Snape entered the loo, only to be assaulted by the sight of Gilderoy Lockhart emerging from a stall. Snape glanced at the toilet he'd just used, and realized with disdain that it was struggling to flush.

"You stopped up the toilet," he noted dryly.

Lockhart looked flustered. "Actually," and before Snape could react, he'd whipped out his wand, "Obliviate!"

Lulled into the spell, Snape could only listen and accept it as Lockhart informed him, "You stopped up the toilet."

After the other man's departure, the trance crept from Snape's mind, and he glanced, befuddled, at the toilet he'd stopped up, wondering why he still felt like he needed to use the bathroom.

* * *

Ah, I remember that, Snape thought, irritated by that half hour he'd spent searching for Filch to unclog that toilet.

He was still under the lull of the memory restorative draught. When testing their concoctions, the NEWT Potions class had yielded a surprising number of students who had been obliviated at one point or another by Gilderoy Lockhart. His curiosity piqued, Snape partook of the draught himself as soon as the class had filed out. He'd already witnessed Lockhart knocking down a shelf of his potions (he'd known he wasn't that careless!), slipping on the slick surface outside the DADA classroom, and swallowing his coffee the wrong way. Why that infernal idiot had felt the need to erase the recollections of even his most minor embarrassments still baffled Snape. It was not like the man hadn't embarrassed himself on a daily basis with his pitiful attempts at wizardry.

Snape would have hexed the imbecile if he weren't already sitting in Saint Mungo's, struggling to recall the slightest detail of his existence. As things were, the Potions Master was beginning appreciate the concept of cosmic justice. How fitting that a man with so little respect for the recollections of others had been robbed of his own recollections.

He could feel the power of the draught waning, so he prepared to rise; he supposed there were no more Lockhart incidents obliviated from his mind...

And he collapsed back to his seat as something much more powerful broke through, another memory, buried much deeper, obliviated by a far more powerful spell.

The draught wasn't usually strong enough to restore very powerful obliviates (hence Lockhart's continued presence in Saint Mungo's); Snape recognized the fleeting quality of the memory as it tugged at his thoughts. It had been buried very deeply. Clearly someone really wanted him to forget this one.

Intrigued, he cleared his mind, rallying every Occlumency skill he'd ever acquired. He forced the questions out of his mind-- Who had done this? Was it Voldemort trying to hide some nefarious scheme? Potter trying to hide some miserable little escapade? No, Potter doesn't have the skill or the guile to do something like this-- and at long last his mind grew quiet.

The memory trickled back slowly at first-- Potter thrashing on the bed, Dumbledore's sad blue eyes, Snape's own white hands stirring a potion-- then it overtook him with an explosion of color and sound:

"How long has he been in this state?" he heard himself ask, still brewing the potion they'd pulled him out of grading papers to prepare. All the ingredients had been sitting tidily by the cauldron in the middle of the hospital wing, awaiting only the Potion Master's touch to complete.

"Three hours," Poppy Pomfrey replied, hovering worriedly at the foot of Potter's hospital bed as the boy thrashed and quivered in his sleep. "He won't even respond to stimuli now."

Snape sniffed the potion, verifying it was in the proper state for ingestion.

"Severus," he could hear Dumbledore's gentle voice, feel his hand on his shoulder. "Is it ready?"

"I've prepared the counter-poison as per your request, Headmaster," he replied, watching the boy on the bed struggle against an unseen opponent in his fever-ridden state. "It awaits only one ingredient. But I must warn you-- the blood of his relatives might not contain the genetic signature necessary to render it potent."

"We already verified it," Madame Pomfrey said grimly. "His aunt and cousin are incompatible."

Snape glanced up sharply, from her gray, stark expression, to the aged headmaster looming behind him. "Then Potter will die." He gazed searchingly at Dumbledore's face, trying to figure out why the Headmaster had wasted precious time ordering Snape to brew a useless potion when they could have been exploring alternative means to counter the poison. "Without the blood of an immediate relative," he explained carefully, amazed at how dense the Headmaster was acting, "this potion is utterly useless."

Dumbledore's clear blue eyes met his gravely. "That I realize." He looked sadly over at Potter, still unconscious on the hospital bed, then back to his Potions Master. "Use your own blood, Severus."

Snape stared at him. "Have you heard a word I said? My blood-- he needs the blood of a relation--"

"Use your own blood, Severus," Dumbledore repeated softly.

Snape followed Dumbledore's orders, wondering what in Merlin's name was wrong with the other man. This would do nothing to help his wonder boy; the Headmaster was idling away the scant time before the boy inevitably succumbed to the poison. Dumbledore's logic defied Snape.

He was unaccustomed to disobeying Dumbledore's orders, however, so he made a careful incision and added his thick, red blood into the potion. He handed the vial at long last to Dumbledore, wondering if the Headmaster was in some intense form of denial. The Headmaster tilted Potter's head back himself, pouring a potion that was as useless as a placebo down the dying boy's throat...

And suddenly Potter's body stilled, the sharp, rasping breath fading into a calm, steady rhythm. A look of peace slackened over his features, the color rushing back into his pale face. Dumbledore pressed the empty vial back into Snape's numbed hands before returning to Harry's side. Snape could see from here that the boy's pain had faded, that the potion had done its work, and he was now in a natural, easy slumber.

Dumbledore's aged hand stroked across Harry's sweat-soaked brow, smoothing back the mop of wet hair, lingering upon the boy's scar. At long last, he looked up.

Snape stood there, gaping at him.

"Come now, Severus, with a mind as sharp as yours, surely you understand why this worked?"

Snape looked at Dumbledore, then he looked at the boy. No, no he didn't. He could think of how-- but no, that was impossible.

Dumbledore's eyes were still locked on him, strangely sad.

"Look at me, Severus."

Snape knew he had to follow Dumbledore's orders. He looked at him. Straight into those tragic blue eyes.

He barely heard Dumbledore's whispered, "Obliviate."

Snape stared ahead of him in disbelief as the memory restorative draught slowly released him; he recalled Dumbledore's voice telling him to resume his previous activities. And he remembered the cloudy walk back to his chambers, still in the grip of Dumbledore's spell. He'd looked up from grading papers, surprised at where the night had gone, wondering if the little brats had written such mind-numbing essays they'd actually put him to sleep for several hours.

Now he lurched to his feet, reeling. Dumbledore had obliviated him. Dumbledore had bloody obliviated him!

And he stopped.

Blood. His had cured Potter. That particular counter-poison-- only the immediate family was sufficient for the biological component. In rare cases uncles or cousins, but only very rarely. He would have to be--

Snape glared at one of his jars, as though willing it to explode. The only possibility--

It couldn't be. It just couldn't be.

Ah, but it could, a voice reminded him, thoughts flickering to that night, to those green eyes and that warm, salty skin...

Oh, no... Oh, please, no.

It was then Snape knew he was Harry Potter's father.

He remembered the day she'd appeared at his door. No words of love were exchanged. They never kissed. He still didn't know if she'd fancied it a pity fuck or if she simply had been every bit the whore he still called her in his mind.

Turning bloodshot, wilted green eyes to his, nose running as she swiped at her raw nostrils with a crumpled tissue, she informed Snivellus she was in love with James, so he shouldn't read anything into this. She just couldn't believe her darling James--they were barely out of Hogwarts and already he was interested in another woman. Was there something wrong with her, that she couldn't hold his interest? How pitiful and repulsive it was. Everything in Snivellus had curdled away from her until she pressed her warm breasts into his hands and straddled his lap, rubbing his hardness through his pants. And then a heated fog consumed his mind.

It was his first time with a woman. Greasy-haired and scrawny, with an overlarge nose and hostile bearing, he could do no better, and she knew it. She knew it with that malignant smirk on her lips and that coldness in her green eyes, even as she moaned against his skin, even as she grew slick under his caresses.

He fucked her then, hard, carelessly. Not one kiss. Afterwards they both were damp, sticky, and she looked nauseated.

He'd sneered at her to get dressed and get out. He'd thrown ‘mudblood' at her. He was already a Death Eater. He suspected she knew it, too. She dressed, didn't meet his eyes. Her shoulders were stiff as she buttoned her robes.

It was true that he'd watched her from a distance long before that, repulsed by his strange attraction to the mudblood, sickened each time James Potter would grip her waist with a possessive hand; how filthy she was, with the likes of Potter drooling over her, with that Muggle blood running through her veins. Yet he always watched. Somehow she'd known it, too. She'd guessed it. She'd sought him out that night when she wanted desperately to hurt Potter, to hurt herself, and like the pathetic, sniveling creature Potter and Black made him out to be, he'd obliged her.

How he wished he'd thrown her out of the room with a derisive laugh. He could have sneered at her and scorned her for the rest of his life if he'd done that. He would have remained pure. But he'd been weak and played right into her hands. He'd fucked her, and the next day she was back cuddling with Potter, pledging their undying love to each other through a sickeningly joyous flood of tears.

Whenever he saw her after that, he felt vaguely used and sullied. It was difficult to face the Dark Lord and not remember the feel of the mudblood's nails digging into his back, her warm body clinging to his, her eyes...

He regretted it then, he regretted it now.

Yet he'd felt a strange pang of... something when he heard only months later that Lily Evans had become Lily Potter. He'd tasted something bitter in his mouth when he'd learned of her healthy baby boy... Another bloody Potter. And when she'd died for that brat, slaughtered along with her darling James to preserve her worthless spawn, something inside Severus went very cold and still, and remained that way long enough for him to forget it had ever been otherwise.

* * *

He was aware of his sense of betrayal, and not a little horror that the Potter hell spawn was his son and Dumbledore had clearly known it. Apparently, the Headmaster had actively hidden this from him. The boy looked every inch the Potter; there had to be a powerful glamour of some sort, because he knew the 'Snape Nose' was irrepressible. Had Dumbledore cast the concealment charm himself, or had Lily? Had Pott-- Harry's identity been hidden at the Headmaster's behest or at Lily Potter's?

And no, Snape would not have wanted the impertinent brat for himself, but they had no right to hide this from him! Especially not after the boy's 'parents' had died.

Snape was sickened that Dumbledore clearly believed the boy was better off as an orphan than as Snape's son. He'd trusted Dumbledore. Of all people to betray him, he was the worst. He'd pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore's cause, overthrown his entire life and all his allegiances for Dumbledore's sake... And sweet Merlin, the man had lied to him and obliviated him!

Charms had never been Snape's strong suit, so it took him a good deal of time to locate a proper impermeable spell to protect his newly recovered memory from future attempts at obliviation. He sat in the library several hours before finding a decent one, angry thoughts raging through his head, contemplating the best way to confront Dumbledore. He didn't give much thought to Potter himself; the boy's genetic identity was a secondary issue next to the sheer horrendous fact that the Headmaster had betrayed him. He should go back to the Dark Lord just to show the man--

Snape halted those thoughts before they went farther.

It spoke powerfully of his state of mind that he'd intentionally skipped his afternoon Potions classes just to search for this charm. Snape felt smug, knowing the brats had probably waited most of the class period for him to show up, as terrified as they were of him. Well, let them wait. He knew Dumbledore would summon him to his office afterwards, and he would show the man that he couldn't get away with this. Of course, depending on how concerned Albus was, he might even walk to Snape's own chambers, which would be just fine; he'd appreciate the chance to confront the Headmaster in his own territory.

And true to form, the Headmaster showed up in his chambers that very night, his blue eyes very sad and concerned. Just like the night you oblivated me, Snape thought angrily.

The Headmaster was one of the few people who could read his countenance. Snape was furious and distraught, and the man picked up upon it immediately. "How are you feeling, Severus?"

Snape stared at him for a protracted moment, then gestured with a flick of his wand to the pensieve resting upon his desk. "You might want to have a look at that, Headmaster." His voice was tight and strained.

Dumbledore gazed at him a moment more, trying to figure out what was going in Snape's head, then gave a graceful nod. Snape watched coldly as the man prodded the pensieve and bent over it; he'd stuck a duplicate rather than his actual memory in that pensieve, not trusting Dumbledore one inch.

When the Headmaster rose from looking into the pensieve, his face was very neutral. "So you know. I take it you have many questions."

"Just when were you going to tell me about this, Albus?" Snape's voice was unusually cold even to his own ears; somehow the rage and betrayal had expressed itself in a tone of molten ice.

Dumbledore's blue eyes were alert and not a little bit wary as he observed the Potions Master bristling before him. Severus Snape, though not a wizard of Dumbledore's own caliber, was still a dangerous man well-versed in the darkest of arts. And he was probably enraged enough to employ that long underutilized knowledge against the aged headmaster.

"In all honesty, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, still watching him very carefully, "I was never planning to tell you."

Something dangerous flared behind Snape's eyes, but the man's years of self-restraint held it in check behind his pale, pinched expression. In a deceptively mild voice, "And why did you choose to withhold this knowledge?" Then his voice lowered into a hiss that revealed his stinging sense of betrayal, "What right did you think you had to hide this from me?"

"It was Lily's decision," Dumbledore said, refusing to acknowledge the other man's ire. "And I supported it. She did not wish to disrupt her marriage, and she did not believe you were ready to assume responsibility for the well-being of a child. I agreed." When Snape's jaw tensed impossibly tighter, Dumbledore added, "And I still believe we made the right choice."

Snape stared at him as though he'd suddenly unmasked a hidden enemy.

Through gritted teeth: "It wasn't your decision to make. And it wasn't hers. Pot--that boy was as much my son as hers, and she forfeited her claim on him when she threw herself into the path of a killing curse!"

Dumbledore shook his head gravely, never breaking eye contact with the younger man. "A true parent would appreciate Lily for her sacrifice rather than scorn her for it." He rose slowly, avoiding any sudden movements that might ignite the already volatile man. "She died protecting her child. You could not understand that at the time, and I don't believe you can now. You're only angry with me because I have taken something you see as rightfully yours; you never would have loved the child, nor valued him as a son." He gazed at Snape gravely, "And you would have scorned him all these years for carrying the blood of his mother just as you've scorned him for his father's."

"James Potter was never his father," Snape growled.

"And neither were you."

"And it's you I have to thank for that," Snape said bitterly.

It was Dumbledore's turn to stare. "Surely you don't want the boy."

"Of course I don't!" Snape roared. "But I would have appreciated the choice! You concealed this from me, you obliviated me!"

Dumbledore sighed. "Severus, I had the same fears then that I do now."

"And what fears are those?" His voice was low and dangerous. "Apart from my being ill-prepared 'to assume responsibility for the well-being of a child.'"

Dumbledore held his eyes firmly, completely unflappable. "I did not and do not want you to use Harry as some form of revenge against James Potter. As far as Harry is concerned, and as far as James was concerned, they are father and son. Were he still alive, I have no doubt you would take Harry from James purely out of spite. And now that he's dead, I think you would take possession of Harry simply to strike at his memory."

"I never realized you had such a low opinion of me, Headmaster," Snape said coolly. Dumbledore's words shouldn't have hurt. Really, they shouldn't have.

"Severus," Dumbledore looked like he was going to reach out to him, but Snape's cold glare dissuaded him. "I believe you are a good, courageous man; you have survived and persevered though the worst this life has to offer. You are one of our most valuable fighters against Voldemort." He paused, as if considering his words very carefully. "But I believe James Potter was and remains your gaping blind-spot. I don't trust you to be objective in this matter. And your opinion of Harry has always been... less than positive. With that said--" He made a small movement with his wand.

"Don't you dare try to obliviate me again," Snape hissed, eyes narrowing furiously. "I've cast an impermeable charm. It will not succeed, and rest assured, I will never forgive you."

Dumbledore stared at him a moment. "With that said, I have business elsewhere to attend." He paused, searching Snape's expression for something. "I hope you will inform me if you intend to act upon this knowledge."

"I hope you will inform me if there are any other earth-shattering secrets you're concealing," Snape retorted. "Perhaps I have some other sons? Daughters? A sister out there somewhere? I can't imagine I'm ready to assume responsibility for them. "

Dumbledore looked very, very sad as he moved to depart. "I am very sorry for what I had to do, Severus," he said softly, "But it seemed to be for the best. An old man's error--"

"Don't try to excuse it," Snape hissed. "Just get out!"

With a sad nod of his head, Dumbledore left.

Harry felt a prickling on the back of his neck, and raised his eyes to meet Snape's dark gaze. Again.

Even for Snape, the level of disdain and dislike in the expression was staggering. Harry looked back at his plate, thankful the 'A' on his Potions OWL had barred him from NEWT Potions. He didn't have to deal with Snape's vindictive comments in class anymore, nor did he seep points like a walking hemorrhage from Gryffindor's hourglass.

And no, he couldn't become an auror now, but it was not like that mattered in the long run. Not since he'd learned of the prophecy.

Students were chattering and laughing around him. Neville was speaking in confidence to Hermione, and Ron was arguing with Seamus over the Chudley Cannons. Harry sat in silence, as was his custom lately, content to lose himself in his own thoughts rather than force words from his unwilling lips. When he was drawn from his reverie by yet another vicious glare from Snape, he occupied himself with stabbing at his shepard's pie with his fork, a litany of faces running though his mind-- Umbridge's, Snape's, Voldemort's, Dumbledore's, his father's. An image of his father hexing a young Snape flashed through his mind. He stabbed the pie again. Or was it his own face he was seeing? They did look so very much alike.

Ron noticed this with a frown.

"I know the crust is a little dry," he said in a muffled voice, his mouth full of pie, "But no need to kill the poor thing."

Harry smirked at him, and, suddenly self-conscious, set the fork gently down beside his plate.

"Snape's glaring at you," Ron mentioned irritably, glowering at Snape on his friend's behalf. "What's his problem lately? I heard he skipped all of yesterday's classes. Too bad he couldn't do that when we were still in them, eh?"

Hermione perked to attention across from them and glanced across the Great Hall to see what they were talking about. She returned her attention to Harry with a troubled look on her face. "Harry, did you do something? He's staring at you." Her tone was rife with disapproval.

"No," he replied honestly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable having Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Snape all staring at him at once. What could he possibly have done? He spent all his free time in his dorm room. His grades were all passing, if mediocre. He wasn't playing Quidditch or getting into fights with Slytherins. He hadn't broken the rules once this year, strange as it was. Snape had no reason to take issue with him now. He never even saw the man anymore!

Great, now Seamus and Dean were looking his way. And a couple of students at the Ravenclaw table, for some reason... But they might have been looking at someone behind him. Harry felt like his skin was itchy; it was uncomfortable having the eyes directed his way. He should have been used to it by now-- the Sorting Feast had certainly been hell, with all the first-years 'ooh-ing' and 'aah-ing' at the sound of his name-- but these last two months he'd made a sincere and concerted effort to shrink into the scenery, and he liked to think he'd made some progress.

The teachers had been very delicate with him after the loss of Sirius. When it became apparent he did not wish to speak in class, they refrained from calling on him. Without Snape to make his life a living hell in Potions, he didn't have any true nemesis who singled him out and drew attention to him. He had yet to go to Hogsmeade, he hadn't tried out for Quidditch despite the lifting of his ban, and he spent most of his free time in the library or in his dorm room. His presence at the school was as minimized as he could make it. He'd become accustomed to the lack of attention. Now, all these eyes! He wanted to crawl out of his skin.

"Well, well, would you look at that?" Ron said smugly.

Harry followed his gaze against his better judgment, resting his eyes upon Snape, now in a quiet, vehement conversation with Dumbledore. Snape looked like he'd just sucked on a lemon. Dumbledore's face was stark and concerned, and slightly angry.

"You reckon he's in trouble with Dumbledore?" Ron mused.

Harry was staring at the Headmaster's shaken countenance, wondering just what they could be saying that rattled the older wizard's composure. Is something happening with the Death Eaters? Voldemort? Harry wondered idly, reaching out to sip his pumpkin juice. He knew from the worried look that stole over Hermione's expression that the uncharacteristically intense exchange between their Headmaster and Potions Master was cause for concern, but Harry couldn't bring himself to be too worried. He'd learned his lesson last year, not to intervene when it wasn't his place. He'd only screw things up and get more people hurt.

He always did.

Snape abruptly rose from the Head Table and stood there tall and stiff for one moment, like some black tower gleaming over the horizon. His lips were twisted in a snarl, his expression glinting with something like defiance. Dumbledore shook his head. Snape ignored him and stiffly marched around the table, away from the Headmaster, who for his part stared after him worriedly.

Dumbledore shifted his gaze to Harry.

Harry shuddered under yet another set of eyes, and his gaze darted wildly around for the fastest route out of this press of people. Before he could form a solid escape plan, a tall form with black, billowing robes bore swiftly down upon the Gryffindor table. Harry could hear muffled cries of surprise and horror as Snape descended upon the students like a giant bat. For his part, Harry jumped to his feet and made for a hasty retreat-- when Snape's sudden grip on his shoulder halted him.

"Stay a moment, Potter," came the cold, imperious voice.

Harry froze, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. He still held a goblet half-filled with pumpkin juice, and his hand tightened convulsively around it as though it could portkey him from this man's presence.

"Come," Snape said shortly.

Harry dragged his feet as Snape ushered the unwilling boy out the door, down an endless corridor, and into one of the empty dungeons. He thrust Harry into the first chair available, and then lowered himself across from the boy. Those cold, black eyes bore into his, and he could hear Snape mutter a silencing charm. He realized after the man's eyes flickered down contemptuously that he'd carried the goblet of juice all the way from the Great Hall. Harry made a show of taking a defiant sip

Snape's lip curled. "We may speak freely here. And when I say 'we', I mean that I will speak, and for once in your life, you will remain quiet and listen." He leaned back to survey Harry coolly, tracing the thin line of his mouth with his finger. "What I tell you cannot leave this room. I will speak only briefly about this, for I have no wish to prolong our contact any more than necessary. I've counted myself quite fortunate in not having to endure your presence in any of my classes this year, and this development will change nothing."

Harry took a deep swig from his goblet to show Snape he wasn't rattled. "Fine. Get on with it."

Snape glared at him, black eyes glittering oddly. "Potter-- I had sex with your mother sixteen years ago. You are the product of our union. In rudimentary language-- you are my son."

Harry swallowed his pumpkin juice the wrong way, and started coughing.

"I'm no more thrilled about it than you are," Snape continued dryly.

Harry was still choking on the juice, and Snape rose from his seat to slap the boy on the back, hard. The liquid spewed from his mouth and spattered in a wet stain across the dungeon floor.

"Lovely display," Snape said coldly, eyeing the mess with disdain before muttering a cleansing charm. "You've clearly inherited your mother's grace."

No longer choking, Harry simply gaped at him, mouth bobbing open and closed like that of a fish.

"Well?" Snape demanded tersely. "Have you anything to say? That facial expression is vacant even for you."

"Is this some sort of joke?" Harry wheezed.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Yes, Potter, for I have nothing more productive to do with my time than tell ridiculous lies to insolent brats."

Harry stared at him, appalled. "I don't believe you. Dumbledore's going to--"

Snape waved him silent, eager to end this little interview quickly. "The Headmaster would have you remain ignorant of our connection until the end of your days. I've chosen to tell you now so you will not discover this unfortunate genetic relationship by some mischance in the future and take it upon yourself to seek me out. I would not take kindly to your contacting me... Unless you require a kidney, for instance, which I might be willing to supply, provided we have a reciprocal agreement with regards to medical circumstances."

"A kidney?" Harry echoed blankly.

"Or blood, as you required two months ago to counter your poisoning," Snape continued. Harry stared dumbly at him. Snape sighed. "Which you clearly don't remember."

"The only time I've been in the hospital wing recently was when I had that really bad flu," he said carefully, wondering if he was in the hospital wing right now and experiencing some terrifying hallucination.

"Use your brain, Potter!" Snape said harshly. "When was the last time a flu gave you convulsions or intestinal bleeding? Any idiot would know he'd been poisoned!"

Oh God, he hoped he was in the hospital wing. This was a nightmare.

* * *

Snape began to wonder if perhaps he'd been a tad hasty. He was not an impulsive man; he'd spent a restless night trying to sleep, pondering his future actions. The more time that passed, the angrier he'd become, both with the Headmaster, the late Lily Potter, and strangely enough, with the late James Potter.

He was the one who had impregnated the other man's wife, so he supposed in this instance his fury with James Potter was completely irrational. However, that did not stop him from gnashing his teeth as he thought of his former tormentor, feeling as though Potter were laughing at him from somewhere beyond the grave. Oh, how he wished James were still alive to see this. How he wished he could tell him to his face that he'd been raising the son of Severus Snape. He desperately wanted to rob the man of the satisfaction he must have felt, sacrificing his life for a son he loved, when it was not his son at all. If he could steal those last glorious moments away from the Gryffindor's life, he would be a happy man.

As things were, he'd been betrayed by the Headmaster, thwarted by the woman he'd loved for the thirteen minutes it took to reach a climax, and trampled by a society that proclaimed Potter's son a hero when it was actually Snape's bastard who stopped the Dark Lord.

He spent the next day at lunch, half slumped with exhaustion, glaring at the boy from across the Great Hall. The creature with James Potter's face darted fleeting glances his way. What a hateful face that was. He simply loathed this boy. How could this be his son? The reality and the appearance of it simply would not reconcile in his head.

"Severus, I wish you would not do that," the Headmaster remarked softly as he slid into the seat next to Snape.

Snape bristled, and refused to look at him. "Do not presume to tell me what to do, Headmaster. Your words carry no weight on this subject."

Dumbledore sighed from beside him. "It wasn't an order, it was a request," he said in that infuriatingly gentle tone. "You're making him uncomfortable, glaring at him like that. Others are beginning to notice, too."

"To hell with the others," Snape snarled, turning a hateful glare at the older man. He lowered his voice. "And to hell with you, too. I will stare if I please. He's my son. Do you get that? My son. And I will do as I wish!"

Dumbledore's expression cooled. "I take it, then, that you intend to tell him?"

Well, no. No, he didn't, but Dumbledore seemed displeased by the notion, so Snape allowed himself a queer, unsettling smile. "That's my business, Headmaster. If I take any action, it will be my prerogative."

"Do not toy with him, Severus," Dumbledore warned him, his tone suddenly cold. "He's been through enough."

Snape made a face of mock sympathy, and spoke in a voice dripping with venom, "Yes, it must be trying to be raised an orphan. Whom shall we blame for that?"

Impatience crept into Dumbledore's expression. "You would never have taken him, Severus. I know you." He reached out and snatched one of Snape's hands in his old, gnarled claw, resisting the younger man's attempts to pull away. "You were devastated after your time with Voldemort. How could you have raised a child? You were not even taking care of yourself!"

Snape felt a brief flash of unease, recalling that period after the Dark Lord's fall when his purpose in life seemed spent, when guilt had consumed his every waking thought, each and every one of his sins playing themselves over and over in vivid nightmares. When food tasted sour, and disassociative potions were the only thing that propelled him through the day. He was furious with the Headmaster for invoking his memories of that time as allies. How dare he! Manipulative old coot!

Snape yanked his hand from the older man's grip; a surge of dislike and anger propelled him to his feet. My son. Mine, you bastard, his mind raged at the Headmaster. It should have been my choice back then. And by Merlin, I'll show you that it is now!

Having read Snape's intention, and aware that they were now drawing some unwanted attention, Dumbledore shook his head, silently imploring him to back down. With one final defiant glare at the Headmaster, Snape turned away. This was his decision. There was nothing the Headmaster could do about it. It was his to make, as it always should have been.

Yet now that Potter sat across from him, stunned, pondering the fact that no flu had induced those convulsions he'd suffered earlier in the school year, Snape suddenly realized what he'd just done. In seizing control of the situation, he'd acknowledged Potter as his son-- in the biological, shared blood-only sense-- but as his son, nonetheless. The boy he'd been so pleased to be rid of was now bound to him for life.

A moment of terror washed though him when it occurred to him the boy might throw himself into Snape's arms, crying about how dreadfully happy he was to finally have a father. He imagined having to pry grubby little hands from his shoulders, ejecting a hurt puppy-faced version of James Potter from his room.

Potter surprised him, though. He gazed at Snape without visible emotion for a long moment.

"Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

"Yes, Potter," Snape said with the slightest sneer, wondering at the boy's reaction.

"I can't say I believe you," Potter told him. "I'm going to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

"Do anything you wish," Snape replied in a tone that said he could not care less. "Just get out of my sight."

With one last odd glance at him, Potter left.

Severus could not shake the unsettling feeling he'd gone about this the wrong way.

Professor Snape had been cruel to him in the past, but really-- this was crossing the line. Ambushing him in the Great Hall, telling preposterous lies, slandering Harry's mother... He knew his mother! Well, not really, but he'd heard enough about her from others, and he'd seen Snape's memory in that pensieve. He knew his mother well enough to assert with confidence that she would never touch that... that slimy git.

It was clear that Snape was up to something. Maybe something for Voldemort. Could he have switched sides again? That had to be it. Either that or he was just being a real bastard and going to extra lengths to torment Harry. Perhaps he was making up for all the Potions classes they no longer had together, all those detentions he had no chance to assign... Harry suspected sometimes that his role as Snape's verbal punching bag fulfilled some deep, twisted need in the Professor's black heart. In any case, Dumbledore wouldn't like it; he'd say something to Snape.

Harry was relieved to see Dumbledore standing right outside his office, chatting with Professor McGonagall. No reciting candy names to get by that Gargoyle today; he couldn't think of candy right now, anyway. He would have spent hours fumbling for that password and coming up blank. It was sheer luck that the Headmaster was already outside.

Thank Merlin for Dumbledore. For the first time since the business with the prophecy, Harry felt a warm sense of safety permeate his being. Dumbledore was not infallible-- he knew that now-- but this was something he could solve. Just like the days of old, he could throw himself into Dumbledore's protection and the Headmaster would make everything all right. He'd tell Snape to leave Harry alone, to stop making up nasty lies.

Dumbledore glanced up at his approach. At his side, McGonagall turned as well, her eyes looking hollow and grim against her pale complexion. The Headmaster smiled invitingly, and with a barely discernible rippling of his robes, shifted his weight, preparing to escort Harry into his office. A strange notion occurred to Harry...

Dumbledore had summoned his Head of House, and neither looked faintly surprised at Harry's approach.

They'd been expecting him.

Harry felt his insides go cold. He halted his step, staring incredulously at the Headmaster. Dumbledore said something-- words that drained into a blur before Harry's brain could fully process them. His eyes-- those watchful, blue eyes. There was no mistaking it; he'd been waiting for Harry's arrival. That meant--

"Mr. Potter?" McGonagall's sharper voice cut through his fog.

He looked wildly at her, then back to the Headmaster. It could be a mistake, this could be a misunderstanding. Maybe Dumbledore knew nothing. Maybe he wanted Harry for something else entirely. He might have news... Good news! Voldemort had died of a heart attack last night. The Dark Lord had renounced violence and wanted to meet for tea. Tom Riddle had abandoned his Death Eaters to elope with a Muggle stewardess. Something, anything...

Just please, please don't let that knowing look on Dumbledore's face have anything to do with Snape.

"Perhaps you should come in so we can talk, Harry," Dumbledore suggested gently.

Harry's heart pounded in his ears. He wasn't ready to hear this. Good God, couldn't they see that? Every time his mind grew still, he thought of all those things-- the Prophecy, Sirius, Voldemort's possession of him... They pressed in on him, as if to suffocate him. He could barely breathe as things were. He didn't need something new. He'd just wanted Dumbledore to laugh at what Snape had said, to assure Harry he'd reprimand the Potions Master. He hadn't actually thought the Headmaster would already know...

Harry turned and walked blindly in the opposite direction. Away from that horrible office, from the Headmaster who wore that gentle countenance he adopted for grave tidings. The surreal conversation with Snape threatened to replay in his thoughts, and with a ruthless determination, he thrust it back down again.

Harry heard... someone... call his name, and began to run. He'd always been fast, hadn't he? He tore past the startled faces in the corridor, breathlessly calling out the password and ducking through the Gryffindor portrait hole.

He slowed as he reached the stairs, stress now pounding violently at his temples. His ears were buzzing strangely, and his head really, really hurt. It felt like it weighed a thousand tons by the time he stumbled into his room and over to his bed, fumbling with clumsy fingers to yank the curtain closed around his private space. He needed the darkness, the aloneness. He buried himself in the covers, muttering a spell to block his cocooned little area from the mid-afternoon light filtering though the curtains.

Pitch black. This was better. He closed his eyes and stilled his breathing, pretending he was somewhere else entirely... Back in that unexpected refuge he'd found this last summer.

Visions of Voldemort had plagued him every night, at least in the beginning. Within a few weeks, the isolation bred by a summer with the Dursleys, the horror and guilt over Sirius's death, and the constant assaults upon his sleeping mind found Harry half-delirious. He couldn't bear the stale air of Dudley's second bedroom one minute more, and he couldn't venture from the house without feeling the eyes of the wizards guarding him, measuring his every step. The only refuge he'd found that summer was in the place he'd once despised with all his heart.

It was odd how his perspective on the cupboard under the stairs had changed, now that it was smaller and he was larger. On a whim one day, he'd nestled himself into that dank, spider-filled little hole, hearing the Dursleys tromp up and down the stairs, and a strange feeling of peace descended upon him. Sure, he'd never been happy as a child. He always felt small, and worthless. But it was somehow better than the way he felt now. Back then he had nothing... He was nothing. Now he had people he loved, people he had to protect, and the future of a world resting in his faltering hands. Sirius's death had opened his eyes to the terrible consequences of his choices, the prophecy had barred him from escaping those awful choices, and Voldemort's terrifying possession of his mind in the Department of Mysteries had showed him how weak and hopeless his efforts truly were. The wizarding world looked to him to be their savior, and it was only now that Harry realized he was still just the frightened boy who had lived all those years ago in the cupboard under the stairs.

He never had visions when he was in the cupboard. It was as if burying himself in the darkest room hid him from Voldemort's notice. He began to retreat there every night, infuriating the Dursleys who, for some reason, were suddenly averse to their hated nephew voluntarily sleeping in there. They'd been more than eager to force it upon him when he was younger... He had no idea what had changed; he didn't care. It was the one place he could go to retreat to a simpler time, where he could escape the thoughts and fears raging through his head, and he would be damned if he'd let the Dursleys bully him away from it.

It was far more difficult to find a substitute once he was back at Hogwarts. He had roommates, people who noticed him, and his privacy was protected by curtains rather than walls. Most nights, he employed every weapon in the arsenal of his imagination, focusing upon that one goal-- pretending he was back in that cupboard, utterly without responsibility or worth in the eyes of others-- and usually he could set his mind to rest.

He went in overdrive today, burying himself in the blackness, forcing his thoughts into utter silence. He might have succeeded in forgetting the tumultuous events of the day, had rays of piercing afternoon sunlight not flooded his little alcove, and a black silhouette peered in.

"It's only 4 o'clock, mate, don't tell me you're already asleep!"

Harry groaned and rolled to his side. "Go away, Ron."

"McGonagall sent me up," Ron went on, ignoring him. "She says she's coming up if you don't come down, and I really don't want her coming up. Don't do this to Seamus and me. Please, Harry?"

Seamus and Ron had smuggled in an indecent amount of firewhiskey after several visits to Hogsmeade, and they were well-aware McGonagall might smell it.

"Fine," Harry said tersely, prickling with irritation. "I'm up."

Within a few minutes, Harry was trotting down the stairs, smoothing his sweaty hands across his head in the never-ending battle against his hair. McGonagall awaited him below, looking slightly less pale than before. Again, Harry prayed that her news was completely unrelated to Snape. Voldemort had... botulism. That had to be it.

"Mr. Potter, let's speak in private, shall we?" she murmured, gesturing for the boy to come with her.

He'd never seen McGonagall's chambers before, and he stood there silently as she made them tea, afraid to touch anything in the elegant interior.

"Now, Mr. Potter," she said, adopting a gentle voice as she handed the boy some tea and urged him onto the couch. "I know you must have quite a few questions."

"About what?" Harry said as casually as he could, sipping at the tea.

"About Professor Snape." She paused, eyes flickering uncertainly. "About his being your father."

Harry swallowed more tea than he intended, and the scalding liquid burned down his throat. His eyes watered from the pain, and he set the cup down on the table quickly, as though expecting it to bite him.

"I know this must come as quite a shock--"

"You don't really believe it, do you?" Harry interrupted her. "He's just making it up. Professor Dumbledore--"

"Is the one who informed me," McGonagall cut in. "An hour ago. He thought you might need someone to talk to, someone who wasn't involved."

Harry stared down at his feet, unseeing. This couldn't be happening. Dumbledore was in on this farce, too?

"I'm not sure exactly what Professor Snape said to you, Harry," McGonagall said softly. "He's... Severus is not a demonstrative man. He's in as much shock as you are right now, so if he said anything that hurt your feelings--"

"Oh, please. Like Snape could ever really bother me." He felt a sudden vicious anger. "This is all some joke... some sick, twisted joke."

