive you for what you did to him, Sirius. It's... too much."

"I'm not asking for your forgiveness."

"Then what the _FUCK_ are you doing here?!" Harry snarled, grey eyes ablaze with ire again.

"I want to know why the hell you're hanging around Snivellus!" Sirius shouted, his voice severe again, rising in volume. He leapt to his feet, the hasty action driving his chair backwards and causing it to screech as its wooden legs scraped across the stone floor. His right hand was grasping at the edge of his left sleeve, leaving Harry no doubt that his wand lay concealed within the folds. Sirius' face was almost crimson in color, his deep blue eyes blazing with anger as he leaned forward a few inches and spoke again, this time in a soft, malevolent hiss.

"And I would also like to know why you thought yourself justified in attacking Peter."

Harry released a deep, guttural groan of frustration. He was aching all over and his heart was overcome with pain and sadness and anger. He just wanted this conversation to be over, just wanted his future godfather to go away and let him think... let him _feel_... allow him the time to sift through this emotional mess that was his life right now.

"I can't tell you why I attacked that rat. Just know that... he deserved it."

"Oh... I see... _Peter_ deserved to be assaulted... but _Snape_ didn't? Is that what you're saying?" Sirius drawled. His demeanor had changed, his tone conveying an almost gleeful disparagement while a twisted smile curved his mouth. "You know what I think, Harry? I think that greasy slimeball's _Confunded_ you. You and Snivellus are the good guys, right? And Peter and I are the enemy?!"

"I don't think of you as an enemy!" Harry bellowed, losing the last of his wavering restraint. "And I don't think that way about James or Severus either! I love you... all three of you! And I can't stand this anymore! This stupid, childish, ignorant–"

"WHAT?! You... you _love_ Snape? What the fuck is that supposed to–?"

Sirius' outraged statement was cut off mid-sentence when the infirmary's double doors burst open and a disheveled Madam Pomfrey charged into the room, her dressing gown hastily fastened and her hair sleep-tousled and hanging in her face.

"Mr. Skye!" she cried out. "What's happened? I was notified of a heightened state of–"

She stopped short and stared at the scene, her eyes darting from Harry to Sirius and then back again. Soon, the look of surprise on her face morphed into clear vexation, her parted lips drawing together in a taut line and her eyes narrowing to mere slits.

"Mr. Black, what are you doing in this ward at three in the morning?! You are in violation of curfew, young man, AND you are obviously harassing my patient!"

It was obvious that Sirius was unused to being caught in wrongdoing. He stood there like a deer in headlights, his eyes wide and anxious even as they surreptitiously snapped over to the discarded invisibility cloak lying beside the chair. From there, they moved over to Harry, lingering for the briefest of moments before returning to the angry matron.

"Sit down in that chair, Mr Black. I'll deal with you in a moment."

After forcing Harry to lie back and running numerous diagnostic spells on him, Madam Pomfrey summoned two potion vials from a nearby cabinet. She handed the first to him straightaway, insisting that he take it at once as it would lessen his pain. The second she placed on the bedside table with explicit instructions that it was to be consumed once the infirmary was divested of all its visitors. That last directive was uttered while leveling a fierce glare in Sirius' direction. It was soon followed by a stream of angry muttering about a flagrant lack of internal repelling charms and infuriating Headmasters who deemed them unnecessary.

At another time, her incensed grumbling might have been amusing, but Harry could not muster the energy to conjure a lighthearted emotion after having just experienced so much distress. As soon as he downed the proffered potion and placed the empty vial on the bedside table, Madam Pomfrey pulled out her wand and pointed it first at Sirius and then at himself, casting the same spell on the both of them.

Harry did not recognize the echoed incantation, but the rush of magic that engulfed him brought a sense of vague familiarity. It washed over him like cool effervescence, tickling his sensitive skin and pulling a shiver from him as it asserted some kind of quiescent hold over him. The odd sensation was reminiscent of a being under the effects of a body-bind curse or an impediment jinx, yet quite different in that he _could_ still move.

"Now then," she announced as she stowed her wand in the pocket of her gown, "I will be back momentarily. Both of you are to stay put while I'm gone. If either one of you move from your current position _or_ raise your wand to one another, you will both find yourselves in a full body-bind in the blink of an eye. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Sirius replied, his eyes cast down.

Harry nodded, swallowing in nervous anticipation. He knew her precautionary spell was more due to Sirius' misbehaving than himself, but he had no desire to anger the formidable witch any further. He knew, and suspected Sirius did as well, that Madam Pomfrey was not someone to cross.

As soon as those heavy double doors swung past each other in her departure, Sirius' gaze lifted and locked with his own.

Harry was taken aback by the abrupt change in emotion displayed in those blue depths. It was clear Sirius was drained of his intense wrath. All that remained within those pools of blue was a profound, aching look of yearning and loss.

"Harry?" he whispered.

"What," Harry responded, his voice weak from exhaustion and emotional strain.

"None of those things are what I came here for. Not really."

"Fine. Why did you come then?" Harry had forced the words out. At that moment, he felt he couldn't care less.

"I wanted to know... can you... are you able to save him? Please tell me there's a way."

"What?" Harry breathed out, bemused by Sirius' last few words. He... he _couldn't_ be talking about Severus. That much was certain, but then who...?

Once again Sirius pressed his palms together, chafing and kneading the skin with obvious aggression before releasing them. His palms were inflamed and red, rubbed raw from incessency. When he spoke again, his words were clipped, abrupt.

"James. He told me that he won't be the one raising you. He said... he said that I will be the only father figure you'll ever know... told me I needed to get my shit together so that I could be there for you."

Hope burned in his eyes as they bored into Harry's.

"That's why you're here, right? To prevent his death?"

For the first time since waking and finding him in the room, Harry felt his anger fade, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. Warm tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, a few slipping past his lower lids and sliding down his cheeks, though he was uncertain whether they were shed for his future father's fated demise or for his godfather's inevitable grief.

"No. That's not why I'm here, Sirius," he confessed, his throat tight and aching again. "And that's not how time travel works. I have no power to change that which I know to have occurred. I'm sorry... but it's just... not possible."

The doors pushed open once more and Madam Pomfrey stepped back into the room, this time followed by a furious Professor McGonagall clad in a red and black tartan dressing gown, and a triumphant-looking Argus Filch, the latter looking a bit incomplete to Harry without his usual feline sidekick.

"Mr. Black, I am _outraged!"_ Professor McGonagall scolded. "Out of bed and wandering the castle in the middle of the night? Disturbing a student who has just woken from a five day coma!? Fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor, Mr. Black, for this latest demonstration of rule-breaking, as much as it pains me, AND you will serve detention with Mr. Filch for the next two weeks."

The speech sounded so familiar to Harry, it might have been verbatim from one she had launched into after one of his, Ron and Hermione's after-curfew exploits. The deja-vu feeling only multiplied when Harry saw Sirius place the toe of his shoe on a corner of the discarded invisibility cloak, sliding it toward himself with stealth. The moment Professor McGonagall looked away to speak to Filch, Sirius snatched the silvery material up and stuffed it under his jumper. The furtive move was so Marauder-ish, so nostalgic and sneaky, Harry felt his lips twitch in a small smile.

"Mr. Filch, please return Mr. Black to Gryffindor Tower. I assume you'll want to use that time to assign when and where his detentions are to take place," the professor continued, her narrowed eyes darting back to her errant student again. With that final withering glare in Sirius' direction, she stormed out of the Hospital Wing.

Following the professor's temperamental exit, Madam Pomfrey raised her wand once more, pointing it at Harry and Sirius in turn and muttering more incantations under her breath.

Harry assumed it was the counter-curse to her time-lapse body-bind spell for as soon as she finished the incantation, he felt its encumbering magic recede.

After returning her wand to the pocket of her gown, the medi-witch turned to Filch and nodded, giving her silent permission for Sirius' overdue removal. She flashed one final incensed glower at the Gryffindor before turning her back on all three of them, retreating toward the back of the infirmary and disappearing behind her office door.

"Let's go, Black," Filch said, leering at Sirius with a mouthful of dingy, cooked teeth. "Back to the dorm where you belong, you miscreant."

Grabbing Sirius' upper arm with bruising force, Filch wrenched him up from his chair. Sirius responded with truculence, jerking back and trying to wrest his arm free from the caretaker's tight grip. His retaliatory reaction only succeeded in dislodging something that had been stowed in the front pocket of his jeans. As it fell to the ground, Sirius bent over in one lightning fast move, his fingers outstretched to snatch it up.

Filch, however, was faster, his filthy, mud-smeared boot stomping down on the object, which Harry could now see was a folded piece of parchment.

But not just _any_ folded piece of parchment...

Harry's eyes widened in surprise as they fell upon the bright green ink emblazoned on the front, the familiar words partially covered by Filch's boot.

"Not so fast, boy!" Filch snapped, leaning down to retrieve the map. He brought it up to his face, his watery eyes tapering as they scanned over the cover's haughty verbiage.

"What do we have here, Black?" he drawled, his voice cracking with glee. "Some kind of map, eh? Using this to get around the castle, are we?"

Harry looked on with rising apprehension as Filch released his tight hold on Sirius' arm to better examine the map. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Sirius' right hand dart over to his left sleeve, his fingers reaching in to grab his wand and Harry knew instantly what Sirius was planning to do.

Acting on pure impulse, Harry snatched up his own wand from where he had discarded it earlier and leveled it at the confiscated parchment.

_"Mischief Managed,"_ he whispered. The command was hushed, spoken in a faint undertone, but it pulled Filch's focus for the briefest of moments. He looked up from his intense scrutiny of the anomalous map, eyed Harry with uncertainty, then returned his attention to the now blank piece of parchment in his hands.

"What the–?"

"That's nothing, Mr. Filch," Sirius supplemented, a small smile curving his lips as he flashed a quick glance at Harry. "Just some extra parchment of mine."

Harry had seen Filch's face contorted in anger on several occasions during his time at Hogwarts – the worst few being when Mrs. Norris was petrified, the time Peeves pummeled the students with water balloons in the Great Hall and of course, when Dumbledore was reinstated as Headmaster after Umbridge was outed – but he had to admit the look of absolute fury on the man's face right now could rival any of those instances.

"Extra parchment, eh? Well, then you won't mind a damned bit if I keep it then, will you now?" Filch growled, his features twisted into an expression that would make Mad-Eye Moody look downright attractive by comparison. Shoving the map into the pocket of his coat, he grabbed Sirius' arm once more with even more force and yanked him toward the doors.

Sirius let himself be led, but as the two reached the exit of the infirmary, he pulled himself free from the caretaker's firm grip and turned back around.

"You're wrong, Gray," he called out, his voice calm for once, revealing none of its earlier anger or frustration. Those cool, blue depths, so fiery with rage before, emanated nothing but steely determination as their owner continued with his adamant declaration.

"James _will_ survive. I'll do _everything_ in my power to make sure that he stays safe. And you..."

Filch growled and grabbed the scruff of Sirius' neck, infuriated at his defiance.

"What about me?" Harry asked, uncertain as to whether he would even get an answer with his future godfather now fighting off a livid Filch.

With a great heave, Filch pushed a resisting Sirius through the doors and out of sight. However, Sirius' incomplete statement reached Harry's ears anyway, shouted at the top of his lungs from out in the corridor.

"I'll make sure you _never_ feel love for that greasy, evil bastard! NEVER!"

Harry blinked, still staring at the closed infirmary doors. Sirius' parting words rang in his ears, echoing throughout his overburdened brain and causing his mixed-up emotions to swell and roil. He closed his eyes and brought his hands to his face, running trembling fingers through his hair and then grasping the strands in frustration.

He was so tired of this. _All_ of this. The pain, the grief, the overwhelming feeling of uncertainty and powerlessness brought on by this venture through time.

"Mr. Skye... the remaining potion, if you please," came the much milder and calmer voice of Madam Pomfrey. She had emerged from her office and was now approaching his bed with tempered steps, her eyes fixed on the untouched vial beside his bed.

Harry, too, turned his gaze toward the potion. He could tell it was Dreamless Sleep by its vivid violet hue. Not since his return from the graveyard in fourth year had he taken this particular potion, yet he could recall with precise clarity the blissful void of thought and emotion it engendered.

The idea of surrendering to a similar state of nothingness now was more than tempting.

With a trembling hand, Harry grabbed the vial and drank the entire contents in one gulp. He winced at the familiar flavor and thick consistency, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue.

Madam Pomfrey took the empty vial from his slackening grip, placing it back on the table. She sighed as she turned back to regard Harry, her weary brown eyes emanating a trace of sadness as they locked with his own. Without a word, she turned away from him and exited the infirmary, leaving him alone with his confused thoughts at last.

Harry lowered his head to his pillow, burying his face into its warmth and softness. He was already feeling the potion's initial effects, his eyelids heavy and drooping and his brain beginning to cloud. With effort, he attempted to forestall the forceful draw of sleep, directing his sluggish mind back to his future godfather's final words instead.

_James will survive. I'll do everything in my power to make sure that he stays safe._

The impassioned statement sounded more like a promise than a threat, but Harry couldn't help but be unnerved by the adamance with which it was spoken. It was obvious that Sirius had little understanding of the rigidity of time. Or maybe he _did_ understand it but was choosing to ignore it. Either way, Harry knew that Sirius had no power to make good on that promise, but still... he couldn't help but wonder...

Was it possible that Sirius' staunch resolve to affect change in his future... did in fact result in the shaping of known events in Harry's past?

Could that determined promise have been the reason behind some of the adult Sirius Black's more impulsive and reckless decisions?

Again, Harry felt his focus dilate, his mind loosening its firm hold on his thoughts as the effect of Dreamless Sleep became more insistent, harder to fight. He resisted once more, squeezing his eyelids together and gritting his teeth as he willed himself to bring a memory into sharper focus – the details of which had always struck Harry as odd... almost illogical...

It was a conversation that took place over four years ago in the Shrieking Shack. Sirius had been explaining the reasons behind his last minute decision to switch Lily and James' Secret-Keeper... he had referred to that ill-fated decision as a... a... bluff. Yes, that was it.

Sirius had called it a bluff. He had explained that switching their Secret-Keeper from himself to Peter Pettigrew was a contrived deception – one that was meant to fool Lord Voldemort and throw him off their trail.

But after hearing Sirius' steadfast oath just moments ago, to do whatever he could to keep James safe and to prevent his predestined demise, Harry had to wonder...

Was it really _Voldemort _that Sirius was trying to trick with that swap?

Or was it _fate?_

Could that unexpected and rather rash decision simply have been his godfather's botched attempt to forestall the inevitable, a desperate effort to make good on his promise to alter the future and in turn, save his best friend's life?

That seemed more plausible to Harry than Sirius' original explanation – that he had changed the Potters' Secret-Keeper to their least brave and most inept friend in a misguided crack at subterfuge.

And as for Sirius' final vehement declaration...

_I'll make sure you never feel love for that greasy, evil bastard! NEVER!_

Even under the influence of the potion's forceful sway, his eyelids now too heavy to lift and his coherence slipping into swift ambiguity, Harry had little trouble deciphering the meaning behind those words – nor did he find it difficult to pinpoint the moments when Sirius acted upon that angry vow.

All those slandering remarks about Severus...

The snide comments.

The countless derisive, belittling vilifications.

And his absolute fury upon learning Severus would be teaching Harry Occlumency.

Harry strove further against the potion's mind-numbing effects as he fought to recall that awkward meeting in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place back in his fifth year. Sirius had been right there with him while Severus announced their upcoming lessons, and he had been more than livid at the prospect of Harry and Severus spending private time together. In fact, he had even refused to leave the two of them alone in that kitchen.

At the time, Harry had assumed his godfather's actions were motivated by hatred for his childhood nemesis or that his anger was fueled by the fear that perhaps Severus would harm Harry. Now however, it looked as though that hostile, over-the-top protective display was just Sirius' way of trying to prevent his godson and Severus from becoming too close.

Again Harry squeezed his eyelids more firmly together, shaking his head as swift oblivion was once again creeping in, splintering his current reflection. He was feeling hopelessly groggy now, his limbs and head bearing an unnatural, oppressive heaviness and his thoughts scrambled and indistinct.

Just before Harry gave in to the insistent draw and let himself drift into unwitting slumber, a transient reflection flitted across his sluggish mind, something he thought he heard Sirius mention in passing.

Something about a potion.

A potion Severus had been making for himself and... for Lily?

The confused rumination left as quickly as it came, leaving Harry's exhausted, hazy brain baffled and wondering in its wake. A moment later, all sentient thought and bewildered consternation dissolved into mindless nothingness, sleep overtaking him at last.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

In stark contrast to the flurry of activity from the day before, Thursday and Friday were much more subdued with no surprising visitors or shocking revelations.

Harry did receive a visit from James after breakfast Thursday morning, but that turned out to be not so much shocking as it was uncomfortable. They sat in silence for a long while, James with his head down, elbows on knees and hands twisting together in apprehension. When at last he spoke, head still lowered and voice strained with emotion, he thanked Harry for coming to Lily's aid and for throwing himself in front of that _Crucio_ to spare Sirius.

Harry's heart clenched upon hearing those heartfelt words of thanks, realizing just how difficult this whole ordeal must have been for his future father. Harry imagined James sitting by his future wife's bedside, overcome with worry as he prayed for her recovery while agonizing over just how close he had come to losing her – her _and_ his future son. No doubt that anxiety was made even more oppressive by the knowledge that his _own_ fated demise loomed ever nearer.

Harry was just about to respond to James' emotional expression of gratitude, when all of the sudden the latter's head shot straight up, hazel eyes blazing with vexation as he pinned Harry with a reproachful glare. He then launched into an admonishing tirade, scolding Harry for what he had just finished thanking him for – for taking such an enormous risk and almost getting himself killed.

The unexpected plunge into parental mode had Harry gaping, eyes wide and voice stifled into temporary muteness.

His future father's pendular emotional outburst soon took another abrupt swerve when a split second later, he began to sound off about Sirius' rash behavior from the night before. He was furious with his best friend for taking his invisibility cloak without permission and for losing the map, going on and on about how Harry would never get to use it at Hogwarts now that Filch was in possession of it.

Feeling as though his future father could do with some good news for a change, Harry informed him of how he would happen upon the map in his third year by a sheer stroke of luck. James' whole face lit up at that disclosure, his wide grin turning into an even wider one when Harry threw in that the map had served him well during his Hogwarts years.

Despite the fact that their visit ended on a good note, Harry had to admit that the whole of it was just... odd. One part brotherly, one part paternal and _all_ of it awkward. Harry appreciated his James' gratitude and his budding fatherly concern, but he couldn't deny the feeling of relief that washed over him once their bewildering discussion came to an end and his future father finally took his leave.

Besides James, Harry's only visitor was Severus. He came to see Harry three times a day like clockwork – once before breakfast, again during lunchtime and then at seven in the evening where he would stay until Madam Pomfrey kicked him out at curfew.

The majority of their time together was spent studying as NEWTs were only a few days away, but they _were_ able to sneak a few kisses and quick embraces whenever Madam Pomfrey left the ward to spend time in her office. These small moments of closeness, despite their brevity, kept Harry's frustration with being bedridden much more manageable.

In all their visits together, however, Severus never once brought up the attack. Harry assumed he was too preoccupied, his attention split between schoolwork and those stolen moments of furtive passion, but this time Harry relished the avoidance. After that emotionally-draining and stressful visit Wednesday night, Sirius Black was the last person he wanted to discuss.

By Friday morning, Harry had regained almost all of his strength and coordination and the worst of his pain had ceased. Madam Pomfrey was so pleased with his progress that following dinner that same day, she pronounced him well enough to leave the Hospital Wing, providing that he return in a week's time for a check-up. Her only warning to him was to be careful not to injure himself, explaining that his nerves were still hypersensitive and could be set off by something as benign as a papercut. The cautionary tidbit was a bit disconcerting, as well as open-ended since Madam Pomfrey neglected to mention _how long_ his hypersensitivity would last. When he asked her this specific question, she pressed her lips together into a severe line and averted her eyes, muttering something about the unpredictability and complexity of Dark curses under her breath.

