Year 7-12: The Ties That Bind

James was no longer home when Harry awoke at Godric's Hollow the next morning. His bed was made and the shower showed evidence of recent use, which Harry took as a good sign that James was back to his usual routine. He could only hope that his father would be able to carry on with his new circumstances without breaking down entirely.

Harry returned to Grimmauld Place to fix himself something to eat. An owl arrived to deliver the morning Prophet as he ate; it bore a front-page photo of Harry and Daphne up on stage, clasping hands as James finalized their marriage. The headline read: 'POTTER, GREENGRASS HEIRS WED IN CELEBRATION OF NEW MARRIAGE LAWS!' Voldemort was conveniently cropped out of the photo – no need to clue people in on the cruel joke just yet, letting them keep their heads buried in the sand for a while longer, pretending all was still right in the world.

Dahlia trudged downstairs a few minutes later, heavy bags under her eyes. She poured herself a mug of coffee and sat beside Harry, glancing at the photo on the headline as she did so. After a moment of contemplation she quipped, "Nice photo. It almost doesn't make you look like a complete git."

"Good morning to you, too," Harry chuckled, glad that she had least retained her sarcastic sense of humor. "How's Professor Snape?"

"He'll live," Dahlia sighed. "But he'll never be quite the same down there again. He's recovering at St. Mungo's now."

Harry nodded forlornly. He still resented Snape for his role in his parents' break-up, but he couldn't bring himself to wish death upon the man. He had saved Harry the year before, and as Dahlia rightly pointed out the previous night, he was the only thing standing between their mother and Voldemort's wrath against Mudbloods.

"Pettigrew didn't give you any problems last night, did he?" he asked bitterly.

"I can handle Pettigrew," Dahlia muttered. "He tried to come up and talk to me while I was working on Snape, and I told him to piss off. He scurried away like the rat he is."

Harry snorted – that sounded like Peter alright. "All the same," he said. "If he lays a finger on you—"

"You'll do what?" Dahlia snapped. "He's my fiance now, Harry. Why don't you worry about your own spouse before asking after mine?"

Harry was stunned by her sharp jab. Dahlia saw the look on his face and instantly deflated. "Sorry," she groaned, massaging her temple. "Long night."

"Why don't you get some more sleep?" Harry suggested. "It's Sunday – we won't be expected back to the castle until tomorrow."

"No, I'd rather leave now," said Dahlia, finishing her coffee and standing. "I can't sleep anyway, and this bloody townhouse depresses me."

Harry couldn't argue with that. He finished his own breakfast before linking arms with Dahlia and Apparating back to the Greengrass safe house. "Wait here," he instructed; Dahlia must have been confused as she could not see the cottage. Harry hustled up the lane and knocked on the door. Daphne answered almost at once, also looking like she'd barely slept a wink.

"Morning," he greeted her. "Ready to return to the castle?"

Daphne nodded and followed him back down the lane. "Good morning, Dahlia," she greeted the younger Potter politely. Dahlia responded by wrapping Daphne in a tight hug.

"You were so brave last night," she whispered. "I thought I was going to pass out the first time I saw the Dark Lord."

Daphne accepted the hug stiffly. Harry could tell she was still hiding beneath her icy exterior to regulate her emotions. "Shall we return?" she asked, turning expectantly to Harry. He nodded and took both of their arms, Apparating them away.

They reappeared in Hogsmeade, just beyond the iron gates leading up to the castle. The gates swung open at their approach, allowing them to march up the dirt path to Hogwarts.

"I'll leave you two to talk," said Dahlia, increasing her pace before either could argue. Soon Harry and Daphne found themselves walking side by side in silence, each unsure of what to say.

Eventually Harry cleared his throat. "So…" he said tentatively. "I assume you saw this morning's Prophet."

"Naturally," Daphne sniffed. "It was a fair photo. It makes sense why they would choose us to sell the new laws to the public. We make for an aesthetically appealing couple, don't you think?"

"Er…" Harry said hesitantly. "Daphne, I hate to ask this, but you know this isn't a legitimate marriage, right?"

"Why not?" Daphne shrugged. "It's legally valid, and it could have been much worse for both of us. At least we tolerate one another."

"But neither of us wanted this," said Harry. "We don't love one another."

"Oh, grow up, Potter," Daphne scoffed. "Pure-bloods rarely marry for love. We both come from good stock and will learn to care for one another in time."

"Look, this might be normal for you with your upbringing, but it's not for me," said Harry. "I do care about you, Daphne, but not as a life partner. We don't have to just accept this—"

"Of course we do!" Daphne shouted. Her veneer was beginning to crack now, and Harry saw the desperation in her eyes now. "They'll kill us and our families if we don't! But oh, what does it matter? They probably will anyway once they're done toying with us...this is all just punishment for what our fathers did to defy the Dark Lord...oh, Merlin, what are we going to do?"

Daphne sank to her knees and began to cry. Harry cast privacy wards around them and sat beside her in the dirt; she buried her face in his shoulder, her entire body wracked with sobs. He said nothing, just allowing her to vent out the emotion she'd clearly been bottling in for a while. Eventually her sobbing ceased and she merely clung to him, trembling with exhaustion.

"You're still in love with Ron, aren't you?" Harry asked softly.

Daphne said nothing for a while. Then, she slowly nodded in affirmation.

"And you didn't want to marry me," said Harry. "It's okay, you can admit it."

"N-no," Daphne choked miserably.

"Thank you for being honest," said Harry. "Here's what we're going to do: we're going to carry on as normal. Pretend to be husband and wife. We play our part so that nobody asks questions, and finish out the school year. After that, we won't have as much scrutiny on us anymore."

"We'll be expected to produce offspring," Daphne pointed out sullenly. "Won't people notice when I don't become pregnant?"

"That's a concern for another time," said Harry. "If anyone asks, we're trying. But unless they force you to drink fertility potions or some other nonsense, it's none of their damn business. Okay?"

Daphne nodded, looking marginally more relaxed now. His decisive words were finally helping to calm her down. "Okay," she agreed.

"The good news is, most pure-blood couples hate each other, so it won't even be hard to pose as one," Harry quipped. Daphne gave him an exasperated look. "C'mon, that was a joke."

"I know," said Daphne. "And a dreadful one at that. Here, help me up."