"Harry--"

"I don't want to hear it!" Harry bellowed, standing up to avoid the hand she reached out to calm him. "Don't touch me!"

"Control your temper, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall snapped. "You're very upset right now, I can see that. But when you've had time to think this over, the Headmaster can explain--"

"I don't want to see the Headmaster," Harry snarled, glaring at her, infuriated that she was still pressing this. Why was she doing this? "We have nothing to talk about. I don't know why he's going along with this!"

"Mr. Potter," she said firmly, her patience steadily fraying, "Professor Snape is your father. That is the reality of this situation, and no amount of denial on your part is going to alter it."

"What proof do you have?" Harry demanded, voice unsteady with a creeping sense of desperation.

"The Headmaster's word," McGonagall said. "That is all the proof I need."

"Well it's not enough for me!"

McGonagall sighed, apparently very tired of this argument. "Would you like Professor Snape to brew a heritage potion to prove it?"

"I don't want anything from him," Harry said vehemently. He looked back up at McGonagall, staring intently at her. "Why are you the one who came? Where's Dumbledore?"

"Professor Dumbledore, Harry," she admonished sternly. "And he thought that you ran because you were angry with him. I could understand in these circumstances why you may not wish to speak with him. Professor Snape is very upset, as well."

"Why?" he said dumbly.

She stared at him a moment, as though wondering if she'd revealed something she shouldn't have. "The Headmaster concealed this from you. From both of you."

"I..." Harry groped for something to say. Anything. He came up blank.

"Sit back down, Mr. Potter."

He lowered himself mechanically back into his seat.

"Now, you must understand-- the Headmaster has been overseeing the affairs of others for over a century," McGonagall said, addressing a concern Harry didn't even have yet. "He always tries to do what's best, at least in the long run. He did not care for the Dursleys, but he knew they were the only ones who could guarantee your safety. He did not wish to keep you ignorant about your heritage, but he knew Severus was in no state to raise a child. His legal status, as a former Death Eater, was still in dispute, and he had no means to provide the same protection you'd receive from your mother's blood relatives. Albus cares about you, Harry, and he cares about Severus. His heart was in the right place, even if, perhaps, his actions were questionable."

He had been glaring down at his feet, then at the carpet, but now he glared at McGonagall, suddenly feeling wretched and slightly ill.

"He should have concealed it for a while longer, then," Harry said in a low, cold voice. "I hate Snape. He's the reason I don't have Sirius. I'd rather be dead than be his son."

McGonagall's face hardened. "Mr. Potter--"

"And he feels the exact same way," Harry said with a bitter laugh that seemed forced out of him. "Just ask him. He'll tell you how much he hates me. He tells me about it every chance he gets."

His entire body was shaking when he rose from the couch.

"I don't want to talk about this. Not ever again."

McGonagall nodded gravely. "Very well then, Mr. Potter. You may leave, if you wish. But it changes nothing."

Oh, he begged to differ. This didn't have to be real. Not if he didn't let it. Snape certainly wasn't going to press him about it.

Harry didn't look at her again. He simply left.

Harry passed the week in a horrible parody of his normal routine. He went to the Great Hall for food, he went to classes, he did homework, he went to the library. He laughed and joked with friends; Ron and Hermione even took notice of how much more cheerful he seemed. Only the latter thought to be concerned after a few days of this forced cheer.

For his part, Harry was trying his best to do as he had promised himself-- to forget. To pretend he hadn't just learned from a flippant, cavalier Snape about their shared blood. The fact that he'd learned such a life-changing piece of information from a brief conversation with Snape, where the man had spent as much time insulting Harry as informing him, only aided in his attempts to deny the reality of the situation.

Dumbledore looked like he wanted to talk to Harry. Several times they'd spotted each other across crowded rooms, and something flared in the old wizard's eyes that beckoned to the boy. He ignored it, though. He couldn't bear the thought of talking to Dumbledore and having this all confirmed. The old wizard never summoned him; Harry was thankful for that. At least Dumbledore had some respect for the distance he needed.

And Snape...

He saw him sometimes in the hallways. When he passed the man there was a noticeable chill in the air, yet the Potions Master did nothing to acknowledge him beyond curling his lips into a faint sneer. He no longer glared at Harry from across the Great Hall. He rarely even sat in the Great Hall. When he did condescend to eat among the other teachers, he'd rise and depart as soon as Albus Dumbledore approached the table. Harry would watch the dark form retreat back to his dungeons, all the while feeling the heavy weight of Dumbledore's gaze.

It was in this manner that he passed his time, mind occupied with a flurry of activities, refusing to acknowledge that one, pressing issue. And it was during one of these attempts to block those thoughts from his mind that he failed to notice the commotion around him in the courtyard.

"Harry, come on!" Hermione said breathlessly in his ear, nudging him with an insistent hand.

"What?" He glanced up, looked around. Students were speaking excitedly to one another, streaming out of the courtyard to observe something outside. At his friend's urging, he followed the crowd of students, and soon found himself approaching Hagrid's hut. A crowd of jubilant students encircled a small figure and a rather larger one. Hermione had to stand on her toes to gaze over the sea of heads, and she grabbed his shoulder for balance.

At the focal point of their scrutiny stood the DADA teacher, Professor Meeran. Harry groaned. Not another impromptu demonstration of Meeran's prowess. The Professor had staged at least a dozen of these so far this term, and for some reason the rest of the students would crowd around in awe to watch him perform simple jinxes and spells in controlled situations.

Meeran was waving his wand in a grandiose manner in the direction of a creature that looked like a cross between an elephant and a... he had no idea what the hell else. A sharp, curved beak completed its long snout, and gray skin hung in flabby folds about its powerful body. It trembled in front of Meeran, huddled on the ground, glancing around with large, sad eyes at the crowd pressing in around it.

Harry had a bad feeling about this. Professor Meeran was regarded as some sort of God among wizards due to his invention of some original hexes and curses a few years back. Nothing very major... Most were variations of older curses. But the fact that he was able to do it at all astounded the faculty and students. Personally, Harry didn't see what the big deal was. Someone had to have engineered the original 'jelly legs' and 'avada kedavra' at some point in history.

He could see Hagrid trying to get through the crowd, clearly worried for his precious... whatever the hell that animal was. Hermione dragged Harry closer, face alight with excitement. Harry rolled his eyes and followed, wondering why he seemed to be the only student not utterly fascinated by Meeran's spur-of-the-moment demonstrations of his latest curses.

"It would be better if you calmed down, and stood back, Professor Hagrid," Meeran was saying pompously, gesturing with a flick of his wand for Hagrid to keep his distance. "I would not want you to get hurt. And rest assured, your creature will survive."

"I tell yeh, he's not ter be toyed with--" Hagrid said desperately, gesturing with a meaty fist towards the beaked-elephant.

"I'm simply demonstrating a modification of the impedimenta jinx..." Meeran began, turning a scowl upon the half-giant; he looked away from the creature for the briefest of seconds.

But it was just enough time.

With an earsplitting screech, the large creature before him suddenly roared up to life, closing the distance to the teacher in one powerful bound. The frantic Meeran raised his wand. Students cried out in horror, and some of the braver ones shot out stunners at the creature...

But it was too late. One swift chomp of that beak around Meeran's torso, and the Professor went ominously limp. The creature then began to tear at him viciously. The stunners hit it all at once, and it slumped down over Meeran's prone form.

Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth and stared in horror. Harry reached out gently to rub her shoulder, offering what little comfort he could. He felt ashamed that his first thought was a morbid realization he wouldn't be the only one seeing the thestrals next year.

* * *

Most of the students had been cleared away, walking stunned and wide-eyed back to their dorms as the teachers attended to the mess. Hermione departed as well; seeing one of her favorite teachers skewered had ruined her good mood. Harry had the presence of mind to go to Hagrid, comforting the weeping giant as best he could. There was no question the elephant-thing would be put down by the ministry now. And Hagrid was already furious with himself for letting Meeran lure it from its holding area.

After Hagrid retreated to his hut for the day, clearly intending to drink until he passed out, Harry wandered slowly back to his dorm. He passed the scene of the accident again. The animal had been taken away. Meeran's body was being reconstituted by Madame Pomfrey so it could be levitated away relatively intact. Dumbledore observed from over her shoulder with a troubled expression.

Not far from Harry stood Snape and McGonagall, observing the scene.

Professor Snape was watching with a dark, almost smug expression on his face. Harry's stomach flipped unpleasantly; he actually looked satisfied with the turn of events. He knew Snape was an evil git, but this was too much. Meeran may have had his failings, but the man had just died. Snape's smugness was just... very wrong.

Harry caught some of their conversation as he drew nearer.

"... seems the Defense Against the Dark Arts curse is working in overdrive this year," he was noting coldly to McGonagall, who stood ashen-faced beside him.

She shot him a disapproving look. "Severus," she rebuked sternly. "Have some respect."

"I make no allowances for stupidity," Snape said, unrepentant. "He was warned not to provoke that creature."

Harry once heard a wild rumor that Snape himself had cursed the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. He was suddenly inclined to believe it. He attempted to move by silently, but Snape and McGonagall both caught sight of him.

"Potter," came Snape's silky voice. "Students were ordered back to their dormitories. Twenty points from Gryffindor."

McGonagall shot him a sharp, cold look. "He was comforting Hagrid." With a strained smile at Harry, "Twenty-five points to Gryffindor for assisting a distraught man."

Snape glared at her, then turned darkly away.

With a shrug, Harry started to walk off again, not wanting to be with either of these people, but McGonagall called him back. "Mr. Potter, while you're here," she turned to Snape, and Harry's insides coiled with dread. "Didn't you wish to ask Professor Snape for something?"

"No," Harry said firmly.

Snape turned back, raising an eyebrow at Harry's irritated voice. "And what did he wish to ask for, Professor?" he asked in that waspish voice. "Since he's clearly incapable of articulating it for himself."

Harry glared at him. "I don't want--"

"He was hoping you might brew a heritage potion," McGonagall told Snape, ignoring the boy. "He's having a bit of difficulty accepting the recent developments. He's told me flat-out that he refuses to believe them."

Harry could have strangled her. Snape's dark gaze crept back over to him, glittering with an unsettling intensity.

"Are you still insinuating that I lied, Mr. Potter?" Snape demanded in a soft, dangerous tone.

Harry met his black eyes unflinchingly. Maybe he was. "Not at all."

Snape's expression grew darker. Harry could have cursed himself for making that eye-contact. The man was a legilimens. How had he forgotten that?

"You realize this will waste several hours of time I could spend better elsewhere," Snape said icily to McGonagall.

"After what you told him, Severus," McGonagall said in a firm voice that held a note of warning, "You owe him this. Perhaps it will be insightful... for both of you."

"Ah, yes," Snape said. "And I suppose you also think that I owe you, Mr. Potter."

"No!" Knowing he'd get nowhere with McGonagall, Harry focused on Snape and said in a harsh voice, "It's really okay. I can do without insight." With increasing urgency, "Really. I've had my fill of insight. You owe me nothing. "

Something shifted in Snape's expression; the tiniest smirk reached his lips as he savored Harry's distress. Shit. He should have known better than to appeal to Snape.

"Oh, if you're truly that eager, Mr. Pott--" A cruel glint stole into his black eyes. "Or should I call you 'Harry'? There are no Potters left in this world, after all."

"'Potter' is fine," Harry said coldly.

"Five points from Gryffindor for contradicting a teacher... Harry," Snape said maliciously, emphasizing the last word as though it were something foul. McGonagall stiffened beside him and shot him a sharp look, but dared not contradict him. "With such sterling enthusiasm, I suppose I shouldn't refuse your request."

"Thank you, Severus," McGonagall said graciously. She shot a pointed glare at Harry.

Harry didn't know whether he'd sooner kill Snape or McGonagall. "Yeah, thanks," he grumbled.

"Go back to your dorm, now, Potter," Snape said brusquely, turning away from him. "Be in my office at six o'clock tomorrow morning."

Harry balked. "Six in the morning?"

Snape shot him one last sneer. "And one night of detention for each minute you're late."

* * *

Severus Snape was not actually a morning person, but he was rather hoping the brat would fail to show, thus giving him an excuse to assign the boy a month's worth of detention with Filch. Unfortunately, at 5:59 a.m., he came stumbling into Snape's office, bleary-eyed and rather scruffier than usual.

Snape raked his eyes disapprovingly over Potter's mangy appearance. He looked like James Potter on a bad day... and that was saying a lot. Snape felt his lips curl in distaste at the thought of his old nemesis, and he had to shake off several fleeting memories before snapping, "What are you waiting for? Instructions are there," he pointed to potions manual lying open on the desk, "Ingredients are prepared in the other room." At Potter's baffled look, he scowled. "Did you think I was going to do this for you, and leave myself open to accusations of doctoring the potion?"

Shoulders slightly hunched, the boy hauled the book over to the waiting cauldron and went about organizing the ingredients. Snape watched him prepare the base, then cut the gillyweed into uneven segments. He made no move to correct Potter until after he'd added the gillyweed to the mixture.

"Start over, Potter," he snapped. "You'll end up with nothing more than a bubbling mess if you don't cut that root into nine even segments, as the instructions clearly state."

Potter glared up at him, then silently retrieved a second stalk. As he sliced, he dug the knife hard into the table; Snape could tell exactly whose face he was picturing. The knowledge amused him.

He waited until the boy had prepared the base again before commenting, "I'm aware of how sloppy and unorganized you are, Potter, but this is a basic potion-- well within reach of even your pitiful abilities."

Potter added the crushed newt eyes in a lump instead of gradually stirring them in.

"Wrong again, Potter," Snape said. "Read your instructions and start over."

Potter sighed, shot him a glare, and then went back to chopping, dicing, crushing. He prepared the base, added the gillyweed, simmered, and was nearly at the newt eyes again, when Snape remarked, "Do you see now why I chose this early hour? I hope I'm not being too optimistic in assuming you'll complete it by the time classes resume tomorrow."

He smirked as the boy grew visibly angrier and stirred the potion in the wrong direction. "Congratulations," Snape said mercilessly. "You've made yet another colossal mistake. Counterclockwise, Potter. Can't you read?"

He heard a growl of frustration, and the boy threw the ladle down with a loud clatter.

"This," he said in a low, angry voice, whirling on Snape, "is the reason I no longer take classes with you."

"You no longer take classes with me," Snape retorted dryly, "because you didn't achieve the necessary test scores."

Potter quivered with rage and hatred. "It doesn't matter. I would never have taken anything with you. I hate you. You're a... a terrible teacher! And everyone else thinks so, too!"

"Everyone else being you and your little friends?" he said silkily. "Of course, I don't see Ms. Granger fleeing my class. Perhaps you're referring to Longbottom. He seems to be about your mark, isn't he?"

Potter gazed at him levelly for an extended moment. "If you just brought me here to belittle me, why don't you send me away right now?"

"Start again, Potter," Snape replied. "And read your instructions."

He refrained from making any remarks this time, all too aware that his presence made the boy falter. As much as he enjoyed watching Potter cringe, without a class full of witnesses, it lost some of its charm. Plus, he didn't want to spend all of this... tragic day of mourning with Harry Potter.

At least he would finally get McGonagall off his case. Minerva was certainly going to give him hell if he didn't show the damn boy what he wanted to see. Or rather, what he didn't want to see.

He watched the boy work, and admitted to himself that he did have a small amount of curiosity about the boy's real appearance. Clearly somewhere beneath that glamour charm lay a teenager with a good deal of Snape's genetic material. Would he have the infamous Snape nose? Dark eyes? What charm could Lily, or Dumbledore, have used? Glamours seldom lasted so long, or persisted even after the subject began experimenting with magic for himself. Could Dumbledore have renewed the charm periodically?

At long last, Potter completed the potion successfully. Snape gazed down into it with a critical eye, and begrudgingly found very little wrong with it. "The texture is off, but this should suffice."

Potter watched apprehensively as Snape drew out a razor and sliced a small line across his palm. One... two... three drops of blood plopped into the potion. That would be enough. After muttering a quick scourgify for the blade and a healing spell for his hand, he offered the razor to Potter.

"Well?" he said impatiently.

Potter took the blade and clumsily dragged it into his skin. Snape cursed the boy for an idiot when it dug far deeper than necessary and rivulets of blood streamed down his palm and into the cauldron.

Potter grimaced. "Did I damage the potion?"

"No," Snape said coldly. "But you certainly damaged your hand; blood magic rarely requires more than a few droplets."

"Pettigrew used a lot of my blood to resurrect Vold--" he stopped at Snape's lethal glare, and amended, "The Dark Lord."

"Hence my use of the word 'rarely,'" Snape replied impatiently. "Give me your hand."

Potter hesitated a moment before doing so. Snape grabbed his wrist and yanked it closer, attempting a few different healing spells before he found an appropriate one. By the time the wound sealed, he noticed Potter staring at the cauldron, his eyes glazed with shock.

Snape followed his line of sight. Although he already knew the potion would turn clear in the affirmative, it was still mildly surprising to actually witness. Potions was his vocation, after all. Watching the heritage potion confirm their shared blood made it all the more real.

His eyes found their way back to the boy standing before him, and he released the wrist quickly, as though it burned. Potter seemed to come out of his shock at that, and he blinked up at Snape, dazed.

"Is that sufficient proof?" Snape hissed, suddenly very frustrated with the fact that James Potter was gazing back at him, despite the potion confirming the boy as a Snape.

Harry nodded numbly. He took one step back, staring again at the clear liquid, and then made as if to leave.

"Potter," Snape barked, forcing the boy to face him again. Before Harry could react, he leveled his wand at him and bellowed, "Finite incantatem glamourie."

Harry suddenly understood what Snape was doing and yelped in horror. His appearance did not change, but the boy was nevertheless overcome with panic. His hands flew to his face, groping at his nose.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he cried. "Turn me back!"

Snape narrowed his dark eyes coldly. "Nothing happened. The glamour is too strong for that spell, as I thought it would be."

Harry quivered with silent rage. His eyes glowed with hatred. "Don't ever do that again."

"Or what, Harry?" Snape said with a cruel smile.

"Or you'll be sorry," Potter threatened softly. His voice shook with anger. "Stay away from me. I mean it, Snape. Just stay the hell away."

Snape's mood grew steadily worse as rumors began to circulate about the replacement DADA teacher. He broke his long impasse with Dumbledore and prowled into the Headmaster's office, glowering at any person, place, or thing unfortunate enough to catch his eyes.

"I heard a very disquieting rumor today, Headmaster," he announced as he sat himself down.

Dumbledore did not look the least bit surprised. "Yes, I expect you have. Lemon drop?"

Snape glared at the dish he proffered, then with a filthy look at Dumbledore, grabbed one of the sweets and crunched it viciously between his teeth.

Mild amusement glinted in the older wizard's eyes. "Now, if this is the rumor I think it is, I can confirm it is no rumor at all. Remus Lupin will be returning to teach Professor Meeran's classes." At Snape's furious look, he continued, "The parents will hardly object when he's the best candidate available on such short notice. The students still regard him as their best defense instructor, and really, Severus, he is the only one with the experience necessary to take over midyear. I trust he will orient himself quickly upon arrival."

"And when will that be?" Snape's voice was tight and strained.

"He'll transfer his residence here during the winter holiday." Dumbledore watched Snape thoughtfully. "Surely you understand my reasons for hiring him."

Snape's black eyes flashed angrily. "Oh, I do, Headmaster." A bitter smile stretched across his lips. "Forgive me if I find the timing slightly suspicious."

"Surely, Severus," he said in a teasing tone, eyes twinkling, "you're not going to read ulterior motives into everything I do now."

"Only if I think the situation warrants it," Snape replied harshly, unwilling to let the Headmaster treat their most recent dispute in such a light manner. "You must admit, it is very coincidental you bring back the last of the Marauders shortly after I discover James Potter's child is actually my son."

"Remus Lupin will teach here because he is the most qualified candidate," Dumbledore said in a severe tone. "I won't deny that Professor Lupin has a certain connection to Harry, but you mustn't begrudge him that." He glanced at Snape pointedly over his spectacles. "Especially when the boy's father has expressed no interest in cultivating a relationship."

"Yes, and I'm sure he's crying into his pillow every night over it," Snape returned sourly.

That seemed to strike a chord in the older wizard. Dumbledore looked at something in the distance, his eyes troubled. "No, I don't expect he is," he admitted quietly, almost to himself. "I'd feel less concerned if he were. He hasn't coped well with losing Sirius."

Snape tasted something bitter at the back of his throat at the thought of that one. Of all the Marauders, Sirius Black was the one he'd held most in contempt, and it was Black whose death he'd fantasized regularly about during those awful years at Hogwarts. He'd once thought Black's demise would put an end to his inner turmoil, but if anything, it had grown worse each day since. He still hated Black, but now, he was hating a dead man he could no longer hurt.

In truth, he almost wished Black were still alive. He could deliver one more insult, one more taunt. He'd have a chance to cast the blistering boils and watch his fine skin erupt, or he could slip him a potion that left him impotent. He could tell Sirius Black to his face that his beloved Godson was not actually the son of James Potter. He could see Black's face melt in dismay at realizing James Potter had no legacy in this world. Or better yet, he could hear Black attest to how much he cared about the boy, regardless of his bloodline, and watch him grovel for continued rights to Harry. It was a parent's prerogative, after all, under every wizarding law, to appoint the Godfather, and Snape could appoint someone else. Someone Black hated.

These fanciful thoughts flashed through his mind in mere moments, and he found Dumbledore still gazing at him, waiting for Severus to nod his head and stoically accept Remus Lupin back into the school, to approve of yet another crony of James Potter's dancing into Hogwarts and taking the reigns of Snape's students. Of Snape's son.

"Very well. I see I have no say in this," he said. "But I won't stay around over the holidays to watch him claim his new position."

"That is your choice, Severus. Where will you go?" Dumbledore's tone was conversational.

Again, he was struck by the magnitude of the Headmaster's betrayal. After everything the Marauders had done to him, the hell they'd put him through, the fact that they, as much as anyone, had driven him into the arms of the Dark Lord... Dumbledore had given them his son. Potter, Black, and even Lupin had a stronger claim on Snape's flesh and blood than he himself did.

By Merlin, that was enough to drive a man to madness.

And that madness lay behind his next words: "I'll go to the family's northern properties. With my son."

Dumbledore looked startled for a whole second before his clear blue eyes were again impassive.

"What do you hope to gain from this?"

"Come now, Headmaster," Snape said, and deliberately parroted back Dumbledore's own words: "Surely you're not going to read ulterior motives into everything I do."

Dumbledore leaned back to regard him; his eyes no longer twinkled. "I will, indeed... Because you do have ulterior motives." He raised an aged finger to his lips thoughtfully. "Is this about Lupin, or is this about me?"

You, Snape's treacherous thoughts answered. But he did not surrender a millimeter with his reply. "Perhaps it's about me."

"About you..." Dumbledore looked doubtful, but he nodded nonetheless. "Perhaps, Severus, it's time for it to be about him."

Snape didn't need to ask who 'he' was. "But isn't everything about the precious Boy-Who-Lived?" He smiled coldly. "He's certainly convinced of it."

"You don't understand him at all, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "And I won't let you hurt him."

"You have no choice," Snape sneered. "If you refuse my request, I will go to the ministry and officially claim him as my son. I will gain custody, and you will lose your spy in the Dark Lord's inner circle."

Shock washed over Dumbledore's face. "Severus--"

Snape refused to back down. "I will no longer allow you to circumvent my will! He may be your precious Boy-Who-Lived, but he is my blood. If I wish to take him, you will allow me, or so help me, I'll make you. "

Dumbledore's expression hardened. "That will be unnecessary, Severus. I'll release Mr. Potter to your custody for the holidays, but should you spend the entire time treating him... as you do," a flicker of distaste passed over Dumbledore's expression, "I will be very unhappy."

Something about the tone of the older wizard's pronouncement sent a chill up Snape's spine, and he gazed at Dumbledore through narrowed eyes, feeling strangely on edge as though he were in front of the slitted, red gaze of his other master. A dozen suppositions swirled through his head at once, but in the end, they all settled upon one conclusion-- Dumbledore was angry because he truly cared about Harry Potter.

No... He loved him.

Snape felt irrationally jealous of his son. Harry Potter held a place in Dumbledore's heart that Snape himself had never claimed, no matter how desperately he'd once needed it. Had that boy been the target during the Shrieking Shack incident, Severus had no doubt the offenders would have been expelled rather than severely reprimanded.

For some reason, the aged headmaster loved Harry Potter like he'd never loved the young Severus Snape.

Snape rose from his seat, still prickling with that unpleasant envy and anger. "Very well," he said with a slight dip of his head. "I'll try my best with the brat." There was a vague, hollow ache within him. Somewhere, somehow, he felt like he'd been robbed.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, relief in his blue eyes. Relief.

Severus looked away, unable to bear the sight.

* * *

Harry sat in his empty dorm room long after the other students had cleared out, his Transfiguration textbook spread open on his lap. He stared blindly at the pages; the words made little sense right now.

It was funny how he'd spent the entire term avoiding company, yet now that the term was over, he was aching with loneliness. The Weasleys had invited him on their trip (courtesy of the prospering Fred and George), but Harry had declined. He wouldn't endanger them with his presence, and he didn't want to be an intruder on the first Christmas they could afford to celebrate as they wished. He doubted Dumbledore would let him, anyway.

His mind strayed to Grimmauld Place. He supposed he could go there; he'd spent weeks with his run of the house in the summer as Sirius's will made its way through the courts. The place felt horribly empty. Even after Nymphadora Tonks began keeping him company, he was constantly reminded of how desperately he missed Sirius.

Perhaps Grimmauld Place would be better now that Remus had returned from... wherever the hell he had been all those months.

He reached down and flipped to the next page of the textbook, feeling a small flutter in his stomach as he recalled the rumors he'd heard. Remus might be the new DADA Professor. He hadn't seen Lupin since that day at the train station. It was unsettling that he hadn't heard from him. Early on Harry had entertained some vague notion they'd commiserate together, but now he wasn't sure of anything. Why hadn't Remus answered him, or even sent a brief acknowledgement in response to his letters?

A few possibilities occurred to Harry as to why... But he did not wish to contemplate them. He didn't think he could stand it.

Too painful. Too close.

He gave up on the Transfiguration textbook and tossed it carelessly onto the bed, resolving to think on more pleasant subjects. He had a promise in writing that Tonks was going to visit him, maybe spirit him away for a few days over the holidays. Her auror duties kept her busy and allowed for no winter vacation time (dark wizards had little respect for school holidays, after all), but she'd seemed fairly certain she could take a few sick days to keep him company.

Harry felt immediately happier as his thoughts turned to the young auror. She was the only one who seemed to understand after Sirius's death, and the only member of the Order that didn't treat Harry like a recalcitrant child. His thoughts turned back to those last few days in Grimmauld Place, alone with Tonks, and he felt his cheeks color. His gaze unconsciously drifted over to her still-open letter, wondering if that had just been an anomaly or if she really...

"Shit!"

Harry tumbled off the bed in shock when Snape's black form appeared in the doorway.

"Watch your language, Potter," Snape said coldly, stepping in uninvited and shutting the door behind him with a kick of his black boot.

"Professor Snape!" He was aghast. "What-- why--"

Snape. Black greasy hair, enormous, hooked nose, and disdainful sneer. In Gryffindor.

In Harry's room.

He could swear he'd had a nightmare about this, once.

"I'm pleased you've learned my name over the course of six years," Snape remarked snidely, observing him through narrowed eyes. "I'll clearly have to re-evaluate my opinion of your mental capabilities."

Harry recovered from his shock. "What the hell are you doing here, Snape?"

"I'm collecting you for the holidays," Snape replied. A cold, sadistic smile spread across his face at Harry's horrified expression. "So get packed, Potter."

Harry gaped at him a moment more, then laughed wildly. "Are you insane? I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"According to the Headmaster, you are."

"No one told me anything about this," Harry said desperately.

Snape smirked cruelly. "Yes, that was my job, wasn't it? I suppose it must have slipped my mind." Ignoring Harry for a moment, he waved his wand and barked a curt, "Pack!"

Harry was too stunned to react as his treacherous belongings soared up through the air and into his chest. Another flick of the wand and the chest latched shut.

Snape glanced disdainfully around the room once more with a sweep of his black eyes. "That appears to be sufficient. Now move, Potter. I don't have all day."

"I told you," Harry said in a hard voice, with a sudden rush of determination. "I am not going with you."

Snape glared at him. "Well, your belongings are. Accio wand!" Harry's grasping hand just missed his wand. Snape grabbed it and held the wand between two fingers, wiggling it tauntingly. "As is your wand."

"But I'm not!" Harry insisted. "I don't even know what the hell you're doing. You hate me. Why would you ever want to spend the holidays with me?"

"I thought that was obvious, Potter," Snape said with a malevolent glitter to his eyes. "I'm sick of looking at a miniature James Potter, and finally I have an excuse to do something about it." He raised an eyebrow. "Two weeks is more than enough time to figure out how to break that glamour, wouldn't you say?"

"What!?" Harry looked with distaste over the Potion Master's sallow complexion, hooked nose, and lank, greasy hair. "No way," he said, suddenly nervous. "I like the way I look."

"I can't imagine why," Snape noted dryly, looking over Harry's messy hair and scrawny frame with equal distaste.

Well, to hell with Snape!

"I'm not saying I'm anything special," he replied defensively, "but I certainly don't want to look like you!"

He expected Snape to be angry. However, a merciless smile stretched across the other man's lips, revealing his uneven, yellowing teeth in all their glory.

"Well then, it's a pity you have no say in the matter, son." He leaned forward menacingly to glare straight into Harry's eyes. "And I warn you," he added softly. "The nose and hair? They're hereditary."

"You raped my mother, didn't you?"

Snape was genuinely surprised by the question. The boy had been sulking ever since the threat of a body-bind had convinced him of the virtues of cooperation, so he hadn't expected him to voluntarily break their long silence, nor had he anticipated his breaking it with a question like this. Snape's hands unconsciously clenched around the silverware. They sat a long moment in silence as the torches guttered, shadows flickering across the stone walls of the ornate dining room.

"You think I raped your mother?" Snape said at last, sounding out the syllables as though the words were in a foreign language.

"Yes!" Potter declared fiercely, setting his pumpkin juice down on the table hard enough to rattle the dishware. "You did, didn't you? She would never willingly sleep with a Death Eater! I know how these things work!"

Actually, it made sense the boy would come to that conclusion. It would also explain why he'd looked more and more furious the longer they sat across from each other in the manor dining room. Snape resisted the urge to sneer at him, and turned his attention to his serving of swordfish. "You may be operating under the misperception your mother was a paragon of virtue, but I can assure you, she indulged in less than saintly behavior on at least one occasion." Snape allowed himself a smirk, recalling that occasion. "She was one of those delightful women who view intercourse as a weapon."

Potter stared at him. "I don't believe you. She would never... Everyone said my mother..."

Snape closed his eyes briefly, irritated at having to delve into these old issues, but knowing the insufferable brat would never let it rest.

"Lily Evans was a decent person." He felt himself cringe as he admitted it. "Much like you, she often intervened in the affairs of others when it was not her place, but her intentions were always good. James Potter was a bastard, and a bully. Widely respected and very cruel. He tried to intimidate men and seduce women. He appreciated your mother because she was not utterly infatuated with him. He enjoyed the chase."

He noticed the boy growing pale. Deep down, he must still have regarded James Potter as a father, because he appeared to take Snape's words as a personal affront.

"He pursued your mother for almost two years," Snape continued tonelessly. "For a while, you couldn't see her in the hallway without seeing James Potter stumbling behind her, declaring his undying love. Perhaps he believed it when he said it." Snape shrugged. "Perhaps not. In any case, your mother began to fancy herself the woman who had reformed the cold-hearted rake, and she fell in love with him. You, Potter, are proof of how dearly she came to regret it."

"Why?" Harry mumbled. "What did he do to her?"

"From what I gather," Snape said evenly, "not that I lent idle chatter much credence, mind you... The novelty of Lily Potter quickly wore off after they left Hogwarts, and James launched back into his philandering ways. Your mother felt hurt and humiliated." Snape glared at something in the distance, and added harshly, "And she should have. Any fool could have warned her that James Potter was scum."

Harry stared down at his plate now, his expression as hard as granite.

"She slept with me in a..." Snape's voice unconsciously drifted into heavy sarcasm, "glorious moment of revenge that only a mother of yours could fancy successful." Snape looked up and gazed at Harry over his wine goblet for a long moment. "Although I suppose it was, in the end. She tricked James Potter into raising the son of a rival, the son of a Death Eater." With a cruel smile, both for the departed James Potter, and for the boy sitting across from him, he added, "James Potter imparted his family name to that child, left his wealth to him, and in the end, he gave his life for him. He died for a Death Eater's bastard. Quite a fitting end, wouldn't you say?"

Harry stared intently at his plate for a long moment, then shoved his chair back and ran for the door.

"We'll need to work on your table manners, Potter," Snape informed him snidely.

He took a sip of his wine, listening with mild amusement at the boy's growl of frustration when the door refused to open. "Alohombra!" came the frustrated voice. After a few moments more of Potter's epic struggle with the dining room door, he whirled around and approached the table again, beet red.

"I want to leave," he said coldly.

"And you will." Snape took another sip of his wine, watching the boy impassively over the goblet. "As soon as you ask permission."

Potter's body actually shuddered with rage at this point. "Can I go?" he asked in a voice taut like a whiplash.

Snape felt his lips pulling into a sneering smile; he couldn't help it. Was it obscene to reap this much enjoyment from his son's distress?

"That was hardly a proper mode of address, Potter. Try again."

Potter's teeth were gritted. "Excuse me, sir, but may I please leave the table?"

Snape waved his wand, disabling the wards confining the boy to the dining room. "Go straight down the hall, third door on the left. I expect you to go directly to your chamber; no dallying, Potter. I'll know if you do."

The dark-haired boy stood there glowering at him for an extended moment, as if debating whether to hex him. Then, shaking off the impulse, he quickly left.

Snape turned back to his meal, unconcerned. He'd taken extensive measures against Potter's tendency towards mischief upon their arrival. They'd flooed directly into the dining room, and he left the boy sitting alone at the table as he erected wards. Mostly to keep his more unsavory associates out. A few to keep the boy in. The measures were fairly sophisticated; they adjusted to Snape's commands. If he wished the boy to proceed to his appointed chambers, they lifted selectively to allow the movement. If Potter attempted to open any doors on his way to his room, he would find them all locked against him. If he attempted to open the door to his room after he entered it for the night, he'd find himself confined. He hoped the boy did not attempt the latter. He was fairly certain he'd have another of the boy's dramatic flare-ups on his hands if that occurred.

Of course, within two hours, he got his answer. One of the house-elves scuttled into his potions lab, where he labored over a concoction that would hopefully undermine that glamour charm.

"Master Severus!" the creature moaned, tugging on his robes to get his attention. "The young one is very, very angry! Minky tried to calm him, but Minky could not get him to stop shouting for you. Oh, he's raising a terrible ruckus, sir!"

Snape cursed the boy under his breath, quickly added the final ingredient, and lowered the temperature to allow the potion to simmer. "Very well. Tell him I'll be there momentarily."

After the house-elf departed, he quickly checked the potion's consistency and found it suitable for ingestion. He filled a vial with it, tucked it into his robes, and left to attend to the young miscreant.

He entered the boy's room and immediately deflected a nasty curse that loped his way. A quick 'expelliarmus' sent the boy crashing against the wall and to the floor. Potter let out a stream of invectives from where he lay crumpled on the carpet, glaring at Snape through enraged, green eyes.

"Accio wand!" Snape caught the boy's wand and reaffirmed his grasp around it, restraining the first words that jumped to his lips in a show of uncharacteristic patience.

"You locked me in!" Potter bellowed, quivering with fury.

"For your own safety, Potter. I know all too well of your penchant for endangering yourself."

"You. Locked. Me. In." Potter spoke as though he'd been the victim of some unspeakable evil. "I know you hate me, Snape, but I can't believe you took me from my dorm just so you could imprison me!"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic, Potter. If you think this," he gestured with Potter's wand to the opulent room about them, "constitutes imprisonment, you are more naive and sheltered than I thought." He walked past the boy and conjured a warm mug of cider, ostensibly to calm the boy, but really to slip him the potion.

Potter was too enraged to notice. "First you abduct me from Hogwarts--"

"I would not have had to threaten you if you hadn't been so recalcitrant," Snape retorted coolly.

"... Now you're holding me prisoner..."

"Stop behaving like such a drama queen, Potter. It ill becomes you. This door is not locked." He strode back over to the door and yanked it open roughly to demonstrate.

"It wouldn't open for me!"

"The hallway beyond is warded," Snape explained delicately, eyes sharp like twin razors. "I see no reason for you to venture from your room at this late hour. You have access to a lavatory, the house-elves will bring any food or drink you require. The only reason you could possibly have to leave is if you foolishly hope to run away."

