Severus Snape was slouched over his desk, squinting in the dim light of his office while grading essays that were barely worthy of the parchment they were written on. Frowning in disgust, he scribbled down a degrading comment on the paper he was assessing, before sighing heavily and leaning back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck in an effort to get rid of the kink that had risen due to his leaning over for so long.

Term had finished just under a month ago, but it felt an eternity for Severus; relishing the two months he had every year that wasn’t disrupted by snivelling students, or some of his more irritating colleagues.

Turning back to the stack of parchment, Severus scowled as his eyes flicked to the name that adorned the top of the page.

Harry Potter.

“Probably got every blasted question wrong,” he remarked spitefully, pulling the paper to the front of the desk and beginning to peruse it, without much care.

Severus’s mood only grew worse as he slowly made his way through the potions essay, noting down every fault or blemish harshly.

Yes. Dumbledore’s dear old Golden Boy. Nothing special about him at all, Severus thought bitterly. Probably sitting around on his high and mighty backside, lapping up the praise and idolisation he gets at that Muggle home of his.

With a satisfied smirk, Severus placed his quill down after giving the wretched Golden Boy a much deserved D, written in his favourite red ink. It was a bit of a shame really. Potter did possess a rather natural gift for potions, yet he always seems to screw them up because he’s too busy whispering to those idiotic friends of his, planning some semblance of mischief to make his life harder.

Sighing heavily, Severus placed the essay on the ‘Done’ pile and massaged the bridge of his nose, hating the way it appeared hooked after being broken so many times over the years.

A sharp tap at his office door snapped Severus from his brief break, instantly making him irate from the disturbance.

“Come in,” he growled, frowning deeply and looking back at his essays before the door even opened.

“Ah, Severus,” the headmasters voice floated towards him in the musty room. “Hard at work, as always.”

“Is there something you wanted, Albus?” Severus scowled, finally looking up at the old man, hating how he sounded exceptionally jovial all the time. “I am trying to enjoy what’s left of my vacation, where snivelling little children aren’t running rampant, and disturbing my peace and quiet.”

Dumbledore chuckled as he stepped into Severus’s office, shutting the door behind him. “Well, let no one tell you that you’re not diligent, Severus,” he commented, trying vainly to hide his blatantly obvious grin. “You always did throw yourself into your work, and still do, my boy.”

“Well then, Albus, I’d hate to take up your precious spare time,” Severus commented lightly, trying his hardest to keep the scowl on his face in spite of Albus’s cheerful grin. “And as you can see, I am quite busy…”

“Oh for heavens sake Severus – take a load off and relax for a few minutes!” was the headmaster’s rather sharp retort, though the buoyancy in the way it was spoken completely ruined the effect. Albus’s tone and face softened even more considerably as he continued his previous train of speech. “You’re working all the time, Severus. It’s about time you had a small break from the school, and got to know about the life of a particular group of Muggles — ”

“Stop!” Severus commanded curtly, pausing as he replayed Albus’s words in his head again, before turning to the old man, scowling deeply. “You don’t honestly believe that I would have fallen for a trap like that, do you Albus? Pretending to offer me a holiday, just so I could do some discreet spying for you. Don’t play me for a fool, Albus. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head, letting the cheeriness fade considerably before gazing back into Severus’s onyx eyes. “I can see that you’re not to be easily dissuaded this morning, Severus. Very well, to the point. Yes, I do want you to go to a Muggle household and be a nice, polite observer for a few days. Naturally you would have to be in disguise, but if you feel the need to reveal your true identity at any point to anyone in the house, you’re quite free to do so, but you must be cautious. For the sole reason of harmony though, I’d advise against revealing yourself unless it was an emergency.”

Severus quirked an eyebrow, noting how Albus seemed quite serious about this subject, and that he’d been saying things as though they’d already been arranged and put in motion, before he’d even known of the assignment. Voicing his last thoughts, Severus felt his stomach drop when the headmaster confirmed it.

“Yes Severus, it’s all taken care of already,” said Albus firmly, leaving almost no place for arguments. “They will be expecting you around midday tomorrow.”

Heaving a mental sigh, Severus nodded reluctantly, until another thought crossed his mind. “What exactly is my cover story for being an unexpected visitor in a strangers home, Albus? It’s not like I’m capable of a Muggle occupation or anything.”

“Ahh, yes,” Albus muttered, nodding with confirmation. “Well, Severus, the mission I have for you is to think and act like a Muggle exchange student might. This family has assured me that they have a spare bedroom you can use …”

“So you’ve spoken to them, then?” Severus cut in; a tad irked that he had to be in disguise after whomever he’d been cursed with had seen the Headmaster, dressed in all his wizarding glory.

Albus paused for a moment, before nodding in assent. “Yes, Severus. I have spoken to them, but not face to face as you might think. No, it was all arranged by the … err ‘telephone?’ … Yes, I do believe that’s what it’s called. No, this family thinks your visit was some kind of random draw that they happened to get chosen for. And before you ask, yes, they are aware of magic, but they have no idea that you’re a wizard, and it shall be kept that way.”

Severus scowled, trying to think up any means possible to get out of what Dumbledore had obviously planned for him for some time. Why did it have to be him? Couldn’t Albus see that he had a huge pile of work to finish? What ever happened to the other Professors that stayed at Hogwarts during the summer break? Even someone from the Order could do it!

“Is there a particular reason you want me to observe this particular group of muggles, Albus?” he asked instead, finally resigning himself to the fact that he would be leaving soon.

Albus nodded slowly, and Snape spotted, with his well trained eye, that Dumbledore had grown even graver, at his query.

“Yes, Severus, there is a reason …… but I’m afraid I cannot give you all the information you wish.” Seeing the potion master’s furrowed brow, Dumbledore relented only a snippet of information. “I’ve received some disconcerting information, about someone we all know, and I want you to make sure that these suspicions are not true …… even in the slightest degree.”

Curiosity began to override his irritability, and Severus began to wonder what situation could cause the headmaster such worry. And what was that about someone being someone they all knew? Shaking his head, Severus let out an audible sigh before reluctantly nodding his head, in acceptance of his assignment. ‘Great …” Severus muttered, rubbing his head as he felt a migraine coming on. If there was anything he hated more, it was pretending to be a Muggle. Their way of doing things was so different and foreign to what he was used to … plus the fact that he couldn’t use any noticeable magic while he was with them. Everything had to be done the hard way.

“Don’t look so down about it, Severus,” Albus chided, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. “Think of it as a learning experience. Now, you only need to stay for as long as you see fit, so long as you make sure everything in this particular house is as it should be. No adverse behaviour from all parties, and such. Understood?”

Sighing again, Severus nodded and started to sort out the essays sitting on his desk, so they’d be ready for him when he returned, which hopefully would be sooner rather than later.

“Understood, Albus,” he answered, giving one final glare at Harry Potter’s written piece, before placing it roughly with the other marked works.

Dumbledore watched Severus silently, from his position near the portrait hole, looking relieved that he’d taken the small job. “Remember, Severus … they think you are there to observe a normal British household for a few days. They aren’t to believe otherwise. A portkey will be ready to take you there at midday tomorrow.” With that, the headmaster turned and pushed open the portrait, shooting over his shoulder, “And do try to keep an open mind, Severus…” as he shut the door behind him.

Severus scowled even deeper, as he turned and headed for his quarters, wanting to get this ridiculous mission over and done with.

“Where in the bloody hell could he have put the blasted thing?”

Snape was irate to say the least; walking around the forested area Albus had directed him to, in order to find the portkey to take him to this mysterious Muggle home. He’d been packed since the night before, and was currently decked out in a pair of black denim jeans, a black button down shirt with a green tie, black shoes, and a small trunk with some of his belongings and extra clothing. What was most startling about the potions master though, was not his Muggle attire at all. More over, it was the state of his hair and face that would afflict most of his students speechless.

Severus Snape no longer looked like Severus Snape. His shoulder length, greasy black hair, had been replaced by a neat mop of sandy brown hair, looking old enough that it was slightly grown out. It was a short style, yet the front was still long enough to keep the small bangs falling into his vision. Not only was it short, and a different colour …… but also it was CLEAN!

To complete the disguise, Severus had hidden the real shape of his nose using a rather handy illusion charm, and made his eyes a pale cerulean blue, while softening the hard edges of his jaw line and cheekbones.

“I’m going to regret taking this mission…” Snape muttered ominously, just as he found the portkey and summoned it to him, catching it as it reached the activation time, sending Snape off with his trunk for a whirlwind ride. The portkey met its destination, making Severus stumble and fall over. Grumbling heatedly to himself, he got to his feet and looked around for a sign, telling him of his location at the very least.

He pushed the pair of fake oval glasses up the bridge of his nose, as he surveyed something resembling a quite, peaceful suburb, screaming out normalcy from all walks of existence. The houses along the quiet street all seemed near on identical, and Severus also noted that most of them seemed to own the same model of vehicle. Scowling at how Albus had left him hanging, without any knowledge of his destination, he picked up his trunk and strolled aimlessly down the street, trying to spot anything that would tell him where he was required to be.

As Severus reached the curb, he looked up at the street sign …… and immediately felt a hot rush of fury and disbelieve wash over him. He was currently standing on Privet Drive. The street the Golden Boy, Harry Potter resided.

“Are you trying to send me to an early grave, Albus?” Severus groaned, questioning why he, of all people, would be sent here, but also why he had to be sent here in the first place? Albus’s instructions were quite precise in discovering if anything at the household was amiss, but he had no idea what type of behaviour would be considered strange for them. And what where the suspicions the headmaster harboured towards this place? He’d said that he’d received information about it, and so thought to sent him along to check it out.

Shaking his head and scowling, Severus put even more effort into getting to Number Four. The quicker he got there, the quicker he could leave, for he was sure that there would be nothing to be concerned about once he arrived.

Finally, Snape came to a small letterbox with a brass ‘Four’ screwed to the front. Looking up at the house, he felt his eyebrows draw together at how … plain it looked. There wasn’t anything overtly fancy about it, but even he could see that this area was for those who had some spare money to burn.

Twisting his lip, Snape muttered, “How quaint…” before stepping forward onto the driveway, and approaching the front door. Dropping his bag at his feet, Snape took a moment to glance into the bushes by the door, making sure nothing was around, before raising his hand and knocking soundly.

A minute passed, and still there was no answer. Growling softly, Snape repeated the action, only with a bit more force and obvious ire. There was some shuffling from inside as someone moved around; presumably to finally get up and answer the door.

The door shifted slightly as it was opened a crack, and Snape was privy to seeing a pair of beady eyes staring at him from what seemed to be a rather fat young boy.

“Good afternoon,” said Snape, deciding that being polite was the best was to make an advantageous first impression. “I’m Ashley Phillips. May I speak to your parents, please?”

The boy seemed to sneer at him, but he soon turned, keeping the door open a slither, and called out, “Dad!!!! There's a man here to see you!”

Severus heard some kind of grunt from a distance away, followed by grumbling that got progressively louder, as a rather heavy footed person approached the door. The boy stepped away, and the door was quickly reefed open, revealing a rather heavily set man with a large moustache and no neck.

“And who are you?” the man asked rather gruffly.

Severus bit back his witty retort, and instead forced out a pleasant tone.

“Good afternoon, Mr Dursley, is it? My name is Ashley Phillips. I believe you've been expecting me? You were the one‘s chosen to house an Observer for a week, weren‘t you?”

Vernon's face instantaneously changed to one of welcome and pleasantness. He shot Severus a rather arrogant smile, before nodding enthusiastically and stepping aside, letting Snape pass.

“Yes, yes. Come on in Mr Phillips, make yourself at home.”

“Please, Mr Dursley. Call me Ash,” said Snape, smiling forcefully as he let his gaze sweep over the foyer. It was a rather nice house, in Snape's opinion, if not a little plain. There wasn't anything extraordinary about it at all. There were large photo's lining the hallway and walls of the lounge room, all filled with the fat boy, Mr Dursley, and a rather long necked woman that bore a startling resemblance to a horse. Turning back to Vernon, Snape smiled in a manner that told anyone looking at him that he was pleased with the look and feel of the place.

“So Mr Dursley,” Snape began. “If I may … where would my accommodations be located, please? I must unpack and get settled, if I'm to observe unobtrusively for the next few days what it's like in a normal British home, on a day to day basis.”

Vernon looked pleased that Snape seemed to like his house, and kept the sickening smile as he quickly agreed and led him up the stairs, informing him that he could call him Vernon, and that his wife and son's names where Petunia, and Dudley.

“This will be your room, Ash,” said Vernon, after leading Snape past two bedrooms, pointing to a rather small room at the end of the hall. He opened the door, revealing possibly the smallest bedroom he'd ever seen. There was barely enough room for the bed and wardrobe, let alone actually inhabiting the place for a great length of time. Snape could tell that the room had been spruced up for his stay, which made him wonder what condition it had been in before he'd come.

“Thank you, Vernon,” said Snape, forcing a smile onto his face as he stepped into the room, placing his small trunk at the foot of the bed, greatly reducing the remaining floor space. “This shall be quite comfortable.”

Vernon nodded shortly, looking smug at his approval.

“Petunia is in the kitchen getting lunch ready for us, so I'll just leave you to get settled. Feel free to browse around if you want? Get a feel for the place, as such, and I'll see you downstairs in a few minutes.”

Snape nodded politely and Vernon left, shutting the door behind him. As soon as he did so, Snape let his face fall into a customary sneer, as he mentally called Vernon a number of degrading names. How could anyone be so obnoxious? At least he knew where Potter got it from now, thought Snape, remembering the many bouts of cheek he'd been victim to over the years, that had come from the brat.

Thinking of Potter …… where was he? He hadn't seen any sign of Golden Boy since his arrival, and this seemed strange, even though he hadn't been at this house for any more than ten minutes.

“Typical Gryffindor,” Snape muttered, getting his odds and ends from the trunk and setting them out. Of course Potter wouldn't be around to greet a visitor. He is above all us lowly mortals after all, isn't he? Scowling at the cramped room, Snape soon finished unpacking and made his way back downstairs, glancing at the photo's on the walls as he ventured around the place. As Snape continued to look around, a little tingle started at the back of his mind, telling him that there was something amiss, but at that time, he couldn't figure out what it could be.

Snape stood in the doorway to the lounge room, spotting the large boy taking up the whole couch as he watched a small box in the corner with moving pictures in it. Was it Dumpy? Duffly? Snape shook his head. Stupid Muggle names. He let his eyes flit around the room, and discovered that yet again, all the walls held large photographs of the threesome …… and the tingle in the back of his mind increased to a rather loud alarm. Three. Where was Potter in all of these photos?

With this new revelation, Snape began to search with his eyes, with a bit more scrutiny, realizing that there wasn't a single thing that told of another boy living in the house. This confounded Snape to no end. Why was there no trace of The-Boy-Who-Lived? The frustrating part though, was the fact that he couldn't even ask these Muggles about it, because ‘Mr Phillips' had no knowledge that another person was supposed to be living here.

“Lunch is ready, Duddykins!” a shrill voice rang out, making Snape flinch while wondering how any of the glass in the house could remain intact with such screeching. The boy heaved his massive weight from the couch, and thumped into the kitchen, not even glancing at Snape once, or acknowledging his presence.

Scowling, Snape took the hint and followed the boy into what seemed to be a dining room. The table was stacked with food, and was set for four. Vernon was already seated, as was Petunia. As he took the seat motioned to him, Snape took a quick look around the room, noting that it was the same as the other rooms, in that there was no sign of Harry Potter anywhere.

“I guess this is what Albus meant by ‘strange circumstances' then…?” thought Snape, as he took his seat at the table, feeling his stomach turn at how Dudley seemed to take up one whole side of the small table on his own. Snape sat there, quietly eating the rather delicious salad, trying futilely to determine their ulterior motives, for they most definitely had them.

By that evening, Snape was growing more than just curious. Although he was loathed to admit it, he was worried. He'd kept all of his senses alert for the rest of the afternoon and even during dinner, but Potter just didn't seem to exist here. No one spoke of him, or even hinted that another boy took up residence there, which he though distinctly odd. Weren't these people supposed to worship the very ground Potter walked on?

It wouldn't be until his last evening at the Dursley's, that Snape would find what he was looking for, and receive the shock of his life.

*

It was late afternoon, and Snape was currently up in the smallest bedroom, packing the remanence of his articles in preparation to leave after Dinner that night. Uncharacteristically, Snape seemed visibly agitated …… and he was. The mild concern that had started at the beginning of his stay, was now bordering on panic (not that Snape would actually show such an emotion). One whole week had passed, and Snape had seen neither hide nor tail of Potter. His relatives didn't even seem to notice that another member of the family had gone missing!

He sighed and shook his head, pondering on what he was going to tell Dumbledore when he got back to Hogwarts. Lost in thought, Snape missed his bag and dropped a container of hair oil onto the floor, startling him when the sound created was that of hollow wood. Bending down, Snape ran his hand over the said area, spotting that one particular plank was showing signs of ware and tear. Curious, he started to fiddle with it, surprising himself when the loose board finally gave in, and popped from the floor.

“What have we got here?” Snape mused, reaching in a hand to see what hidden items were stashed away from prying eyes. His fingers touched something unnaturally soft and feathery, feeling like water made into material. Intrigued, Snape grasped the item and drew it from the floor, feeling strange as he set obsidian eyes upon a very familiar invisibility cloak.

Potter's.

Snape felt his heartbeat hitch as he stuck his hand down the hole again, this time coming in contact with what was unmistakably a wand. Retrieving it, Snape wrapped it in the cloak carefully, and took one final feel around the hole. His fingers found softish leather. With a bit more exploring, he thought it to be some kind of book. Reflexively thinking how strange it was for Potter to have a book, Snape withdrew the object, only to have his heart leap to his throat.

It was a photo album, with Lily and James, and of course the other Marauders, Lupin, the late Black and Peter Pettigrew.

Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, a thought struck Snape so forcefully that he gasped and dropped the items.

This was Potter's room! If he was staying in here, then where could the boy be? As it was, this was irrefutable evidence that the other resided here, but …… why was he not in the house with everyone else?

Afterwards, while sitting at the dining table, Snape let his thoughts wander to the same topic again. Where could the boy possibly be? And another strange topic, was why the Golden Boy was living in a room barely adequate enough as a storeroom, let alone as a bedroom? It didn't make any sense …… at least, not with what Snape had always thought Potters home life would be like.

“Did you enjoy your stay, Ash?” Vernon's voice cut through his musings like a power drill, as they sat eating a mildly burnt pot roast and vegetables.

“It was a wonderful experience, Vernon,” Snape answered, barely containing a drawling sneer he would have used on a first year. “I look forward to doing it again sometime.”

Dessert was a Pavlova, which the large boy, Dudley, and Vernon polished off the majority of, and it was all washed down with a glass of sherry.

“Thank you for having me this week, Vernon, Petunia, Dudley…”

“Oh it was our pleasure,” Petunia gushed quickly, clearly not wanting to offend anyone of even remote importance. “Do visit us sometime, will you? And I do apologise for the roast tonight, Ashley. We've already punished the cook, so it won't happen again.”