The blatant sidestepping of his query only heightened Harry's unease, but as luck would have it, that unease was temporary.

After navigating through the droves of students leaving the Great Hall after dinner and entering what was now his and Severus' _private_ seventh-year Slytherin dormitory due to the expulsion of Avery and his cohorts, Harry was greeted with a beaming smile that was more than enough to annihilate his remaining concerns over his health.

Severus was in the act of packing his school bag, most likely in preparation for visiting the Hospital Wing, but that task was abandoned in favor of pulling Harry close and claiming his mouth. The familiar feel of that assertive tongue sliding along the seam of his lips, and then pushing in and twining with his own tongue drove Harry to a blissful state of mindless incoherency in a matter of seconds.

"Let's go to the cottage," Severus whispered, his lips warm and wet against Harry's as he spoke the invitation amid blistering kisses.

Harry had no memory of responding to Severus' suggestion, so arrested by the boy's avid attention, but he must have. The next thing his distracted brain registered was his school bag being thrust into his hands while Severus hastened to stuff a few more books into his bag before slinging its strap over his shoulder. Harry mimicked the gesture, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder while attempting to ready himself for a long night of studying. It wasn't until Severus approached him a moment later sporting a surreptitious smirk with a single raised eyebrow, that Harry became clear-headed enough to decipher the true intention behind his suggestion.

Blushing at his naivete and shivering in anticipation, he followed Severus out of the dungeons, across Hogwarts' grounds and into the Forbidden Forest. His heart was beating faster than their pace warranted as one thrilling thought ricocheted around his brain over and over again... that rule about no recreational activities on weeknights was about to be bent... or perhaps broken completely.

It was just after seven o'clock when he and Severus reached the cottage. Harry hadn't realized just how much he had missed the feeling of home and safety engendered by their mutual sanctuary until he stepped past the stark wooden fence and entered the lush grounds. Due to a brief rainstorm that occurred earlier in the day, the atmosphere was now refreshing and crisp, the break from the incessant heat a welcome change. Breathing the cool evening air deep into his lungs, Harry stopped to scan the familiar surroundings, taking in the tranquil view of fledgling twilight.

The sun was low in the sky, its waning illumination intermittent as it flickered through the leaves and branches of the towering trees. For once, the sky was cloudless, showing a near limitless expanse of deep azure coalescing into brilliant orange along the horizon's fiery fringe. The peaceful scenery combined with the soft sounds of leaves rustling in the cool, evening breeze kindled a kind of deep, limpid calm to permeate Harry's spirit.

His reflective reverie was interrupted by the gentle caress of warm fingertips grazing the palm of his hand then trailing their way down to the very tips of his own fingers. Those slender fingers aligned themselves with Harry's before sinking in between them and closing around the back of his hand like a lover's embrace. The simple act, done so many times over the past three weeks, somehow felt more intimate – _more sensual –_ than ever before and Harry's heart inexplicably sped up at the feeling of closeness inspired by the touch.

With a subtle tilt of his head and a squeeze to Harry's hand, Severus beckoned Harry to follow him further across the cottage grounds. He walked with decisive steps as he guided Harry to the farthest bank of the pond where a large oak tree stood alone near the water's edge. Once they reached the lofty tree, Severus turned to face Harry, dark eyes locking with grey ones in a fiery gaze.

Harry's breath hitched as he looked into those fathomless pools of black, the profundity of pure longing and hunger within them sending his own desire skyrocketing. Unwilling to wait a moment longer to feel Severus' touch or to taste his mouth and breath in his distinctive, arousing scent, Harry placed his hands on either side of that thin face and coaxed Severus closer until those soft lips were pressed against his own.

As if released from a cage of self-restraint, Severus attacked like a wild animal, latching on to Harry's mouth and plunging his tongue in over and over again. That skillful tongue reduced Harry to a state of raw, breathless need in no time, swirling around his own tongue and tracing patterns along the inside of his cheeks and the roof of his mouth. Slender fingers clenched the fabric of Harry's shirt at his hips, forcing it up a few inches, the warm, soft skin of Severus' inner wrists brushing against Harry's newly exposed skin as he drove the both of them backwards.

Harry was vaguely aware of his back making contact with the tree but was soon incapable of deciphering anything else as Severus abandoned his mouth and attacked his neck instead. Rapacious lips danced across the surface of Harry's skin, kissing and teasing and caressing while that eager tongue flicked out to trail long, wet licks up and down. Those crooked teeth soon joined the fervent onslaught, nipping and biting at the wet skin. When they dragged their way up to that sensitive spot under Harry's ear and bit down with more force than usual, an eruption of intense pleasure like Harry had never before experienced shot through him, causing his whole body to seize up and tremble.

"Ahhh... Sev... I... ohhh fuck!"

Harry's knees buckled, his muscles feeling like liquid lethargy as he slid down the trunk of the tree and collapsed onto the soft ground. Gasping for breath and doubled over, he squeezed his eyes shut as he rode out the ebbing waves of blissful stimulation, shivering, fingers clutching the overgrown blades of grass at the base of the tree.

"Gray? Are you alright? Shit... did I hurt you?"

Harry's attention was wrenched away from the receding waves of pleasure, the urgent concern in Severus' voice prompting him to open his eyes.

Severus was now sitting in the grass in front of Harry with his knees tucked under him, his brow wrinkled with worry. He brought a tentative hand up to Harry's neck and placed his thumb to the area of skin his teeth had been only seconds earlier, caressing the abused spot with tender, soothing touches.

"I'm sorry. I thought... I thought I was making you feel good, but..."

"You were," Harry breathed out. "Oh God, Severus, you were! I... I don't know what just happened. It was almost like..."

...an orgasm.

Of course, there was no way in hell Harry could say that word out loud to Severus, not without curling up into a lump of red-faced embarrassment right after. Abashed into reticence, Harry averted his gaze and chewed on his lower lip, blushing a fiery red all the same.

When he peered up once more, it was to see Severus staring at him, head cocked to one side and eyes narrowed in rapt contemplation. A moment later, that pensive expression changed. One dark brow raised up in question, disappearing beneath wayward strands of ebony hair while one corner of that thin mouth curved up in the beginnings of a wily smirk.

Harry sputtered, blushing even hotter when Severus leaned closer, his piercing gaze growing more and more mischievous and those hungry, dark eyes now brimming with artful intrigue.

"Did you just...?" Severus began, but his words tapered off into anticipatory silence. He filled the silence with an even more probing look of blazing curiosity which seemed to drive deep into Harry, that uneven smirk maturing into a devious grin.

"No!" Harry squawked. "I didn't... honest! I... I mean, it felt like I did but..."

His meager attempt to explain the odd occurrence dwindled into another bout of awkward silence, when all at once, his conversation with Madam Pomfrey from only an hour ago returned to him, her final words of warning prompting a surprising illumination, one that offered insight to his current quandary.

It seemed not _every_ side effect associated with hypersensitive nerves was detrimental... or undesirable.

"Um... I think that curse Avery hit me with may have heightened my... um... my sensitivity to pleasure as well as pain," Harry explained, his cheeks still hot as he looked into Severus' eyes to gauge his reaction.

He wasn't sure what he expected to see within those ebony depths – surprise, anxiety... concern, maybe – but the look of absolute excitement he found there instead nearly took his recently acquired breath away.

"Is that so?" Severus drawled, his devilish smile broadening. "Hmmm... let's test this theory of yours, shall we?"

Inching closer to the tree, Severus rested his back against its wide trunk. He wrapped his arms around Harry, maneuvering him so that he was seated between Severus' long legs, his back pressed against Severus' chest.

Harry wanted to say something – more in question than in protest – but he never got the chance. Just as he turned his head to inquire about their odd position, a rush of hot breath grazed his neck, prompting him to lose all semblance of thought or inquisitive curiosity.

With slow, methodical deliberation, gentle fingertips joined those soft, sensual breaths on his neck, trailing a feather light path all the way up the long column of skin from his collarbone to just behind his ear. Then, those long fingers threaded through the strands of wavy hair at the nape of Harry's neck and pushed them aside, exposing more of his skin to the ghosted rush of warm, wet breath. Tantalizing, thin lips took the place of the loose locks, pressing soft, barely-there kisses from the base of his shoulder to the shell of his ear.

A steady flow of intense, tingling sensations surged through Harry as a result of the teasing touches, hurling him right back into that heightened state of stimulation, his body humming with desire. Pulling his lower lip into his mouth again, he chewed and worried the tender skin, his muscles shaking and his heart racing as he permitted those exquisite sensations full reign.

Severus did not lessen his sensual assault. In fact, he doubled his efforts, abandoning Harry's ear and placing his mouth to that spot below just below it. He captured the sensitive skin in between his teeth and sucked on it with earnest while he tightened his grip around Harry's waist.

By the time that skillful mouth released its dominated prize and those lips returned to his ear, Harry was a quivering mess of raw need, breathless and trembling all over.

"How do you feel, Gray?"

"Ahhh... good... so good," Harry breathed, his heavy lids falling the rest of the way over half-lidded eyes. The distrait orbs no longer sought to see as a feral heat began to pool and churn in his abdomen.

The arms around him tightened, pulling him back further into a lean body, his backside now flush against what was unmistakably a growing erection. When Severus thrust up with his hips, driving his arousal further against his trembling body, Harry couldn't help the low, needy moan that escaped his lips.

That moan acted like a sexual catalyst, spurring Severus into action. He grabbed the bottom of Harry's shirt and forced it up, yanking it over his head in one quick motion and then tossing it aside. Those slender hands were all over Harry a second later, rubbing and caressing his clenching stomach muscles and his heaving chest, skating over perspiration dampened skin. One adventurous hand traveled up to Harry's left nipple, fingertips circling the tight bud and then pinching it lightly.

The teasing caress nearly pulled another moan from Harry and he arched his back, gasping for breath again.

The hand on his chest descended, joining Severus' other hand at Harry's stomach, both sets of fingertips skimming along the exposed skin just above the waistband of his jeans. Soon, those exploring hands moved downward to Harry's thighs, rubbing the clothed muscles that were flexing and clenching beneath the thick fabric, and then up again where they stilled themselves on Harry's hipbones.

Breathless and trapped within a pleasure-induced delirium, Harry let his head fall back onto Severus' shoulder, not sure his neck could hold its weight any longer. With his eyes still clamped shut, he took a few deep breaths in an attempt to slow his thundering heart while still conscious of those eager hands gripping his sides. They were stationary, but he knew they wouldn't be for long. He was certain Severus was not yet finished testing his theory.

He was proven right a moment later when the top button of his jeans was unclasped and the zipper pulled down at a heart-stopping, slow pace.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, the realization of what was about to happen heightening his already searing desire.

"Gray... how do you feel?" Severus whispered against his ear, the words almost indiscernible amid a rush of shaky breaths.

Without waiting for an answer, slender thumbs hooked into the waistband of Harry's jeans and wrenched them down past his hips, exposing his boxer shorts to the cool night air. The front of the fabric was stretched taut, his aching member pushing up against its clothed imprisonment, darkening it with drops of pre-come.

Harry's hands were gripping the thin material of Severus' trousers, balled into tight fists on either side of the lean thighs confining him, squeezing the fabric so hard his knuckles were white. Teeth grinding together and muscles quivering with anticipation, he suppressed a desperate cry for Severus to touch him as wave after wave of orgasmic stimulation crashed into him.

Severus must have understood his desperation, for a second later those long fingers seized the waistband of Harry's boxer shorts and pushed them down, freeing his pulsing erection at last.

"Oh God! Severus... please... please..."

"You want me to touch you?" Severus breathed out, his composed, seductive tone foregone, replaced by a needy, throaty groan.

"YES! Oh God... YES!" Harry cried, too aroused right now to feel any sort of modesty at his state of undress.

"Open your eyes... I want you to watch," Severus commanded, his voice louder now, husky with desire and need.

Harry did what he was told, opening his eyes and then peering down just in time to see Severus wrap his long fingers around his erection.

Those delicate, slender fingers were powerful as they gripped Harry's engorged member at the base and slowly moved up, forcing the tender skin to gather near the tip and causing several pearly beads of pre-come to pool at the slit. Severus brought his other hand over and brushed his fingertips along the wet tip, smearing the drops there and rubbing them over the sensitive skin.

"S-S-Sev... Sev... I can't... Oh my God..."

Again, Harry's pleading words seemed to catapult Severus into further action. With one hand still gripping Harry's erection, he wrapped his other arm around Harry's waist again, heaving him up and then backwards so that he was now seated up on Severus' lap, the action also dragging his boxers halfway down his thighs. The new position caused Severus' clothed erection to rest in between his naked buttocks. As Severus rocked his hips forward and up, grinding against Harry, the rolling motion forced his hard, pulsating arousal to delve further into Harry's exposed cleft while the hand clutching his throbbing length squeezed the base again.

Harry opened his mouth in a silent cry, unable to even generate sound past his clenching throat. Those waves of pleasure were more like a torrential flood now, submerging him, immersing him in a raging storm of coital ecstasy.

Severus began to pump Harry's engorged flesh, increasing the pace every few strokes while still driving his own erection hard against Harry's backside. After a few seconds, the rhythm of both sensual actions melded, the motion of Severus' hand and his hips becoming synchronous.

The concurrent sensations were too much.

With his back arched and a sharp breath seized inside his chest, trapped in the quivering mass of taut muscles spasming with feverish expectation, an eruption of unfathomable ecstasy tore through Harry's body.

It was as if a million individual explosions of mind-blowing pleasure detonated at once. His whole body shook with massive tremors as surge after surge of sharp bliss blazed through him again and again. The ecstatic sensations invaded every part of him, flowing through his veins and tingling his skin and every single muscle and nerve with little lurches and pops of penetrable rapture.

Harry heard himself cry out, the loud volume and whimpering pitch sounding foreign to him, especially when combined with the strange buzzing noise thrumming in his ears. Bright red and yellow pulsing shapes flitted across the inside of his closed eyelids like fiery eruptions, dancing and streaming in and out of view. He clamped his eyelids more firmly together in an attempt to clear the phantom contours, but it only seemed to heighten the visionary flickers and deepen their vivid hues.

At length, the jolts of intense pleasure began to ebb and the anomalous sounds and sights engendered by his orgasm faded. Harry felt his body begin to relax in the afterglow of satiation, his head lulling back onto Severus' shoulder again as he dragged breath after deep breath of cool air into his starved lungs.

It seemed a long while before his heart slowed to a more normal pace and his perspiration damp skin cooled from its previous fiery heat, even longer before his lucid mind began to return to him. He opened his bleary, leaden eyes, blinking several times to right his focus.

The sight that greeted his clearing vision leveled the last vestiges of sluggishness from his mind, embarrassment slamming into place alongside his newly acquired awareness.

With his shirt lying discarded a few feet away to his right, all he had on were his jeans gathered around his knees, boxers a few inches higher and the trainers on his feet which, Harry noticed, were resting at the base of two deep ditches in the soil which he must have gouged out at some point with the heels. The evidence of his release was splattered across his bare thighs and his stomach as well, the warm, slick liquid cooling in the breezy night air. Severus' long fingers, which were still curled around his now softening erection were also dotted with his semen.

Feeling a hot blush suffuse his face, Harry released a long, tense breath and unclenched his fists, liberating the bunched up material of trousers he had been gripping. He eased himself off of Severus' lap, still not looking at him.

The fingers wrapped around his length remained as Harry leaned to the side to grab his wand out of his abandoned school bag. After casting two cleaning charms, the first on his own slicked skin and the second on Severus' wet fingers which he gently removed from their previous position, he took hold of the waistbands of his jeans and boxers and slid them back into place. He didn't bother to fasten the button or the zip.

Almost hesitantly, he turned around to face the boy who had reduced him to a mindless pile of pulsing pleasure and pressed his mouth to those thin lips.

They were warm and wet and the breath escaping them labored.

Harry placed a tentative hand on Severus' chest and was taken aback by the frantic beats thudding beneath his ribcage. Withdrawing from the kiss, he looked into those dark eyes, noticing that they were half-lidded and blazing with desire. Severus' entire body was trembling and his pallid skin was flushed and hot to the touch. Harry let his gaze fall downward, to the large swell of Severus' sateless erection pushing hard against the placket of his trousers.

It was only then that Harry realized Severus had yet to climax. The thought caused a ripple of renewed excitement to stir in his abdomen, his pulse speeding up again.

Whatever shyness Harry had felt a moment ago was now gone, replaced by staunch determination. As he looked into those dark, wanting eyes, his only goal was to make Severus feel as good as he had made him feel moments ago, the urge to give the boy he loved that same kind of mind-blowing pleasure overtaking all other thoughts or concerns.

"Severus," Harry whispered, leaning closer, "I want to touch you, too. Will you let me?"

A silent nod was his answer, those onyx eyes darkening even further.

Repositioning himself, Harry placed his knees on either side of Severus, straddling him, sitting back on those slender thighs. He leaned forward and claimed Severus' mouth again, making it his, biting down on that irresistible lower lip and sucking it into his mouth. With his hands gripping the sides of Severus' face to hold him in place, Harry ravaged that hot, wet mouth, driving his tongue in and out the same way Severus had done to him numerous times before.

A low moan issued from deep in Severus' throat at Harry's attentions, long arms lifting and coming around his back to pull him closer.

Not wanting to be drawn away from his endeavor, Harry denied the embrace, grabbing those bony wrists and guiding them down to hang loose at Severus' sides. He pulled away from their passionate kiss and sat back on Severus' thighs a little more, putting most of his weight on the balls of his feet. With hands that shook a little, he yanked open the top button on Severus' trousers and pulled down the zipper, revealing navy blue boxer shorts that were stretched thin as if straining to confine Severus' hard length.

Excitement flooded Harry as his fingers curled around the waistband at Severus' hips and pulled the fabric down a few inches, revealing the thick, turgid head of Severus' erection. The smooth-looking skin was a flushed, reddish color and was slicked with pre-come, several drops of the thick fluid moistening the slit and more escaping down the sides of the swollen head.

The arousing sight rekindled Harry's own quiescent desire, his half hard erection compressed against his boxers, thickening and lengthening once more, pulsing in time with his rapid heartbeats.

Driven by the need to touch Severus' swollen flesh, to feel its fiery heat against the palm of his hand, Harry tightened his grip on the boy's trousers and pulled them down, freeing that hard length at last. Without a hint of hesitation, Harry pressed his palm to the very center of the hard shaft and wrapped his fingers around its considerable girth. It was hot and damp against his calloused hand, the wet trails of seminal fluid coating the underside and making the velvety skin slick.

"Ahhh... Gray...Mmmm..."

At the flustered utterances, grey eyes flicked upwards, taking in Severus' red cheeks and open mouth. With his right hand still gripped around the base of Severus' erection, Harry inched closer and brought his left hand up to cup the back of his slender neck, fingers threading through the ebony locks. Leaning forward, he placed his lips to Severus', kissing him with tantalizing slowness, his tongue running along the edge of those thin quivering lips and his breath pushing into his parted mouth. He drew back a moment later, just enough to see the expression in those dark, lustful eyes as he squeezed the base of Severus' arousal and then lifted his hand in a slow, tight upward stroke.

"Fuck! Gray... Oh Gray... please..."

The pleading words surged through him like fire, like a wild smoldering rhapsody of need, his own erection aching and throbbing against its restraints.

"Please what?" Harry heard himself say, wondering vaguely where the hell his sexual daring had come from.

"Please... more..."

_More._

That one word pierced Harry's mind like a well-cast _Legilimens,_ latching onto its associated memory and propelling it to the forefront of his mind in a flash of sweet reminiscence, images of their first intimate moment together bursting into view...

