"Snape! He trusted you!" The words ripped from Harry's throat as he tramped after his Potions Professor, for, despite his transition into Defense Against the Dark Arts, he would always associate Snape with potions. He was uncaring about the grass beneath his feet. He felt the rage dripping from him as the plume of black robes turned to face him, and, for a moment, Snape's expression took on that of a human, but it was wiped from his face in the very next moment when Bellatrix Lestrange decided to lift her wand and throw Harry backwards.

"No!" came Snape's voice as he turned to reprimand the fellow Death Eater. "He belongs to the Dark Lord."

Harry struggled to his feet, watching as Bellatrix and Draco Malfoy disappeared into the Forbidden Forest beyond. Bellatrix had blasted Hagrid's hut with a fire spell, and the smoke was gathering in the clouded sky above. Harry gripped onto his wand, wanting to throw curse after curse at this man, but found himself just staring at him, and Snape did the same.

"How could you do it?" Harry whispered then, and Snape continued to stare at him. "He trusted you, and you just...you just..."

"Potter," Snape replied, cutting him off. "I can't..."

"You can," Harry said, stepping forward, feeling his green eyes filling with earnest. "Please, Snape," he begged. "I know there's a good man in there somewhere..."

Snape sneered down at him. "You obviously don't know anything about me then, Potter," he said, and turned to move into the forest.

"No..." Harry whispered; he couldn't allow him to get away. "Come back."

"Can it, Potter," Snape growled through his teeth. "I neither can, nor will, agree to such a pathetic request."

"Immobulus!" Harry shouted at him, but Snape merely sidestepped the spell and kept walking towards the first line of trees. "Incarcerous!" he tried again, but Snape effortlessly dodged the spell and kept on walking. "Sectumsempra!" Harry shouted at last, and Snape turned around then, his dark eyes blazing with rage. "Come back, you coward! Come back!" Harry yelled at him then, his voice splitting from rage.

Snape quickly and effortlessly disarmed Harry, before he strode towards him. He grabbed him by the collar, and stared down into his green eyes, which suddenly widened with fear. "You dare use my spells against me, Potter?" he asked him, in that drawl of his.

Harry struggled against him. "You... You're not..." He whispered.

"Yes," Snape replied. " I'm the Half-Blood Prince."

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat then as he stared up at him. Despite everything, he didn't want Snape going anywhere. Despite everything, he felt more alive than he ever had with Snape's long fingers digging into his shirt. Despite everything, he found, in that moment, that he didn't care that Snape had killed Dumbledore.

"Don't go," he tried again, lifting one of his hands and putting it upon Snape's face. "Please, don't go."

Snape looked as if he would change his mind; he leaned into Harry's touch ever so slightly, but, almost as if he remembered his mission, he suddenly forced Harry from his grip. Throwing him onto the ground, shocking Harry, he merely stared down at him for a moment before turning on his heel. Almost as an afterthought, he kicked Harry's wand from his outstretched fingers before he followed the band of Death Eaters around Hagrid's hut and into the forest, leaving Harry to stare up at the clouds above Hogwarts, wondering what would happen next.

. . .

Harry stirred to the sound of Ron's voice, calling out to both him and Hermione. He pushed himself out of Sirius's bed and peered out through the ragged curtains. The clouds that blanketed the sky were pearl-white, and easily shed light on the room around him. He saw the chest of drawers pushed against one wall, and crossed over to it, pulling open the top one. Lots of miscellaneous things dotted the faux velvet surface of the drawer, but a letter stood out to him most of all within the pieces of mismatched socks, cufflinks, and other odds and ends left from his godfather to him.

Harry lifted the envelope, temporarily ignoring Ron's shouts, and thought that Hermione could delay him for a few moments, for she was so creative. There was no return address on the envelope, nor was there a fine layer of dust covering it, like the other items in the drawer. This perplexed Harry, and as he opened it, knowing that, by all rights, he could—given that Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, and its contents, belonged to him now—and stared at the contents within, which included a folded piece of paper.

I didn't tip them off. There is so much you don't know. I am a coward for not admitting those things to you. I am sorry about Christmas; you didn't deserve an old man like me doing such a thing to you. Please know that these things you need to know will be revealed in due time. I don't want you to ever lose hope. You are the hope for the Light. Perhaps one day we will meet again under different circumstances.

"Harry."

It was the sound of Hermione's voice that caught him off-guard, and he quickly pocketed the letter before crossing over to the door and opening it. "Sorry," he said, pulling a hand through his hair; he didn't think it would be wise to bring up the letter to Ron and Hermione just yet. "Just woke up. Everything okay?"

"Ron says he found something," she replied, looking uneasy; she could read him like a book. "I think we should see what it is," she went on, knowing that Harry would likely disclose whatever was bothering him when it was necessary.

