"Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense regardless of how it turns out."
- Vaclav Havel

~*~*~*~

Severus looked around the room and frowned. It was dirty and looked as if it hadn't been used in a long time. “Tildy,” he called.

With a crack, a little house-elf dressed in a neat tea towel bearing his crest popped into the room. “What can Tildy do for Master?” she said.

“Tildy, I need you to speak to the castle and move that door so that it opens into my quarters,” he said.

Tildy nodded. “Yes, Master Snape. Can Tildy do anything else?”

“I would also like this room cleaned, and the walls cream-colored. We need a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and a dresser in here, nothing dark.”

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Tildy will take care of it.”

Severus left the room and headed next door to his quarters.

He still wasn't sure he should be inviting Potter into his home, but he frankly couldn't see another option that would give the boy any kind of adequate security. He couldn't back out now, at any rate. The papers had been signed and portkeyed to the Department of Wizarding Family and Children Services. Since he had to stay for a few weeks after term to wrap up loose ends for the school year, it only made sense to prepare a room for the child.

Severus wasn't about to lock Harry away as if he were ashamed of him; Lily's boy deserved decent treatment. He murmured the password to the portrait that guarded his quarters and went inside. Now that the boy's bedroom in the castle was arranged, he really had to consider where Harry would stay on the estate.

Severus sighed. He knew where he should put the child, but no Potter had ever stayed there. “Blinky,” he called.

The old elf popped in. “How can Blinky help?” he said.

“Go prepare the Heir's rooms,” he said.

Blinky perked up; he'd taken care of Severus as a child. “Master Severus has a baby boy?” he asked eagerly.

“No,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I have a fifteen-year-old ward who will be living with me from now on.”

Blinky looked suspicious. “And who would this be?” he asked.

“Harry Potter,” Severus said tiredly. He really didn't want to explain, especially to a house-elf, but this particular house-elf had changed his nappies, and wasn't adverse to reminding him of the fact.

Blinky's face cleared. “Mistress Lily's son,” he said with a smile.

“Yes,” Severus answered.

“In the kitchens, Dobby has been crying that Harry Potter's family is mean to Harry Potter, sir,” Blinky said slowly. “And the house-elves heard that Harry Potter's godfather, Sirius Black, is dead.”

“Which is why he will be living with me,” Severus said dryly.

Blinky nodded. “Blinky will go to air out the room,” he said, then disappeared.

At least the matter of the room was taken care of, he thought tiredly. He rather thought that he'd have to take the boy shopping for some decent clothing, but there were a few days yet before he had to worry about that. Severus rather thought that, considering his previous tactics and the fact that the majority of his inner circle was now in Azkaban, the Dark Lord wouldn't be attacking public places in broad daylight anytime soon.

At least the arrest gave them a bit of breathing space while Voldemort regrouped. Severus sighed, shook his head, and glanced back at the pile of exams that he still had to mark. There was an awful lot to do before the majority of the students were sent home. Apart from the marking, he had a feeling that the Headmaster wouldn't deign to wait long to talk to the boy, so he would have to insist on his own presence. Aside from the trauma Harry was coping with, whatever concerned Severus's ward also concerned him.

After deciding that he should get started on the marking, Severus went over to his desk, sat down, and picked up his quill. As he glanced at the first exam, he reflected that it always seemed as if his work was never done. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards momentarily as he remembered that, on the bright side, he would never have to brew potions for the Dark Lord again. With a will, he dipped his quill into bright red ink and started correcting the first script.

~*~*~*~

Severus started to climb the stairs leading up from his office, but stopped as he overheard Draco Malfoy's sneering voice. It had been a miracle that the arrogant boy hadn't ended up in Azkaban for the fiasco in Umbridge's office, and Dumbledore had insisted on not expelling the students who were involved.

Severus had arrived just in time to hear Malfoy threaten Harry. As he came up the stairs, he caught sight of Potter pulling his wand, reaching it faster than Crabbe, Goyle, or Malfoy ever could. “Put it away, Mr. Potter,” he ordered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the child pocket his wand, but his attention was for Malfoy and his lackeys. “Mr. Malfoy,” he began in a dangerously soft voice. “Just what do you think you are doing?”

Malfoy gave him a sullen look and didn't answer.

“Well, then,” Severus said with a smirk. “Fifty points from Slytherin for threatening a fellow student, and you are to report to my office tonight after dinner.” Now that he no longer had to be nice to Malfoy, he could do what he'd wanted to do for quite some time—put the spoilt brat in his place.

“Why should I, traitor?” Malfoy inquired.

Severus crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Because I am still your professor, perhaps?” he inquired. “Thirty points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for disrespect to a professor.”

Malfoy glared at him. “Potter got my father thrown in prison,” he said fiercely.

“I think you'll find that your father's own actions are responsible for that, Draco,” responded Severus mildly.

“It's your fault, too,” Malfoy accused.