Harry chuckled to himself...already Daphne was returning to her usual icy self, which he supposed was a good thing. He helped her to her feet and cast a Drying Charm on her cheeks; she still looked tired and miserable, but at least her brief moment of panic had passed her by. Harry took her arm and guided her the rest of the way up to the castle in silence.

Thankfully, they didn't encounter many students once they reached the Entrance Hall. Those who did spot them scurried away in fear, giving them a wide berth to their dorms. Harry looked forward to shutting himself in his room for the rest of the day and trying to get some rest. However, once they reached their third floor quarters, another surprise awaited them.

"What in Merlin's name…?" said Daphne as they headed down the hallway to their rooms. Where once there had been two separate doors leading to their adjacent dorms, now there sat only one door, centered perfectly at the end of the hall. Confused, Harry pushed it open. Inside was only one dorm, with a wider bed and two sets of dressers and desks on either side. Of course, Harry thought grimly. Why separate the married couple when they're meant to be sleeping together?

Harry let go of Daphne's arm and drew his wand. He split the bed cleanly into two halves and conjured a divider between them. "We can split our time in the bathroom and give each other privacy as needed," he said. "I won't be spending a lot of time in here anyway."

"What if the Headmaster or the Carrows see?" asked Daphne worriedly, watching as Harry split the room in two. "Won't they ask questions?"

"If Amycus Carrow sticks his fat nose in here, I'll break it for him again," said Harry darkly. "I'll accuse him of trying to peep on my wife and suggest he sniff after someone his own age."

Daphne snorted loudly at the quip, then clapped a hand to her mouth at her own un-ladylike reaction. "I think I'd like a shower, if you don't mind," she said, slipping back behind her mask in record time. "I would invite you to join me, but clearly you find me repulsive as a mate, so I won't bother."

Harry hastened to correct her, to clarify that he didn't find her repulsive, before realizing that she too was making an off-color joke. Apparently she did still have a sense of humor about the whole ordeal. She'll be alright, Harry told himself as Daphne shut herself in the bathroom. We can make the most of this somehow.

Fortunately, the mockery Harry was expecting from his peers never came. Part of that was due to the absence of many Slytherins the next morning, particularly the seventh-year girls. Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode did not attend breakfast or their morning classes, and it struck Harry like a dull blow to the stomach when he realized why. Their time at Hogwarts was done. Their new futures had arrived literally overnight, and now they were living it, performing their solemn duty to Britain.

Harry never thought he'd feel bad for the likes of Pansy. For all the snide comments and bigoted remarks over the years, she was still just a foolish teen who was only parroting what she'd been taught by her parents. She had no clue how the real world operated, and now the reality of living under Voldemort's shadow had crashed down upon her. He couldn't help but picture her alone and scared, her future and agency stripped from her in minutes, with a cruel husband uncaring about her plight. Yes, she had supported it wholeheartedly, but did the punishment fit the crime? Harry wasn't sure.

That night, Harry wrote to Fleur in his enchanted diary. He'd half-expected a lengthy message waiting for him, demanding answers about what had happened at the ball, but the pages were maddeningly blank.

Can we talk? Harry wrote. He waited several minutes for a response, but got none. It was rare for Fleur not to respond instantly in the evenings...maybe she was asleep, or working late, or busy with something else. I'm guessing you saw the Prophet article this morning. Daphne's a friend, but I was forced into the marriage against my will. Dahlia was also forced to get engaged, and so was Daphne's little sister. I'll be stopping by the house this weekend – we can talk about it then if you'd like.

He waited a few more minutes before deciding Fleur wasn't going to write him back, then stowed the diary away and got ready for bed. Why was he so preoccupied with Fleur's opinion on the matter, anyway? She would surely understand the dire circumstances he found himself in. It's not like he owed her an explanation for getting married, arranged or otherwise. Still, her silence bothered him, and he hoped nothing bad had happened since they last spoke.

Luckily, he would get an opportunity to clear the air that Saturday. There was a Hogsmeade visit scheduled, which meant he would not even have to sneak out of the castle in order to visit Raven House. He began to plan his journey, only for a wrinkle to appear on Friday over breakfast.

"So, where do you intend to take me tomorrow?" asked Daphne as they sat at the Head Table together.

"Hmm?" said Harry, oblivious. "Er...did you want to go to Hogsmeade together?"

Daphne gave him a scathing look. "You do realize how it will look if we go to the village separately?" she said in an undertone. "We must maintain appearances, if only for a couple of hours."

"Right...yes, of course," Harry muttered. It was a reminder that he had to consider his actions carefully from now on...his reputation reflected not just on himself, but on Daphne as well. He couldn't give a damn what the Prophet had to say about him, but she did, and he didn't want to subject her to needless scrutiny as his unwilling wife.

The next morning, he waited outside the hall for Daphne to finish getting ready. She emerged wearing a traditional button-down dress, looking rather like a figurine from the previous century. Daphne gave Harry an admonishing look at his choice of outfit: a weathered traveling cloak and jeans. He shrugged and waved his wand to transfigure them into more appropriate formal attire, until Daphne nodded satisfactorily.

They took a carriage down to the village, which was cold but thankfully not yet snowing. They drew several curious eyes from students and villagers alike as they walked arm in arm down the main thoroughfare – everyone had heard the news of their union. As Daphne predicted, they had become something of the poster children of the new marriage laws, with near-daily updates and speculation about them in the papers, including possible honeymoon destinations and firstborn names for their heir.

"How about a drink at the Hog's Head?" Harry suggested.

"That place has a shady reputation," Daphne scoffed. "I can only imagine what Witch Weekly will have to say about us going there. Let's go to the Three Broomsticks instead."

Harry grimaced – he had suggested the Hog's Head to avoid big crowds, as students rarely frequented the pub. But Daphne clearly wasn't seeking to avoid crowds...if anything, she sought them out, her image-conscious thinking driving them to the busiest business in town. Perhaps that was for the best – the more people that saw them together, the fewer questions that might arise in the future.

Harry worried that they wouldn't be able to find seats inside the crowded pub, but Madam Rosmerta managed to find them a booth within minutes of their arrival. Perks of being mini-celebrities, I suppose, he thought grimly. He cast Muffling Charms around them so they could speak privately; he began to erect Notice-Me-Not wards as well, but Daphne arched an eyebrow, reminding him that they wanted to be seen together, not forgotten in the crowd.