The hair on the nape of Snape's neck rose at the possible insinuation.

“Cook?” he questioned, trying not to sound as interested as he was. “I wasn't aware someone else did the cooking? I thought Petunia was the talented chef?” His voice was oilier than his hair.

“Yes well, that's neither here nor there,” Vernon interrupted; his voice louder than what would be considered normal. “You must have quite the trip ahead of you Ash, huh? Best not keep you waiting…”

With that, Vernon ushered his wife and son inside, waved a brief goodbye, before shutting the door, leaving Snape standing on the footpath with his trunk. As soon as the door was shut, Snape dashed off to the nearest clump of bushes and removed all the illusion charms he'd placed on himself, before drawing out Harry's invisibility cloak and donning it, silently walking back to the Dursley's front door. Snape didn't know why he was doing it, but something told him not to leave yet. A silent alarm bell had gone off at the possible mention of Harry, and it wouldn't be silenced until it was satisfied…

Snape leaned close to the door, hearing some sort of heated discussion taking place. Looking around, he scowled at the lack of windows that would let him see the area he wished. Quickly making a decision, Snape strode around the house, intending to go through the kitchen door, making sure that the delicate cloak was still doing it's job.

Just before he reached the door though, a sudden noise inside the garden shed rang out. The noise was immense, as though a suspended container full of pipes had fallen from the ceiling.

Snape wasted no time, dashing toward the small unit, hoping that the remoteness of the possibility that Harry was inside was in his favour. Just as Snape reached the door, hearing a panicky murmuring from inside, the kitchen door flew open, illuminating the back yard and shed.

Turning abruptly, Snape saw Vernon standing just out the door, looking absolutely apocalyptic.

“BOY!!” he shouted, striding purposefully towards the shed, his hands balled into fists of rage and his face purple. “GET OUT HERE THIS INSTANT!!!!!”

Snape was surprised to say the least, but his concern spiked to new heights and he drew out his wand, as the sliding door squeaked open, revealing a trembling boy that Snape found he could barely recognise.

“POTTER?!!!” Snape thought, feeling his eyes widen as the boy stepped into the backyard. Whatever Snape had planned to see when he'd arrived there, this most certainly was NOT it.

Potter was littered with welts and bruising of three different shades, and he was sure that he could see patches of blood on the rags he had the gall to call clothes. The night was cool, and Harry only had a t-shirt five times too big for him, a threadbare pair of trousers, and no shoes. Snape could hear his teeth chattering from where he stood.

Vernon roughly shoved Harry to one side, nearly sending the boy tumbling to the ground, and stood in the sheds doorway; seemingly frozen. Slowly, he turned back to Harry, making the boy shake even more violently.

“So,” Vernon began, deathly quiet. “Didn't like your new accommodations, did you? Hmm? You should at least be grateful that I didn't throw you back into your old cupboard while Mr Phillips was here. At least “he” appreciated our generosity.”

Snape could only stare as Vernon spoke so calmly, yet threateningly at the same time. He barely even noticed that Harry had frozen in terror, until he let out a small cry as his uncle struck at him.

So acute was Snape's shock, that all he did was stare, as Vernon first backhanded Harry, sending him into the wall of the shed, then hurling another crushing blow to his midsection, making the boy double over in pain.

As Harry sank to his knees, clutching his stomach and coughing, Snape came to his senses, brandishing his wand, feeling a surge of anger towards this Muggle almost completely take over his mind. Just as Vernon directed a kick to Harry's stomach, Snape discarded Harry's invisibility cloak, tossing it off to the side as Vernon whirled around to face the intruder.

“Touch that boy again, and you'll wish you never set a hand on him,” Snape snarled, putting as much venom into the soft spoken words as he could muster.

“Who the bloody hell are you?!” Vernon demanded, not even noticing Harry struggling to regain his regular breathing. “Get off of my property! This is none of your business …… Freak!” he added viciously, spotting the wand that was pointed at him.

“On the contrary, Mr Dursley,” Snape countered silkily, sparing a second to glance at a still winded Harry, who was thankfully starting to stand up again. “It is very much my business. I've been sent here to determine Potter's living conditions, and find them not quite up to standard. He is leaving with me, right now. Am I understood?”

Vernon's eyes narrowed dangerously, as he edged cautiously towards the shed, slowly reaching just inside the door and grasping something as he replied, “This boy isn't going anywhere. I read that letter that arrived here! The Freak ends up killing whoever he associates with — ”

“None of that was his fault,” Snape cut in sharply, seeing Harry wince in the corner of his eye at the mention of the disastrous ending of the previous term. “Potter didn't get anyone killed, Dursley,” he snarled, not seeing the flicker in Vernon's eye as he firmly grasped what he'd been groping for. “You are not this boy's judge, jury and executioner, and you no longer have any say on what is to be done with him. Potter,” Snape barked, making the weary boy startle slightly. “We're leaving. Where are your school things?”

At this, Harry's eyes grew sad and he eyed a patch of what seemed to be burnt grass.

“I see,” Snape nodded, sending Vernon a glare that could melt stone, as Harry limped to his side. “Not to worry, Potter … they can be replaced. I've already retrieved some items from your room, so we can leave now, if you wish?”

Harry paused for a moment, before nodding quickly and turning away, following Snape back towards the house. A light clicking sound brought both Wizards to a stop, turning around as Vernon spoke vehemently.

“I told you he wasn't going anywhere,” he said, staring down the length of the rifle at them. “And seeing how you're the only one who knows of his punishments, than I suppose you'll do just fine…”

The barrel swung around to Snape, who was too shocked to even move, and held steady for a moment, before a deafening thunder rocked the night.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. The first thing Snape recalled feeling was a profound sense of disbelief. After all his years as a spy, cheating death around every corner, and here he was facing his demise at the hands of a Muggle.

In slow motion, Snape watched as a spark ignited, making the nose of the barrel flare with flame as the rifle kicked into Vernon's shoulder in recoil. He heard a high whistle, as the hot lead sped toward him, and tensed in resigned preparation for it's impact …… when suddenly a panicked cry rang out and a body was flung into the bullets path.

Time righted itself, and Snape only just managed to fling his arms around Harry's middle, as the force of the impact sent the boy reeling backwards, colliding with the shell-shocked Potion's Master. Dazed beyond thinking, Snape found himself automatically cradling the boy in his arms, as he slowly lowered him to the ground, unable to tear his eyes from the Emerald gaze, clouded in pain.

He felt warmth surrounding his hands and forced himself to look down, feeling the daze vanish as he saw a crimson stream flowing steadily from the boy's shoulder, covering his hands as he held the shaking child to him.

“Serves him right, the murderer,” Vernon's gruff voice growled, breaking the strange moment between Snape and Harry.

At the comment, Snape saw red. How could the boy's own Uncle be so indifferent about possibly killing his only nephew? If it weren't for the fact he was a Muggle, Snape would have sworn Vernon was a Deatheater.

“One less freak to deal with,” Vernon added smugly, before looking at Snape and facing the barrel of his rifle at his chest once more. “Soon to be two…”

Snape's mind went into overdrive, planning an escape in the amount of time it took for Vernon to swivel his aim. Quick as a flash, Snape drew his wand, trying to ignore the slickness on his hands as he felt the shaft of wood slide minutely in his grasp. Pointing it at Harry's cloak, he yelled “Accio!” catching it with the same hand, just as he put as much energy as he dared into Apperating with Harry.

Just as the scenery faded and vanished, the last thing Snape heard over Harry's laboured breathing was a gunshot.

They were surrounded by a myriad of colour for a split second, as they both travelled from one spot to another, when as suddenly as it started, it was over. The echo of the gunshot directed at him was still audible in the still night air, as Severus gently lay a barely conscious Harry on the cool ground.

Knowing he had to hurry, as they were now beyond the wards and protection of the house, Snape spared a moment to check over the boy's health.

Harry's skin was pale and clammy, and although he was trembling slightly, he was burning up with fever. The gunshot on his shoulder was still bleeding freely, and Snape could tell that it needed attention immediately. During the quick once over, Snape spotted several rather severe bruising and welts. He was about to take a closer look, when Harry suddenly erupted in a coughing fit, leaving him exhausted and his breathing even weaker. Deciding he'd wasted enough time, Snap quickly gathered all his hidden belongings, placing them with Harry's and shrank them. Gently, he picked Harry off the ground and cradled him, before concentrating intently and apperating, back to Hogsmeade.

Snape looked around quickly when he arrived at the small village, thanking Merlin that the streets were empty. A painfully weak gasp from the boy in his arms made Snape's mind snap back on track, making him walk briskly towards the castle in an effort not to jostle him too much. Although mindful of the boy's comfort level, Snape also knew that time was of the essence, especially with that shoulder wound still expelling the life of the near sixteen year old.

Snape looked down at the raven head resting on his shoulder. Fifteen? It was hard to imagine him being that age, seeing how small and light he was.

“A fine way to celebrate your birthday, tomorrow, Potter,” he muttered; though his voice lacked the venom it would normally hold. “No thanks to me…” he added, barely above a whisper.

Snape knew he should be feeling immense gratitude for what Harry had done for him, but all he could come up with was a profound sense of confusion, bordering on resentment. What could possibly have possessed the boy, for him to go and do something so foolish? So stupid? So … Gryffindor? With all the effort they'd gone to, to make sure he doesn't get killed, and he goes and tries it voluntarily!

Snape's anger at the situation had pushed all thoughts of thanks or sympathy from his mind, leaving only an urge to bite the boy's head of by the time he reached the front doors to Hogwarts. Little did he know, that that alone could do more damage than anything had previously…

“POPPY!!” Snape yelled as he burst into the Hospital Wing, gently setting an unconscious Harry on one of the beds. “POPPY, GET OUT HERE NOW!!”

Madame Pomfrey stuck her head out of her office (which doubled as her bedroom), still wearing her nightcap, looking at Severus with bleary eyes and a confused expression.

“Severus? What on earth — ”

“Just shut the bloody hell up and get over here!” Snape cut her off sharply, before turning back to the figure on the bed. “Mr Potter requires your assistance…”

Poppy frowned and left her office, intent on scolding the potions master for his sharpness, until she saw the condition the young man before her was in.

“My lord, Severus!” she gasped, rushing forward and drawing her wand. “What on earth happened to him?!”

“I should think that was quite obvious, Poppy,” Snape sneered, the small bite of impatience in his voice spurring the matron to begin her exam. She was about halfway though — growing more anxious as she went — when the doors to the ward were forcedly opened again, revealing a rather grave looking Dumbledore.

“It seems that your suspicions were correct, Headmaster,” Snape called out, in a very condescending tone. “Assuming, of course, that this is what you were talking about when you sent me off to those vile creatures?”

Dumbledore, for his part, had by this time made his way to the bedside, looking as though he'd just had the weight of the world placed on his shoulders.

“Yes, Severus,” he answered heavily. “This is, unfortunately, was what was hinted upon in my sources …… but I didn't want to believe it…” He sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment before asking, “How is he, Poppy?”

The petite matron took a deep, shuddering breath, and shakily answered, “He's been shot in the shoulder by a Muggle weapon, causing extensive tissue damage. Though it will leave a nasty scar. The other injuries aren't as serious, but they aren't to be taken lightly either. There is extensive bruising on his body, mainly around the Torso and arms. Several broken ribs, a fractured thighbone, a dislocated shoulder, and an impact wound to the back of his head. He's also sustained a large number of nasty abrasions and welts to the majority of his

back…”

She paused to gather herself, before adding, confusedly, “Another thing I've noticed, Albus, is that, although Mr Potter is severely malnourished, he seems to be larger than what he was a month ago? I'm probably being paranoid, I know, but I just thought it rather odd…”

“Larger?” said Snape, sounding as though the woman had lost her mind.

“In what way, Poppy?” asked Albus, cutting off any scathing retorts that might have been intended.

“If you'll forgive me, Albus, but I'm not going to elaborate right now. I need to ask the two of you to leave while I treat Mr Potter. Out!”

Snape and Dumbledore found themselves being shoved rather briskly toward the doors, and moments later were standing out in the hallway. They both cringed as the doors slammed shut, sending a loud echo travelling through the halls.

Dumbledore sighed heavily, turning from the shut doors to face Snape, who was also momentarily speechless.

“How did Harry get like this, Severus?” he asked solemnly, sounding so grave that Severus almost let his mask slip.

“I'm not sure, Albus,” Snape answered honestly, shaking his head. “I arrived at the incident only half an hour ago, but as to all of his other injuries? I quite sure I could theorise on how he acquired them though…?”

Dumbledore nodded, accepting most of the answer, before asking, “Well then, perhaps you would settle for telling me how he was shot?” The Headmaster quirked an eyebrow questioningly. “As I recall, shootings require at least a second party?”

Snape gave a short, hollow laugh, recalling the event. He looked at his feet for a few moments, contemplating how to answer the question, without sounding as though Potter had done him a favour.

“His Uncle did that, Albus,” he settled on saying, seeing how Dumbledore didn't initially ask for specifics. “I was under Mr Potter's invisibility cloak as it happened.”

Dumbledore's blue eyes widened at the statement, obviously not contemplating that as one of the possibilities.

“Harry's UNCLE?!” Albus uttered, sounding disbelieving. “As in, Vernon Dursley?”

Snape nodded. “The very same, Albus. Tell me …… did you even suspect the kind of treatment Harry received at that place? Or were you intending to shorten his life span considerably?”

“If you are placing the blame for this on me, Severus, then I will not argue with you,” Albus stated bluntly. “If any ill comes from Harry's injuries, then I shall claim responsibility for it, as I should. It was my decision to place him at the Dursley's after all. But tell me, Severus …… Why is it that you didn't OWL me at all throughout the time you spent there this past week, if Harry's situation was as bad as it seems?”

Snap scowled at Dumbledore in a manner unbecoming of a Professor, but Dumbledore seemed to no longer be affected by it, and calmly waited for an answer.

“For starters, Albus, you were the one that told me to not owl you, for fear of blowing my cover. The real reason, I suppose, is that I had no idea what the boys condition was in, simply because I hadn't seen any sign of him for the whole week. The first time I saw him was tonight, and the circumstances of that finding have me believing he was forced to spend the majority of his existence in a back shed, for the duration of my stay, while I was privileged to spend my time in his room!”

Severus paused for a moment, needing to get a hold on his temper before it got away from him. “Can you believe them, Albus? They let a stranger take their nephews bedroom, treat him worse than a House-Elf, and showed no remorse after nearly killing him!”

Dumbledore nodded, resigned as to how wrong they'd all been, about Harry's home life. “Do you think he will blame me, Severus, for my decision to continually send him back there?”

Snape sighed, shaking his head slowly as both he and Albus paced the deserted corridor.

“Albus … I understand the desire for penance after grave wrongdoings better than most … but, I'm afraid that I don't know the boy well enough to predict his reaction to something like this.”

Dumbledore stopped pacing and sighed deeply, as though expelling all his negative thoughts and feelings related to the grim situation. He took a long, deep breath, before turning to the potions master and starting a completely different line of conversation.

“I received a most interesting package while you were away, Severus,” he stated, sounding stern though looking rather buoyant, despite the circumstances.

“And what, pray tell, was so interesting about it, Albus?” said Snape, humouring his old mentor.

“Well for starters, it was addressed to you,” Albus answered, deadpanned. “But I found the sender the most intriguing part. That and it was a delayed postage, initiated fifteen years ago.”

Snape froze, feeling utterly confused by the statement. Who on earth would send him a delayed package? And who could possibly have sent it that would have Dumbledore's eyes shining more than they ever have before?

The fact that the initial posting was done fifteen yrs ago only added to his confusion. Most of the people he associated with at that time were dead and buried, so why wait until now to send him a package? Unless it was something that couldn't be know back then??

“Would you like to open it now, Severus?” Dumbledore asked quietly, stopping Snape's train of thought. “Or would you rather wait ‘till morning?”

“I believe I shall first wait for any news regarding Mr Potter, Albus,” Snape answered, still seemingly deep in thought. “Then, depending on the diagnosis, I'll take the package down to my chambers.”

And so they waited, pacing the deserted corridor as the waited anxiously for any news of Harry's condition. It was around Eleven o'clock that same night, before the doors to the ward opened up, revealing an extremely exhausted Poppy, wearily beckoning them both back inside.

“How is he, Poppy?” asked Dumbledore, his gaze drifting toward the back of the room, where a single raven haired figure lay prone.

“I'll be honest with you Albus,” said Poppy quietly, halting by Harry's side. “It was touch and go there for a while, but I'm happy to say he's pulled through nicely.”

Both men couldn't help but sigh in relief at the news. Harry was now cleaned up and in a fresh set of flannel pyjamas, looking ten times better than what he did when Snape had carried him in … yet none present could ignore the large purple bruising, and red welts that stood out sharply against the pale skin, marring the maturing features. A large bandage had been wrapped securely around Harry's left shoulder, clearly visible through his clothing, and tinged slightly with red in a couple of patches.

“He's going to be quite tired for the next few days, and of course he'll ache, but otherwise, he should make a full physical recovery,” Poppy explained softly, letting her professional mask slip for a moment, allowing her concern and compassion show through.

Snape, however, had heard Poppy's slight emphasis on the word “Physical,” and he found himself agreeing with the unsaid suspicion. Harry's body may have been healed to the best condition possible at the moment, but what of the boy's mental state? If anything, it would be fragile, and he knew that they would all have to watch their footing around the boy, once he awoke.

“Will that wound leave a scar, Poppy?” Albus's voice cut into his musings, and Snape looked up in time to see the headmaster point to the near fatal shoulder wound.

Poppy nodded grimly. “Yes, it will, Albus. I've managed to rid him of some smaller and lighter scars, but I'm afraid most of them were simply too deep or too old. That one in particular will leave quite an ugly mark.”

“Are you sure you can't remove it, Poppy?” Snape asked, his voice strangely subdued. “There isn't any way to get rid of it?”

Both Albus and Poppy shared a glance, before Dumbledore stepped forward, asking, “Why do you want it gone so badly, Severus? Is anything wrong?”

Snape paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and slipping back into character, scolding himself for the slip-up. But how to answer? Should he tell Dumbledore the real reason why Potter was in such grave condition? Or should he continue leading him on?

Quickly deciding he didn't want Albus knowing exactly what had transpired, he settled — once again — for a version of the truth.

“No, Albus, nothing of large importance. I was merely suggesting that we try and get rid of that particular scar, for it shall always be a constant reminder of what happened tonight. Surely that wouldn't be healthy, would it? To be reminded of the night your Uncle shot you? I think not.”

Snape didn't mention that the real reason he wanted the scar gone, was so Potter wasn't always reminded that he'd almost defiantly saved his potion masters life. That was something Snape didn't want. Owing his existence to one Potter was bad enough. He didn't need two.