Harry nodded. "Right," he replied, moving to follow her down to the other end of the hallway and around the corner, where they spotted Ron, in front of the final door. "What did you find back here?" Harry asked.

"It's another bedroom," Ron said.

Hermione stepped forward then, staring at the door; this door too was adorned with initials, and Harry had noticed, as they left Sirius's bedroom that it was as well. "Regulus Arcturus Black," she said softly, reading the words.

"R.A.B.," Ron said, and Harry's eyes locked with his.

Hermione lowered her eyes to her beaded bag, secured at her waist, and opened it. "Accio locket," she said softly, and Harry and Ron temporarily stared at one another as she stood between them, and it was only when she felt their eyes on her that she lifted her head, the golden locket in her hand. "Undetectable extension charm," she explained with a shrug of her small shoulders as she moved to walk downstairs. "I've got Harry's cloak in here, too, plus any essentials we may need. I've been accumulating more and more as the days went on, after I left home, just in case..."

"You're amazing, you are," Ron said, grinning at her.

Hermione whirled around to face him as they reached the bottom of the stairs, and Harry quickly got out of her way. "Always the tone of surprise," she replied, letting out a soft giggle as Ron dragged her towards him and kissed her.

. . .

Severus Snape gritted his teeth as he came to, from where he'd collapsed in his new bedroom, attached to the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. It was always strange to him, waking up here, now that he was the one in charge of the school. It would always be seen, in his eyes, at the office and bedroom of Albus Dumbledore; at least, it had been, before he'd changed it over the summer when he'd been appointed. The red and gold colors of Gryffindor—plus other colors the former headmaster favored like violet and cerulean—had been replaced mostly with black, silver, and green, to represent Severus himself, as well as Slytherin House.

He'd managed to enchant the bedroom furniture to his liking, so now the bed frame was a simple ebony, as opposed to an elaborate cherrywood that Dumbledore had possessed. The curtains themselves were still velvet, but were black instead of red trimmed with gold cord. As for the pictures on the walls, the four founders of Hogwarts stared silently back at him, day in and day out, while all the while Severus became convinced that they were looking at his bed style with disapproval, for they seemed to turn up their noses at the silver sheets and forest green comforter that now adorned it instead of Dumbledore's more sumptuous colors.

Severus dragged himself out of the bed, feeling his joints popping into place as he forced himself to his feet; he felt himself wincing at the constant ache in his bones. The Dark Lord had gone into his mind the night before, after the group at the Burrow had gotten word that the Minister of Magic was dead, and he'd had to give up some memories in order to appease him. Once he'd finished, the lingering affects of the Cruciatus Curse lingered within his veins, and as he went over to his personal potion stores, to retrieve some pain potion to get him through the day, and even though he knew the Carrows would likely be patrolling things—as Death Eaters, they were firmly on the side of Darkness—he didn't much like the notion that they were intent on forcing seventh-years to use such a curse on first-years when term began next month. He knew there would be backlash among the student body, and that some would likely refuse; it was not a wise thing to refuse a Death Eater, for such insubordination would be reported to the Dark Lord, and he was powerless to stop any punishments that he deemed fit.

The green Wiggenweld Potion stared back at Severus from within its vial, and he quickly took its cork from its tip and downed the entirety of it. The Sleeping Draught he'd managed to sip the night before eased from his system then, and the pains he'd felt since sleep had decided to leave his senses enough to wake him vanished. He rolled his shoulders then, crossing over to towards one of his bedroom windows as he levitated the vial back into his stores, and stared outside at the pearly-white clouds that adorned the sky. Before he'd managed to arrive in the Dark Lord's presence the evening before, he'd made a quick trip to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, to deliver something he deemed to be of the utmost importance to the former bedroom of Sirius Black, hoping beyond hope that Potter had found it. He'd put a spell on it to recognize the holders fingerprints, and if anyone but Harry attempted to open it or read it, they would be unsuccessful in both points, for it would not open for anyone, nor would it reveal the words that Snape had written to be seen for his green eyes only.

Severus swallowed for a moment as he permitted himself to consider Harry's green eyes. They were beautiful, to say the least, and the thought caused him to shudder. He was a man now, yet why did he feel shame whenever he considered Harry in this manner? Likely because of the betrayal the man had felt when he'd witnessed his killing of Albus Dumbledore mere weeks before, at the end of last term. Sure, he'd called him a coward in the wake of the execution, but he'd begged for him to come back, and not leave him. Perhaps he'd wanted him to stay for him; or, rather, he'd wanted to lull him into a sense of security, before sicking McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout on him, before Aurors or Dementors took him.