"Astoria seems to be holding up alright," Harry remarked. He spied the younger Greengrass sitting across the pub with his own sister, chatting over Butterbeers, the two of them sadly still isolated from the rest of their House. Ginny Weasley commanded her own little band of Gryffindors across the room – she clearly garnered more sympathy for being stuck with Amycus Carrow, whom everyone knew and loathed.

"She's stronger than she looks," said Daphne. "And she knows she got off easy. Draco Malfoy's a prick, but he wouldn't impose upon her like that...not until she comes of-age, at least."

That was the one silver lining to all of this, Harry supposed. Both of their sisters were sixteen, meaning they couldn't yet be forced to leave school and submit to their future husbands. They weren't subjected to the same humiliating public ritual that Harry and Daphne had been, including the magical bond they'd undergone with James officiating the marriage.

"What exactly is the magic binding us together?" he asked aloud. He'd been curious about it ever since the ball the weekend prior, wondering how similar it was to, say, the Dark Mark, as morbid as it sounded.

"It's mostly ceremonial," Daphne shrugged. "Our magic recognizes one another as kin, which is useful for blood wards and the like. It used to prevent us from harming one another, but that practice ended several decades ago. Probably because husbands wanted to be able to smack their wives if they got out of line."

"Bloody hell," Harry grimaced. He didn't know what was more appalling: the casual misogyny, or the nonchalance with which Daphne discussed it, as though it were completely normal.

"That goes both ways, though," Daphne pointed out. "I could slit your throat while you sleep if you ever betrayed me."

"Good to know," Harry chuckled. Daphne had an odd deadpan sense of humor, but it was good to see that she was still in a joking mood, despite their grim circumstances.

The door to the pub opened, and Tracey Davis walked in, arm in arm with Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff. She glanced briefly at Harry and Daphne as she passed by their table, then shamefully averted her gaze when they both looked up at her arrival. Zacharias, meanwhile, strutted proudly past, puffing out his chest as he made eye contact with Harry, as though flaunting that he was now with the girl Harry had dated the year prior.

"I wonder how Tracey is holding up in Slytherin," Daphne sighed. "She's the only girl from our year left in her dorm now, and one of the few half-bloods who isn't beholden to the new laws. They must resent her for that."

"At least she's making friends from other Houses," Harry remarked, watching as Zacharias pulled out a chair for her. Then it struck him that Zacharias was a pure-blood himself, and therefore subject to the new marriage laws. Was he courting Tracey out of desperation to find a mate before he graduated? Did Tracey feel compelled to date him in order to improve her low societal status? It added a new grotesque layer to their pairing, and Harry suddenly felt sick about the hoops future generations would be forced to jump through to find a proper mate.

Harry and Daphne sipped on their drinks and conversed quietly for the next half-hour. They continued to draw curious looks from onlookers, but luckily no one approached them or asked questions about their relationship. Harry had never been more grateful to be aloof from his peers – he didn't want the scrutiny that might come if his classmates felt bold enough to ask for the intimate details of his marriage.

"Would you say we've shown our faces enough to satisfy the public?" Harry asked as Daphne finished her drink.

"I suppose so," Daphne said thoughtfully. "Why, do you plan to whisk me away somewhere more private?"

"Yes, actually," said Harry, drawing a look of surprise from Daphne. "I have something to show you. Ready to go?"

Harry stood and guided Daphne from the pub. He led her down an alleyway to a quiet alcove, not far from where he had his first kiss with Katie Bell nearly three years prior. But there would be no such impropriety today. He linked arms with Daphne and Apparated them far away, to a remote country road many miles away. Daphne looked around, bewildered.

"Where are we?" she demanded.

"Read this," said Harry. He withdrew the slip of paper containing Fleur's handwriting and handed it to her. Daphne read it; Harry felt the magic of the Fidelius Charm wash over her, and she looked up to see Raven House before her.

"What is this horrid place?" she asked as Harry guided her forward onto the property.

"Ouch," Harry deadpanned. "This is my safe house. Only a few people know about it, so keep it to yourself, okay?"

"Er...alright," said Daphne slowly, as she followed him up the path towards the front porch. Harry had reservations about introducing more people to the safe house, but figured she might need the protection it offered one day, given the danger she faced as Harry's wife. If Voldemort ever discovered Harry's secret and went after him and his loved ones, there was no reason Daphne should be doomed to suffer the same fate.

The front door opened, and Fleur walked out onto the porch as they approached. Her eyes narrowed at the unexpected arrival, crossing her arms uncertainly at Daphne as she and Harry came to a stop at the foot of the steps.

"Fleur, this is Daphne," said Harry awkwardly. "My friend—er, wife. Daphne, this is Fleur Delacour."

"Enchanté," Fleur said neutrally, inclining her head towards Daphne.

"Madam Delacour," said Daphne properly, lowering herself in a small curtsy to the French witch. "I am Daphne, heiress of House Greengrass and the new Lady Potter. My father speaks highly of yours."

"Fleur's a friend," Harry explained quickly. "She knows about, well, everything. We can trust her."

"I see," said Daphne, relaxing slightly. "You were the Beauxbatons Triwizard Champion, right? I enjoyed watching you in the tournament – you're quite talented."

"Thank you," said Fleur, also relaxing somewhat from the praise.

"I did not know you two were still acquainted," Daphne remarked, looking between Harry and Fleur. "Though I suppose it makes sense, given your fathers' political alliance – wait, Merlin, you two didn't have a marriage contract, did you?"

"No, nothing like that," said Harry quickly as Fleur raised her eyebrows. "We're just friends."

"'Just' friends?" Fleur repeated. "After all we 'ave been through? I am insulted."

Harry opened his mouth to correct himself, but Daphne spoke first. "Harry does have a tendency to put a foot in his mouth," she quipped. "He had the gall to rebuff my advances on our wedding night...can you believe it?"

"Har, har," Harry groaned as he realized the two girls were teasing him. "I'm glad you two see the humor in my misfortunes."

"Do not be offended, 'Arry," Fleur giggled, bopping him on the nose playfully. "We know you are a perfect gentleman."

"And this is the thanks I get," Harry grumbled. "Can I enter my own home now?"

"If you must," Fleur grinned, stepping aside so he and Daphne could enter. He gave her the tour, and she spent the next twenty minutes commenting on the horrendous decor while Fleur loudly agreed. Harry supposed he was grateful the two were getting along, though he lamented the fact that his once-peaceful bachelor pad was slowly being infiltrated by all the women in his life.