“A valid point, Severus,” said Dumbledore, raising an eyebrow in a fashion that told Severus he knew he wasn't being honest. “It wouldn't be healthy — ”

“But there's nothing that we can do about it,” Poppy cut in sadly. “So …… enough about things that can't be fixed,” she continued, a little more briskly. “It is late, and all that could be done, has been, so I suggest we leave the boy to rest in peace.”

“Of course Poppy,” Albus answered, turning away and motioning for Snape to follow. “We can check up on Mr Potter's progress tomorrow. Come along Severus. I believe there is an interesting package waiting for you in my office…”

*

Dumbledore and Snape strolled through the empty corridors, their footsteps echoing dimly as they approached the Stone Gargoyle, guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office vigilantly.

Dumbledore muttered the password (Biting Biscuits) and the two professors silently ascended the spiral staircase, both with thoughts on the same subject flitting through their minds, though for completely different reasons.

The reason Vernon shot Harry.

Dumbledore was quite confused about it, for even someone like Mr Dursley would need an initial reason to draw a gun on the boy. He glanced over at Severus, fining him deep in thought also, as he sat behind his desk, deciding to leave the parcel alone for the time being. It was clear by the way Snape had spoken in the Hospital Wing, that he knew something of either great importance, or personal shame. But what could it be…?

“I'd like my package now, headmaster,” said Snape, rather bluntly, not wanting to stay with the ancient wizard for too long a time. “It has been a most trying day, and I would like to get some semblance of sleep as soon as I can, so if you would just hand it over, I can be on my way.”

“In a moment, Severus,” Albus countered, holding up a hand. “First, I would like you to tell me everything about what happened tonight at the Dursleys, concerning Mr Potter's shooting, starting with why Mr Dursley saw it necessary to draw such a weapon on a fifteen year old boy? And do tell me the truth this time?”

Snape glowered darkly at the headmaster, radiating his growing impatience avidly.

“I've already given my account, Albus, and see no use in repeating it,” he growled quietly.

“Tell me the truth, Severus,” Albus repeated gently, knowing not to overly pressure the potions master into revealing something he was reluctant to say. The best way was usually as simple as waiting, for Severus had a strange habit of talking himself into speaking about something, when he wasn't being hounded for it. Something that had taken years of observation to discover.

A few minutes passed in silence, when finally Snape sighed and gazed at his knees.

“Potter is in this condition because of me, Albus,” he all but whispered, not looking up at the headmaster, for fear of spilling out all his thoughts and feelings at the moment.

“How so?” Albus asked gently, noting with some concern how soft-spoken the usually domineering potions master was.

Snape took a deep breath and plunged onward. “After I'd initially left the Dursley's tonight, under my disguise, I went back while under Mr Potter's invisibility cloak. I walked around the back, to find Potter there …… its just — Albus that bullet was meant for me!”

Dumbledore's eyes widened significantly at the statement. “Mr Dursley attacked you?”

Snape nodded. “Yes sir, he did. I saw him beating Potter while I was under the cloak, and so I revealed my presence while having my wand drawn. Needless to say words were thrown both ways and he bore a rifle at me…” he paused, swallowing visibly. “He fired …… but Potter dove in front of me…”

Dumbledore surveyed the potions master intently, fingers laced and sitting on his desk comfortably. “It seems that Mr Potter saved your life, Severus.”

Snape scowled darkly, hating the very insinuation of a life-debt to yet another Potter.

“If he's looking for thanks, he won't be getting any from me,” he hissed in a low tone. “It's not as if I asked him to do it. Probably only wanted more reasons for us to praise him and grovel at his feet…”

“Severus, Harry is not his father,” Albus shot out sharply, making Snape stop his ranting in surprise.

“Albus,” Snape started, once he'd regained use of his vocal chords. “Potter is uncannily like his father in almost every aspect. They could pass as twins!”

“That may be so, Severus, but it only applies to the way they look,” Albus countered strongly. “Their behaviour, and more importantly, their personalities in particular, are strikingly opposite.”

Snape snorted. “How on earth can you see that, Albus? They're both trouble makers, arrogant, irritating, attention seeking — ”

“Stop right there, Severus,” Albus ordered, shooting Snape a mild glare. “Although I'd have to agree that Harry does have an attraction to trouble, he is anything but arrogant, only to you and your Slytherin students is he irritating, and he loathes all the attention he receives from his fame. Harry is a naturally quiet boy, who prefers his own company, or that of his closest friends, to having crowds fawning over him. And you can no longer claim that he is living the high life at his home.”

“Which I truly hope he never has to go back to,” Snape growled, his black eyes flashing angrily. At Dumbledore's raised eyebrows, Snape continued with, “I might not like the boy, Albus, but no one deserves to be treated like that. Not even him.”

Dumbledore nodded, totally agreeing with his old friend.

“Now, about my package?” Snape spoke up suddenly, clearly changing the subject, though Dumbledore didn't protest it.

“Ah, yes,” said Albus, rising from his chair and heading for a side drawer. “As I said earlier, Severus, it is most intriguing. I was quite surprised to read her name on a delayed parcel, but I was most curious as to why it was addressed to you…”

Snape looked at Dumbledore's back curiously, wishing he would get out of the way, as he was blocking his view. He heard a soft thump, as the package was placed on the bench, followed by the scrape of the draw closing. Finally, the headmaster turned, and in his hands was a parcel approximately the same size as a shoebox, wrapped in parchment, old and yellowing.

Swallowing nervously as Albus drew closer, Snape looked down at the label as he placed it on his desk in front of him, feeling utter bewilderment surge through him alongside mild fear at the label written in fading purple ink.

To: Severus Sebastian Snape

By delayed postage: instigated on the 30th of August, 1980.

Message: It's your right to know, Severus. Everything you need to figure it out, is inside this box. It is true … don't fight it.

I forgive you

Sender: Lily Anne Evans Potter

To: Severus Sebastian Snape

By delayed postage: instigated on the 30th of August, 1980.

Message: It's your right to know, Severus. Everything you need to figure it out, is inside this box. It is true … don't fight it.

I forgive you

Sender: Lily Anne Evans Potter

*

Snape stood stunned, staring at the name as though it had stupefied him. Why on earth would Lily Potter send him a parcel? It was unheard of! They had been friends during school, but nothing of extreme closeness or attachment. In fact, he remembered a number of rather heated arguments between them. And she forgave him for what? He couldn't remember ever doing something to her that would warrant forgiveness fifteen years down the track. Then there was the line, “It is true…” What was true? And don't fight what?

Severus shook his head, trying to clear it as the jumbled riddle of words was thrust into his mind, demanding to be sorted straight away.

“Aren't you going to open it, Severus?” Albus's soft vice drifted over to him, drawing his attention from the disconcerting package. “Or would you rather wait and open it in the dungeons?”

Snape glanced up at Dumbledore briefly, scowling when he found the headmaster winking at him with amusement; when suddenly, an idea struck him full force.

“You know why Lily has sent me this, don't you Albus?”

Dumbledore paused, but soon nodded slightly. “Yes, I do, Severus. Although, the reason she sent it to you only became apparent when it arrived, and I saw it was addressed to you. Lily told me something very personal, not long after Mr Potter was born, and until today, I had no idea that you had anything to do with it. I think you'll find that that package will answer a number of questions that have been haunting you for over a decade, Severus. Are you ready for those questions to be answered?”

Severus scowled deeply at the headmaster, wishing the old man would stop asking for things in riddles. How should he know what questions the old coot was talking about that existed over ten years ago?

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Albus.”

“You will,” Dumbledore replied simply, “as soon as you open that.” He pointed at the still wrapped shoebox in Snape's hands.

The potions master stared at the object in his hands for what seemed an eternity, before he insatiable curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself back in the chair by Dumbledore's desk, placing the parcel on the polished wood, before carefully removing the tattered and ageing parchment.

A small wooden box was revealed, as the last of the wrapper fell to the carpeted floor, and Snape gently returned it to his lap.

Fingers trembling in the slightest, he reached for the lid and slipped the latch; grasping the edges firmly as he lifted it, hearing a faint squeak of old hinges, as it swung upwards.

What met his eyes, at first, was extremely confusing … but after a few minutes of inspection, a slow realization began to spring to mind, clearly showing on his usually expressionless features.

“Oh my God!” gasped Snape, shaking his head at Dumbledore, his black eyes almost begging what he now knew to be true, was false. “Please tell me she was mistaken, Albus … please … it can't be true…”

Dumbledore quickly stepped over toward the shocked professor, taking the box from his violently shaking hands before he dropped it, along with it's precious cargo.

“Sit down, Severus,” he said gently, coaxing the other back into the chair beside him. “Calm down … Panicking will get us nowhere. And no, Lily was not mistaken, Severus,” the headmaster added subtly, noticing how the trembling ceased almost instantly at the announcement, only to be replaced with a stiff anxiety. “It is true, my boy. He is what you fear … on both accounts…”

“How is it possible?” said Snape, looking as though he was in a daze. “How could she have been one of them? How is it possible that I was the one that took her?! The chances would've been almost non existent…”

Dumbledore resettled himself behind his desk to gaze reflectively at the rather young man before him. “Yes, Severus, the chances were virtually nil … but by chance or fate, you ended up with Lily. And the product is lying in the Hospital Wing, with no knowledge of exactly who, and what he is…”

Snape shook his head immediately.

“He's not getting told, Albus,” said Snape coldly. “I don't care what relation to me that boy possesses. He doesn't need to know, and I don't want him to … so we stay silent.”

Dumbledore was visibly shocked by the harsh request, and started to obviously disagree, when the door to his office was opened hurriedly, and a bedraggled Remus Lupin dashed into the room.

Severus noted how the werewolf was out of breath, as though he'd sprinted from the main gate, and he was notably paled than normal, even for him.

“Remus,” said Albus, also noting the former professors appearance, though knowing the reason behind it. “I wasn't expecting you here just yet … but no matter. Sit down and rest. Lemon Drop?”

Remus shook his head as he headed for the spare chair by Severus, pointedly ignoring the potions master.

“No thank you, Albus,” he answered, sitting down. “I only came to make sure you got the letter I sent you and see if you were able to check up on him?”

A light went off at the back of Severus's mind.

“So you're Albus's little informant concerning Potter, are you Lupin?” he remarked scathingly, letting his bitterness from the new information uncovered seep into his voice. “Were you just guessing, or are you a Seer now? Will wonders never cease…”

Remus bristled. “This is nothing to joke about, Severus! I had received letters from Ron and Hermione regarding their concerns about Harry's not writing to them. They asked me to go check, but I wasn't able to at the time due to the recent full moon, so I told Albus so he could see about it. I never got a reply so I came around at first chance…”

“Oh, My apologies, Remus,” Albus said remorsefully. “I'm afraid it slipped my mind after I sent Severus here to take action on your advice — ”

“Wait, you sent him?” Remus exclaimed, clearly surprised and almost appalled by the idea. “Why would you send someone that had no interest in Harry's well being? Why not Tonks, or … someone else…? And how was he, by the way? Was he all right? Did he have a reason for not responding to his letters?”

Severus and Albus shared a glance that wasn't missed by Remus.

“What?” he asked, feeling worry start to seep into his bones. “What's wrong with him? He's not hurt is he? And what is that box for?”

Remus pointed at the package Severus received, that was now sitting open on Dumbledore's desk. He stood and looked inside before either of the men could react to the question; his curiosity overriding Harry for the briefest of moments.

Severus stood abruptly, intent on snatching the box of goods from under the werewolf's nose, but stopped at a gesture from Dumbledore. Snape shook his head, not wanting Remus to know what lay in it, nor wanting him to ask the questions they would surely stir in him. Dumbledore looked at him from under his white eyebrows, practically ordering him silently to sit back down. Gritting his teeth, he complied, remaining extremely tense as he watched the wizard rummage through the container.

“Severus … Why do you have a delayed package from Lily?” he asked finally in a strained voice.

Unable to answer the question, Dumbledore stepped in.

“Try and figure it out, Remus. Just look at the contents and put it together. Once you figure it out though, I ask you to remain calm.”

Remus nodded numbly, still a little shaken by the note Lily left on the package. What had Severus done that required an apology for? Of all the Marauders, and Gryffindors in general, Severus had always treated Lily the nicest.

Peering into the box, Remus was confused as he saw an empty potion bottle, a medics report, and a ring. Frowning, Remus picked up the ring, obviously made for a man, and studied it, something about it tickling a piece of information at the back of his mind. The design was familiar, yet unknown to him. Definitely from a pureblood family … but Lily was Muggleborn? It wasn't James's either, that much was obvious. He hated snakes, and the main motif for the ring was snakes, speckled with miniscule emeralds as though they were scales. The ring itself was made of ebony, which in itself was peculiar … Remus's eyes widened.

“This is your ring, Severus,” he breathed, still studying the piece of jewellery. “I remember, you used to wear it all the time. At a meeting, you mentioned you gave it up … but, how would Lily have it?”

Snape remained silent. He knew how she'd gotten it, but he didn't want to remember anything of that night. It had been an extremely, …enormously special, Dark Revel. One he couldn't get out of attending, or participating in, even though he was known to despise the vulgar goings on at them.

The most trusted and worthy Deatheaters were given an unknown Muggleborn to take for the night, fully expected to rape them. They would even be tested when they were finished, to make sure the act had been performed. The was no way out of it.

Severus remembered clearly, how he'd given his unidentifiable “prize” his treasured ring, apologizing to the half conscious woman for what he'd been forced to do to her. He still didn't know what compelled him to give the ring up … but he had … and now he knew who'd received it.

“Why don't you keep looking, Remus,” said Albus, disturbing the nauseating memories of past days from Severus's mind.

Sighing, Remus placed the ring on the desk and retrieved the next item. The empty potions bottle. Turning it in his hands, Remus read the faded label aloud.

Appearance alteration potion: extra strong.

Expected expiration date: July 1996

He turned a quizzical eye to Snape.

“Why would Lily want one of these? I'm sure you'd know, because you invented this little beauty, and no one else can brew it…”

Snape swallowed the small lump in his throat, deciding that the answer wasn't as confidential as the previous one had been.

“That's correct, Lupin. Lily came to me not long before that package was sent, asking me for it. The strongest one I had. I'd asked her why, but she refused to tell me the reason … saying something about how a friend of hers needed it…”

He trailed off, unable to keep his mind on the obvious reason why Potter resembled James Potter physically with such accuracy. He shook his head, not wanting to broach that tangent, permanently.

Remus nodded, unconvinced, and pulled out the last object. Snape didn't need him to read it aloud, as he'd already read it … the words burned into his retina.

It was a medics report, and it was the last thing he needed to realize the truth about Potter.

It read:

Standard Pregnancy Test.

Patient: Lily Potter.

Date: Fifteenth of December, 1979

Results: Positive.

Date of Conception: Thirty first of October, 1979

Snape had felt an iron clamp about his heart at those words, for he'd seen the ring and potion bottle first, arousing his suspicions. But the test confirmed it.

The Dark Revel had been held on Halloween 1979 … He'd given his ring to his victim that night … and Lily had come to him for a potion to change appearances not one month after her son was born.

It was black and white.

Harry Potter was his son.

“Severus,” Remus began, his eyes fixed to the report in his hand. “Why would Lily send you a report of Harry's conception?”

Snape's eyes flared angrily, wishing that the stupid werewolf would just put two and two together. Give it time, thought Severus bitterly. The date will ring a bell eventually, and he'll remember what was reported that night…

Remus was confused. The items made no sense at all. But Remus was determined to figure it out. Lily had sent these things to Snape for a reason, and it was obviously an important one…

He cast his mind back to that time frame … searching his memories that held more significance than the others…

Then it clicked. There had been a meeting that night, on Halloween, and Snape had returned to them in a very foul mood. When asked what the gathering of Deatheaters had entailed, he was reluctant to speak, but eventually told of the horrors performed on the Muggleborn women.

It had been a special ceremony, used to impregnate the ultimate follower and warrior for Voldemort's future use.

Before the Revel had started, Voldemort had apparently cast complicated spells on the women, and made them drink a combination of potions that Snape had unwittingly prepared. The results would imbibe the growing foetus with astonishing power and ability …… so much so that a grown man couldn't handle the sudden influx of power, suffering a magical overload and frying to a crisp.

They knew …… they'd seen some earlier test subjects.

The idea was for Voldemort to perform these final transformations on himself, but when it was discovered that he was unable to live through the whole process, he decided to try it on freshly conceiving offspring.

Remus's mouth dropped open as all the elements slotted into place, making him swivel to face Snape in near on a blind rage. But that wasn't the entire problem. He was stricken by the thought of what Harry really was …… and the fact that he had no idea of it…

Almost as though he read his mind, Snape looked at the ground, in an uncharacteristic display of defeat, and nodded his head saying, “Yes it's true, Remus. I fathered Potter, and he is not human…”

A series of emotion flashed across Remus's face, but he eventually settled on distress and promptly slumped down into the spare chair.

“Oh Lord…” he muttered croakily. “How will we tell him — ”

“We're not,” Snape interrupted sharply, making Remus raise his eyebrows a second before frowning deeply at him. “He is going to remain blissfully ignorant of what he is, and who fathered him. I don't want him knowing about any of it…”

“But, Severus,” Remus began, bewilderedly. “He needs to know what he is … what he was originally intended for. With Voldemort active again, he needs to know the danger. He may even have a minor ability or two already…?”

“That is doubtful, Remus,” Albus interrupted gravely. “Especially considering his condition after Severus brought him back from his Uncle's house — ”

“Condition?” Remus cut in urgently, a sense of panic filling his chest. “What condition? Was he all right? Where is he?”

Dumbledore held up a hand, silencing the werewolf's rushed diatribe.

“Try to calm down please, Remus,” he said quietly. “Harry was recently admitted to the infirmary in a rather critical condition … but, thanks to Madame Pomfrey, he has stabilized and should wake sometime late tomorrow.”

“Could you define “Critical condition” please?” Remus demanded, although there was no spite in his words. Only acute concern.

Sighing in defeat, Albus proceeded to explain the particulars involved in Harry's condition, trying his best to brush over Snape's close call, but only getting to where Harry jumped in front of the potions master, before Remus butted in incredulously.

“What do you mean he jumped in front of you?” he shot out, glaring at Snape as though he was an insect under his boot. “You mean he was shot in your place?!!”

Snape only nodded shortly.

“What, no remark from our witty potions master? Too embarrassed to be saved by two generations of Gryffindors?”

“Shut it werewolf!” Severus snapped heatedly, slamming a fist onto his armrest. “I never asked for him to do it! It was his own Gryffindor stupidity that got him into this mess, so don't go taking your shit out on me!”

Remus was floored. It took a huge amount of aggravation to get the Slytherin to use fowl language, and the fact that he'd done so was saying how much the situation was actually bothering him much more effectively than words could ever convey.

“Will you both calm down?” Dumbledore put in pacifying, looking between the two men with mild irritation. “Remus, Harry is now stable and on the road to recovery, so taking your worry out on Severus will not help him in the slightest. And Severus …… watch your language…” Dumbledore allowed himself a small grin at the brooding man's scowl, before turning serious once more. “Now … it is late, and I dare say it has been a most trying day for all concerned. Go to bed, both of you, and get some rest in preparation for Mr Potter's imminent awakening tomorrow. Remus, you may stay in the teachers quarters for the time being.”