Now that he was headmaster, Slughorn had been appointed to his former position, in both respects. He was now potions professor—a position that Severus himself had inherited from him—and Head of Slytherin House. He recalled, during the few times the five of them, Slughorn, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and himself, had gotten together in the weeks since his killing of Dumbledore to discuss next term, how different the four looked. While they'd been prepared to fight off anyone and anything the night he'd committed the murder, now, they were ashen, almost as if they were unwilling to even speak a word before Severus, likely because the Carrows shadowed him with every step he took. It was a miracle that he could even sleep in his own bedroom; however, now that term was due to begin in just a matter of weeks, they were already coming up with sickening punishments for the influx of students due to return. Severus suspected a diminishing amount flocking back, for now that the Dark Lord was back with a vengeance, many Half-Blood and Muggleborns would be wary to return or even want to attend for the first time at all.

Pure-Bloods would likely be safe, unless they were considered to be Blood Traitors, like that of the Weasley family. Severus knew that the youngest Weasley boy, Ron, would be off somewhere with Potter and Granger, doing whatever it was that Dumbledore had entrusted to them. He was also aware that the seventh and final Weasley sibling, a girl named Ginny, would be in her sixth year at Hogwarts, although he was unsure if she would make an appearance. As bright a witch as she was, her mother would likely wish to keep her home for her own protection. Severus was aware of the feelings the girl had for Potter, and remembered Potter's confusion for them—as well as his attentions from Ravenclaw student Cho Chang in his fifth year—and how he believed he needed to have a girlfriend, due to his status as the Chosen One.

The thought of the Chang girl or Ginny Weasley kissing or touching Harry sent Severus's skin ablaze with jealousy. He knew it was wrong to think about the would-be Light's savior this way, but he found he could no longer help it. Yes, he knew he'd stepped out of line at Christmas, but the notion that the boy possessed enough power to seemingly block his Obliviate spell sent him over the brink. Such power made him feel a combination of fear and desire; never before had anyone managed to block one of him Memory Charms so expertly. The notion that someone like Potter could accomplish such a thing temporarily set him at ease for his upcoming battle with the Dark Lord; however, if he could block the charm, what else could he be capable of, and not just when it came to magic, but physically? Intimately. The very thought sent rapid chills down his spine in quick succession; the thought of possessing the boy was nearly too much to handle, and the day had only just begun.

"Dobby," he said into the silence.

The house-elf popped into the headmaster's bedroom then, wiggling his ears and bowing his oval-shaped head. "Headmaster Snape, sir!" he squeaked. "How may I be of service to you this morning? Is breakfast in order?"

"Yes," Severus replied, sitting in the winged back chair beside his window, where he kept a small bookshelf, mostly of potion works, so as he could stare out at the grounds beyond. "I would like a pot of coffee, plus a full English, please," he said, his tone level, unsure if he could even stomach the entire meal, but something had to be considered normal about him, for the house-elves would definitely talk to Madam Pomfrey if he wasn't even attempting to get his full nutritional value.

"Shall I tell the kitchens bacon or sausage this morning, sir? Or would the headmaster like to request both?" he asked.

"Both, this morning, thank you, Dobby," Severus said.

"Of course, headmaster!" he squeaked again. "Right away!" he went on, before he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Severus sat back in his chair, his dark eyes roving over towards the window, where everything had a clean tint to it, due to the pearly clouds above. He stared outside and into the direction of the Forbidden Forest, remembering many a time when Potter and his friends inexplicably found themselves in there, despite express warnings not to go. He worried his thin lower lip, knowing that Potter would succeed, and while he wanted, more than anything, to be there to see it, and even attempt to see if the pair of them could even attempt at a friendship—if nothing else—he was unsure if it would be possible to do so.

. . .

Harry watched as Hermione read from the small piece of parchment that had been left inside the locket, which revealed it to be not the Horcrux they sought after, yet now the mystery of who had written it seemed to be at an end. It surprised Harry that Regulus Black, a Slytherin like the rest of the Black family—save for Sirius—would go against Lord Voldemort in an attempt to destroy a piece of his soul. Of course, if Dumbledore was correct, he could also trust Severus, despite his Hogwarts House and despite everything else he had done. Harry then wondered if that also included Dumbledore's death.

"There's that," Ron said, pulling Harry from his reverie as Hermione finished reading. "Another mystery solved. What do we do now?"

"Well, I've seen a lot of cabinets around the place," Hermione said quietly. "Muggles tend to put special items inside them, ones that they feel comfortable showing off, anyway. Harry, didn't your aunt do that?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly, his voice hoarse as he hunched his shoulders. He didn't really like discussing the relatives who took him in by force, or the style they presented. They were unloving towards him, to say the least, and he could still feel the cow hide of Uncle Vernon's belt as it lashed the skin of his back, legs, and front. That was the least of the abuse, that and doing most of the chores around the house, save for the heavy-duty cooking, for his aunt said that he would ruin complex dishes, and her precious kitchen and its utensils, if he even attempted to cook them. The worst of it was when Aunt Petunia would hand over the steel wool, and then inspect him after he'd showered to make sure that his skin was raw, to draw out the freakiness that plagued him...