Soon after, the three of them lounged around the sitting room, Harry perched on a broken armchair while Fleur and Daphne relaxed on the couch. "Your family must not spend much time here," said Daphne, looking around the space. "Even our summer home did not look this run-down during the off-seasons."

Harry and Fleur shared a look. "Er...my family doesn't actually know about this place," he confessed. "Dahlia and Damian do, in case of emergencies, but it's a secret from my parents."

"It is?" Daphne frowned. "Why would you need a personal safe house?"

"It's complicated," said Harry. "And this is top-secret, d'you understand? Nobody else can know about this place, or even that Fleur and I know each other personally."

Daphne looked puzzled by this. "Wait...are the two of you part of that resistance movement the Prophet has been talking about?" she asked. Then her eyes lit up as she asked, "Have you spoken with Ron and the others?"

"No, not exactly," said Harry, and she deflated a bit. "But there are some things we don't want anyone knowing about. Things that could get us in deep trouble if anyone knew. So can you keep it to yourself?"

"I suppose so," Daphne shrugged. "What kind of wife would I be if I gossiped about my husband's private affairs?"

"I appreciate it," said Harry. "Here, take this." And he handed Daphne a small pendant, which he'd enchanted into a Portkey to Raven House. He explained how it worked, and also described the boundary line he'd drawn in the one-eyed witch's passageway in case of emergency. Daphne looked alarmed by his meticulous planning, perhaps not realizing the extent of his schemes to keep everyone safe, but she nodded resolutely in agreement.

The three of them sat around making small talk for a while, the girls catching up on the last two years since they'd last seen one another. Fleur kept trying to catch Harry's eye, and he knew she wanted to speak privately with him. Daphne must have sensed this, because she gave an exaggerated yawn and stretched wide on the sofa.

"I'm afraid this heiress needs her beauty rest," she quipped. "Would it be too much to assume that this pigsty has a bedroom to nap in?"

"You can use mine," said Fleur. "Upstairs to the left."

"Much appreciated," said Daphne as she stood. "Wake me up in two hours...any later and I'll be grumpy for the rest of the day." And she trudged up the stairs to get some shut-eye. Harry waited until he heard the bedroom door shut, then cast a Muffling Charm on the stairwell and joined Fleur on the sofa.

"Your wife is quite ze charmer," Fleur remarked. "I can see why you chose her."

"You know I didn't have a choice in the matter, right?" Harry sighed.

Fleur's expression finally turned serious. "Yes, I apologize for teasing," she said. "What 'appened last weekend?"

She listened attentively as Harry recounted the events of the Minister's Ball. She shook her head sadly as Harry described the impromptu ceremony for him and Daphne, grumbled angrily as he described the line of women brought out for the Death Eaters' choosing, and gasped in horror when Harry described Snape's fate.

"He will be alright, you believe?" she asked.

"Yes, he returned to work a couple of days ago," said Harry. "Voldemort didn't want to kill him, just send him a message."

"To humiliate him," Fleur nodded.

"Partly, yes," Harry agreed. "But I think there was something else going on that night. Another reason to single us all out."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just a hunch," Harry muttered vaguely. He'd been mulling over the events of that night all week, and something still didn't quite up about it all. There was one possible explanation, however, that made sense, one that scared him. And he didn't feel like hashing it out at that moment, as it would only add one more thing to worry about that was out of his control.

"Well, what are we going to do next?" asked Fleur. "It is abhorrent, yes, but it doesn't not change our circumstances much—"

"Yes, it does," Harry grumbled. "It shortens the window for us to finish our goals. I will not allow Pettigrew to lay hands on my sister, and she comes of-age in June. That gives us roughly six months to figure out a plan."

"That is not enough time," Fleur sighed. "It 'as been over a year since we found our last horcrux."

"I know," said Harry. "That's why I think it's time we got some help."

"From who?" asked Fleur. "Who can we possibly trust that will not be under Lockhart's scrutiny?"

"Two people come to mind," said Harry. "One is Amelia Bones. She won't have her mind invaded as long as she's pregnant, and she isn't due for a few more months. I think I'll talk to her over the upcoming break."

"Alright, if you think that wise," Fleur said uncertainly. "Who else?"

Harry hesitated before answering her. "Snape," he sighed.

"But 'e is a Death Eater!" Fleur protested. "You 'ave said it before: 'e is loyal to no one but 'imself."

"And to my mother," Harry corrected. "So far, that has given him cause enough to help me, even at risk to his own life. He already knows I'm not truly loyal to Voldemort, so it's not like I'll be telling him much he doesn't know already."

"You are not considering telling him what we are up to?" asked Fleur, suddenly alarmed.

"Not everything, no," said Harry. "But he's the main thing slowing me down from doing what needs to be done. I can't fight this war with one hand tied behind my back, and we're out of time, so I think we have to take the risk."

"What if he refuses to 'elp?"

"I'll show him reason," said Harry. "Trust me, I have a plan."

"Well...if you are sure," Fleur muttered, still sounding uncertain about the idea. "Oh, my father wrote me back zis week. I will be traveling 'ome for ze holidays."

"That's good," Harry nodded. "Must be nice to get a vacation from all the madness."

"It is not a vacation," Fleur corrected him sternly. "I will be working to end zis war while I am there, and I expect you to do ze same in my absence."

"Of course," Harry nodded.

"I also heard from Viktor Krum," Fleur continued. "I will seek to meet with 'im over the break as well."

"You didn't tell him anything incriminating, did you?" asked Harry nervously. The possibility of an owl being intercepted always weighed heavily on his mind.

"Of course not," Fleur scoffed. "I wrote to 'im as if I was an adoring fan. He sent me this in return."

Fleur drew her wand and summoned a large sheet of paper from across the room. It was a full-page photograph of Krum on a broomstick, pumping his fist in triumph for the crowd. Krum had autographed the photo, along with a brief scrawled message: 'Dear Fleur, thank you for the well-wishes. Call me if you're ever in Bulgaria sometime. xoxo -V.K.'

"That sounds like an invitation to me, does it not?" said Fleur. "I think 'e understood the hidden meaning of my letter and wants to meet to discuss ze war."

"That or he's hitting on you," Harry quipped, pointing to the x's and o's at the end of his message.

"Ah, is someone jealous of ze international Quidditch star?" Fleur said with a wry grin. "Afraid I'm going to spend ze night at his manor?"