"The hallway beyond is warded," Potter repeated, voice lined with incredulity. "Against me."

Snape sneered. "Yes, Potter, against you."

"So this one, single room is warded against Death Eaters, and the rest of the house is warded against me," Potter said slowly. "And how is this not a prison?"

"The lack of Dementors might be an indicator," Snape said dryly.

"You're as good as one," Potter snarled. "You certainly suck the joy out of my existence."

"You flatter me too much," Snape said with a cold smile, inwardly pleased with the boy's words. "I can selectively drop the wards when you have a legitimate purpose for leaving this room, but I don't intend to give you full run of the place. Merlin knows what you'd do to my house if you could. It hasn't been in the family for nine generations just so an irresponsible idiot can find some way to vandalize it."

Potter's mouth bobbed open and closed for a long moment, as though he were at a loss for words. It briefly seemed like his expression would crumple and the boy would give into frustrated tears. Just as quickly, though, his expression smoothed into a slate of cold hatred.

"I hate you. You're as bad as Uncle Vernon."

"Do not compare me to your Muggle relatives," Snape spat.

"What, don't like being reminded that your son's a mudblood?" Potter taunted. "Whatever will dear old Voldy have to say when he finds out?"

Snape shifted uneasily at that. "He will not find out. For my safety and for your own."

"It will be kind of hard to conceal, won't it?" Potter demanded. "When I go back to Hogwarts with your ugly nose and your disgusting hair. They might notice the tiniest bit of a resemblance when I look like a junior version of the Greasy Git."

Snape forced back an impulse to hex the boy, reminding himself firmly that he was the one in control of the situation. "The Headmaster will decide what to do. Odds are, we'll re-cast some sort of glamour charm upon you return, if it is necessary."

Too bad. Snape had enjoyed taunting the boy with the prospect of sharing his... good looks. Damn the boy for appearing so relieved. The admission that he probably wouldn't resemble Snape for very long seemed to instantly hearten him.

"So what is this place?" he asked in a sudden change of tone, settling himself back on the bed and grabbing the cider. "You said it was a family manor."

Snape stared at him suspiciously a moment, but since the boy was drinking the cider, he allowed himself to be drawn into conversation. "It's my part of the familial inheritance. The other traditional manors are divided among the Blacks, Malfoys, and the Lestranges. We share common ancestry."

"I forgot," Potter said tonelessly. "All the pureblood families are interrelated."

"That's correct," Snape said, watching like a hawk as the boy ingested more of the cider.

"So that means I'm related to Sirius," Potter said, seeming to perk up.

"Distantly, yes," Snape replied, wanting to wipe that joy from his face. "You're also related to Draco Malfoy."

Potter's eyes flew up to his. "Distantly."

"Yes," Snape conceded.

A queer expression stole over Potter's face, one Snape couldn't recall ever seeing before. "That also means I'm related to Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Again--"

"Distantly, I know."

"Don't interrupt me, Potter," Snape said harshly. The boy still had that unsettling look on his face that Snape couldn't identify. He felt unease prickling up his spine.

"So, is there anything you can do with that-- magically, I mean?" Potter asked in an odd tone. "Like, any spells you can perform when you share someone's blood?"

"Why do you ask?" Snape demanded, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

The boy shrugged with far too studied an attempt at nonchalance. "Just curious."

He'd finished his cider, and Snape crossed his arms, waiting for the potion to kick in.

"If you're so wealthy," Potter said, words tumbling a bit clumsily from his lips, "How come you're stuck teaching?"

Snape muttered something vicious under his breath about Muggles and their values. "In the wizarding world, Potter, teaching is an honorable and highly-sought after position with lucrative returns."

"Yeah right," Potter said sarcastically. "That's probably why Dumbledore has to scrounge at the bottom of the barrel every year for a DADA teacher."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "The position is widely rumored to be cursed. The last six years have not been kind to those who take the job, and wizards are a superstitious lot."

Potter closed his eyes a moment. Snape knew he was growing disoriented. "Even so, you'd think Dumbledore could find people other than Death Eaters and idiots for the position."

Snape smiled coldly. "I'll be sure to pass your regards on to Remus Lupin."

Potter's green eyes slid open again, and the boy glared up at him, refraining from pointing out the obvious-- he wasn't referring to Remus.

"Don't worry, Snape," he said prettily. "One of these days he might get desperate enough to even hire you."

Snape glowered at him, but he didn't bother to reply. He didn't have to. The boy's eyes suddenly shot wide open as he realized why he was suddenly feeling woozy.

"You put something in my drink!"

"I told you we were going to break the glamour," Snape said unapologetically. He watched heavy lids creep closed over the Potter's eyes as the boy was consumed by paralyzing exhaustion. "This one will work on your skeletal structure. You should be pleased with the result. I'm quite a bit taller than James Potter, you know. Most everyone in my family stands over six feet."

"But--" His objection was swallowed in a wide yawn.

"It will be rather painful, though," Snape continued absently, watching with scientific interest as Potter shook his head vigorously in an attempt to rouse himself. "Much like ingesting Skele-Gro. I've taken measures so you'll be unconscious during the process."

"You... you should of... tol' me..." Potter's words slurred away as he passed out, his body going limp. He almost slumped right off the side of the bed, but Snape vaulted forward and caught his lanky form.

"Stupid boy," he muttered, shoving him back onto the bed. Why hadn't the little idiot settled himself into a safer position when he was fully aware he was about to pass out?

He pulled back the covers and maneuvered Potter's limp form beneath them... no simple task with the boy's skinny arms and legs flopping in all directions. He divested the boy of his oversized trainers, then after a moment of thought, peeled off the socks. He yanked the sheets over and tucked them around the sleeping form. He slipped the boy's glasses off his nose and set them on the bedside table.

For some reason, he felt compelled to arrange those scrawny arms neatly over the boy's torso. He carefully placed one hand lying flat over the other on top of the comforter. He stood back to appraise his handiwork, and realized suddenly that he'd positioned the boy as one would arrange a corpse. He quickly shoved the arms to the boy's sides. His hand lingered on Harry's forearm, and with a strange curiosity, he wrapped his fingers around it; they easily met.

Strange. He hadn't remembered James Potter being quite so small, and the boy had clearly been charmed to take after the elder Potter. Of course, he himself had been smaller then, so perhaps his perspective on the senior Potter was not to be trusted.

With one last glance to make sure Harry was safely under the lull of the potion, Snape waved his wand and spelled out the lights.

Harry blearily opened his eyes. The entire world was fuzzy, and he reached automatically for his glasses. His hand fumbled blindly a moment over the cold wood of the bedstead, then a warm hand pressed the glasses into his palm. Harry shoved them over his nose, and his vision sharpened around the form of Severus Snape.

Harry yelped, his entire body lurching with shock. He cried out again when the movement sent needles of pain jolting through his limbs, and squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the agony of it.

"Drink this," Snape said quietly, pressing a cool goblet to his lips.

His body throbbed too painfully for questions. Harry downed the wretched-tasting concoction, desperate for the pain to recede. He slumped back to his pillow as warmth filled his stomach. The needles slowly crept from his awareness and the edges in his vision grew softer; he relaxed into the mild buzzing of his mind. The boy sprawled there a while, forgetting that his most hated teacher loomed by the bed, drifting pleasantly through a drugged haze.

The memories from the previous day began to float gently into his thoughts. His eyes crept open and locked with Snape's accusingly.

"You should have warned me you were giving me that potion," Harry said. "You didn't need to sneak it to me like some poison." His voice sounded very raw and scratchy, and he unconsciously reached up to rub at his throat. He paused the movement halfway. His arm felt... wrong.

He shot Snape a quick glance, and saw that the man's brow was furrowed in some confusion. Almost gently, Snape reached out and took Harry's wrist in his hands, studying it intently, pulling the sleeve of his shirt down before pushing it up again.

"What's wrong?" Harry murmured, gazing at his teacher questioningly.

Snape released his wrist and lowered himself onto a chair near the bedside, still studying Harry's prone form in obvious confusion. He rubbed his hand across his mouth in deep thought.

"Professor?"

"Quiet, Potter. I can think better without you pestering me."

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded, voice stronger now. He looked down at his form and raised his arms up with straining muscles to figure out what Snape was looking at. They shook with exertion, but otherwise didn't look...

Wait.

"Your bloody potion shrunk me!" he bellowed. With a sudden burst of energy, he began frantically shoving the blankets down to get a look at the rest of his body. He kicked up first one leg and then the other, horrified. They both were shorter, he'd swear it! The pants that yesterday reached his ankles now touched the bottom of his heels.

"It didn't shrink you, Potter," Snape said, still mulling over the dilemma. "This is your natural skeletal structure. The glamour charm merely distorted your physical dimensions."

"What happened to 'everyone in my family stands over six feet'?" Harry demanded snidely, feeling a mounting panic. He'd already been on the shorter side of average. Now, he was just plain short.

"Evidently, you're an exception," Snape sneered with his customary malice.

"This is great," Harry said, and laughed wildly. "This is just perfect. Thanks a bunch, Snape. I really appreciate it."

"Oh, come off it, Potter," Snape snarled. "You're only two or three inches shorter at most." He tapped his finger thoughtfully on his cheek. "It's simply not what I would have expected."

"Maybe something's wrong with your potion," Harry sniped

Snape's face darkened. "My potion is perfect. My potions are always perfect." He rose to his feet and began to pace. "I don't have one relative of your pitiful stature, I'll admit... But I didn't have one relative who was a Gryffindor until recently, either."

Harry buried his face in his pillow, unwilling to listen to another word. He was irritated, depressed, and damn angry. Whatever the hell Snape was saying, he didn't need to hear about it... He didn't need to hear about the various ways Harry Potter was disgracing the proud line of Greasy Gits. With his luck, he'd lose out on the family height but get a full dose of that bloody beak of a nose, and dollops of family grease in his hair.

"You're clearly very tired," Snape noted clinically. "That's to be expected. Sleep for now, and we'll discuss this later."

Harry lolled his head back. "No thanks. I've had about enough of your insults this week without you making fun of my height now, too. Just make sure you have some way to undo this when we cast the other glamour next week."

Snape gazed at him for a moment more. He sucked in a breath, and after a moment released it, as though some question had suddenly died on his lips. By the time Harry glanced curiously up at him, he was already walking out the door.

* * *

After a day of recovering from the after-effects of the potion, Harry barely moved except to drag himself to his meals and then back to his bed, floating in a dazed stupor. He was depressed. Snape was his father, he'd shrunk, he was stuck in this monstrously dull manor, Remus wasn't writing him, Tonks would think he was short, Sirius was still dead, Voldemort was still out to murder him, the Headmaster had lied to him, and Snape was his bloody father.

The Potions Master did not immediately resume his work towards breaking the glamour, though Harry sniffed each of his drinks suspiciously. Snape seemed almost leery of undermining the charm any further; it was as though he feared another negative result. He'd been certain before the potion that Harry would be taller as a Snape than as a replica of James Potter, and he seemed to take it as a personal affront that James Potter had trumped him yet again. The brief periods of time they spent in the same room, Harry would catch Snape watching him through narrowed, black eyes, as though trying to unravel some grand conspiracy perpetrated against him, plotted by his delinquent son.

Snape one day surprised him by lifting the wards to give him access to the manor library. Harry had one triumphant afternoon to research the topic that had been tugging at his mind since he'd learned of his blood relation to the woman who murdered Sirius. However, when Snape came to collect him for the evening, he sent Harry a suspicious glance, and cast some spell that made the books Harry had perused glow in an ethereal light. One glance at Kinship and Related Curses was all he needed to ban Harry from the library, grab him by the arm, and haul him back to his room.

"I wasn't going to curse you!" Harry protested as Snape slammed the door closed on his face. He tried the knob; Snape had warded the hallway against him yet again.

That night, the house-elf, Minky, escorted him to dinner, and he found Snape waiting like some giant, black bat, his sharp, assessing gaze peeling away Harry's skin.

"Sit, Potter," he said, gesturing to Harry's usual chair across the long table. The boy noticed that there was no food laid out.

Nervous, Harry sat.

Snape stood up and circled around the back of Harry's seat, reminding Harry uneasily of a police interrogation.

"Why were you looking at that book, Potter?"

"It had nothing to do with you," Harry said, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "And I don't see how it's your business."

"It is my business," Snape said from behind his shoulder, "because you clearly did so with intent. Those were dark curses, Potter. I assumed you would be doing homework."

"I was just curious," Harry said airily. "You know, library of a Death Eater and such, probably lots of depraved things lying around there."

Snape came to a stop in his line of sight now, lips pressed in a thin, irate line. Harry sent the man a challenging glare, daring him to take issue with the answer. After all, he only had access to those books because Snape owned them.

As if he'd suddenly realized Harry's game, a cold, predatory smile crossed Snape's lips. "You're very right, Potter... Harry," he amended. His name from Snape's lips always seemed like a veiled insult. "It's not my business after all."

Harry stiffened. Snape's tone sent unease prickling through him, and somehow, he knew the man had already decided upon a crueler avenue of attack.

"It's just occurred to me, Harry, that we never continued your Occlumency lessons."

"I don't need them," Harry replied snappishly, turning a glare on Snape. The man was just looking for an excuse to plunder his mind, he could tell.

"You don't need them? You mean you've mastered Occlumency on your own?" Snape said silkily, drawing his wand from his pocket. "If that's true, why don't we put your skills to a little test?"

"You don't understand!" Harry fired up, looking from Snape's wand to his face. "My scar hasn't been hurting. At all. I haven't had any visions. At all. It just all went away this summer. Occlumency always made things worse, and I don't want to take the risk of things being like they were last year!"

Snape stared at him a long moment, as though he'd been introduced to the village idiot. "Have you actually deluded yourself into believing the Dark Lord is through with you?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

"Of course not," Harry replied fiercely. "But the lessons last year, they made things worse. I don't want my scar to act up again. I want to leave well-enough alone." He rubbed said scar unconsciously.

"'Well-enough,'" Snape spat the words like an insult, taking a rapid step forward to tower over Harry. "Well-enough will not suffice once the Dark Lord attempts to possess your mind again! You may have forgotten about your vulnerability to him, Potter, but I assure you, he has not!"

"This is not about him," Harry said harshly, meeting Snape's angry expression with one of his own. "You just want to do this now because you want to find out what I was doing with that book."

Snape sneered at that. "Potter, you're here for another ten days. I will have ample opportunity to slip you another potion and hear all about your interest in that book." He retreated a step, studying Harry like a strange species of insect. "I intended to unnerve you with the prospect of an Occlumency session, but now I see one is entirely necessary."

"You don't think it's significant at all that I haven't had any visions? That my scar hasn't hurt?" Harry demanded

Snape ran a long, white finger over his lips. Harry shifted uncomfortably as the man gazed at the dark bangs concealing the scar. "It is curious," he admitted at last. "I'm rather surprised your connection to the Dark Lord has not been further exploited."

Harry rubbed his forehead again.

Snape abruptly retreated to his side of the table and took his seat, sending Harry one last, odd glance. "Be sure to eat. You'll need your energy." He clapped his hands, and dinner appeared before them on the table.

Harry hadn't realized how hungry he was. He dug into the roast eagerly, and it was only when he glanced up that he realized Snape was looking at him through narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"What?" he demanded impatiently. He was sick of Snape looking at him strangely when he didn't think Harry noticed.

"You have a healthy appetite," Snape noted in an odd tone of voice.

"Yeah." Harry ran his eyes over Snape's gaunt form. "Food really is a good thing, Snape. You should try it sometime."

Snape's black eyes flashed with irritation, and Harry hid his smirk in his pumpkin juice.

* * *

"One... two... three... Legilimens!"

Harry was recoiling from Umbridge's hand as it groped in the fire... Cedric Diggory was staring at him with blank eyes... Bellatrix Lestrange was laughing as Sirius fell through the veil...

Harry came to himself huddled on the ground, pain radiating up his joints. His breath came in panicked gasps, his mind refusing to let go of the horrific image of Sirius's death.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter," Snape said from above him, looking angry and rather short of breath. "I would not have thought it possible for you to grow worse. Evidently your incompetence knows no bounds."

Harry remained crouched on the ground, fighting back the tears threatening to reach his eyes. How long had it been since he'd let himself think about Sirius? Snape had already attacked his mind a half-dozen times tonight, and each time, no matter how Harry tried, his thoughts inevitably strayed back to Sirius falling to his death. Last year his anger had rendered him vulnerable to Snape's intrusion. This year, his grief carried the other man into his mind.

He heard a long-suffering sigh from above him, and realized with a modicum of surprise that Snape was offering his hand to help Harry up. When Harry only blinked at it dumbly, Snape dropped it to his side.

"Get up!"

Harry forced himself up onto shaky legs.

"We'll try this once more, Potter. I've had to lift it from you these last two times. See if you can repel me once tonight. Clear your mind. Let go of all emotion."

Harry closed his eyes and attempted to clear his thoughts. He raised his wand towards Snape and nodded shakily.

"Prepare yourself... Legilimens!"

Uncle Vernon was hammering the letterbox shut... Remus was dragging him back from the dais. "There's nothing you can do, Harry. He's gone."... A big black dog was watching him from across a field... He was stammering an apology, but Tonks reached out to caress his cheek. "I don't mind."...

Harry felt a moment of panic, and nearly shoved Snape out, but Snape pushed back harder.

... Tonks's fingers were playing through his hair. She smiled invitingly as he crawled up to kiss her...

He tried again with frantic urgency to expel Snape from his mind, but the powerful legilimens held onto the memory, and Harry squirmed as it played out before his eyes.

..."Liar!" her voice was husky and breathless against his lips. "You have done that before!" Harry grinned impishly. "Natural talent. Like... parseltongue." Tonks laughed, and slowly pressed him onto his back. "Speaking of natural talents..."

"POTTER!"

The spell was lifted so abruptly Harry took a moment to realize that he was here with Snape and not back in Grimmauld Place with Tonks.

Snape's cold, imperious form loomed above him, a dark, furious look on his face.

Tonks.

In Grimmauld Place.

Oh, shit.

Snape knelt down to glare right into Harry's eyes. "What in the hell, Potter, did I just see?"

Harry's first impulse was to sneer at him: "Gee, it's called sex, Snape. Can't say you'd know anything about it." But Snape had slept with his mother, so really... that would just be asking for a whole arsenal of insults.

And besides, he wasn't sure just how much Snape had witnessed. The Professor had told him during their first Occlumency session that he only saw flashes of Harry's memories. He might just be fishing for a confession.

"Well," Harry fumbled through the memories, avoiding eye-contact and searching for something only slightly incriminating. He didn't bother to remove himself from the floor. "Um, that was Uncle Vernon nailing--"

"You know the memory I'm referring to, Potter!" Snape growled, reaching out and yanking Harry to his feet, maintaining his bruising hold even after Harry's legs were firmly planted on the floor. Harry affected a look of innocent confusion, and Snape's eyes glittered as he drew the boy closer. His voice was low and dangerous. "The memory of an adult, a member of the Order, no less, molesting a fifteen-year-old boy! Explain that one!"

"I'm sixteen!" Harry protested. He'd been fifteen at the time, true, but Snape didn't need to know that. He reached up to pry Snape's unyielding grip from his arm; it was really beginning to hurt. "And she wasn't molesting me."

Snape's fingers squeezed harder. "Nymphadora Tonks is an auror, Potter. It is her job to ensure others don't do with minors what she was clearly doing with you!"

Harry stared at him in confusion. "What are you... Look, just because Tonks maybe thinks I'm a bit cute doesn't mean--"

"Nymphadora Tonks's tastes," Snape snarled, "Or lack thereof, are not the issue here. The issue is a twenty-two year old woman taking advantage of a teenager!"

Harry goggled at him. "Oh, you mean-- her? You're angry at her?"

For a moment, he was obscenely relieved not to be the object of Snape's fury. And then he remembered himself. He was a man. Her man. He was supposed to protect the woman he loved. Slightly ashamed, Harry glared back into Snape's eyes and renewed his struggle to escape the Potions Master's grasp.

"She wasn't taking advantage of me," he said harshly.

He gave one sharp jerk of his arm that still failed to dislodge Snape's grip, and he hated how Snape smirked at him when he couldn't break away. Honestly, before Snape's blasted potion, he probably could have done it. His body was so small and weak now. All thanks to goddamn Snape and his goddamn recessive genes!

"I kissed her first. You saw that! I initiated it."

"And she participated. That, Potter, is a felony," Snape said, eyes glinting cruelly. He abruptly released his hold on Harry's arm, and the boy tumbled back to the floor. "I shall have to report this to the authorities concerned."

Harry suddenly felt cold. The stone floor seemed to leech all warmth from his body. "Report it?"

Oh, no... Tonks...

"Of course, Potter," Snape sneered. "You didn't think I'd simply let this information slip by, did you?"

Harry swallowed; his mouth felt very dry.

"Wait," he said, voice laced with desperate fear. "That's not necessary. You don't... You shouldn't--"

Snape's lip curled maliciously.

"Oh, Potter, I think it's very necessary. In fact, I would be remiss in my duties as your teacher or," he smirked, "as your father to simply let this offense stand."

He was going to do it, Harry realized with sinking dismay. He was going to report Tonks. She would get fired. Or--Merlin! Arrested! She could go to Azkaban... Another life would be ruined because of Harry's stupidity.

Oh, Tonks...

"I won't let you do it," Harry stated flatly, shoving himself to his feet. The resolve he suddenly felt surprised even him. "Don't you dare do it, Snape!"

"As far as I see it, Potter," Snape hissed. "You have little to say in this matter. I suggest you get back to your room before I think of a suitable response to your transgression. Now, GO!"

Harry didn't budge. He stared at his professor, feeling his insides go cold, his mind sharpening into the focus usually induced by a nasty duel or a game of Quidditch. This wasn't going to happen. He would stop Snape. He wasn't going to let him ruin her life...

"Did you hear me, boy?" Snape demanded harshly, taking a step towards Harry as the young wizard suddenly realized what he had to do. "I said--"

Harry's wand was drawn and thrust in Snape's direction before he'd really given his actions a thought. One word. One spell. He could do it. He could do it. He could...

"Obliv--"

Obliviate. The last syllables had no chance to leave his mouth before the fist slammed against his cheek. Pain exploded through his head as the world reeled about him in an explosion of lights and stars. His wand flew from his hand and he dropped, hard, onto his elbows and knees upon the stone floor.

Harry had one breathless instant in which he knelt there, in shock, gasping for breath, before some nameless force gripped him and wrenched him back up, whirling him around and slamming his back against the wall. A heavy weight held him in place with an invisible chokehold, his legs dangling limply into the air beneath him.

Stunned, and suddenly quite afraid, his eyes shot up to Snape's.

The Potions Master loomed before him, wand aloft, eyes gleaming and lips twisted into the most vicious expression Harry had ever witnessed. With a curl of his lips, Snape made a small gesture with his wand that suddenly increased the weight upon his chest and neck exponentially. Harry gasped, lurching against the force instinctively. It felt as though a grown man were sitting on his chest, wrapping his hands around Harry's neck.

Snape was suddenly looming before him, dark and enraged. "YOU STUPID BOY! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?"

Harry flinched at the sheer, unadulterated fury in Snape's tone. The man's expression grew impossibly uglier and he twitched his wand again. The weight pinning Harry against the stone wall increased impossibly, the hands around his neck squeezed, and he suddenly found himself struggling simply to draw breath. Snape didn't seem to notice his struggles, and drew menacingly closer, eyes wide, black and infuriated.

"HOW DARE YOU! You thought to OBLIVIATE ME?" Snape roared, spittle flying from his mouth. "You could have DESTROYED MY MIND with that spell!"

Snape swiped his wand viciously through the air, and suddenly the invisible man became a hippogriff crushing Harry's chest. The weight was agonizing. Harry fought to breathe; he couldn't. He was pinned, unmoving, against the wall before Snape, and the man seemed to be completely fixated on venting his rage.

"STUPID, IRRESPONSIBLE, ARROGANT BOY!" Snape bellowed, either oblivious to Harry's plight or simply uncaring of it. "You are the very replica of James Potter! That my blood produced a blight upon wizardkind such as yourself... I'm SICKENED! I'm ashamed! It's not enough to KILL YOUR GODFATHER you hope to CONSIGN ME TO SAINT MUNGO'S WITH GILDEROY LOCKHART!"

Harry felt as though his lungs would explode. He tried to kick his legs, to fight this nameless grip suffocating him, but nothing helped. He clawed at his throat with desperate fingers. They tore straight into his skin even as his vision tunneled into a narrow spot...

And suddenly with a careless wave of Snape's wand, the weight was gone.

He dropped at once into a boneless heap on the floor. His entire body trembled weakly as he choked desperate gulps of air, his lungs aching. Harry began to shove himself up onto his hands and knees, still choking in desperate breaths, but they gave way beneath him and he collapsed again.

Too exhausted to raise his cheek from the floor, he watched with half-lidded eyes as Snape's black robes swished across the floor and halted before him. He didn't know exactly how his gaze found its way up to the man's cruel, pale face, glowering down at him, but he realized suddenly that Snape was smiling maliciously, relishing Harry's pain, his weakness.

"Perhaps that's what it is about you, Potter," Snape whispered viciously. "Everything and everyone you touch, you destroy. Is that why those muggle relatives of yours loathe you? They see what you've done to the others, even those you supposedly care about? Your parents, your godfather, Weasley and Granger-- those friends of yours whom you've nearly killed so many times through your selfishness..."

Harry wished he could tear off his ears. Anything. Anything but hear this.

"And poor Sirius Black..." Snape said, his voice suddenly adopting mock tenderness. A part of Harry froze in dreadful anticipation of what was sure to follow. "Twelve years he spent rotting in Azkaban, longing for his beloved godson, only to be killed because the little brat decided to play the hero." Snape was smiling again, though his words remained vicious. "What would Black have said, if he'd known it wasn't James Potter's son he was dying for? Do you think he would have lifted a finger to save your miserable hide if he'd known you were Snivellus's bastard?"

Snape's smooth, malignant voice articulated Harry's own insecurities with such frightening accuracy that the boy screwed his eyes shut, fearing the man was legilimizing him even now. But he could close his ears to the words.

"Oh, but I'm not saying you shouldn't take pride in your accomplishment." Snape's voice was dripping with a cruel parody of affection, but his eyes were glinting with hatred when Harry risked a glance. "Such an exploit, killing Sirius Black... Almost makes you worthy of the family name. I nearly forgave you your worthless existence, when I first had the pleasure of witnessing your memories of it. An incredible shock for the worthless mutt, wasn't it? Tumbling through that veil."

Harry's head slumped to the floor. It felt icy against his forehead. He stared at it sightlessly, feeling oddly numb. He didn't even jump when Snape's cold fingers suddenly brushed through his hair, just for an instant.

"But then again, Black should have seen it coming. He was, after all, protecting precious Harry Potter. And we know what happens to those unfortunate enough to try that."

* * *

He was not quite sure what happened after that. Snape's words, so frighteningly accurate, so very true, tore into him like knives... All words that had echoed in Harry's mind for months, words he'd denied and ignored and denied... Snape had granted those thoughts reality by speaking them himself, revealing to the world those dark truths that only Harry had known, that Harry had concealed from others, even from himself.

But he could no longer ignore the reality of it. He had done it.

He had killed Sirius.

He did not know how or when he'd returned from that disastrous Occlumency session. He was not aware of himself again until he realized he was staring at the ceiling of his room; he was vaguely aware that he had been doing so for some time now. The covers felt oppressive and smothering, yet too heavy to remove. That familiar sensation of wanting to crawl out of his skin had completely overcome him, and he could not shake it off. It was like a thousand eyes were watching him, and he was lying here completely exposed to their scrutiny.

Tremors ran though his body. Faint, uncontrollable trembling. Why...?

Something had drawn him from his shocked stupor... His scar was prickling.

For the first time in months, for the first time in so long, it was prickling. Voldemort was aware of him again. Somehow, the tentative barrier that had severed their connection had been torn away.

His strange apathy was broken by a sudden gush of fury. He'd warned Snape this would happen if they started Occlumency again. He'd warned him, goddamn it!

Harry rubbed at his scar, and was answered with a sharp twinge that receded into a dull but persistent ache. He shut his eyes, trying to ignore it, trying to clear his thoughts. But his mind wandered back to the terrible lesson. Tonks, Snape, Sirius... His insides withered with distress. His scar began to burn with pain.

Tendrils of fear crept through him. He would never forget those horrifying moments in the Department of Mysteries when Voldemort plowed right into his mind, splitting open his defenses and claiming possession of him. He could never ignore how powerless he had felt, how weak... The way his lips had moved of someone else's volition, the searing agony he'd felt that made him long for death...

These recent months, when daytime consisted of a smooth numbness to the world, and nighttimes of quiet oppression as he huddled in the narrowest, darkest corner he could find, he'd almost forgotten about Voldemort's ever-present connection to his mind; it had almost seemed like Voldemort had forgotten about him.

And now the pain was back.

Harry pressed the scar with his palms, fervently hoping this was just an anomaly, that Voldemort had not reawakened to their connection after many months of silence. Maybe it was just stress, or fear. Snape was driving him half out of his mind, after all. Snape had practically kidnapped him. Imprisoned him. Berated him. Insulted him. Attacked him.

Spoken the truth to him.

Again, involuntarily, his thoughts crept back to his betrayal of Tonks, and his failed attempt to obliviate Snape. (What had he been thinking?) Back to his near suffocation by whatever the hell that spell had been.

And Snape's words. Those terrible and truthful words.

At least someone would admit it to him. Someone would finally say it to him. They'd all been lying to him for months. "It wasn't your fault, Harry..." How many times had he heard that? But he'd never been fooled. And apparently, neither had Snape. Snape pinned the blame where it was due. He knew Harry was guilty. He was willing to tell Harry it had been his fault. He would make Harry suffer for his sins.

Such an exploit... Killing Sirius Black.

There was so much pain in his scar now that his eyes were watering. He tried to command himself to stop thinking; these thoughts were only making it worse. Only opening him, rendering him more vulnerable...

Those friends of yours whom you've nearly killed so many times through your selfishness...

Fuck, fuck. What had he done, the last time he'd felt this way? This summer, how had he handled this? He didn't have his cupboard here for refuge. That had been his only escape. What could he do now?

His gaze wandered over to the closet. It looked large enough for him, if a bit more confined than he might have liked. He staggered across the room, and with shaking hands pulled the door open.

The closet smelled musty, and the air was filled with floating clouds of dust. Harry stood in the doorway, silent with indecision. A sharp, lancing pain in his scar made up his mind for him, though, and he returned quickly to the bed to haul off the top blanket and drag it behind him into the closet. He snuggled into the blanket and settled down in the corner, pulling the door closed behind him.

The closet was quickly enveloped in darkness. Harry pressed his legs out and realized he didn't have enough room to stretch them all the way. It was actually rather uncomfortable. The narrowness of the room forced him to remain seated upright, but if he bunched some of the blanket behind his back... There. Much better.

His head slumped against the cold wall, and he slowed his breathing, trying to ignore the circumstances that had led him here, to forget the aching of his scar. He just had to focus on that other place... small and dark... just like this one. He was no longer at Snape's manor house. He was not the grand savior of the wizarding world. He was nothing. No one.

It was easier to breathe in the slow, natural rhythm now, and he imagined the Dursleys tromping up and down the stairs overhead, the smell of the bacon he couldn't eat drifting through the vents.

He was just the boy in the cupboard under the stairs. In a small, black cupboard. He was a worthless freak. He was absolutely nothing in this world. No better than the dirt on Uncle Vernon's shoes.

He had never killed anyone. No one would die for the boy under the stairs, anyway. Just freakish, worthless Harry.

No one would ever expect anything of him.

He began to relax, feeling strangely comforted. The pain slowly receded from his scar. Time dragged by. It was okay, though. No responsibility, no fears. Nothing. No one. Nothing.

An interminable period of time slipped by. Perhaps he'd fallen asleep. His thoughts dwindled into stillness as he relaxed into the soothing darkness of the constricted space, as the pain slowly slipped away...

And that was when Snape found him.

Harry winced and threw his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sudden onslaught of light. A pair of hands roughly grabbed him by the collar and hauled him out into the blinding brightness of the room beyond.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing? Playing hide and seek, Potter?"

Snape's voice sounded furious and he released Harry's collar so abruptly the boy stumbled back against the wall.

"What were you trying to do?" Snape roared. "I knew you were an attention-seeking brat, Potter, but this was just idiocy! Hiding in a closet like a five-year-old simply because we had a minor dispute--"

"That's not what I was doing, sir--"

"What a miserable existence you must have, to enjoy panicking a beleaguered house-elf--"

Harry didn't think he'd only panicked a house-elf...

"I didn't mean to, okay? Calm down, already!"

Harry regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He cringed as the hands returned, hauling him up from his defensive position and depositing him unceremoniously onto the bed. Harry recoiled from Snape and pressed himself back into the headboard, away from his Professor, who by now only looked disdainful and mildly disgusted rather than furious.

Essentially, like quintessential Snape.

"Explain yourself!" Snape growled, folding the black arms of his robe over his chest and glaring down at Harry from the foot of the bed.

"My scar was hurting," Harry said, and rubbed it unconsciously. "It's not so bad, now, sir. I just needed somewhere quiet."

"And your chambers were unsuitable?" Snape snarled.

"Yes!"

Harry didn't care to elaborate. Snape glared at him. Harry swallowed hard and looked intently at the bedspread, avoiding Snape's eyes, unable to forget the sheer malice he'd seen in them last time he looked.

* * *

Just an hour earlier Snape had been brewing another glamour-breaking potion, an effort purely fueled by spite. That same bitter emotion which had moved him to inflict upon Potter the knowledge of their terrible shared lineage, made him suddenly and desperately want to force the boy to endure whatever natural facial features he'd received from Snape's blood. He prayed the boy would look like him, would share the greasy hair, the overlarge nose. Never mind that it would only be temporary, that he'd have to restore the glamour before sending the boy back to Hogwarts. As long as Potter looked at this greasy git professor he hated and knew he was hating something that was a part of himself... That would be worth the effort.

As he worked, his fury at Potter's attempt to violate his memories throbbed like a tangible force beneath his skin. He couldn't help but remember the last person who'd cast that spell upon him.

" I don't trust you to be objective in this matter."

Snape was grinding his teeth so hard his jaw throbbed. Didn't trust him to be objective... Bullshit! It had never been Dumbledore's decision, choosing whether or not Severus could take custody of his own son. He'd trusted the man. With his life. With his loyalty. With everything.

Dumbledore had been the only one to earn his confidence. He'd arrived at Hogwarts tainted with the bitter poison of a cruel childhood, and it seemed for a while that Dumbledore could relieve him of it. The Headmaster had looked at him with something soft in his eyes, when all Snape had known before that was scorn, dislike, contempt. He had listened to Severus's words as though something valuable was being issued from his lips. He had been the first to treat Severus like a human being.

And then he betrayed him for the Marauders.

Those four bastard bullies... Their torments, their murder attempt, paled next to Dumbledore so casually disregarding their attempt on his life. He hadn't expelled the boys, had barely punished them. Potter-- bloody Potter -- had even gone on to become Head Boy. Severus's world had crumpled for the first time when the Headmaster showed him just how weak its foundations were. Snape learned then that he had never been anything more to the Headmaster than a mere student, another one of his charges.

That was never the case with James Potter and the golden Gryffindors. He realized that, eventually. They meant more. They were something important. Severus Snape was a shadow, and the Marauders were a flame. A crisp, golden light that inspired affection and admiration, and the Headmaster's eyes twinkled with pride when he looked at them.

Just like they twinkled when he looked on Harry Potter, whom he loved perhaps more than any of them. Could that be why he'd taken him from Snape, why he'd concealed the boy's identity all these years? He loved the boy too much to inflict him with Snivellus?

Yes, of course that was why. A man as wretched and worthless as Snivellus Snape, after all, could never be the father of the Boy Who Lived!

Oh, how he hated Dumbledore. His hands shook with the hatred as he stirred in the bobotuber pus. He could remember how he'd sought in the circle of the Dark Lord the acceptance and recognition he'd never received elsewhere, and the days where he slowly realized that inclusion was as empty as Dumbledore's affection. He remembered how he'd crawled back to the Headmaster, wary and penitent. Above all, lost. Completely and utterly lost. He'd had nothing. He'd sworn never to be lulled by false hope again; he would never again bend to the gentle sway of false affection, nor would he hope for anything better than a desolate, lonely existence.

Yet he'd done it, somehow. He had been fooled again. Why had he fallen for the same trick a second time?