Remus nodded, shooting a death glare at Severus, as he stood from his chair, nodding his farewell to Dumbledore, and striding quickly from the circular office; obviously still ticked at Severus's seeming unappreciativeness of Harry's noble act.

The door slammed shut and Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, looking up when the headmaster spoke.

“Severus, you really shouldn't resent young Mr Potter so much, considering what he did for you tonight. Especially in light of this new information of you being his — ”

“Don't say it!” Snape cut in viciously. “I'm not and that's final. He's not getting told of it … at least, nothing where I'm involved. You may inform him of his non-human status if you feel it necessary, Albus, but I don't want to be the one to explain anything to him about it…”

Albus looked at the tired and weary man reflectively, seeing the great amount of distress he was actually under, with the news of his parentage to Harry.

“I won't make any promises, Severus,” he answered quietly. “And I refuse to make any large decisions until I've had a descent nights sleep. We can continue this in the morning.”

Sighing, Snape nodded in approval and stood from his chair, quietly bidding the headmaster goodnight, before striding from the room intent on sleeping away his worries …… knowing that he would be unable to do so…

*****

Harry slowly became aware of his surroundings, as he blearily opened his eyes to a haze of white. Squinting, he looked around as best he could, feeling startled as his vision slowly came into focus, even though he wasn't wearing his glasses.

Sitting up abruptly, Harry winced as his body screamed in protest at the movement, remembering in full his last moments of wakefulness. He'd been half conscious and in the arms of a strangely horrified Professor Snape, just after being shot by his Uncle.

Harry shook his head, remembering the incident, but was distracted when, at the motion of his head, a swath of raven hair fell into his now perfect vision. Mouth hanging open, Harry reached up and pulled on the locks gently, feeling confused when he discovered them to be real. Swatting it from his eyes, Harry looked down and saw that his hair had grown considerably, and was just grazing the top of his shoulders.

Looking around however, Harry's mind drifted from his hair and now focused on the room he was occupying. Although the curtains were pulled around his bed, Harry already knew that he had managed to get into the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, before the term had even begun.

He sighed heavily, sitting up further, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his left shoulder. Biting back a gasp, Harry looked down and brought up his hand, gently fingering the bandages covering what he knew would be quite an unsightly mark. He shook his head again, swallowing the lump in his throat as the past month began to surface, pressing unwanted images to the front of his mind.

When he'd first arrived at Privet Drive, it hadn't been any worse than previous years. Just the normal chores ‘till sunset routine, with the threat of Sirius hanging over the Dursley's heads. But after a letter arrived, informing them of the happenings at the Department of Mysteries, along with a piece of news saying Sirius had been killed in the confusion …… everything went from bad to worse.

Uncle Vernon had had him locked in his room for the first week of the holidays, barely giving him any food while making him practically renovate the house and yard, and sending pre-written letters to the Order as requested at the end of term. Hedwig had been unco-operative at first, but Vernon had threatened to shoot her, so reluctantly, his familiar did as she was told.

As he wasn't getting enough food, he became slow with his chores, giving his Uncle every reason he'd been waiting for to dish out those “extra” punishments he'd been dying to give him for years.

Not long after that … Harry shuddered at the thought … Uncle Vernon had decided to throw him back in the cupboard under the stairs, saying how they needed the extra space for Dudley's new birthday presents.

The last week of July, however, was when his Uncle had seen it fit to make him live out in the garden shed, because some bloke was coming for a week on some kind of survey, to see how a “Normal British Family” lived.

Harry remembered clearly, how he was locked in the tin can for most of the day, only being let out in the early morning, to get breakfast ready and clean it up afterwards; and the evening so he could cook dinner … and naturally clean it up afterwards.

On the last night of Mr Phillips's stay, the shed door hadn't been locked so he could clean up the dinner dishes after he'd gone. He remembered trying to smuggle his (now empty) trunk back into the house while the rest of the Dursley's were showing the Muggle out, but in his haste, he'd only succeeded in tipping over one of the unsteady shelving units filled with paints and other liquids, destroying one of Dudley's birthday presents, which happened to be a small pool table that Uncle Vernon had bought himself.

He'd hastily put his trunk back where it was supposed to be, and got back into place before Vernon had stormed into the shed, purple faced and ballooning to double his size with rage. That's when the routine beating had started. Not that it was anything new for him to experience … but nothing had prepared him for seeing Professor Snape materialize before him, with his wand aimed at Uncle Vernon, and apparently rather pissed at the Muggle.

Harry rested his head against the headboard, hating the fact that the Potions Master had turned up when he did. Sure, he'd taken him from his nightmare relatives, but now he knew how he was treated there. And although it was a far cry from the spoiled existence the Professor had dreamed him in, it was the knowledge that he would now undoubtedly rub his abuse in his face that made Harry cringe.

After all … how could he defend the Wizarding world against a psychopathic madman, when he couldn't even defend himself from a mere Muggle?

Harry rubbed at his shoulder unconsciously. But then, he had saved the Professor's life, hadn't he? Surely that had to count for something, right? Even Snape couldn't ignore something as important as that, could he?

Harry shook his head again. Playing what if wouldn't get him anywhere. Leaning to the side slightly, Harry carefully drew a part of his curtains, seeing that the Ward was currently empty. Smiling to himself, he jerked the material and opened the curtains fully, noting that it was probably late afternoon, if the lighting was anything to go by.

Vaguely, Harry wondered what day it was, seeing how he'd been denied his calendar for some time. He looked around, marvelling at how sharp his eyesight was, now that he needed no glasses, but was disappointed to find nothing informing him of the date.

A noise to the side sent Harry's attention that way, only to see Madame Pomfrey walk from her office, no doubt to check up on him for the afternoon. As she spotted him, she seemed to startle slightly, but in a flash, she was back to normal as though nothing abnormal had happened.

“Mr Potter,” she smiled, approaching him quickly. “Nice to see you awake, after the rather precarious condition you arrived in last night.”

“It's nice to be awake, Madame Pomfrey,” Harry answered quietly, keeping his eyes downcast as he spoke to her. He didn't need to look at her, to know just how bad his condition would have been – in what apparently was only – the previous night. Even taking out the obvious injuries his Uncle had bestowed upon him. Looking up, he could see the sympathy she felt for him in her eyes, but chose to ignore it. He didn't deserve it.

“Um … Where is everyone?” he asked, waiting for the Matron to begin her check-up.

Poppy eyed him for a moment, but soon became the Nurse that had treated him so many times over his years at Hogwarts.

“Well, it depends on who you mean when you say, “everyone” Mr Potter. If you're talking about the headmaster, he's currently with Professor Snape and Remus Lupin, in his office. He asked to be informed to minute you awoke, so I'll only be a minute while I fulfil that request.”

Poppy smiled at him as she left, undoubtedly from the astonished look he'd been giving her at his favourite Werewolf's name. Lupin? Here? Harry was at a loss as to why he'd even be anywhere near here, let alone in the headmaster's office.

Poppy emerged from her office again and headed his way.

“The headmaster will be here shortly, Mr Potter,” she told him briskly. “I'll just give you your check-up before he gets here, and see how well you've been healing…”

Harry nodded absently, used to the Matron's behaviour by now. He sat silently as she poked and prodded, but was curious when she was looking more and more confused, as the examination continued.

“Um … is something wrong, Madame Pomfrey?” he asked tentatively, not wanting to disrupt her concentration.

The nurse didn't reply, and simply motioned for him to remain still, as she gently applied pressure to a section of his ribs.

“Does that hurt at all, Mr Potter?” she asked seriously. Harry shook his head bemusedly. Poppy twisted her lip in visible confusion. Shaking her head, she continued with the exam as though she'd done nothing strange.

After a few minutes, she straightened up, apparently satisfied, though still seeming bewildered by something.

“What?” he asked suddenly, unable to take the Matrons scrutiny any longer. “What's so interesting?”

Poppy looked at him, searchingly, her eyes travelling over him as though looking for something important.

“Mr Potter,” she started with utmost seriousness. “You seem to have made an almost complete and full recovery in one night …”

Harry balked, unable to comprehend the Matron's announcement.

“Excuse me?” he remarked, giving himself a quick once over to see if she was telling the truth. “That's not possible!” But Harry knew he was simply in denial, once he realized that, the pains he'd felt earlier, were only similar to those an overworked athlete might have … not someone who'd received a mighty beating, and a gunshot wound.

“It's remarkable,” Poppy commented, in an awed kind of voice. “And there are no signs of any foreign magic being used during the process …… If I didn't know any better, Mr Potter – I'd say that your natural healing capabilities have increased by about tenfold!” she gushed, almost seeming faint with the realization. “I'm quite sure that if I was to cut you right now, we'd see the wound close and heal before our eyes…”

Remus pound his fist into the hand rest of his chair, positively seething at the potion's master seated beside him, as the headmaster merely observed reservedly.

“Why won't you tell him, Severus?” he growled vehemently, eyes flashing angrily. “He has a right to know that he has a father that's still alive!”

Snape shook his head, glaring at Remus like he was a bug that he wanted to squash.

“I will do no such thing, Lupin. Potter is quite content believing that his father was an arrogant show-off, albeit a deceased one, and seems to enjoy copying his behaviour to a tee. I see no reason whatsoever to alter his perception of reality, and inform him that his actual father is a spying Deatheater, un-wanting offspring.” Remus glared, but it had no effect on Snape. “Who am I to raise a snivelling little rodent, that will surely make my life even more of a misery once discovering his true parentage? Not to mention the method … of which he was conceived…”

Remus tried to contain his temper, gripping his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Severus … Harry deserves to know the truth, especially after Sirius's death and what he went through with his Muggle relatives. I know you wouldn't treat him like that in a million years, no matter how much you think you hate him. Why don't you just tell him and give him a chance? It's not like you've got anything to loose by telling him. The worst he can do, is hate you as much as you show him you do to him. The alternative is he'll accept you … with time…”

“And why would I want that?” Snape retorted, after hearing out Remus's argument. “Why would I want to accept the Gryffindor Golden Boy, as my own? I'm no parent, Lupin. I'm possibly the worst person imaginable to even contemplate the role…”

“Well then what of his inevitable transformation?” Remus demanded, changing tack instantly. “How will you explain that to him?”

Snape smirked coldly. “Simple,” he stated evenly. “I won't be telling him. I refuse to get involved in any of this.”

“Well, it's a little late for you to say that, Severus,” Remus spat scathingly. “If it weren't for your … involvement … Harry would never have been born!!”

“Yes he would have, Lupin,” Snape ground out between clenched teeth. “The only difference would be he'd've had a different father. That and I doubt Lily would have made it out of that place as unscathed as she did…”

“You call being raped by a damn Deatheater “unscathed?”” Remus burst out, springing to his feet and rounding on the potions master.

“Calm yourself, Remus,” Dumbledore's soft voice interrupted, successfully distracting the werewolf enough to let his anger abate. “Getting violent will do nothing that the past few hours hasn't done already. Now, as to your declaration, Severus,” he turned toward the Slytherin, smiling politely, “I'm afraid that you will be the one to inform Mr Potter of his unfortunately occurring transformation. Don't argue with me,” he added, as Snape opened his mouth to protest. “I went and checked on him this morning, and I must say, that he is already looking remarkably like you … and not only that, but it seems that his body structure has already begun to change…”

“So quickly?” said Remus, his expression clouded with confusion. “But, how…?”

Snape spoke up, so quietly the other two occupants of the room barely heard him, “The speed of the transformation, is determined by the power he is able to wield. Not all of the Dark Lords new warriors would be equal in strength. They actually fluctuated greatly … but, seeing how Mr Potter's has begun so quickly … abnormally quickly I might add … he may be extraordinarily powerful…”

Dumbledore and Lupin allowed this new information to sink in, before glancing at each other for a fleeting moment. Soon breaking the contact, Dumbledore returned his gaze to Snape.

“If his changes are to appear so quickly, then we need to inform Harry of his heritage as soon as possible … and the best person for that, would be the only one that knows almost everything about it…” he trailed off, but Dumbledore's piercing gaze never left the obsidian one before him.

“Very well, Albus,” Snape agreed reluctantly. “I will inform him of what he is, upon his regaining consciousness … but I will not disclose the fact that I fathered him. I would much prefer not having a raging Avatar on my hands…”

At that moment, the fireplace roared to life, and immediately turned a vivid green, surprising all the occupants. Not a moment later, Madame Pomfrey's head popped into view.

“Ahh, Poppy,” Albus smiled. “How are you this afternoon?”

The matron turned her head towards the headmaster, giving him a half-hearted smile. “I'm fine, Albus. I just thought I'd tell you, that Mr Potter has finally woken up … and I might add, that I got a shock when I came out to see him just now…” she added, frowning slightly.

“Why's that, Poppy?” Albus frowned, curious.

“Well, it's just that … he doesn‘t look the same as he did last night. I mean … to name only one: his hair has grown to his shoulders overnight!”

Dumbledore nodded, while Remus and Snape continued to glare daggers at each other.

“Very well, Poppy,” he answered, nodding his head and ignoring his two companions. “Thank-you for informing me. We'll be right down.”

Poppy nodded and promptly vanished from the fire.

“Well then,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “Time to visit the Hospital Wing, wouldn't you agree?”

Remus simply shook his head, as he got to his feet, and Snape scowled deeply, but soon followed suit, following the two wizards from the office, and beginning the trek to see the Gryffindor Golden Boy.

***

“You know, it doesn't hurt as much as it did before,” Harry stated calmly, as Poppy diligently saw to his shoulder wound … which had all but healed in the fourteen hours he had been unconscious. Now, the star shaped scar was clearly visible against his pale skin. It was still a dark red colour, and was now scabbed over, but it was no longer a gaping wound that bled freely.

“I wouldn't expect it to, Mr Potter,” Poppy replied distractedly, still going over the rest of his former wounds, checking to see if it wasn't her imagination, and they really had healed almost overnight. “It's almost healed, strangely enough … and it appears I am not going mad,” she declared, straightening up and peering down at him. “You have most definitely healed almost completely from last night's events.”

“But how is that possible?” Harry asked again, still at a loss as to how that could have happened. “Nothing heals that fast!”

Poppy shook her head. “I've no idea, Mr Potter. I'm sure we'll find out soon enough though…”

“Can we test your earlier theory, then?” Harry suggested, unabashedly.

Poppy blinked. “What theory?”

“The one where you said that if I was to be cut, it would probably heal right then and there?”

“Are you completely barmy?” Poppy scolded, shaking her head at her patient. “That was merely a comparison, Mr Potter. I had no intention of testing such a theory!”

Harry shrugged. “Well then I'll do it myself,” he stated calmly, reaching for the steak knife that had been brought with the meal he had just finished eating.

Madame Pomfrey regained use of her senses, just as Harry had clasped the knife, and started to bring it to his forearm. Immediately, her hand darted out and caught the wrist holding the knife, screeching, “You will do no such thing, Mr Potter! You're here to be healed, not to inflict more harm upon yourself!!”

“But it's just going to be a little scratch,” Harry tried to reason, not submitting the blade. “Come on. It was your idea in the first place…”

“Was not!!”

“Was too!”

“Was not!”

The banter back and forth continued, with neither participant relinquishing their hold on the small knife, until a rather amused chuckle echoed through the room, alerting the squabbling pair to the fact that they were no longer alone.

Both Harry and Poppy turned to look at the trio sheepishly, before Poppy released her hold on Harry's wrist, and he likewise replaced the knife on the tea tray.

“Uh … Hello, Professor Dumbledore,” said Harry lightly, waving lamely and giving him a small grin. Remus smiled and shook his head, while Snape simply snorted.

“Good afternoon, Mr Potter,” Dumbledore answered kindly. “You seem to be enjoying your stay in the ward, for once? Anything wrong?” he asked coyly.

Harry shook his head, but couldn't stop himself from smiling, even a little. What it must have looked like, for the headmaster to walk into the Ward, to find the Matron and her patient, squabbling so childishly…?

Madame Pomfrey seemed to have thought of something similar, and was quickly trying to regain her composure.

“No Albus. There appears to be nothing wrong with Mr Potter, except for the fact that almost all of his injuries seemed to have healed overnight. The only one that is still in need of a little treatment, is the wound on his shoulder, there … and I suspect that even that one won't need treatment by tomorrow morning…”

“Really,” Dumbledore muttered absently, casting a significant glance to the two persons behind him. “Interesting…” he turned to Snape and muttered, “Astonishingly quickly, it would seem…”

Harry frowned at the soft words, but still saw the potion masters jaw clench abruptly, and his eyes grow narrower, almost staring at him appraisingly. Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks, as he looked away from the intense gaze, noticing for the first time since the small group arrived, that he was still shirtless, due to Poppy's examination.

Hastily, he drew the sheets up around his chest and folded his arms, ignoring the restrained chuckling that Remus was issuing.

“Um … Hello Professor Lupin,” Harry mumbled, sparing his old teacher a swift glance, before returning his gaze to the bed covers.

“Hello Harry,” Remus answered, smiling in amusement at his obvious embarrassment. “You don't have to call me Professor anymore, you know? You can call me Remus, if you like?” Harry nodded a little. “How are you feeling, this afternoon?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Are you feeling any different than you did any other day?” Dumbledore asked suddenly, eyeing Harry carefully along with Snape and Remus. “Anything unusual that you haven't experienced before?”

Harry looked at the older wizards in confusion, wondering why they would ask him such a question.

“Um … No sir,” he answered slowly, trying to gauge their different reactions to his answer. “Nothing unusual, … well … not until I woke up, at least…”

“What do you mean, Harry?” Dumbledore inquired, looking innocent. Harry, however, could tell that he wasn't being completely honest.

“Well,” Harry started hesitantly. “When I was taken by Professor Snape last night … I wasn't exactly … um — that is … my Uncle…”

“It's all right, Harry,” Dumbledore cut in gently, smiling encouragingly. “We know what you mean to say. Please continue…”

Harry nodded, trying to rid himself of the slight tremors that had sprung in him at the memories of the past four weeks. “Well, I wasn't well, to say the least. But … when I woke up this afternoon, Madame Pomfrey told me that I'd pretty much healed completely. Almost all the injuries I had, had been healed. The only one that still needed treatment, was my ahh … my shoulder wound,” he finished softly, letting his eyes drift to the potions master, remembering what had happened that night in order for him to receive the wound.

Snape held his gaze for only a moment, but the unspoken message passes between them during the contact. He too, remembered the circumstances behind the wound … and he was equally reluctant to bring the subject up … though for completely different reasons.

“Hmm,” Dumbledore murmured, appearing lost in thought. “Harry,” he started after a short moment. “There is something that you don't know, about yourself, that you should have been told some while ago, but the time just never seemed to be right, nor did we know enough to actually tell you.”