That sensual kiss in the torrential rain... their drenched bodies clinging to one another... Severus thrusting against him, that hard erection grinding against his own again and again and again... and then the exquisite feeling of Severus' body on top of him, pushing him down, making him come...

Spurred on by the memory, Harry removed both of his hands from Severus and climbed off of his thighs. He ignored the desperate groan that met his ears and grabbed the waistband of his own jeans and boxers, shoving them all the way down past his trainers which he yanked off in frustration. He crawled back to Severus, resuming his previous position and straddling him once again. Only after he lowered his naked body to Severus' exposed lap and pressed their hard erections together, did Harry allow himself to look into those dark eyes.

A deep, burning hunger shone through those pools of black, penetrating Harry with a look of blazing intensity. His lips were parted in a silent cry, the muscles lining his jaw slack.

Shaking with desire, Harry placed his palms flat against that hard jaw, his fingers curving around the back of Severus' slender neck. Bringing his lips to within a hair's breadth away from Severus', he brushed a mere whisper of a kiss to the soft skin. Their eyes were locked as they inhaled each other's warm, labored breaths, their lips barely touching as silent anticipation engulfed them.

Unable to hold back any longer, his own arousal raging like a tempestuous storm, Harry pushed his hips forward causing their erections to grind together.

"Oh... Gray... I... I'm so close..." Severus whispered amid shallow, quickening breaths.

Harry thrust forward again... then again... and again.

Severus' hands, which were balled into tight fists at his side, now came up to Harry's hips, his thumbs delving into Harry's jutting hipbones while his long fingers splayed themselves on either sides of Harry's ass, squeezing and clenching the soft skin and coaxing their bodies closer together.

Again, Harry rocked his hips, pressing down and then driving forward.

Severus' grip tightened in response, his head lolling back onto the tree while a throaty breath escaped his open mouth. That long, lean body was shaking now, the lithe muscles in his legs constricting and flexing beneath Harry, preluding his rapidly approaching release.

Wanting to push Severus to that exquisite brink even faster, Harry drove their lips together again, taking possession of that lower lip and then plunging his tongue into that ready mouth. Then he bucked his hips one last time, their rigid lengths sliding together in a single, wet, hard thrust.

"Ahhhh! FUCK!" Severus screamed. His head dropped back, body curving upwards and fingernails digging into the skin of Harry's backside as he trembled through his orgasm.

Hot, thick streams of semen erupted from Severus' pulsating erection, splattering onto both of their stomachs and coating Harry's throbbing length with wet warmth. The intense, erotic sensation triggered wave after wave of mind-numbing ecstasy to crash over Harry. Squeezing his eyes shut and throwing back his head, Harry circled his hips – once, twice, three times. The intoxicating feel of hard, wet and aroused flesh sliding together only intensified the tight heat coiling and building in his abdomen, his pleasure skyrocketing and his consciousness slipping into mindless oblivion.

"Oh... Oh God..." Harry breathed, his whole body stiffening. He was right back on that edge again... so close... so damned close...

Long fingers gripped Harry's shoulders and pulled him down. A second later, a strong tongue was invading his mouth, pushing in and out with fierce intensity.

The mimicking sexual act pushed Harry over that edge. His orgasm, just as intense as the last one, raced through him with ferocity. He clung to Severus through the intense eruptions of sensation, his hips still bucking as he rode wave after wave of sharp pleasure. Little white spots exploded in his field of vision this time, pulsing and flaring while that odd humming sound buzzed in his ears again.

When Harry opened his eyes at length, it was to a shroud of darkness flecked with sporadic pops of luminescence. He closed them again, suddenly feeling dizzy. Lightheaded... and disoriented... and...

"Gray... GRAY! Answer me!"

"Wh-what? What… what happened?"

Sprawled out on his back, Harry could feel the cushion of soft grass beneath him and the brush of cool air on his damp skin. Warm fingers were raking through his hair, a calloused thumb stroking his cheek. Harry blinked, his eyes slow to focus as those shadowy edges girding his vision began to fall away.

"Look at me."

Harry squinted, forcing his focal point closer until at last, worried, dark eyes shimmered into view.

"Severus? What just happened?"

"You blacked out," Severus answered, a faint quiver to his voice. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have instigated this. You're not well enough–"

"I am! Severus, I'm fine. Really," Harry interrupted, propping himself up on his elbows and pushing himself up to a seated position. His dizziness had abated now and his vision was once again crystal clear. He reached out to Severus, encircling his arms around those slender shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. With his lips pressed to the curve of Severus' neck, he breathed in the scent of his love and feathered reassuring kisses along the warm, damp skin.

"I thought I was going to have levitate you to the Hospital Wing," Severus murmured, "and what a sight that would have been... you, floating along, naked and covered in our collective carnal remains."

Harry blushed and chuckled against the hollow of Severus' neck, the image too ridiculous to disregard.

"Seriously, Severus. I feel fine now. I guess I just exerted myself a bit too much there at the end. But..." Harry added, his face tinged with heat again as he pulled away to look into those dark eyes, "it was amazing... feeling you against me..."

Severus brought a hand back up to Harry's cheek, fingertips sliding along the warm skin and disappearing within strands of wavy hair. Those ebony eyes were piercing as they gazed into grey ones, emanating a vast depth of emotion and a profusion of pure, abiding affection.

Harry's heart stuttered in his chest as he looked into those soulful depths, his breath hitching, held captive in his lungs. The love inside him swelled with impatience, restless in its need to be acknowledged. The words of avowal played about his lips, rumbling in his throat and dancing on his tongue, yearning to be voiced.

_I love you, Severus. Oh God... I love you so much. I don't want to leave you..._

His unspoken words disintegrated in his throat and on his lips where they burned like the dying embers of a cooling fire, his heart clenching with love and guilt unrevealed as his mind refused their deliverance.

Oblivious to Harry's silent anguish, Severus closed the gap between them, dark lashes brushing against pale skin as tenebrous orbs disappeared beneath their lids. Then those thin lips were pressed to Harry's, moving with deliberate slowness in a soft, gentle kiss.

"You, Gray Skye," the whispered words bringing a rush of warm air against Harry's lips, "will undoubtedly be my undoing."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

"Surely you're not nervous about this one, Gray. You're brilliant at Defense."

It was just after lunch, Monday afternoon.

Harry and Severus were seated on the stone floor of the Entrance Hall with the rest of the seventh-year Defense Against The Dark Arts students, books open on laps and wands raised in a flurry of last minute spell practice. All were anxiously awaiting the muffled groan of the Great Hall's ancient oak doors being pushed forward, the low reverberation indicative of another four test-takers being summoned.

Though the reason behind their classmates' unease was obvious, Severus was mistaken in assuming that Harry's anxiety was of a similar nature. The prospect of their first NEWT exam of the week was not the source of Harry's consternation – not by a long shot. With fewer than six days remaining in this time, a glowing performance on his NEWT Defense practical was far from a priority.

A moment later, the heavy doors released their audible grievance as expected, prompting more than a dozen distressed faces to snap up.

"Perez, Ella – Phillips, Liam – Potter, James – Reynolds, Rosa."

James was the first to his feet, leaping up the instant Professor McGonagall called his name. There was a steely edge to his features as he hastened his way past her and entered the Great Hall. In contrast, the two Hufflepuff girls and the Ravenclaw boy that followed him looked much more apprehensive, their wands held in white-knuckled grips at their sides and their faces ashen. When the doors swung shut behind them, the rest of the throng resumed their belated cramming, eyes glued to textbooks once again.

Harry released a strained breath. Not even the brief glimpse of his future father was enough to distract him from his encompassing dread. This panic was too profound, unremitting in its grip on his mind and heart.

And it had nothing to do with academics.

"I'm not nervous... just... just preoccupied," he offered, shoulders shrugging in an attempt at indifference.

Thin lips curved into a mischievous grin as Severus leaned closer to Harry to whisper in his ear. "Hmm, perhaps your thoughts are still lingering on the weekend's... _activities."_

The words, uttered in a seductive undertone, prompted a cool shiver to race down Harry's spine. While Severus' second attempt to pinpoint the source of his edgy demeanor was still not correct, it was at least closer to the truth. After all, their weekend together _was_ difficult to forget.

Following their intimate moment Friday night, he and Severus remained at the cottage for the rest of the weekend, only returning to the castle once early Saturday morning to nick food from the kitchens and then again that evening to shower and change clothes. The bulk of their time was spent studying, Severus fine-tuning his Mastery Potions project while Harry stared blankly at page after perplexing page of his Ancient Runes text, trying to make sense of it.

On several occasions, Harry attempted to draw Severus away from schoolwork in the hopes that they could discuss the inevitable. He had no idea what he would have said to Severus had he been successful in prying him away from his studies, but he knew they were long overdue for this conversation – a conversation where Harry finally confessed to the boy he loved that his days remaining in this time were in short supply.

Conversation, however, was not on Severus' agenda for the weekend – not with NEWTs starting on Monday. He brushed off Harry's attempts to sidetrack him again and again and instead, dedicated all his time to poring over his textbooks and notes, feverish in his attempt to soak up every last bit of knowledge before exams. When he wasn't nose deep in a book, he was bent over a steaming cauldron, one hand whisking its contents with agitated motions while the other scribbled illegible notes, all he while cursing frustrated obscenities under his breath.

With it all too clear that Severus was not up for a discussion, especially one with the potential to cause emotional devastation, Harry resigned himself to study. Or rather, he _tried_ to study. Try though he did, he was unable to concentrate on anything educational, his mind fraught with dread and uncertainty.

Instead, he passed the time sitting cross-legged on the worn couch, a book or two open in his lap while he gazed at Severus immersed in his own studies. Harry relished the look of those dark eyes narrowed in concentration, the pale, smooth skin of his brow furrowed with anxiety. He watched those elegant, skillful fingers chop and measure, stared as they curled around the binding of a textbook or rifled through pages of notes. He just couldn't help but revel in the beautiful distraction that was Severus, knowing that his opportunity to do so would soon come to an end.

Fleetingly, Harry wondered how it was possible he could have spent six whole years in a classroom with the adult Severus and never once noticed these things. Then again, he supposed the man's snide remarks and caustic taunts had served to conceal whatever lay beneath that acerbic demeanor so that no one, including Harry, would dare look deeper. The dull ache in Harry's chest as he pondered this hinted at some profound, uncharted regret, but he did his best to ignore it; he had more than enough to stress about within _this_ time without lamenting over missed opportunities during his own.

Evenings were much more enjoyable than the daytime hours as they were spent in Severus' bed. On Friday night, with the both of them still sated and exhausted from their earlier exploits, a deep, peaceful sleep overtook them almost instantly, their bodies a melding of entwined limbs and mingled breath as they held each other close in slumber.

Things got a bit more heated Saturday night. After only a few minutes of fiery kisses and eager, wandering hands, they found themselves divested of all of their clothes and were soon engaged in the same intimate act as the night before, this time with Severus controlling the pace and intensity. His strong, rhythmic thrusts had them both gasping for breath and clinging to one another, their sweat-slicked skin hot as their bodies pressed together. When Harry came, the waves of sensation were just as euphoric, just as razor-sharp in intensity as they had been out by the pond. The persistence of his lingering hypersensitivity was a little disconcerting, but Harry wasn't about to complain since the resultant heightened level of pleasure seemed to thrill Severus as much as himself.

As wonderful as his acute physical rapture had been, it was not, as Severus had just implied, responsible for Harry's current state of distraction. No, it was the _emotional_ effect from their increasing intimacy that was driving his panic to new heights and fracturing his steady focus. He had known for a while now that he was in love with Severus, but having never felt this way before and with his almost nonexistent experience with physical closeness, Harry simply had not realized how much their intimacy would deepen that fledgling love, amplify that feeling of trust and want and need that blazed inside him like the everlasting flames of Gubraithian fire.

Every time Harry's thoughts drifted back to the details of their loving acts – the feel of their woven fingers, clenching and squeezing, the rhythm of Severus' heartbeat thudding fast and hard against Harry's chest, the exquisite heat of their bodies pressed together and the look of unabashed adoration in those cavernous pools of black – Harry's heart seemed to open more. Even the sting of vulnerability was not enough to quell the insistent emotion as his love was now laid bare, raw and wild and more powerful than any sentiment preceding it.

And the truth of the matter was that the word _love_ just didn't seem strong enough or encompassing enough or _deep_ enough to describe all of what he was feeling, but somehow the word _panic_ did. For it was _panic_ that was plaguing him now.

Drowning, strangling, relentless panic.

Five days left.

Five days until he would have to leave Severus, broken and fractured, devastated and utterly alone.

Five days until he would return to his own time, a time when the adult Severus could very well be dead unless Harry could somehow inspire the opposite outcome – an outcome he hadn't done a _damned thing_ to achieve! And he was clueless... _absolutely clueless..._ as to how to go about it.

Should he research antidotes in the hopes that by some miracle, he would stumble across one that could counteract Nagini's venom? And if he were able to achieve that long shot... then what? Persuade Severus to carry some with him at all times on the off chance he would need it? The very idea sounded ridiculous and damned near impossible to implement without giving away details of the attack, an event that wouldn't even occur for another twenty years. Even if Harry _were_ successful in finding the correct anti-venom, there was still the fact that Severus' neck had been ripped open by the giant snake's massive fangs. No cure for poisonous venom could bring about the healing of fatal wounds. What could Harry possibly do _now, _two decades before the ill-fated event, that would allow Severus to survive after so much blood loss? What could he do to ensure the healing of those gruesome, gaping wounds?

_My God!_ Severus was dying in that Shack... _dying_... and Harry still remained ignorant on how to inspire a change to what was beginning to look like a foregone conclusion.

And there were only five days left.

_Five fucking days!_

"Skye, Gray – Smith, Sean – Snape, Severus – Thompson, Kelly."

"We're up," Severus commented as he got to his feet and brushed the dust off the back of his robes.

They entered the Great Hall together. Severus was ushered to the furthest corner of the room where a short, plump woman sat awaiting his arrival, while Harry was beckoned forward by the examiner directly beside her.

In an interesting twist of irony, his examiner turned out to be the same one who had evaluated him for his OWL Defense practical two years ago, Professor Tofty. The ancient wizard looked a bit less lined and frail than the last time Harry had seen him, but his voice was just as wheezy and faint.

After casting an _Immobilus_ on a cage full of mice, an _Incarcerous _on the empty chair beside Professor Tofty and then a _Diffindo_ to sever the conjured ropes, Harry was asked to cast three shield charms, each one to be stronger and larger than the last. Those final three spells were the toughest, especially since it was required that they be cast non-verbally, but Harry managed with relative ease and all in all, was pleased with his efforts.

Professor Tofty seemed satisfied as well, dismissing Harry with no further requests, while Severus and the other two were still in the midst of their own exams. Harry was just about to leave the Hall when Severus' examiner issued a request that sounded so familiar, so coincidentally recognizable, that the feeling of deja-vu alone made him whirl around and take stock.

"Professor Gazzoni tells me that you are quite adept at the Patronus Charm, Mr. Snape. He mentioned that it is one of the most impressive he has seen. Would you care to demonstrate your talent... for a bit of extra credit?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Severus' wand was raised, the incantation to the familiar spell bellowed for all to hear.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

Smiling in anticipation of seeing the huge, sweeping wings of that magnificent Chatham raven Patronus again, Harry watched with avidity as an explosion of lustrous radiance burst from the tip of Severus' ebony wand. Harry's eager grin soon morphed into an expression of stunned disbelief as he gazed at the brilliant creature that took shape amid the mass of blinding silver light. He blinked, his mouth falling open and his heart stuttering in his chest.

As the spectral avatar's form sharpened, she circled the room's occupants amid gasps of surprise and animated whispering, a shimmering wraith of dazzling luminescence trailing behind her.

Harry stared at the creature in astonishment, his eyes wide and his breath stunted. At length, he tore his gaze away from the beautiful apparition, peering up to look at her caster instead.

Those ebony eyes were as wide as Harry's, shock and uncertainty emanating from those fathomless depths while their owner stood transfixed, staring at the conjured manifestation of his inner spirit, his heart, his very soul.

Harry returned his focus to the cantering creature just as she abandoned her annular progression and approached him instead, her fluent steps purposeful as she drew ever nearer.

Heart pounding wildly against his ribcage and breath trapped in his clenching throat, Harry reached out to her, fingers outstretched. Then he placed his trembling hand on the beautiful slender head of Severus' _new_ Patronus, the soulmate complement to his stag...

The silver doe.

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Hello patient readers! Thank you SO MUCH for tolerating my lateness this time around. Life has been a bit crazy for me of late and given the length and emotional intensity of this chapter, I'm actually amazed I got the thing posted less than a week past my deadline. I do hope it was worth the wait.

**YenGirl** - thanks again for all your hard work and time invested in Beta-ing this incredibly long and intense chapter. You are my hero! :)

OK. As for an ETA for Chapter 14, I'm thinking April 30th. As always, if I am unable to meet that deadline, I will let you all know by updating my Bio.

By the way... only a few more chapters remaining before the exciting conclusion to this story. I hope you will stay with me until the end! :)

**Please Review.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen -**

**Enraptures me**

A delicate warmth met Harry's trembling fingers when he placed them upon the doe's gossamer form. Entranced by the subtle sensation, he augmented his tenuous caress, fingers now trailing an unhurried path down the creature's lissome neck causing ghostly ripples to appear in her brume-like facade.

As if impelled by the gentle contact, that nascent warmth began to intensify and expand, spreading out from the very tips of his fingers and surging through him like a wayward jolt of electricity, or the rampant flames of a rogue fire.

Harry sucked in a neglected breath and held it as the assertive sensation enveloped him, his teeth grinding together until the rush of warmth and energy ceased its emphatic progression and settled into the very core of his being. Closing his eyes and releasing his clenched breath, he focused on the feel of the doe's profound energy – her magic, her very essence – as it encircled his heart, suffusing it with an almost spiritual emotion... pure, raw, deep...

And achingly familiar.

He had been held captive by this beautiful doe's allure once before – months ago, in the Forest of Dean. Amid a veil of inky blackness, she had appeared before him, a luminescent mirage of hope among the quietus of perpetual winter. Even then, he had felt a strong, intrinsic connection with her. He remembered feeling as though this wraithlike creature existed only for him and despite the dangers, had allowed her to guide him away from the magicked protection surrounding his campsite and through the desolate night to a frozen pond where his salvation in the war against Voldemort lay in wait.

At that time, Harry had believed that the powerful familiarity he felt while in her presence had something to do with his mother. It was a reasonable leap in logic since this was a doe and his father's Patronus was a stag. Surely there was a connection although Harry had to admit to being baffled as to _who_ could have cast what he believed to be the replica of his mother's Patronus.

That little mystery was solved the night of the Final Battle. After viewing Severus' proffered memories in Dumbledore's pensieve, Harry received the answer to the question of _who,_ and he _thought_ he had been given the reasons _why_ as well...

But he hadn't.

No. In a moment of true Slytherin cunning, despite lying at death's door, Severus had managed to manipulate those memories to make it _appear_ as though Lily Evans was the love of his life. It was an act of deliberate misdirection – one that Harry had completely fallen for. That is... until he pitted those memories against the last one Severus had forced into his mind while battling for his life. Being in possession of two contrasting memories, both intimating eternal love, brought Harry more than a little confusion. That confusion, however, soon matured into understanding when he was able to witness first-hand the casting of Severus' _original_ Patronus, the Chatham raven, and learn of the details precipitating a Patronus' change of form.

It all led to one unexpected and shocking conclusion.

This current breathtaking vision of beauty and poise had nothing to do with Harry's mother. It never did. Her existence was inspired by Harry – or rather Harry masquerading as Gray Skye. She was, and always would be, the physical manifestation of her caster's undying devotion for a boy whose brief visit back in time inspired a lifetime of love.