Somehow, somewhere, he'd begun to trust in Dumbledore again. And again the man had abused his trust and betrayed him. But this time, this time it was a malignant, horrendous betrayal. When he thought of it, he wanted to be sick at the sheer magnitude of Dumbledore's contempt for him. The man had refused to let Snape even taint his new golden boy with his presence. He had violated Snape's mind before letting Snape soil something as pure and wonderful as this boy. He believed Severus so wretched that he was unworthy of taking care of his own son.

He hated Dumbledore for it. And he hated the boy for it.

As he added the final ingredients to the potion, the brunt of his anger turned back to the latter. Oh yes, he hated that boy. He hated that boy for being too good for him. For being the one Dumbledore actually loved. For being the darling of the wizarding world and the scion of the Marauders. And above all, at this moment, for attempting exactly what Dumbledore had done to him just a few months earlier.

How DARE he!

Damn it, even that insolent brat would know how dangerous that spell was. Potter had watched Gilderoy Lockhart destroy his own mind; he knew full well what could happen with a memory charm gone wrong. Pinpointing the exact memory to destroy, sifting through another's psyche... That required skill and experience, otherwise one could easily obliterate a person's entire memory.

The boy had attempted it with such a careless disregard for Snape's well-being that he had to wonder if the boy truly hated him that much. It had to be malice, genuine malice. Otherwise, the arrogant recklessnessof it...

Ah, but he was the Boy Who Lived. He was Harry Potter. Dumbledore's favorite. Of course he felt entitled to endanger everyone around him. The boy was accustomed to having the whole world at his feet, after all. Why stop hurting his privileged victims now?

Snape eventually completed the potion and bottled it, still lost in his dark thoughts. He had been cleaning his cauldron when suddenly Minky burst in, crying hysterically, claiming the young master had disappeared.

Snape had a few precious moments of unease. The boy had no shields on his mind. If he'd somehow managed to break the wards and escape, he'd be entirely vulnerable to the Dark Lord's machinations.

Yet within moments a simple point-me spell quickly resolved the situation. He followed its direction until he arrived, incredulous, at the closet in the boy's room.

The grand and elaborate escape he'd envisioned for Potter had turned out to be a trek of several feet across the bedroom. He noticed then that the comforter had been removed from the bed, that a tiny corner was wedged under the door. Minky apologized profusely for being unobservant and ran off crying, perhaps to iron her feet somewhere.

Snape just glared at the closed door, irritated.

Hiding in a closet, indeed! The insolent brat was clearly trying to make him feel guilty. He'd probably hoped Snape would feel wretched upon finding the Boy Who Lived cowering like an infant in a hidden corner.

He moved forward to yank open the door. Yes, this had to be some attempt at manipulation. He knew Potter; the boy was too much of a prideful fool to indulge in cowardice even when it was warranted.

Snape welcomed the renewed irritation he felt when he pulled the boy out into the light.

The boy winced at the brightness, contorting his bruised face into a cringe. Something unpleasant clenched in Snape's gut at the visible evidence of his earlier brutality. The boy's face was swollen. His eye was ringed with a deep, purple bruise that stood starkly against the pale skin. His throat was covered in scratch marks. His eyes lingered on the last. For a moment, he was overcome with déjà vu so powerful that it was as though he himself couldn't breathe.

Potter stared at him blearily, seemingly unsteady on his feet and somewhat dazed. Snape remembered only now the glassy look he'd seen in the boys eyes, how confused and disoriented he'd looked earlier when he ordered the boy from the room after their confrontation.

There was an odd and unsettling lack of expression on his face then, and there still was now. The bruising dulled his green eyes, and they followed Snape's every movement with that intent and unwavering focus born of anxiety. Snape felt mounting irritation at the boy's clear unease, and shoved him over onto the bed so he could interrogate the brat without being confronted by the spectacle of Potter collapsing on his face in a fit of nerves.

It was only when the boy flattened himself against the far wall that Snape admitted to himself he'd perhaps been unnecessarily harsh earlier.

He was talented at potions and defense. He was even more talented at the dark arts. But verbally rending an opponent to shreds... That had always been his unique skill. Weaknesses were so very easy to pinpoint. And after the stupid, imbecilic, idiot boy had dared to try that spell on him, he'd attacked exactly where he knew it would hurt.

They were fresh from an Occlumency lesson, and images of an unconscious Granger, an incoherent Weasley, and a dying Black had still flittered through his thoughts. It was simple to attack the boy where it would sting.

His friends. His Muggle relatives. His Godfather.

Oh, but especially that last one. That one brought a flinch in even the most benign circumstances. That one hurt.

Sometimes in recent days when he said something particularly blistering, something that hit Potter where it really stung, he'd seen the boy flinch and on some level relished that he could hurt the Headmaster through this boy. Dumbledore's heart ached along with that of Severus's misbegotten son. More than anything he wanted Dumbledore to suffer from the same pain he himself was experiencing.

It wasn't just the boy he'd lashed out at, after the brat had tried the memory charm. It was Dumbledore. Dumbledore suffering for that damn spell. For everything he'd done to Snape. Merlin, how he wished he'd had a chance to hurt the old man before the man had obliviated him. If he'd simply reacted quickly enough, if he hadn't indulged in one stunned moment, providing the older wizard with an opening...

But... perhaps he'd overreacted. Yes, he'd hurt the boy. He'd given him that black eye. Self-defense. Potter would have finished that spell, otherwise.

But the constrictive spell... Severus looked again at the wound where the boy had clawed at his own throat, and couldn't help but feel uneasy. He still remembered that powerless feeling as it clamped around his neck, crushed his chest, helpless as his father, his own father--

Damn this stupid, stupid boy.

Potter was watching him warily. He'd pulled out the scar-in-pain excuse for his infantile behavior. Snape was glowering at him, searching the boy's eyes for the lie.

You were just trying to manipulate me, and you know it, you insolent brat!

It took Snape a moment to realize that he saw nothing in Potter's eyes. He leaned closer and delved more furiously into the boy's surface thoughts. Or tried to.

He encountered only a blank fog.

"Potter!" he barked.

Potter jumped, and flattened himself against the wall, his entire body wrought with tension; Snape cursed himself for his fleeting sensation of remorse.

"Yes, sir?"

Snape considered him a moment. Could the boy actually have done it? Was it possible...?

"Does your scar still hurt?"

That was clearly not the question the boy had anticipated. His shoulders sagged as he visibly relaxed. "No, sir. I told you, it's fine now."

Snape raised an eyebrow; it didn't escape his notice that the boy was addressing him as 'sir'. He usually had to force that appellation out of the boy.

"And this..." Snape gestured vaguely to the still-open closet. Was the boy to be believed? "Going in there made the pain stop?"

Potter shot the closet a wary glance. "Yes, sir."

"Why?"

The boy thought about it a long moment. "I don't know, sir. It's dark and quiet. I feel sa--well, relaxed. Peaceful. It's like I don't have to worry about anything anymore. It worked this summer, too. With the cupboard. Er... I'm not exactly sure why."

He eyed the boy speculatively. Did the boy even realize what he'd done?

"Potter," Snape said slowly, wondering just how the boy could be so daft. "What do you think Occlumency is?"

Potter looked confused, and Snape felt irritated. All those months he'd spent instructing the boy and he still hadn't acquired a basic comprehension of what Occlumency entailed?

"You clear your thoughts," Snape explained, speaking with as much patience as he could force into his voice. "You calm yourself and let go of the emotions that allow intruders access to your mind."

Snape turned away from the boy, gazing at the closet again with some disbelief.

"I wouldn't have thought to supplement your training with a..." he eyed the narrow darkness distastefully. "...prop of any kind, but it appears to have worked for you." He looked back at the boy, and saw that the young imbecile still wasn't grasping his meaning. He sighed impatiently. "You've been performing Occlumency for months! You demonstrate nothing but complete ineptitude in our sessions, yet you've found a way to shut your mind off to the Dark Lord on your own."

Potter blinked, then looked cautiously pleased. "Oh... Wow. I hadn't considered--I didn't realize--"

"Of course you didn't realize it, you daft boy," Snape said impatiently. "Hence why I'm explaining it to you."

The look of pride deserted Potter's face.

Snape narrowed his eyes, surveying the boy clinically. Somehow Potter had accomplished it. Now, to harness those abilities in practical situations...

"We'll need to work at applying your Occlumency skills in the real world, now, Potter," Snape said. "We need to pinpoint what it is about sequestering yourself in this space that helps you to clear your mind, and duplicate that effect."

"Right," Potter said tersely, eyes flashing with determination. The black ring of bruises around one of them somehow muted the effect.

Snape rolled his eyes. "I suppose you'll need a healing spell first."

The boy's expression clouded in confusion for the briefest moment. "What do you... Oh, this? Uh, it's no problem. I guess I deserved it."

Snape felt an odd, unpleasant sensation at the words, instinctively knowing there was something very wrong with the boy's response, but his voice when he spoke remained cold and heartless. "You did. You should never have attempted that spell."

The boy had the grace to look ashamed.

Snape relented. For some reason, he simply didn't feel like pursuing the conversation to its proper conclusion--namely a beaten and humiliated Harry Potter. "But I regret striking you. And my... subsequent behavior."

Oh, but those words had been hard to say.

Snape was alarmed to see tears suddenly glimmer in Potter's eyes. He was just about to recoil from the spectacle, when the boy just as quickly blinked them away, his face again impassive and neutral.

"You were only telling the truth," Potter said dully. "I'm glad someone finally did."

I do not think you're at fault for Black's death. He nearly said so, but clamped down upon the words. He was still angry, furious with the little brat. Memory Charms, indeed. Let the boy's heart bleed for awhile. It was the least of what he deserved.

With an angry swipe of his wand, Snape healed Potter's black eye. With more precision and a darker feeling churning inside him, he also healed the scratch marks on the boy's throat. When he lowered his wand, he found Potter's gaze resting on him again. This time green eyes glinted with cold anger.

"I take it you reported Tonks."

Snape smirked sadistically. If the boy had any functioning neural activity, he'd realize that Snape had no grounds to report that depraved woman's actions. He could hardly tell the Ministry he'd come by his knowledge in an Occlumency lesson. And he wasn't about to lose for the Order a valuable auror.

No, he had not reported her, but let the boy think so. He needed to impress upon the brat the repercussions of his actions. "Oh, but of course," he said silkily. "The ministry was most distressed to hear one of their own had fallen into such sordid practices. It can only be Azkaban for that one."

Potter's eyes were burning with fury and hatred. "You look so pleased with yourself. Just like the day Professor Meeran was killed, and you stood there, gloating. Does it make you happy to destroy people's lives? To watch them suffer?"

Snape's anger flared back to life. His voice was a deadly quiet whisper. "Nymphadora Tonks is reaping the consequences of her actions."

"You were a Death Eater! You weren't always a spy," Potter accused. "Did you ever reap the consequences of that? You murdered people, I bet, but here you are, walking free and teaching us Potions!"

Snape was about to point out that hammering knowledge into the brains of dunderheads like Potter was as horrendous as any stay in Azkaban, but the boy wasn't finished.

"Tonks didn't even hurt anyone," Potter said hoarsely. "She was... she was there for me. She was the only one who gave a damn. I think..." The boy looked away for a long moment, as though realizing something for the first time. "I think I'm in love with her." His eyes flew back to Snape's. "How could that be so wrong?"

"Oh, you're in love with her," Snape drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll go firecall the ministry right now and demand they revoke the charges. Nymphadora Tonks, after all, has rescued the Boy Who Lived from the torment of his teenage hormones!"

The boy's expression darkened. "You'll never understand. I bet you've never loved anyone."

Well, no. No, he hadn't. And he'd been none the worse for it.

"Stop wallowing in self-pity, Potter. You'll get none from me."

"I hate you!" Potter rasped.

Snape gazed at him silently a long moment, a hundred stinging retorts leaping to his lips. But really, there were only two words that seemed appropriate. For some reason he felt no need to say them out loud.

I know.

Harry slept poorly that night, tossing back and forth as nightmarish images of Sirius dying and Tonks wasting away in Azkaban drifted through his mind. He could see both their hollow-eyed stares, bleak expressions showing him all the hopelessness and pain he'd brought into their lives as surely as if they leveled words of blame at him. He awoke in the morning feeling nauseated, and curled into a ball to reign in the awful churning in his stomach.

Tonks was going to suffer. Even if she didn't end up in Azkaban, it would be a miracle if they let her keep her job. He could already picture the scorn they'd heap her with for... for despoiling the Boy Who Lived.

Bastards. They didn't know anything. They were going to take her away from him, probably claiming it was for "his own good," but it would only tear a deeper wound in his heart. She'd done nothing but help him. They had no right...

Oh, he'd been an idiot.

He should never have kissed her. Things had been fine before that, curled up on the couch of Grimmauld place as she took him into her arms and played her fingers gently through his hair. He still wasn't sure what prompted her to do it; it was not like he'd been crying or anything. He never cried if he could help it.

He'd been staring into space, feeling empty, wondering why Remus wasn't answering his owls, trying with all his heart not to think of Sirius. He hadn't even heard her come in. But once she was holding him, and once he no longer felt odd and uncomfortable with the foreign feeling another's arms wrapped around him, a strange emotion arose within him. He never wanted it to end.

He was the one who had crossed that fatal line. A stupid boy, like Snape always said, caught in the alien warmth of affection, he changed everything in an instant by turning his head and pressing his lips to hers.

His awareness caught up with him moments later, and he was mortified when he pulled back and beheld the stunned expression on her face.

"I-- I'm sorry!"

Harry lurched quickly to his feet and made as if to bolt from the room. A firm grip closed around his wrist before he could run, and he froze, daring only to breathe.

"Harry, look at me."

It was with the greatest reluctance he dragged his gaze to meet hers. Everything inside him bubbled with shame and horror; he'd ruined it. She wouldn't come back now. She wouldn't--

He hadn't realized another apology was stammering from his lips until she silenced him. There was a sweet and playful glint in her eyes; her fingertips tickled across his cheek, sending delightful chills down his spine.

"I don't mind," Tonks murmured, and her smile coaxed that warm feeling back to life. She gripped his collar and pulled him closer, lips descending upon his. Everything within him that had moments before felt dead flared to vibrant life.

He felt it now, remembering how later they'd maneuvered their way across the room. Tonks stumbled over the table, grabbed his shoulders for balance, and ended up pulling him down to the floor with her. They lay on the ground, side by side, laughing uncontrollably. His laughter died down when he needed to catch his breath. He rolled over to watch her while she was still chuckling, and he literally couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. It was the first time since losing Sirius that he'd felt so happy.

Now the memory was overshadowed with his terrible anxiety, the horror lurking in the back of his thoughts.

He had to owl Dumbledore. Dumbledore could help Tonks, he knew it! Or at least he could tell Harry something about what was happening to her. Had she already been arrested? When was she on trial? Harry could claim that Snape was lying. But what if they used veritaserum..?

He thrust his head out the window, searching the morning sky for a white blur. His frustration mounted as he realized Snape's owlery was inaccessible to him while these damn wards were in place.

He interrogated the house-elf about it as soon as she entered the room, and Minky quickly scuttled out, babbling something about Master Severus forbidding communication.

"Not safe, not safe. Nasty birds put masters in terrible danger!"

Harry tried opening the door again; locked. His spells reverberated pointlessly off the unyielding brass. In desperation, he tried to climb out his window, ignoring the ominous drop yawning below him. An invisible barrier halted his attempt and propelled him back through the window and to the floor of his room.

Several minutes more he searched frantically for an escape route, anger and anxiety steadily mounting. He even resorted to sweeping his hands over the walls, pressing on any uneven surface that could serve as a hidden trigger for a secret passageway. It was all fruitless.

At last, a wave of resignation crashed over him. Dejected, he returned mindlessly to bed.

He remained in his chambers until the early afternoon, watching the sunlight creep up the far wall. Minky interrupted his brooding twice to plant food before him, and he picked at it listlessly. He mashed up the quiche and dropped it in the rubbish bin. The soppy, green soup he poured down the drain in the bathroom adjoining his room. He had no appetite, and he did not want Snape bursting through the door, berating him for a fool for not eating up before Occlumency.

He could hear the snide voice already: "Sulking, Potter?"

Besides, a few minutes more of that stench of boiled peas and chicken bullion, and he truly would have emptied the contents of his stomach all over Snape's floor.

Harry felt half-dead to the world by the time Minky arrived to usher him into Snape's study for another Occlumency session. He followed her with leaden footsteps, too exhausted and heartsick to even nurse his anger towards this man who shared at least some of his guilt for the fates of two people he loved. He knew that, in the end, it was not Snape he could attribute the worst of it to. Harry had killed Sirius; Harry had betrayed Tonks. Snape had only done as Snape always did, acted with his predictable malice, and as much as he hated the bastard for it, the failure was Harry's to bear.

He should have guarded that memory with his life.

He felt a renewed surge of anger and anxiety upon entering the dimly-lit study and spotting the imposing figure standing with his arms crossed by the white light of the window.

"Shut the door behind you, Potter."

Harry wearily obeyed. Snape instructed him to stand in the center of the room, and he trudged over with leaden feet.

"Close your eyes. I will construct an enclosed alcove around you."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling distinctly uncomfortable knowing Snape loomed only a few feet away. He wasn't entirely sure what Snape had in mind with this; he knew he wasn't going to let go of his anxieties standing here, unseeing, before an armed and irate Snape.

"Concentrate, now."

He heard Snape mumbling a quiet incantation, and the air around him thickened and solidified. Harry could feel it with the tips of his fingers. The solid air immediately began to draw closer, enclosing him in an invisible cocoon. It became smaller and smaller around him.

Panic leapt through him; he couldn't help but wonder if these compressing walls were some variation of Snape's constrictive spell. He flung out his arms to hold back the barrier. They strained against it for one fearful moment, and the walls abruptly dissolved into nothingness. He stumbled forward to his knees.

It took him several deep breaths to reign in his panic, his heart pounding relentlessly in his ears. Then slowly, his gaze crept up to meet Snape's, and he steeled himself for the reprimand.

Something odd flashed over Snape's expression. To Harry's disbelief, the man seemed to bite back a comment and retreated several feet, casting his eyes around the room.

"Perhaps that's not the most appropriate spell for this exercise," Snape muttered, almost to himself.

He watched incredulously as his professor ran a long finger across the thin line of his lips, seeming to ponder this new dilemma. Harry was unable to believe he'd been let off the hook so easily, without even one snide remark. For a brief moment, he was tempted to ask whether the professor was quite well today, but he bit back the impulse, unwilling to shatter this tentative civility.

He was grateful that Snape seemed to be refraining from insulting and belittling him at every possible juncture. Harry was trying to let go of his anxiety and clear his thoughts; there was no way he could listen to Snape's words and remain unmoved.In truth, he was more terrified by what could come out of Snape's mouth than what could come out of Snape's wand.

You just hate that Snape is honest, a voice whispered to him, the harsh truths of the other day drifting back into his thoughts.

Harry's shoulders sagged a bit; he was suddenly overwhelmed again with the awful feelings raging through him. He might have finally figured something out about Occlumency, but it was still six months too late. He'd already done the worst of it; killed Sirius, injured his friends, failed everyone. And even if the situation today demanded he close his mind, what would it demand tomorrow? What other arts and skills would Harry fail to master?

How could these people expect him to defeat Voldemort?

His fears and anxieties filled his thoughts, and thus when Snape abruptly turned back to him, wand drawn, Harry jumped back several steps and nearly stumbled over the arm of a chair.

The man stood there, watching him dourly. Harry muttered a breathless apology and righted himself.

"We'll take this approach, Potter. I'll cast a translucence charm on one of the closet doors," Snape said, refraining from comment on Harry's antsy display. "You will duplicate the actions you performed yesterday. I will inquire as to your thoughts and feelings at regular intervals, and when I feel you've sufficiently prepared yourself, I will cast a legilimens upon you."

Harry shuddered at the thought of crouching in a narrow space as Snape watched him, or repeating for Snape the words that ran through his head every time he allowed his emotions to fade away.

Worthless freak. Stupid little boy. No one sees. No one cares. You'll never amount to anything. No one wants you. No one needs you. Worthless, worthless...

And he didn't want Snape to know just how comforting those words were.

His mouth felt dry. "I... uh, it doesn't really work that way."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Then how does it work, Mr. Potter? Do enlighten me."

Harry shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. He wanted to be anywhere else. "It's just not something I can do on command... With you monitoring me, or whatever. I just..." He found the words caught in his throat, and he forced an angry breath from his lips, suddenly very sick of this entire situation. "I can keep Voldemort out of my head. You said so yourself! So why do I need to do this?"

"You can prevent the Dark Lord from penetrating your mind during your sleep, true," Snape said coldly, his sneer showing his disdain for Harry's middling feat. "You cannot, however, pinpoint exactly how you've been doing this, nor can you withstand a direct assault upon your mind should he choose to possess you again. Thick though you are, Potter, surely even you can understand why this is necessary."

"Why a translucence charm?" Harry demanded. He didn't want Snape just sitting there... observing him like some science project.

"I've told you eye-contact is crucial to legilimency," Snape said, looking increasingly impatient. "Even a legilimens of my skill requires some visual perception of a target."

Target. Oh, how Harry hated Occlumency.

Snape seemed to sense his continued hesitation, for his patience abruptly wore thin. "We can do it the other way again if you'd prefer, Potter!"

"No!" Harry said quickly. No, he didn't like that other way. Those invisible, magic walls commanded by Snape, compressing around him like a chokehold...

He couldn't do this. He couldn't do it with Snape watching. He couldn't just feel Snape's eyes on him as he tried to immerse himself in images of the cupboard under the stairs. The whole point of that had been to escape the wizarding world. Now he had to twist even that method of escape into the service of his lofty, heroic goals?

He wondered then if he could do it again even without Snape watching. Knowing he was performing Occlumency, that those times he had been trying to escape his responsibilities, if only in his mind, had actually been productive... It made those small intervals of peace count for something; they were now important.

Important.

He suddenly felt weak under the pressure of it.

"I'm waiting, Potter!"

Harry was abruptly torn from his thoughts, and he looked at the glowering man across from him with what could only be construed as mute panic.

"Professor..."

He wanted to explain, but his voice cracked on the word, and Harry fell silent. Nervously he pushed his glasses further up onto his nose, unaware of how violently his hand trembled.

Snape's eyes narrowed, his lips curling down into a scowl. "What's wrong, Potter?" he inquired snidely. "Is our boy hero having an attack of nerves?"

He was. He most certainly was. Harry avoided Snape's eye and remained silent.

There was a tense silence, and then a long-suffering sigh from in front of him. Snape waved his wand to unlock the door to the study. Harry glanced up hopefully, thinking that perhaps Snape was letting him leave, but Snape walked by him instead.

"Wait here," he ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. He sent Harry a suspicious glance before closing the door behind him. Harry heard it lock again.

He stood there before Snape's desk, wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers. He felt only slightly calmed by Snape's absence from the room. He attempted to concentrate on his breathing in the quiet study, but found himself instead listening to the crackling of the flames in the hearth. Harry was just pondering the wisdom of moving over to bask in its heat when Snape abruptly returned, a vial clutched in his long, white fingers.

"Drink," he said calmly, holding it out for Harry.

Harry made no move to take it, glaring suspiciously at the substance. Did Snape think he was mad? Last time he'd drunk one of Snape's concoctions, he'd awoken three inches shorter, in complete agony.

"Whatever it is, I don't want it," Harry said resolutely.

"You will drink this Potter, and then we will cease dawdling and carry on with the lesson," Snape said in a hard tone. His eyes glittered, daring Harry to refuse.

He felt an uneasy flutter in his stomach at Snape's dark look, and he took the vial from Snape's grasp. The substance looked vaguely familiar. He raised it to the light to study it more closely.

"I don't expect you to recognize it," Snape sneered. "It's regularly brewed by those with a far superior grasp of potions than you."

Harry glared at him coldly, suddenly remembering exactly what this potion was. "A Calming Draught. I know. We brewed it in second year."

Snape gave him a mocking smile and applauded faintly. "Congratulations, Potter. You've never before shown such aptitude for potions. A pity you failed to demonstrate it in class."

Harry's fingers tightened around the vial. "I have a significantly better grasp of potions than you think," he said coldly. "If you weren't so busy punishing me for the actions of a man who wasn't even my father, you would have realized that!"

Snape's retort was lost in Harry's surprise at his own words. It was the first time he'd admitted out loud that he wasn't a Potter. Snape still called him by that surname, inside he still felt as though he were the son of James and Lily, but in reality, he was the son of the bitter man standing before him.

It simply boggled the mind.

Snape was glaring at him expectantly, and suddenly Harry welcomed the idea of a Calming Draught. He'd never get through this otherwise. He would never tear his thoughts from Tonks, Sirius, and the fate of the wizarding world without some artificial means of inducing peace of mind.

He downed it, and the effects hit him almost immediately. A vague, syrupy feeling seeped through his brain, enveloping his thoughts, extinguishing the trivial anxieties, such his sudden concern that his empty stomach would not take well to the potion. The more serious fears failed to die in their entirety, but they drifted away from him, retreating from his surface thoughts.

A heavy weight crept into his stomach. In some vague, distant part of his mind, he felt reassured that Snape hadn't doctored this potion at least. He suspected it was the stronger variant of the draught, but there were no unexpected effects. The study, bathed in the warm firelight, took on almost a dreamlike quality, and even Snape's dark, querulous figure, still hovering above him, lost some of its sharp edges.

"Are you quite ready?"

Snape's voice was lined with thinly veiled irritation. Harry noted it with a certain degree of indifference, and nodded absentmindedly.

"Sure, why not." Half-knowing what he was doing, he lowered himself to the floor before Snape. "Cast that spell again." An idea drifted to him, and he raised his arms out to his sides. "But I don't want the walls any closer than this."

Snape stared at him a long moment that seemed to stretch longer in the gentle haze of Harry's mind. "Are you certain you're willing to engage in this method? With a translucence spell, one of the closets--"

A part of Harry registered surprise at Snape's hesitation. It was highly uncharacteristic of him to be concerned with Harry's discomfort.

"It's fine. Just stop moving the walls in when I tell you," he heard himself reply.

With an unfathomable expression on his face, Snape again muttered the incantation that solidified the air. Harry felt the invisible walls creep closer, this time without any accompanying fear. And when he told Snape to stop, beginning to feel slightly cramped, the walls retreated several centimeters.

That was nice of him, Harry thought with an absent smile, leaning back against the invisible wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of Snape watching him speculatively.

"You should know, Potter, that I don't intend this potion to be a crutch." He sounded as though he spoke form a great distance. "The goal here is to eliminate your emotional impediments so we can discern exactly what techniques you've been using. I'll expect you to master your anxiety during your next occlusion attempt."

"Hmm. Right," Harry said absently. He felt very, very good. The draught seemed to be getting stronger. He let his eyes drift closed, enjoying a vague, floaty sensation.

"Potter! You are not wasting my time by falling asleep."

Harry reluctantly opened his eyes again, mustering the strength to shoot Snape a half-hearted glare.

"Yes, sir."

Snape scowled at Harry's easy manner. He must hate seeing me in a good mood, Harry reflected calmly.

He hadn't realized he'd given voice to the thought until Snape snorted from the other side of the invisible walls. "This variant of the Calming Draught is laced with an opiate. You're 'in a good mood' because you're in a narcotic-induced haze. Do not enjoy it too much, Potter. I would not have administered it if I'd had another variant at hand. As it is, I'm wondering if I overestimated the dosage."

"Opiate, eh? Never knew you chased the dragon, Professor," he mumbled, letting his eyes sink closed again.

There was a short silence. Then, "It's purely for practical reasons. Opiates neutralize the more deleterious effects of the Cruciatus Curse."

Harry wondered idly if Snape used it a lot. He'd only seen glimpses of Death Eater gatherings, but he'd seen enough to know Voldemort could be brutal with his underlings.

Snape's footsteps traveled across the floor. "Stay awake, Potter, or I'll feed you the neutralizing potion."

Harry wanted to protest. He liked the way he felt, and he really didn't want Snape taking it away. The objection died on his lips. If the only way to keep this delightful feeling was to stay awake, he would stay awake.

Focus, Harry.

He sat up straighter and looked blearily at Snape through the invisible barrier. "So, what now?"

Snape held his gaze levelly a moment, clearly assessing the draught's effects on his system. When he gave a short, satisfied nod at Harry's level of coherence, he waved his wand and sent the world into darkness.

Harry blinked into the blackness, mildly disconcerted. Had he fallen asleep after all?

"Sir?" he called timidly.

"Out here, Potter," came Snape's voice. "I blocked the light from your enclosure."

"Oh."

"Rest assured, I can still see you." Snape's voice sounded closer. "Do not take this as an opportunity to relax."

The thought of Snape watching him didn't bother Harry as much as it had earlier. The wonderful, floaty sensation that accompanied the draught had reared back up with the blackness. The enclosed space spun in gentle circles around him.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," Harry answered, not entirely sure what he was ready for.

What was he here to do, again? Oh yes, Occlumency. Right.

A picture of the Dursleys briefly flashed through his head, but he couldn't retain it. He gave it a few more token attempts. Bacon, stairs... Oh, he felt so nice. Why break this by thinking of those people? He surrendered to the delightful, peaceful feeling once again.

"You're not trying, Potter," he heard Snape growl. "This is a pitiful performance. I can only hope in later years you'll hold your alcohol more successfully than you do this draught."

Even amidst his woozy state, Harry felt the slightest bit offended. Snape clearly didn't think he was man enough to handle his potions. "It's just because I didn't eat today," he found himself explaining. "I could hold it just fine, otherwise. And you know what, Snape? I bet I could drink you under the table if we had some firewhiskey handy."

Well, he couldn't substantiate that last claim. Actually, he wasn't sure why he'd made it. He was a terrible drunk. He'd just heard Seamus bellow one time that--

"You are an absolute imbecile, Potter," Snape snarled. "I've told you time and again you need energy before an Occlumency session! You have just wasted my time and a valuable potion."

He heard the rustle of Snape's robe, and light abruptly flooded his vision. Snape's pale, pinched face looked absolutely livid.

His anger disturbed Harry beneath the soothing effects of the drug. He cast about for the reason for Snape's anger, and somehow his mind wrapped around it. Oh, of course... The food thing...

"You wanted to test my Occlumency skills," he said, half-aware of what he was trying to say. "It really is easier to pretend I'm in the cupboard if I haven't eaten at all. Not that they never fed me, mind you, it's just that I was hungry more often than not, so if I'd eaten a full course buffet like your house-elf kept bringing--"

"What on earth are you talking about, Potter?

"I mean," Harry fumbled a second, uncertain what his point was. What was his point? "It's not like it is with Dudley-- he's practically a whale." He felt confused, an image of a slimmer, more muscular Dudley flashing through his head. "Well, not now so much now. I'm kind of glad those Dementors came because I think he'd--"

"Your earlier point, Potter," Snape broke in impatiently. "You go into a closet to pretend you're in a cupboard? That's what is entailed in this vaunted new Occlumency technique?"

He wasn't sure what Snape meant by 'vaunted.' He was probably making fun of Harry somehow.

"Yes--" he stopped. "Actually, no..." He felt vaguely like he was explaining something to a particularly dull-witted child. "At the Dursleys I'm already in the cupboard, so I don't have to pretend I'm in a cupboard--"

"The sole act of sitting in a cupboard occludes your mind?"

Snape said it like it was strange. Maybe Snape was claustrophobic and couldn't imagine willingly getting in a cupboard.

"Oh, I like it there," Harry volunteered helpfully. "At least I do now. I can't stand up in it anymore, but I could when I was little. It helps with the scar a lot; they haven't made me stay there since they gave me Dudley's second bedroom--"

"I don't understand what you're trying to say."

Snape sounded confused. It was such an alien tone in his voice that Harry glanced at his baffled expression.

"I just mean I never have to sleep in there anymore. It's just nice to go there when my scar hurts." He rubbed his forehead unconsciously. He was glad that it wasn't hurting. "I'm too big to live in it now. But I bet if I'd never gotten those Hogwarts letters, I'd still be in the cupboard--"

"Your cousin had a second bedroom," Snape said disbelievingly. "And you lived in a cupboard."

"I didn't live there," Harry mumbled, suddenly feeling a bit sleepy. In the back of his mind, he registered some concern about the content of the conversation, but he wasn't certain just why it bothered him. "I got to leave during the day for school, and when I had to cook meals and stuff. And even when they were mad they still took me out to use the loo--"

"Merlin's beard, Potter, are you inventing this nonsense?"

Snape sounded angry again.

Harry blinked up at him, trying to sort out what had made Snape angry now. His thoughts drifted over the conversation; why was Snape mad? What had he invented?

Ah. He knew now. Well, he hadn't invented that… but he might have exaggerated just a bit.

"Okay, so Dudley's not really the size of a whale," Harry admitted. "But he's still really fat."

The invisible wall he was leaning against abruptly vanished and Harry found himself lying, disoriented, on the carpet. He gazed up at the ceiling, wondering why his eyes were acting funny. He still had his glasses on, so it wasn't his poor eyesight...

Harry gathered the wits to push himself up and glance around the room. He was surprised to find himself alone.

Another Occlumency session utterly wasted. This was becoming an unwelcome routine.

His thoughts did not dwell upon the boy's words. Potter clearly did not take well to opiates; that's all there was to it. He stalked into his private lab, in search of a counter-agent, hoping to administer it sooner rather than later. He had no desire to monitor the boy all night for deleterious side effects from what was clearly an over-powerful dose of the Calming Draught; he had neither the patience nor the inclination to play nursemaid to the Boy Who Lived if he chose to empty his stomach during the night.

In any case, the nonsense coming from Potter's lips had been grating at his nerves. None of it could possibly have any grounding in reality.

Or could it?

Snape scowled as he ladled the counter-agent into a beaker. His thoughts ventured back to previous Occlumency sessions, combing through the flashes of Potter's memory for evidence substantiating his incoherent assertions.

He'd never before dwelled upon the content he unearthed in Potter's mind, with the notable exception of the dreams of the previous year, and the liaison with Nymphadora Tonks he'd had the misfortune to witness. It was true he had derived a certain amusement from, say, watching James Potter's son chased up a tree by a dog, or from witnessing James Potter's son bullied by his whale of a cousin, but he'd always held those memories at an objective distance. He was a skilled enough legilimens to differentiate between Potter's memories and his own. They never sprang unbidden to the forefront of his mind as his own memories tended to.

He could remember now, though, those incidents that might indicate there was some truth to Potter's claims. Potter brushing a spider from his leg in a dark, cramped space... Potter in the darkness, shouting through a locked door frantic excuses about his teacher's blue hair... An infuriated, purple-faced man sputtering with rage, "Go -- cupboard -- stay -- no meals..."

No meals.

Severus gazed down at the beaker in his hand as his mind worked out the implications. The potion... the one that had restored the boy's skeletal structure... Snape genes were not responsible for shrinking the boy. The potion was not the culprit...

"Not that they never fed me, mind you, it's just that I was hungry more often than not.."

The boy had been starved.

As soon as the possibility occurred to him, he knew it to be true. The question of why Potter shrank so visibly upon being restored to his natural height had nagged and nagged at Snape's thoughts for a week now. He could not imagine how James Potter had beaten him yet again. And although it had occurred to him in passing that poor eating habits could have contributed to Potter's lack of stature, he'd watched the boy at the table and observed a healthy, teenage appetite.

He could reconcile those two seemingly contradictory truths now.

It was amazing. Absolutely amazing. The Muggle relatives had confined Potter to a cupboard and deprived him of food. Yet Dumbledore maintained he would have been an entirely unsuitable guardian!

He returned to the study and discovered Potter curled up, sound asleep on the carpet. With an exasperated sigh and a flick of his wand, he levitated the boy from the floor and plopped him gently into a chair. Fingering the cold glass vial, he considered Pottter's sleeping form thoughtfully. He knew how Dumbledore cared for the boy. The old wizard could not have known what was happening to him. Had he been cognizant of the boy's mistreatment, there was certainly no way Potter would be lying here today, growth stunted by chronic malnutrition.

How incredible that this man, so omnipresent a figure in his own life, could have been unaware of the extent of Potter's mistreatment. Dumbledore had loved this boy like a child of his own, yet he had been completely ignorant with regards to the boy's living situation.

He set the vial of the counter-agent on the desk, choosing not to administer it and simply to wait the boy out. He would only slumber so long under the influence of the draught, and then, perhaps, they would have a short discussion.

* * *

The boy at last stirred, looking confused, and then wary upon finding himself asleep in the study. Snape wordlessly gestured for Potter to take a seat across the desk from him, and conjured the boy a glass of pumpkin juice. Too thirsty to indulge in his customary suspicion, Potter drank gratefully, occasionally darting glances at Snape where he sat grading papers.

At long last, when the boy had nearly finished the goblet, Snape broached the subject.

"Tell me, Potter," Snape said brusquely. "Is the Headmaster aware your Muggle relatives starved and imprisoned you?"

