Walk the Shadows

said. Hadn't said much at all, really, since Harry had woken up yesterday afternoon . . . if it could be called waking, when he'd actually just felt like he'd blinked . . . for a long time. He was really, really tired, though, and had a bunch of haziness in his mind that he didn't like much, but Snape hadn't said anything about that, either. Right now, the professor was looking up potion interactions, he'd said. He didn't seem to care if Harry talked or not, which was fine with Harry. And he seemed all right with Harry just staying curled up on the couch in front of the fire.

Of course, he'd insisted that Harry go to bed at a 'reasonable hour' last night, and even made him take an awful tasting Dreamless Sleep potion before brushing his teeth -- with a brand new brush! And he'd asked what Harry wanted for breakfast in the morning, prompting him to get out of bed, when Harry had thought he might just have a lie in instead. But mostly, he'd been very ungittish. Very unSnapelike, really. Harry wasn't sure what to make of it.

At last, the professor seemed to find what he was looking for, and returned to the wing-backed chair he'd occupied yesterday, with three books of differing sizes. Harry, snugged under his quilt on the couch, watched him page through them one at a time.

Eventually, Snape looked up at Harry, who pretended to be staring at the bookcases instead. 'Are you hungry?' he asked, his dark eyes keenly observant. 'Thirsty?'

'No, sir.'

'Is there something you wanted to talk about, Harry?'

Harry got an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, but shook his head. How weird was it that the professor was calling him by his first name? What was wrong with him? Why had he suddenly changed? 'No, sir.'

'Very well.' The professor was quiet again, the only sound that of slowly turned pages. His head was bent low over the book, his hawkish nose almost touching the pages, as if squinting at the script, and Harry was hit hard by a memory, one not even his own.

'I'm sorry,' he said suddenly.

Snape lifted his gaze to meet Harry's, and there was something in them that Harry couldn't place. Wariness? Concern? He wasn't sure, but knew it wasn't supposed to be on Snape's face, whatever it was. 'Oh? What for?'

'For looking.' Harry twisted his hands together, and couldn't help but look down at them. But he was a Gryffindor! So he had to look the one he'd wronged in the eye. He owed Snape that much, at least. The professor only looked confused now, not infuriated, so Harry elaborated, 'In your pensieve. Last year. I shouldn't've done it, sir, and I'm sorry.'

Snape sighed and closed his book. His eyes sparked with a reflection of the rage Harry remembered from that last Occlumency lesson, but he didn't shout this time, or throw anything, and after a moment, he shook his head. His voice was oddly . . . calm as he said, 'That's over and done, Harry.'

'I just thought . . .' Harry shook his head in a mirror of the professor's action. He wouldn't make excuses for himself, not this time. He'd been dumb and intrusive and had thrown away a chance to learn something important for mere curiosity. 'I'm still sorry,' he mumbled.

But Snape frowned. 'What did you think?'

Squinching his eyes shut for a moment, Harry shrugged, then looked back at his hands. 'I thought you were hiding something important from me, you and Dumbledore both. Something that would help me figure out those stupid dreams that Vol--' A lump Apparated into the middle of Harry's throat, and he couldn't finish. His stomach gave another twist and he bent over his hands, hiding his face.

'Harry?' He was much closer this time, and Harry instinctively shrank back into the couch. 'What is it?'

Harry didn't answer. He'd suddenly felt more afraid than he ever had before, and his scar was burning, and he wasn't exactly sure why. He just knew he shouldn't move or speak, or else he might scream, and never stop screaming, and he really didn't want to do that.

The soft voice inside him soothed, 'Shhh, it's all right. You can't trust him, but it's all right. I won't let anyone else hurt you, never again . . . ' and he relaxed a little.

The couch sagged next to him; the professor had sat down. Harry rubbed his scar briefly and took a deep breath before looking up. Both of them were silent for long minutes, until Snape said, in the most neutral tone Harry had ever heard from him, 'Were you just thinking about the Dark Lord?'

'No, sir,' Harry said. 'Why?'

Snape's eyes narrowed, and Harry shrank back a little more. 'What do you remember about how you got here?' The professor asked.

'To Hogwarts?'

'Yes. And to my quarters.'

Harry shrugged. 'I don't, really. Must've been out of it, I guess. I was at the Dursleys, and they . . .' The pain hit him anew and he stopped, hunching over to cradle his stomach with his hands.

'They left,' Snape said, very softly, as if Harry might bolt if he spoke louder.

'Yeah. Yes, sir.' Harry looked over at him. 'Is that why I'm here? 'Cause they left?'

'In a way.'

'Will I stay here the rest of the summer, then?' With you, he left unspoken.

Snape nodded. 'It is likely.' The professor rose and put his books away, one by one, taking his time, and looked to be considering something. Then he returned and stood in front of Harry, who stared back at him, warily. 'I believe you are pushing some of your memories away, so you won't have to deal with them. This is neither good for you nor for your recovery. Therefore . . .' He paused and drew his wand. 'I will help you recover them.'

'What? No!' Harry held up his hands, as if that might stop Snape. 'No, I'm not . . . you can't go rummaging in my brain.'