Harry blinked, looking at each of the men in turn, though none seemed to want to hold his gaze; not even the foreboding potions master. Frowning at the fact that something of obvious importance about himself had been kept from him, Harry sat up straighter, ignoring how he was exposing his torso again, as the sheets fell to his waist.

“What?” he asked, rather more forcefully than he intended, making him sound as though he was ordering them to tell him. “What about me?”

Snape's mind was spinning, as he accompanied Albus and Remus down to the hospital wing, knowing that it was expected of him to explain to Potter, exactly what he was, and what was to happen to him.

The other thing was, how was he going to react to him, now that he knew he was his son? He knew himself that he didn't want to formally acknowledge that fact … but that didn't stop the torrent of strange and foreign emotions from building up in him at the thought. He couldn't be any nicer to the boy, that was obvious. To do so in public would be a huge risk to his position as a spy amongst Voldemort's supporters. However, he knew that he would find it impossible to still treat the boy as he did, with the knowledge that he was … his.

Shaking his head against the inner battle, Snape came back to the present and noticed that they had reached the doors to the Hospital Wing. Unconsciously holding his breath, he waited anxiously as Dumbledore opened the doors, bracing himself to see anything, after Albus's little comment of how Potter's appearance seemed to be already changing.

The doors swung open, revealing the white room, and the small troop entered, heading towards the only two occupants … who seemed to be having something of a disagreement over a steak knife.

Unbidden, a small smirk appeared on Snape's pallid features, before he swiftly forced it away, scolding himself for the momentary slip up. He couldn't start showing any unexpected emotions in the boy's presence, no matter what his relation to him was.

Inwardly, however, Snape felt amused at the small scuffle, wondering how on earth the two got into such a discussion in the first place. Albus chuckled, and the two stopped their argument, looking decidedly sheepish at being seen behaving like five year olds.

It was during the small discussion between Albus and Poppy, that he took his first real look at Potter, feeling his breath catch in his throat at the sight of how much he'd changed since the previous night.

His hair had in fact, grown to just on his shoulders (though some bangs were hanging in his eyes; too short to hook behind his ears), which also seemed to have broadened noticeably, despite the boys apparent slimness. Although, that was sure to change rather dramatically over the next few weeks. And even though he couldn't tell properly, Snape was sure that the boy had gotten a little taller in height … but he would have to wait for him to stand to be sure.

But what had him staring almost blatantly at Potter, was his face. It had most definitely changed the most … even if he could still see some of James in him. Lily's features seemed to be finally coming out, alongside features that were completely foreign to the boys face. His cheekbones were a little higher, and his jaw line was smooth but sharp. He still bore some of James's boyishness, but he was certainly gaining a decisively Snape-ish look. His voice was even a little different. Deeper … smoother … it was actually rather silky like his own.

At that moment, Albus turned to mutter in his ear, whispering about how quickly Potter seemed to be changing. Snape privately agreed with his unspoken conclusion. Potter was changing so quickly, it was almost unthinkable how much power he would be capable of wielding.

Potter suddenly locked his Emerald eyes on his own, almost as if he knew he was thinking about him. They held the contact for a moment, before the boy blushed profusely and drew the covers up over him, only just noticing that he was without a shirt. Snape resisted the smirk that threatened to spread over his lips, but pushed it away, strangely feeling cheated by the fact that he wasn't able to display his amusement at the boy's embarrassment.

He glanced sideways as Lupin lets out a slight chuckle, unrestricted by a cruel persona and able to show his feelings without worry. Potter appeared very reluctant to look at his old professor, and kept his eyes on his lap, still a nice shade of magenta on his face.

Almost reluctantly, Snape found himself unable to resent the boy as much as he did only the previous afternoon, now knowing what he did about his unsavoury home life. He'd always though the Boy Wonder was a spoiled and arrogant delinquent … but the boy before him was rather soft-spoken and unusually shy. A far cry from the image he displayed during the schooling months.

Potter was speaking again, in that voice, so unlike what he was used to hearing, telling Albus about how he had healed so suddenly. Snape took a moment to scrutinize the boy again, realizing that it was true. He had healed all noticeable injuries and bruising … the only one remaining being the wound on his shoulder.

Grimacing inwardly at the image of Potter throwing himself in front of his crazed Uncles weapon, Snape chanced another look at the boys face … only to find the gaze — seemingly now more intense, now that his eyes were no longer hidden by his glasses — locked with his own once more. Immediately, Snape knew that the boy's thoughts rested on that night as well … and seemed to also be unwilling to broach upon it in the near future; something he was only too willing to comply with.

Breaking the contact, Snape listened as his heart hammered against his chest, listening to Albus telling Potter how there was something they needed to tell him. Privately, Snape cursed the old man, for making him divulge the information he'd gathered so many years ago, in such a blunt manner. This wouldn't be easy for anyone to adjust to, let alone a boy who'd been treated the way he had for so long … and that was on top of all that had happened to him during his years at the school.

Snape focused on the matter at hand, as he saw Potter sit up suddenly, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion, fear … and resentment? His attention was so focused, that he ignored the sheets uncovering his torso again, leaning forward, asking what had been withheld.

Both Dumbledore and Lupin fixed their gazes upon him, expecting him to step forward and resume the discussion. Potters eyes had also fixated on him again, and strangely, Snape felt almost intimidated by the hard glare he was receiving from his … son.

“Professor?” Potter asked, a look of mild surprise, along with an expression that screamed, “Of course he would know…”

Hesitantly, Snape fixed his features in the familiar, indifferent mask, and stepped forward, bringing himself to the front of the group, and right next to Potters bedside.

***

Harry forced his breathing to steady, and swallowed the large lump that appeared in his throat, as Professor Snape stepped from behind Dumbledore and Remus, stopping by his side. Hesitantly, he brought his eyes to meet those of the potions master, feeling a small sense of confusion at the seemingly conflicting emotions he could see in the obsidian eyes.

Masking his features as best he could, Harry steadied his breathing and tried to appear relaxed and, almost, unconcerned by what Snape had to say to him. Though inwardly, Harry was scowling at the fact that the Slytherin knew something about himself that had been hidden from him initially.

Surprise, surprise… he thought, feeling his distaste for the man in front of him increase considerably.

Snape seemed to hesitate, but soon drew his wand, making Harry flinch involuntarily, and proceeded to summon a chair for him to sit on. As Harry shook off the sudden jolt of irrational fear, Snape turned his head towards Remus and Dumbledore, telling them to leave them alone, with the merest glance.

Harry had no time to decipher the meaning of the silent message, before Dumbledore turned to Remus and speaking clearly, “Remus, would you care to accompany me, to assist my arrangements of the next Order meeting?”

Remus nodded almost immediately; his eyebrows disappearing into his fringe. “Absolutely Albus! No time like the present! Harry, Severus,” he nodded to the pair in farewell. “I'll see you both later.”

“Gentlemen,” Dumbledore's beard was twitching, and Harry saw Snape shoot an almost contemptuous glare at the older wizard. If Dumbledore had seen it, he ignored it, and mimicked Remus, nodding to them both in turn, before swivelling and striding purposefully away in Remus's wake.

Snape didn't turn back to face Harry until Dumbledore had closed the double doors behind him, only to scowl up at Madame Pomfrey, who had been standing by watching the proceedings silently.

“If you would excuse us, Poppy?” said Snape, his voice not hinting at any malice or dislike, as Harry was accustomed to hearing. He even sounded polite. “Mr Potter and I have some important matters to discuss.”

The Matron pursed her lips and glanced between the two of them rapidly, before finally agreeing, so long as Harry got a descent amount of rest, and wasn't worked up too much.

Snape watched as she marched back to her office and closed the door, before finally returning his gaze to the young man in the bed beside him.

Harry, for a moment, was quite unsure of how to behave around Snape at present; seeing how he'd been the politest he'd ever seen him in the last four years, during the past four minutes. Yes, he was still a Greasy Bastard, but currently, he was an indifferently pleasant … Greasy Bastard. And when Snape had first stepped forward, Harry was sure he had seen some small semblance of concern and — almost alarmingly — compassion. Directed towards himself, no less.

Before Harry could sort out the jumbled up messages and signals in his mind, Snape quietly started to speak, drawing his attention back towards the task at hand. What was happening to him, and why…

“All right Potter,” Snape started abruptly, his voice carrying the coldness and indifference that Harry was so accustomed to hearing. “I'll get straight to the point then. The reason you have been healing at an incredible rate, and the mild differences in your appearance and body structure have started, is because you are what is known to the wizarding world as an Avatar.”

Harry stared at the potions master, completely at a loss as to what the man had just said. “A what?” he asked, bewilderment plastered to his sharper features.

“An Avatar, Potter. Use your ears.”

“Professor, I haven't got the faintest idea what an … an Avatar even is? I've never heard of them before?”

Snape scowled at him thoroughly. “Well then maybe you should learn to read, Potter. Avatars are mentioned briefly in the book entitled: The rise and fall of the Dark Arts. I'm sure Miss Granger will have mentioned it to you at least once in the past five years.” Harry nodded sheepishly. “Very well then. Seeing as you've no clue what I am referring to, I shall explain. Do not interrupt me, Potter.”

Feeling a little curious, and more than a little concerned, Harry nodded his head, telling Snape to explain what he meant, and that he wouldn't interrupt.

“An Avatar, Potter,” Snape began, delving into his Professor demeanour almost instantly, “is what we – meaning the Magical Community – remember as being one of the nearest things that would have given Voldemort unchallenged domination, when he first started his campaign of terror around twenty years ago. In the beginning, Voldemort wanted absolute personal power. Immortality and the like. You have seen the results of the many transformations he had performed on himself to attain that goal … but he could never go as far as he wanted.

“You see … before Voldemort performed an alteration on himself, he would test it on his death eaters, making sure it did as he desired, and that it would not hurt him in the process. However, he soon learned that the human body could only withstand so much. When Voldemort neared the powers he desired the most, he discovered that the body simply couldn't handle the sudden influx of immense power, and it exploded … burnt up.

“Initially, Voldemort was in a raging fury at having his ultimate perfection snatched from him … but soon, he thought along a different line, and tried experimenting on ways for the human body to cope with the immense powers he wanted it to hold. Many of the first test subjects died … quite horrifically … and the Dark Lord's patience was wearing thin. But then he thought of a new concept.

“He theorised, that the only reason the past tests had been failures, was because they were born and grown, with their bodies already accustomed with a certain amount of magical energy, and it had adjusted to that only … unable to cope with much more. So he believed that if a baby was conceived with these immense powers already infused with it's being, than it would grow and develop to accommodate for it all. It would be born with the ability to use all these powers, and not risk a magical explosion. Thereby constructing the Elite of his followers … even higher than the Deatheaters.

“On Halloween, seventeen years ago, Voldemort sent out some of his Death Eaters to kidnap a certain number of women at random. I did not go out with them, because I was preparing the potions necessary to infuse these transformations. The other Deatheaters returned, and all the women were charmed by Voldemort himself, with some of the ancient spells he had used on himself. My potion was given to those Deatheaters present … and then they were ordered to rape them.”

Snape paused, momentarily unable to continue due to the tightness in his throat at the memory of who he had taken that night. He chanced a good look at Harry, and saw that he was a great deal paler than he was before he'd started his explanation, and that his green eyes were wider than he'd ever seen them before … and they began to shine with a horrifying understanding, as what he was saying fell into place. Snape saw the very slight trembling in Harry's hands, and knew that he had to finish this part of the story before the boy snapped.

“Now, you have to understand, Potter, that the women, as soon as they arrived at our Camp, were put under powerful glamour charms. We had no idea who was taken and not. The only one who knew that was Voldemort himself. Well, naturally, nine months later, the only four that had conceived were born … and it has just come to light that you were one of them.”

Harry sat, stock still and horrified at Snape's finishing statement. He had begun to fear what he was telling him near the very start of his story, and it soon was replaced with acute denial. Harry felt his breathing begin to speed up without his approval, his hands trembled and his throat burned. It couldn't be true! This is just a nightmare! He'll wake up any moment now … any moment …

“Potter? Are you listening to me?”

Harry's head snapped up and his eyes gradually focused on Professor Snape, who was still sitting in front of him, though now he was leaning forward, appearing almost concerned. As though in a daze, Harry looked around him, his mind telling him that this was real.

But, if it is real … then my father isn't my real father? Harry thought suddenly, a sense of revulsion and horror sweeping though his body and mind like nothing he'd ever felt before. My mother was raped! My father is a Deatheater!

“Oh my God!” Harry gasped, his breath hitching as he struggled to keep his breathing steady. “I – I'm one of His!! He – he made me!” Harry stopped suddenly and swung his eyes to meet Snape's. “But he tried to kill me!” he spluttered, running his hand through his hair and sitting up further. “If I was something he made then why would he do that?”

“Quite simply, Potter,” said Snape, eyeing him down as though studying him. “The Avatar's were soon seen to be too powerful, and unsatisfactorily uncontrollable. So Voldemort set out to destroy you all before your powers began to manifest fully. He caught the first three in more than enough time. The Avatar's weren't meant to start developing their more potent powers until about your age … the speed of the transformation determining the power of the Avatar. You, however, had already developed one of an Avatar's most powerful abilities, by the time the Dark Lord had tracked you down … unbeknownst to him … and had already begun to show the physical appearance that an Avatar would have.

“By the mere fact that your powers were showing by the age of one, and your appearance was changing already, I won't even ponder on the power you could wield at your fingertips, Potter. But the ability you had developed already, by the age of one, was the ability to absorb any and all spells that strike you, when desired … momentarily increasing your magical and physical strength. Before you ask, Potter, no. Lily wouldn't have known that you already possessed this power … but her sacrifice was still needed to reflect the Avada Kadavra back onto Voldemort. It was also because of this incident, that I believe is why you've not demonstrated your powers before now…”

“Why's that, Sir?” Harry asked softly, still too awed and horror struck at the same time to speak any louder, or say any more in general.

“As you were only one, Potter,” said Snape, leaning back in the small chair, “I doubt you would have had any control over your powers or abilities. I believe that when you were hit by the Killing Curse, you unconsciously burned up most of your magical energy and used it to greatly magnify the efficiency of the Curse … which would explain why Voldemort's body – despite all of the magical alterations – was utterly destroyed in the aftermath; your unintentional enhancements creating such a force that your home, in Godric's Hollow was also destroyed. Your magical reserves have only now replenished enough for your transformation and abilities to resurface, and even in this weakened state, your changes are happening rapidly.”

“How is it that you know all of this, Sir?” Harry asked, frowning up at the Potions Master, though still feeling a physical sickness at how he'd come into existence and why. “You said that you only just found out I was an – an Avatar. How do you know that's the way things could have happened?”

“Because I was the one that had to know absolutely everything about what Voldemort wanted the potions I had to brew for the ceremony for. I needed to know the powers, how they would work, how they would manifest, how those powers would effect the body they were infused with. These idea's are only theory on my part … but then, aside from Voldemort himself, I am the only other person that knows the workings of an Avatar to the extent I do.”

Harry nodded … still feeling ill and shocked at what he'd been told. He knew that he didn't fully comprehend what Snape had told him so far … but tomorrow was another story. He will have plenty of time to dwell on all this information, and he wasn't looking forward to letting it all sink in.

“You said that the “Magical Community” knew what an Avatar was, Sir,” Harry started, risking a glance at Snape's face for an instant before returning his eyes to his lap. “Does that mean that almost everyone has heard of them, even though they were supposedly killed off, and that they knew who they were originally made for?”

Harry looked up again and waited for Snape to answer.

“That's correct, Potter,” he answered eventually, though his smooth voice seemed strangely comforting at present. “If anyone was to discover what you are …” he left the statement unfinished, and Harry knew that he didn't need to finish it. He would be shunned … hated … tossed aside by the very people who praise him for bringing about the supposed destruction of his very own creator.

“You – you also mentioned that an Avatar's powers effect it's body, Sir?” Harry stumbled slightly, but Snape appeared to ignore it. “How would it change me?”

Snape shifted in his chair and scratched his chin. “That's something that I find strange with you, Mr Potter,” he answered. “With your powers beginning to manifest again, your physical characteristics should have picked up where they left off. But there is no change in you other than your stature and build … and some of your facial structure. Your appearance should have changed much more dramatically than that by now…? Not only that, but you should have displayed the alterations you gained by the time you were one … yet you still look completely human…”

Harry stared at the wall opposite for a while, before deciding to voice his next question. “Why do I look like my Dad, if he wasn't my father, Professor?”

Harry saw a shadow flicker behind Snape's cool expression, before it vanished as though it was never there, intriguing him to no end. What had caused that shadow to emerge in the icy Potions Master and why? Was it something he had said? Harry immediately set about going over what he'd said in the last couple of minutes, but before he could get anywhere, Snape was answering his question.

“You look like James Potter because your Mother gave you a very powerful Appearance Altering Potion when you were an infant. So strong in fact, that it's lasted not quite sixteen years. In a few days, it will have worn off completely, and you will look as you were meant to. It's already started to fade, which is why your hair has grown overnight, along with small changes to your facial and body structure.”

“Do you know who my father is, Professor?” Harry blurted out before le lost the nerve. He knew that Snape had already told him that none of them knew who had taken whom … but maybe there was a chance? Almost instantly however, all of Harry's hope's were dashed and replaced with near terror, as Snape threw him an expression of absolute rage, before leaping from his chair with such a force it was knocked over, and stepping forward, bringing himself to the very edge of Harry's bed, looming over him, oblivious to the panicked expression on his face and violent tremors in his thin frame.

“I've already told you, Potter, that we didn't know who was taken nor by whom!” spat Snape venomously, making Harry cringe backwards, his breathing extremely rapid and ragged. “How the hell am I supposed to know who your father is, boy? Not that I actually give a damn! Your father could have been Lucius Malfoy for all I know!”

Snape stopped, still leering over Harry menacingly, and still ignorant of his panicked state … though at the last statement his pallid tone became, if possible, even paler than before, giving him a greenish hue. Slowly steadying his breathing, Snape straightened up and attempted to regain his composure, and appearing almost apologetic of his outburst.

Harry, however, was still curled up at the top of the bed, pressed against the headboard in a futile attempt to put more space between himself and the Potions Master. He was still shaking uncontrollably and breathing quickly, seemingly unable to stop the terror that had overtaken him at such an acute reminder of his Uncle. Harry had his eyes squeezed closed and his knees pulled to his chest, trying to banish the painful images that swam over his vision, of the many treatments he'd received from Vernon in the past.

Suddenly, a firm grip closed about Harry's shoulder, pushing him to his breaking point. In a heartbeat, Harry had ripped his arm from the person's grip and thrown off the bed sheets, landing in a pile on the opposite side of the bed and scrambling away, pressing himself against the stone wall in an effort to hide himself.

Vaguely, through the rushing in his ears, and the deafening pounding of his heart, Harry could hear someone speaking his name, calling out to him gently. Slowly, Harry's breathing steadied, following the voiced instructions, and began to relax. Vernon wasn't there Harry thought, his mind beginning to clear up. You're at Hogwarts. Nothing's going to hurt you…

Feeling worn out, and breathing heavily, Harry opened his eyes, to find himself staring into the onyx eyes of professor Snape, who was currently kneeling beside him and looking strangely worried. The expression lasted only a moment though, before the normal blank mask was back in place.