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry's green eyes snapped to hers. "Yeah, she had them," he replied; he'd never really told them what the Dursley's had done; Ron knew about the bars on his window before their second year at Hogwarts, as well as their unwillingness to allow him to release Hedwig, plus the slew of names they called him—"freak" had been their favorite; that, or "little bastard". "Lots of innocent little children playing around and such—non-magical ones, of course."

Ron, detecting something more was going on here, but deciding not to push it, locked his eyes with Hermione's and shook his head, knowing she would press further if allowed. He turned to face Harry then, clapping him on the shoulder. "Forget them, mate," he said gently, and Harry nodded, knowing it would be a wise thing to do. "Not like you've got to go back there anytime soon, anyway," he joked.

Harry chuckled darkly. "Thankfully," he replied.

The rustling sounds from behind one of the doors off the kitchen caught the trio's attention just a moment later, and it was Harry who launched from his seat to see what it was. Advancing upon the door, he grabbed ahold of the antique brass knob and yanked it open, his eyes widening ever so slightly at what he saw. Without hesitation, he made a grab for the gray, wrinkled creature within, settling him down in the kitchen, while the house-elf, to his credit, looked shocked and bleary-eyed at the exchange.

"Kreacher," Harry said through his teeth.

"Master associates with Mudbloods and Blood-Traitors," he said, his voice a lazy squeak, and it took all Harry could not to yell at him.

"As your master, I forbid you to call either of them those wretched things again," he said, and put his hands on his hips. "They are Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. Are we clear on that?" he demanded of his inherited house-elf.

"Yes, Master," Kreacher said quickly, bowing his head, although his demeanor and tone were anything but respectful. "Would Master request anything else? Breakfast perhaps?"

"Hermione," Harry said levelly.

Hermione snapped to Harry's attention then, pulling up her beaded bag and muttering, "Accio locket," before she handed it over to him.

"Do you recognize this?" Harry demanded of Kreacher, holding the amber piece of jewelry aloft, so much so that even the old house-elf could see it, though he was half-blind. "Kreacher, as your Master, I order you to answer me."

"Yes, Master," he said at last.

"Where did you last see it?" Harry asked.

"With Master Regulus, before he told Kreacher he was taking it somewhere safe," the old house-elf told Harry as quickly as he could.

"Where was that?" Ron asked, stepping forward.

Kreacher looked slightly intimidated by Ron's great height, and he swallowed slightly. "The Blood Traitor who loves a Mudblood dares to ask Kreacher a question?"

"Kreacher!" Harry snapped, and the milk-white eyes of his house-elf turned back onto him. "I won't tell you again," he thundered, remembering his late godfather using his exact words against him, so long ago. "They are Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to you. Now, tell Master where you saw Regulus and the locket, now!"

"It was kept in Mistress Black's special cabinet for family heirlooms, but Master Regulus believed that such a place was too dangerous, once he had turned against the Dark Lord," Kreacher said quietly, obviously afraid of the latter. "So, Master Regulus pocketed the locket, and he took Kreacher with him to Gringotts. It stayed in the Black family vault; now that the heir to the House of Black has me as his house-elf, only he can get inside. Above all things, the goblins at the Wizarding Bank are loyal creatures, and can see through various forms of magic. They would not allow someone without a claim to the vault inside. It was decreed on Master Regulus's death that Master Sirius would get everything within the vault. Now that Master Sirius has left this world for the next, everything inside the vault belongs to Master Harry."

Harry's dark brows raised of their own accord in the moments that Kreacher explained the whereabouts of the locket, the Horcrux, rather. It was the most that he had ever heard the poor creature speak; in fact, he was surprised that Hermione did not bring up S.P.E.W. once in the few minutes that Kreacher had been in their presence. Perhaps, after all this time, she'd finally discovered a house-elf that didn't deserve her patience, or his freedom, due to his crass and rather prejudiced behavior.

"And Regulus took you into where the vault was?"

"Yes, Master," Kreacher replied.

"And there are documents somewhere, pointing out where the vault is?"

"Yes, Master," Kreacher said, bowing again. "They are kept in the Black family safe, in Mistress Black's bedroom, which has not been touched since her death."

"Fetch them for me at once," Harry told him.

"Yes, Master." Kreacher bowed then before he merely snapped his fingers and was gone in a puff of smoke.

Harry turned towards his friends. "Well?"

"Well, mate, think we can trust him?"

"After all," Hermione said, speaking right after Ron, "he is still loyal to that damned portrait upstairs," she went on, her voice filled with disdain. "The last thing we need is someone Apparating themselves in here and taking you..."