Harry had known all of this for weeks now, knew with absolute certainty that this ultimate symbol of their love would one day reveal itself, but seeing her here, now... touching her... _feeling_ her... nearly took his breath away.

Eyes shut tight and fingers still curled around the back of the doe's slender neck, Harry opened his heart to her encompassing warmth, letting it in further, allowing it access to the innermost depths of his soul. As if awaiting his unspoken permission all along, a massive flood of intense emotion washed over him, causing his breath to hitch and his heart to speed up, his overwhelmed brain trying to cope with the torrential outpouring of sentiment and divine each separate element, finding...

Affection.

Desire.

Passion.

Devotion.

...and love.

Eternal, boundless, unwavering love.

_Severus'_ love.

"Oh God..." The shaky words were barely discernible, even to Harry's own ears.

Opening his eyes at last, he swayed where he stood, trembling with the rush of emotion permeating his heart. Hot tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, clouding his vision. When a single tear slid down his cheek and fell onto the stone floor, Harry bowed his head, watching as another drop joined the first. Then another.

With a Herculean effort, he withdrew his hand from the doe, wiped the persistent tears from his face with the sleeve of his robe and then lifted his watery gaze.

Severus was staring at him, ebony eyes radiating a profusion of apprehension and uncertainty. The look in those dark depths reminded Harry of that moment weeks ago in the Slytherin common room when Severus had spotted the feather pendant around Harry's neck. This time however, the look of tenuous insecurity was accompanied by a desperate yearning for acknowledgement and emotional requital.

All at once, Harry's mind flashed back to the only other time he had seen such utter desperation on that pale, thin face...

_Harry's bloodied fingers wrapped around the adult Severus Snape's wrist... holding it in place as a trembling thumb swept across his lower lip... cavernous black eyes... revealing a lifetime of painful regret as they gazed deeply into green ones..._

That look was one of pure anguish, and Harry had watched it dwindle and fade away, stared helplessly as it withered into a hollow, vacant expression of nothingness just before the man had succumbed to... just before he had...

_Oh God... no, no, no... NO!_

Harry tried to stop the onslaught of harrowing memories that were already streaming like vivid flashes across his mind, but he couldn't. They attacked with ferocity; each gruesome, sensory detail replaying itself with sickening clarity.

The acrid smell of blood...

The wet, gurgling sounds of labored breaths...

The feel of long fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt with desperation while their owner begged Harry to look at him.

Harry sucked in a sharp, strangled breath, once again trying to will the maelstrom of horrific visions to cease. But the incursion continued, rushing through his burdened consciousness in a prophetic tidal wave of unyielding chronology and concluding with that desperate look on Severus' face as he struggled against his own demise.

This time, however... the memory did _not_ feature the thirty-eight year old Potions professor, but the eighteen-year old Severus... _his_ Severus... looking at him with desperation… covered in blood and fighting for every breath.

A gut-wrenching cry escaped from Harry's throat, his whole body trembling violently now. Trance-like, in a fog of heart-rending shock and terror, Harry's hands drifted back up to touch his cheeks, hot and wet with his inexorable tears. Quivering fingers slid past his wet cheeks to scrape their way through strands of hair, gathering masses of the wavy locks and squeezing them into tight fists as their owner's gaze once again lifted and locked with Severus'.

Stunned beyond rational thought, Harry realized that he had spent the last few weeks worrying about two seemingly insurmountable, and in his mind, separate dilemmas concerning two unrelated people. This whole time he had been preoccupied with how to ease the inevitable pain and grief the eighteen-year old Severus would have to endure once Gray Skye departed from this time, all the while trying to figure out how to save the adult Severus Snape's life twenty years from now. Somehow, although downright illogical, Harry had managed to keep the two of them separate in his own mind, building a wall of disconnect between the boy he loved and the man fighting for his life in that Shack.

But Severus and Professor Snape _were_ the same person.

Of course they were. Harry _knew_ that. He had _always_ known that. But after seeing the doe... after witnessing with his own eyes the evidence of Severus' unwavering love for him and then _feeling_ it burn and thrive and pulse inside of him, it was as though this truth... this harsh, cruel reality... had ripped a gaping hole into that erected wall of protection, blasting it wide open. And now everything was horribly and undeniably clear.

Severus Snape... the boy... the man... the professor... _is_ and _was_ the love of Harry's life.

Worse, he was destined to die in Harry's arms.

No... _NO!_

Gasping for breath and sick to his stomach, Harry staggered back from the doe, his eyes still locked with Severus' while his fingers remained twisted around entangled clumps of matted hair.

"Gray...?" Severus breathed, his name whispered as a plea, a fearful entreaty.

A rush of bile rose in Harry's throat, burning like acid. He released his tight grip on his hair to clamp one hand over his mouth in an effort to stall the overwhelming reflex to retch. One foot shuffled backwards in another shaky, tremulous step. Then the other.

"Gray... please..."

The words were even softer now, Severus' voice cracking with strained emotion while a single tear escaped from wounded tenebrous eyes. It clung to ebony lashes for a second before sliding, unhindered down one pale cheek.

An anguished sob escaped Harry's throat as he tore his gaze away from those wounded eyes and raced from the room, his hands shoving the heavy oak doors open with bruising force in his haste to escape the visual reminder of the terror raging in his heart.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

"Ice Mice… Sugar Quills... _Come on!_… Acid Pops... Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans... _Shit!_… Chocolate Eclairs… Um… Jelly Slugs... Sherbet Lemon… Cauldron Cakes… _Fuck!_ Just… _just let me through goddamnit!"_

Panicked to the point of near hysterics and out of breath from his sprint through the castle, Harry gave up his futile spouting of Wizarding treats and bent over, hands on thighs and chest heaving. With his eyes squeezed shut, he inhaled several deep, shaky breaths to try to push past his spiraling dread... just long enough to deal with this latest maddening frustration.

Just like his first day in this time, Harry found himself outside Dumbledore's office, desperate to get in but without the proper password. Unlike the previous time however, he had zero patience for the arbitrary game of guessing the Headmaster's latest confectionery obsession, and even _less_ patience for the expression of bored indifference plastered on the gargoyle's stony visage while he rattled off his best attempts.

Overwrought, exhausted and longing for some kind of relief from his oppressive panic, Harry straightened up, pulled his wand from the pocket of his robes and with a trembling hand, pointed the thin switch of Hawthorn directly at the ill-mannered statue, hissing his next words through gritted teeth.

"Let... me... in... you cold-hearted, stone-faced bastar–"

"My dear boy, your attempt at intimidation, though impressive, is a wasted effort. I'm afraid Claudatur is not known to capitulate to threats."

Harry whirled around, his tension lessening by a fraction as his eyes fell upon the Headmaster's imposing figure standing just a few feet behind him. Releasing a breath of grateful relief, Harry lowered his wand and bought a hand up to his face, dragging it across his perspiration dampened skin and then raking it through his tousled hair before finding his voice.

"Headmaster... I… I'm sorry. I needed to see you, but... but I didn't know your password and..."

"It's quite alright, Gray. As I recall, I _did_ tell you that my door would always be open to you. Though perhaps I should have made that endeavor a bit easier for you," Dumbledore said, approaching him. Those piercing blue eyes were fixed on Harry as he drew nearer, narrowed in consternation as if assessing his state of duress. When he was standing right beside him, he spoke again, directing his words not at Harry, but at the still idle gargoyle standing sentinel in front of the spiral staircase.

"Claudatur, this is Gray Skye. In the future, he will be known as Harry Potter and will have a different appearance. Nevertheless, if he should ever be in urgent need of entry into this office, you have my permission to let him in. He need only mention my name to you... or the correct password as the case may be. Is that clear?"

At the Headmaster's direct command, the gargoyle's obstinate expression transformed into one of begrudged acquiescence, its steely eyes rolling in defiance but the grimace etched upon his chiseled visage lessening a touch. After a moment, it turned its slate-grey gaze toward Harry, looked him up and down as if memorizing his every detail, then turned back to the aged wizard and gave a forced nod.

Dumbledore's request, as well as the gargoyle's compliance to it, reminded Harry of a not so distant memory involving an eerily similar situation to his current one. Consumed by panic and grief and driven onward by sheer adrenaline, Harry had raced through Hogwarts' damaged corridors until at last he had found himself in this exact same spot, a vial full of memories clutched in his bloodied hand. When the gargoyle made its expected request for the password, Harry had shouted Dumbledore's name without even thinking, so desperate to get inside, and to his utter disbelief, was instantly granted access.

At the time, he hadn't given the odd occurrence much thought, too traumatized at having just seen the dead bodies of Fred and Remus and Tonks. Later, after viewing Severus' memories and learning of his abiding loyalty to the late Headmaster, Harry had come to the obvious conclusion that the man's password _was_ 'Dumbledore' and that Harry had simply been lucky enough to guess it. Now he realized this was not the case at all. The gargoyle – Claudatur – only let him through the guarded entry because Harry had called out Dumbledore's name, not because he had hit on the correct password.

Harry allowed himself a moment to ponder what Severus' password _had_ been, but was pulled out of his drifting thoughts when Dumbledore addressed him.

"Gray... shall we?"

The Headmaster gestured toward the circular stairwell leading to his office, Claudatur having leapt aside to grant them entry.

After a small nod of concession, Harry moved forward on shaky legs, stepping onto the platform ahead of Dumbledore. As the staircase began its ascent to the Headmaster's office, he reached out on either side of him with both hands and grasped the winding staircase's brass railing, hoping the sheer force of his tight grip would assuage his persistent trembling. He took a few deep breaths as well, trying to will his mind and body to assume a state of calm composure. Despite his efforts, his panic only seemed to multiply with each and every slow-moving upward revolution, that compressing ache in his heart intensifying and his nausea returning with a vengeance.

In a last ditch effort to gain control over his debilitating dread, Harry bit down on his lower lip and shut his eyes, inhaling another deep breath in through his nose. But the only thing he managed to do was to puncture his skin with his teeth, the coppery taste of blood pooling in his mouth exacerbating his uneasy stomach. Once again, Harry's still-present hypersensitivity caused waves of sharp pain to radiate out from the site of the self-inflicted wound, racing through every part of him and heightening his already impaired condition. Dizziness followed those surges of pain and he tightened his grip on the rail as his breathing began to shallow and pulse, his head heavy and his vision clouding.

"Gray?"

"Sir... I... I need to sit down..."

Dumbledore's arm went around Harry's waist in an instant, supporting him as they made their way out of the stairwell and into the large, familiar room. Harry's vision was tunneling and he could feel his body trembling violently now, but with the Headmaster's assistance, he managed to seat himself in one of the chairs opposite the man's desk.

"Here, Harry. Drink this."

Harry felt the cool touch of glass against his palm and his fingers instinctively closed around its smooth surface. The aged hand that placed the vial there did not recede, but encircled his limp fingers and guided the proffered potion to his lips.

As soon as the liquid hit his tongue, Harry recognized it as the potion Madam Pomfrey had given him for his pain several times last week while recovering in the Hospital Wing. Almost at once, he felt his pain ease, those sharp pulses surging through him quietening to a dull ache with just a mild stinging sensation where he had broken the skin on his lip.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry wheezed. He cleared his throat, attempting to rid himself of his hoarseness when Dumbledore's hand gripped his chin, forcing his gaze up to meet those cerulean eyes.

"That cut on your lip is not very deep. I could mend it for you... if you're agreeable, that is?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes narrowed in concern.

Harry nodded and then closed his eyes as the man drew his wand and brought it to his wound. An incantation to a healing charm was never spoken aloud, but he could feel the tingle of magic caressing his skin nevertheless, followed by a brief twinge as his wound knitted together and another tingle that he recognized as a cleaning charm.

Harry opened his eyes in time to see Dumbledore taking his seat behind his desk, a heavy sigh escaping him as he collapsed into his high-backed chair. One wrinkled hand came up to stroke his long, silvery beard in what appeared to be an absentminded gesture while blue eyes, tapered in deliberation, stared, unfocused, at a random spot on the surface of his desk. After a prolonged moment, he lifted his troubled gaze and spoke, giving his thoughts voice at last.

"Your state of anxiety leads me to believe that you doubt your ability to achieve your aim," he said, his voice soft, tentative, caution edging his hushed tone.

At the Headmaster's spot-on deduction, Harry felt the last of his restraints break. Just hearing someone else mention the possibility of his failure, as well as acknowledging his unassailable fear surrounding that possibility, seemed to release the terror ripping at his insides. Immediately, he brought his hands up to his face, his fingertips pressing hard into his forehead as he nodded his head in anguish. New tears flooded his eyes, burning them. He clamped them shut, the action forcing the persistent drops to slide down his heated cheeks and fall to his lap. His shoulders and chest shook as he folded over himself further, a strangled cry escaping his throat.

Desperate to regain his lost control, Harry pushed his fingers through his hair and forced himself to straighten up. He lifted his head, peering through a haze of tears to meet the Headmaster's worried gaze.

"I... I haven't done... anything..." he breathed, then gritted his teeth, the ache in his heart deepening as he shouted his next words in a primal cry of anguish, "NOTHING! I've done NOTHING! And he'll DIE if I don't do something to change it!"

His hands were now clenching fistfuls of his hair as he bent over again, rocking forward and backward in his chair while a wild, reckless part of him contemplated yanking all of it from his scalp in defiance of this deluded farce of a rescue mission. His unhinged thoughts intensified as he allowed that desperate part of him to consider that perhaps he was better off before... when he was just plain Harry Potter... best friend of Ron and Hermione... estranged boyfriend of Ginny... ex-student of Professor Snape, a man who hated him, yet protected him out of some sense of guilt and redemption. Yes, as horrific as his life had been, it was at least easier than this.

_Anything_ was better than the torture of knowing would happen if he were to fail...

Harry was pulled from his escalating panic by the feel of gentle hands encircling his wrists and coaxing them away from his hair. Allowing the persuasion, Harry looked up to see that the Headmaster had once again approached him and was now kneeling on the carpet in front of him.

"Harry... my dear boy..." he whispered, his tempering tone soothing and gentle, "I told you weeks ago... you are not meant to _change _the future, but to _inspire _its fated course."

"I... I know... but..."

"No, I don't think you truly do, Harry. You know, of course, that the future is set – that what is destined to occur _will_ occur. What remains elusive to you, however, is the idea that your past has _always_ been a product of Gray Skye's influence. Harry, long before you had an inkling of this venture through time, your timeline as you know it, _your past_, has been intricately woven with the threads of Gray's actions... his encounters... his decisions... his very words. Those woven threads have helped to form what you know as your past. And those woven threads will _continue_ to affect you long after you leave this time."

Harry blinked, his brain reeling from the Headmaster's nebulous explanation. He followed it – to an extent – but he still didn't understand how this was supposed to help him save Severus.

Dumbledore must have inferred his state of bafflement. He cleared his throat, stood up from his kneeling position with a grimace and then perched himself on the corner of his desk, one hand coming up to stroke his beard again.

"Perhaps it would make more sense if I explain it in different terms," he commented, his blue eyes narrowing in concentration for a brief moment before snapping up to meet Harry's once more. "Consider that Gray's touch on this world is like a miniscule pebble thrown into the very center of a vast body of water. Though small and seemingly insignificant, that pebble has a profound, sweeping and exponential impact on its environment, engendering wave after wave of energy to undulate away from its point of contact. Each one of those resultant waves carries with it its _own_ sway on the water, as well as on all the creatures who make the water their home. The water-dwelling creatures may not ever have direct knowledge of that pebble, Harry, but they will undoubtedly feel its effects. Some will be affected substantially, others infinitesimally, but all will be touched by that experience."

Harry swallowed past the dryness in his throat and lowered his head as he once again attempted to wrap his brain around the man's words. They _did_ make sense. Harry had already discovered that Gray Skye had been the reason behind, or the motivation for, many situations from his past – some of them more than a little distressing. But how could the Headmaster's allegorical elucidations help him to ensure Severus would survive Nagini's attack? Or rather, how could it shed light on how he could _inspire_ that end?

Again, Dumbledore seemed to have sensed Harry's growing frustration for he pressed on, this time with fervency.

"Harry, don't you see? We _all_ have this kind of effect on the world in which we live and the people with which we surround ourselves. At any given point we may say something... or do something... which will inevitably inspire certain events to occur in the future – a chain reaction, if you will. We _shape_ our own destiny, Harry, all of us. And we do so while remaining in a state of blissful oblivion, unaware of what awaits us along our destined path and completely ignorant of the fact that our own actions, as well as the actions of those all around us, helped to forge that path."

Dumbledore paused here, released a leaden sigh and continued, his informative discourse now taking on a more dire tone. "Unfortunately in your case, your awareness is detrimental. You know what fortunes, or rather _misfortunes_, lie in wait. So you analyze your influence, scrutinize it, anguish over what is the right thing to say or do in order to inspire the outcome you hope is a destined inevitability. But Harry... this will only succeed in driving you to madness. For you cannot _possibly_ know the exact details of _how_ you will attain your objective. It may be something you say to Severus... or a gift you give him... or an emotional exchange you share... or a combination of all these things... or none of them. You simply will not be able to know for certain until–"

"Until what? Until I go _back?_ But how can I go back without even knowing if he survived?!" Harry exclaimed, frustrated once again. This time, it was not the vagueness of the Headmaster's explanation that caused his panic to flare up, but because that explanation was finally starting to make sense.

"Do you remember the advice I imparted to you on your first day in this time?" the Headmaster asked, silencing Harry's emotional outburst.

Harry looked deeply into the blue eyes fixed upon his own. They sparkled with some unknown sentience, twinkling just as they had during Harry's time whenever the aged wizard spoke of such profound and abiding abstractions such of love or loyalty or friendship.

"Yes," Harry answered, forcing his voice to convey a calm he did not feel. "You told me to... to follow my heart."

"And have you?"

Harry drew in another deep, quavering breath, his eyes stinging again as images of those dark eyes, so filled with love and devotion came swimming into view. His mind was inundated with quick flashes of heated kisses and long, meaningful embraces... furtive glances and shy smiles... passionate, sensual moments of intimacy... and heartfelt words of undying endearment. They all blazed across his mind, filling his heart, his soul, his very being with love and warmth.

"Yes..." Harry whispered shakily, "yes... I followed my heart."

"Then perhaps your aim has already been achieved."

Harry found his brief lull of remembrance splintered by the Headmaster's hasty declaration, anger returning to him in a flash.

"Perhaps? _Perhaps!?"_ he retorted, his voice rising in volume yet again. "What the hell do you mean... _perhaps my aim has already been achieved!?_ How was it achieved? Christ! What kind of half-assed assurance is that?! How am I supposed to leave here in five days with only a 'perhaps' as confirmation of his survival!"

Harry hadn't even realized he had leaped to his feet until his chair hit the floor with a resounding crash. He did not attempt to pick it up, not even sure he possessed the strength to bend down and right it. His whole body shook with fury, though despite his hostile remarks to the Headmaster, his anger was not in reaction to the man's hollow attempt at comfort, but more due to fact that he _still_ had no idea how to save the boy he loved so deeply.

Once again, Harry lost his feeble grip on his panic as a strangled cry issued from his clenching throat. He fell to his knees, trembling hands covering his face as new tears poured from his eyes.

"I... I have to save him. I have to..." Harry anguished, his words quavering, cracking.

"You love him."

The whispered words were barely perceptible, their hushed tone giving their meaning an even greater significance.

Harry lowered his hands and lifted his gaze, his tearful grey eyes locking with those piercing blue ones that now radiated almost as much sorrow as his own.

"Y-y-yes," Harry stuttered, "I love him."

Dumbledore straightened up and knelt on the carpeted floor beside Harry once more, knees cracking protest. Ignoring the sounds of his own body's dissension, he placed an aged hand atop Harry's and spoke again.

"What happened today, Harry? What drove you to this state?"