Snape stood swiftly and continued to stare down at Harry, though without the menacing glare he would have expected at this time, before slowly extending a hand palm upwards, in offering.

Hesitantly, Harry took it and allowed the Professor to assist him in standing, not daring to look him in the eyes after losing control so easily in front of him. He was waiting for the embarrassing jibes and insults to fly, but they never came.

“I apologize for my outburst, Mr Potter,” said Snape, sounding regretful. “I didn't mean to cause you such distress … but your question touched upon a sensitive subject. That doesn't excuse my actions I know, but you needed to know the reasons behind them.”

Harry nodded his understanding and looked away, feeling quite ashamed of his panic attack. As he looked at the floor, Harry noticed again that he was still shirtless, but that realization went by the wayside, as he saw that the ground was further away than normal.

Startled, Harry looked up at Snape, who seemed to have noticed his confusion, and discovered that he no longer came to the man's shoulder anymore. More accurately, he was now not quite eye to eye with him … and Severus Snape stood at around six foot two.

“It seems I was inaccurate with my earlier prediction, Mr Potter,” Snape was also looking Harry up and down, taking in the new proportions. “You didn't get just a bit taller. You grew about six inches.”

Harry was dazed and stared back at Snape with wide eyes, when suddenly a flash of pain tore through him, setting his bones on fire as he fell to his knees, crying out as the pain intensified around his feet and face.

Distantly, he could hear Snape saying his name, but he couldn't respond. He couldn't move. The agony spiked again, but Harry grit his teeth against the scream welling in his tight throat. He could feel the bones and muscles in his feet bend and shift, but had no idea what was happening. The same sensation permeated his face, as he felt his teeth shift and change, along with his ears and something on his forehead.

Finally, the pain subsided and Harry breathed a sigh of relief, only to suck in a sudden breath, and slap his hand over his face, as his eyes burned white hot in their sockets for a moment; the pain from it too, vanishing eventually along with the rest.

Harry groaned softly and made to stand again, feeling a supporting arm grasp him around the waist.

“Professor?” Harry gasped at the sound of his voice. It was a deep and rumbling baritone, possessing something of a silkiness about it. Surprised, and standing unsteadily on unfamiliar feeling feet, Harry opened his eyes and let out a yelp of alarm, just as the person beside him sucked in a surprised breath.

As Harry let his eyes roam about the Ward, the world seemed a foreign place. His vision was no longer as it used to be. A myriad of colourful vapour seemed to fill the Ward, and some of the items in the room seemed to glow with an intense light, varying in colour and power. Not only that, but the actual physical items and furniture, all looked like they were made of shadow … but he could still see the details in white, as though the world was made of black and white, and his own vision had been inverted.

“Professor, what's going on?” Harry hated how this powerful voice was reduced to a panicky squeak, but currently he couldn't care. He turned to look at his Professor just as his arm left his side, and found himself almost amused by what he saw if it weren't for his current anxiety.

Professor Snape now looked as though he was dressed in the whitest of robes, along with his hair (which now also appeared white). Everything that was dark was now pale, and visa versa. His face seemed to be the blackest of black, while his eyes and eyebrows were white. And not only that, but there was a huge aura of colour surrounding the Potions Master.

At the moment though, Harry's eyes were focused on the expression his Professor wore. It was one of supreme alarm, mixed with what he saw as fear; the colour and pattern of the aura surrounding him telling him the same thing.

“What happened to me?!!” Harry shouted, taking a step towards Snape; his feet feeling alien. Without waiting for an answer, Harry looked down at himself, seeing normal colouring instead of the inverted ones of the world around him. What made him blanch, however, was the state of his feet. Each was now endowed with two inch claws on the three large toes he possessed; now shaped so that he could only stand on the ball of the foot, with knees slightly bent in order to stay balanced. His heels had grown backwards a little, and an inch long claw protruded from them as well.

Harry looked up and glanced around him wildly, praying that his sight would return to what he knew any moment. His breathing roared in his ears, making every other sound mute. He could see Snape's mouth moving, but Harry ignored him. Wanting desperately to see what had happened to him, Harry swivelled and darted towards the doors, unaware that as Snape moved to block him, he swung an arm and connected with his chest, sending the man flying across the room and colliding with the floor sickeningly.

Harry leapt over the bed beside him and darted forward, hearing Madame Pomfrey's voice shrieking behind him, but not knowing where it was directed. Hitting the double doors at a dead sprint, they flew open with a deafening crash, almost being ripped from their hinges from the force of the blow.

In a panic, Harry sprinted down the hallway with uncanny speed in search for anything that gave a reflection. He darted down the side corridors towards the nearest bathroom, splintering the door as he collided with it, hurling himself toward the nearest mirror.

***

“Severus! Severus, are you alright?”

Snape opened his eyes groggily, grimacing as he was helped to sit up, feeling his body ache all over. He looked around as Poppy started to check him over, seeing the huge oak doors of the Hospital Wing all but torn from their frames.

“Where is he, Poppy?” he rasped, struggling to stand against the Matron's wishes. “Where did he go? Did you see him?”

“Who, Severus?” she snapped impatiently, her hands on her hips. “If you mean that strange looking creature that splintered my doors, then he tore out of here in a right hurry. Did he do this to you?” Poppy took a quick glance around the ward. “Where's Mr Potter? He should be in bed!”

Snape ignored her and started towards the door, determined to find the boy and calm him down. He was obviously in a panic, confused by what was happening to him. He himself had been alarmed when Potter had collapsed before him, only to see his feet mutate into clawed horrors, and see a pair of small horns sprout from his brow, following his scull and curving backwards. His skin had turned a shade of silver, his ears grew upwards and tapered into a point, and his muscles had filled out some more, not to mention growing another two inches in height. He spoke, and Snape caught sight of a set of vicious fangs on his top and bottom dentures.

He had instinctively helped the boy stand, but he couldn't hold in his gasp of uncontained surprise mixed with horror, when he opened his eyes. They were perhaps even more eerie than the Dark Lords. His eyes had turned black, his iris was without a pupil … and it was glowing emerald green. He'd seen these sinister eyes dart frantically around the room, search over him briefly, before catching sight of his own body and bolting.

Snape knew that he hadn't intended to strike a blow on him, and that it was a reflex action, especially in the state he was in … but that didn't stop him from being rather annoyed.

“Where are you going, Severus?” Poppy demanded suddenly, just as he reached the doors. “You could be injured!”

Snape whirled to shoot out a retort, but didn't get there as an animalistic scream echoed through the hallways, making Snape cringe with the emotions clearly heard in the shriek. It was a mix of a roar, an ear splitting shriek, and a human scream, all projecting the absolute horror and revulsion the creature was feeling at that moment.

“What on earth was that, Severus?” Poppy's shaky voice spoke up tremulously, almost on the verge of tears as the emotions that travelled with the shriek enveloped her.

“That was Harry,” Snape answered, shuddering as the turbulent emotions washed over him, not realizing he'd referred to Harry by his first name.

Poppy stared at Snape, speechless for a moment as the news sank in. “That was Harry?” she breathed, taking a small step in the direction of the anguished cry, as though believing it was something she could heal. “What on earth happened to him?!!!”

“That would be a question best answered by the Headmaster, Poppy,” Snape explained shortly, mimicking Poppy's earlier movement and heading towards the origin of the scream, though he wasn't stopping. “If Albus should arrive, tell him I am heading for the second or third floor bathrooms on this side of the castle!” he yelled over his shoulder. “And tell him that Harry has just reached Stage One!!”

He didn't even wait for Poppy to acknowledge that she had heard, before he tore off down the hallways as fast as he could go, unknowingly beginning to pray that his son was alive and well…

Remus jumped so badly as he wrote out an outline for the next Order meeting, that he spilt the ink all over the yellow parchment, his hands flying to his ears as his sensitive hearing was pierced by a glass shattering shriek, followed almost instantly with an intense and overwhelming revulsion of self, bringing tears to his eyes unwittingly.

Stumbling to his feet, he turned to Dumbledore, who seemed to have been effected in near the same way by the scream; only he didn’t need to block his ears. The headmaster only spared him a brief glance, before he dashed out of Remus’s office, the werewolf hot on his heels, heading straight for the hospital Wing.

“What on earth was that, Albus?” Remus managed to get out between breaths, glancing at the headmaster out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve never felt anything like that before? Did you feel it too?”

Albus nodded. “I did indeed, Remus,” he replied, turning a corner and heading down one staircase to the Hospitals floor. “And as to what it was … I believe it was Mr Potter…”

“Harry?” Remus was both shocked and appalled by the statement. “What would make him scream like that? And how would he do it in the first place?”

He saw Albus shake his head slightly as he turned down the last corridor, not answering as he stopped dead at the sight of the huge Ward doors half hanging from their hinges in front of him.

“What on earth?” Remus muttered, striding forward, just behind Albus, who had started to jog down towards the Ward.

They rounded the ruined doors to find the room all but empty, save for Madame Pomfrey, who was now striding towards them.

“Poppy, where are Severus and Mr Potter?” Albus asked immediately, his eyes training over the bed Harry had occupied a few minutes beforehand.

Poppy seemed to be quite flustered and upset, but she still answered with a strong voice.

“Severus left right after we heard that awful scream. He told me to tell you that Mr Potter had reached Stage One … whatever that’s supposed to mean. I think I saw Mr Potter as well, if I’m to believe what Severus told me. I saw some large creature running out of the Ward just after I heard some yelling. I found Severus on the ground, apparently having been struck by this creature; he told me that the creature was Harry…”

Poppy trailed off, and Albus nodded, shooting a concerned glance towards the doors that lead to the hallway.

“Albus, what’s going on?” Poppy asked quietly, her skin looking quite pale. “I asked Severus, but he told me to ask you.”

“I will answer your questions in time, Poppy, but at the moment I would like you to tell me where Severus was heading?” Dumbledore replied apologetically, though he was already turning toward the doors again, intending to head out even if it was without instruction.

Poppy was obviously miffed by this arrangement, but didn’t complain as she informed the Headmaster of what Snape had told her, about heading towards the bathrooms in the area.

Dumbledore thanked her graciously and hastily left the Ward, Remus close behind. Silently, they both strode through the halls, checking all the nearest bathrooms as they went, only to come up empty handed in all. Anxiety growing, they got to the boys bathrooms on the third floor, eliminating two from the search before they came across one with a splintered door.

Shooting a brief glance at each other, both Dumbledore and Remus jogged the remaining yards and rounded the doorframe, skidding to a halt at what they saw.

The room had been close to demolished. Mirrors were shattered; the shards littered about the wet floor; a number of stalls had been splintered into nothingness; some of the porcelain sinks on the opposite wall had been ripped from their housing, leaving the broken piping to spray their water about the room.

The most prominent sight, however, was that of Severus Snape kneeling beside, who Dumbledore suspected, was Harry … in his newest guise. If not for the current seriousness of the situation, Dumbledore would have called the scene almost sweet. Snape currently had his hand on Harry’s brow, checking his temperature via Muggle means rather that his wand. Not only that, but what made the scene so different, was that Harry’s head was currently cradled in the Potion Masters free arm in an almost tender fashion.

Taking a quick sideways glance at Remus; who for his part was staring blatantly at the pair on the floor, Albus quickly stepped forward and knelt on the opposite side that Snape was occupying.

“How is he, Severus?” Albus made sure his voice was quiet, for he didn’t want to startle him in any fashion, lest he accidentally hurt Harry in the process.

Snape looked up at Dumbledore for a moment, before returning his attention to the form cradled in his arms, still making sure that his health was of satisfactory standard before attempting to shift him back to the Hospital Wing.

“He doesn’t seem to have sustained any major injuries, apart from some surreptitious cuts along his hands and arms; though they seem to be healing already.” He pointed at Harry’s hands and arms, correctly diagnosing the small slashes as half healed. “Apart from that however, I don’t believe he is physically unwell, barring his sudden exhaustion, and the shock from his most recent experience…” he trailed off, eyes lingering on the newest additions to the Golden Boys features, a spark of something like sorrow glimmering until snuffed out by the mask of indifference again. “I require some assistance in moving him back to the Hospital Wing.”

Dumbledore nodded and stood with Severus, pointing his wand at Harry’s unconscious form at the same time as Snape, and casting the levitating charm … only to see both his own and Severus’s spell turn into a soft glow, before seeping into Harry’s silvery skin. It had no effect.

“What the hell?” Remus muttered, though he was ignored by the two others standing. Dumbledore creased his brow in thought, but Snape simply cursed under his breath.

“I had thought that your assistance, Albus, might have overpowered Harry’s defences just enough for the charm to work on him … but as he isn’t conscious, he can’t allow the spell to work on him willingly.” He sighed heavily, staring down at the newly awakened Avatar, before his gaze swivelled suddenly to Remus. “Get out your wand, Lupin,” Snape demanded non-too politely. “Maybe your booster to the charm will do what Dumbledore and I couldn’t on our own?”

Shaking physically from the slight daze that had swamped him at the sight of Harry’s vastly different body, Remus obediently drew his wand and cast the levitating charm alongside Dumbledore and Snape …… with no change in result. Harry still lay on the chipped and broken tiled floor.

“How are we going to move him then?” Remus asked, looking Harry up and down, estimating him to now weigh no less than one hundred and seventy pounds, most likely more, what with the sudden bulkiness he’d acquired.

Without another word being spoken, Remus was stunned speechless as Snape put his wand back into his robes, before bending down and awkwardly lifting Harry from the floor, fumbling for a few moments as he got him steady in his arms. As soon as Harry was settled, Snape stepped from the room, apparently quite capable of carrying Harry all the way to the Ward.

“You know, I could have made him a stretcher,” Dumbledore whispered quietly into Remus’s ear, smiling benignly. “But he’d already picked Mr Potter up from the floor before I could suggest it. I would call that something like a shining star of hope … wouldn’t you?” With that, Dumbledore left and followed Snape, who had already vanished around the first corner. Remus took a few more moments before registering what Dumbledore had just told him.

Snape cared … at least a little … and that at least was a step in the right direction in accepting Harry Potter as his son.

***

Night had long fallen, casting its shadows throughout the deathly silent Hospital Wing, where two occupants rested side by side. Madame Pomfrey had long since returned to her sleeping quarters, trusting the brooding and sourly Potions Master to keep vigilance over her sleeping charge.

Snape was still in the same place he was when the Matron had finished giving Harry a quick running over, declaring that he was merely exhausted, and required a good nights sleep.

Snape had seen Poppy’s reaction when she got her first good look at Harry’s new endearments, and he could tell she felt a great deal of pity … for his son. Poppy had tried to get him to leave, but something in him demanded that he stay. And stay he did, refusing to sleep lest something happened while he was unprepared and unsuspecting.

The young man before him stirred slightly, and Snape sat upright … but soon Harry settled again, his breathing deep and steady. Letting out the breath he’d been unaware he was holding, Snape leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees, studying the features of the boy he thought he knew, in a thin beam of moonlight that crept though the high windows, illuminating the silver skin in such a way that it seemed to shine and glimmer.

It was almost an unearthly glow surrounding the sleeping form. An invisible aura that projected the power he possessed. Snape knew that he had another bout of explaining to do, especially after what had happened that afternoon, but this time, Snape didn’t feel so irked by the idea. He merely accepted the fact as something he had to do, almost dismissing his previous bias that the boy was a Gryffindor.

Twisting his lip though, Snape thought about the way his son’s initial transformation had come about. It had been quite painful, if how Harry had behaved was anything to go by … and it made Snape ponder on how the next developments might show themselves. He knew that his physical body still had some changing to do … but what of his magical development? Knowing that with the first change came the first magical influx, Snape was curious to know just how strong Harry was now, in the magical sense. He already knew he was rather strong, and that was before the change … so how would he be now?

Snape smirked in the darkness, as a sudden picture of Harry having a mock skirmish with Dumbledore flashed across his minds eye. That would be an interesting sight … but not only that. Harry would gain even more raw magical strength when his body finally adjusts to his new power fully. When Harry arrives at his final form, he would most probably be able to defeat Dumbledore in a real duel with ease. Leaning forward again, Snape covered his mouth as he continued to study his son, realizing for the first time, just how frightening an idea that would be …

Leaning back in his chair again, Snape shook his head, knowing that if he would trust anyone with such abilities, it would be the boy before him. Harry would never abuse the new powers he would have access to, and the idea strangely afforded him some kind of comfort.

A sharp noise behind him made Snape startle, turning in his seat to see the cause of his disturbance. Almost immediately, Snape was out of his chair, swiftly making his way towards the person approaching him, careful to remain silent so as to not disturb Harry’s rest.

“What do you want, Lupin?” he asked, whisper quiet though no less venomous. “Surely whatever it is could have waited until tomorrow?” Snape threw a significant look towards Harry’s sleeping form, before turning back to see Remus’s eyes resting on the changed boy as well.

“I suppose it could have waited for tomorrow, Severus,” Remus replied just as quietly. “But, I wanted to tell you now, that I have finished the letter for the Order, and have just sent it off.” He looked back at Snape evenly, pausing for a moment, then taking a breath. “I told them – ”

“If you told all of them anything about what happened here, they’re going to want him to join without a second thought!” Snape interrupted, raising his voice unintentionally. “Tell me you at least had enough sense to leave out who Harry’s father is…”

Remus didn’t speak for a few moments, but looked at Harry again, then returning his eyes to the Potions Master.

“If you would let me finish what I was saying… Severus…” he said calmly, “I told the other members … nothing of what happened here this afternoon, and didn’t even pass mention of who Harry’s father could possibly be. I know you told us you didn’t want to reveal that information, and I will respect that request, until I deem it necessary that Harry needs to know. If he becomes distressed in any way, due to not knowing, I will tell you first, so you can let him know. But if you don’t … I will.”

Remus held Snape’s cold glare for only an instant, before whirling around and marching back out of the Ward, leaving the other staring at where he had been standing … neither noticing a pair of glowing green eyes blinking in the darkness.

Harry awoke again the following morning, remembering the quiet conversation that had taken place between Snape and Remus. What had they been referring to? They had been too far away to hear all of what was said, and that fact irritated him to no end. He blinked a few times, ridding the sleep from his eyes, before turning his eyes sideways and seeing Snape still sitting vigilantly by his side … though now, he was sleeping soundly.

He lay still for a time, staring at the still strange hues and colours that drifted lazily in the air, trying to read their meaning, with little success. He supposed it would make sense to him in time. The large and powerful aura that cloaked the Potions Master was also a mystery to Harry, and the way the world appeared in inverted greyscale was even more nerve-racking. It all served to remind him of what had happened the previous afternoon.