"That won't happen," Harry said grudgingly. "He may not like me, he doesn't have to. In fact, I don't give a shit," Harry went on, squaring his shoulders. "The bottom line is, I'm his master now, and he's loyal to me. I mean, Dobby was scared of Lucius Malfoy and still did his bidding for god's sake..."

"That was based on fear, mate," Ron said quietly, while Hermione's expression turned sad for Dobby's former plight. "Fear is a powerful motivation to go along with something. Hate... Well, that's motive to turn someone in."

"He won't," Harry assured Ron. "Sirius was hated by him just as much, if not more, than I was, and that was because he was sorted into Gryffindor. And then there's the notion that his mother hated him..." Harry cut himself off then, a lump forming in his throat, about someone who hated him, but he wanted, more than anything, not to be hated by this person. "However, at the end of the day, he was loyal to Sirius. Sirius was convinced enough that he would be loyal to me, when he passed him down to me, that is."

"Harry," Hermione said, her voice soft, which caused Harry's eyes to drift towards her. "You're not just talking about Sirius and Mrs. Black, are you?"

Harry swallowed then, lowering his eyes. "No," he said quietly. "No, I'm not."

"Who are you talking about, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry felt his shoulders hunching in again; it was a pose he hadn't had to do for so long. It was the one he'd come up with in order to stiffen his body, in an attempt to distract himself from the blows of Uncle Vernon's belt.

"This'll teach you to leave your freakish ways outside my house, boy!" Uncle Vernon had yelled at him, the belt cracking down on Harry's flesh, over and over again. "Why couldn't you have been born normal, like the rest of us? Why did your godforsaken parents have to die, and why did those group of freaks leave you on our doorstep like that?!"

The saltwater, which Harry had always attempted to keep out of his eyes as long as possible, entered his eyes. His hands were placed, palms down, on the wall before him. He felt himself swallowing then, in an effort to distract himself. He couldn't stop himself from crumbling; it was day in and day out, for the smallest of infractions. Maybe the bathroom hadn't been cleaned to Uncle Vernon's satisfactions; maybe the living room hadn't been dusted to Aunt Petunia's expectations; maybe Dudley's laundry still smelled like the pig of a young man he was, which really couldn't be helped...

"Well," came Uncle Vernon's voice, filling his ears once again, as his belt finally stopped making contact with Harry's bare back, "it seems as if you cannot simply learn your lessons from my belt alone anymore."

Harry felt himself stiffening automatically then—what other punishments could Uncle Vernon possibly come up with? His back was permanently scarred from the belt anyhow. He'd never let Mrs. Weasley see it for treatment, so the scars always were swatted again and again, until they ultimately opened up again, scarring over until the next time. He peeked over at Uncle Vernon to see what the man—if one could really call the son of a bitch that—and felt his entire body begin to tremble when he saw what his uncle was doing.

"Uncle Vernon," he said, his fifteen-year-old voice trembling then as he fought against the fear in his tone. "What are you...? No," he whimpered; he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't be brave this time, especially not after his own uncle's pants fell to the ground.

"Yes," Uncle Vernon said, his beady eyes catching the sight of Harry's. "Don't look at me, you fucking freak!" he yelled, grabbing Harry by the neck and slamming him, face-first, into the wall opposite him. He pulled down Harry's trousers effortlessly, groping him for a moment, before he bared his nephew's ass to him, and...

Harry gritted his teeth then, in an effort to prevent himself from crying out. The tears came down his cheeks then as he shivered; he felt himself stretching then, and his entire body trembled as Uncle Vernon pumped behind him. What kinds of sick world was this, that he would be forced to be put here with a family who couldn't love him, like they were expected to? It was all Harry had ever wanted, and now... Now it was too late...

"Harry," Hermione said, stepping closer, so much so that her best friend's green eyes caught hers, and she drew back then at the haunted manner that filled them. "Harry, what else haven't you told us?"

"Yeah, mate," Ron said, his tone deliberately gentle. "You know that you can tell the two of us anything. We're your best friends."

Harry opened his mouth then, wanting to tell them, more than anything, but... "Kreacher," he said, his tone filled with relief when the house-elf popped into view.

"Master requested the Gringotts bank vault information for the Black family, which is now yours upon Master Sirius's death," he said quietly, before he bowed, handing over the yellowing folder to him, which Harry promptly handed over to Hermione.

Hermione took it. "These maps are insane," she whispered, and Ron immediately gravitated towards her to take a look.

"I always thought so, Miss Granger," Kreacher said quietly, before his eyes went towards Harry with a odd expression. "Perhaps Master would like some treacle tart."

Harry blinked, not having fully returned to the present. "What?" he asked, stupidly.

Kreacher made a face that could only be described as a grimace of a grin. "Master Sirius took it upon himself to inform Kreacher that treacle tart was Master Harry's very favorite thing to eat out of everything in the Wizarding World or out," the house-elf said quietly. "I would be happy to make one for you, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, so as your friends may re-build their strength, and you, Master, your happiness."