The boy choked on his pumpkin juice. Snape watched with idle amusement as he coughed it out. Graceless, as usual. When the boy's composure was sufficiently recovered, green eyes grown hollow with panic flew up to meet his. All the color had fled Potter's face, with the notable exception of two fascinating spots of crimson on his cheeks.

"Wh-- wh-- You must be crazy if--"

Snape rolled his eyes at the inarticulate attempt at misdirection.

"Don't bother denying it, Potter. You were forthcoming enough several hours ago about the treatment you received at the hands of your relatives. I require only clarification before I draw conclusions of my own. Now, did the Headmaster know?"

Before he'd even thought to ask the boy this, he knew what the answer was. Of course Dumbledore had not known. Whatever else weighed on the mind of the old wizard, he genuinely loved his little boy hero. Severus knew that all too well. Had he known of the abuse, Dumbledore would either have removed Potter from the Dursley household altogether, or he would have descended upon those Muggles with enough ferocity to cow them into treating the boy with more respect.

Did Potter know that, however?

Snape felt a surge of vindictive glee when a dark expression stole over the boy's face, green eyes glittering with a long-nurtured hurt and anguish.

"Of course he knew," Potter said bitterly, glaring down at his goblet of pumpkin juice. "The Hogwarts letter he sent me was even addressed to my cupboard."

Foolish boy. Those envelopes were magically addressed. Did he truly believe Dumbledore sat down and carefully wrote them himself?

"I see," Snape said softly, revealing nothing with his tone.

Potter still wasn't looking at him; the boy stared furiously down at the goblet. Who was he angry at? The Muggles? Dumbledore? Himself?

Oh, how he hoped it was Dumbledore the boy was imagining, glaring so fixedly like that. How delicious it would be to know the boy was angry with the Headmaster who so desperately adored him. This man who had treated Severus worse than the shit scraped off a Marauder's boots would reap some of his own back.

Snape could detect embarrassment amidst that anger and resentment. The knuckles of the boy's hand, gripped tightly around the goblet, had turned stark white.

"You've never told anyone about this, have you?" Snape realized suddenly. "I'm the first to discover your mistreatment."

"The Dursleys know," Potter retorted tartly, cheeks growing redder still, steadfastly refusing to meet Snape's eyes.

Snape stared at him. How remarkable. How simply remarkable.

What a marvelous quirk of fate, that he was the one gifted with this information. Potter clearly didn't realize it, but Severus did-- this new tidbit of knowledge was sheer power. It could tear straight into Dumbledore's sentimental heart, were he to learn of the maltreatment to which he'd consigned the boy.

You concealed him from me for his protection, Snape thought, darkly amused. Oh, look what you did to him, Headmaster. Look at your marvelous work.

"I told you, they never exactly starved me," Potter insisted suddenly, still avoiding Snape's eyes. "They just wouldn't let me eat sometimes. And they never imprisoned me."

"No?"

"No!" Potter glared up at him fiercely. "Not like you have, for absolutely no reason. It was only when I was in trouble."

Well, perhaps the boy had a point there. He really had no immediate justification for confining the boy to his room. Snape certainly wasn't willing to concede it, though.

"Ah... I remember," Snape said, in a mock-thoughtful tone. "I truly am a monster next to your beloved Muggles. I dared thrust you into an opulent bedchamber, whereas they accorded you the grand privilege of a cupboard. You have free access to the facilities under this roof, but they let you out to... use the loo, I believe you said. I suppose they were kind enough to regiment your restroom privileges as well?"

Potter looked impossibly more embarrassed.

Snape smiled ruthlessly, pressing his advantage. "How many times a day would they let you out, Potter? Twice? Three times?"

Something that flickered in the boy's eyes caught him off guard. Shame. Humiliation. Had they seriously--

"There was a fixed number?" Snape said incredulously. Really he'd just hoped to get a rise out of the boy. He hadn't thought...

Potter was glaring at the goblet again. This time Snape had no trouble guessing that Potter was glaring at it in lieu of him.

"Twice. But I'd sneak out at night if I had to," Potter muttered. "I couldn't once I was in Dudley's room, because it had locks, but I could always get out of the cupboard."

Snape knew he should be processing this information in context of the Occlumency lessons he'd been trying to teach the boy, but really... This was simply too revealing.

The boy suddenly made sense, now that he knew of his upbringing. Potter's irascibility, his refusal to obey simple instructions, to trust others who clearly knew better than he did. The defiance with which he'd always greeted Snape's attempts to reign in his unruly behavior. How could he bend to authority? It had always been used against him.

His theory was quickly confirmed when Potter blustered, voice loud with false bravado, "I suppose you're going to tell your nasty Slytherins all about this, aren't you. Well, guess what? I don't care at all. And you can tell Draco Malfoy to--"

"Of course I won't tell them, P--" He stumbled over the name a moment, "Harry."

That shocked the boy. Potter suddenly looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time, blinking dumbly.

"There are some things that can be kept in confidence between a father and son," Snape added delicately.

He smirked inwardly at the sheer astonishment that overtook the boy's features. Really, did the child believe he'd so quickly surrender such potent knowledge without first exploiting it?

Oh, but he intended to exploit it fully. He intended to make Dumbledore bleed with the pain of it.

He didn't expect Potter to see it from that angle. The boy might be a Snape, but he was not a Slytherin. He could see the slow mechanisms of the Gryffindor brain working out the details, trying to discern the motives in Snape's seemingly baffling behavior. Potter was, however, utterly ignorant of Severus's history with the Headmaster, thus he had no key to unlock the mystery of Snape's thoughts.

He would not realize the weapon he had handed over so unwittingly. He would not read into this discretion the tactic it truly was.

And although this knowledge would be a useful tool in time, at the moment, keeping this secret could also prove a vehicle straight into the boy's confidence...

"You won't tell them?" Potter said disbelievingly, as though unable to believe his luck. "Really? But, they'd love to hear it. I bet Malfoy would get off on it. Why--"

"Why would I?" Snape said softly. "Slytherin may be my house, but you, after all, are my blood."

Damn. The boy's eyes narrowed with what could only be suspicion. Perhaps he'd pressed too far, too quickly.

Well, perhaps now was an opportune moment for some simple misdirection.

"This revelation does shed light on something that rather confused me before, I admit."

Potter glanced up at him curiously, the suspicion vanishing from his features.

Good. Very good.

Snape retrieved the crowning item from his desk drawer and placed it with an audible thump before the startled boy. Potter stared at the book for a drawn-out second, then turned his astonished green eyes to Snape.

Snape held his gaze as the boy scrutinized him warily, intently. And then a cautious sense of understanding stole over Potter's face, tinged with some disbelief.

Yes, Potter, Snape thought idly. In this issue, we will have an understanding.

He thumped the book with his palm, drawing the boy's eyes back to it.

"Nothing life-threatening, Potter," he said sternly. "You don't want to go to Azkaban for killing a Muggle."

Potter's expression was entirely unreadable.

Suddenly feeling a bit uneasy, Snape leaned over to catch the boy's eye. "If you attempt to cast any of these on me," he said in a soft, threatening voice, "I will show you just how dark these curses can get. Understood?"

Potter nodded mutely, seemingly unable to tear his gaze from Kinship and Related Curses where it rested innocuously on the edge of the desk. With a smirk the boy failed to catch, Snape amused himself with images of Dumbledore's disappointed expression. He could imagine the Headmaster gazing disapprovingly at him from across the desk, or at Potter, after having to sort out some unfortunate mess in the Muggle household.

He knew now why the boy had wanted this book. And, honestly, he couldn’t say he entirely blamed him. Let Potter wreak some well-placed vengeance. And let the headmaster confront his own mistakes. Severus would relish every moment of it.

The instant Potter used one of the curses in the book against his Muggle relatives, Dumbledore would find out. No one could accuse Snape of directly instigating the confrontation between the Headmaster and the consequences of his mistakes if the revelations stemmed from the boy's own actions.

"I will have the house-elves prepare us some breakfast," Snape told him. "Minky will escort you back to your chambers shortly."

With one last, fleeting glance at Potter, he left the boy where he sat, staring transfixed at the book

He never saw the darkness gathering in the boy's eyes.

In the name of seeming at least slightly more redeemable than the Muggles, Snape again lifted some of the wards to allow Potter movement about the house. He could now access the library, the owlery, and depending upon how tolerant Snape felt at any particular moment, the study.

They saw little of each other apart from their daily Occlumency lesson and their awkward dinners in the dining room. Potter proved much more adept at Occlumency when ensconced in his closet, and Snape was unfortunately forced to curtail his more scathing insults.

"A pity you couldn't match this performance a year ago," he said coldly after one particularly successful session.

Potter, the little prat, had the gall to take it as a complement, and his eyes flashed with bitter triumph as he tucked his wand back into his pocket and fled Snape's presence.

He usually encountered the boy just inside the owlery, where Potter seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time reading Kinship and Related Curses, and gazing listlessly at the sky as if in perpetual wait for something.

On one such encounter, Snape paused upon finding the boy leaning against the wall, gazing down at the book propped open on his lap. The walls bore the tell-tale sign of a hastily-performed scourgify charm; the immediate area around Potter was the only place free of crusted owl droppings.

"I do not see why you insist upon reading up here," Snape complained as he sent his own owl fluttering into the night sky. "The stench alone would drive most people away."

Potter dragged his eyes reluctantly up to meet Snape's. "I like it." He shrugged. "I'm outside, at least."

Snape stared at him a moment. It hadn't occurred to him the boy might miss the sunlight. He himself could tolerate weeks on end cooped up in his potions lab.

Could he trust Potter on his own around the grounds?

Of course not. But perhaps if he were accompanied…

"I'll have Minky escort you into the gardens tomorrow, weather permitting," he offered grudgingly. Then, so as not to seem like he was indulging the brat, he added, "Merry Christmas. Do not expect anything else."

Potter blinked owlishly at him for a moment. Then, "Thanks."

He turned back to the book.

Snape folded his arms across his chest, admittedly curious about just what curse the boy was studying so intently. "I take it you've found something appropriate?"

The boy looked back up again, frustration evident in his face. "No. I haven't." He flipped through the pages carelessly as though to punctuate his point. "There are hundreds of sterility spells--"

"Infecunditas," Snape said dryly. "Quite useful for securing the family fortune for one's own progeny."

"And all the rest seem to be about unfaithful lovers."

"Paecipio infideles is my favorite. 'Admonish the unfaithful.'" He smirked nastily at the boy. "Your father could certainly have used it."

Potter looked at him oddly. Snape felt irritated. Simply because he wasn't married himself did not mean…

His words came back to him.

"Your father."

Ah, that.

He was torn between the urge to correct the mistake, or to just depart this boy's distasteful company.

He settled with the latter.

* * *

Snape was surprised the next morning to receive a parcel from Dumbledore in addition to the small, cursory Christmas gifts the other teachers sent him every year. Usually the old man respected his distaste for this particular custom. McGonagall certainly never did, nor did Flitwick, nor, oddly enough, Trewlaney, but the Headmaster always had.

Receiving useless presents the teachers deemed necessary for his well-being always put him in an awful mood. He could not help but think they were reprimanding him for some behavior or other when Sinistra sent him an assortment of mellowing herbal teas at the same time that Flitwick sent him a primer for easing magic-induced stress. And he would not even mention the shampoo that Trewlaney creature had the nerve to send him two years earlier, claiming her inner eye had anticipated his need for Thicker, Longer, Bouncier Hair in One Month!

He'd complained to Minerva on multiple occasions about the repulsive nature of the custom.

"I do not see why you persist. You'll be sorely disappointed if you expect anything in return."

She smiled thinly, and said, "Perhaps we don't want anything in return, Severus. We might just want to give you something."

Another occasion, she even had the nerve to suggest they sent him presents because they believed him to be lonely. Lonely, indeed! If his fellow Death Eaters and the Dark Lord were taken into account, he had far more intimate ties with a far greater number of acquaintances than any of them…

Hardly a point he could make aloud, of course. But it was true. The Death Eaters were a close lot, bound together in a covenant of hate as well as in servitude to a common Dark Lord.

And apart from his tendency to relay the contents of every meeting to the Headmaster, he carried out the customary functions of any other Death Eater-- raids, the terrorizing of Mudbloods, plotting Dumbledore's grisly demise with a feral glint in his eyes. Never mind that he reported all those assassination plots to the chuckling Headmaster immediately afterwards, and even accepted pointers from him on how to better go about assassinating him. It was the thought that counted.

He attended the social functions-- not entirely unpleasant affairs, assuming the Dark Lord wasn't in a peckish mood and hoping to torture some Muggles, or worse, his own compatriots. Death Eaters were, for the most part, a generous lot; many of the illegal or otherwise questionable ingredients in his Potions stock were at the bequest of other servants of the Dark Lord. All they required in return were debilitating poisons, madness-inducing elixirs, and virility aids.

All in all, he tended to come out on the better end of the bargain.

But now, he opened the Headmaster's gift, sneering in anticipation, and was surprised to discover a pensieve.

He prickled with irritation as he scanned the note… "Severus, please examine the contents… clear some misconceptions…"

He rolled his eyes and cast the note aside. He looked at the pensieve curiously.

Intrigued despite himself, Severus sifted through the memories, catching glimpses of himself as a teenager, as a young man fresh from Azkaban, as a young teacher crouched on the floor of the Potions classroom.

He scowled. If the Headmaster hoped to humiliate him with recollections of Snivellus at his worst, he certainly had succeeded.

A flash of green eyes.

Lily.

This one he would see.

* * *

Lily Potter stood trembling before Dumbledore, just outside Godric's Hollow. There was a hunted, furtive look on her face, and she clutched the infant to her chest as though she thought her visitor meant to steal him.

Dumbledore held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture, concerned for his former pupil and the infant she was shielding from his gaze.

"I received your message," he said carefully. "Minerva told me you seemed distraught."

Lily's green eyes looked manic as she let out a wild laugh. "Oh, just a little." Her haunted gaze traveled down to the infant in her arms. "I--Oh, Merlin. Oh, God."

The blanket shifted just enough for Albus to catch a glimpse of the boy's rosy cheeks and dark eyes--

"His eye color has changed," Dumbledore observed.

He took a tentative step closer to the distressed woman, and she looked up, suddenly appearing very young and very lost. Her grip on the infant relaxed just enough for him to remove the baby from her grasp.

"What have you done to him, Lily?" Dumbledore said gently, delicately lifting the infant from her trembling arms.

"What I had to do," she said in a flat, emotionless tone, watching with hooded green eyes as her child rested in another's arms. "I never realized-- I never thought it could be his, Albus. I didn't think-- we were only together once. One mistake. If I'd known--" She turned emerald eyes glistening with tears up to her mentor. "I couldn’t even tell until a few weeks ago. Thank God James is still off in the mountains, or he'd know it, too... I didn't realize when the baby was first born... But after a few weeks passed… I couldn't see James in the baby's face, not anywhere! And then when I performed the paternity spell…" Her tone grew slightly harder, less hysterical. "They can never know. James would leave me. Don't let that happen, Albus... And Severus-- he'll take my son away. You know he'll do it! If he ever finds out…"

Dumbledore's lips thinned into a grave line. He looked at the child, troubled.

"You've cast a glamour."

She smiled wistfully through her tears. "He looks like his father now-- his true father. James." A note of hysteria crept into her voice, "I didn't think it would make him look exactly like James... I can't even see myself in him now. And his eyes-- James will know once he sees the eyes have changed! Please-- I don’t know how to reverse it. I don't know what to do!"

Dumbledore looked sympathetic, and he thoughtfully looked over the infant. Shifting the baby to one of his arms, he drew out his wand with the other, muttering a soft incantation as he waved it over the boy's eyes.

Lily gasped as the brown slowly crept from his irises, leaving the baby's brilliant green eyes gazing back at her. The eyes she'd gazed into when he was first born.

"Albus, the glamour--"

"Is still intact," he assured her. "I took the liberty of selectively severing one element of it. And I reinforced it for you; it will remain in place even as Harry grows older."

Her eyes shone with tears of gratitude, and Dumbledore's expression was a mixture of compassion and remorse.

The scene vanished.

Abruptly, another memory intimately bound with the previous sprang in its place.

A younger Severus was gazing out into the sky, occasionally shooting seething looks of thinly veiled hostility at the aurors stationed by the entrance. His entire body appeared a coiled mass of tension, the black robes draped like a shroud over his emaciated frame.

Dumbledore stepped into the room, and Severus whirled about to confront him, eyes flashing with a desperate rage.

"This is your amnesty, Dumbledore?" Severus snarled. "Azkaban!?"

Dumbledore hung back by the entranceway.

"I should kill you," Severus rasped. His voice was shaking.

"If you wish to vent your fury upon me, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, "You are perfectly entitled to do so. We have severely misused you. I only warn you that I do not care for your chances of having the conviction overturned, should you act on that impulse."

Severus glared at him darkly, but otherwise said nothing.

"I will do everything in my power to get the sentence revoked, Severus," he said gently, taking a step towards the younger wizard, with the caution one might employ approaching a wild animal. "I swear to you, you will not be in there long."

Severus still looked angry, but some of his terror seeped through to the surface. "After everything I've done for you… Why can't you stop them? Why can't you make them see reason? There must be something you can do! The Dementors…" Severus's eyes looked utterly haunted, and his gaze drifted back out to the morning sky. "The innocent and the ruthless. They say they're the only ones who can withstand them. I am neither."

"It will not be long, Severus, I swear it."

Severus's expression was dark. A calculating gleam appeared in his eye, and the older wizard stiffened almost imperceptibly, anticipating the verbal assault soon to come.

"At least I won't be alone," Severus said.

Dumbledore watched him warily.

"Black," Severus spat the name, "will rot by my side."

Pain stole into the Headmaster's expression. Sirius Black's defection to the Dark Lord clearly wrenched at his heart.

Severus's eyes glinted in satisfaction at seeing Dumbledore hurt, but it quickly melted into the bleakness of his expression.

"There is nothing for me out here," Severus noted quietly. "I have nothing to hope for even if they do release me. Why should I care? What does it matter? They could administer the kiss now, and I'd welcome it --"

"Severus, do not speak this way!"

Dumbledore closed the distance between them and grasped the younger man by his thin shoulders.

"There is always hope, and there is always something to live for."

Dumbledore drew closer to Severus.

* * *

Snape, immersed in the memory, froze upon seeing the look on Dumbledore's face. The entreaty, the remorse.

Dumbledore was about to tell him.

He knew it, he should have known it. He should have realized that Dumbledore came there to say something to him.

He should not have done what he did.

* * *

"There is something for you, too, Severus. It is well past time for you to know this, but I must tell you before you --"

Young Severus looked up at met Dumbledore's eyes hatefully, the betrayal and fury written plainly across his face.

"Yes, there is something for me," Severus said maliciously, interrupting the older wizard. "The knowledge that at this very moment, Black is rotting in Azkaban, and James Potter is rotting in the ground. Your Golden Gryffindors are dead or disgraced. You pardoned Black for his first murderous gesture, and now he's struck down your most beloved Marauder in his second. That is mine."

Dumbledore's expression flickered, his hands slipping from the younger wizard's shoulders.

A chilling smile crept across Severus's lips, one that spoke of all the hatred in his heart.

"That triumph," Severus continued, still smiling that terrible smile, "I will cherish until my dying day."
Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment, as though he felt uncertain just what to do with the younger wizard. At last, the emotion vanished from his eyes, and he again appeared the stoic, serene old wizard Severus had come to know.

"I will get you out of there," Dumbledore quietly pledged. "It will just take time. I--" His expression looked troubled, but the emotions flashed by in an instant. "There will be something waiting for you. I swear it."

* * *

And there had been. He spent three months in Azkaban before the Ministry was suitably convinced he was actually a spy, and he emerged to find a position as Potions Master available for him at Hogwarts. He had blamed Dumbledore for a long time, even after he had secured Snape's release. He'd just known that, had he been one of the golden Gryffindors, Dumbledore would never have permitted the Ministry to send him to Azkaban. Not for a day, not for an hour, and certainly not for three bloody months.

But now, it was a somewhat shaken Severus Snape who retreated from the pensieve, who collapsed into an easy chair for fear his legs would not support him. His thoughts were haunted by those words, by that expression on Albus's face.

"It is well past time for you to know this, but I must tell you before you…"

They had meant nothing in his own memory. The expression on Albus's face, it had been meaningless. It was only upon viewing Dumbledore's memory that they gained significance.

He could have doctored the memory, Snape thought viciously, but even as he considered the idea, he knew it to be untrue. His own recollection of that tumultuous scene, that awful day after his sentencing, played through his mind in perfect accord with what he'd just witnessed.

Why had Dumbledore sent him this pensieve? Did he simply want to flaunt the fact that Snape had had his chance at fatherhood and thrown it away?

He had been about to tell him he had a son. And Severus had launched viciously into his hatred of James Potter, throwing all of Dumbledore's fears back in his face.

No, it wasn't to rub Severus's face in the possibilities he'd lost. Dumbledore wanted him to see exactly why he had concealed the boy from him. Those brief glimpses of the other memories in there-- a haunted man fresh from Azkaban, that incident early in his teaching career when the older wizard discovered him huddling on the floor of his classroom after a negative experience with a disassociative draught… He was trying to show Severus that he'd been protecting a man unprepared for the burden of a child just as much as he'd been sheltering a child from that man.

Had he known about the boy… Had he realized, it would have tugged at his thoughts, even if he let the Muggles keep him. It would have been unacceptable to him for the boy to remain a Potter, but it would have been equally as destructive for him to take the boy in as his own.

Really, would he have been any better as a father when he was younger than he was now?

And he was a terrible father; he could admit that freely. He had no love for the boy, no emotional investment in him other than six years of deep-rooted dislike. No tender feelings had arisen within his breast, and he truly had no desire for them to. He was perfectly content with being an abominable tyrant to the boy, because he couldn't contemplate himself in any other relation to this particular child

It was several hours before he thought to write a response to Dumbledore. Perhaps he should have viewed the rest of the pensieve incidents, but he was disgusted enough with his younger self without viewing memories of those terrible times through another's eyes.

The person Dumbledore had confronted shortly after Severus's trial…

That emaciated, angry, frightened wreck of a wizard…

He'd seen enough of him to last a lifetime.

When he sent the return owl, the contents of his response were etched into his memory.

"Headmaster-- You have proved already you have no respect for the sanctity of my memories, nor have you accorded me my natural rights in other aspects. Do not persist in these expressions of your contempt. I have no wish for anything you have to offer me."

It was a simple message. I do not forgive you. And I will never forget what you did.

Despite his best efforts, though, the fury that had raged through him since that day he uncovered the truth had somewhat abated.

Dumbledore had not taken the boy from him because he thought Severus unworthy. He did not think Snivellus was the scum of the earth.

It shouldn't have meant so much to him, but it did. It meant everything.

Harry was stunned to receive a Christmas present from Tonks.

He stared at the dueling book for several minutes, wondering if she could possibly have sent it before she was sentenced to Azkaban. Then he read her note, dated on December 24th, and he knew the greasy bastard had lied to him.

Tonks wasn't in prison. She said she was perfectly fine, and so busy chasing dark wizards that she needed to delay their getaway until January. She wanted to know what he thought of the weekend of the fifth?

The relief he felt was so palpable that he was hard pressed to even summon the proper anger when he charged into Snape's study.

"Why did you lie about Tonks?" Harry demanded.

"You will do me the courtesy of knocking before you enter, Potter!" Snape snarled. With a wave of his wand, the door slammed closed behind Harry.

"I got a letter from her," Harry said through clenched teeth, feeling a fresh surge of fury at Snape's evasion of the subject. Yes, now he was genuinely mad. "You were lying to me! She's definitely not in Azkaban."

Snape smirked maliciously. "I could firecall the ministry and rectify that, if you wish."

Harry glared him through narrow, green eyes. "You never told them."

The older man folded his arms across his chest, and again Harry had the impression he was being studied like some insect.

"No," Snape admitted. "My intention was to impress upon you the potential consequences of your behavior. It appears to have worked, given your distress these last few days."

Harry stared at him. The man was just so… The sneaky git. No wonder he was the head of Slytherin.

"And that letter is from Miss Tonks?" Snape asked in a frosty voice.

Harry had just a moment to realize he shouldn't have brought it into Snape's office before the professor aimed his wand.

"Incendio!"

Harry yelped, startled, at the sudden sting of heat, and quickly dropped the letter. It was reduced to cinders before it even hit the ground. He cradled his burnt hand, staring in dismay at the dark smudge on the floor.

"You will terminate this liaison, Potter," Snape threatened softly. "Or I assure you, my threats will not be idle in the future."

Harry felt a flash of anger, but he clamped down upon it. He's giving me a choice. He hated the sneaky, manipulative bastard for making him think Tonks was suffering in Azkaban, and he hated him for his meddling… But he had not reported Tonks. That's what mattered. Tonks was okay. She was safe.

Harry swallowed hard. "Fine."

Snape actually looked surprised at his concession. What did the man think? That he'd take the risk of sending Tonks to prison?

He only needed to wait another year. One more year. Seventeen was the age of majority in the wizarding world, and Snape could do nothing after that. Besides, it was not like he couldn't see her. They couldn't have sex, but they could still--

Suddenly Snape stiffened, almost imperceptibly, the expression on his face twisting into something ugly and intimidating.

His eyes snapped to Harry's, and he closed the distance between them in two strides. Harry let out a startled yelp when Snape clamped his hand around his arm and yanked him into the hallway.

"What the hell--"

"Silence!" Snape bellowed, his grip growing impossibly tighter. Harry's feet stumbled beneath him as Snape hauled him down the corridor, and with an unceremonious shove, sent him tumbling back into his bedchamber.

Harry scrambled back up to his feet, sending Snape a furious glare. What the hell was his problem? What minor offence had Harry committed now? For fuck's sake, one minute he was fine, the next--

"You will not leave this room," Snape snarled. "You will not make any noise. If you do, you will regret it immensely!"

Harry could only gape at him soundlessly as he retreated in a swirl of black robes into the hallway. The door slammed closed behind him.

Is he locking me up again? Harry thought desperately, searching through their exchange to find any reason for Snape's sudden fury.

He tried the door and found it locked. Every few minutes he made another attempt. Eventually he curled up into a miserable ball on the bed, watching the sky outside dim with nighttime, thinking longingly of the outside world. Minky was supposed to have taken him out of the house today...

After what seemed an eternity, he heard a click and Snape returned.

Harry glared at him upon his entrance, his rage still burning beneath his skin, but he was also aware of a certain amount of resignation. Really, until he returned to Hogwarts, he was at Snape's mercy. The man could do anything to him, and he was powerless to prevent it.

"What did I do wrong now?" Harry asked bleakly.

For the second time that day, Snape looked somewhat surprised, but the expression quickly vanished. "There is no time for this."

He crossed the room swiftly, drawing his wand, and Harry flinched back away from whatever was coming. Snape halted his steps, holding Harry's gaze levelly for an extended moment.

"Potter," he said carefully. "I'm going to break the glamour charm."

Harry's eyes darted between Snape's wand and his face cautiously. "No potion this time?"

Snape shook his head brusquely, reaching out and grasping Harry's chin to pull the boy's face up. "There is no time."

Harry jerked away from Snape's grip. "I thought you couldn't do it with a wand!"

"An unexpected Christmas gift from the Headmaster. I daresay it wasn't the information he intended to impart," Snape drawled. He grasped Harry's chin again to tilt his head up. "A Death Eater broke through the wards while we were speaking," he informed the boy, waving his wand this way and that as though figuring out just where to aim it, "And I am apparently entrusted with this person's care. The Dark Lord may be monitoring the floo network as we speak, otherwise I would send you back to Hogwarts straight away." His grip tightened on Harry's chin, his black eyes glittering menacingly. "You will look different once I am through, but you will not be safe. You will remain out of sight."

Harry would have nodded, but Snape's grip on his chin precluded that. He was surprised Snape had bothered to inform him first.

"Hold still," Snape instructed, and slowly began an incantation.

Harry's eyes closed as he felt an odd tingling sweep over his skin. The sensation faded, and he remained there, not daring to open them. But then Snape began to incant the words again, and his eyes flew back open.

"Why are you doing it again?"

Snape sent him an irritated glance. "I need to sever aspects of the glamour one by one." Then, with a derisive sweep of his eyes down Harry's form, "It seems you're blessed with the family's dearth of melanin."

Harry gaped down at his skin. White. Almost pasty white, like Snape's. He felt vaguely ill as Snape repeated the incantation again, and again, the spell tingling up and down his body, until the sensations died away.

"It seems we're finished."

Snape withdrew and gazed at him appraisingly a long moment. Harry cringed, seeing the man before him and imagining what he himself now looked like.

Snape's gaze raked over him a moment more, then his eyes darkened and his face grew hard. "There is no resemblance."

It shouldn't have bothered Harry, hearing that unforgiving sneer in Snape's voice; he certainly didn't want to look like Snape. Yet there was something about the statement that made it seem like Snape repudiating him yet again… Just like that terrible day in the classroom when Snape had told him they were father and son, voice filled with undisguised revulsion and disgust.

A vicious surge of anger tore through Harry.

"I don't look like you?" he said scathingly, raising his eyes to meet Snape's, his entire being seething with hatred. "Thank. God."

Snape's lips curled in distaste. Whether it was at Harry's statement, or at his invocation of a Muggle deity, he had no idea.

"I have taken the liberty of disguising your scar. Do not leave this room."

The Potions Master whirled around and stalked towards the door.

Harry called after him, "Which Death Eater?"

Snape turned slowly and caught his gaze. "Why?"

Harry remained stubbornly silent. He felt the tell-tale thrust of the other man's legilimency, and he broke their eye contact to gaze intently at Snape's robes.

Snape's voice was contemptuous. "That is none of your concern. You will not be leaving this room, Potter, or my wrath will be the least of your worries."

* * *

The longer Harry waited in the room, the more convinced he became it was Bellatrix Lestrange taking refuge under Snape's roof. Snape had, after all, refused to disclose the person's identity, and really, what other Death Eater would he feel the need to conceal from Harry? Snape knew she was the one who killed Sirius…

Unless…

Unless it was Draco Malfoy, or one of the other young Slytherins. Harry knew Voldemort was recruiting; perhaps the younger generation had already taken the Dark Mark?

His curiosity gnawed at him, as well as the darker hope it was Bellatrix Lestrange residing under the same roof as him.

Couldn't he just take one look..?

He rubbed his fingers across his forehead, and he could feel the smooth skin in place of his scar. Snape had truly done a thorough job of concealing it. The paleness of his arm caught his attention, and he held it in front of him for scientific inspection. If he looked like another person, was there anything preventing him from stealing a glimpse at the Death Eater's face? It's not like seeing Harry now would give away the fact that Snape was sheltering the Boy Who Lived. Besides, even though Snape had confiscated his invisibility cloak upon their arrival, Harry had enough practice with sneaking around to trust in his powers of stealth. He had no intention of initiating contact with the Death Eater. He just wanted to see her.

Or him, of course.

Snape must think he was an idiot; if he didn't look like Harry Potter, why would anyone think he was Harry Potter? Clearly his professor believed he'd start a jocular conversation, and somehow foolishly slip up about his true identity. ("Gee, uh, I guess because I'm the Boy Who Lived, I've always thought... Oh, whoops, forget I said that!") Snape thought him a fool.

Harry had avoided looking in the mirror, terrified of the prospect of a miniature Snape gazing back at him. Now, though, his hands crept cautiously over his own face, touching gingerly the unfamiliar features. A larger nose, true-- but not abnormally so. His lisp felt thinner to his touch, and the curve of his cheekbones more severe. When he blinked, he was more conscious of his eyelashes fluttering against his skin. He at last dared to venture into the adjoining washroom to steal a glimpse of his own visage.

A stranger gazed back at him; Harry reached up to touch his own face simply to affirm that he truly was looking at himself.

Before him stood a pale boy with jet black hair, about the same length as before, only for once in his life lying flat. The hair was almost too black against his white skin, the bright green eyes too stark a contrast against both. His lips were thin, and at the moment set in a grim line, his cheekbones sharply jutting from a face that was just a smidge longer than it had been before. The angular features were otherwise rather delicate, the large, luminous eyes rendering him almost pretty, which was somehow not an adjective Harry found particularly flattering in a boy.

He turned his head left and right, and he could distinctly see his mother's face reflected in his own features now. Absurdly, he found himself wishing he looked a bit more like Snape. He could remember girls in Gryffindor tower referring to Draco derisively as a 'pretty-boy,' and he had a rather nauseating feeling that he himself would fit that description. The tidy, delicate features of his face, and the thick black sweep of his eyelashes, could almost be classified as feminine.

Well, not quite. He'd make a pretty odd-looking woman. But he was uncomfortable with the face staring back at him just the same.

Snape, at least, looked like a man. An ugly, evil, greasy git of a man, but a man nonetheless.

Harry Potter had been rapidly on his way to manhood as well. A rather scruffy, unkempt specimen with an awkward way of holding his lanky body, true, but certainly not a pretty boy in the delicate and smarmy mould of Draco Malfoy… Certainly not like Harry Snape appeared to be.

He shuddered. Harry Snape. He swore silently that he would tear off his own testicles before he'd ever refer to himself by that name again.

Well, perhaps he wouldn't, but he'd at least sacrifice an arm or a foot.

Harry shook off the irrelevant thoughts and focused upon the matter at hand. Getting out of this room, and getting to wherever Snape was housing the Death Eater. He reached up to finger the cold frame of his glasses, wondering if he could transfigure it into another shape… He'd already pulled out his wand and aimed it at the glasses before the hazard of changing the shape occurred to him. It could throw off the entire prescription.

Disappointed, he tucked his wand back into his pocket. No transfiguration then.

A disillusionment charm, then?

Several minutes later, charm cast, he stood glowering at the door before him. He'd already attempted several rudimentary blasting and unlocking spells, and he'd even temporarily transfigured his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook into a mallet in an attempt to smash open the door, but it was no use. Snape had not come charging into the room, so he was clearly somewhere in the house out of earshot.

Harry realized just how hard he was grinding his teeth when his jaw began to throb in protest. This was driving him mad! He'd hidden his glasses from sight, he'd worked out several painful curses to use in the instance that it was Bellatrix Lestrange living in Snape's house, and he'd carefully set himself into the frame of mind he needed for creeping into a dangerous situation. All of it was now thwarted because of a goddamn door.

Oh, how he hated Snape. The man ruined everything! He couldn't live with Sirius after his third year because of Snape, Dumbledore hadn't found Barty Crouch the elder in time because Snape insisted on arguing with Harry, Sirius had died because Snape wouldn't teach him Occlumency…

And now Bellatrix Lestrange was probably dining and chatting with Snape by his fireplace over a steaming cup of tea, completely safe because Snape was locking Harry up!

His eyes narrowed with hatred and determination at the thought of her luxuriating under the same roof. Probably laughing with Snape over Sirius. Just like she'd laughed that night--

The door splintered into pieces.

Harry stared at it soundlessly a long moment, blinking, reminded uneasily of the time he'd blown up Aunt Marge. And then, with a tight smile, he chose not to question his lucky occurrences of spontaneous magic and crawled through the opening.

Could Snape have heard?

He didn't think so. The man would already be bearing down upon him…

He was surprised not to feel the telltale prickle of the wards as he began to creep down the stairs; every door he had pressed his ear to in the hallway, and then cautiously opened, had been unlocked. The Death Eater truly had broken the wards. Or perhaps Voldemort had done it for him.

Why would Voldemort shatter his own lieutenant's protective measures? Did he, perhaps, suspect Snape?

Harry was just questioning the wisdom of his endeavor when he heard the low murmur of voices. He didn't know this area of the manor very well; Snape never allowed him outside of the handful of rooms he deemed innocuous enough to risk contaminating with Harry's presence. As he lurked against the wall, a few quick glimpses traced the voices to the larger room just through an ornate archway. A parlor of some sort.

Remembering his mental image of Bellatrix and Snape cuddling up, sipping tea together as they giggled over Sirius, he gritted his teeth and snuck closer. The voices grew more distinct.

He could hear Snape's waspish tone, very indistinct. And then an arrogant drawl in response. Goosebumps prickled over Harry's neck. He didn't need to hear the words to know who that was.

Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy, who was supposedly in Azkaban right now!

"… Severus, you really must do something… appalling condition of your furniture… entirely too depressing."

Malfoy had apparently escaped Azkaban to help Snape with his interior decorating…

"How I present my home is of no concern to you, Lucius," came Snape's impatient voice. Harry halted his forward progress, hovering against the wall on the other side of the arch, now able to hear perfectly. "In fact, nothing under this roof concerns you. I would not have you here had our Master not commanded me."

"How graciously you treat old friends, Severus," Lucius said drolly.

"You know how precarious my position is with the Headmaster," Snape insisted, voice growing softer with evident discontent. "He knows how tenuous my hold on the old man's confidence is. I cannot harbor a fugitive under my roof, Lucius! It is an unacceptable risk!"