"We just finished our NEWT Defense practical, sir. And... and... Severus' examiner requested that he cast his Patronus," Harry answered, his voice still trembling.

"Ah, yes. He does have a rather impressive one. And I believe he is the only other soul in all of Hogwarts apart from myself who can cast a magical creature Patronus. Quite astounding really."

"It's not!" Harry choked out. "It's not a magical creature... not anymore..."

Understanding seemed to infiltrate its way into those deep, penetrating pools of blue. They widened, their owner's lips parting as a small gasp was drawn in. After a moment, Dumbledore schooled his features, shock draining from his visage, replaced by an expression of tempered composure.

"What form does it take now?"

"A doe."

"And yours?"

Harry swallowed.

"A stag," he whispered.

Silence filled the room. The only sounds were the quiet murmur of light snores and the steady drone of deep, slumberous breathing from the portraits lining the office walls, undisturbed by Harry's raised voice.

Dumbledore's hand, still mantling his own, squeezed, those long frail-looking fingers sturdy as they relayed their measure of comfort.

The gesture, though not unwelcome, did nothing to ease Harry's oppressive heartache. His body shook with despair, shoulders quivering as the reality of his plight pressed down on him hard. Truth swept through him like physical pain, eclipsing what remained of the hope that had once blazed within him.

"And I left him there in the Great Hall..." he sobbed, his words a tremulous rush of ragged breaths. "I touched her... the doe... and his love for me flowed into me. It became part of me and I felt him... I felt his love. It was so strong, so endless... and then I just left... like a damned coward I LEFT HIM!"

His anguished outburst reverberated throughout the circular room, demolishing the quietude and fostering a ubiquitous tension to linger in the air. Then a dulcet chirr flooded the room. The lyrical trill permeated every nook and space of the room, its glorious hopeful song filling Harry's wounded heart, strengthening it.

Harry looked up just as Fawkes approached him, extending its graceful vermilion wings as if to perch on his arm. Obliging the magnificent creature, Harry reached out with both arms, one hand coming up to stroke its crimson and gold plumage as it landed. He continued to caress the phoenix, allowing himself to be lulled by its entrancing song, when out of nowhere, his mind ground to a dizzying halt.

"Fawkes..." he whispered, his head snapping up once his stunned mind began to latch on to the glorious idea formulating within it. He jumped to his feet in a flash causing the crimson bird who had inspired his postulation to release its grip on his arm and fly back to its perch with a startled squawk. Harry watched it land before spinning around to eye the Headmaster again, seeking the man's validation.

"Fawkes! That's it, sir! My God… why didn't I think of this sooner?! Phoenix tears! They have healing properties! I just need to make sure Severus always carries a vial of phoenix tears with him and..."

Harry's zealous words were cut off, dying in his throat when he saw the look of profound sorrow etched on Dumbledore's face, his eyes gazing downward and his lips pressed together as the man shook his head in the negative.

"Wh–what? Why are you shaking your head? It can work... it _will_ work! I _know_ it will work because _I've_ been healed by phoenix tears before. Professor, it was even the same _kind_ of fatal wound... a deep gash from a huge, poisonous snake! All it took was a couple of Fawkes' tears and I was healed in a matter of seconds. It will work for Severus, too!"

"No, Harry. I don't think so."

"Why not?!" Harry shouted, suddenly furious at the disheartened look on that aged face.

"Phoenix tears, as a stored substance, do have healing properties, yes," Dumbledore explained as he followed Harry's lead and lifted himself off the floor, a pinched expression on his weary face as he stood up at a slow pace, "but those healing properties are not nearly as strong as when they are in their purest form – that is to say – as when they are emitted directly from the eyes of a phoenix. Their true healing magic comes from the bird, Harry, not from the tears themselves. Some of this intrinsic magic does linger within the tears, which is why phoenix tears are such a vital ingredient in many healing potions, but that small quantity of preserved magic is simply not enough to save someone from a fatal wound."

"Then… then Fawkes can do it himself!" Harry countered, not wiling to let go of the first real hope he had stumbled upon. "Severus just... just has to figure out how to summon Fawkes and–"

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I don't think that is possible either. You told me weeks ago that I do not survive this war. Am I correct in assuming that my death occurred long before the incident with Severus, months before or perhaps years?"

"Oh... um, y-yes, but why would that make a diff–"

"It makes a difference because too much time will have passed," Dumbledore interjected. "A phoenix mourns his master by cutting himself off from his master's former life, by vanishing from it... never to return. If Severus' attack had taken place directly following my own demise, then perhaps Fawkes would feel compelled to go to him, but not after such an extended stretch of time. It would be an extraordinarily uncommon act on the part of a phoenix."

"Uncommon..." Harry repeated, grasping onto the open-ended word like a lifeline as he continued to defend his desperate theory. "It may be uncommon, but that... that doesn't mean it's impossible! Professor, you told me on my first day here that a phoenix's greatest magical talent is its capability to understand a person whose intentions come from love and loyalty – an understanding that drives it to answer that person's call for help. You also told me that _my_ ability to evoke that kind of reaction in Fawkes is unusually strong. That has to be true because he comes to me now, not just to heal a physical injury, but also when I am in need of comfort. Don't you see? He _does_ understand me and my heart. So... wouldn't it stand to reason that even though you've already passed on, Fawkes might return to heal Severus – not so much because of Severus' loyalty to you, but because of his loyalty to _me_?"

Doleful, blue eyes once again cast their gaze downward, averting Harry's hopeful ones as their owner took several measured breaths, his lips compressed together and his long fingers intertwined. It was clear he was considering Harry's hypothesis.

After a long, protracted pause, the elderly wizard's eyes returned to Harry's and he spoke, his tone chary, cautious.

"I will admit... your theory has merit. Fawkes _has_ shown a prodigious amount of regard and affection for you. However, this theory of yours could only come to fruition if there were a change in allegiance and for that to occur, Fawkes would have to choose _you_ as his new master, and thus shift all his loyalty to you in my stead. The problem with this idea is that as far as I know, and my knowledge on the species is quite extensive, a situation such as this has never happened before. Phoenixes, Harry... are well known for only ever taking one master."

"Well, maybe Fawkes is different. Maybe there's more to the species than what is currently known... or maybe some of their behaviors are just... just misunderstood," Harry proposed. He knew he was grasping at straws now but he just wasn't ready to give up hope – not when Severus' life was on the line.

The Headmaster released a heavy sigh as he turned away from Harry, walking the short distance around to the back of his desk. He reached out and pulled open the topmost drawer, extracting a vial containing a deep blue potion from its depths before straightening back up and handing it to Harry.

"It's a mild calming draught," he stated at seeing Harry's perplexed look. "I suggest that you take it and then find Severus. You would also do well to push this idea of Fawkes healing Severus from your mind and instead, spend what time you have left with the boy you love."

"But Headmaster–"

"I understand your urgency, Harry, and your desperation. I truly do. But even if your theory regarding Fawkes is correct, you simply have no control in the matter. Phoenixes are not like owls. One does not step foot into a Wizarding pet shop and pick out a phoenix to be one's familiar. They are highly complex and emotive creatures with their own instinctive rules that govern their actions and their choices. Much like a wand, the phoenix chooses the wizard and not the other way around, I'm afraid."

Harry's gaze drifted over to the scarlet bird who was now cleaning the feathers of one wing by nipping at them with its golden beak, seemingly oblivious to the conversation going on around it. In sharp contrast to how solicitous he was a few minutes ago, the phoenix never once looked up at Harry in acknowledgement, as if giving credence to his master's words.

Turning away from Fawkes, Harry glanced down at the cobalt blue potion in his hand and then placed it in the front pocket of his robes, resigned to take it only if absolutely necessary. He didn't want his emotions deadened or diminished in any way. Though very much unwelcome before, he now _wanted_ to feel this panic, this grave intensity, this biting ache of dreaded uncertainty. His panic may cause him additional distress, but it had its benefits. It had brought him here... to this office... to Fawkes... and despite the Headmaster's words to the contrary, Harry remained convinced that there was more to this idea of salvation being given as a tribute to love and loyalty – _much __more_.

After all, a wise man had once told Harry that help would always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.

Harry just had to figure out the right question to ask.

"Thank you, Headmaster," he said, nodding in appreciation for the potion, as well as the advice.

Turning around, Harry snatched up his chair from its overturned position on the floor and stood it upright. Then, with only a fleeting glance into those piercing blue eyes whose depths, oddly enough, now radiated a touch of contentment, Harry traversed the room and exited the office.

Just as he stepped foot onto the moving platform, a faint, soulful warble met his ears, soothing those painful pangs in his heart and filling his soul with an enduring fortitude. Although the phoenix song grew fainter with each downward revolution, Harry's steadfast resolve remained and as he stepped off the magicked stairwell, past a bored-looking Claudatur and out into the seventh-floor corridor, he was more determined than ever to find the key to that promised help...

...all thoughts of insignificant pebbles and their exponential waves of influence wiped clean from his mind.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

"Young man, have you even heard a word I've said? Young man!"

"Wh-what?" Harry stammered. Startled, he shot up from his slumped over position, blinking several times to clear the sleep from his eyes. His hands came up to his face, fingers groping for the frames of his glasses in order to adjust them, before his fuzzy brain became lucid enough to decipher where he was... or rather _who_ and _in what time_ he was now in.

"I have just finished announcing that the library will be closing in five minutes, but obviously you find it of greater import to snooze over your books rather than to listen to my notification, Mr..."

"Skye... Gray Skye, Ma'am," he answered, fumbling with the open book in his lap that was now threatening to fall from its place of rest. He secured his grip on the heavy tome and then straightened up further, eyes snapping up to see a very irate and much younger looking Madam Pince staring down at him.

Harry wasn't sure, but he thought she might be only a few years out of school herself. She was just as thin as in his time, with skin that looked as though it had never seen the sun and bone-straight hair pulled back in a severe bun, but her eyes radiated a youthful gleam and her face was unlined save the deep furrow between her eyebrows. Her younger appearance had no bearing on her irascible demeanor however, as she continued to glare at him through slitted eyes.

"Well, Mr. Skye," she continued, "since it is nearly curfew and considering you seem to be succumbing to fits of uncontrolled narcolepsy in my library, I would suggest that you gather your books and head straight for your dormitory. And do wipe the drool off that book before you go, Mr. Skye, or you will be forking over the galleons to pay for it."

After gifting him with one last glowering expression, chin lifted and lips pursed, she whipped around and stalked off toward the front of the library.

Harry looked down at the open book resting on his thighs, his eyes scanning its timeworn, yellowing pages. Much to his chagrin, there was indeed a small puddle of saliva on the top of the left page, an embarrassing consequence of his unplanned bout of sleep. With the heel of his left hand, he wiped the unwelcome fluid away, smearing it into the parched, brittle paper. He halted his efforts when his eyes fell upon the scripted title of the chapter he had just started reading before nodding off:_ Of Love and Loyalty: A Study Of Phoenix Motivation._

Sighing, Harry placed the heavy book on top of the table, marking his place with his wand while he bent down to rummage through his schoolbag. After sifting through his stockpile of quill nibs, ink bottles and rolls of parchment, he finally located the one item that would facilitate that which he needed most right now – a limitless extension to his research time.

Harry pulled the book back onto his lap and after a quick glance around to make certain no one was watching, threw his invisibility cloak over himself – chair, book and all. Now undetectable to all prying eyes, especially those of short-tempered librarians, he settled back into his previous position, his body hunkered over the massive tome as his weary eyes struggled to read the convoluted verbiage below that scripted title by the subdued light from his wand, squinting and blinking several times to shake off his exhaustion.

He got all the way to the middle of the next page before realizing he hadn't taken in a single word, his saturated mind far too depleted to retain any more information – especially information as verbose and abstract as this was. He supposed his wavering concentration was to be expected since he'd been at this for hours.

Following his stressful meeting with the Headmaster, Harry had gone straight down to his dorm to retrieve his schoolbag since he had not taken it with him for his NEWT Defense exam. Grateful to find the seventh-year Slytherin dormitory empty – he was not yet ready to face Severus – he grabbed his bag from the top of his trunk and then made quick work of cramming his invisibility cloak inside of it, as well as anything he might need for a long night of research.

He'd made it back to library in ten minutes flat, which he was almost certain had to be some kind of record. Panting and pinching at the stitch in his side from his sprint, Harry strode to the Care of Magical Creatures section, yanking every single book about phoenixes from the shelves and then setting up camp at an empty table in the far back corner of the library.

That was over seven hours ago.

Since then, he had looked through dozens of books, skimming page after page of long-winded, confusing interpretations and ambiguous theories. Each one seemed to deepen his bewilderment and escalate his frustration as the details about this particular species of magical bird more often than not, seemed to differ from book to book. It was apparent, if the conflicting accounts were anything to go by, that the motivation behind the phoenix's enigmatic behavior had bemused Wizarding scholars for centuries.

The one thing that all the books agreed on however, was that phoenixes only ever aligned themselves with one master during their life span, if they even took a master at all. If a phoenix _did_ choose a master, it was for life – literally.

_One master and one familiar embarking upon an unwavering and perennial allegiance that could only be pulled asunder by the tragic finality of death..._

At least that's how it was described in_ The Enduring Viability Of The Phoenix_ or was it _Phoenix Tears: Elusory Magic_? Harry wasn't sure as they were all beginning to blend together inside his exhausted brain. All he knew for certain was that every time he read a passage alluding to this well-established phoenix fact, he was tempted to chuck the offending tome across the room, his frustration rising with each well-reasoned, documented and foot-noted entry he read.

When he left Dumbledore's office earlier in the afternoon, Harry had been so sure, so _damned certain_ of the possibility of Fawkes transferring his loyalty from the Headmaster to himself after the former's death, yet everything he found in these books contradicted that idea. Adding to his frustration was the disheartening fact that Fawkes had never once appeared to him during the year following that tragic event. Still, his gut was telling him that there was more than just 'loyalty to the Headmaster' at play every time Fawkes came to him in the past. He couldn't seem to shake the notion that this timeless connection he had forged with the phoenix signified the foreshadowing of a stronger bond... like that of a familiar and master.

Even Dumbledore had alluded to the uncommon nature of Harry's influence over Fawkes. He had commented on how rare it was that Harry was able to evoke that type of loyalty from his phoenix, even going so far as to say that Fawkes was scarcely, if ever, influenced by anyone other than the Headmaster himself.

Surely any skeptic, including the know-it-all writers of those books, would disagree with his suspicions, dismissing Fawkes' excessive devotion as just a natural consequence of Harry's unwavering allegiance to the Headmaster. Harry knew that Hermione, for one, would agree with that assessment. He could almost hear his friend's pragmatic voice in his head insisting that he was reading too much into things, that Fawkes was simply swayed by Harry's abiding loyalty to the man who had been like a grandfather to him for years. But Harry knew in his heart that this explanation didn't exactly hold water. In truth, he could think of more than a few times during his own timeline, as well as one or two during this one, when his devotion to the Headmaster was shaky at best. Yet Fawkes still came to him – before, during and after these occurrences – almost as if acting upon a _different_ basis of loyalty, a _different_ truth.

These inconsistencies... these rare incidents of disproportionate magical evocation... they _had_ to be significant! They had to _mean something!_

And _this_ is why he was _still_ here in this library poring over book upon book of tedious verbiage, desperate to find the one passage that would elucidate a deeper understanding. Hour after hour, he pushed past his oppressive exhaustion, deep anxiety and gnawing hunger, frantic to locate some scrap of knowledge that could validate his theory. Because if he _was_ correct, and Fawkes _was_ destined to become his familiar in the future, then the key to Severus' survival was truly within his grasp.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying for what seemed like the hundredth time tonight to force his thoughts away from Severus. Despite the fact that the research he sought was meant to ensure his love's survival in the future, Harry very much wanted to avoid thinking of him at present. He had to maintain his focus; Severus' life depended on it.

Try though he might, he could not stop the image of those ebony eyes, so filled with anguish and uncertainty, from flashing across his mind. He was certain that the wounded look in those tearful depths would forever haunt him – vulnerable black flecked with the phantom white flickers from the doe's luminescence, the reflective glisters dancing like spirited flames within the desolate pitch of stricken midnight. The image was burned into his mind, as was the sound of Severus' voice as he pleaded with Harry for his understanding, for his acceptance, for his requital after casting the manifestation of their timeless, soulful love.

Several times over the last seven hours, Harry had come close to abandoning his obsessive search, his desire to go to Severus and beg for forgiveness becoming harder and harder to disregard. He wanted nothing more than to just leave all these damned useless tomes and run to him, wrap his arms around those slender shoulders and chase away the boy's every fear and uncertainty with the warmth of his touch and the sincerity of his words. For every fiber of Harry's being was urging him to tell Severus what he had been yearning to say for weeks now – that he loved him, more completely and unconditionally than he had ever thought possible... that his love for Severus was eternal, enduring, and that nothing… _nothing_… not the irrevocable passing of time nor the looming threat of death… _nothing_… could ever weaken this intense feeling blazing within the depths of his heart… his spirit… his very soul.

He wanted more than anything to go to Severus and say all these things, but he couldn't. Not yet. He just couldn't face him knowing he had yet to find a way to save him from imminent death.

_The last enemy that shall be conquered is death._

Those disturbing words drifted like broken fragments of old memories across Harry's consciousness, but he refused to reflect on them. Shaking his head to sharpen his frayed focus, he inhaled another deep, fortifying breath, then began paging further ahead in his book with renewed determination, eyes alert for anything of merit. He ceased his feverish rifling when he noticed a chapter entitled _A Phoenix's Choice: Master Of The Cyclical Soul_, the word master grabbing his attention at once.

"Cyclical soul? What is that supposed to mean?" he questioned aloud, his eyes narrowing as they descended the page. They halted their progression when another passage of interest jumped out at him. Trying to temper the burst of energy and excitement that was now surging through him, his heartbeat quickening and his grip on the book tightening, Harry read the pertinent words with haste.

_'As if motivated by its own pendular existence, the phoenix, when searching for a master, will only consider a witch or wizard whose soul evinces or replicates the cyclic phenomenon known as Anima Revocatas. Latin for soul reversal, Anima Revocatas is a term that describes the process a soul undergoes during an acute behavioral and emotive peregrination that is fundamentally based on a transformation of that soul's indoctrinated creed from one extreme to its polar opposite. This transformation must then come to its natural annular fruition, or rather, the soul must revert back to its original creed, thus closing the circle. This final and most decisive step, the closing of the circle, must be engendered by a profound, limitless and inexorable love and furthermore, must coincide with an act of immeasurable, altruistic sacrifice. Only under these specific circumstances will a phoenix be swayed to take on a master. Since Anima Revocatas is an exceedingly rare occurrence, it is understandable why Wizarding scholars throughout history have maintained the collective belief that a phoenix will only serve one master during its regenerative lifetime. However, logic dictates that if a phoenix happens upon two such souls, the second one having been discovered following the demise of the first, it is conceivable that said phoenix could align itself with this second soul and form a new master/familiar bond. Unfortunately, an occurrence such as this has yet to be substantiated and therefore, must remain as conjecture.'_

Harry read and re-read the paragraph several times, the verbose language difficult to absorb and comprehend. Even after his sixth time reading it, he remained in a state of frustrated bewilderment.

"Acute behavioral and emotive peregrination? A transformation of the soul's indoctrinated creed?!" he parroted. "What the bloody hell does that even mean?"

He looked down at the last two lines of the paragraph once more, reading it slowly and with careful consideration. It was what he was searching for, he finally realized, a verification that his theory was at least considered plausible by someone in the know. Though, regardless of this godsend, he could not help but be distressed by the lines preceding the supporting postulate. He would freely admit that a lot of what was written there was a bit over his head, but try though he did to make this _Anima Revocatas_ apply to himself, he just couldn't. He was no stranger to altruistic sacrifice and his feelings for Severus certainly counted as profound, limitless and inexorable, but the idea of an acute behavioral and emotive peregrination and the concept of his soul's creed undergoing some massive adjustment just didn't sound like him.