"No, of course not," Harry denied, a bit too quickly. "You're free to spend the night with whoever you want." Why am I stammering like a smitten teenager? Harry cursed himself, face burning red as Fleur arched an amused eyebrow at him. Fleur isn't even into me like that, and Krum is way more in her league than I am. Merlin, why is my mind even going down this path!?

"As I said, it is strictly business," said Fleur, thankfully not teasing him further. "I will tell 'im what you said and ask for whatever 'elp he can give us. I will not give him all ze details, of course – only what he needs to know to provide assistance."

"Good," Harry nodded. He supposed both he and Fleur were taking a risk in asking others for help – Harry with Snape, and her with Krum. But they were going to need help at some point, and with Lockhart ravaging the minds of everyone they cared about, their options were limited. Trust was hard to come by these days.

Harry and Fleur sat talking throughout the afternoon, discussing everything from the war, to their school and work woes, to gossip about the newest married couples of Britain. It was freeing to be able to talk so openly with somebody, with no judgment or fear of retribution. Harry hadn't felt such a kinship with someone since his friendship with Ron and Hermione in his past timeline, and even then there were things he felt he couldn't share with his best friends. He could tell Fleur anything, and though she may tease him lightly at times, she understood him and did not judge his missteps.

Daphne stumbled back downstairs sometime later, looking rather cross. "It has been three hours," she huffed to Harry. "I told you to wake me in two."

"You must take better care to attend to your wife's needs, 'Arry," Fleur admonished him with a smirk. "Not a good sign of a healthy marriage."

"You could have reminded me as well," Harry grumbled, rolling his eyes as he stood. "Ready to go, Daph?"

"It was nice to meet you formally, Fleur," said Daphne, extending a polite hand towards her.

"Likewise," said Fleur, ignoring the hand and pulling in the younger girl for a hug. "Make sure our 'Arry is getting his beauty sleep too."

"I would, but alas, he refuses to share a bed with me," Daphne sighed dramatically, though she had a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she extended her arm towards Harry. "Take me home, dear husband."

Daphne seemed to be in better spirits after the excursion, which was a nice change of pace from the dour mood she'd been in since the Ball. Perhaps she just needed the care-free afternoon, free from the scrutiny of her peers. Or maybe she was reassured knowing that Harry was continuing the fight in secret, and that she may not be doomed to her fate forever.

However, the mood within the castle would soon darken again, as the weather began to turn and winter reared its ugly head. Normally Harry would begin looking forward to the Christmas holidays around this time, but he doubted it would be truly relaxing and care-free like in years past. His family was fractured and everyone was walking on eggshells – if anything, spending time with his family would be even more stressful than worrying about them from afar.

Harry kept an eye on Snape in the days to come, trying to gauge his frame of mind. He appeared outwardly as stoic and unchanged as ever, though his body language had definitely shifted since the ball. He appeared less confident and assertive, returning to the old Snape he once knew: lurking in the shadows, sulking in silence. He may have gotten everything he wanted from this war – a position of power and the woman he loved by his side – but clearly it did not bring him the happiness he desired.

It ironically gave Harry a glimmer of hope for his upcoming conversation with the man. The status quo was not favoring Snape like it had in months past. Perhaps that would make him more likely to help Harry upend it.

Harry made his move on a quiet Thursday evening in early December. The atmosphere in the Great Hall was muted; students spoke in hushed groups over their meals as a blizzard raged outside. Snape ate his dinner in silence, Lily beside him. Harry glanced about to ensure no one was paying him any mind, before turning away from the table and rolling up his left sleeve.

He had never attempted to communicate through the Dark Mark before. But he knew it must be possible, so he closed his eyes and pressed his thumb to the Mark, envisioning Snape and transmitting his desire to meet with him in his office. Snape did not outwardly react to the message, though he did flex his left forearm reflexively, indicating that he had received it. He finally glanced over to meet Harry's eye moments later, and gave a quick nod of the head, agreeing to the rendezvous.

The Headmaster excused himself from the table soon after, departing from the Great Hall and heading to his office. Harry waited a couple of minutes before bidding good-night to Daphne and leaving the Hall himself. Instead of heading for his dorm, he followed Snape up to his office; the gargoyle immediately leapt aside to grant him access up the spiral staircase.

Snape was waiting for him when he entered the office, sitting behind his desk, watching him impassively. Harry sank into one of the armchairs across from him; there was a brief silence as he considered how to begin.

"Well?" Snape demanded. "You requested this meeting, Potter. I am a busy man who cannot afford to waste time with frivolous student matters."

"How are you, sir?" asked Harry. "After your—er, after the Ball, I mean."

Snape's face twitched unpleasantly at the reminder. "The worst is behind me," he said simply. "I owe your sister a debt of gratitude. She saved my life that night."

Harry nodded thoughtfully at this. "I don't think I ever said this before," he continued slowly. "But I wish to thank you as well. For saving my life last June, and for keeping my mother safe through this war."

Snape's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why do I get the feeling that you are about to ask me for something?" he sighed. "If your intention is to butter me up, Potter, don't expect any special favors—"

"My intention was honest," said Harry, raising his hands in peace. "I am grateful, I mean it."

Snape clearly didn't believe him. "Your gratitude is noted, Potter," he said. "Now, if that will be all, I have other matters to attend to tonight—"

"I wanted to talk about the Ball, sir," said Harry. "And what it all means."

"It's quite clear what it all means," Snape scoffed. "The Dark Lord sought to publicly humiliate those who have displeased him."

"See, I'm not so sure I agree," said Harry.

"You think the Dark Lord gave you a wife out of kindness?" said an incredulous Snape. "Merlin, I know teenage boys can only think of one thing, but I implore you to think with your brain, Potter—"

"I know it was a punishment," said Harry. "That's not what I meant. Did you not find it odd who he chose for us to marry?"

Snape narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Elaborate."

"I was betrothed to Daphne Greengrass," said Harry. "We already know each other and our families get along. If his goal was truly to humiliate, why not pair me to Parkinson, or Bulstrode? Or auction me off to the daughter of the highest bidder? It was almost a show of mercy, wouldn't you say?"

"That's not exactly the word I would use—"

"My father was married to Andromeda Black, two more people who know each other," Harry continued. "And Draco was engaged to Astoria Greengrass. Not only an age-appropriate match, but both were unlikely to be desirable picks by the wider public. After all, who would want their child to marry the daughter of a disgraced Wizengamot member, or the son of a humiliated Death Eater who had failed the Dark Lord multiple times?"