"Are you questioning the Dark Lord's judgment?" Lucius asked in a silky, dangerous voice.

Snape was silent a moment.

"No," he retracted quickly. "No, of course not. I simply… I believe this decision to be misguided."

"Our Master, unlike you, apparently has some compassion for his disenfranchised supporters." There was a short silence. Lucius's voice grew exasperated. "Think Severus, you are in the most assured position of any of us. Why would the ministry ever search your home?"

"That position will not remain assured for long should others continue to endanger it," Snape growled. "I have direct access to Dumbledore; I would think the intelligence worthy of greater appreciation."

"And it is," Lucius said appealingly. "We all respect what you've done, Severus. I respect you."

Snape grunted.

"Oh, come now. Don't give me that look. You know your value to us. Here, have another drink."

Harry heard a faint trickling, and he marveled at Malfoy's belief that all he had to do was acknowledge Snape, and the other man would bend to his will. Did he really think--

"Even should he unearth my presence here, the old fool will trust any excuse you give him for it. He'd never believe his precious spy has turned against him."

Harry's heart froze in his chest.

Snape did not reply immediately, leaving Harry to think for a wild moment that the man was as shocked as he was. Had Voldemort somehow figured out Snape's spying activities? Had all these pleasantries been a guise for the fact that Malfoy was here to kill him?

Harry dropped to his knees and crept imperceptibly into the room, drawing his wand. He didn't like Snape, but if Malfoy was here to kill him, he certainly wasn't going to stand passively by and let it happen…

It was with no little surprise that he caught sight of Snape lounging casually in one of the arm-chairs, Lucius propped in easy camaraderie in another.

"The old codger is still convinced you're spying for him, isn't he?" Lucius inquired delicately.

What the fucking hell is going on? Harry thought bewilderedly. He knows Snape's a spy?

He could see Snape's expression from the side as he smirked. "Of course he is. Were you impressed by the November raids? That Muggle-loving fool certainly was." Snape took a deep swig of his drink. "I think I raised my stock in the Order considerably orchestrating that."

Harry couldn't believe Snape was talking to Lucius Malfoy about the Order!

"I don't believe Nott was too pleased with having a 500-year-old heirloom confiscated," Lucius noted wryly.

"Yes," Snape conceded. "I imagine he was not. The Dark Lord understands, however, that I need results. That old man is no fool. If I produce nothing--"

"I know, I know," Malfoy said, waving him off and pouring himself another glass of firewhiskey. "We all have to make sacrifices. Merlin knows I've had my share of them." Lucius paused, and added darkly, "Six months worth of them."

Harry was frozen where he crouched, trying to sort out the mess. Dumbledore was firmly convinced Snape was a spy against Voldemort. Now, it seemed, the Death Eaters were fully aware Snape was spying for Dumbledore against Voldemort.

Did that mean… Could that possibly mean…

Oh, hell, had Snape been working for Voldemort all along?

It defied all reason. Why would Snape have saved his life first year?

Snape had no idea Voldemort was still alive back then…

Why had Snape tried to teach him Occlumency?

He didn't. He just made me more vulnerable with it…

Why was Snape keeping him alive now? He could easily hand him over to the Death Eaters…

It wasn't fatherly love, he knew that. Then, what was it? Why? And how would he have fooled Dumbledore this long?

The questions tormented his mind as he listened to the men discuss Draco's schoolwork and Narcissa's thoughts on good budgeting.

"Three-thousand galleons for a broach?" Lucius sneered. "I knew once I was away the woman would lose all control of herself, but for Merlin's sake…"

No, Snape can't be a traitor, Harry thought. He just can't be. He could have killed me by now. Easily.

But it bothered him. It bothered him intensely.

Snape was harboring Lucius Malfoy… Why not just report Malfoy and blame it on a spontaneous raid by the ministry? Why protect him?

All Harry needed was one conversation with Dumbledore. He just needed to clear this up. He needed to be reassured--

"Tell me, Severus, who is that boy skulking by the archway?"

Harry froze for the briefest fraction of a second, and then, meeting Malfoy's amused gaze, he leapt to his feet.

Through the sudden fear, he realized very clearly, If Snape really is on Voldemort's side, he's going to kill me for what I heard.

Then, seeing the shock and then rage that suffused Snape's face, he realized Snape was probably going to kill him anyway.

No point dallying about waiting for it. He chose the most unlikely course for a Gryffindor.

He ran.

Snape put on a show of being calm and unaffected, and he spent several minutes weaving an intricate tale explaining the boy's presence to Lucius. He was a distant relative from the Hungarian branch of the Snape family. Oh yes, quite the young delinquent. The Hungarian Snapes, unable to bear the child's presence for the holidays, and aware that Severus was quite the disciplinarian, had practically begged him to take charge of the boy. All throughout the explanation, he fervently hoped that Potter had not bolted away to do something rash or foolish. Knowing Potter, however, that hope was very likely a futile one.

At the first possible moment, Snape charged up the stairs and swiftly headed to Potter's chamber; as he walked, he was acutely conscious of the fact that he'd imbibed slightly more alcohol than necessary tonight. It took an effort to keep his mind focused upon the scathing insults he intended for the boy.

He drew up short upon finding the boy lounged casually against the wall outside the study-- a skinny, dark-haired stranger with an unreadable expression on his face.

Snape's instincts veered towards caution in situations that caught him off guard; he remained silent, the well-prepared insults vanishing from his lips. He sent Potter a questioning glance, and the boy wordlessly slipped into the study.

He disliked unpredictable behavior, especially when he was already tipsy. He warily followed the boy into the room, and his dislike of the situation intensified when he saw Potter waiting for him with his wand drawn.

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape's wand flew from his fingers.

"Damn it, P-- boy!" he hissed, conscious of Lucius's presence in the house, and the lack of silencing charms on the room.

"Sorry," the boy said apologetically, and the insolent whelp gestured with a wave of Snape's wand for him to take a seat. "But you nearly strangled me to death the last time you looked this angry, so… Give me a moment."

Clutching a wand in each hand, Potter waved his own and cast a locking charm and a silencing spell upon the room.

"I assure you," Snape said threateningly, following his wand with greedy eyes as the boy slipped it into his robes, "Depriving me of my wand will in no way improve my disposition towards you!"

"I really don't care what your disposition is towards me, as long as I'm not being strangled to death," Potter returned flatly. He glared at Snape, seemingly unsurprised that the man remained obstinately on his feet. "We should talk. Malfoy said--"

"Why did you run, Potter?" Snape interrupted, trying to conceal his honest curiosity with scorn. He'd expected the foolish boy to take on Lucius then and there. "Has your vaunted Gryffindor bravery at last failed you?"

Potter smirked. "Maybe I thought the expression of blinding hatred on your face would give away my identity as easily as my real face would."

Snape's eyes narrowed; he wished he were slightly more sober so he could come up with a pointed remark in response the boy's words. "That is your real face, Potter."

The aforementioned 'real face' twisted in distaste.

Even so, Snape had to admit, it was not aesthetically unappealing. The boy had taken well to the removal of the glamour. He was probably the first Snape in ten generations without the infamous nose, and very likely the first Snape ever to enjoy nauseatingly good looks.

Of course, it would be Potter, he thought snidely.

Really, he'd expected his genetic material to at least manifest itself somewhere, but Lily Evans dominated the boy's features. He looked like his mother's son.

But there was also something else there, something a bit too harsh to be Lily Potter's. He watched it appear briefly when the boy rolled his eyes, his features flooded with irritation.

"In any case, sir, I figured you could come up with a better excuse for my being here than I could. Anything I made up, you'd just say was stupid."

"Odds are, it would be," replied Snape coldly, and he wondered just why Potter looked so smug upon hearing him confirm that yes, he did believe the boy to be an idiot. "You were foolish to leave your room, and I can only imagine what you were thinking entering the parlor--"

"I thought he was going to kill you!" Potter cried. "He knew you were a spy. In fact," the boy retreated a step, his entire posture coiled with suppressed anxiety. "I wanted to talk to you about that."

Oh, this was just wonderful. "You doubt my loyalties now?" Snape asked, feeling his anger return. How many times did he have to save the impertinent boy's life before he'd finally trust he wasn't out to kill him?

"I thought about it," Potter admitted. "I was even thinking of owling Dumbledore about what Malfoy said to you, but I realized that someone might intercept it, or maybe Malfoy would recognize Hedwig. So I gave it some more thought." The boy sat down, eyeing Snape speculatively. "You would probably have killed me a long time ago if you weren't on our side."

Snape blinked. Of all the reasons Potter could have given him for deciding to trust in him, this one was not what he'd expected.

"That proves nothing," Snape retorted. "The Headmaster could easily have forced me to take an oath not to hurt you." Perhaps it wasn't the time to give the boy an excuse to doubt him, but something in him rebelled against the notion of allowing Potter confidence in his own conclusions.

And apart from that, he'd given the Dark Lord this very excuse on numerous occasions.

"I don't think you'd take it," Potter said thoughtfully. "You hate me so much that, if you really were on Voldemort's side, you'd probably never let someone deprive you of the opportunity to kill me yourself."

It was the second time in their conversation Potter had referred to Snape's 'blinding' hatred of him. He was tempted to berate the boy for his continual overestimation of his own importance. Sure, he had no fondness for Potter, and certainly a good deal of active dislike. On occasion he did hate him, but sustained hatred he reserved for a select and elite few. Potter was not significant enough an influence, nor equal enough an opponent, to warrant raw hatred. The boy gave him no chance to speak, though.

"Lucius knows you're a spy. And that's what I don't get."

"Our young celebrity does not 'get' something," Snape said, smirking. "Strangely, I am unsurprised."

The boy's eyes narrowed. "Explain it to me then. If you don't work for Voldemort, why are they letting you get away with spying for Dumbledore?"

"The nature of my work is intricate and complex, Potter," said Snape dismissively. "You would not understand. Suffice it to say, I owe you no explanation. Return my wand."

Potter smiled coldly at him. His new face somehow rendered it more threatening than the old one could ever manage. "I can wait here all night," he promised softly. "Unless you can do wandless magic, you're not getting that door open."

Oh, he would kill the brat for this.

"Return. My. Wand."

Potter stiffened imperceptibly, and he noticed the boy's grip grow more taut around his wand. "No. Tell me, first. It's just… I know you're on our side, but please… What if I don't tell Dumbledore, and then it turns out that I should have said something because something happens to someone--"

There was a strange and haunted expression on the boy's face, and Snape had the distinct impression the boy was thinking of Black. He nearly growled with irritation.

"Very well!" he snarled at the brat. "Here is your explanation. The Dark Lord believes me to be a spy for him, posing as a spy for the Headmaster. The Headmaster knows me for his own spy, posing as a spy for Voldemort posing as a spy for the Headmaster. Understand, now, Potter?"

The boy blinked.

Snape sighed jaggedly, feeling suddenly drained of energy, and perhaps the slightest bit lethargic from the firewhiskey he'd shared with Lucius. He slumped down into the seat across from Potter, wanting to get this over with.

"One does not simply leave the Death Eaters, Potter," he said, trying not to grit his teeth. "Anything less than a fanatical degree of devotion to the cause is grounds for condemnation as a traitor. When I… wavered in my support of the Dark Lord, I had no means of undermining him. I was too intimately bound to him both by magic and by association to actively defy him. Had I approached the Headmaster on my own, I would have been readily unearthed as a spy and promptly tortured to death; the Dark Lord has eyes everywhere. Dim though you may be, Potter, I trust you are following this so far?"

Potter nodded. Snape was satisfied by the clarity of his expression that he hadn't lost the young imbecile quite yet, so he continued.

"I realized that any move against the Dark Lord had to be done with the Dark Lord's express support. It took me almost a year to plant the idea in his head that it would be valuable to employ a double agent in Dumbledore's circle. He believed the Headmaster a sentimental, doddering old fool, and well-placed hints, mostly made indirectly to him via discussions with the Death Eaters closest to him, persuaded him that the Headmaster's sentimentality could render him vulnerable to a penitent Death Eater who offered his services as a spy. The Dark Lord ordered me to serve as this penitent Death Eater. Because I had neither outright proposed this plan, nor presented myself as the executor of it, he fully believed that he himself had conceived of this scheme, and that I was merely a loyal subject following his commands."

"How did you know he'd choose you?" Potter asked skeptically.

"You know of his skill in legilimency. He knew from my memories that the Headmaster once possessed a certain affinity for me, thus he was confident he would hear me out. Additionally, he was certain I would remain loyal to him, for unlike most, I had a personal grievance with Dumbledore." Snape paused, considering the issue. The Dark Lord's confidence in him was always something he'd instinctively understood, yet never actually articulated. "The Dark Lord has no understanding of human affection. He viewed my memories of the Headmaster and could perceive only that I'd come to hate him; he never saw the complicated nature of my regard for Dumbledore. He perceived hatred without ever paying mind to the other emotions at the root of it."

He stopped here; he'd said too much.

Potter was gazing at him, something odd in his expression. "You, er, care about Dumbledore, then?"

"No!" said Snape disdainfully. "I respect him. He is an extremely powerful wizard."

Potter still had that strange expression. He looked all too knowing as he nodded. "Sure, Snape."

Insolent brat.

"The Dark Lord," said Snape in a hard voice, forcing Potter away from whatever the smug boy believed he had figured out, "concluded that I was the proper man for the job, due to the Headmaster's," and the word twisted bitterly in his throat, "pity for me, and my unvarnished resentment of him. He took it upon himself to prepare me for the task by training me in Occlumency."

Potter leaned forward, eyes flashing with renewed suspicion. "If he was the one who taught you Occlumency, wouldn’t he have seen what you were planning?"

"He didn't, because he wasn't the first to instruct me in Occlumency," Snape replied. "My father did, before he sent me to Hogwarts. He believed Dumbledore to be a meddler, and he did not care for our family business seeping from my thoughts simply because I was a weakling unable to control my emotions." He halted that line of discussion, not wanting to talk about this with the brat. "I was occluding even as the Dark Lord believed himself to be instructing me in the art. I gradually 'improved' in shutting him out of my mind. It set him at ease to believe initially that he had access to all my secrets, and it reassured him as time passed to believe I was a spy he himself had molded and trained. That belief is one of the reasons he has yet to doubt my loyalty."

"And Dumbledore believed you were on his side… why?"

"I revealed to Dumbledore the entire scheme," Snape said, remembering with the slightest flutter of unease the initial condemnation in the Headmaster's expression when he discovered Severus on Hogwarts grounds. "He was aware the Dark Lord intended me to serve as a double agent, and he pretended in turn to be taken in by the Dark Lord's machinations by periodically feeding me information I could use as evidence of my 'spying'. To this day he designates exactly what I can share with the Dark Lord, and what I cannot, and I abide by his judgment of how much the Dark Lord needs to know in order to see me as an effective double-agent."

Snape rose to his feet smoothly, folding his arms as he glared down at the boy.

"So that's how it works, Potter. I serve the Dark Lord like any other Death Eater. I spy for both sides, the only difference being that the Headmaster is the only one who receives all the information. He acts upon the intelligence I bring him in critical junctures; he'll cancel a month's worth of trips to Hogsmeade, for instance, on the pretense of improving interhouse relations after I inform him of an attack upon the town planned for two weeks' time. He never counters the Dark Lord to an extent that will reveal my hand in it, and he nearly always acts upon information the Dark Lord instructs me to relay to him, so as to maintain the pretense he is fooled by my act as a double-agent. And there you have it. Are your concerns satisfied?"

Potter stared at him a long moment, an unfamiliar expression on his face. "Yes." He broke eye contact with Snape, gazing into the distance before admitting quietly, "That was, er, kind of clever how you went about it."

Snape's eyebrows raised. "Yes. I've always thought so."

Despite himself, he was oddly pleased by the boy's words. He never would have expected Potter to express appreciation for his efforts. With the new face and the wary respect in those green eyes, Severus could almost have been fooled into believing he was talking to a different person.

"So," said Harry thoughtfully after another moment of silence, "I guess no matter what happens with the war, you'll be on the winning side."

"It won't come to that," Snape replied dismissively. "The Dark Lord will not prevail."

"Never took you for an optimist, Snape," Harry said, his green eyes shooting up to lock with Snape's. "As stupid and worthless as you think I am, you actually think I can defeat him?"

"You are an arrogant boy," he said coldly. "Do not tell me you believe yourself to be the deciding factor of this war. There are thousands of skilled wizards out there who could destroy the Dark Lord. It does not depend on you."

The boy's eyes wavered with some nameless emotion. Snape was briefly overcome with curiosity, but before he could give any real thought to legilimizing him, Harry glared down and plunged his hand into his pocket.

"Here's your wand," he muttered, and Snape snatched it from his grasp.

All manner of curses to use upon the boy flashed through his mind. How dare the brat disarm him! He noticed Harry's shoulders tense as the boy steeled himself for the worst.

Snape stared at him soundlessly for a long moment. For some reason, he couldn't quite muster the same anger with which he'd initially confronted the boy. His day had been too long and he'd been drinking too much to deal with this right now.

He closed the distance between them and jabbed his wand under the boy's chin, urging his head up. Fierce green eyes met his-- hard, defiant, and strangely resigned.

"Never do that again," Snape intoned sternly. "You do not disarm me, you do not touch my wand. Understood, Potter?"

Confusion flickered through the boy's eyes; he nodded uneasily, as though he expected something terrible to follow.

Snape turned away from the boy. "It's time I acquainted you with your new life story…"

* * *

Snape had ordered him very severely not to seek Lucius Malfoy out, a command with which Harry was all too happy to comply. Malfoy, however, found him.

Harry glanced up sharply from his transfiguration homework when the door to his chamber opened, and felt his throat constrict when Malfoy's towering form appeared in the doorway.

"My apologies." A cool blonde eyebrow rose over unapologetic eyes. "Am I disturbing you?"

Harry wanted to say 'yes', but instead he offered Malfoy what was hopefully a vacant smile and shook his head.

"I was just exploring Severus's house when I noticed how heavily warded this room was," Malfoy noted amusedly. "He certainly treats you like a delinquent, doesn't he?"

Harry smirked ruefully, because that was actually true.

"Where is he?" Harry inquired meekly. Snape surely would know by now that Malfoy had broken into his room. He remembered Snape casting an alerting charm after he'd repaired and re-warded the door.

"Called away," Malfoy said smugly. "Hopefully learning some manners."

Harry noticed as Malfoy moved more fully into the room just how vastly he had been transformed by six months in Azkaban. The polished aristocrat Harry had encountered on previous occasions was gone, replaced by an underfed man with dark hollows under haunted gray eyes. His long hair now appeared rather coarse and scruffy rather than the smooth silk he favored before, and there was a vaguely hunted look about him.

Good, Harry thought viciously. I hope he suffered.

Amazing, though, how only a few months in an Azkaban without Dementors had affected Malfoy nearly as severely as twelve years in Azkaban with them had affected Sirius.

Dementors make you live your worst fears, Harry mused. Maybe Malfoy was living his already.

From respected aristocrat to reviled prisoner; Lucius Malfoy's had been a sharp fall from grace.

"Severus was never very skilled at constructing wards," Malfoy drawled, seating himself at the desk, raking his eyes over Harry's expression. "The Dark Lord tore through that monstrosity he cast over the floo in mere seconds."

Ah, now Harry understood the reason Malfoy was watching him so intently. He remembered clearly the attitude Snape had told him to adopt: "Take for granted that you pay fealty to the Dark Lord, but do not presume to have any knowledge of my association with him."

He tried to affect an expression of amazement and respect. "The Dark Lord himself? Really?"

Lucius Malfoy's expression relaxed negligibly, now overtaken with some of the familiar arrogance. "I am an acquaintance of his; he pays mind to my comfort."

"Wow," Harry said in what he hoped was a sufficiently awestruck tone. "You must feel really lucky."

"Have you not heard of the Malfoys, boy?" Malfoy asked sharply, narrowing his eyes.

Harry quickly made note of the fact that Malfoy clearly ranked pride in his family over pride in his master.

"Of course I have!" He forced himself to smile again. "I guess it was pretty stupid of me not to realize such a prominent family would stand in favor with the Dark Lord."

Malfoy's look of hurt pride vanished, to be absorbed by a sudden spark of interest when his eyes alighted upon something across the room. "And what's this?"

Harry followed his gaze as Malfoy rose to his feet and crossed the room; his heart plunged to his stomach when Malfoy picked up Kinship and Related Curses.

"Well, er…" He wasn't sure just what to say.

"My, my… It appears you are quite the young hooligan," Malfoy noted with amusement. He flipped through the pages, something odd settling in his eyes. "I have quite a history with this book."

Harry was intrigued despite himself. "Sir…?"

"Infecunditas," Malfoy said with a strange smile. "My son somehow discovered this very spell when he was much younger. He'd just learned of wizarding inheritance laws, you see, and he concluded that it was in his best interests to ensure he remained the only heir to the Malfoy estate." His gray eyes lifted to meet Harry's, and Harry felt something stir deep within him at the strange fondness in the older man's eyes. "He was quite the little fiend, I'll give him that. To this day, Narcissa and I have been unable to break the enchantment. He won't even divulge which variation of the curse he used." His voice grew distant and wistful. "He was always clever that way."

Even when Lucius Malfoy's attention again returned to the book, Harry found himself staring at the man, marveling at the fact that he still seemed fond of Draco even though the boy had sterilized him.

That warm light in his eyes, that pride in his voice when he spoke of his son's wits…

That's how a father should feel about his son…

And more than at any time before, Harry felt acutely the pang of loss at never having known a father's affection. He could recall so readily the look of distaste and disgust on Snape's face whenever he regarded him. He would never look at Harry that way. There would never be pride or affection in his eyes.

Before, when he was an orphan, he at least knew there was no chance of having that for himself. But now… Snape was his goddamn father. He should feel that way, if only a little bit. Did he truly see nothing good in Harry, even now that he wasn't the son of James Potter? Did Snape simply hate Harry so much that he loathed him even when he was his own flesh and blood?

I don't care what he thinks of me, Harry thought fiercely, but somehow the words did not ease the knot in his chest at seeing the fond, wistful look in Lucius Malfoy's eyes. At this moment Draco's father, at least, cared about his son.

"Have you tried any of them yet?" Malfoy asked conversationally.

Harry looked up, feeling a renewed surge of irritation at that book that had yielded so little of use. "No," he said, through gritted teeth. "To cast any of the spells I want to use, I'd have to marry this person first. And that's never going to happen."

"But this person is kin?"

"Yes," Harry admitted reluctantly. He shouldn't be discussing this with Malfoy. He needed to end this conversation.

"This person is not Severus, is he?" Malfoy asked with something akin to concern.

"No!" Harry said quickly.

A ruthless smile stretched across Lucius Malfoy's lips. "Then let me explain this to you, boy. This book," he tapped it with his finger pointedly, "is a watered down anthology of older, more potent curses. When they specify what family member to, say, eviscerate, it is merely to give wizards of lesser ability some focus when attempting the curses. Often you can apply the same spell they claim here is directed at a father, to a son, a brother, even a cousin. It's the bond of family and the degree of blood relation that matters, not the specific target."

Harry looked, wide-eyed, from Malfoy's arrogant smile, to the book in his hands. Snape hadn't told him anything about this.

Well, Snape hadn't told him much about this book in general. He'd merely given it to him that one day, and refrained from instructing Harry beyond that.

He looked up at Malfoy in a new light. "So what about the, uh, spouse thing? Could that apply to someone you weren't married to?"

"Even in most pureblooded families nowadays, the blood component is useless in spousal curses," Lucius said with some regret. "If the spell relies upon the use of blood, it's worthless. If, however, it's the familial connection that imbues it with power, again, you can apply it as easily to your father as you could to your wife."

Harry gazed up at Malfoy, the pieces flying together. Of course! He hadn't located one spell sufficiently horrible for Bellatrix Lestrange that extended to such a distant degree of blood relation, but perhaps he didn't have to. Maybe Malfoy had just unwittingly provided him with the critical information he'd been missing all along.

He stared at the book, mentally sorting through some of the more potent spells he'd read. He realized suddenly that Malfoy's presence perhaps solved another problem… It had occurred to Harry that any spell he cast upon Bellatrix would be from afar, and he would be unlikely to gauge its success.

But Bellatrix Lestrange was about as closely related to him as Lucius Malfoy was.

And Malfoy was right here.

"I could help you, if you'd like," Malfoy offered idly. "I can't imagine I'll have much else to do around here. Severus and his perpetual sour mood can be rather tedious company, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry looked at him in disbelief. This would just be too strange. Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy's father and Voldemort's right hand, teaching Harry Potter about curses?

"Well, boy, what do you have to say?" Malfoy prompted impatiently.

And suddenly the idea seemed delightful.

Harry felt his lips pulling into a smile; he couldn’t help it. Some part of him felt an evil little thrill that made him want to break into wild peals of laughter. Lucius Malfoy. Teaching him to curse Lucius Malfoy.

Teaching him to kill Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Oh, that would be great. Thanks, Mr. Malfoy!" Harry gushed.

He didn't have to fake his enthusiasm this time.

Really, this made a vacation with Snape completely worth it.

Harry was lying on his stomach, Kinship and Related Curses spread open before him, and Lucius Malfoy was seated on the edge of the bed explaining the virtues of the Macto Dominus curse, when Snape burst through the doorway. Harry jumped to his feet, startled, but Malfoy only turned his head in cool acknowledgement.

"Severus," Malfoy greeted genially. "You're home at last."

As the man spoke, he was waving his wand behind his back, out of Snape's line of sight, transfiguring the spellbook title into, "Ancient Runes and Contemporary Thought: 1790-1980."

Snape stood before them, gasping for breath. His gaze first raked over Harry, ascertaining that he was, indeed, still alive, then his sharp black eyes darted back and forth between the boy and Lucius, as though trying to figure out just what damage they had wrought in his absence.

"Lucius," he said with strained courtesy. There was a fine dusting of ash on his shoulders; he was panting as though he had sprinted straight up from the floo. "I see you misunderstood me when I instructed you to stay out of this wing of the house!"

"I must have forgotten," Malfoy said with a smile; his eyes were like cold steel.

"A pity," whispered Snape, "that the wards on this chamber failed to jog your memory"

"I couldn't help but indulge in my curiosity. My apologies, Severus," Malfoy said with an elegant dip of his head. He smiled at Harry with an affected degree of fondness. "I have concluded there is nothing about this young man that warrants confinement; he seems quite agreeable to me."

Snape looked between the two of them, unsettled. Harry realized that there was something decidedly off about him. He looked ill.

"Well I assure you, these disciplinary measures are entirely necessary," Snape said with thinly veiled irritation, "And I would appreciate your not meddling while you are a guest under my roof. You are here on my sufferance"

"Oh yes, that," Lucius said with languid disinterest, examining his own fingernails. "Did our friend have any insight into our situation?"

His calculating, gray eyes crept back up to Snape's. Comprehension dawned in Snape's face, his entire body stiffening.

"So," Snape breathed, "it was you."

"But of course," Malfoy practically purred, eyes gleaming with cruel triumph. "And you would do well to remember it."

Harry stood there, remembering suddenly Malfoy's explanation for Snape's departure: "Called away. Hopefully learning some manners."

Malfoy was gazing with unruffled arrogance at Snape, who loomed before them, radiating suppressed fury. Harry noticed the slightest tremor of Snape's hands as he clenched and unclenched his fists. His eyes shot up to Snape's thin face; the sallow skin looked haggard, his black eyes bloodshot and slightly crazed.

He remembered snatches of the conversation between Malfoy and Snape the night before, when Snape was objecting to Malfoy's presence in the house. The men had clearly had a disagreement, and this morning Snape had been called away. Now, Snape was exhibiting symptoms associated with the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

Snape took a halting step forward, glowering at Malfoy. His composure was steadily eroding before Harry's eyes. "How did you twist my words? You treacherous, loathsome bastard-- what did you say?"

There was no question in Harry's mind now that Malfoy had said something to get Snape in trouble with Voldemort, and today Snape had been punished for it. But what?

"Is this an appropriate discussion for sensitive young ears?" Lucius inquired delicately.

Snape's eyes found Harry, and he stared at him numbly for a moment, blinking, as though he'd forgotten the boy was there. Harry avoided the dark eyes and stared at the wall beyond Snape's head, just wishing the floor would swallow him. He felt like an intruder here, and he was aware of some irrational sense of guilt for this entire thing.

Snape's expression tightened; he recovered his usual self-possession.

"I do not want you in this room," he said to coldly Malfoy. He looked suddenly tired and years older as he gazed at Malfoy. "Do me the courtesy of abiding by that request, Lucius, if nothing else."

"I'll agree to that," Malfoy said mildly, still looking very smug, but the hard glint in his eyes had abated somewhat. "In the name of our dear friendship."

Snape's eyes drifted lazily over to Harry's, and he held them just for a fraction of a second. Whatever he wanted to say seemed to rise, and then die upon his lips. He swept wordlessly around and left Harry and Lucius alone in the room.

"Well, that was a painful little interlude, wouldn't you agree?" Malfoy drawled, then added with a smirk, "For our dear Severus, especially, I should think."

Harry dared not speak; he wasn't certain whether he should pretend to be entirely baffled by the exchange, or if it was safe to show some inkling of comprehension.

Malfoy waved his wand carelessly to restore Kinship and Related Curses back to its original form. "Since I appear to have agreed to stay out of your chamber, I suggest you locate some spells of particular interest, and perhaps we'll discuss them tomorrow morning." He shot Harry a wry glance. "In my room, of course. Are you amenable to that?"

There was nothing about Malfoy's tone that rang of a 'request'. Harry felt an acute surge of dislike for the smug, blonde aristocrat, but he swallowed hard and nodded with what he hoped appeared to be enthusiasm.

"Yes, of course." His lips pulled up into a smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

It took a simple 'point-me' spell, and some ordeals with various wards to locate Snape.

Lucius Malfoy was right about one thing: Snape's wards were surprisingly ineffective when one truly applied oneself to breaking them. It occurred to Harry that this, perhaps, was the reason he and his friends had found it so easy to steal potions from Snape's cabinet at school. The man simply wasn't very talented at constructing protective measures.

He found himself faintly amused as he disabled those impediments that had so effectively shut him out of the house in previous days. Clearly Snape had relied upon the psychological impact of having the wards in place, and with good reason; Harry hadn't even thought to put a concerted effort into breaking them, because he hadn't believed them to be vulnerable. With the exception of the wards around his own chamber, most of them were weak and easily disabled.

Of course, the potions lab was giving him some difficulty. He struggled with this one for fifteen solid minutes before feeling it buckle before him, and he proceeded cautiously into the room.

"Hello," he called softly. "Professor?"

The room reminded him of the dungeons at Hogwarts-- cold, dark, and grim. He almost laughed at the thought of Snape intentionally refurbishing one of the manor's stately rooms to resemble one of the dank Hogwarts dungeons, but his amusement died when he spotted Snape slumped against the wall in the far corner of the room.

He felt a knot of anxiety form in his chest. "Professor?" he said quietly, approaching Snape with caution.

The man looked terrible, even worse than he had upstairs. He was sagging bonelessly against the wall, the bleak hollows under his eyes more stark in the laboratory's lighting.

He knelt down and nudged Snape's shoulder. "Profess--"

He jumped when Snape's eyes shot open, and his hand clamped around Harry's wrist with an unyielding grip. The black orbs drifted uncomprehendingly over Harry's face, the talon-like grip tightening more and more until clarity suddenly stole into his expression.

"Potter!" spat Snape. "What the hell do you think you're doing in here?"

"I just wanted to see if you were okay," Harry replied, bristling at the anger flashing in the man's eyes. Now, at least, Harry really was wondering what he was doing down here. "You looked like a wreck upstairs."

Snape sneered. "Oh? How extraordinarily perceptive of you, Mr. Potter. And you thought your presence would somehow improve my condition?" He released Harry's wrist and shoved the boy away from him. His other hand scrabbled over the wall behind him, trying to find some purchase to shove himself back to his feet.

"I can help you--"

"No!"

Harry watched Snape attempt to salvage his pride and dignity, fumbling with the wall, trying to pull himself upright.

"Sir--"

"I don't want or require your help, you insolent brat!" Snape was on his feet now, swaying precariously. "I am off the floor, as you see, so get out!"

"You can barely stand up on your own!" Harry burst out. "I suppose you're going to make your way up three staircases to your room all by yourself?"

"No," said Snape disdainfully. "I intend to traverse a single flight of stairs to settle on a comfortable couch in the parlor. For that matter, I was doing quite well on the floor before you disturbed me. Now, leave."

Harry stood there stubbornly. Why wouldn't the man just let him walk him upstairs? What the hell was his problem?

He noticed that Snape's hands were shaking harder now, even as the man tottered across the room, supporting himself with the wall. He knew that the effects would grow steadily worse.

"Don't you have a potion for that?" Harry called softly. That Calming Draught Snape had given him, he remembered, was intended to mitigate the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

Snape's face half-turned to his. He could see the bitter, downward twist to his lips. "No, Potter. I gave the last of it to you for your Occlumency instruction. I haven't had the chance to brew more."

Again, Harry felt that twinge of guilt. Snape had resumed his halting course over to the door, and there was something strangely pitiful about the spectacle of his formidable potions professor struggling to keep his feet under him.

Well, to hell with Snape's pride.

Harry pulled out his wand and approached him from behind. "Mobilicorpus."

"Potter!" cried Snape as he floated into the air. "Put me down, now!"

"Sorry, but I'm not letting you walk."

"Potter!" Snape snarled, voice lower as they cleared the lab; even in his state he was conscious of the threat of Lucius Malfoy.

Harry used this to his advantage to aid Snape with far less harassment than the professor clearly would have liked. He floated Snape up the stairs as the man twisted his body in an effort to fight the spell. Several choice insults and three staircases later, he gently lowered Snape onto his bed.

Two black, hate-filled eyes met his.

"Get out!"

Harry turned from their fury and left Snape alone with his pain.

* * *

He wasn't sure just what compelled him to return to the lab, much less to attempt to brew that same opiate-laced calming draught Snape had once given to him. He'd idly wondered whether he could find the instructions somewhere in Snape's lab; he was astonished when he actually happened upon them amidst a pile of papers.

He took advantage of the fortuitous accident, and reflected as he brewed that it truly was similar to the Calming Draughts they made in second year potions. Harry worked in silence, and somehow he found it easier than it ever had been at Hogwarts to perfect the potion. By the time he brought a vial of it up to Snape's room, he had no doubt it would work as intended.

At first he thought the man was asleep, but Snape glanced up at him sourly when he drew closer to the bed.

"Sir..?" he asked tentatively.

Snape's eyes lit upon the potion in his hand, and the displeasure on his face increased. "Where did you get that, Potter?"

All too aware Snape wouldn't trust any potion Harry had brewed, he shrugged his shoulders. "I checked your stores, and I thought I recognized this. You must have overlooked it."

Snape's eyes glittered darkly at him, and the man roughly took the vial from his grasp. He scrutinized the liquid intently in the half-light, shot Harry a dubious look, then swallowed it.

A flicker of distaste passed over his expression before his features went slack. Harry was nearly overcome by the spiteful impulse to reveal just who had brewed the potion, but he readily dismissed the idea. He wasn't in potions class anymore; it didn't matter that Snape would never acknowledge he had the slightest aptitude for the subject.

Snape's grip eased up on the vial, and Harry quickly grabbed it before it fell. He watched his professor settle back onto the pillows, relaxed and seemingly content; he remembered with some envy the delightful haze that accompanied the opiate.

He was just turning away when Snape spoke up from behind him, "Just what do you hope to gain from this, Potter?"

Harry's brow furrowed, and he sent Snape a questioning look. "Sir?"

His professor pushed himself up onto his elbows, and was now appraising Harry through black eyes glittering with a strange intensity amidst the deathly pallor of his face.

"I asked you what you hope to gain, Potter."

Something in his expression and slurred voice made Harry's skin crawl with dread.

"Putting me to bed, brewing me a potion…" At Harry's startled look, a horrible smile crept over Snape's lips. "Yes, I can recognize my own stock, you foolish boy."

"What makes you think I want to gain anything from this?" Harry demanded, with that creeping sense of unease as something truly malignant stole into Snape's countenance.

"The way I see it," hissed Snape, leaning imperceptibly closer to the boy, black eyes glittering cruelly, "You are either hoping to gratify your hero complex, in which case I suppose you're feeling quite smug you helped your poor, pitiful professor..."

"I wasn't--" Harry began heatedly.

"Or perhaps," Snape cocked his head, his gaze seeming to sear straight through Harry's skin, "those Muggles left you so pathetically desperate for attention that you hope to win my affection with this." Snape's voice softened to a low, malevolent drawl laced with cruel amusement. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry felt anger and mortification creep through him.