Severus flicked a piece of lint off his robes before replying. “Are you trying to single-handedly ruin your House's chance at the cup?” he asked. “Another fifty points from Slytherin.” Severus sounded completely bored by the action. “I do not tolerate disrespect from my students.”

Malfoy sneered in response, but didn't reply.

“Might I remind you that after your complicity in performing an Unforgivable that you are on thin ice, Mr. Malfoy? If you wish to be expelled, by all means, continue.”

“Well, well, looks like things have changed a bit around here.” Professor McGonagall had just stumped up the stone steps into the castle. She was carrying a tartan carpetbag in one hand and leaning heavily on a walking stick with her other, but otherwise looked quite well.

“Professor McGonagall!” said Severus. He was fighting the urge to smile as he strode forward. “Out of St. Mungo's, I see!”

“Yes, Professor Snape,” said Professor McGonagall, shrugging off her traveling cloak. “I'm quite as good as new. You two -- Crabbe –- Goyle --”

She beckoned them forward imperiously and they came, shuffling their large feet and looking awkward.

“Here,” said Professor McGonagall, thrusting her carpetbag into Crabbe's chest and her cloak into Goyle's, “take these up to my office for me.”

They turned and stumped away up the marble staircase.

“And what, may I ask, is this about?” McGonagall waved her hand, encompassing Malfoy and Harry.

“Professor--” Harry began.

Severus gave the boy a slight shake of his head. “I came upon Mr. Malfoy threatening Mr. Potter,” he said. “You caught me disciplining my student.” He caught the slightly amused look that flitted across her face.

“Which one, Professor?” she asked.

“Why Mr. Malfoy, of course,” he answered softly.

Minerva's mouth twitched. “How... unexpected,” she said.

“Death threats against other students are inappropriate, as is blatant defiance of a professor,” he said. “Mister Malfoy seems intent on ridding Slytherin of every single extra point that was gained from Umbridge.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “The inequality of the points has not escaped me,” she said dryly. She looked up at the hourglasses. “I think we should right it, don't you agree, Professor Snape?”

“Quite.” Severus gave her a slight smile. “I would say fifty points for flawlessly executing a plan would be fair.”

“Each,” McGonagall said. “After all, two Weasleys, Longbottom, Miss Granger, and Miss Lovegood were not cognizant of the plan until after it was put into action.”

Severus inclined his head, feeling a bit put-out. He still had his principles to live up to, after all. “Very well,” he said as a shower of rubies fell down into the bottom bulb of Gryffindor's hourglass and a number of sapphires fell into Ravenclaw's glass.

“Well, Potter, Malfoy, I think you ought to be outside on a glorious day like this,” McGonagall continued briskly.

Harry headed straight for the door, but Malfoy lingered. “Mr. Malfoy,” Severus said quietly. “You will be in my office after dinner tonight, or you will face consequences that you will not enjoy—is that clear?”

“Yes,” Malfoy replied sullenly.

“What was that?” Severus asked silkily. “Another fif--”

“Yes, sir,” Draco interrupted hurriedly.

“Off with you, then,” he said. Severus knew better than to think Malfoy truly cared about the points; most likely, he was worried about his housemates' reaction to him losing the points in the first place.

Malfoy hurried off in the opposite direction to Harry had taken. Severus offered his arm to Minerva. “On your way to speak to the Headmaster?” he inquired.

She gave him a brief nod as she took his arm. “Of course,” was her answer. “I'm sure that one of the paintings has already informed him of my return—and I sent an owl with the approximate time, but, well...”

“It is always best to report in person,” Severus said. The way she leaned on his arm told him that she was not quite as well as she pretended. He had suspected as much—Minerva was worse than he was about being sick or injured.

“And where are you headed?” Minerva asked.

“The same as you,” he admitted. “The Headmaster is planning on finally doing what he should have done before term started—giving Harry the information he needs to know, and I will be there.”

He glanced over to see surprise cross her face. “Are you sure of that?” she asked.

“I'm shocked that the Headmaster didn't tell you,” Severus observed. “With his godfather's death, Harry was in need of a guardian, and I decided that the best way to make sure he was protected was to take him myself, so he is now my ward. What concerns him concerns me.”

“I must say...” she trailed off. “I know you dislike the boy, Severus.”

He acknowledged it with a languid wave of his hand. “That does not mean that I am not concerned about his safety.”

“Quite true,” Minerva said. She patted his arm absently. “You do realize that, with time, he may come to see you as a father figure.”

Inwardly, Severus winced. Just what he needed—Harry Bloody Potter looking towards himself as a father. The thought came without quite the usual amount of venom. “I hope it will not come to that,” he said dryly. “I have promised him a place to live, clothing, food, and training to survive the coming war...”

“He's fifteen, Severus,” Minerva reminded him gently. “He needs more than to be turned into a weapon.”

Severus snorted. “He's a boy, not a weapon, but his life is in danger every second of every day. He must know how to defend himself, Minerva!”

Minerva sighed. “Sometimes I forget that,” she admitted. “But then I remember all the times that You-Know-Who has almost killed him.”