"I am not unhappy, Kreacher," Harry replied, though his tongue felt like lead.

"Of course, Master," Kreacher said, bowing. "Would Master still like Kreacher to make the treacle tart for him and his friends?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, Kreacher. Thank you," he replied, knowing that, eventually, he too would have to eat something.

"Of course, Master," Kreacher said again, and stumbled away from him, making his way to the Black family kitchen, and the door swung behind him.

"Harry."

Harry turned to face Hermione then, who stood with Ron, whose brow was slightly furrowed as he attempted to make sense of the map of Gringotts that Kreacher had provided them. "Yeah?" he asked her.

"Is there something we need to know?" she whispered.

Harry sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair. "In time," he said softly, realizing he couldn't form the words just yet. "Is that okay?"

She smiled then; the smile was a sad one. Not sad in that she wanted Harry to share the information with her in that very moment, but sad because the last thing she wanted was for Harry to be haunted from his past demons. "Of course, Harry," she told him. "I know you'll tell us when you're ready."

Harry nodded. "I need to be alone for a while," he said quietly.

Ron looked up. "Of course, mate. You look tired."

"Get some rest, Harry," Hermione said gently. "We'll let you know when the tart is ready. In the meanwhile, Ronald and I will attempt to make heads or tails of this map."

Harry nodded, turning towards the stairs. "Don't get too distracted by snogging," he joked, and smiled slightly when he heard his friends laugh.

He made his way up the stairs again, and returned to Sirius's bedroom, shutting the door behind him and perching on the edge of the bed, fishing the letter from before out of his pocket. He knew full well who the scrawled handwriting belonged to, and it made his blood pump erratically just to consider it. He dared hope, for the first time, that Severus could care for him...

Turning, he looked towards the black stone fireplace that Sirius's room housed, and walked slowly towards it. On the mantle above, moving pictures covered the shelf; the one in the middle was the picture of the Order of the Phoenix that Sirius had gifted to him just before his fifth year at Hogwarts began. Just after Sirius was killed, Remus Lupin had taken him to Grimmauld Place and permitted him to frame it and put it there. Harry smiled at the memory as his eyes drifted to the other pictures—a Black family portrait, where Mr. and Mrs. Black looked adoringly at Regulus, and Sirius, who was placed slightly off to the side, looked uncomfortable; another photo had Sirius, James, Remus, and Pettigrew, the latter of whom had been blotched out with some kind of fiery spell; another one was of Sirius and his parents, and appeared to be their wedding, where Sirius was the only guest, and served as Best Man.

Harry turned his head to the side then, and spotted something that any Muggle would presume to be an unassuming flowerpot. However, the dust inside was not plant soil, rather, it was none other than floo powder. Harry felt his breath hitch from within his throat then; he hadn't noticed this the night before, and could only assume that Severus himself had provided such a thing, in the hopes of allowing him safe passage somewhere, anywhere. He raised his eyebrows then, and knew exactly what he had to do, as he reached out his hand towards the pot, and took a decent handful into his palm. He pointed his wand at the fireplace then, and the flames immediately sparked up, turning a brilliant green, and he smiled to himself.

Tossing in the powder, he said, "The headmaster's quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," and stepped into the flames.

. . .

Severus found himself tired after Dobby had delivered him breakfast that morning; the pain of the night before had been at the back of his mind during his attempted sleep, and now, the thought of a painless sleep was too tempting to pass up. As his eyes grew heavy, he permitted himself this temporary luxury, hoping that the Dark Mark wouldn't summon him away from the castle, now that he was going to get some rest.

The thought of Potter came to him unbidden, almost, and yet Severus knew, at one time or another, he would consciously think of the boy again. It was unavoidable, he saw that now, to consider the one student who he had vowed not to be seduced by. Not sexually, no, that had come later; but by Harry's sheer influence throughout the Wizarding World, everyone seemed charmed or taken with him, insomuch that they all wanted to be his friend, his follower, his ally, and do everything in their power to ensure his happiness. Perhaps, if things had been different, and he hadn't been the man he was, then maybe, maybe, Potter wouldn't have minded him taking liberties that night so close to Christmas...

The crashing from his outer room set Severus on guard then, and startled him from the dozing state he'd permitted himself. He leapt to his feet, his ever-present black cloak pluming around him as he muttered a cleaning spell, which put everything into place as he swept into the main room, wondering what the cause of the interruption was. His black eyes widened then as he saw Potter, who was now dusting himself off and greeting Fawkes, who hadn't seem to want to leave his perch much these days.

"What do you want, Potter?" Severus demanded, crossing his arms. "Don't you know it's dangerous for you even to be setting foot here? As well as conversing with a Death Eater. I could turn you into the Dark Lord at any moment."