After gathering every book he could locate on soul magic and sacrifice, Harry returned to his seat with another towering stack – not bothering with the cloak this time as Madam Pince had gone off to her own quarters. He relit his wand with another _Lumos_ and then grabbed the topmost book, determined to gain a more thorough understanding of the daunting sounding process of soul reversal. Despite the sinking feeling in his hollow stomach and the intensifying ache in his heart, he was not yet willing to give up hope.

His impassioned resolve did not last long, however, as halfway through the first chapter of _Sorcery Of The Soul_, exhaustion won out once again and sleep claimed him, numbing his stricken mind and propelling him into a restive, fitful slumber.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

Harry was swimming again...

Cool waves streaming past him as he pushed himself through the water's crystal clear depths.

A flash of deepest red caught Harry's eye... the image distorted, oscillating eerily beneath the water's rippling facade. It beckoned to him and he dove with arms outstretched... fingers extended in anticipation… reaching and stretching… groping in desperation... until at last, they closed around their coveted prize.

Desperate to breathe, his lungs searing, Harry darted up like a shot... his toes digging into the soft silt mantling the water's bed as he pushed off toward the heavens… arms reaching above him… face turned skyward. He sucked in a gulp of much needed air as he breached the water's surface... his right hand grasping the jagged edge of the dock for purchase while his left raised his crimson trophy in triumph.

Albus Dumbledore sat cross-legged on the dock wearing robes of plain, midnight black. He reached out a wrinkled hand and extracted the elusive object from Harry's sodden grip... holding it up so that its form could now be discerned.

"A feather?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Yes, Harry. Though it is not yours. It never was… and never shall be…"

"No! I need it! I _need_ it to be mine!" Harry cried, sudden panic gripping him.

"My dear boy, when have you ever experienced a monumental reversal in your fundamental beliefs? When has your view of this world ever undergone a drastic shift... a shift fueled by feelings of bitter resentment and devastating loss… a shift that corrects itself only through love and sacrifice, coming full-circle? When, Harry, has it _ever_ been less than second nature for you to follow the righteous path? No... no, I'm afraid the feather stays with me… for now."

"But… but it called to me! I feel connected to it... that must count for something!"

"I wonder…" Dumbledore mused, his cerulean gaze drifting off to stare, unfocused, at the fringe of trees at the water's bank, "I wonder if perhaps he felt that connection as well. I daresay there was never time to ask him."

"Him?"

"Gellert," Dumbledore whispered, his eyes radiating pain, guilt, deep regret.

"Grindlewald? I… I don't understand..."

"Gellert… my inexorable love… my immeasurable sacrifice…"

"Sir, please…" Harry pleaded, disregarding the man's trance-like muttering as his eyes fell upon the red feather in that aged hand, "please… let me have it… please… I can save Severus if it's mine… I have to save him…"

The Headmaster's focus remained transfixed on the towering trees, vacant blue eyes peering blankly into the forest's depths, his expression pinched, sorrowful, full of anguish.

Blinded by his own panic, Harry reached up with his still dripping hand and snatched the object he so desperately needed, wet fingers closing around the crimson quill…. but it suddenly felt wrong in his hand… hard, cold, unyielding. He opened his hand and glanced down at his palm. There was no feather, only the glint of reflective metal… and a bright gold ring…

"No beginning and no end, yet intuitive of the journey there… and back again…" Dumbledore mumbled, still staring off into the distance.

Harry curled his fingers around the cold metal… claiming it as his own… but it changed again.

Brilliant metal liquified in his hand… the gold hue morphing back into a deep, vermilion red. It spread out on his palm and threaded his fingers… blood… dripping… spreading out across his skin… befouling it…

"No…"

Panicked, Harry plunged his bloodied hand into the water, his other joining it, fingernails scratching at his skin to remove the vile substance. He lifted them… holding both up to his face with fingers splayed... only to find more blood… covering both hands and all his fingers… caked under his nails… running down his arms…

"No… No… _NO!"_

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

"NO!"

Harry jumped up with a start, wide-eyed and staggering backward, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. His whole body was trembling and his breaths were coming out in quick, shallow pulses, his skin drenched with sweat. He looked down at his shaking arms, noticing that the skin was scratched open and bleeding. There were several long, red indentations running the length of each arm where his fingernails must have scraped and scoured in his sleep, desperate to remove the phantom blood.

_So much blood..._

Closing his eyes and lowering his head, he lifted a trembling hand and placed it on his chest, feeling the frantic heartbeat beneath his ribcage and the rapid rise and fall from his erratic breathing. He tried to calm the pace of both, attempting to pull his thoughts away from the disturbing dream, as well as the terror inspired by it, but it was to no avail. Fragmented images from the dream returned to him in vivid detail, blazing across his mind with relentless intensity... the feather of red, the Headmaster in black and the ring of gold.

_And the blood... God! There was so much blood!_

Harry opened his eyes once more, his gaze falling first to his wand lying beside the massive stack of books on the table, then moving downward to the book lying open near his upturned chair, partially covered by the bunched up silvery material of his fallen cloak. His quivering fingers reached for his wand, gripping it with force. Taking comfort in its familiar warmth, he pointed it at his cloak and whispered a summoning charm, certain he hadn't the strength to bend down to retrieve it without magic. While stuffing the cloak back into his bag, Harry forced himself to disregard the symbolic images and meaningful words from his dream, despite his growing suspicion of their prophetic nature, because quite frankly, he was done.

Done with the fear and confusion and the crippling panic.

Done with the desperate search for elusive answers, rifling through page after page of conflicting theories and complex postulations.

He was exhausted – mentally, physically and emotionally – probably more so than ever before. A half lucid part of his mind realized that he had simply reached the end of his tether, his body grown numb and shutting down on itself. He knew he needed rest from the unrelenting whirlwind of his tormenting thoughts. He needed calm and peace.

But most of all... he needed Severus.

Without sparing a thought to how late it was or who might be patrolling the halls at this time, Harry threw the strap of his bag over his shoulder and ran – out of the library and through the empty, darkened corridors and desolate flights of stairs that led to the front of the castle. He slowed his frantic pace only when he neared the Entrance Hall, just enough to enable him to pull the Elder wand from the depths of his bag and cast a well-aimed _Alohomora_ at the castle's locked doors.

After that, he quickened his frantic run, his breathing ragged and labored as he sped across the wide open grounds and into the forest. His feet stumbled and staggered as he dashed through the almost impenetrable darkness amid the looming trees, dodging their jutting branches and tripping over their gnarled roots protruding from the ground.

As soon as he neared the aged oak marking the passage to the cottage's secreted grounds, the cobblestone path emerged before him, as if divining his approach. Though startled by the odd occurrence, Harry did not slow down. He rushed along the stone path toward to the cottage at full speed, sparing only a second to ponder why his admittance did not seem to require his usual intense reflection on Severus.

Then again... at this point... he could think of nothing _but_ Severus.

Only when he reached the cottage's high-arched doorway did he halt his manic sprint, feeling lightheaded and wobbly, his lungs burning and his muscles cramping. He bent over, hands coming down to massage the tightness in his legs and the stitch in both sides while he tried to catch his breath.

Despite his now idle position, his mind continued to race, the disturbing images from his dream and those complex derivations about phoenixes refusing to fade from his thoughts, a perpetual reminder of his ever-present panic. But none of it – _none of it_ – was as debilitating as the fear of walking through that door and confronting Severus after he had done.

_I left him! Oh God, how could I have left him?!_

A choked sob escaped Harry's throat as he reflected back on those moments in the Great Hall. There was no sugarcoating it – he had abandoned the boy he loved, had run off and left Severus to wallow in his own heartbreak and desolation, and only moments after he had conjured the magicked embodiment of their love for the first time.

Harry's heart clenched painfully in his chest just recalling the vulnerable look in those ebony eyes as he had turned to leave, tearful pools of black filled with uncertainty and glistening with tears.

_Severus will never be able to forgive me. I've lost him... I know I've lost him!_

Pushing past his guilt and anxiety, Harry placed his hand on the brass doorknob and turned it, pushing the door open slowly. At once, his eyes were drawn to a faint illumination in the far corner of the room near the bed where a single candle flickered against the encompassing dark.

Harry took a few tentative steps forward, letting his school bag slide from his shoulder. It hit the hardwood with a reverberating thump, but he paid it no mind, trudging onward with shaky legs. As he neared the solitary light, he could just make out the outline of a figure seated on the bed, body hunched over and arms tightly wrapped around knees that were drawn up. A dark head of tangled hair was resting on those pulled up knees and as Harry came close enough to discern more detail, that head lifted, red-rimmed, ebony eyes ascending and locking with his own.

Not a word was spoken by either of them as Harry placed his trembling hands on the bunched up comforter at the foot of the bed and began to crawl toward Severus. His heart thundered as the panic that had plagued him all day seemed to settle in his throat, burning like acid.

When he reached Severus, eyes still locked with those pain-filled dark ones, an anguished whimper fell from Harry's lips from the effort of holding in his emotions. He wanted so badly to hold Severus, to fall into his arms and beg his forgiveness, but he didn't dare touch him, terrified the other boy would flinch and turn away, reject his touch.

Harry broke their strained gaze, averting his eyes to stare down at his own hands. They were grasping at the fabric of the sheets, squeezing hard in a desperate attempt to lessen their shaking. Yet his tightened fists did nothing to stop the tremors wracking the rest of his body – tremors that were now intensifying as his pent-up fear and sorrow were threatening to break free from their barrier. Harry bit down on his lip, fighting to retain his dwindling control, while insistent tears welled up in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

There was so much he wanted to say... so much he _needed_ to say... yet his voice didn't seem to work, his mind incapable of finding the right words.

"Come here."

The whispered command caught Harry off-guard and his head snapped back up, the abrupt action prompting the teardrops sliding down his cheeks to break loose and fall onto the bed.

Severus' hand came up to cup his wet cheek, his thumb wiping a few of the warm drops away while the fingers of his other hand circled around Harry's neck, pulling him closer.

"Come here," he repeated, his voice just as soft and gentle.

Harry felt the last of his restraints splinter and he released an anguished cry, his body shaking with more intensity as he fell into the open arms of the boy he loved.

Severus pulled him close, those long arms going around his back and holding him tightly as they both fell backward onto the bed. One hand traveled up to cradle the back of Harry's head, gentle fingers carding through strands of wavy hair and then caressing the nape of his neck.

Harry's own fingers clenched at the fabric of Severus' shirt as he wept with abandon against that long neck, burning tears drenching the soft skin. With each despairing cry, he felt his pain and panic lessen, each tender caress of Severus' fingers on his heated skin easing his fear of rejection.

Amid his muffled sobs and heaving gasps for breath, Harry tried to speak. He needed to explain... to tell Severus why he left... to make him understand... but every time he tried to give his desperate thoughts voice, the only thing that escaped his quivering lips was a series of stammered utterances and feeble mewls.

"S-Sev... I... I..."

"Shhh... it's OK. Shhh," Severus murmured, his lips pressing against Harry's ear as he pulled him closer.

The hand that had been curled around Harry's neck withdrew and a second later, a whispered summoning charm broke through the expectant silence. Harry's shaking shoulders were then blanketed by a soothing warmth as Severus covered the both of them with the plush comforter that had been heaped in a pile at the bottom of the bed.

After what seemed an eternity, Harry's distress finally lessened enough to allow him to draw away.

"Severus..." he whispered, laying his head on the pillow, placing his cheek flush against the fabric so they were now facing one another. As those ebony eyes gazed deeply into his own, Harry noticed that the pain and hurt residing within them moments ago had vanished, replaced by something so much deeper, stronger, more enduring.

"Severus..." he repeated, losing himself in those cavernous depths. He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat, a thousand things he needed to say flooding his thoughts... overwhelming him... all of them pleading for release... desperate to be known...

"Severus..." he whispered once again, his hand coming up to rest upon one pale, tear-streaked cheek, fingers threading through ebony locks. Edging closer, he brushed his lips against those soft, thin ones as he spoke the words that could no longer be restrained, words that he'd longed to say for so long.

The only words that mattered in the end.

"Severus... I love you."

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Well, what do ya know? I actually posted _before_ my deadline! Don't get too used to that though as I am expecting the remaining four chapters to be crazy difficult and very time consuming to write (lots of gut-wrenching angst, heart-stopping suspense and lovely snarry romance).

**YenGirl** - As always, I am in your debt. Your help with this rather mind-numbing chapter was invaluable! Thank you so much. :)

My deadline for Chapter 15 is a no-brainer of sorts. I am leaving for a family vacation June 15th, so it only makes sense to make June 14th my ETA. If I am unable to meet that deadline, the chapter will have to wait at least another week and a half as I will not be writing on my vacation. Honestly, who wants to bring their laptop to the beach? Like always, I will let you all know if I will miss my deadline by updating my Bio. But don't worry – I fully plan on doing everything in my power to post before I leave for vacation as I positively LOATHE having unfinished business looming over my head while trying to relax by the pool.

Stay tuned. Lots of good stuff coming up! :)

**Please Review.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen -**

**I am yours**

The instant Harry's whispered confession escaped him, those soft, thin lips withdrew from his own, their imparted warmth and comfort replaced by the biting chill of uncertainty.

Harry tensed, his heart racing again as renewed panic swept through him. He looked up and peered into those cavernous onyx eyes, suddenly terrified at what he might find within their soulful depths.

Severus' eyes were penetrative, leveling Harry with a probing gaze that seemed to reach far beyond his own shimmering pools of stormy grey as if seeking some inexorable truth, a timeless verity. The intense, searching expression was fleeting however, changing back into one of profound sorrow a second later. Several strained, shaky breaths escaped those thin lips that were now turned downward, quivering, while new tears gathered in those dark eyes.

Harry slid his hands past Severus' damp cheeks, his fingers threading through strands of ebony hair and then curling around the back of that slender neck. Desiring nothing but the return of those soft lips to his own and desperate to soothe the torrent of pain emanating from those tearful eyes, Harry pulled Severus closer, pressing a breathy kiss to those trembling lips as he choked out his remorseful lament.

"I'm sorry... Severus... I'm so sorry I left you there."

"Then why?" Severus breathed. "If you love me... why did you run away?"

Closing his eyes, Harry drew in a tremulous breath, the ache in his heart deepening as he realized he had no idea how he should answer that question.

In truth, he longed to make Severus understand the overwhelming fear and panic that had been consuming him for days now, if for no other reason than to expel the boy's every doubt regarding the depth of Harry's love for him. But how could he do that without revealing the _true reason_ for his fear? Was it even possible to explain his own irrepressible anxiety without disclosing the truth about the perilous danger that awaited Severus in the future?

No, it wasn't possible, and he could never do that to Severus; he could never risk saying too much like he had done with his future father and with Professor Dumbledore. Unintentional though it was, Harry had revealed to James the truth of his own fated demise, and just days after having done the same thing to the Headmaster. The very idea of making that mistake a third time – with Severus – made Harry sick to his stomach.

This time, he would have to be cautious, _very_ cautious. He had to say _something_ to Severus by way of an explanation, but that didn't mean it had to be entirely forthcoming. Yes, he would have to be vague – sincere, but vague.

"I... I was afraid," Harry settled on, grey eyes opening at last to lock with Severus' sorrowful gaze.

"Of what?"

"Oh God, Severus, I can't tell you. I'm sorry. I want to, but I just can't. It has something to do with the future... _your_ future… but it's something that you're not meant to know about for a long time."

Harry swallowed, trying to quell the tremor in his voice and soothe the burn in his throat. He took a deep breath, exhaled shakily, then continued.

"When I saw your doe patronus… when I touched her... memories of what happens in the future came flooding back to me and everything just became... too much... too real. I was overwhelmed and I just kind of lost control of my fear. But I swear to you… I swear, Severus… I never meant to hurt you when I ran away."

All of the sudden, the look of hurt emanating from those dark eyes changed, transforming into one of intense contemplation. Severus lowered his gaze, those crooked teeth capturing that lower lip and chewing it agitatedly while narrowed ebony eyes darted back and forth in a frenzied display of fraught rumination.

Harry froze as those eyes snapped back up to his, pinning him with an enigmatic expression – a look equal parts apprehension and tentative curiosity. That cryptic look alarmed Harry even more than the pained one preceding it.

"You told me weeks ago that you were here to..." Severus paused here, swallowing hard, his tongue coming out to wet that recently released lower lip. He breathed in a shaky breath, swallowed again, then spoke once more, his voice softer, more hesitant, "to... to ensure a positive outcome after a horrible event. You also said that this event involves _me_... that... that you came to _help_ me..."

Harry's heart that had just begun to slow after his headlong flight started racing once again, the thunderous beats painful in his chest and thumping in his ears as he listened to Severus edge closer and closer to the harrowing truth. Suffocated by fear, his breath dying in his lungs, he waited with a fatalistic sense of déj à vu, somehow knowing exactly where this was going but feeling powerless to stop it.

"I... I die... don't I?"

Harry's last vestiges of composure seemed to crumble and wither away at Severus' words, the realization that he had once again allowed a horrific truth from the future to seep into the past propelling him into a desperate, out-of-control panic.

"No!" Harry protested, his fingers tightening their grip around Severus' neck almost possessively. "No... no, Severus... you don't! I mean, you _won't_... I won't let you!"

Despite the fierce adamance behind Harry's emphatic words, the emergence of fresh tears betrayed his uncertainty. They fell from his eyes with abandon, streaming down his face unhindered as a strangled sob escaped his lips. With a huge effort, he suppressed the cries that threatened to follow, forcing his quavering voice to form words instead. He needed to explain... to make Severus understand...

"That's why I left you in the Great Hall... I... I needed to figure out a way to stop... t-t-to prevent... and I still don't know how... b-b-but it WON'T happen, Severus. It won't! I WON'T LET YOU DIE!"

Immediately, Severus' unconditional embrace encompassed him, those long, slender arms wrapping themselves around his trembling form and claiming him once more. Whispered words of comfort brushed the shell of Harry's ear as Severus spoke to him in a steady rush of warm breath.

"Shhh... enough, Gray. Enough. Shhh..."

The soft susurrations lulled Harry into a state of uneasy repose. He whimpered as he buried his tear-streaked face into Severus' neck, his body tense and shaking and his mind unwilling to let go of his urgent need to explain. There was still so much more he needed to say, but Severus continued his ministrations, inspiriting Harry's silence with each soothing, yet firm directive.

"Shhh… enough... no more, Gray. No more," he breathed, tightening his grip around Harry, "please, I... I don't want to know anymore..."

Harry winced, noticing that there was much more than just a determination to provide comfort edging Severus' tone – there was also fear. And Harry hated himself for inspiring it.

Oh, why had he revealed so much? He should have had better control over his emotions. He should have repressed his fear and panic, bit back his oppressive anxiety long enough to deny Severus' guess regarding his own precarious fate. Harry's emotional and uncontrolled outburst had succeeded in doing nothing but unveiling the awful truth in the end, thanks to Severus' keen insight, and now Severus knew, knew of the peril that awaited him – not the details, but enough to understand that his life was endangered.

And there was nothing Harry could do or say to change that now.

"I'm so sorry..." he sobbed, his throat constricting as tears continued to fall from his swollen, burning eyes.

"Shhh..."

Severus ran his fingers through Harry's hair, repeating the gesture over and over as his other arm pulled Harry even closer.

The soothing recurrent touch and the warmth from Severus steady breaths grazing his cheek seemed to soften the sharp edge to Harry's tension, his sobs quietening to a faint whimper. His quick, pulsing breaths began to deepen and lengthen, his eyelids softening, his clenched fingers losing their tight grip. Soon, his mind was drifting, exhaustion winning out over panic as sleep tugged at him.