"I suppose," Snape pressed on speculatively, "those two possibilities aren't so mutually exclusive. Perhaps your ridiculous and destructive need to be everybody's hero is simply a guise so the rest of us won't perceive that worthless, unloved little boy who spent so many years in a cupboard. He's still right there under the surface; he has been all along, hasn't he? You were just hoping we wouldn't see him."

Harry's cheeks were burning red; he clenched his fists tightly, as though he could will away the humiliation raging through him.

"Rest assured, Harry…" Snape leaned closer, his greasy hair casting his face in shadows. His eyes glittered into Harry with vicious intensity as he whispered, "I see you."

Harry stared at him numbly.

Snape slumped back against the pillows; the malevolent energy suddenly drained away from him. "Get out of here!" he rasped. "Out!-- you sad, pathetic, little boy!"

Harry stared at him. The horrible emotions churning inside him all seemed to coalesce into a molten rage.

"Next time, Snape," he promised softly, his voice shaking, "I'll leave you on the ground to rot."

Snape's harsh, rasping chuckle followed him out of the room.

"Rictusempra."

Harry awoke, gasping for breath, feeling invisible fingers dancing over his abdomen.

"Stop it!" he cried out breathlessly between helpless peals of laughter, kicking at the sheets on his bed.

Lucius Malfoy lounged carelessly in the doorway, watching with a smirk. "Not until I'm sufficiently assured you won't fall directly back to sleep."

"I won't! I won't!" Harry promised desperately, trying to roll out of the bed; he quickly found himself tumbling onto his hands and knees on the carpet, but the relentless tickling found him doubled up with giggles, unable to spot his wand on the nightstand.

"I don't know," Lucius said thoughtfully, the troubled expression on his face belied by his twinkling, gray eyes. "My son has been known to sleep like a baby right after this spell, and he doesn't slumber nearly as late as you apparently do." He glanced at the wall clock in a slow, infuriating manner that seemed to augment Harry's torment. "Yes, 11 o'clock. Can that be right? Why, it's nearly lunchtime, boy, and you're idling the day away in bed!"

The tickling was genuinely starting to hurt.

"I'll wake up, I promise, Mr. Malfoy!" Harry shouted, tears beginning to collect in his eyes. "Please, just take it off!"

Malfoy laughed richly. "Oh, very well. But only because you asked so nicely."

Harry let out a small cry of relief when the invisible fingers disappeared. Rubbing his stomach, he gingerly rose to his feet. His eyes fell upon Lucius, still hovering in the doorway, two wands clutched in his hand.

Harry's eyes widened. "That's not fair, you know. I had no chance to fight back."

"Of course it's not fair. A relation of yours will be pleased to inform you I'm a right bastard," Lucius replied smoothly, tossing Harry's wand onto the bed. "Be down to the parlor post haste. It looks like," he waggled his eyebrows, "we'll have our run of the house today."

Lucius swept from the doorway, and Harry found himself smiling. He collected his wand, running his eyes down its unfamiliar length. Snape had insisted upon transfiguring its appearance, lest Lucius recognize it in lieu of Harry's face.

Something morbid in Harry wondered just how this morning would have turned out had Lucius accio'd his wand and discovered himself looking at Harry Potter's eleven-inch phoenix feather and holly

The thought sobered him; the scene was suddenly a good deal less amusing.

* * *

Whatever Lucius Malfoy's flaws, and there were many, the man genuinely loved his son. He was vain, arrogant, selfish, and literally an agent of evil, yet he was a decent father.

At least, that was the impression Harry received from their discussion over brunch, which consisted of Malfoy making unfavorable comparisons between Snape and Malfoy Manors, and Malfoy bragging about Draco's various accomplishments, half of which either he or his son had invented; Harry had no recollection of Draco ever bagging a house cup for Slytherin, scoring the highest OWLs in the class, or taking the Dark--

"The Dark Mark?" Harry blurted out, shocked out of the listless stupor he'd slowly fallen into as Malfoy prattled on.

Malfoy's eyes were locked onto his, gray and perceptive, and Harry suddenly found his heart in his throat, wondering if he should pretend not to understand what Malfoy had been talking about.

"Yes," Lucius said quietly, a serpentine smile creeping across his lips. "The youngest Death Eater in two decades. After our dear Severus, of course."

Harry swallowed convulsively, remembering Snape's strict instructions to feign ignorance.

"You were aware Severus was a Death Eater, weren't you?" Lucius asked coyly, sipping his juice, never taking his eyes from Harry's face. "You seem to be an intelligent boy. Surely his harboring the fugitive Lucius Malfoy would have tipped you off."

Ah, common sense. Harry grabbed onto the excuse Lucius was offering him.

"Well, my parents… I guess they'd speculated about it," Harry found speaking difficult, his heart pounding as he tried to figure out just what he should say and what he shouldn't. "And I heard about that… uh, disgraceful talk about the ministry, um, about them putting you in Azkaban… So," he floundered for a moment, then asked gracelessly, "How was that?"

Malfoy's eyes darkened, his hand curling into a fist on the table. Harry cursed himself for an idiot; he truly was every bit the fool Snape said he was.

"Azkaban," Lucius spat, glaring into the distance. "That idiot Fudge! After everything I'd done to advance his career, he buckled under the slightest pressure!" He took a deep, steadying breath. "You can't know what it's like. Pray you never do. Torn from your home, your family, on some… on a ridiculous pretense, condemned in an absurd farce of a trial!"

Harry felt himself grow angry at Malfoy dismissing the circumstances that brought about Sirius's demise as ridiculous, the trial proving his support of Voldemort a farce, but he schooled his features into neutrality. He'd noticed that even when Malfoy lost himself in his rants, he could pick up upon the slightest facial inflection in his companions.

"I haven't seen my son in six months," Malfoy complained bitterly. "My wife has burned through half the Malfoy fortune already…" He buried his forehead in his hands, knocking over his goblet with his elbow; it was only when the smell of alcohol filled the air that Harry realized it wasn't pumpkin juice the man had been drinking. "My life is falling to pieces, and I am stuck here playing house with Severus!"

Harry reached over quietly to set the goblet back upright, and was just dabbing his napkin at the firewhiskey stain, considering a scourgify charm for the wet tablecloth, when Malfoy's head shot back up.

"What on earth are you doing?" he demanded, staring as though Harry were some bizarre animal.

Harry paused, wondering if he'd done something wrong. "Just cleaning the spilled drink--"

"Leave it for the house elf, you silly boy," Malfoy snapped, waving Harry off as if irritated, though amusement crept back into his expression. Whatever maudlin thoughts had so quickly stolen his composure seemed to disintegrate as he derided Harry's assumption of the role of house-elf.

"One would think you weren't even wizard-born!" Malfoy was still ranting, several minutes later as they strolled into the gardens.

Harry had been feeling awkward and rather jumpy from the moment Malfoy had insisted upon leaving the house, and this last statement was like ice-water washing down his back.

"Well, I am," he said lamely.

Malfoy's eyes were on him again, that gaze he disliked for its intensity. "You look like someone." An elegant finger pressed over pursed lips. "Someone familiar."

"Gee, who could that be?" Harry said sarcastically before he could stop himself.

Malfoy chuckled, his eyes softening with what looked suspiciously like fondness. "Oh, naturally, you look like Severus. But…"

Suddenly Malfoy's fingers crept onto his chin, tilting Harry's head up and into the sunlight; Harry squinted against the bright onslaught of light, unable to see through watery eyes Malfoy's black silhouette looming above him; the man scrutinized him carefully for about half a minute.

"Someone else…" Malfoy murmured. "A face. I just can't place it."

Harry felt strangely cold. He wasn't sure if Malfoy was thinking of the old Harry-- his eyes were the same-- or of his mother.

The fingers slipped from his chin, and Lucius retreated to a comfortable distance; Harry heard him summoning a house-elf and demanding a fresh decanter of firewhiskey.

"I've never been much of a drinker," Malfoy said when the house-elf returned, as though trying to excuse himself. He gestured vaguely to the goblet. "It's one of the few luxuries a good, pureblooded lineage could obtain me in that place; I suppose I've discovered the virtues of a stiff drink." He scowled into the distance. "One would think those guards had never even heard of the Malfoys. Forbidden visitors, indeed!"

"How terrible," Harry said dryly, knowing Malfoy was waiting for the comment, yet unable to imbue it with the proper enthusiasm.

"It was. But, fortunately, that distasteful period of my life is over." Malfoy sighed, helping himself to a generous swig of his drink. "Enough unpleasantness. Tell me about this person you wish to kill."

"Hurt," Harry corrected quickly.

"Details, boy," Malfoy said, turning to him with a salacious grin. "Who is it? Those inhuman parents who foisted you upon Severus for the holiday? I'd certainly kill any relative who did that to me. A scornful lover, perhaps?"

Harry snorted. Kinship curses would not generally apply to anyone he'd consider taking for a lover.

"Just a woman," Harry said quietly, trying to stay as close to the truth as he could. "She, uh… She, er, hurt my father. I want her to pay."

He glanced up nervously to see if Malfoy was buying it, and found the man staring down at him with an odd expression. Almost… misty-eyed.

"You're avenging your father," he murmured softly.

Harry shifted uneasily under that strange gaze. "Yeah, that's the idea."

Lucius Malfoy knelt swiftly down before him, bringing them to eye-level. A large hand clasped Harry warmly on the shoulder.

"He's fortunate to have you for a son, Septimus," said Malfoy in a voice thick with emotion. "And I'm… pleased I can help you take your revenge."

Despite the fact that the entire story was a complete lie, and despite Lucius's use of that ridiculous name Snape had given him, Harry felt oddly touched by the fact that the man seemed to genuinely mean what he was saying.

* * *

As soon as Snape stirred groggily from his slumber, the wards alerted him to the fact that the boy was no longer in the house.

The knowledge jolted him upright. His memories flickered back to the previous day, the unending agony of the Cruciatus; the Dark Lord had given him no explanation for it at the time, and the only reason his foggy mind had discerned for the punishment was that somehow they had discovered Harry Potter under his roof.

As soon as he'd been released, and he'd flooed right back to Snape Manor, the wards he'd set in place alerted him to the fact that Lucius had broken the protections around the boy's room. Certain the boy was already dead, he'd rushed up the stairs to find…

Lucius and Harry chatting amiably over an Ancient Runes text.

The day had been awful, from the beginning until the end. Between his own son watching Lucius Malfoy get the best of him, and the humiliating position the boy discovered him in where he'd collapsed in the potions lab, it made Severus want to bury himself back under the sheets rather than face the ridicule he was sure to see on their faces.

He could only imagine how amusing the boy had found the whole thing, seeing his hated professor suffer. How intensely delightful the whole thing had to be for him. And what a smug sense of superiority it must have given him, rubbing Snape's weaknesses in his face with that potion…

But now Potter was out of the house. There could be any number of reasons for it; all Severus could contemplate, however, was the possibility that Malfoy had taken him outside to kill him without interference.

"Point me!" he growled, shoving his wand into the air.

It was with a strength he barely possessed that he made his way down the stairs and stumbled out into the gardens.

He said something, he gave himself away, he's going to be killed…

The thoughts died away when he found Lucius splayed casually in the grass, watching the boy who stood several feet away skipping pebbles across the pond. Lucius glanced up when the crunch of gravel revealed Snape's presence. The boy's shoulders stiffened, the back of his neck flushing red in the sunlight, but he otherwise gave no indication he'd heard.

Good. He didn't want to face the little brat. He just knew he'd see some smug, satisfied expression in the boy's eyes.

"Severus," Lucius said, smiling broadly. "I thought you were going to sleep all day."

Snape fought down his fury, remembering Malfoy's haughty triumph the day before. He felt slightly foolish for not having anticipated Lucius's move. He'd regarded their disagreement as minor, but Lucius clearly had sensed that it could escalate into something more severe, so he'd concocted some ridiculous story to put Severus in the Dark Lord's bad graces. If it was anything like the last time Lucius had pulled such a stunt, it was probably some tale of Severus making derogatory comments about the Dark Lord's judgment.

Thanks to yesterday, any complaint Severus made about Lucius would seem like a petty attempt at vengeance. His unwanted house guest could now conduct himself with virtual impunity.

Lucius knew well his weakened position in the ranks since losing his good name. The fact that he'd had to break himself out of prison alone would have alerted him to it. Without the vaunted Malfoy name or the Malfoy fortune, Lucius was not nearly the power broker and valuable resource he had once been. Perhaps Lucius had moved preemptively, in the belief that Severus would exploit that weakness?

Well, he probably would have. He would have enjoyed the chance to lord over Lucius Malfoy.

But Lucius had anticipated it, and now Severus was in the disadvantaged position; he was now the servant out of the Dark Lord's favor.

"You know," Snape said softly to Malfoy, trying to keep the words from the boy's prying ears. "I woke up feeling quite… refreshed this morning." He sat down next to Lucius, lest he fall down and prove his statement false. "I wonder if our master wasn't rather… half-hearted in his reprimand."

Malfoy smiled thinly. "I'll be sure to mention it to him."

Oh, he hated Lucius.

"What are you doing out here?" Snape whispered. "Don't tell me an adolescent boy is your new diversion." He gestured at the oblivious Harry, now enraptured by some ducks drifting across the water.

A thin, blonde eyebrow rose. "Never fear; I still appreciate your sterling presence, Severus."

Snape scowled. "He was not to leave his room."

"I was not to enter his room," Lucius countered softly. "And I haven't. He came out to me."

Snape peered at him suspiciously. He disliked Malfoy's interest in Potter; he disliked it intensely. "What are you planning?"

An enigmatic look appeared on Lucius's face. "Why, nothing, Severus. Believe it or not, I'm quite bored, and he is good company." He must have seen something in Snape's expression that gave away his unease, because Lucius suddenly looked rather gleeful. "Does it bother you so much?"

"No!" Snape growled, turning away, glaring at Potter now. What in the hell was the boy thinking, coming out here with Lucius Malfoy?

He felt the weight of Lucius's amused gaze for a long moment, then Malfoy swept gracefully to his feet. "Septimus!"

Harry did not react to the name at all; Severus tensed, considering a variety of spells he could cast silently to alert the boy to the fact that the other man was calling his fake name, but when Malfoy again said, in a sterner voice, "Septimus!" Harry started, and quickly whipped around.

The dark-haired boy looked at Malfoy questioningly, and as Snape looked on, rather unnerved, Malfoy waved his wand and conjured a small loaf of bread.

"For your ducks," Malfoy said, smiling benignly, tossing the loaf into the boy's arms.

Harry stared at the man in surprise, looking between Malfoy and the bread in his arms. Really, had no one ever let him--

"Just throw some in the water, boy," Malfoy said impatiently. "They'll come to you."

Snape realized suddenly that of course no one had done this for the boy before; the Muggles had probably never indulged his interest in anything, much less in some ducks on a pond.

Snape shook off the thought, and noticed incredulously the tentative smile Harry offered Lucius Malfoy before he turned his attention back to the ducks.

Snape turned his suspicious glare back to Malfoy, somewhat disturbed to see Malfoy smiling as he watched the boy feed the ducks. Lucius noticed Snape watching him, and sent him a challenging look.

"Tell me, Lucius," Snape drawled as Malfoy returned to his spot on the grass. "Are you using the boy to attain some mastery over me, or are you indicating in this passive-aggressive manner that you still wish to see your son? I've informed you already that Draco has no discretion--"

"I know that," Lucius replied snappishly.

"He would brag about your escape in front of Potter and his Gryffindor friends," Snape continued ruthlessly. "The Gryffindors would tell the Headmaster, the Ministry would administer veritaserum, and I would be arrested. Neither that old codger, nor the Dark Lord will be willing to save me should I be ejected from my teaching job and clapped into Azkaban --"

"I know!" Lucius barked. He glared at Snape, genuinely angry. "I can wait. I've told you that." He folded his arms over his chest, and couldn't resist saying bitterly, "Amazing how a man of your resourcefulness can think of no other means by which I might visit my family."

Snape smirked. "Yes, I know how dearly you'd like to see your wife right now. Would it be the Cruciatus, or an outright killing curse?"

Lucius smiled at him prettily. "More like flowers and chocolate. Not all of us, Severus, have such casual malice towards our own kin."

Snape froze, thinking for one horrific moment that Lucius was referring to Harry, that Lucius had figured it out.

Then sense took over, and he realized that Lucius had been thinking back to Severus's father.

But the slip had been just enough. He noticed Lucius now scrutinizing him, gray eyes glittering and intent.

"I should update you on Draco's progress in potions," Snape said casually, ignoring the other man's scrutiny and carefully occluding his mind, lest any emotion manifest itself on his face.

The whole time, Lucius Malfoy watched him with renewed interest.

Snape received a firecall from Dumbledore later in the afternoon; Harry's heart picked up a beat as the man's black robes disappeared from sight. Snape had informed him the night of Lucius's arrival that they would leave as soon as Dumbledore could confirm that Voldemort was not monitoring the floo network. The boy was not certain whether the end of his time at Snape's house would be good news or bad.

Obviously it would be a pleasure to escape the greasy git's company. Even spending the last six days of vacation alone in Gryffindor tower would be an improvement over this. Yet he couldn't help but regret the possibility of leaving before trying out one of the curses he intended for Bellatrix. Lucius Malfoy was a decent teacher, as well as a convenient guinea pig; the man certainly deserved a good hex for fathering Draco, if not for trying to kill Ginny, brutalizing Dobby, and helping to murder Sirius.

On the other hand, it would be good to leave, because Harry found himself rather liking the man. Was it the contrast between his father's treatment of him and Lucius Malfoy's that simply made Malfoy suddenly seem like a decent man? Or had Azkaban genuinely changed him for the better?

He pondered the troubling thought until Snape was out of sight. Malfoy then smiled winningly, and gestured for Harry to stretch out on the grass beside him. Quietly, he whispered to the boy about the Infervesco Sanguis curse.

"Infervesco Sanguis…" Harry murmured, trying to remember just what that one was.

Malfoy glanced over at him through cold gray eyes that stood starkly from his now-gaunt face. "It's a blood-boiling curse. One of the variations, at least."

Harry swallowed hard. He'd read about that one. It really sounded quite… harsh.

"Oh, come now, boy," Lucius chided gently. "It's actually quite delicious to watch, really. If it helps you with your squeamishness, I'll assure you that it does not literally boil one's blood; the pain receptors merely react as though it does."

"So, excruciating agony," Harry said blandly, trying to picture casting this on Malfoy, and faltering at the image. "Er… I don't know."

Malfoy looked severely displeased, and Harry felt an absurd twinge of worry at the disappointment in his eyes.

"It's not that I don't like the idea," Harry said quickly. "It's just that, well, it seems like you hurt them and then it's over. No damage done. I guess maybe I'd want something a little more… lasting."

The statement seemed to gratify Malfoy, and Harry found himself far too pleased with the pride in the man's expression.

"That's my boy," Malfoy whispered softly, smiling. "Something slightly more… malignant, shall we say?" He rolled over onto his back, gazing thoughtfully into the sky rapidly fading into early evening. "A pity I can't teach you the Cruciatus Curse."

Harry caught his breath.

"Severus would surely murder me while I slept for bringing the ministry down on his head," Malfoy said, glancing over in the direction where Snape had departed for the house. "And it does take a certain…" his eyes found Harry again, lingering on him heavily, "disposition to pull off such a curse."

Harry disliked the way the man's gaze rested upon him, and he threaded his fingers in the grass, curling them into fists and tearing several blades from the earth.

"Perhaps you don’t have it," Lucius continued. "But I must admit, Septimus, your relation to Severus, and the fact that you were reading a book of dark curses," amusement stole into his voice, "as well as plotting vengeance when first I spoke to you yesterday, leads me to think you just might."

Harry hesitated.

"Well, boy?" Malfoy demanded tersely.

"I don't want to go to Azkaban," he whispered, fumbling for some excuse for what Lucius clearly perceived as an inadequacy. He then winced, realizing what he'd said.

"A legitimate fear," Lucius acknowledged, sensing Harry's discomfort. He chuckled mirthlessly. "If a Malfoy can be sent there, I suppose anyone can." He rolled easily back onto his side, facing Harry again, so the boy could feel his breath tickling over his cheek. "But I assure you," he purred softly. "You need not fear Azkaban for much longer. The Dark Lord will prevail, and then none of our ilk will see the insides of those accursed walls ever again."

"I've tried to before," Harry confessed, unsettled by the gray eyes boring into his from a scant few inches distance. "The Cruciatus Curse, I mean."

"And it didn't work."

Harry closed his eyes; he swore he could still see those enticing, soulless gray eyes even through his lids.

"I was angry, but I just-- I couldn't--"

"Shh…"

Lucius's fingers threaded themselves parentally through his hair, and Harry found the gesture oddly comforting, even though the man was consoling him on his failure to execute a curse it still made him sick to remember he'd even attempted.

"Very few succeed on their first try," Lucius murmured. "It took me two months of practice on the house-elves before I could make a man scream."

Coldness seeped through Harry, and he kept his eyes determinedly shut. Goosebumps prickled down his spine as he fully comprehended that he was discussing the Cruciatus Curse with one of his worst enemies.

How easy it had been over the course of the day, as Malfoy sought a confidant in him, as Malfoy saw a boy to indulge in him, as Malfoy stood up to Snape for him, to forget that this man was a ruthless killer who would murder Harry in an instant, were he somehow to see the scar on his forehead through Snape's glamour.

He should return to the house and get away from Lucius…

But Snape was in the house.

Harry's thoughts involuntarily turned back to the night before, to Snape's vitriol.

"I suppose you're feeling quite smug you helped your poor, pitiful professor.."

"Perhaps those Muggles left you so pathetically desperate for attention that you hope to win my affection with this."

"Out-- you sad, pathetic, little boy!"

He couldn't bear to face Snape after the humiliating words.

Harry opened his eyes, feeling Lucius's hand still resting comfortingly on top of his head, seeing those gray eyes filled with such understanding… and such evil.

Am I really 'pathetically desperate for attention'? Harry wondered, thinking of the odd, childish delight he'd felt earlier when Malfoy had given him some bread to feed the ducks.

Honestly, he could have conjured it himself. He just hadn't thought to do so.

And Malfoy had looked so pleased when he'd declared he was avenging his father. Harry had been thinking of Sirius, the closest thing to a father Harry'd ever had; in all likelihood, the man had been hoping for some similar gesture on Draco's part. Lucius had probably looked misty-eyed, thinking longingly of Draco avenging him by punishing Harry.

It now seemed unbelievable to him that a few moments earlier, he'd exaggerated his own evil just to win a look of approval from Malfoy.

Oh, he was pathetic.

It was humiliating to realize Snape had been right. What in the hell was wrong with him, that he was stretched out here on the grass next to Lucius Malfoy, exchanging secrets as though the man were a friend?

Malfoy was out to kill him; he should be out to destroy Malfoy.

And he'd be damned if he'd forget it again.

"On second thought," Harry heard himself say, "Tell me about that blood-boiling curse."

* * *

The Dark Lord had discovered somehow that Potter had left school grounds. The Headmaster was certain of it, because the webs of spells the aurors had unearthed throughout the floo network were of a sophistication and design that could only be constructed by a wizard of exceptional ability.

"The moment Harry enters the network, Voldemort will sense him," Dumbledore informed Snape as soon as they switched from the fireplace to the more confidential mirror exchange. "I'm afraid you'll have to tip toe around Lucius Malfoy, at least for a few more days."

Snape scowled, and glared determinedly at the desk instead of meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "I suppose this is the point you remind me that youbelieved this entire visit to be a bad idea in the first place."

Dumbledore gazed at him for a long, silent moment. "No, Severus," he finally admitted. "I think perhaps you were in the right. It was high time that all of our secrets were unveiled, including this one… Especially this one."

"Yes, secrets," Snape sneered. He turned his scathing glare to Dumbledore. "We have far too many of those, don't we? Have I told you yet that the boy shrunk when I removed the glamour? He literally shrunk several inches because those Muggles neglected to feed him."

Dumbledore's eyes flickered sadly, but he looked unsurprised.

"How could you have let that happen?" Snape demanded, feeling a prickle of anger at the man's lack of reaction "How could you designate me an unsuitable parent and send him home to that?" When Dumbledore did not immediately answer, Severus pressed on viciously, "He slept in a cupboard. They imprisoned him for weeks on end--"

"I know all of this, Severus," Dumbledore said regretfully, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can tell me nothing new."

"Then explain it to me!" Snape cried. "Why was I so much worse than those wretched Muggles? Do you truly loathe me so much--"

"I don't--"

"You hate me!" Snape suddenly felt like that shattered sixth-year, railing at the Headmaster again. "You always have! Pathetic, miserable Snivellus--"

"Get a hold of yourself, Severus!" Dumbledore roared.

Snape felt an immediate wave of disgust at the self-pitying words that had been coming from his lips. Shame crashed over him, and he glared at Dumbledore lest the man perceive the emotions raging through him.

"Get a hold of yourself," Dumbledore repeated, quietly. "There is a time and a place to discuss these matters, Severus, and this is not it."

Snape closed his eyes; his head was throbbing with a fresh headache. "Disregard those words. I am… stressed by recent events. " His eyes slipped open again. "The boy is outside right now with Lucius Malfoy."

Alarm passed over Dumbledore's expression. "Is it wise to leave them alone together?"

"Potter has a certain amount of discretion." Oh, that burned him to say. "I don't have any immediate excuse for keeping them apart, and Lucius seems to have taken a liking to the boy."

Dumbledore frowned. Severus could tell the Headmaster didn't care for the news any more than he did.

"I am hoping he merely longs for his son," Snape continued, scowling. "However, there's a possibility he's thinking of using the boy against me."

"You're certain it's… so straightforward?" Dumbledore asked, still troubled.

Snape understood the implication. It hadn't occurred to him that Lucius might have a sordid interest in the boy.

"I'm certain," he stated confidently.

He knew Lucius. The man enjoyed a pure-blooded woman, not boys his son's age.

"Very well then. Keep an eye on the situation, Severus."

Snape nodded sharply, and moved to terminate the connection on his end of the mirror.

"Severus…"

Snape paused, and glanced at Dumbledore in some trepidation.

"I wasn't aware of the extent of Harry's mistreatment until he arrived at Hogwarts," Dumbledore confessed. "If I had, it might have been different. It's too late now to change the past."

His clear, blue eyes flitted up to Snape's.

"As for the other issue, Severus," he continued softly, "I believe you already know the answers to them. Do I loathe you? Do I think so little of you? You saw the pensieve. Do you need to hear it from my lips? Will that make it real for you?"

Snape drew in a sharp breath to deny it, but Dumbledore raised an aged hand to forestall him.

"I respect you as a man, and as a wizard," Dumbledore said sincerely. "And whether you're willing to believe it or not, I care for you deeply. Whatever choices, or mistakes I've made, they were never because I thought little of you. If anything, Severus, I wanted to save you… From a responsibility you weren't yet ready to handle, and perhaps, to some extent, from yourself. You might even say, Severus, that although I perhaps went about it the wrong way, I hoped to protect you as a father might his son."

Snape felt an unpleasant emotion churn in his gut. With a sharp wave of his wand, he broke the connection. The Headmaster's visage faded from the mirror, and Snape was left staring at himself.

* * *

His assertion that Lucius Malfoy's fondness for Harry was entirely innocent was rather shaken when he emerged outside to discover them lying inches from each other, Malfoy running a gentle hand through the boy's hair.

The sight shook him tremendously, and Snape even found himself retreating an appalled step. It couldn't be… Lucius couldn't be…

Malfoy's gray eyes found him suddenly over Harry's shoulder, scrutinizing Snape's pale face for a long moment before a smirk curled across his lips. His eyes were glittering with that rekindled flame of interest. Pointedly, his elegant hand strayed from the boy's hair, to his neck, to the extent that Harry himself seemed to sense the change and withdrew from the man's reach.

Snape retreated. Potter hadn't seen him; he was probably entirely unaware of the silent exchange between Lucius and Severus. Lucius had noticed Snape's reaction to the perceived intimacy; the damage was done. He knew the man would use it against him now.

Severus crossed his arms, pondering just how to extricate the boy from Lucius's grasp without openly demanding Potter return to the house. He knew he'd roused Lucius's interest earlier, reacting to the man's comment about 'kin', and any indication he felt some sort of overt concern for the boy-- which he truly did not-- would merely stoke Lucius's dangerous curiosity.

Five minutes later found him casting a sleeping spell on Lucius and a cooling charm on Potter. He watched as Harry folded scrawny arms over his chest, shivering violently. The boy cast a several glances at Lucius, who had now been lulled into a heavy doze. He watched Potter say something to Lucius, and wait for an answer that never came. Instead of surrendering to the inevitable and returning back indoors, Harry cast a dubious glance at the house, then curled his legs up against his chest in a futile attempt to gather more warmth.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake--" Snape grumbled, pulling out his wand, certain Lucius was sound asleep. "Silencio!" He didn't need the boy to let out of a startled cry. "Accio Harry!"

Potter looked positively shocked when an invisible force suddenly propelled him from his spot next to the slumbering Malfoy and hurtled him through the air. He collided with Snape just inside the doorway.

Severus caught the shivering form, nearly stumbling backwards from the impact. He ignored the startled green eyes that flew to his, and the objection unheard on the boy's muted lips. By the time he hauled the half-frozen form into the warmth of the parlor, and tossed him into a seat, the boy was seething with fury.

"The Headmaster has informed me we will have to wait a little longer before returning you to the school," Snape told him as he waved his wand to undo the silencing and cooling charms. As expected, the change of subject seemed to immediately blunt the boy's anger at Snape's rough handling.

"How long?" Harry asked intently.

"Two days, maybe three," Snape said carelessly, waiting for the dismay to steal into the boy's expression. He was disconcerted when it did not. "It depends upon how long it takes to dismantle the Dark Lord's spells across the floo network."

"Can't we just… fly on our brooms, or something?" Harry asked. "You refereed that Quidditch match first year; I know you can fly."

"We're nowhere near Hogwarts, Potter," Snape informed him. "In fact, we're nowhere near Scotland at the moment." At the boy's surprised look, Snape sneered, "I suppose you thought the tolerable climate outside was simply an anomaly?"

"I thought you'd charmed your garden," Harry replied. He rubbed his hands over his arms. "I guess you cast a cooling charm on me."

Snape raised an eyebrow, surprised the boy had figured it out.

"You could have just told me you wanted me inside," Harry said snidely.

"And alert Malfoy? I think not."

Harry glanced at him keenly. "You're really afraid of him, aren't you?"

"I'm not afraid of him, Potter," Snape retorted. His black eyes narrowed. "But you would be wise to learn some caution. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were pleased to be staying. Do you wish to spend more time with Draco's father?"

"No," Harry replied shortly, rising to his feet and attempting to bypass Snape.

Snape's fingers grasped his arm. "Have you any idea the dangerous ground you are treading on?" he hissed. "Draco Malfoy is a sadistic little bastard. Do you know how he got that way?"

"Inbreeding?" Harry suggested flippantly.

"No!" Snape growled, although it was true, a little bit. Narcissa and Lucius were cousins. "It is because of that man. Malfoy may smile at you and indulge your immature impulses, but he is a cruel and sadistic monster, Potter! The only reason he is bothering with you is because Azkaban shook him to the core, and it makes him feel comfortable to play the father again. You are nothing more than a substitute for him, at best, an instrument in his schemes at worst. "

Or at least Severus hoped.

Harry smirked. "Well, between Malfoy gratifying his need to be a father, and me gratifying my hero complex, I guess we're all pretty happy with this arrangement, aren't we? Let me go."

"I've warned you, Potter," Snape said coldly, releasing the boy. "Do not be a fool."

"You always think I'm a fool," Harry retorted hatefully.

For a moment, Snape was startled by the sheer hostility in the boy's eyes.

With a dirty parting look, Harry fled the parlor.

* * *

A somewhat disgruntled Lucius Malfoy returned to the house that night, quite disconcerted he'd fallen asleep outside like some farm animal, and he beckoned for Harry to follow him to his chamber.

He spent twenty minutes or so explaining to the boy just how to shed his own blood in order to begin the Infervesco Sanguis curse.

"Because of your shared lineage," Lucius told him for the third time, "Your blood will contain the properties necessary for the spell to reach her through her blood"

"Right. I think I have it," Harry stated crisply. He was eager to leave the room before Snape found out he was with Malfoy again; he might ask questions, after all, about what they were doing, and Snape always seemed to detect a lie. He somehow knew Snape wouldn't be as thrilled about Harry cursing a fellow wizard as he had been at the prospect of Harry cursing the Dursleys.

"Is that all for tonight?" Harry inquired, rising to his feet, stifling a fake yawn. "I'm a bit tired."

Lucius cocked his head to the side, watching the boy oddly. "Severus does not trust me," he stated abruptly.

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure just what to say.

"Do you trust me?" Malfoy asked the boy bluntly.

Harry stared at him, uncertain where this was going.

"Er, yes?" he offered cautiously.

Lucius smiled in satisfaction. "Good." The man glanced at the closed door, then back to Harry. "Imperio."

A wonderful, floating sensation descended upon Harry, the fears and anxieties of the last weeks evaporating from his consciousness.

The command filled his mind. Sit down.

His body automatically moved to obey, sinking into a chair, although another voice, his own voice, penetrated the blank euphoria of his mind.

Fight this, it urged.

The command again. Sit down.

He could fight the Imperius Curse; he didn't need to obey… Yet some instinct screamed at him not to resist the voice.

It can't hurt to sit, he reasoned, still holding out against the hazy urge to surrender to the will of another. Just sit.

When Harry found himself sitting, the noxious tendrils of the spell crept from his mind, and Lucius retreated several steps, looking at him appraisingly. Harry's mind was slowly returning to his control, and it dawned on him in some shock that Lucius had actually used the Imperius Curse on him right under Snape's nose!

He wondered how he should react under Lucius's intent scrutiny. He was thankful for whatever instinct had curtailed his resistance; it would have raised questions, had Malfoy perceived him to be resistant to the Imperius Curse, yet he was utterly confused as to why Malfoy had cast it in the first place.

If he'd simply asked me to sit, I would have sat, Harry thought bewilderedly.

He finally met Lucius's eyes, gazing at the man blankly for a long moment; he wasn't sure just how he should be reacting, so he did not. A satisfied glint crept into Malfoy's eyes when the man perceived the boy was not going to confront him about taking control of his mind for those fleeting seconds; perhaps he believed Harry unaware of what he'd done. Or perhaps this had to do with that 'trust' Lucius had asked him about.

Lucius's wand suddenly emitted a faint trickle of violet sparks. The man's attention was caught by them, and he looked back up at Harry with even greater satisfaction in his countenance.

"You may go now," Malfoy said smoothly, gesturing with a sardonic nod of his head towards the door.

Still confused, Harry nodded shakily and slipped back out into the hallway.

He did not notice that Snape had just ascended the staircase at the other end of the hallway. The Professor stood, staring, utterly stunned, at the boy who had just emerged from Lucius's bedroom.

Harry also missed the smirk Malfoy sent Snape's way before shutting his door.

Harry awoke the next morning to the unpleasant sight of Snape's grim face hovering above his. He jolted upright, whipping his hand out to retrieve his glasses. The world snapped into focus, revealing Snape's wand pointed straight at Harry's nose, and a predatory expression glittering in the man's black eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry sputtered. He couldn't believe his professor would actually hex him--

"Manners, Potter!" Snape raised a cool eyebrow, and tucked his wand away. "I was checking you for a Confundus Curse."

Wonderful. It was just like Snape to accuse him of being confunded simply because he made decisions for himself.

"And?" Harry challenged.

Snape's black eyes narrowed. "I am sorry to say your idiotic behavior stems solely from a lack of intelligence. It seems I was too optimistic in hoping otherwise."

Harry was reminded again why he so fervently hated Snape.

"Well, if you don't mind," he snarled, "those of us who lack intelligence need sleep, too. So leave me alone!"

With that, he buried himself back in the covers and determinedly waited for Snape's footsteps to retreat. Unsurprisingly, the man crossed his arms and stubbornly remained in place.

"Since a simple finite incantatem won't cure you of this madness as I'd hoped," said Snape sternly, "I believe it is high time we had a more extensive discussion of your… conduct."

"Go ahead and talk, then," Harry said, smirking. "I'll just close my eyes here… But I'm listening. Honest."

With an angry noise, Snape yanked the covers from Harry's body, stealing the warmth from the bed.

"Very well, no discussion," Snape snarled. "It occurs to me, Potter, that we've grossly neglected your Occlumency lessons."

Harry's eyes snapped open. "You've got to be kidding--"

"Legilimens."

Harry was standing before Lucius in the corridor. "You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter. They were meddlesome fools, too…”

Voldemort was casting the Cruciatus Curse on him. Lucius Malfoy's jeering voice rose from the crowd of Death Eaters..