Harry stood before Severus then, and felt his green eyes blaze with courage. "You wouldn't do that, sir," he replied.

Severus arched an eyebrow. "How can you be sure?"

"If you were going to, you would have after my parents died—kidnapping a baby is much easier than attempting to strong-arm a grown man," he said. "And you could've cursed me on the night Dumbledore died," he continued, and Severus was shocked that Potter didn't say that he had killed him, "but you chose not to. In fact, you stopped Bellatrix from cursing me, and merely knocked me to the ground."

"Touché," Severus replied. "Now, what do you want, Potter?"

"Harry. My name is Harry," Harry replied, forcing himself to step closer.

"Fine, then. Harry," Severus said, allowing the name to pass through his lips, and watched as the young man opposite him seemed to automatically relax before him. "How can I help you? Are you in need of a potion?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

"Okay," Severus said. "I'm terrible at guessing games, Harry, and you're supposed to be in hiding or on the run..."

"I know Dumbledore told you what we were doing."

"How do you know that?"

Harry smiled. "I'm not a complete idiot, sir," he replied.

"That remains to be seen, Potter, for it seems to me that you've just walked right into the lion's den without back-up."

"Snake-pit, more like," Harry said.

Severus cracked a smile at that. "Very well, then. Snake-pit. Nevertheless, you've come without Mr. Weasley or Miss Granger."

He nodded. "I did."

"Why?"

Harry squared his shoulders then. "Because I want answers," he replied.

Severus nodded. "There is only so much I can tell you now, Harry, but I will attempt to answer as much as I can."

"Do you swear it?"

Severus's hands twitched, recalling the Unbreakable Vow that he had made to Narcissa Malfoy on behalf of Draco. "Perhaps..."

"I don't want a vow from you, Severus," Harry said quickly, using his name for the first time, and it sounded like the most beautiful thing he had ever heard in his entire life. "I just want your word that you will consider the questions I have for you, before deciding whether or not you can answer them now. Is that understood?"

Severus nodded. "Very well, Harry. Ask me your questions."

Harry's eyes locked with his. "And you will consider them?"

"Yes. I will consider them."

He sighed, knowing that, in this moment, he didn't want to be practical. He wanted to be selfish, because this had bothered him for almost a year now, and he couldn't stop the words from coming out of his mouth. "Why did you try to Obliviate me after you kissed me outside of Slughorn's Christmas party?" he asked.

Severus immediately looked uncomfortable. "Because, I was a professor, and you are... Well, you were..."

Harry shook his head. "No, Severus," he said, and felt a rush of something when his eyes met his once more. "I don't want that bullshit answer, the logical one. I want..." He crossed over to him then, and placed his hand over his heart, and Severus's cheeks flamed at the touch. "I want you to tell me the answer from here, because I can't take it anymore."

He sighed. "The spell truly didn't work..."

"If it did, I couldn't ask you about it, could I?"

"Touché," Severus said again.

Harry remained silent then, and the young Gryffindor's eyes never left the older Slytherin's. It was almost as if they were communicating silently, or attempting to, but Harry realized that this silence wasn't getting them anywhere, and it was merely prolonging the inevitable. "I was just shocked, is all," he said softly, and Severus blinked. "Had you spoken to me about it, I wouldn't have reported you."

Severus sneered before he could stop himself. "Right..."

"I mean it," Harry said, cutting across him, his voice firm. "I wouldn't have."

"And why not?"

"Because you drive me crazy," Harry replied.

Severus's breath caught in his throat then, and he slowly permitted his hands to cover the younger man's. "Harry..."

"I'm not afraid," he whispered. "I won't be afraid. Not of this."

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"My attraction for a Death Eater will likely make front-page news of The Profit, if Skeeter had anything to say about it, but I don't care. I wanted it to happen," he said quietly. "I wanted you to kiss me. I deliberately provoked you that night, because I was too afraid to take the first step, because of what was done to me in the past..."

Severus's hands tightened around Harry's. "What was done to you?"

"Nothing I've ever shared with anyone, although I suspect Dumbledore knew about it," he said softly, and looked up at the portrait, but the former headmaster, as well as all the others, was fast asleep. "I shall tell you as well, Severus, in time," he said, and enveloped him into a hug, just wanting to smell him, whether or not he permitted it or not.

Severus even surprised himself by wrapping his arms around him, and the notion that their hearts beat as one solidified the situation. "Then I shall tell you my reasoning, in time, Harry," he replied with a heavy sigh. He placed his lips onto Harry's forehead, but when the younger man moved to catch his lips, Severus sighed and shook his head. "Now you must return to wherever it is you're hiding with those friends," he said, squeezing his shoulders. "Don't waste your time with an old man like me..."