Just before succumbing to slumber's beguilement, a final whispered utterance met Harry's ears, obliterating what remained of his lingering torment and filling his heart with more hope and fortitude than Fawkes' lyrical timbre ever could...

"I love you, too, Gray... I love you, too."

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

"Come on, Gray. We need to get up. We have our Arithmancy NEWT at nine and it's nearly eight. We'll have to hurry if we want to... what on earth did you do to yourself?"

Long fingers wrapped themselves around Harry's wrist, gripping it with force and twisting it so that his forearm was turned upward.

"Hmm... wha–? Wha'd'you mean?" Harry mumbled, trying to shake off his grogginess and open his swollen eyes. He blinked several times before squeezing them shut again, the glaring sunlight streaming in through the cottage windows causing them to burn. Resigned to his sightless state – at least for a while longer – he turned his head away from the offending illumination, burying his face further into his pillow.

"Your arm, Gray... it's... bloody hell!"

Harry felt more fingers gripping his other wrist now, pulling it up, the action forcing him to abandon his comfortable curled-up position on his side in favor of rolling onto his back, both arms now outstretched for examination. Again, he attempted to open his eyes. He succeeded this time, lifting his eyelids just enough to see a concerned Severus, sitting cross-legged on the bed and peering down at him.

"How did you get these cuts?" Severus had released one of his wrists and was now tracing the contour of one of his nastier scratches with a gentle fingertip.

"Oh. Yeah. I... uh..." Harry broke off his explanation while he pushed himself up to a sitting position, grunting in pain as the muscles in his back clenched and throbbed in protest. His neck felt sore too, like an invisible hand was compressing it, and his head was also beginning to ache. Bringing his recently released hand up to his forehead, he pressed his fingers to one temple, hoping to alleviate the pain that was pulsating there.

"Gray... the cuts?"

"Right. The cuts. Sorry," Harry said, squeezing his eyelids together again in an attempt to dull the pain in his forehead. When no relief came, he sighed, then spoke again, his eyes opening once more to lock with Severus' worried gaze. "I went to the library yesterday after our Defense NEWT and I was there... well... I was there for a long time. After a while, I just couldn't stay awake any longer and I ended up falling asleep in my chair."

"Well, I suppose that explains your haggard appearance, but it doesn't account for your arms looking as though they were recently trampled on by a herd of stampeding hippogriffs," Severus remarked, his gaze once again lowering to Harry's injured arms, dark eyes roving the path of one long, angry mark. "So, how _did_ you get these?"

"I had a dream... well, it was really more of a nightmare than a dream, I suppose," Harry added, then paused, wondering how much he should disclose. It didn't seem wise to reveal the dream's disturbing details, though Harry doubted Severus would make much sense of them since he himself couldn't fathom what most of them meant.

Mimicking Severus' intense scrutiny, Harry studied his arms. The long red streaks now looked inflamed, the skin surrounding the cuts almost as red as the cuts themselves. They hurt, too. Now that he was not so focused on the dull ache in his head and muscles, he could discern the sharp jabs of stinging pain racing up and down the length of both arms in relentless waves.

"I... I guess I must've scratched myself while I was dreaming," he finished, his voice softer now as a surge of embarrassment assailed him. He really should have healed them last night, but with everything else he was dealing with, his physical injuries were the last thing on his mind.

Severus did not comment on his extreme reaction to an unpleasant dream, nor did he inquire as to what the dream was about, much to Harry's relief. His only acknowledgement that he had even heard Harry's account was a small nod of his head, his focus still fixed on the long scratches. Pulling both of Harry's bare arms closer to him, he rested them on his lap and then placed his palms flush against the reddened skin, his brow furrowed in deliberation.

"Your skin is hot to the touch," he stated. "Infection is setting in."

Harry peered over Severus' shoulder to the bedside table in search of his wand. Seeing only Severus' lying there, he remembered that his was still in his schoolbag which he had shed haphazardly last night while stumbling through the dark cottage.

"Will you heal them for me?" Harry asked, pulling one arm free from under Severus' hand to reach for the boy's wand.

"No, Gray, not if they're infected. We'll need to get rid of the infection first."

Severus got off the bed and headed for his makeshift potions lab. He rummaged through a small crate under his worktable, the delicate sound of clinking glass alluding to the crate's contents. When he approached Harry again, he was holding two potion vials, one containing a pale yellow potion and the other, a deep emerald green one. After reclaiming his position on the bed and once again drawing Harry's arms toward him, he opened the first vial and poured several flaxen drops onto the inflamed skin of one arm.

Harry closed his eyes and hissed, the potion stinging his open wounds. Those painful twinges soon lessened when careful fingers began to spread the drops over the infected area.

"This potion will take a few hours to work, but once it does, the infection will be gone and I'll be able to heal you," Severus explained, his fingertips still working the cool liquid into Harry's skin. "I don't believe any of the scratches are deep enough to require the scar-fading potion, though we won't know for certain until after they've healed."

Harry opened his eyes and watched as Severus applied the potion to his other arm now, rubbing it in with slow, deliberate circles, his brow furrowed in concentration.

When he finished, he resealed the first potion bottle and then reached for the second one, placing it into Harry's hand.

"Drink this," he directed. "It will help alleviate your pain. It's not as strong as the painkilling potions Madam Pomfrey has at her disposal, but it should lessen your discomfort."

Not needing any more prompting with his head still pounding and his muscles aching in addition to the lingering twinges of pain from his wounds, Harry pulled the stopper from the vial, threw his head back and drank the dark green elixir in one gulp. Relief came almost at once, his pain dulling to a more manageable level.

"Thanks, Severus," Harry breathed, his eyelids falling closed for a moment while he exhaled a tense, fettered breath. He was still so tired and found himself pondering, not for the first time, when exactly it was that he'd made it back to the cottage last night. Judging from his abiding weariness, it couldn't have been more than just a few hours ago.

Trying to shake off his exhaustion, he made to get off the bed, but was stopped by a firm hand pressing down on his shoulder. It was soon joined by a second one placed on his other shoulder, both pushing him back to sit on the bed again.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked. "We have to go. Arithmancy NEWT, remember?"

"_I_ will be taking the Arithmancy NEWT. _You_, however, will be staying here."

"What?"

"Come on, Gray. You and I both know why you've journeyed to this time and it's not to get all Os on all your exams. Besides, you don't have a chance in hell at passing that final. You're absolute rubbish in that class. Come to think of it, you might as well skive off Ancient Runes after lunch, too. You've already missed Astronomy."

Harry's eyes widened. He had...?

"It was last night. Ten o'clock," Severus added upon seeing Harry's bewildered expression. "Look... you need to sleep and recover. Just stay here today and get some rest. Please, Gray."

"But I want to be with you," Harry argued. "I know I screwed up yesterday. I never should have left you–"

Harry's words were cut off as Severus pressed his lips to his, kissing him softly. With gentle pressure, he pushed forward, coaxing Harry to lie back as he climbed on top of him, that lean body blanketing his own, slender hands coming to rest on either side of his face.

Melting into the sensual feel of Severus' warm lips moving against his own, Harry wrapped his arms around Severus' back, persuading him to lay more fully on top of him. Despite the intimate position, the kiss remained soft and sweet, and Harry felt his heart soar as he lost himself in the gentle salutation.

Severus ended the kiss and raised his head, his warm breath brushing against Harry's lips.

Harry's eyelids lifted, his gaze locking instantly with Severus'. The sight of those dark, emotive eyes radiating such love, such deep affection made Harry's heart stutter in his chest, his lips curving into a small smile.

"What was that for?" he whispered, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of Severus' head, his fingers carding through soft, ebony strands.

"For coming back to me," Severus replied, his words soft and faint, spoken as a gentle caress of warm breath ghosting over Harry's mouth.

Harry felt his heart clench, his mind sickened by the tragic relevance embedded deep within those five simple words. He placed both palms against those pale cheeks, his fingers still entwined within the dark locks that fell on either side of that thin face. Brushing his thumbs along the high cheekbones, he spoke, his voice hushed yet staunch with fierce resolve.

"Severus, I will always come back to you... _always_. Don't _ever_ forget that."

Severus lunged forward, kissing Harry again, this time with more insistence. That strong tongue pushed its way into Harry's mouth, soft lips firming as they pressed down on his own, deepening their passion.

The familiar heat of arousal surging through Harry sped up his pulse, his body thrumming with jolts of rising pleasure.

"Mmmm... Sev..." he murmured as Severus began peppering kisses along his jaw, his hips shifting forward slightly. The small action heightened Harry's desire further and he sucked in a sharp breath, biting back a moan as he felt the boy's hardening length push against his thigh.

"S-Severus... ahhh... um... Arithmancy?"

For a second, Severus froze and then –

"Shit!" he cursed, springing up from Harry like a shot. "Right. Arithmancy... right."

Harry let the goofy smile stay on his face as he watched a flustered Severus try to gain his bearings, hopping around as he attempted to pull on a pair of black trousers. He threw on his uniform shirt, buttoning only a few of the buttons with hasty, impatient motions, while doddering clumsily with the task of stepping into his shoes. After grabbing his robe and schoolbag that were hanging over one of the kitchen chairs, he hastened back to Harry, breath quickened and features strained with stress.

"There's food in the refrigerator. I skipped dinner yesterday, so I opted to nick some leftovers from the kitchens after Astronomy class... baked chicken and mashed potatoes. There are a couple of ginger biscuits, too," he told Harry as he sat beside him on the bed again.

"Severus, I can go to Arithmancy. Honestly, I'm OK," Harry insisted, shifting his position so as to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

Again, his efforts were halted.

"No. Sleep. Eat. I'll be back after Ancient Runes – probably around three o'clock." Severus concluded his words with a quick kiss to Harry's lips that were still parted in mid-protest, before ascending from the bed and making his way toward the door.

When he reached the doorway however, he paused, his gaze cast down and his brow creased with worry and reflection.

The abrupt change in demeanor caught Harry off-guard and he stilled, watching with narrowed eyes as Severus seemed to mull some deep concern over and over in his mind, before finally giving his contemplation voice.

"You'll... always come back to me?" he whispered, his voice quavering and hesitant as he repeated Harry's words from earlier, his eyes still fixed on the floor. "That makes it sound as though... as though you expect to leave me again."

Harry's heart immediately leapt to his throat, his pulse racing as a wave of cold dread plunged into his stomach.

"Sev..." he managed to utter, the truncated name falling from his trembling lips in a rush of panicked breath.

Severus' head shot up, his dark eyes taking in Harry's anguished expression for only a second before he spoke again, shaking his head with insistence.

"No. No... don't..." he demanded, his eyes squeezed shut now, lower lip quivering. "Don't say anything."

Harry obeyed the command, his heart breaking.

Silence filled the cottage, heavy and oppressive, the seconds ticking away in what felt like several long, torturous minutes. At last, those obsidian eyes, now glistening with unshed tears, reemerged from under their lids.

"Will you be here when I get back at three?" Severus whispered, his breath hitching as he spoke, his eyes returning to stare at the hardwood floor.

"Yes," Harry answered, his voice shaking as well.

With a small nod, Severus turned and left, the muffled click of the closed door reverberating throughout the small cottage like an audible verdict, a fractured finality.

Harry fell back onto the bed, his eyes falling closed the moment his head touched the pillow. They burned and prickled behind their closed lids as if longing to release yet another flow of anguished tears, but not a single drop fell. Perhaps he simply had no more tears left to shed, or perhaps his eyes had become immune to the near constant heartache he had endured over the last few weeks – immune enough to uphold a facade of impassivity instead of an outward display of grief in the face of this latest devastating disclosure.

His heart however, was not immune; the pain of regret felt like a gaping hole in his chest, deep and abiding, his soul in agony.

Despite the gnawing ache, his weakened body and burdened mind soon relinquished control, exhaustion prevailing over hollow despair. Just before slipping back into sleep's illusive tranquility, one final thought, refusing to be quelled, echoed throughout his mind like an unwelcome mantra, its devastating truth gouging further into the open wound that was once his heart.

_He knows. He knows I'm leaving him._

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

A loud, feral cry tore Harry from his deep sleep. His body, acting on impulse, shot straight up, eyes wide and darting around the room in confusion. Startled to the point of panic, he slammed his hand down on the bedside table, fingers groping clumsily for his wand before his groggy brain registered that it was still in his schoolbag several feet away. He abandoned his fumbling search and instead, brought both hands to his face, pressing his fingertips to his closed eyelids in an effort to bring some clarity to his muddled thoughts, when the cry sounded once more.

Bleary, grey eyes snapped open again, Harry's hands falling to his sides as the source of the grating noise finally came into focus.

In the very center of the room, atop one of the waist-high perches beside the stone hearth, sat Solus. Her keen, pitch-black eyes were boring into Harry's with an unnerving intensity, her head lowered in an overt display of wary vigilance.

Time seemed to slow as they held each other's gaze, the seconds stretching into long minutes of uncomfortable silence. At length, the lustrous bird lifted her head a small amount, her sharp focus never wavering from her target as she opened her large, curved beak and issued a third ear-splitting caw.

The deafening sound seemed to rouse Harry from his stupor. He leapt from the bed and clambered to his feet, stumbling as he fought against the sheets entwined around his legs. Kicking them off in agitation, he looked back up to see Solus still eyeing him intently. As if entranced by her penetrative scrutiny, he moved forward, edging toward the middle of the room and closer to the majestic bird.

Only when Harry was mere inches from her did she finally avert her potent gaze, steely black eyes glancing downward and head lowering. The trusting gesture was followed by a faint trill issued from her throat, its tone soft and dulcet, very unlike her normal jarring screech.

That soft, lulling hum reminded Harry of Fawkes' soulful chirr and before he could put any real thought into his actions, he raised his hand and placed his fingers atop her bowed head, the compulsion to touch her too great to ignore. With tentative motions, he caressed her onyx plumage, his fingers ghosting over the warm, silky feathers again and again, each gentle touch somehow easing the tight knot in his stomach and soothing his ever-present heartache.

Solus stayed motionless during Harry's ministrations, her tenebrous eyes falling shut in what appeared to be a show of contentment. After a while however, she shifted under Harry's touch, her dark eyes snapping open and her body stiffening. She extended her enormous wings in one swift, abrupt motion, her chest puffing out menacingly as she fixed her gaze on Harry with what could only be described as a fierce, penetrating glower.

"Whoa...!"

The sudden reversal in demeanor made Harry jerk his hand away and take a few steps backward, his pulse speeding up as an inexorable fear washed over him. He swallowed hard, trying to calm his rising apprehension. He took another tentative, fumbling step away from the bird, his mind racing, wondering what the hell he could have done to anger her. Before he could put any more thought into the matter, she was gone, her huge wings thrusting downward, propelling her up and then out through the open bay window.

Panic gripped Harry in that moment, the terrifying notion that perhaps he had just managed to inspire Solus' ill-fated departure sending a ripple of fear to surge through him. He ran to the window, getting there just in time to see a streak of black soar over the garden and then dive through the partially open roof of the barn-like structure beside the cottage.

It took Harry several minutes of meticulous surveillance before he became convinced that she was indeed intending to stay there – that she was not going to fly off, never to return, as was her species' divined predestination. When a fourth loud, agitated-sounding caw issued from inside her hideout, he felt the last of his anxiety dissolve.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, he turned away from the window, his thoughts still on the bird's temperamental about-face. His contemplation was pushed to the back of his mind however, when a low growl issued from his clenching stomach, prompting Harry to wonder just how late he had slept this time.

Spotting his bag lying on the floor near the foot of the bed, he went over to kneel beside it. He reached his hand into one of its inside pockets, his fingers fumbling for a moment before resurfacing with his watch.

"One o'clock. Two more hours until Severus comes back," he mumbled aloud, cringing when his stomach gave another loud rumble as if protesting its overlong neglect. Sighing, he realized that he really should try to eat something. After all, it had been more than twenty-four hours since last he ate.

Harry padded over to the kitchen and wrenched open the refrigerator door, pulling out a plate containing two chicken drumsticks and a heaping pile of mashed potatoes. Not even bothering to return to his bag for his wand in order to cast a warming charm on the stone-cold food, he devoured it like a starving man.

Despite his zealous speed, there was little enjoyment to be had in the consumption of this long delayed meal. Each bite tasted like nothing, bland and wrong on his tongue, his stomach twisting in protest with each mouthful. He ignored the discomfort, knowing that the food's lackluster flavor and the slight queasiness he experienced with each strained swallow was just a consequence of his stress.

Forcing himself to continue, he chewed bite after bite of the seemingly tasteless food, his jaw working without voluntary thought while his mind drifted back to Severus. His stomach gave another painful lurch, this time having nothing to do with his meal as his meandering thoughts settled on one particularly painful memory – Severus' quavering voice while pleading with Harry to say no more about his own precarious mortality. The heartbreaking remembrance prompted Harry's queasiness to escalate to full-on nausea and he clamped his eyes shut, breathing deeply, hoping to ease the wave of wretched illness sweeping through him. That sickening feeling only worsened when he recalled the absolute pain reflected in those black orbs when Severus became aware that Harry's time here would soon come to an end.

Harry released a tortured sigh and dropped his half-eaten piece of chicken back onto the plate, his hands coming up to cover his face. This was not at all how he had intended for things to pan out. Though he knew he must disclose the truth of his impending departure to Severus and very soon, he had hoped to reveal it with more compassion, or at least with a modicum of tact. And he had _never_ wanted to burden Severus with the knowledge of the uncertain nature of his own ambiguous survival.

But now that he thought about it...

Was it possible that Severus was _meant _to know this one horrible truth?

Harry's eyes snapped open, his hands coming away from his face to fall limply at his sides while his mind raced at a dizzying speed, his disarranged thoughts whirling around his brain like a tempestuous gale. After the muddled mix of memories and fears settled back into place, a single memory, refusing to be swept aside, lingered, one that had been forcibly implanted inside his mind almost a month ago. As it replayed itself with vivid clarity, the anguished words uttered by a distraught and hysterical Gray Skye felt like a knife to Harry's chest – their underlying truth inspiring profound illumination, as well as total devastation.

_...Promise me, Severus… promise me… promise me you'll live..._

As those desperate, gut-wrenching pleas faded back into the deepest recesses of his troubled mind, words he himself was destined to speak in just over three days' time, Harry was forced to acknowledge the harsh, ugly truth of the matter...

He _will_ be leaving this time without ever knowing of Severus' fate.

His own parting words and desperate demeanor in that memory alluded to his ignorance. This was _never_ a rescue mission, at least not in the traditional sense. The purpose of this journey through time was always intended to be a completion to the cycle of events, a self-fulfilling prophesy of time.

While he had hoped his presence here would somehow foster a timeless miracle, create a chain reaction that would lead to Severus' survival twenty years from now, there simply was no guarantee. Regardless of whether Fawkes held the key to Severus' survival or whether it resided within some yet undiscovered verity, the cold, hard truth of it was that Harry was _always_ destined to leave this time having absolutely no clue if the love of his life would be alive or dead upon his return.

"Dumbledore's right," he whispered, his fingers shaking as they ran though his hair, grasping at the strands in despair and frustration. "There's nothing I can do. I'm nothing more than a insignificant pebble drowning in the depths of a boundless pool of water… I'm just a goddamn thread woven into the complex fabric of time. I'm not saving him... I... I'm failing him..."

Out of nowhere, a sharp spike of white hot anger tore through him, usurping the despair looming within his heart. Before he could quell the outpouring of fury, he was on his feet, his hand snatching up his plate and hurling it across the room. It shattered upon impact with the stone hearth, splintering the stilled silence with its resounding crash as a thousand slivers of porcelain rained down onto the wooden floorboards along with the remnants of his lunch.

"FUCK!" he screamed, his savage cry adding to the clinking fragments of china redistributing on the floor, the combined sounds echoing off the stone walls with an eerie resonance. He watched the white shards scatter, followed their random movements as they disseminated away from the hearth with erratic movements. After a moment, he looked away from the mess, his head lowering and his shoulders sagging as the rage he had felt so intensely mere seconds ago drained from him, fury dissolving back into crushing hopelessness.