"And yet, your sister was stuck with Pettigrew," Snape pointed out, distaste apparent in his expression. "I would call that neither age-appropriate nor a desirable match for her."

"Voldemort didn't expect for Pettigrew to do that," Harry retorted. "And he wasn't happy with the choice, remember? He tried to convince him out of it, but eventually agreed to save face."

"What is your point, Potter?" Snape demanded. "The Dark Lord made a public example of those he distrusts by pairing them together. So what?"

"If he distrusts us, why not pair us all to people who are loyal to him?" asked Harry. "Saddle me with Parkinson. Force my dad to wed Alecto Carrow and give Astoria Greengrass to her pervert brother. That would have been far more humiliating, and it would ensure we were being watched more closely by his devotees, who could report any sign of disloyalty to Voldemort. Instead, he chose to quarantine us from the rest of the public, to let us stick to our own. Why do you think that is?"

Snape pondered the question for a moment. "Perhaps he simply does not want to give any of his faithful the dishonor of associating with those who have displeased him," he suggested.

"As if he would care about that," Harry chuckled. "No, I think it's simpler than that. I think he intends for all of us to die."

Snape blinked in confusion at this theory. "Die?" he repeated. "What are you on about, Potter?"

"See, in the short term we are humiliated, yes," said Harry. "Put in the spotlight and forced to do his bidding while the rest of the world laughs at us. But in the long term, he isolated us. Kept us out of the wider population. So that when the time comes – when he feels he is ready – he can do away with us cleanly, with minimal fallout to the public. No widows. No orphans. A clean cut."

Snape opened his mouth to retort, then shut it again. He was silent for a moment, considering Harry's theory, and based on the length of the silence, he was taking it seriously. "He wouldn't," he eventually said. "What reason would he have to do so? He has total control of the country already."

"No, he doesn't," said Harry. "He still feels like there is unfinished business with Longbottom. He fears the prophecy, and until Longbottom is dead, along with everyone he deems untrustworthy, he will never be completely comfortable."

"Then why go through this charade, rather than kill us all now?" Snape demanded.

"We've been useful to him so far, to maintain the status quo," said Harry. "Killing the Minister of Magic, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and his 'golden boy' in one fell swoop would cause a panic. It might spark a civil war, not to mention an international one, forcing him to come out of the shadows and rule with an iron fist. He will not want to do so until the Longbottom variable is dealt with, so he doesn't have to keep one eye on his back while fighting a war."

"Which is why he would not do so lightly," Snape pointed out.

"Not today, perhaps," said Harry. "But give it a few more months. My father's popularity is declining with every controversial law he forces through the Wizengamot. You're the laughingstock of the pure-blood world after what happened at the Ball. And the Prophet is propping me up at the poster child of all this nonsense. With enough time, with enough successful propaganda, our deaths will be celebrated."

Snape weighed these words thoughtfully. Harry could see that he was becoming convinced by the argument. The suspicion in his face was being replaced by a new emotion: worry.

"If the Dark Lord wants us dead, there is little we can do to stop it," said Snape. "So what purpose does it serve to ruminate on such an outcome?"

"Because I have no intention of rolling over and dying," said Harry. "And I doubt you do either. I want to use the time I have remaining to change my fortunes."

Now the suspicion returned to Snape's expression. "What are you suggesting, Potter?" he said. "You seek to join the resistance movement with Tonks and Diggory? Or are you somehow foolish enough to think you can defeat the Dark Lord yourself?"

Harry took a deep breath. This was the point of no return – the moment he had to decide how much to divulge with Snape. Was it foolish to tell one of Voldemort's lieutenants that he was actively working against the Dark Lord? Was he about to risk the entire fate of the war? It was a terrifying prospect, but he was out of time and options. It was time to throw caution to the wind.

"I have a plan," said Harry cautiously. "I know a way to get us all through this war unscathed. But I need your help to do it."

"You should have run with your family when you had the chance last summer," Snape scoffed. "It's far too late now...you cannot outrun the Dark Lord."

"I'm not going to run," said Harry. "I've been working on something for years – something that can change the tides of this war. But I need information to complete my goal."

"What kind of information?"

"For one, I need to know how the school wards work," said Harry. "I need an easier way in and out of the castle. I can't do what I need to do while trapped beneath anti-Disapparation wards."

"So you're the one who was lurking around the ward stones earlier this term," Snape groaned. "I should have known. And you should have known that no one can Apparate or Portkey from within the school grounds."

"That's not true," Harry pointed out. "I saw you change the wards with a password, right here in this office, when you brought me and Malfoy to the raid."

"Headmaster's privilege," said Snape. "Why should I let a student come and go as he pleases?"

"Because the Dark Lord told you to help me, for one thing," Harry pointed out.

"He did no such thing."

"You don't remember our last meeting, in this very office?" said Harry. "He wants Longbottom found as a top priority, and he ordered you to assist me in my search."

Snape narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "If you have legitimate knowledge as to Longbottom's whereabouts," he said slowly, "you will come to me at once, and I will accompany you to the location. I will not allow you to leave this castle unattended."

"You also promised my mother to keep me safe," said Harry.

"You are perfectly safe here in the castle," Snape scoffed.

"I am not always in the castle," said Harry simply. "Sneaking out with my own methods is not an easy journey. And if I am summoned by Voldemort again while outside of the wards, I may not be able to return in time to avoid suspicion."

"That is your concern, not mine," Snape said simply.

"Wrong," said Harry. "My mother will blame you if something happens to me. She'll be smart enough to realize that you were negligent in keeping me safe, and blame you for breaking the promise you made to her two summers ago."

"I'm afraid you are the one that is mistaken, idiot boy," Snape said through gritted teeth. "I made an oath to your mother to keep you safe for the coming school year. That year has passed, and I am no longer bound by that Unbreakable Vow."

"Maybe not in a magical sense," Harry conceded. "But she will blame you all the same. She will figure out that you could have given me an easier way to travel but failed to do so, and she won't forgive you if I am caught because of it. And the woman you desire will never be yours again."

Snape looked murderous, like he wanted to draw his wand and curse Harry for his audacity. "Has anyone ever told you what a cocky little shit you are?" he grumbled.