Sighing lightly, Harry looked around, seeing that himself and Snape were alone in the Ward, and decided to go and wash up for the morning. Quietly throwing the covers off, Harry averted his eyes from the sight of his mutated feet and slipped out of bed, feeling the muscles in his legs shift and move in a way that he’d never felt before. He could feel the tightly leashed power and strength that flowed with every movement, as he walked with an unnatural grace towards the bathroom; the claws on his large toes clicking softly on the stone floor.

Averting his eyes from the mirror, Harry bent over the basin and washed his face, cringing as his fingers made contact with the horns that now protruded from his brow. Gingerly, Harry ran his fingers over them, feeling the small ridges as he slid up the curved bone. Bowing his head, Harry felt his long hair fall about his face, as he leant against the white porcelain, relishing the coolness against the palms of his hands.

Why him? Why did the fates always decide to take their vengeance out on him? Harry scrunched up his eyes as he felt a wash of heat enveloped them, swallowing down the sudden tightness in his throat. Sucking in a deep and shuddering breath, Harry opened his eyes, clenching his jaw as he saw a bright green glow reflecting from the shiny basin below him. Averting his eyes, Harry instead looked at his arm, barely realizing that it had practically doubled in diameter, showing the taught muscles magnificently. Anything other than another sign relating to his hideousness.

Unbidden, the image that Harry had seen when he first looked at his reflection, after fleeing the infirmary, flashed into his mind, bringing with it the horror and revulsion he had felt at the sight. His skin was a gleaming silver, crowned with two horns just above each black eyebrow, each a bronze hue; they curved back in perfect streamline with his head, kicking up at the ends, highlighted by the shining black hair that was seemingly fixed, slicked back, only allowing the long trestles free movement.

His ears reached the top of his head, tapering elegantly into a point at the tip, enhancing the sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw line. He remembered opening his mouth to issue a scream, seeing the set of lethal fangs adorning his top and bottom teeth, where his canine teeth had been beforehand …… But most of all, he remembered the sight of his eyes. The deepest black surrounded glowing green iris’s, in which no pupil resided…

An animalistic growl issued from the back of Harry’s throat, deep and rumbling with a physical resonance. He was an abomination, designed by his worst enemy for a life of death, destruction, and servitude. He was a creation from pain and terror, forced upon an unsuspecting woman in the vilest fashion. But more than that …… he was garbage. A piece of waste discarded after being found undesirable and unwanted by his maker. No one wanted him. He was as useless as a piece of luggage, continually being passed from place to place when needed, only to be handed off as soon as his appeal waned.

He clenched his teeth against the tightness in his chest, forcing back the swell of emotion threatening to escape him. A sudden knocking at the door startled him from his introspection, standing upright and facing his reflection. He saw wetness on his cheeks and savagely wiped it away as another knock sounded on the wooden barrier.

“Go away,” he called, trying unsuccessfully to keep the emotion from his deep voice. Grabbing a hand towel, Harry dried his face and hands, noticing that he was still only wearing his pyjama pants, when the soft knock echoed in the white (though it looked quite black in Harry’s eyes) room.

“Mr Potter?”

Harry froze as Madame Pomfrey’s voice drifted through the oak, a bite of impatience laced with concern projecting through the words. An unexplainable sensation of panic wrenched through Harry’s chest, and he looked about him, deciding to dart into one of the toilet stalls and slamming the door shut before bolting it. She knocked again, calling his name, and this time Harry heard the door open. In a moment of shame and childishness, Harry threw the small towel he still clutched over his head, hiding his vileness from the aging lady that had helped him so many times.

“Mr Potter, are you all right?” Madame Pomfrey asked quietly as she knocked on Harry’s stall door. “I need to do your morning check up, Mr Potter. Please come out into the Main Ward.”

Harry sighed, knowing she wouldn’t relent until she got her way. He allowed a small smile to grace his face, knowing she would remove the door and drag him out of there if she saw fit to. “Yes ma’am,” he whispered, knowing she had heard him. He listened to her leave the bathroom, noting she left the door open for him to follow her. Sighing again, Harry deftly fixed the hand towel around his head, though keeping his vision free of obstruction, and slowly made his way out into the Ward, hugging himself self-consciously as the cool morning air bit at his bare torso.

“Are you trying for a new fashion statement, Potter?”

Harry winced at the sound of the Potion Masters obvious intent for the question. Why would he expect any different from the brooding and sour Slytherin? Harry looked towards Snape, hoping to project all of his loathing towards him in that single glare … but he knew that there was little point in trying to faze the hard man. Almost nothing got to him.

“That will do, Severus.” Harry’s stomach did a back flip. Dumbledore? What was he here for? “No need to make the lad feel any worse than he does at present now, is there?”

Harry looked at the aged Headmaster, seeing him for the first time with the new way his eyes worked. His normally brilliant white beard and hair were black against the different shades of grey representing the colour on his robes. His fair skin was a darker shade of grey, but Harry could still see a kind smile on his wizened old face.

“Hello Professor Dumbledore,” Harry’s voice was muffled by the towel, but the headmaster still nodded his greetings, pointedly ignoring the timidness of his powerful voice.

“Good morning, Harry,” he replied resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder as he passed to sit on the bed. As he did so, Harry noticed that he was now taller than the headmaster, something he found strangely disconcerting. So many things had changed overnight. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Fine sir.”

Dumbledore gazed at him for a moment, as though staring through the towel cocooning his face. Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Dumbledore thankfully relented his gaze. Madame Pomfrey began casting her routine spells, but Harry hardly noticed. He could still feel Dumbledore’s eyes on him, but now he also detected those of the Potions Master. Unconsciously folding his arms to cover his torso, Harry felt the heat rise in his face, embarrassed from all the attention, and almost feeling ashamed of covering his face. It was such a childish gesture that he didn’t really blame Snape for singling the move out.

“Harry?”

He looked up at Dumbledore, and exhaled heavily, nodding at the silent request in his eyes. Haltingly, he reached up and tugged on the towel, shutting his eyes shamefully as his face was revealed to those present. Breathing deeply, Harry pictured all their faces as they looked at him, shuddering as he saw only pictures of disgust and revulsion painted on the faces he respected so much.

Well … except for Snape.

The silence that permeated the Ward was almost stifling. Madame Pomfrey had halted her examination and stood by silently, even though Harry couldn’t see her. It seemed as though all of them had ceased to breathe.

“Open your eyes, Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice was soft and gentle, but Harry knew it was not a request. He hesitated only a moment, not wanting to actually see the horror in the old wizards eyes … but he reluctantly obeyed and looked up, feeling a swell of relief fill his chest at the sight of Dumbledore’s kind and understanding eyes. There was no disgust or hate, as he had feared, and that knowledge that Dumbledore wouldn’t abandon him was all he needed at the moment.

A small and genuine smile touched his lips, and he looked at the ground again, shaking his head at himself, feeling embarrassed by his earlier behaviour.

“Don’t be ashamed of your feelings, Harry,” said Dumbledore, as though reading his mind, as he’d done so many times over the years. “You have them, and are as entitled to experience them as anyone else is.”

A stiff silence followed these words, with no one knowing exactly what to say. The situation was so unique ……

“You seem to have a clean bill of health, Mr Potter,” Madame Pomfrey’s crisp voice sprung up, clearly trying to rid her ward of the mutually uncomfortable air. “Not only have your wounds from your ordeal with your Uncle healed completely, but I would say that your overall health and fitness have increased substantially.”

Harry turned to look at her, cocking an eyebrow in confusion. Once again, Dumbledore seemed to be reading his mind, and asked the Matron what she meant by the statement.

“I mean exactly what I said, Albus,” she answered. “Mr Potter’s overall condition is much better than I’ve ever seen in a living being. His blood pressure is perfect, he’s no longer malnourished, and his cardiovascular condition is almost unnatural. In short, Albus, Mr Potter’s physical body is the quintessence of perfection.”

A short silence reigned after her declaration, but it was soon broken when Harry looked up at her, saying, “You know, don’t you? They told you … about me…”

“Yes we did, Potter,” Snape’s voice cut in, before the Matron could reply to the soft spoken query. “But what else would we do, when she would be the one to treat you? Of course she had to know about you.”

Harry immediately cringed slightly at the condescending tone seeping through Snape’s voice. “I’m sorry, sir … I didn’t think of – ”

“Do not apologize, Harry,” Dumbledore interrupted gently, though he threw a pointed glance towards Snape in the process. “You’re allowed to feel some confusion at present. Actually, I’m surprised you were perceptive enough to realize that in the first place. Now, you’re probably wondering why I am here, Harry, so I’ll get right to the point. Do you wish to tell Miss Granger and Mr Weasley of these new developments?”

Of all the things Harry thought Dumbledore was to talk to him about, that was not one of them. The suddenness of it caught him completely off guard. Did he want to tell them about him? About what he was, and how he was made? Would they accept him if he did?

A tightness settled in Harry’s stomach at the thought of either Ron or Hermione turning away from him, because he wasn’t human and created by the darkest wizard in a century. But … if they did accept him, he would have someone to talk to about it. They would listen, and not be judgmental. They would understand … and he wouldn’t have to hide all the time.

Hope started to brim inside of him, and an idea formed in his mind. If he was going to tell them, he didn’t want to break it to them looking like some kind of monster.

“Yes Sir,” Harry answered Dumbledore’s question firmly. “I would like to tell Ron and Hermione … but … I don’t want them to see me like this without them knowing first. Is there some way for you to change the way I look while I’m with them?”

“Actually, Potter,” Snape spoke up again, but this time Dumbledore didn’t seem to mind him speaking in his place. “There is a way for you to change your appearance. You can do it yourself.”

Harry frowned. “How?”

“It’s one of your powers, actually. You should be able to change your shape into almost anything you wish, when you reach your full potential … but at present, I see no reason why you couldn’t change your general shape back to what it should be.”

Harry grinned impulsively, unwittingly showing off his fangs for all to see. “You mean I don’t have to look like this? I can look like I used to?”

Dumbledore smiled along with him, and Snape’s expression, expectedly, remained the same.

“Alright then, Harry, how does this sound?” Dumbledore started. “I will invite Mr Weasley and Miss Granger here, where you can tell them anything you wish … you don’t have to tell them everything. While we wait for them to arrive, I will get Professor McGonagall to give you some ideas on shape shifting. She could give you some pointers, for obvious reasons. That also means I will have to inform her of recent developments…” he paused for a moment as Harry’s grin faded. “Are you alright with that?”

Harry swallowed nervously. So many people knew of him, and this would add another. Then again, it was McGonagall, and she always had an open mind when it came to such things. That, and she was his Head of House, and would probably need to be told before the start of term anyway.

“Yes Sir,” he replied, nodding his head. “That would be fine … but you might want to warn her about the way I look, before you get let her see me. She might have a heart attack.” Harry shot Dumbledore a crooked grin at the last statement, letting him know he was having a go at himself.

Dumbledore smiled widely and stood from the bed he was sitting on, patting him on the shoulder as he did so.

“As you wish, Mr Potter. I’ll go and inform Minerva of the situation, and then write to your friends. While you wait, why don’t you go for a short walk? Stretch your legs, so to speak? I do believe that Remus is currently enjoying a brisk morning walk around the Lake…”

With that, Dumbledore swept out of the Infirmary, leaving Poppy and Snape alone with him yet again.

Scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably, Harry quickly turned towards the Matron and asked her if it was all right if he went out for the morning.

“Well, actually, Mr Potter,” she answered, raising her eyebrows. “There is no reason to keep you here any longer, for you are in perfect health. You powers of rejuvenation have seen to that. I believe that Professor Dumbledore has planned to let you stay in the spare rooms near the Staff quarters, until Term begins.”

She smiled and handed him a set of robes, saying that they had been enlarged, before wishing him a pleasant morning and leaving him with Snape.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under the Potion Masters gaze, wishing he would go away so he could get out of his dreaded hospital pyjamas. Turning his back on him, Harry tried to stop the surge of anger that rushed through him, that was directed towards the tall wizard. If only he hadn’t told him anything … but then, if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have the slightest idea what was happening to him. Using a different excuse almost immediately, Harry instead focused on the fact that Snape knew who his father was, but refused to tell him that information. And what was worse was that Remus knew as well! Why would they keep something like that from him?

Simple, a small voice in the back of his head snapped, rather coldly. They think you can’t deal with the fact that the man, who fathered you, is a Deatheater. Harry snorted at the idea audibly, unknowing of the raised eyebrow Snape had shot at him silently at the sound. Who do they think they are? Who else knows?

Harry shook his head, hating the confusion he felt at the situation. Everything was so muddled and blurred now; he didn’t know what to think or who to take his frustration out on.

“Are you quite finished standing around, Mr Potter?” Snape’s cool voice spoke up from behind him. “Even you can’t wallow in self-pity all morning…”

Harry swivelled abruptly, now standing eye to eye with the Slytherin, though noticeably broader in the shoulder. His nose was barely three inches from the crooked one Snape possessed, and Harry was almost satisfied at the startled glint in the black (white to Harry) eyes, mixed with what he’d now discovered was alarm in the bright aura surrounding him.

“I am not wallowing, Sir,” Harry spat, seeing the green glow on Snape’s face brighten a little, as his eyes grew brighter with his anger. “I was merely going over the lovely memories of the pleasant sleep I had last night. Tell me, Professor, how was your night?”

If it were possible, Snape’s black skin got blacker, telling Harry that the Potion’s master was an even more unhealthy shade of white. He grinned maliciously, knowing that Snape knew what he was talking about.

“Who else knows who my father is, Professor?” he asked suddenly, all traces of his grin vanishing as his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Who else refuses to tell me something of such little consequence? I already know that both you, and Remus hold this knowledge … so who else denies me the pleasure of a simple name that I can hate? I mean … my dear old Dad is a Deatheater! How could I possibly hate him even more than I would already?”

Harry held Snape’s stunned, and surprisingly distressed, gaze, for only a second, before snarling (rather effectively now, considering his fangs and throaty growl) and snatching up the spare robes, stalking into the bathroom, slamming the door shut loudly.

Harry paced back and forth, fuming more on the inside than he was currently showing on the out. He tossed the robes onto the small bench, before stopping in front of the mirror, determined to look at himself as he truly was meant to look … even though he didn’t really care about that at this point. He hated how Snape could be so infuriating, so effortlessly. It seemed to be a natural talent he possessed!

Running a frustrated hand through his dead straight hair (not noticing how the hair shifted back into perfect placement afterwards), Harry finally stopped his pacing and changed, feeling much more comfortable and calmer in a normal set of clothing. He scowled as he spotted small tears near the collar of his shirt, knowing that his horns had caught on the material as he pulled it on. Tossing the dirty garments in the laundry, Harry paused for a moment before slowly opening the door, sighing in relief at the Snape-less Infirmary.

Quietly shutting the door, Harry made his way through the Infirmary, scowling at the fact that he could no longer wear any shoes, and reached out for the latch … pausing as Madame Pomfrey’s voice called out to him from her open door.

“Mr Potter?” Harry turned to face her. “I noticed Professor Snape’s mood after your little spate, and I thought I might tell you something you might not remember about yesterday.”

“What?”

Harry stayed where he was, as Poppy quickly walked up to him, having to turn her gaze skyward in order to look him in the eye.

“Do you recall what happened after your initial transformation, while you were here, with Severus?”

Harry’s forehead creased, searching his memories of that afternoon, when he looked back at the Matron in mild alarm, and a touch of shame.

“I threw him across the room … but I didn’t mean to – ”

“I know you didn’t, Mr Potter,” Poppy assured gently, waving the hurried apology aside. “That isn’t the main issue though. What I am referring to is that, despite what you unintentionally did to him, Severus still took it upon himself to look for you, and carry you here, personally, after it was discovered that you couldn’t be levitated. He also refused to leave your side while you recovered from your shock.”

Harry hung his head, now feeling the beginnings of regret for his harsh words with the man earlier on. That man was absolutely infuriating in the way he caused such conflicting emotions in him. One minute, Harry was fuming at him, and the next he was hating his shortness with him.

“I know I lost my temper, Ma’am,” Harry muttered, still looking at the floor. “And I’m sorry … but I couldn’t help it – ”

“I’m not blaming you, Harry,” Poppy interrupted, smiling reassuringly. “All I’m saying, is there is more to Severus Snape, than you might realize. Don’t hold him in aversion for things he has no control over…”

Harry could only nod sheepishly, before turning to leave.

“One moment, Mr Potter,” Poppy drew her wand and waved it, mending the holes in Harry’s shirt. He blushed profusely and nodded his thanks, before turning to leave again.

“Enjoy your morning, Harry. I don’t want to see you in here again for quite some time.”

Harry looked over his shoulder to see the Matron grinning at him, making a smile spread across his own face.

“I’ll try my best Ma’am,” he replied, shutting the door with a small wave, before strolling through the halls on his way down to the grounds.

*****

For the next two days, Harry spent his time walking the halls, examining the colouring that drifted through the air, and surrounding all the people he saw. He finally figured out that it was the ambient magical energy that thrived within Hogwarts grounds and walls. Everything he saw, while he still remained in his Avatarial form, gave off its magical essence, and Harry was slowly deciphering what he saw. He could determine and gauge other peoples emotions, and knew how powerful, in the magical sense, they are, and also, had the potential to achieve.

He knew that there was even more information hidden in the glowing auras, but he also knew it would take him much more time to see through all the layers. Harry also spoke to Remus during that time, but he also refused to say anything regarding who his father was … something that made Harry avoid Remus for some time, placing him in the same category as Snape.

Professor McGonagall got around to seeing Harry the afternoon he had left the Infirmary, and needless to say that, even with Dumbledore’s warning, she was quite alarmed at his new appearance. After recovering from her initial shock, McGonagall had swiftly returned to Professor mode, and instructed him in the general theories regarding shape-shifting.

By the end of the day, Harry had managed to rid himself of his horns and hocked feet, returning him to a normal stance. He had even gathered McGonagall in his arms and swung her around in his exuberance, though he apologized profusely after settling down and returning the smaller woman to the floor.

McGonagall had merely waved the apology aside, and flashed Harry a proud smile, telling him she didn’t mind and to continue practising in his spare time. Reverting back to his natural form should feel natural, so he didn’t need to know what he was originally meant to look like in order to achieve it.

Currently, Harry was enjoying a walk around the lake, feeling lighter than he had in days, as he’d finally rid himself of all the signs of his inhumanness. He was back to his normal skin tone, and was loving the way he saw the world, back to its normal colour and tones. Harry was surprised when he looked in the mirror that morning, knowing he’d finally reverted to what he should have looked like all his life, to find a face he found strangely familiar. His nose wasn’t as boyish as it used to be, now appearing straight and elegant, and all his features were more angular, possessing a sharpness that wasn’t there before. His cheekbones were higher and overall his face was a little stockier. His eyes, thankfully, retained their bright green colouring, and stood out more under his arched eyebrows.

Long, black and silky hair rested against Harry’s noticeably broad and powerful shoulders, and he found himself swatting the strands that refused to stay behind his ears from his eyes. The tall and strong frame that Harry had gained from his transformation shrank surprisingly little, so he still stood only around an inch shorter than Snape.