Shaking all over, his head now throbbing from his impulsive display of anger, he stumbled over to Severus' potion worktable hoping to find something for the pain. He yanked out the crate from beneath the table and began rifling through the multi-colored vials and potion bottles, many of them clattering to the floor as a result of his hasty search. His frenzied rummaging came to an end when he spotted what he had been looking for. Just as his fingers closed around the emerald green vial, his eyes fell upon another vial – its contents a very familiar, deep purple.

Harry seized it instead, wresting the stopper off with trembling fingers and then downing the Dreamless Sleep in one swift gulp. Almost immediately, he felt his limbs grow heavy and his cognizance dim. Straightening up from his crouched position on the floor, he half trudged, half staggered toward the bed, collapsing face down on top of it like dead weight.

The instant his head hit the pillow, he drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, permitting the potion's sweeping effects to usher him into a state of blissful numbness, an illusory plane devoid of all emotion. He didn't want to feel right now... couldn't deal with one more second of this pain and anguish and guilt. Even the love entrenched within the depths of his heart felt like too much too bear at present.

_...but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..._

The auspicious line from Trelawney's prophecy came to him seemingly out of nowhere, prompting a weak chuckle to fall from Harry's numbing lips, his hazy mind finding a twisted sort of amusement in its heartening message. How ironic that his ability to love was somehow powerful enough to bring about the demise of one of the most infamous Dark wizards of all time, yet it had done nothing but wreak havoc and wield devastating pain and loss upon the only person he had ever truly been in love with.

Sleep was impatient as it dragged him further into insentience, his mind clouding in a swirl of foggy, indistinct thoughts and worries, all of them jumbled up and twisting together. He let himself float on their tide of chaotic motion, his body light, his focus detached. Another easy breath in and then out, and he felt those thoughts slip away into nothing, all his pain and anger dissolving into the welcome abyss of unconsciousness.

o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -

"It is essential that you remain completely still during these last few diagnostic spells, Mr. Skye. If you fidget, I will have no choice but to start all over again. Performing these nerve analysis spells can be tricky business."

"Yes, Ma'am. I understand."

Not wanting to irritate the strict matron, Harry did as he was told, lying stock-still on his back while Madam Pomfrey resumed her meticulous testing, her wand drawing large sweeping gesticulations above his immobile form. She had assured him that this was to be the final portion of the check-up, having already listened to his heart and lungs, examined his throat, ears and eyes and tested his reflexes. She also spent many long minutes running a diagnostic assessment that Harry was quite certain could be considered a crude form of torture, using her wand to cast several stinging hexes on different locations on his skin and then performing another spell to measure the magnitude of his nerves' response to each provocation. Though the stinging hexes were mild, his body's reactions were not, and he had a difficult time not crying out in pain. Thankfully, this current test was much less aggressive as her spells seemed to do nothing but relay pertinent information back to their caster.

"Well," she said, lowering her wand at last and releasing a deep, labored sigh, "though the major damage to your nerve receptors has healed since you awoke from your coma last week, there is still a good bit of cellular deterioration which has not healed. This is why you continue to experience hypersensitivity to physical stimuli."

"Cellular deterioration?" he asked, then swallowed hard, feeling anxious.

"Mr. Skye..." she began. Her expression, usually so stern and hard, had now softened, her brown eyes radiating an uncharacteristic sympathy. She inhaled a deep breath and held it for a stint of time that seemed to stretch into an eternity before releasing it and continuing.

"I would encourage you to seek a second opinion, of course, but in my professional opinion, this level of nerve damage... as severe and as widespread as it is... could very well prove irreversible by magical, as well as Muggle means."

"Oh," Harry breathed, his chest tightening and his mouth suddenly dry.

"It can be managed," she offered, "with potions for the pain and discomfort, along with muscle-relaxant elixirs and numbing agents. And I would also advise you, if you haven't already, to familiarize yourself with as many healing charms as you can. The sooner you can heal an unexpected physical impairment, the less severe the pain response you will have to endure. However, your best course of action is to simply avoid situations that may trigger these episodes of hypersensitivity..."

Harry swallowed past the lump lodged in his throat, trying to quell his shock and uncertainty upon hearing this latest bit of disturbing news.

_As if I don't already have enough to deal with._

"...or are you Apparating directly there?... Mr. Skye...?"

"Huh? I'm sorry... what?" he replied, embarrassed when he realized that the mediwitch had continued to talk while Harry had tuned her out.

"I asked if you were planning to Apparate directly to your parents. The Headmaster has informed me that you are leaving Hogwarts tomorrow morning to return to your parents, but he neglected to apprise me of your mode of transport."

"Oh... I... yes," Harry stammered, only now remembering the fabrication Dumbledore had devised to explain away his upcoming departure. The Headmaster had sent him a letter about it yesterday during breakfast in the Great Hall. Harry was to tell anyone who inquired that he was leaving before the conclusion of the school year, foregoing graduation, because his parents needed him to return home due to a family emergency. "Um... yes, Ma'am. Apparating."

Madam Pomfrey furrowed her brow at that, her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes narrowed.

"I'm not entirely sure your body will handle Apparation very well, Mr. Skye. Is there not another way? A Portkey, perhaps? I am certain if you were to ask the Headmaster, he would be able to–"

"No. No, it has to be Apparition. That's how they'll be expecting me," Harry explained. Although his statement was by no means the truth, it was the closest he could come to it. After all, he couldn't very well tell her he would be traveling twenty years into the future via a time regression spell.

However, he was now feeling a bit unnerved about the possible negative effects this journey could have on his fragile health.

"Very well. Wait here while I get you some potions. I'll supply you with a few days' worth of pain potion, as well as a numbing agent for topical use, only to be used if needed of course. I suppose since you insist on Apparating, I should include a strong anti-nausea, too..."

She turned from Harry and headed toward her office, still muttering about which potions would be best for Harry to take with him tomorrow.

_Tomorrow. I'm leaving tomorrow._

Harry closed his eyes as the gravity of this devastating fact once again swept through him like physical pain, strangling his breath and ripping at his heart. In fewer than twelve hours, he would be gone from this time, taken away by the very spell which had deposited him here nearly a month ago. Away from all of it... Dumbledore, his parents, Sirius, the cottage and... Severus.

Gripping the sides of the mattress with clenching fingers, Harry drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to curb his rising panic and assuage the desperate, gnawing ache in his heart that had, if possible, intensified over the past few days. As if in defiance to his desire for more time, each one of those days had flown by at breakneck speed, the moments rushing past him in a whirlwind of acute emotions – a strange, jumbled mix of profound depression, manic rage and forced resignation.

To make matters worse, Severus had started to close himself off from Harry. Ever since their conversation early Tuesday morning when Harry had disclosed the truth about his own inevitable departure from this time, as well the uncertainty of Severus' future survival, something inside the boy had just... changed... shut down. It was as if the luminous hope and promise that had always shone so brightly through those ebony orbs had begun to dim and fade away.

Harry first noticed the change Tuesday evening, after waking from his comatose-like slumber induced by the Dreamless Sleep Potion. Struggling against the potion's lingering soporific effects, he forced his eyes open to find Severus standing over his cauldron in the far corner of the room, diligently testing his Retorquentis Potion.

Sitting up, Harry looked around, surprised to find the cottage spotless. Those porcelain fragments that had been strewn about the floor were gone and the crate of potion vials he had carelessly rummaged through was tucked back under the table, its contents returned to order. When Harry looked down at his injured arms, he found every last scratch had been cleaned and healed, the freshly mended flesh a pale, smooth pink indicative of new skin.

"I brought you dinner," Severus said, his voice an emotionless, monotone drone. "It's in the refrigerator."

He did not turn around or even lift his head as he spoke, his dark eyes trained resolutely on his steaming cauldron.

A wave of cold, biting dread surged through Harry as he crawled out of bed and made his way over to Severus, his heart hammering so hard, it felt as through it might leap from the confines of his ribcage at any moment. When he reached Severus, he wrapped his trembling arms around the boy from behind, holding him close while tears of regret welled in his eyes.

"Severus..." Harry choked out, but could say no more, his mind grinding to a halt as it searched for the right words to say.

"You should eat," Severus whispered, a stuttered hitch to his hushed voice. Though he never withdrew from Harry's embrace, he did not reciprocate, his long arms remaining motionless at his sides, fingers clenched into tight fists.

Harry knew then that something inside Severus had broken. A crack had formed somewhere deep within the bowered recesses of his already wounded soul... a splintering in the very foundation of his being... his very spirit... and Harry feared it was only the beginning.

The beginning of the end.

Determined to spend every moment he had left with the boy he loved, regardless of Severus' escalating emotional exodus, Harry sat every one of his remaining NEWT exams, never again leaving Severus' side.

Taking NEWT exams while under such duress was a novel experience. On the one hand, Harry's lack of care one way or the other regarding his performance meant he had a far easier time of it. After all, a stressful task did not seem so bad when the outcome meant nothing.

On the other hand, some exams had no problem bringing out the tension in Harry – Potions being one of them. While Wednesday morning's Care of Magical Creatures exam was a good example of a test which engendered almost no concern or anxiety from Harry whatsoever, the Advanced Potions practical later that day had him sweating profusely, his mind blank and his concentration addled. By the end of the practical, his Skele-Gro potion, which was supposed to be an opalescent pearl color, had turned a bright canary yellow and was giving off a pungent odor of rotten eggs.

The only upside to this obvious failure was the smirk of amusement he received from Severus later that night as they walked back to the cottage discussing the day's exams. Feeling emboldened by the familiar snarky expression and the glimmer of hope that perhaps there was a return to normalcy between them, Harry attempted to broach the subject of his scheduled departure, but that effort, along with the few that followed it over the next couple of days, was met with obstinate resistance. Every attempt engendered the same outcome; Severus would insist that Harry speak nothing of it, his voice tremulous and cracking, just as it had been the very first time they had discussed it. Then he would withdraw from Harry, physically as well as emotionally, usually secluding himself to his potion worktable to put the finishing touches on his Retorquentis Potion.

Thursday was not much different than Wednesday – two new exams, but the same encompassing air of oppressive tension. Both the Herbology and Charms NEWTs that day were difficult, but the stress inspired by them could not begin to compare to the torrential storm of panic brewing inside Harry.

After two days of Severus refusing to discuss the huge elephant in the room, Harry's despair and anguish had grown to unbearable levels. He would have lost his mind completely, breaking down into a hollow shell of feigned vitality, if not for their nights together. The emotional aloofness and stubborn denial Severus displayed during the daylight hours would melt away each night when he would abandon his near obsessive work on his Mastery Potions project and crawl into bed. Amid the shroud of gloaming darkness, Severus would slip under the covers and wrap his arms around Harry, drawing him close. The embrace was possessive and desperate, his grip impossibly tight as if he were terrified that to loosen his hold might mean Harry would disappear forever.

Although there was never an initiation by either one of them to progress that hungry embrace to more sensual endeavors, Harry had never before felt such a profound connection with Severus than during those times, the boy's fragile wall of protective pretense dissolving into a raw need to be close and feel complete. Neither spoke during those shared moments of quiet intimacy, the darkness and heavy stillness in the room surrounding them like the relentless fear of loss blazing within both of their hearts, but Harry could feel Severus' love with each rapid beat of his heart, strong and enduring, an inferno of passion and pain that could both heal and destroy...

It was as if his love for Harry alone, precarious and volatile though it was, was the only force holding his tenuous world together.

And now it was Friday evening, the ending of Harry's last full day in this time, and so far the day had passed by in a mindless blur of irritating and extraneous events, unimportant and wholly forgettable. He was aware that he had attended his final NEWT exam, Transfiguration, both the written portion and its correlating practical, but he honestly could not remember a single detail that would suffice for an adequate retell of the occurrence, his mind a veritable vortex of fear and painful reflection. He recalled being asked to transfigure a textbook into a tortoise and then back again, but he could not say with any real degree of certainty whether or not he had managed it.

He and Severus ate dinner in the Great Hall after that. Chicken pot pie, or maybe it was turkey cutlets, he wasn't sure. Not that it mattered. Harry didn't eat more than three or four bites of the stuff, each one tasting more like ash in his mouth rather than the typical appetizing Hogwarts fare.

Severus, he noticed, only ate a few bites more than he did.

And now this – his check-up with Madam Pomfrey.

Harry would be lying if he were to say he was unfazed by her prognosis, but _Christ!_... in comparison with his other concerns, it was a non issue, a trivial inconvenience at worst. So what if he had to deal with an excess of sensitivity and physical pain for the rest of his life? Harry doubted it could ever rival the tortured ache of deep despair residing within his heart.

"Here we are."

Madam Pomfrey returned from her office, holding a small tote bag in one hand while stuffing various potion vials into its depths with the other. "This should be an adequate supply for the next few days. I advise you to see your family healer once you arrive home, however. He or she will need to become familiar with your condition as well as replenish your store of pain potions."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry answered in a lifeless tone. "Thank you."

He hopped off the hospital bed, grabbed the tote bag filled with his potions and then exited the infirmary, his chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with his impaired health.

Tonight would be his last night with Severus, something he hadn't told him, at Severus' own insistence. Now, however, there could be no more reticence, no more conceded silence; time was impatient, its remaining moments degenerating into the cruel, regretful past like sand succumbing to gravity's influence as it slides through the neck of an hourglass.

He had simply run out of time. He had to tell Severus tonight or he never would.

As he pushed open the castle's heavy front doors and stepped out onto Hogwarts' lush grounds, he allowed himself only a moment to glance around, taking in the celebratory exploits from the surrounding students. They were everywhere – taking advantage of their new found freedom and slowly setting sun, several of them lazing under a group of birch trees near Hagrid's hut, more sitting by the edge of the Black Lake, dipping their feet into the cool water, even a few younger ones chasing each other across the verdurous lawn in a spirited game of tag – all of them laughing, smiling, free of burdens and stress, grateful for the end of yet another school year.

Harry ignored their exuberance, their carefree frolicking looking alien to him amid his own fierce apprehension. He walked past them briskly, peering down at his watch to check the time.

_Seven o'clock. Severus should be back at the cottage by now._

They had gone their separate ways following dinner, Harry to his appointment with Madam Pomfrey and Severus to his scheduled meeting with Professor Slughorn to present his Retorquentis Potion for his Mastery Potions NEWT. Harry had considered skipping out on his appointment in favor of attending Severus' presentation, but decided against it. Severus had worked so hard and so long on this project that Harry didn't feel right sharing in the accolades, especially since he had done practically nothing to assist him. Severus alone deserved recognition for his invention's viability. He deserved this one final moment of happiness before the inevitable tidal wave of despair that was to come, washed it all away.

Quickening his pace, Harry made his way through the wild tree limbs and thick brush amid the now darkening forest, his dread intensifying. By the time he came to the magicked entrance to the cottage grounds, his heart was thundering in his chest, his breathing tight and harsh. The fear of telling the boy he loved that their remaining time together consisted of only a few meager hours was suffocating. Each labored breath drawn into his lungs felt like a razor-sharp cut, every beat of his heart like a knockout punch.

Harry forced his legs to continue their autonomous forward motion as he trudged closer to the cottage's gothic arched doorway. Seeing that the door was ajar, he pushed it open, his eyes scanning the room for Severus but finding it empty. He turned back around, deciding to search the perimeter of the pond and the garden next, when something caught his eye – something that made his racing heart leap into his throat.

There, in the middle of the table lay his schoolbag, which he had dropped off at the cottage just before dinner, not wanting to be burdened with it during his appointment with Madam Pomfrey. When he had left it here this afternoon, however, it was zipped up and stowed beside the bed. Now it was open on top of this table, his textbooks, quills and parchment strewn all over its surface.

Harry approached his disarranged possessions, his anxiety escalating. He seized his bag and peered inside, a moment of relief washing over him when he saw his invisibility cloak and the Elder wand undisturbed at the very bottom. But the fleeting moment of relief perished when his eyes fell upon the book lying open in the very center of the table, a flash of bright red writing scribbled in the margin of its exposed page grabbing his attention.

"Oh no... Shit!"

Trembling fingers reached for the book, snatching it up, the abrupt action almost upsetting an open bottle of red ink beside the book and jostling an abandoned quill whose tip was still dripping crimson liquid onto the wooden tabletop.

Harry stared down at the open page, his whole body shaking now as his eyes scanned the freshly inked circle drawn around the familiar words in vivid red...

_Time Regression Spell_

_Latin Incantation (vrbl.) - Tempus Procedere_

_..._and the familiar notation handwritten along the margin in Severus' cramped, neat scrawl...

_lunar cycle, one month._

"He knows... Oh God, he knows I'm leaving tomorrow..."

Harry spun around and raced from the cottage, his fingers still gripping _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ as he frantically searched the darkening grounds for Severus. He found him almost immediately, a lone dark figure sitting on the end of the dock, body hunched over and head bowed low, his bare feet dangling over the edge, toes skimming the water's surface.

On shaky legs, Harry drew nearer, now at a slower pace, his stomach clenching and his heart aching. His footfalls, which had been all but silent when he traversed the overgrown grassy expanse, now caused the aged wooden boards of the dock to creak and groan.

The wearying sounds prompted Severus to lift his head a few inches, but he did not turn around. Even when Harry drew level with him, easing his trembling body down to sit beside him, that dark gaze remained fixed upon the deep indigo water flickering with the glistering reflections of the setting sun.

"Severus..."

"It's tomorrow... isn't it?" Severus whispered.

"Y-y-yes..." Harry choked out, his eyes prickling with the threat of fresh tears. He took a deep breath and stifled the cry that threatened to escape his quivering lips, forcing himself to stay strong.

Severus reached a hand over to Harry, still without looking at him, long fingers closing around the binding of the book in Harry's hand and pulling it toward him. He did not open it, but held it tight to his chest.

"I'm sorry I went through your things," Severus breathed, a hoarse tremor to his voice. "I was looking for answers... looking for... for _when_. I needed to know _when_..."

"Severus, I wanted to tell you. I swear... and I tried to... but... but you never wanted me to say anything about it and I–"

"I know," Severus interjected. "I know, Gray."

Silence stretched between them in long, desperate moments, a mounting tension permeating each passing second, each breath, each heartbeat. At length, Severus spoke again, his voice dropping to a mere breath of whispered words, anguish edging every timorous susurration.

"I knew it was going to happen soon, even before I opened your bag and found this book. I... I knew you were leaving me... tonight... or tomorrow..."

He turned his head and looked at Harry, locking eyes with him for the first time since Harry sat down. Those tearful, dark orbs shone with a desperate raw pain, deep and endless like the unwavering passing of time itself. Through a haze of welling tears, they gazed at Harry as though pleading for him to understand some profound occurrence, to grasp some significant yet devastating truth unknown.

"Severus...?" Harry questioned, the sharp ache in his heart intensifying as a crushing fear took hold of him.

"She left me," Severus whispered.

"Wh-what? Who... who left you?"

"Solus."

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N:** Yay! Another early posting. And... _whew!_... what an emotional roller coaster of a chapter it was to write! I think this one tops the angst chart.

Special thanks to **YenGirl** for beta-ing this chapter. As always Yen, your help is so appreciated, especially considering how busy you are! :)

Just a heads-up... I will be on vacation from June 14th until June 22nd and have already promised myself (and my daughter) that I will not be writing for the duration. As you might imagine, that does affect my proposed deadline for chapter 16. So, with that in mind, I am going to set my new deadline for July 31st. If I must extend that date, I will communicate that via my Bio page, but hopefully I will be able to meet that deadline.

Only three chapters remaining until the conclusion of this story, folks. I do hope you'll stick around until the very end. At the very least, you should stay for the next chapter as it will feature a very 'special' final night together for our two favorite characters. Snarry goodness abound! :P

**Please Review.**


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