"You never fail to remind me," Harry quipped. "That's not all I need from you, either."

"What a surprise. What else?"

"Information about Voldemort's inner circle," said Harry. "Names. Hierarchies. I need to know how many he has Marked, and who he trusts more than others."

"Even I do not know the names of every Death Eater," said Snape. "We wear masks to protect our identities, not only from the public but from one another."

"Oh, please," Harry scoffed. "The masks came off in the Ministry tribunals after the last war. And you don't strike me as the kind of person to forgive and forget. You would want to know every single individual in this country who has dirt on you, who could potentially turn on you at a moment's notice."

"What use could you have for such information?"

"To send out Christmas cards," Harry shrugged. "Keep your friends close and your raiding partners closer, as they say."

Snape was not amused by the quip. "Even if I did possess such knowledge," he said slowly, "the question remains: why should I allow you access to it?"

"Because you're starting to realize you've been caught in a trap," said Harry. "Voldemort has left you with no way out. I'm offering you a lifeline. A path to surviving this war. If you think you have a bright future ahead of you, then by all means carry on as usual. Or you can help me save both our lives."

"You must think me truly stupid, boy," Snape said angrily. "You give me absolutely nothing of substance to go off of, but expect me to believe you have some master plan to take down the most powerful wizard of all time."

"If I had such a plan, it wouldn't be wise to lay it all out for one of his closest followers, would it?" Harry pointed out. "Dumbledore did not tell you everything, either."

"You are not Albus Dumbledore!" Snape roared. "You are not half the man or wizard he was!"

"Yet you acknowledge that he knew things you did not," said Harry. "You didn't ask what he was doing with Longbottom during his final months? You never wondered what Longbottom and his friends are out doing at this very moment? What mission they are pursuing? You don't know the half of what's truly going on in this war."

Snape looked furious, like he was of half a mind to roll up his sleeve and summon the Dark Lord there and then. Harry sat patiently, not flinching away from his murderous gaze, awaiting his decision. He had to trust that his read in the man was correct, that he would not sell him out if there was even the slimmest chance that Harry was telling the truth.

When Snape spoke again, it was with a level calm, though laced with danger. "You say I know nothing," he said. "However, I am not blind. I can read between the lines better than most. So let me tell you a few things that I do know."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"I know you are the Phantom," said Snape simply. "You fought the Dark Lord on that cliffside, using Dumbledore's wand, which I presume you stole from Longbottom. It was an impressive use of illusory magic, so seamless that nobody else seemed to realize it but myself. No one else present that evening witnessed the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament like I did, which is fortunate for you, as I recognized your handiwork straight away."

Fear overcame Harry as he realized the tables had turned in an instant. He was shocked by how much the Headmaster knew, how easily he had read into Harry's intentions. It took ever bit of willpower he possessed not to draw his wand and Obliviate years' worth of memories from Snape's mind.

"I was also watching you more carefully than you know last year," Snape continued. "I know every time you snuck in and out of the castle. You were absent the day of the incident at the Egyptian pyramids. The day of the Bulgarian Portkey incident. The day Nurmengard was breached. And I presume you were a frequent visitor of those Knockturn Alley fighting rings, being watched by Barty Crouch, who luckily did not recognize you."

Harry's heart hammered as he listened to Snape speak. His hand gripped the Elder Wand beneath his robes, ready to strike at any moment, half-expecting Snape to either draw on him first or summon the Dark Lord through the Mark on his arm.

"I have been aware of your scheming ways since the day you first stepped foot in this castle over six years ago," Snape concluded. "Dumbledore couldn't see it then, and the Dark Lord can't see it now, but I know your true nature, Potter. You are every bit as dangerous as them."

Harry's mind raced, looking for an avenue to talk his way out of this one. What else did Snape know? Might he guess at even more of Harry's secrets? He had to tread very carefully in this conversation, reminding Harry very much of his meeting with Grindelwald at Nurmengard.

"An interesting theory," Harry said, blinking in mock surprise. "A mere teenager, powerful enough to take on the Dark Lord one on one? As if anybody would believe that."

Snape's lip curled upward in a mocking smile. "So you deny it, then," he said. "Good – maybe you are half as clever as you pretend to be. Admitting to it would force my hand, you see...as long as my suspicions are not verified, the Dark Lord's Legilimency will detect no treachery when I claim ignorance to the Phantom's identity."

"If you are so certain it's me, why keep your suspicions to yourself?" Harry demanded

"Because I have seen what happens when you are backed into a corner," Snape said simply. "That is when you are at your most dangerous – to yourself and all those around you. A cornered animal will bite the hand of even those that feed it."

"Is that how you see yourself, then?" Harry scoffed. "You're feeding me? Like I'm some pitiful dog in need of shelter?"

"You would have been dead without my assistance last summer," Snape said sternly. "And you would not be here now if you did not need my help. That is my true talent, Potter – I know where my usefulness lies, and I always make sure that dangerous wizards see me as a resource to be used, not a threat to be feared."

Harry realized then just how much he had underestimated Snape. He could have gloated, could have held what he knew about Harry over his head. Instead, he demonstrated his own point: he knew how dangerous Harry was, and rather than seek to destroy him, Snape made himself indispensable, so that Harry could not do without him. It was maddeningly clever and cunning, proving he was in the correct House all along.

"You always play both sides," Harry muttered thoughtfully. "So that no matter who ends up on top, you reap the rewards."

"Some might call it dishonorable," said Snape. "I call it survival. You're right, Potter: I care for my own interests first and foremost. So tell me: why is it in my best interests to throw my lot in with a seventeen year old twerp, rather than the most feared dark wizard of all time?"

Harry felt the weight of that question, knowing how loaded it was. Snape wanted to know what he was up to, what his plan to defeat the Dark Lord was. But Harry had no intentions of telling him everything, about the horcruxes, about the Hallows. He recognized how dangerous Snape was as well, and couldn't just hand him all his secrets for fear of how he might use them against him later. Still, he had to give Snape something to earn his trust. And there was one thing that might just do the trick.

"You may recall that I claimed to be a Seer in my early years at Hogwarts," said Harry. "A claim that you did not believe."

"A blatant lie," Snape scoffed. "As I said, you are not nearly as clever as you think you are."

"And yet, I had foreknowledge of events to come," said Harry. "How do you think that to be possible?"

Snape stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. "I have asked myself that question many times before," he muttered. "And yet, none of my theories seemed plausible."