Using the knowledge that McGonagall had taught him, Harry tried successfully to change some of his natural look, back into what was more familiar to him. His powerful frame shrank to a more comfortable size, though he was still bigger than he was beforehand, and Harry changed some of his features to more resemble those of his previous face. His scar still stood out sharply on his forehead, but Harry was grateful that the hair that fell into his eyes could hide it.

Due to the still warm weather, Harry was wearing jeans and a normal tee shirt as he strode around the grounds, scuffing his trainers in the grass every few steps. Harry had noticed some time ago, that, as he stomped rather noisily through the outskirts of the forest, no animals or birds fled or took flight. None feared his presence, and treated him as they would any other forest dweller. It was unsettling, in a strange way.

“I see you’ve discovered how to change your general appearance, Harry,” Dumbledore remarked idly at dinner, as Harry took a seat next to McGonagall. “But you don’t seem to look as I imagined you would?”

Harry shook his head as he dished himself some Shepard’s pie. “It’s not my natural form, Sir. I wanted to sort of sit halfway for a while, so I didn’t freak anyone out by looking completely different.”

“Quite understandable, Harry,” the headmaster replied, munching on a piece of steak. “I’m in no position to tell you what you should look like, but may I request you show us for a few minutes, right now? You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dumbledore added as he saw Harry hesitate.

“No, it’s all right Sir,” Harry hurriedly exclaimed, looking between both McGonagall and Dumbledore. “I can show you. Err … should I stand…?”

Dumbledore waved a hand. “Whatever you feel comfortable with, my boy.”

Harry nodded and stood, stepping back from the table so the two could have a better view. After his morning and evening practises, Harry found it tremendously easier to change his looks, which is why it only took a few moments for him to feel his body shift and change on its way to the frame that felt most comfortable. He shut his eyes and bowed his head, not wanting to see their faces until the change was complete.

In a noticeably shorter span of time (Seemingly only about fifteen seconds) Harry felt the sensations cease. His clothing was notably snugger than normal, but he also knew from experience that the clothing he wore changed to accommodate for the subtler changes in his size.

Slowly, Harry raised his head and opened his eyes, seeing McGonagall staring openly at him, while Dumbledore seemed to have a wistful smile attached to his face.

“May I present what you should have been looking at for the past five years,” said Harry, liking his smooth and silky voice. It was deeper than his older voice, but thankfully, it wasn’t as deep and rumbling as the one he possessed in his Avatarial form.

McGonagall let her eyes travel the full length of Harry, before she settled once again on his face.

“Well, Mr Potter, I’m sure we can all agree that the term Short and Scrawny no longer applies to you…”

Harry grinned at her and chuckled lightly, nodding his head. “Quite true, Professor, though I could go back to that if I wanted to. I don’t completely, but at least it’s familiar.”

“How will you appear before Mr Weasley and Miss Granger, when they arrive here tomorrow?” said Dumbledore, resuming his seat. “As you were not two minutes ago, or your former image?”

Harry’s face broke out in a huge grin. “Ron and Hermione are arriving tomorrow? When?” Without even knowing so, Harry had stepped forward and excitedly turned Dumbledore back around, sliding the huge chair without effort. Dumbledore had a smile on his face, but nodded just the same.

“They should be arriving here at around lunch time, Harry. How about we take a trip down to Hogsmeade and meet them?”

Harry felt over the moon and grasped Dumbledore by his shoulders in an abbreviated hug. At that moment, the back door behind the Head Table opened, and a startled cry made Harry turn his head …… only to come nose to nose with the end of a wand.

“Step back from him this second, or lose your head,” Snape’s cold voice spat out viciously, his wand ever steady.

“Severus no – ” McGonagall started, but she was cut off almost immediately by Snape, who wasn’t listening and was focussed only on Harry.

“Move over there, and tell me who you are,” the brooding man demanded, as Harry obeyed and stepped away, throwing Snape a very disgusted look.

“Severus,” Dumbledore began bracingly. “You only seem to have arrived at a confusing moment – ”

“Who are you?” Snape spat, jerking his wand for emphasis and ignoring Dumbledore.

Harry took his eyes off Snape’s wand and looked him straight in the eye. He really didn’t recognise him… Then, something Snape had told him about his powers floated into his mind, and Harry grinned almost evilly. He squared his shoulders and remained silent, shaking his head only minutely at Dumbledore and McGonagall, telling them to not interfere. He took one step forward…

“Stop right there!” snapped Snape, hefting his wand again. “I’ll take your head off without a second thought … now tell me who you are, and what you are doing here?”

Harry straightened up and smiled widely; enjoying the wariness he was creating in the potions master. “Do your worst, Snape, and find out for yourself…”

With that, Harry winked at the worried looking couple standing behind Snape, before snarling and leaping at the man, arms outstretched as if to tackle him. Snape reacted instantly, stepping sideways out of Harry’s path, then swivelling around to face him, wand raised, and bellowing “Stupefy!”

Harry felt the spell hit him, but nothing occurred other than a small flash where it connected, before it vanished into nothingness. Harry grinned and turned to face Snape, who for his part was staring at him, absolutely gob smacked.

With the utmost sarcasm, Harry came to attention, and bowed lavishly. As he straightened up, he said, “Surprise!”

Snape looked him up and down, mouth agape, and slowly lowered his wand, stuttering out, “Potter?” as he did so.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “Ghee, I wonder what gave you that idea, Professor?”

“And this is what you looked like behind your mask of James?”

Harry nodded.

“Quite remarkable, isn’t it, Severus,” said Dumbledore softly, shooting Snape a most significant glance. Snape could only manage a nod, eliciting a small chuckle from the Headmaster. “Join us for Dinner, Severus.”

Snape nodded mutely, and took his usual seat, ignoring Harry as he took back his own and finished his meal. The rest of Dinner past in silence, and Harry left rather early, wanting to get in some more practise before meeting his friends the next day. He bid his teachers goodnight, letting his eyes linger on Snape for longer than necessary, before returning to his room, eager for tomorrow.

After waking and getting cleaned up, Harry stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of his room. He was having trouble deciding how he would appear when he met Ron and Hermione in a few hours time. The most logical answer was to look like the Harry they left at the end of the previous year … but something in him just didn’t want to go back to that. He was a different Harry … a human one. So, Harry opted to appear before his friends the same way he had Dumbledore and McGonagall. Half way.

Dressing in jeans and a turtleneck, Harry pulled his hair back and headed down to breakfast. Dumbledore was sitting in his chair already, as was McGonagall and Snape. Remus was appearing through the door behind them, just as he walked down the house tables.

“Ready for the trip, Mr Potter?” Dumbledore asked, looking around McGonagall in order to see him.

“Absolutely, Sir,” Harry answered, smiling at the half strangled cough that Remus issued at the sound of his name. “I can’t wait.”

“Harry?” Remus exclaimed, peering at him intently before flicking his gaze to Snape and back again. “Wow … you look good…”

“Thank-you,” Harry answered, looking down modestly. “Though, this isn’t quite the whole deal. I didn’t want to freak Ron and Hermione out by looking entirely different.”

Remus nodded absently, still racking his eyes over Harry. “That’s a good choice then, because they’ll be surprised enough when they see you like this.”

Harry looked down at himself, frowning bewilderedly. “It’s not that different, is it?”

“I assure you, Mr Potter,” Snape spoke up from the other side of Dumbledore. “There is quite a significant difference in your appearance, compared to what your friends will be expecting.”

“Really?” Harry momentarily forgot about the grudge he bore against Snape for the moment, as he tried to determine how true his statement was. “I didn’t realize…”

“Let me make it clearer for you then, Mr Potter,” Snape drawled, pulling his wand from his robes and waving it. “This is what your friends will be expecting when they meet you in Hogsmeade.” An image of the thin and scrawny Harry materialized in front of the table, life like in all regards. “This is what you currently look like…” Snape waved his wand again, and an image of Harry as he appeared rose beside the former.

“Oh,” was all Harry could mutter. Seeing both of his images standing side by side made him see quite clearly, just how different he looked, even at his halfway point. If he didn’t know it was him already, he would have mistaken himself for someone else. “I guess it’s to be the old me, on our little trip,” he muttered, not bothering to wait and shifting right there at the table.

Remus gaped, and Snape looked on curiously, as Harry changed back into his old guise, missing only his glasses.

“You know, it’s strange,” Harry started, his brow furrowed in thought. “But, for some reason, being like this feels even more unnatural than the halfway I was just at? It’s weird … but now, this just feels … wrong, somehow…”

“It only feels wrong because it is so far from your true form, Mr Potter,” McGonagall spoke up, playing the instructor instinctively. “It will feel that way with any form other than your natural one’s, until you gain more experience with it. Then it will feel as normal as any other form you take, but your true one will always feel the most comfortable.”

Harry only nodded mutely and returned to his sausages. Breakfast soon finished and everyone started to leave for the day’s activities, but Harry called for Snape to wait for a few moments.

“What do you want, Potter? I have things to do,” said Snape, as the Double Doors to the Great Hall closed behind Dumbledore. He was currently dressed in a normal black button down shirt, and black trousers. Harry was mildly surprised at the strong frame the Potions Master kept hidden beneath his swathing robes.

“Um … I – I just wanted to apologize about what I said to you, that day in the Infirmary. I wasn’t being fair, especially after you helped me after I transformed. And I’m sorry I hit you as well,” Harry continued, missing the dazed look on Snape’s face. “I didn’t mean to, but it was just kind of reflex – ”

“Potter!” Snape cut in, halting Harry’s rambling. He was looking at him as though he’d lost his mind. Harry didn’t blame him. How many times would he actually be apologizing to the man? “Although you may feel the need to apologize, I don’t want to hear it. I already know that you had almost no control over your actions in the Infirmary, and you’ve every right to be angry at me about not telling you who your father is.”

Harry was flabbergasted. Snape was speaking to him civilly! More than that, he was admitting he’d been in the wrong! Harry shook his head jerkily as though to clear it.

“Professor, wait!” Harry called, for Snape had turned and made his way to the door behind the Head Table. He turned back; looking mildly irritated, but stopped all the same. Harry walked up to him, hating how he had to look upwards so far, now that he was short again. “Um … thank you.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “What for, Potter?”

Harry let his eyes drop to the floor. He didn’t want to bring it up again, but he needed to thank the man for what he did. “F – for taking me away from the Dursley’s … Sir…”

There was a stiff moment of silence, before Snape spoke up.

“There’s no need to thank me, Harry,” he said quietly. Harry’s head snapped up at the use of his first name by the Potions Master. He’d never done that before…

“But Sir – ”

“If it wasn’t for your friends Owling their concerns, we never would have known what was happening there … so I think it’s safe to say that the people you should thank, will be arriving here in a few hours.”

Harry held Snape’s gaze for a moment, before giving him the smallest smile and nodding. “Yes Sir.” Snape nodded back and once again turned to leave, reaching out for the latch before Harry thought of something else to ask the man. “Sir, I was wondering – ”

“What now, Potter?!” he snapped whirling around, looking as though he was wild for a moment.

Harry flinched and took an involuntary step away from him, a surge of panic filling his chest. Not again! Calm down you idiot! Uncle Vernon isn’t here… But Harry couldn’t stop the small tremors that sprung up in him. He knew his breathing had gotten quicker, and by the look on Snape’s face, he guessed he must look like a dear caught in the headlights.

He looked away, not wanting Snape to see him like this for a second time, and started to turn quickly, fully intending to flee so he could calm down. A sudden heavy hand on his shoulder made Harry cry out in fright. He instantly tried to throw the hand off and stumbled blindly sideways, running into the chairs sitting at the Head Table, tripping him up in his panic.

Someone was speaking to him, but Harry couldn’t make out the words. He crawled away from the voice (which sounded terrifyingly like Uncle Vernon) and tried to hide. Drawing his knees to his chest, Harry cowered under the table, rocking back and forth ……

***

“What now, Potter?!”

Snape whirled around, irritated profoundly by the boy’s insistence in keeping him away from his work. He scowled at the boy heavily … but he didn’t continue to speak. Snape furrowed his brow as Potter appeared as a frightened animal, spotted by the creature hunting it. He started tremble, ever so slightly, and Snape knew what was happening.

The boy appeared terrified and started to turn away. Cursing himself for his forgetfulness, knowing how hostile voices affected him at present, Snape quickly stepped forward, grasping the boy’s shoulder tightly to stay him.

Potter’s strangled yelp at the contact startled Snape quite efficiently. Instantly, Potter wrenched from his grasp and collided into the chairs they had occupied not ten minutes ago.

“Potter!” Snape called, hoping to call the boy back as he’d done in the Infirmary. “Potter, it’s all right … nothing’s going to hurt you…” He knelt down in front of him, leaning in slightly. The boy was muttering under his breath, too soft for most of what he was saying to be heard, but little things like “didn’t mean to” and “please don’t” reached his ears.

Snape snarled inwardly. He would get Dursley for what he’d done to this boy. No one had the right to treat anyone in that manner, let alone his own nephew. It was strange that, in merely three days, Harry had rid himself of all physical signs related to his abuse at the hands of his relatives, thanks to his restorative abilities. It was a shame that those same powers couldn’t be used to heal the traumatic damage to his mind as well.

“Harry,” Snape called again, more gently than before. “Harry you’re safe here. You’re at Hogwarts … no one’s going to harm you here…”

With large amounts of trepidation, Snape slowly reached out and touched Harry’s hair, trying to subconsciously project the feelings of comfort and affection that had been denied him his whole life. Needless to say, it was harder than Snape thought to have feelings of such bearing towards someone who resembled his childhood enemy so much. Snape knew his feelings were irrational, but to hate a face for so long it was hard to just push those feelings aside … no matter how much he wanted to.

Harry flinched away at Snape’s touch and whimpered a little more, so Snape took it as a good sign and continued his slow approach. He continued to whisper reassurance, while slowly getting closer to Harry, feeling the strangest emotions filling him as he continued. They were almost foreign to him, but strangely not unpleasant…

After a time, Harry’s rocking slowly diminished, as did his panicked muttering. Snape looked down and was surprised that he’d actually encased Harry in an embrace from behind; the boy leaning back into him. He was feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the close contact, but it seemed to fade swiftly as he felt Harry shift against him, seemingly making himself more comfortable. Snape was actually surprised that the boy was seeking any comfort with him at all, considering he was the reason behind his attack in the first place.

“I’m sorry…”

Snape blinked, almost missing the statement it was so soft. He turned his gaze to the unruly mop of black hair in front of him, seeing the slight shaking of the head, as though in shame, before tightening his arms minutely, feeling as though he needed to rectify this in any way possible.

“Don’t be,” Snape answered, just as quietly. “I should be saying that, not you. You only wished to say something else, and I took my impatience out on you. It would have only taken up another two minutes of my time, so there was no excuse for my behaviour. I apologize for causing you more distress.”

Snape held his breath, waiting for Harry to respond, letting it out when he felt Harry relax even more in his arms, actually leaning into him more. He allowed himself the smallest smile, realizing that, this didn’t seem so bad. He was comforting his son, and it was slowly filling a place in him that he thought dead years ago. It was a strange situation.

As he thought this however, Snape felt his hope at successfully being Harry’s father, diminish significantly. In order for him to be Harry’s father … he needed to tell him that he was. Yet Harry had declared only three days ago that he hated the man that fathered him, solely because he was a Deatheater.

Deciding he would think about that later, Snape thought back to what Harry was saying before he’d snapped at him.

“What were you going to ask me before, Harry?” he asked, sounding as reproachful of his own actions as he could.

“Hmm? Oh,” Harry sounded as though he’d come out of a light doze at the question, making Snape feel a strange sensation. He’s comfortable enough to fall asleep on me? “I was only going to ask if – if you could possibly try and teach me about my powers, as they come out? Nothing too important…”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Snape replied, looking down at the top of Harry’s head. “You do need to learn about your powers, and how to best use them. I’d be happy to teach you all I can about them. Naturally I couldn’t know all there is to know about them … but I can try my best.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Don’t mention it…” Snape thought about his next request for only a moment, before plunging onwards. “… And while we’re at it, how about I call you Harry, and you may call me Severus, while term is out, or in private?”

At this, Harry slowly sat up and turned to face him, though letting him keep one arm on his shoulders. Snape was mildly surprised to see a look of something close to suspicion flit through the boy’s green eyes, as though determining if he was sane or even real.

“Why are you asking me this?” he said suddenly, looking at Snape almost coolly. “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden? You’ve always tried your best to discredit and embarrass me, so why the change?”

Snape held Harry’s gaze all the while, understanding why he would be so suspicious of his behaviour. He would have been uneasy if he didn’t ask him this.

“I realize it has been a long time coming, Harry,” Snape began quietly. “But, after seeing you last night, looking as you should have all these years, I realized that you are not James Potter. You may have looked like him, but it was wrong of me to hold my grudge against him on you as well.” He leant back against one of the table legs, sighing. “And now, knowing that James was never your father … I just want to start over…”

Snape was surprised at himself. Normally he was never so open with anyone save the Headmaster, but this just seemed to feel natural. He watched as Harry thought it over, finding himself crawling from under the table, as Harry had done while he thought it over. They stood facing each other, silent, when all of a sudden, Harry decided to shift into his true form.

Snape stared into the face that reminded him so much of his own, thinking that Harry had to be thick if he didn’t notice the resemblance, when said boy began to speak.

“All right …… Se – Severus,” he stuttered awkwardly. “But I don’t want you to call me Harry – ”

“Very well,” Snape interrupted, trying to hide the tremendous hurt that surged through him at the words. “Mr Potter. It’s a start at least – ”

“You didn’t let me finish, Severus,” Harry spoke over him, looking mildly amused at the same time as apologetic. Snape could tell that he hadn’t successfully hidden all the hurt…

“What I was going to say was that, I didn’t want you to call me Harry, because that has never really been my name … has it?” He held Harry’s gaze, realizing what he was saying. “I would like you to give me my name, Severus. You’ve helped me all these years, even if I didn’t know you did at the time, and would like to thank you by letting you give me a name I should have been using… that is just between us…” Harry held out his hand. “I would like to start over as well … and seeing how you know my last name – something I won’t force you to divulge – you can pick a name that would suit it best.”

Snape numbly took the hand Harry held out; feeling overwhelmed by the request Harry had given him. I am to name him. As though he’d always been mine to claim! I get to name my Son!

“I’m honoured to accept your request,” Snape hated how his voice wasn’t as smooth as it usually was, but at this point the couldn’t care. Harry smiled at him faintly, and he returned the gesture, releasing their clasped hands. “I’ll tell you your name after dinner tonight. I need some time to think it over. Could you meet me at around eight, at the potions room?” Harry nodded. “Thank you.” Snape glanced at his watch and grinned. “You should probably go and meet Albus now,” he remarked, grinning wider at his son’s puzzled expression. “You’ve about two hours until your friends arrive – ”

He got no further. Harry had cursed under his breath and dashed from the hall, not even giving Snape a second glance. He allowed himself a small chuckle, before growing serious again, determined to sit in his quarters and think of a good name for his son.