The two lapsed into silence as they made their way to the Headmaster's office and gave the password. As he stepped on the revolving staircase, Severus decided that not only was he clueless about what he was getting into, but despite fourteen years of teaching, he was probably more than a little unprepared as well.

~*~*~*~

Severus smirked as he scribbled a large red “T” on top of the exam he was marking. He glanced at the clock—it was almost time for Malfoy to show up for his detention. Briefly, he wondered if he could dissuade the boy from joining the Dark Lord, but he wasn't really sure if it was possible.

He didn't look up when the door creaked open. “You're late, Mr. Malfoy,” he said.

Malfoy sneered at him. “I shouldn't have to be here with a traitor like you,” he said.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “That attitude you're sporting ill becomes you, Draco,” he drawled.

Malfoy sniffed. “You shouldn't have betrayed the Dark Lord,” he said.

“He should not have forced me to make potions to torture and kill innocents,” Severus replied mildly. “He should not have allowed some of his people to torture and kill my wife and our unborn child.”

Draco paled slightly. “He wouldn't,” the boy protested.

“He would,” Severus replied calmly. “Perhaps you would like to see what service to the Dark Lord is really like?” he inquired. Inwardly, he was shaking. He did his best to avoid the painful parts of his past, but he had hopes for his old friends' son; he wanted to stop the boy from following the same path that he had at that age.

Malfoy looked suspicious. “How do I know that you're telling the truth?” he asked.

Severus repressed the urge to roll his eyes, took his pensieve out of a drawer, then began putting his worst memories of life in the Dark Lord's service into it. He had considered preparing the pensieve before hand, but in the end decided that it would be best to do it in front of the boy. “Memories that have been tampered with have fuzzy edges in pensieves,” he said dryly. “If you decide to go into the Dark Lord's service, you will do so with both eyes open, Draco.”

Malfoy just snorted and crossed his arms over his chest.

Severus gestured towards the pensieve. “Touch the surface,” he ordered.

Malfoy sneered at him, but obeyed. Dispassionately, Severus watched as the boy was sucked into the pensieve, and settled back into his chair to wait. He would leave the boy to draw his own conclusions from the memories—Malfoy had been coddled far too much in his life as it was. He didn't delude himself into thinking that a dose of truth would stop the boy from joining the Dark Lord, but at the same time, he had to try.

Spoilt brats like Draco Malfoy rarely fared well in the Dark Lord's service. The boy was a bully, but Severus rather thought that he did not have it in him to become a murderer, and for that reason alone he would not survive long in the ranks of the Death Eaters.

Time dragged on as Malfoy explored his memories. Finally, the boy pulled out of the pensieve and settled back in his chair. “My father wouldn't do that,” he enunciated clearly.

Severus snorted. Among the memories of various Death Eater activities had been a series of memories featuring Lucius Malfoy as one of the main participants. “I was there, boy,” he said. “I watched him torture, rape, and kill Muggles. I saw him murder half-blood and Muggle-born witches and wizards after long tortures. I witnessed him tormenting and murdering both innocent babies and children. Don't tell me what your father will or will not stoop to; I have seen everything.”

“I don't believe you,” Malfoy sneered. “You're a filthy traitor.”

Severus stood up and loomed over the boy. “Yes,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “I am a traitor to an insane half-blood and his slaves. I risked my life and still do in order to be freed from the murderous bastard.”

“My father is not a slave!” Each word rose in volume until Malfoy was almost yelling. “And the Dark Lord can't be a half-blood.” He spat out the last word as if it were something filthy.

Severus snorted in amusement. “Keep telling yourself that,” he said in a soft voice. “Perhaps you can delude yourself that it is true.”

“You're the one who's deluded, traitor!” Malfoy accused.

Severus made a show of examining his potion-stained fingernails before replying. “Is that the best you can come up with?” he inquired. “Really, Mr. Malfoy, you should learn to be rather more creative with your insults. No wonder Potter and his friends seem to beat you so easily.”

Severus watched with some amusement as Malfoy's face darkened and the boy sputtered with impotent anger.

Before the boy could speak, he decided that it would be best to let him leave. Perhaps after some thought, Draco would decide not to be marked, after all. Severus didn't think that Malfoy would be dissuaded, but his own conscience wouldn't let him stand by without doing anything to stop the boy. He had already called a meeting with his seventh years and shown them much the same thing. They were the ones in the most danger of being marked, after all. The Dark Lord rarely marked school children; as their magic was simply not able to be used outside of school, they were of limited use to him.

“I suggest you think over what you have seen, Mr. Malfoy,” Severus said silkily. “You decide what you will become—a slave, or a free man. You're dismissed.”

The boy shot him a glare, then flounced out of the room. Severus returned the memories to his head, wincing as they settled in. He had been lucky enough to avoid active participation in most of the incidents in the pensieve, but they still made him feel unclean. He was much better off working for the Light than for the Dark—at least with the Light, he was able to make decisions that he could live with.