"Name some of them."

"I was forced to question whether you were a bona fide prodigy," said Snape. "But while you were always years ahead of your peers, you demonstrated above-average intellect at best. Then I thought perhaps you had exposure to the Dark Lord earlier in life, perhaps through Pettigrew, but that was quickly proven false. All I was left with were supernatural explanations that defied logic, like time travel."

Harry saw the way Snape's eyes bored into his with this statement – despite his casual tone, he was watching Harry for a reaction. That told Harry he suspected the truth. And while he could not admit it outright to Snape, for fear of Voldemort's Legilimency detecting it, he could at least let him know he was on the right track.

"Time travel?" he said innocently. "That would be quite remarkable. It would suggest I've lived all of this before, in another life. Of course, if I'm here replaying events now, it probably means things didn't go so well for me the first time. But I probably would have learned a lot along the way – skills to master, pitfalls to avoid, events to change the outcome of. And I would have had a clearer idea about how to win the war, and several years' head-start to work towards that goal. By now, I might even be close to achieving it."

Despite Snape's impassive expression, Harry could see the gears turning in the man's mind. The pieces must be clicking into place for him now, as he realized the truth in what Harry was saying. He surveyed Harry with new eyes, as though viewing him for who he truly was for the first time.

"As I have said, there are plans in motion that you are not privy to," Harry continued. "Your guesses do not paint a full picture of what is happening outside these walls. The Dark Lord is not invincible, and there is a viable path that leads to his downfall. So, I will not waste your time any longer, Headmaster. Will you or will you not help me?"

Snape and Harry sat in silence for a long while, staring one another down. The former looked pensive, as if deciding if he was willing to take the risk and expose himself further to the war. Harry betrayed no fear, staring impassively back, knowing he had to project confidence in himself and his plan to earn the man's trust. Would it be enough to convince him that Harry knew what he was doing? That he truly had the knowledge and abilities to defeat Voldemort and win the war?

Finally, Snape spoke. "There is an alcove, not far from this office," he sighed. "Roughly ten paces down the hall from the staircase."

"I've seen it," Harry frowned. "What of it?"

"There is a pocket of un-warded space within that alcove," said Snape. "A loophole in the school enchantments, allowing anyone to Apparate into or out of that space."

"There is?" said Harry, surprised.

"The Dark Lord insisted upon it," said Snape. "So that he may visit my quarters any time he wishes. No one knows of the loophole except him and myself. And now you."

"So...I can step into that alcove and Apparate anywhere outside the castle?" asked Harry. "And Apparate back into the alcove when it's time to return?" That was a game-changer if it proved to be true. It was a much simpler and easier method of leaving the castle, and if he was summoned while away, he could be at the Headmaster's Office in a matter of seconds, not minutes.

"In theory, one could use this alcove to come and go freely," said Snape. "Not that I would ever give a student explicit permission to do such a thing. And if one were to be caught doing so, the repercussions would be immense."

"I would never dream of exploiting such a loophole," Harry said with faux innocence. "Especially not without permission from my Headmaster."

Snape sneered at this quip, clearly not amused. "Any other outlandish requests you'd like to make, Potter?" he groaned.

"Just one more," said Harry. "I need to borrow something."

"Like what?" Snape sighed.

"That."

Snape followed Harry's gaze to the wall, where the Sorting Hat sat on its perch.

"The Sorting Hat?" he said in disbelief. "Why in Merlin's name would you need to borrow the Hat?"

"I can't tell you that," said Harry. "But I assure you it is critical for my mission."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then the war is lost," Harry shrugged. "Longbottom will be caught eventually, and you and I will be killed alongside him."

"Maybe I don't buy that theory."

"Fine," Harry shrugged. "Then I will simply steal it, and you can decide whether to turn me into the authorities or not. It will be difficult to explain myself, you see, and once Lockhart begins to pry into my true motivations, it will be over for everyone."

Snape looked exasperated beyond belief with Harry's antics by now. Harry knew he was putting the man in an impossible situation, but they were running out of time.

"And how will I explain myself, if anyone realizes it has gone missing?" asked Snape. "Including the Dark Lord, who frequents this office?"

"He won't notice," said Harry. "And even if he does, you can tell him it's out for cleaning or something. He will not suspect anything is afoot."

"Let me get this straight," said Snape. "You would have me believe that the Sorting Hat is somehow essential to your efforts, and yet the Dark Lord would not notice nor care about its disappearance?"

Harry snorted – he supposed that would sound far-fetched without the proper context. No one but him knew about the Hat's ability to fetch the Sword, after all. "That's precisely what I am saying," he said.

Snape mulled over these cryptic words for a long moment. "You know, Potter," he muttered, "for someone who hated Albus Dumbledore so much, you have much in common with the late Headmaster."

"Don't I know it," Harry chuckled bitterly. And without waiting for proper permission, he stood and reached up to grab the Sorting Hat from its perch. He carefully folded it and tucked it into his robes, sitting back down and watching Snape. The Headmaster looked very much like he wanted to protest, but he said nothing to stop him.

"I do hope you know what you're doing, Potter," said Snape. "If you are discovered...if you are caught—"

"I can be discreet," said Harry. "I've survived this long, haven't I?"

"It is a small wonder," Snape muttered to himself. "Now, get out of my office, before I change my mind about any of this."

"Thank you for your time, Headmaster," Harry said with a slight bow. He stood to exit the office, but as he passed through the doorway, Snape called out after him.

"The Dark Lord seeks the wand that resides in your pocket, Potter," he said. "He is on the hunt for it as we speak. I hope you covered your tracks sufficiently, or you will soon feel his breath upon your neck."

Harry did not respond to the warning. He returned quickly to his dorm, stowing the Sorting Hat away in his trunk for safe-keeping until he found a better place for it. He now had several crucial new tools in his arsenal...he had the Hat, which would get him one step closer to obtaining the Sword of Gryffindor. He had an easier method to get in and out of the castle to realize his goals. And if his read on Snape was correct, he might have a new ally in his quest to weaken Voldemort's base of strength and eventually usurp him.

He still felt as though he'd struck a deal with the devil, as he deeply distrusted Snape and all he stood for. But beggars could not be choosers, and Harry needed all the help he could get. Whether he was using Snape or Snape was using him, at least their goals were momentarily aligned...now it became a question of when those goals diverged again, and what would happen when they did.