Walk the Shadows

'You need to eat more.'

Harry glared at Snape and deliberately poked his fork at another string bean without eating it. 'Yeah, 'cause you harping on it is doing wonders for my appetite.'

'I don't understand you.'

'Is this revelation time?'

Snape scowled. 'I would think, given your . . . upbringing,' his mouth curled in distaste over the word, 'that you would eat as much as possible, whenever you had the chance.'

'I guess you'd be wrong then.' Harry sighed, and relented, a bit. It wasn't Snape's fault, after all. 'My stomach is small, you know. Chronic starvation will do that. I can't eat as much as you want me to. I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to. The idea of stuffing all that food in, frankly makes me a bit ill.'

Snape got that hooded-eye look he only got when he was thinking of swearing, but had determined not to, for some reason. Not that Harry had heard him swearing often, but it was a look often followed by nastiness of one sort or another, so Harry helpfully supplied the reasoning on his own.

'What makes me ill, Mister Po--' Harry's glare was so fierce and so quick that Snape actually amended to, 'What makes me ill, Harry, is that I have wasted perfectly good breath and syllables on trying to convince you to eat this summer, when you could have said this weeks ago.'

Harry gave him a little smile and shrug. 'Yeah, but then you would have felt bad. See, I was helping.'

Snape rolled his eyes with a sigh. 'If you're done, why don't you do something constructive with your time and practice shielding spells.'

'Fine,' Harry said with an answering sigh of his own. 'I'll be in my room. Can you . . . I mean, when they get here, will you . . .' Harry bit his lip and pushed on, 'Can I just see them afterwards? I don't . . . I mean. . .'

Snape finally took pity on him and nodded. 'Don't worry, Harry. I'll talk to them, and then you can see them afterwards. But only if you want.'

'I . . . thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.'

Snape waved a hand at the thanks, like he usually did, like it was no big deal, what he was doing, that it was something he would do for anyone. Harry actually really appreciated that, too. He smiled a little more as he got up from the table. 'Do you want me to take care of the dishes?'

'No. I'll do it,' Snape said. 'Go on and practice.'

'Yes, sir.' Harry retreated to his room, and shields and curses, and other things he could understand.

---

Severus sipped at his tea and waited for the arrival of Harry's friends. He could honestly say he had no idea how this 'talk' would go, but he was glad that Harry was letting him take care of it for him. Harry, as he'd said the other night, was not used to anyone taking care of him. Severus planned to change that.

For one thing, there was this talk. For another, he knew Harry was worried about classes -- how could he not be? -- and he had an idea of how that could be mitigated, at least until Harry got used to having other people around him all the time. But he would need to talk to Albus, and though the Headmaster was doing better than he had been, he was still not completely recovered from what the Dark Lord had done to him. Nor from what Harry had needed to do, to bring his back to himself.

Regardless, all he needed for this other idea was Albus' permission, and he thought the Headmaster would not stint at all in anything he could do for Harry Potter at this point, considering how much pain he had been -- both directly and indirectly -- responsible for in the boy's life.

The Floo flared green, and Severus put down his tea. Unsurprisingly, it was Miss Granger who first appeared, stumbling ungracefully from the fireplace onto Severus' rug. The girl was staying at the Weasleys' just now, so the youngest of their sons should be popping through any moment.

Before Mr. Weasley made an appearance, though, Granger straightened up and gave Severus a cool look. 'Good afternoon, Professor.'

Severus covered a smirk with a scowl. 'Miss Granger. You are tracking soot through my rooms.'

The girl jumped a half foot, all pretense of coolness gone, and brushed frantically at her robes. 'Sorry, I didn't mean--'

'Please,' Severus said, to stop her from whatever she had been going to go on about. 'Have a seat. Would you care for tea?'

She gaped at him for a moment, probably amazed that the Bat from the Dungeons had any manners whatsoever, and was just seating herself on the settee as Weasley came through the Floo. The red head was scowling, his face already flushed, and before he had even heard anything Severus has to say. That did not bode well.

'Mr. Weasley,' Severus said preemptively, 'I was just offering your traveling companion a bit of refreshment. Would you care for tea?'

'I, er, well . . .'

'Eloquent as always, Mr. Weasley.'

The flush deepened, and Severus scolded himself. He was supposed to try and keep this civil, wasn't he? For Harry's sake?

'Where's Harry?' Weasley demanded, putting his chin up, as if to show he was not intimidated by his greasy Potions professor. 'What have you done with him?'

'Harry is in his room,' Severus said calmly, not rising to the bait. 'He asked me . . . or rather, I suggested it might be better for me to speak to you, before you see him.'

Weasley strode forward one pace, his face less than a foot from Severus' and at the same height. One thing