"You're not an old man," Harry replied, launching himself at Severus then, and covering his mouth with his, before he could stop him, or react. Harry got down from the quick embrace and smiled up at him, before he moved over to the fire. "Return to your rooms, please," he said softly, and Severus looked confused. "My location must be kept secret."

Severus nodded. "Of course," he replied, and made his way back to his rooms, and shut the door behind him.

Harry grabbed a handful of Severus's floo powder then, and the fire came alive again with just him standing there. "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the bedroom of Sirius Black," he whispered into the flames, before tossing the powder, and stepped inside.

"Harry!" came Hermione's shout the moment he was through, and he shakily got to his feet, and Ron clapped him on the back as he coughed.

"You all right, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded, looking up. "Hermione..."

She smiled indulgently at him, and lifted her wand. "Oculus Reparo," she said, and the slash in one of his lenses quickly vanished. "Where have you been?" she demanded then, the sweet manner gone.

"Nowhere," he said quickly, and Hermione sighed, knowing that she wasn't going to get an answer from him—today, anyway.

"Hermione's been amazing," Ron said quickly, changing the subject. "She's found something else out for us."

"Yeah?" Harry asked. "What?"

"In the documents Kreacher gave me, it itemizes everything inside the various vaults," she told him quickly, and Harry shrugged.

"Okay?" he said, spreading his hands.

"Well, according to this," she said, opening the folder and flipping it to the indicated page, "it also tells us what the relatives of the House of Black have in their vaults."

Harry's brows came together. "You've found something?"

"Harry, Bellatrix Lestrange is Sirius's cousin!" she cried out.

"Not to mention she wants to kiss the ground that You-Know-Who walks on," Ron went on, his tone bitter.

"Anyhow, I'm convinced that there's something here," Hermione went on, showing Harry the itemized list, "that could be a Horcrux."

Harry's eyes widened as he looked over the list. "What could it be?"

"Not like we can just show up and say Accio Horcrux," Ron said, his tone still bitter. "That'd never work. There's got to be an angle."

"Not to mention potential protective enchantments," Hermione went on. "And, as Kreacher said, the goblins are loyal."

"Meaning that they won't just let us into her vault, because one look at me, and they'll call the Ministry, and I'll be handed over to him," Harry sneered, rolling his eyes. "I don't think that she and I are related in any way either." Harry raised his eyes to Ron then, an idea forming in his mind as it came to him.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Bill and Fleur work at Gringotts," Harry whispered.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Perhaps if they outsmart the goblins and distract them enough, we can get our goblin guide to do what we like by simply..."

"Harry, no!" Hermione cried out. "It is an Unforgivable Curse. I know that this is for the greater good and everything, but... Ronald Weasley, what are you doing?!" Hermione screeched, and watched as Ron walked over to the fire.

Ron tossed the powder into the flames. "Connect to Shell Cottage, in Tinworth, please," he said to the fire. After a moment of waiting, he spoke again. "Bill? Fleur? You there?"

"Ron? Is that you?" came Bill's voice, as his face appeared in the flames before Ron. "Ah, I see that you, Harry, and Hermione are safe."

"Hi, Bill," Harry said, lifting a hand, and nudging Hermione.

"Hello, Bill," she said, crossing her arms.

"Blimey, you must've done something," Bill said with a chuckle, turning to his youngest brother with a smile. "Mum'll be glad you're safe."

"Yeah," Ron said.

"Where are you?"

Ron shook his head. "Sorry, Bill. Can't say."

Bill nodded. "I understand. Are you okay?"

"We're fine," Ron assured him. "But we need a favor."

"Name it," Bill replied.

"Ronald..." Hermione began, but Harry tackled her and covered her mouth, knowing that this might be their only chance.

"How effective are you and Fleur at your jobs?"

Bill's expression in the flames turned curious. "Pretty effective. Why?"

"We need the two of you to cause a distraction while Harry, Hermione, and I break into one of the vaults," he admitted.

"Ron..."

"I know, it's reckless, and Mum would freak," Ron replied. "But this is important. We're on an assignment from Dumbledore—all of us. We can't tell you what it is, but he left this job for Harry to complete, and the two of us are in on it, too."

Bill sighed. "I'll talk to Fleur. We'll let you know by the end of the week."

"Thank you, Bill," Harry said.

Bill's eyes drifted over to him. "Don't thank me yet," he said with a smile. "I've still got to convince the wife that this is for the greater good," he said, adding that last part quietly, before he lifted a hand to them and disappeared into smoke.

"She's as much a fairy princess as I am," Hermione said, quoting Barty Crouch, Jr. when he had possessed the body of Mad Eye Moody, and had spoken to Harry about Fleur, before the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. "She'll see."

"Let's hope so," Harry said, as Ron turned to look at them both. "Because, if Fleur refuses to help us, then I don't know what else we're going to do."