Lucius Malfoy's wand pressed hard into his ribs. "'The prophecy, give me the prophecy, Potter…"

He felt Snape pressing on his mind, pushing further, calling various images of Lucius to mind, wrenching them from his thoughts.

Lucius was lunging at Harry in the corridor…

Lucius was standing next to Fudge in the Ministry of Magic. "Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes.." he commented coldly. "Snakelike, in fact…"

Harry was alarmed to see Lucius Malfoy appear in the doorway to his bedchamber…

Dobby was gesturing towards Riddle's diary and towards Lucius, then hitting himself on the head…

Gritting his teeth under the fury of the attack, Harry lashed out with the only weapon available. He kicked Snape in the ribs. Though delivered from a poor angle and not particularly hard, the blow was enough to break the man's concentration and dissolve the spell.

Harry glared at him, gasping for breath, watching Snape do the same. It was rather odd to find himself completely dispassionate, and merely disgusted at his professor's conduct. So Snape had raped his mind. This was hardly the first time.

He clenched and unclenched his hands on the bedsheet, remembering how Snape had wrenched Harry's memory of Tonks right from his brain.

It felt just the same as this one, he realized, thinking of the tendrils of Snape's spell crawling through his thoughts, looking for Lucius, Lucius, Lucius…

"You were searching for something," Harry accused him, shoving aside the last of the covers to scramble over to the opposite side of the bed. "What was it?"

"I intended," whispered Snape harshly, "to remind you that Lucius Malfoy is your foe. He will cheerfully eviscerate you and bring your broken body to his master. You have clearly forgotten this!"

"No, no," Harry said breathlessly, narrowing his eyes. "You were searching through my memories. You were looking for something. What?"

He wanted to throw something at Snape, to break the stony, dispassionate expression that told him nothing. The only object in reach, however, was a pillow-- and that would both fail to hurt the man, as well as make Harry seem even more childish and immature in Snape's eyes than he already did.

Snape's black eyes bore searchingly into his for a drawn out moment, then the man made as if to speak--

The bedroom door burst open, dissolving wards and silencing charms.

Snape rolled his eyes skyward as Lucius called, "Oi, Severus!"

"Lucius," he said, seething with irritation as he whirled to confront the figure in the doorway. "I thought we'd agreed you were not to enter this room!"

"And I have abided by that agreement," Lucius replied mildly, with an infuriating smile. His bathrobe was half-open over his gaunt chest, and his hair was tousled with leisurely unconcern over his shoulders. "As you see, I am merely in the doorway."

As if to punctuate his statement, Lucius lounged against the doorframe theatrically. Snape shot Harry an accusing glare that plunged the boy in fresh confusion before he whirled back to face Lucius.

"Just what are you doing here?"

Harry noticed a barely perceptible flutter of Lucius's lashes. "I'm simply rousing our sleepy young friend over there." Lucius's smile was positively wicked, and Snape's face seemed to take on the color of sour milk. "Awake there, Septimus?"

Harry admired Lucius's ability to instantly strip away Snape's composure. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy," he said. Snape was now glaring at him again, so Harry shot Lucius a smile he knew would infuriate the Potions Master. "Wide awake."

"I disagree. You're clearly still tired," Snape cut in, drawing closer, obscuring Lucius from view. "Go back to sleep."

It was more an order than a request, and Harry bristled at hearing it.

"I'm fine," he said mutinously, refraining from pointing out that Snape himself had awoken him.

"You look tired," insisted Snape firmly, the look in his eyes again ordering Harry to obey. "Go. To. Sleep."

"The boy looks fine to me," Lucius drawled from the doorway. "Come take tea with me in the parlor, Septimus."

Harry glanced back and forth between these two men who demanded entirely different actions of him. The polished blonde would kill him if he had half the chance, and the dark, greasy professor would grudgingly preserve his life, however much he resented doing so.

And he certainly resented it.

If there was anything Harry was familiar with, it was resentment. A lifetime of people who hated him for his very existence, who made it clear how much they suffered in putting up with him, had well acquainted him with that terrible emotion. An image of the Dursleys flashed through his head.

Harry smiled poisonously at Snape, then nodded to Lucius, "That sounds terrific, Mr. Malfoy. I'll be down in five minutes."

Lucius smirked at his victory, and sauntered out into the hallway. Snape lingered, glaring speechlessly at Harry. It was only when he continued to glare rather than to speak that Harry realized Lucius was still loitering only several feet from the door, in easy hearing range. Snape was obviously aware of it.

Well, he'd be damned if he wouldn’t take advantage of Snape's inability to rage at him in front of their eavesdropper.

"Do you mind?" Harry asked testily. "I want to get dressed." He grabbed his trousers from where they lay slung over a chair, and directed a challenging look at Snape.

Black eyes narrowed into lethal slits.

"Remember what I said yesterday," whispered Snape in a barely audible voice. "Do not play the fool simply because you resent me."

Harry shot him a disdainful look.

"Not everything's about you, Snape."

* * *

Snape seemed positively manic once they were downstairs. His sharp black eyes shot from Lucius to Harry, following every action, observing the movements of their hands and lips with a relentless scrutiny that made Harry feel distinctly uncomfortable… It was almost as though his skin was being stripped from his bones by the intensity of the man's gaze.

Lucius, however, took it all in stride, and even seemed to enjoy the attention. Harry began to notice, on the second cup of tea, that although Lucius's gaze was fixed on the boy, he was actually watching Snape. There was a negligent tilt to his head, a slight quirk to his lips, that showed he was as aware of Snape as Snape currently was of him. Though Harry seemed to be the object of his interest, it was Snape he was truly observing.

Very odd. The boy was well-aware of some sort of power struggle going on between the two men, but he had even less insight into the workings of Malfoy's mind than he did into Snape's… And that was saying a lot. He really couldn’t say just what game Malfoy was playing with Snape; clearly Harry played some role in it… But if he hoped to rattle Snape by winning the confidence of Snape's "distant nephew", Harry doubted the man would encounter any success. Snape didn't care enough about him to worry about who Harry liked.

But then, what was it? Why was Snape acting like this? Had Lucius said something, done something? Did Snape know Lucius had cast an Unforgivable under his roof?

Lucius seemed as startled as Harry when Snape, after slipping from the room for some unnamed reason, suddenly swept back into the parlor and gestured with a violent sweep of his hand for Harry to rise.

"Septimus, fetch your coat!"

Harry cringed, and glanced at him questioningly. "Sir?"

"We have to retrieve a batch of Nightshade Herbs," Snape announced coldly. "They sprout one day a year, and today is that day. I require your assistance."

"Can't you send someone else?" Lucius complained.

Snape gave him a disdainful look. "I would never trust another to handle such a rare and delicate potions component."

Lucius's brow furrowed; he looked affronted. "You must go? You cannot simply purchase this herb?" His tone became disdainful. "Surely your family fortune gives you some latitude. Or are the rumors true about old Severus Septimus and his… proclivities squandering the family wealth?"

Lucius's eye were glinting smugly, as though he were certain of a victory with those words.

"No, it cannot be purchased," Snape replied condescendingly, entirely unmoved by Lucius's attempts to ruffle him. "I would not expect one of your potions aptitude to know this, but it is a very rare and potent substance, the basis for several of the most powerful emotive concoctions. Septimus? Coat—now. And Lucius…" Snape smiled viciously. "I would take you, but I fear for what might happen, should you leave the protective boundaries of the manor. You'll have to remain behind."

Harry knew Snape disliked Lucius, especially after the incident a few nights earlier, but it surprised him that Snape was willing to endure his presence merely to deprive Lucius of it.

"Oh," Snape added with mock compassion, "And I'm afraid this task will probably take… an entire day. I trust you can entertain yourself in our absence?"

Lucius glowered at him; his voice was calm. "But of course, Severus."

When Snape shot him another dark glare, Harry reluctantly dragged himself upstairs to fetch his coat. After Lucius's baffling use of the Imperius Curse the night before, he supposed he should be grateful for a legitimate excuse to escape Lucius's confusing influence… But he didn't particularly look forward to going anywhere with Snape.

Suddenly, an odd sensation roiled through his stomach. At first, it struck the boy as dread, but it shifted into something physical and rather unpleasant. Harry shrugged it off and swiftly buttoned up the coat before proceeding down the stairs.

Snape was waiting, the dark arms of his robes crossed, a look of thinly suppressed triumph lingering about him upon seeing the unwilling Harry alight the stairs. He shot Lucius a look of cold challenge, then Harry a dark look that promised a thoroughly unpleasant afternoon.

Still reclining comfortably in the parlor, Lucius seemed to be enduring Snape's triumph impassively. He only glanced at Harry as the boy reluctantly dragged his feet over to Snape's side.

Then Lucius looked at the boy again, catching Harry's eye. He felt the faintest note of alarm at detecting an oddly expectant look in Lucius's gray eyes.

And then it hit him.

His stomach leapt up into his throat, his entire body overcome with the horrendous sensation of overpowering nausea just as an invisible hammer seemed to pound him directly on the head. Harry let out a faint moan, and the world dissolved around him…

His first flash of awareness came when he was crouched on Snape's floor, heaving up the contents of his stomach, frenzied voices echoing somewhere in the background...

Cold, skillful fingers manipulated his jaw open. A glass vial tipped against his lips, something tangy creeping down his throat. A voice urged him to swallow it, and he complied, straining against what seemed like a thick lump lodged in his throat.

Moments later, he tasted the potion again as it came back up…

Another potion. Then another. The voice sounded frustrated.

"Just one more attempt; this should do it. You throw this one up, boy, and you will personally refurbish my carpets. Understand?"

It was no use. He found himself coughing out the last droplets of the potion over the carpets, as someone sighed above him…

Only a few minutes had passed; he knew that somehow. His entire body was shaking violently, beyond his control. Strong arms clamped around him to steady his trembling, pinning him in place where he threatened to collapse back onto the rug and into his own vomit. Harry noticed vaguely that he'd been sick over one of Snape's finer Persian rugs…

He's going to kill me, he thought. He then felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly again. A whirl of nausea overcame him again, and he collapsed under the strength of it.

* * *

Harry came to awareness, shivering violently, sprawled across a couch. He leaned instinctively towards the hastily transfigured bucket and retched. Arms supported him from tumbling off the couch. In the periphery of his vision, a robe swished by, on the far side of the room. Harry leaned his head helplessly against the arms holding him in place, the world swirling and teetering about him.

"Is it your scar?" asked an almost-imperceptible voice next to his ear. Harry shook his head weakly. The movement sent the world jolting violently, a terrible pain bursting through his head. He moaned miserably.

The voice again, much louder.

"Did you remember ingesting anything unusual?… You're licking your lips. Are you thirsty? Do you need water?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Severus," said a smooth, exasperated voice from the figure across the room. "Have you never taken care of a sick person? He'll just throw it back up. It's best to let the nausea pass. You've already seen that your potions won't help."

Harry felt nausea creep back, and he made a feeble movement towards the bucket. The arms lifted him just enough, tilting him over the waiting container. He wanted to mumble his thanks, but instead he dry retched until all ideas but passing out and escaping this agony were banished from his mind.

"Why don't you call a healer?" Lucius asked lightly.

"Because," Snape snarled, his grip tightening upon the boy in his anger. "You are here. Your delightful presence in my house prevents my attracting any attention to it, even if I have an adolescent who has taken violently ill!"

"Well, you'd best do something," suggested Lucius's supercilious tones. "You need to foist him off upon someone. Your herbs surely are withering out there."

Harry heard Snape's sharp intake of breath, as though he'd suddenly caught on to some game. His grip on Harry tightened enough for the boy to moan in protest, but Snape didn't seem to hear it.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Snape breathed. "In fact," his wand was suddenly waving in Harry's face. "Finite incantatem!"

Harry still felt ill. He let his eyes slip closed; he wished Snape would release him. The arms that had previously supported were becoming stifling and overheated, like warm blankets smothering his sides.

"You did something, didn't you?" Snape demanded loudly...too loudly. It made Harry's head throb.

"Whatever are you going on about?" came Lucius's amused voice.

Harry heard Snape incant another spell.

"Revealo potion!"

Some names floated in the air, that even in Harry's half-delirious state he recognized from his visits to the hospital wing. Nothing that would cause this illness, he assumed.

Oh, he felt awful.

With a moan, he slumped back against the supporting arms, too far gone to care that it was Snape holding him.

"You will find nothing because I did nothing," Lucius replied. He sounded amused. "And I am certain your herbs are going to waste. Leave me to care for the boy; Merlin knows I have plenty of experience. Draco always was a sickly child."

Snape's fists balled in frustration. Harry could practically feel the man glaring at Lucius.

"Do you take me for a fool?"

"No," Lucius replied, with a calculating smile. "I take you for a man with something urgent to attend to."

"That was before this sudden, devastating illness," Snape hissed. "Of which I will ascertain the cause!"

"You'll neglect your herbs due to a simple winter fever? And lose all the emotive potions you could produce?" Harry looked up slightly to see Lucius's eyebrows raised in comical surprise. "Why, Severus, it's not like you to value something over your... urgent potions ingredients. Does this boy mean so much to you? I find that highly unlike you."

Snape was frozen against Harry's side. The boy knew he was trying furiously to think of a new excuse. Although he had to have fabricated his story about the one-day-a-year herbs, he was now trapped by it. Would Snape ever forsake a valuable ingredient for the sake of a sick boy, any sick boy?

No, he wouldn't. And Lucius knew it

It was either expose himself openly as a liar, and give Lucius, and consequently, Voldemort, reason to question his motives for lying, or buckle to Lucius's will and leave Harry alone with him.

"He is a relative," Snape attempted at last. "And his parents will be severely displeased if he dies."

Lucius laughed. "Of course he won't die."

"Yes, you will make certain of that, won't you?" said Snape in a tart, bitter tone. "If I discover his condition has worsened--"

"I don't know just why you're implying I can control the tide of this unfortunate boy's affliction, but I assure you, I believe he will be just fine. Go and collect your herbs, Severus. I suppose, since the task will take all day, in your own words, I'll expect your return late this evening."

Snape's fingers were digging into Harry's flesh where he gripped him.

"Don't worry," Lucius said, voice thick with mocking sympathy. "I'm sure our young Septimus will be feeling much better soon enough."

"I daresay he will," whispered Snape in an icy tone. "Or perhaps I will forget how I should treat my guests."

"Shoo, Severus," Lucius said amusedly. "You have important matters to attend."

* * *

Harry remained disoriented and ill, the minutes alternately crawling and then racing by as he remained on the couch, thoroughly miserable. Snape had attempted to levitate the boy back to his room before leaving, but something about the spell merely aggravated the awful feelings inside the boy, until he found himself begging Snape to leave him be.

As soon as Snape was gone, Lucius settled near the couch, watching with faint sympathy every time Harry degenerated back into a fit of dry-heaves. After several minutes, the familiar violet sparks from the night before streamed from Lucius's wand, and the man smiled in cool satisfaction.

"What… is that?" Harry croaked, his throat like a raw wound.

Lucius cast a careless glance at his wand. "Oh, this? It's a tracking spell. It alerts me when Severus has reached a particular location. In this case, he's obviously outside of the manor's wards." He smiled over at Harry. "Well, I suppose it's time for you to feel better now."

Harry stared at him. "You mean you-- you admit you did this?" He felt the nausea flare back with his words, and groaned.

"Of course I did," Lucius replied unapologetically. "I would have been so very lonely in this house by myself."

If Harry weren't currently consumed by nausea, he might have been somewhat touched that Lucius wanted his company, however much of a lie it had to be. As things were, he just wanted to hex the man.

"Go ahead and end it, then!" Harry said in an unnecessarily harsh tone.

"Patience, boy," Lucius drawled. "We're a might bit testy today, aren't we?"

Harry forced himself to remain silent, because anything he said might prolong his agony.

"Oh, our foolish Severus," Lucius whispered, drawing a wand as he stepped closer to Harry. "All that potions knowledge, and he still doesn't realize an Adgravesco hex can only be ended by its subject. Well, boy? Go on."

He shoved Harry's wand into his hand. The boy clutched at it weakly, dimly realizing, through the swimming of his thoughts, that he was supposed to end the spell himself.

"Finite incantatem 'adgravesco. ' Say it," Lucius prompted impatiently.

"Finite incantatem adgravesco," Harry whispered, barely mustering the strength to direct his wand towards his own chest.

Sweet relief flooded through his body as the debilitating nausea slowly retreated. The headache, the dizziness faded, and strength began to seep back into Harry's limbs.

"Good boy," Lucius said, smiling genially.

Harry gazed blearily up at the man, still marveling at his audacity, and at just how quickly the man had devised a scheme to outmaneuver Snape.

It struck Harry how utterly absurd it was that some prophecy had declared only Harry, plain old Harry, as the savior who would end the reign of the Death Eaters and their master. Lucius was as acquainted with the Dark Arts as Harry was with the alphabet; even in times like these, he could whip out a spell that would absolutely paralyze Harry on a battlefield, and seemingly regard it as an easy and simple action to perform.

How could he ever match these people? The grinning, devious Lucius Malfoy was not even the most powerful of his foes, yet suddenly he seemed too great an opponent for Harry to ever handle.

"Come on now, off the couch," Lucius said. "We have a busy day ahead of us."

Harry started to sit up, but his body cried out in protest, and he slumped back down. "I just… I need a minute. I still feel a bit funny."

"We've already wasted enough time with this," Lucius said, irritated. "Up! I wish to go outside."

"Then go," Harry snapped. "I just need a minute."

"Oh, please." Lucius sounded genuinely annoyed. "Get up and come with me, or I'll have to make that couch severely less comfortable."

Harry peered up at him. He did not appreciate Lucius ordering him around any more than he did Snape; at least the latter did not expect Harry to remain fond of him after he played the role of authoritarian.

Lucius drew his wand.

"What will you do?" Harry asked sarcastically. "Transfigure the cushions?"

"Nothing so crude," Lucius said smoothly, brandishing the wand at Harry. "Crucio."

Pure, unadulterated agony crashed over Harry for only the briefest moment before the man ended the spell, but it was enough to send the boy jolting from the couch and tumbling to the floor with a startled yelp of pain.

"Well, that certainly got you up," Lucius said from above him, amused.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest. He knelt on the floor, panting, absolutely stunned that Lucius had just used the Cruciatus Curse on him. It had been only the briefest touch of the curse, but it was enough to send a jolt of adrenaline through Harry's system that found him scrambling to his feet, staring wide-eyed at the Death Eater before him.

"Come here, Septimus," Lucius ordered softly.

Every one of Harry's instincts screamed at him to fight, to flee, to do something. His pride demanded he throw Lucius's order back in his face with a painful hex. His common sense, however, slowly asserted itself. Malfoy could simply employ the curse against him again if he disobeyed. Running and fighting… they would ruin everything.

The ominous flash in Lucius's eyes sent a shiver down Harry's spine, and he quickly hastened to obey, standing before Lucius.

"Good," Lucius crooned.

Harry found himself gazing at the wall behind the man's head, trying to hide his turmoil and confusion from the perceptive Death Eater's sight. Warm fingers crept onto his chin, and tilted it up to bring them in eye contact.

"I do not tolerate insolence, boy. Even in my allies." He gazed more intently into Harry's expression. "Now, do you wish to disobey me further?"

Harry shook his head, and Lucius released his chin, suddenly smiling fondly again. "Very good."

The man retreated a step, his eyes never straying from Harry's. The boy felt vaguely as though breaking the eye-contact would prove lethal to him.

"Well, Septimus, I've subjected you to two Unforgivables," Lucius murmured. The unsettling smile that crept across his face made him suddenly appear thinner, more gaunt from his imprisonment. "I've always been quite free with my use of them. And I suppose now that I'm a condemned fugitive, the ministry can hardly give me the Dementor's Kiss twice. So…" he drew closer to Harry, eyes glittering strangely against his thin, sallow face. "What did you think of them?"

How the hell was he supposed to reply to that?

"I, er…" Harry floundered a moment for a reply. What did Malfoy want to hear? What the hell should he say? "I-- I guess I liked the Imperius better."

Lucius stared at him a moment longer, then began to chuckle. The chuckle grew into a full-blown laugh, as if Harry had just delivered a particularly amusing punch line.

Harry watched him warily. He suddenly wished that Snape would hurry up and return.

To Harry's relief, Lucius was friendlier as the morning wore on. He showed Harry a blasting curse significantly more powerful than those he'd learned at Hogwarts, and seemed to take pride in how quickly the boy perfected it. Harry had already destroyed several bushes, and a sizeable rock before Lucius called the exercise to an end and summoned Minky for their lunch.

"House elves," Lucius grumbled as soon as she disapparated. "Such wretched creatures."

He didn't, however, refrain from exploiting her services and ordering two more refills of his wine glass.

Harry picked at his food for a while. His sandwich became increasingly unappealing. He didn't enjoy hearing Lucius rant about the treachery of deviant house-elves, and he felt rather ill when Lucius bragged about destroying the house-elves whose loyalty he doubted after having an 'unfortunate incident' several years back. When Lucius started in on his third glass of wine, Harry occupied himself with feeding the remains of his lunch to the ducks.

It was a good distraction. His mind drifted away from the tumultuous events of the morning, even if the physical impact still lingered; his throat was sore, and he felt shaky and feverish. He had no idea just which of the curses had left him with these symptoms, but they were making him thoroughly uncomfortable. His renewed uncertainty about Lucius had him on edge, and he found himself flinching at every sharp word. He concentrated now on the ducks, pushing his troubles behind him.

He started thinking about Draco Malfoy, wondering if he, too, was subject to Lucius's unpredictable mixture of affection and cruelty. Snape's words came back to him:

"Draco Malfoy is a sadistic little bastard. Do you know how he got that way?… It is because of that man!"

Could that depraved, twisted little entity back at Hogwarts simply be the natural outgrowth of parenting, Lucius Malfoy-style? Or was it just in Draco's genes to be a cruel bastard?

How had Lucius retaliated when Draco cast that sterilization spell upon him? Malfoy was clearly a man who valued obedience above all… What higher form of insolence could there be, than robbing one's father of his virility?

Harry thought back to Lucius's casual use of the Cruciatus, and shuddered.

Malfoy's voice tore him from his thoughts.

"You seem to enjoy those creatures."

Harry stiffened, feeling Malfoy's eyes burning into the back of his neck, but he did not turn around. "I guess."

"They must be diverting, that you're looking at them and not at me." There was a dangerous edge to Malfoy's voice, and Harry hastily turned from the ducks to face the Death Eater.

"Sorry. I'd just... sorry."

There was something unreadable in Malfoy's eyes. "Well…"

He uttered a quiet spell, and something clear and blue flickered briefly over the pond. Harry shot Malfoy a questioning glance.

"Just so they can't fly away and deprive you of their presence," Malfoy said, a benign smile stretching across his face.

The gesture seemed well-meant, but Harry was instantly uneasy

"Now," Lucius said, still calm and unaffected. "Let's resume our lesson."

Harry sighed inwardly, and returned obediently to take his place at Lucius's feet.

"Dark magic is more than a conglomerate of destructive spells," Lucius said lazily. "It's a mode of thought, a way of conducting oneself. The use of the darkest spells requires years of cultivating the proper mindset and disposition needed for the channeling of such powers. One must be prepared to destroy anything that stands in the way of acquiring greater abilities."

He stopped, and peered at Harry calculatingly through those narrowed, gray eyes.

"You enjoy feeding those ducks over there. You find it gratifying to nourish those… simple creatures."

Harry's eyes shifted from the ducks back to Lucius, suddenly not liking the direction of this lesson.

"You know what would gratify me?" Lucius's eyes glinted with vicious delight, and a smile played across his hard lips. "If you showed me just what a wonderful teacher I am."

Harry realized with a sinking feeling that Malfoy wanted him to use the blasting curse on the ducks.

"Get to it," Lucius said. "Or must I condescend to explain what I wish you to do?"

"No, you don't," Harry said coldly. "And no, I won't."

Lucius watched him coolly from over his wine-glass. "Feeling squeamish?"

"Yes!" Harry replied angrily. "I'm not going to just… blast one. I don't see how this has anything to do with--"

"Oh, but it has everything to do with your vengeance scheme," Lucius replied smoothly, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "You see, performing a malicious spell against another wizard requires a certain… inhumanity. Hatred alone will carry you only so far. You'll have to accustom yourself to the destruction you'll wreak, even come to embrace it--"

"Forget it, then," Harry replied savagely. "I am not going to use that spell on one of them. It's-- it's completely unnecessary. I thought kinship curses--"

"Let me make this simple for you," Lucius said mildly, shifting his wine glass to the other hand and drawing his wand. "Incendio."

Harry flinched reflexively, hearing from behind him a shrill squawk. He whirled around to see a burning creature, flung into the air by the force of the flames, and a crowd of ducks fluttering and squawking frantically around it, attempting to fly away but trapped due to Lucius's spell.

Just as suddenly, the burning creature dissolved into ashes, carried away in the wind.

Harry stared at the frantic ducks for an extended moment, before he heard Lucius's voice directly behind him.

"I can incinerate all of them, or you can kill a single one yourself." Lucius was smiling, as though he were trying to restrain laughter. "It's up to you."

"Why do you care so much if I kill a duck?"

"Because it would warm my heart to see you putting knowledge to use," Lucius replied with a cruel smile. "Now-- be a good boy and do it. Warm my heart."

Harry gritted his teeth. They were just ducks; that's all they were. He'd eaten them before at Hogwarts. And besides, he'd killed a living creature before. The basilisk, for instance, had far greater self-awareness than those birds would ever possess.

And wasn't Lucius right? How could he ever hope to hurt Bellatrix Lestrange if he couldn’t blast a simple duck?

But this felt so very different. This was not hurting a living creature in theory. This was reality. This was not vengeance with a purpose, it was completely arbitrary slaughter, entirely unnecessary except to appease a whim of Lucius Malfoy's.

Bellatrix Lestrange was a human being. He'd have to kill her eventually. For Sirius... All for Sirius... This should be easy in comparison.

He raised his wand. This meant nothing; they weren't… they couldn't think, really, could they? It wouldn’t make a huge difference. It wasn't like he could feel guilty for this, and Lucius would kill them anyway--

The curse left his wand. He flinched at the loud bang that clapped through the air, the shrill cry by the animal as it's body blew apart. He felt very numb, frozen in place, watching blood and feathers spread over the water. For a moment he thought he would retch, but he swallowed hard and looked at Lucius with an impassive expression.

Lucius's hand clapped his shoulder.

"Very good, Septimus," he said warmly. "I think, though, that you should destroy another one… Just to make sure our lesson has truly sunk in. It will be easier this time, I trust. Oh, and use incendio."

Feeling sick, Harry pointed his wand at another one-- a single duck flapping urgently against Lucius's confinement spell-- and killed that one, too.

Lucius was right; the second one was easier.

They're just ducks, he told himself harshly. If I can't kill a duck, I can't kill a woman.

It was for Sirius. All for Sirius.

Somehow, though, Harry knew Sirius would never have wanted this.

* * *

Snape hadn't lied about the growth of the Nightshade. It did occur on a single occasion each year, and it was a critical ingredient to several of his most important potions. The timing was a simple coincidence; just when he'd wanted to remove Harry from Lucius's influence, he'd received word from Professor Sprout that the critical day was upon him.

The only lie he'd spun was regarding the time required to collect it. Rather than needing a full afternoon, within two hours, he found himself clipping the final herbs from the nearby growth.

His thoughts were still fixed upon Lucius Malfoy and Harry.

The boy truly had been ill, dreadfully so. If he weren't absolutely convinced Lucius would remove whatever hex he'd placed upon the boy as soon as he was out of sight, he would have been concerned about leaving Harry in that state.

Given that thought, it was madness that he'd very nearly neglected these invaluable herbs simply due to a sick child. Due to a sick Harry Potter.

The thought troubled him almost as much as the prospect of leaving the Boy-Who-Lived alone with Lucius Malfoy for an entire day. He hated the sheer anxiety raging at the back of his thoughts, and cursed Lucius for putting it there. He'd felt no need to shelter the brat until Lucius began playing this ridiculous game.

Although he was certain Lucius was not, in fact, engaging in sordid activities with his son, it bothered him that he'd encountered the boy leaving Malfoy's room at night. There was something going on, right in front of him, and he couldn't figure out just what. It enraged him that Lucius was flaunting Severus's ignorance before him, without enlightening him as to what he was ignorant about.

Merlin's beard! The man had escaped Azkaban less than two week earlier, and already he was playing the lord of Snape's manor and claiming possession of Snape's son!

Yes, Potter was a brat and a pest, but he was his. His. Not Malfoy's, not the Dark Lord's. He'd already endured Dumbledore and the Marauders usurping from him his kin, his son, and now Lucius Malfoy hoped to do so as well?

It was just another battle in their war for mastery, and Severus was losing lamentably. It was absolutely infuriating!

He realized he'd crushed an entire handful of Nightshade with his clenched fist, and cursed himself for a fool. Their magical properties were only effective when they remained intact. He angrily cast the useless remains to the ground.

I need to stop indulging in this foolishness, Snape thought darkly. He'd been living from one raging emotion to another since his most recent, disastrous summons to the Dark Lord, and it was impeding his rationality.

So Malfoy had outwitted him and won possession of the boy and the manor for the day. Well, then… Severus needed to take advantage of this period to himself. Lucius had unintentionally given him time to plot.

He might not have removed the boy from Malfoy's influence, but at least he'd removed himself. From the first time he'd met Lucius Malfoy at Hogwarts, the smooth and collected prefect who had guided Severus down his current path had held one thing or another over his head. Lucius was polished, charismatic, refined, handsome, everything Severus could never be. He had always taken for granted that Malfoy would triumph.

He's nothing now, Snape thought viciously, comparing the elegant Head Boy of his younger years to the emaciated fugitive of today. He has no name, no wealth, no power. Nothing.

And then he found himself smiling darkly, because it was true. Lucius Malfoy was nothing.

He could contribute little to the Dark Lord's cause without his power and his influence. All he added now were his formidable wizarding abilities and some inborn cunning… Nothing unique in the Dark Lord's ranks.

Severus, on the other hand, was the spy. He was the only one of the Dark Lord's followers who could get close to Dumbledore, the only one who consistently fed his Master reliable and accurate information about the Order of Phoenix. Unlike Lucius, Severus could activate his mark to request a summons at will.

Malfoy was no longer second-in-command. The man had nothing on him. In fact, as a hunted fugitive, he was more of a liability than anything else.

Perhaps Lucius's escape from Azkaban was a weakness in more ways than one.

Lucius Malfoy's jailbreak had been kept quiet. Fudge, in a desperate bid to regain public approval after a rash of Death Eater atrocities, arbitrarily sentenced the imprisoned Death Eaters to the Dementor's Kiss. In a laughably pathetic turn of events, Malfoy appealed to Fudge's high-handed notions of their mutual ancient dignity to request a final audience. In their meeting, he overpowered the single guard, wrested Fudge's own wand from his hand, banished the Dementors, and made his triumphant escape, all while Fudge sputtered about the man's horrendous treachery.

The entire debacle was a showcase of gross incompetence, and Fudge was well-aware that it would end him. Details, consequently, remained vague; only Lucius's account of the events to the Dark Lord served as an illustrator of what had happened that day.

And it was weak. There were holes, avenues of attack. All it would take was one off-handed comment--

"I find myself continually amazed by the Headmaster's reluctance to confide in me the details of Malfoy's escape…" Severus could say, tone heavy with implication. His Master would do the rest.

All the plots and fears brewing in that paranoid, degenerated mind, perpetually on the cusp of madness… The Dark Lord would remember Snape's words and mull on them, turn them over and over in that fevered brain of his; he would see Dumbledore flavoring every one of Lucius's actions, he would believe the escape itself proof of Malfoy's treachery.

The power to condemn Lucius Malfoy was in Snape's hands

And perhaps, just perhaps, Lucius had realized that all along.

Severus shook his head, marveling at the past few days. He'd been thrown, both by Malfoy's sudden presence imposed upon him, and the man's first blow; perhaps he should even thank Lucius for this brief respite from the situation, because it allowed Snape to see exactly what he should have realized all along-- the games the man had been playing, fighting for mastery over Snape's person, lordship of Snape's manor, influence over Snape's ward…

It was all to hide his position of total weakness. And so accustomed was Severus to being on the other side of their relationship, that he had allowed himself to be lulled back into their customary dynamic of master and reluctant servant.

Malfoy would rue the day he thought to master Severus Snape.

After a careful application of his magic to the Dark Mark, Snape at last felt the answering burn. A moment later, he was gone.

* * *

"Is this the reason you told me to feed them?" Harry asked later, feeling rather cold and detached. "You wanted it to mean more when I killed them?"

"It was always a possibility," Lucius admitted, summoning the house-elf for another glass of wine. "But I had another target in mind when I planned this lesson last night. I simply wasn't certain we'd get Severus out of the way long enough to do it."

"What?" Harry sniped, feeling a vicious stab of anger towards both Lucius and himself. "I suppose Voldemort's supplied you with a Muggle for me to kill, too?"

Lucius slowly turned to look at him, and Harry instantly realized two mistakes he'd made. For all he knew, Malfoy would ask him to kill a human before this was done. And… he had called Voldemort by name.

For the former, he swore instantly that he would not do that, no matter what Malfoy threatened. He'd turn the curse on Malfoy himself, and damn the consequences, before hurting another person. Never. Never never never.

As for the second problem… He stiffened, reading Lucius's expression intently, just waiting for the man to rain punishment down on his head. He was mildly surprised when the man smiled with something that resembled respect.

"Brave boy," Lucius whispered.

It wasn't the reaction he expected. After a moment of fear, Harry almost relaxed.

"But I can't condone insolence," Malfoy added with regret, and the next thing Harry knew, he was writhing with the pain of the Cruciatus Curse.

* * *

It was long, and far more brutal than the previous occasion. Malfoy evidently worried about the intensity of it, for when it was all over, he disappeared into the house and returned with the calming draught Harry himself had brewed.

"Easy does it," Malfoy whispered as Harry finished the last of it. With a wave of his wand, the older wizard vanished the vial.

Harry closed his eyes as Malfoy pulled him, swaying, to his feet. It was rather different from the last time he'd experienced this calming draught; the opiate was less a pleasure than a barrier separating him from the pain that lingered in both his memory and his muscles. It didn't entirely ease the pain of the curse; he still felt quite wretched.

He was, however, growing as disoriented as the previous time.

"Easy does it, boy," Malfoy repeated, supporting his unsteady balance. "You understand why I had to do that to you, don't you?"

Harry nodded his head numbly, the world whirling unsteadily around him.

Just like you'll understand when I cast that blood-boiling curse on you, Malfoy.

Malfoy knelt before him, supporting him by his elbows, gray eyes boring into Harry's. "You've done very well today, Septimus. There's one more thing you must do before I will permit your departure."

"Hmm?"

He really was starting to feel tired; he remembered this from the last time he'd consumed this draught.

Malfoy smiled at him through the haze, and somehow Harry didn't feel threatened by the sinister gleam in the man's gray eyes.

"You see, we have the slightest bit of a problem on our hands. I believe Severus set that accursed house-elf upon us to observe our activities. I've noticed it lurking in the bushes several times already today; there's a concealment spell around us now, but I'm uncertain just how much it witnessed."

"Oh," Harry mumbled. His mind was growing fuzzy, but he understood somehow that this wasn't good news.

"Now, Severus apparently cast some protection spell against my harming it," Lucius continued softly. "I tried a simple killing curse earlier, but it died on my wand. I can't destroy the little monster."

Harry began thinking of Dobby, throwing Malfoy to the floor in the corridor of Hogwarts. "You probably couldn't have hurt her anyway," he mumbled. "They're-- the house-elves are pretty strong."

"Of course they are," Malfoy said sourly. "But I made a point of acquainting myself with the extent of their powers after an incident several years back. There will be no hassle involved. Are we agreed then?" Without waiting for Harry's response: "House-elf!"

Minky apparated into the clearing before them, just as Malfoy's binding spell lashed out at her; she squealed, her large eyes widening as she found herself magically and physically bound.

Harry blinked at her, his head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.

"The thing is," Malfoy continued coldly, his grip on Harry growing firmer, "I doubt your dear uncle has set up a spell to shield it from you."

Terror filled the house-elf's eyes, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Master H--"

"Silencio!" Lucius bellowed, cutting off the house-elf's voice. His vicious eyes were still locked upon Harry. "Do it. Kill it." He smiled suddenly. "Just like the ducks, Septimus."

Harry stared at the helpless house-elf.

No, he wouldn't do this. His thoughts were sluggish, his mind increasingly hazy both from the physically tasking events of the day and the drug in his system, yet he knew this much. He wouldn't harm her.

She's just like Dobby, he thought absently. She thinks, she feels…

But evidently he'd taken too long to reply.

"Imperio," Lucius snapped impatiently.

When Lucius's spell slipped over his mind, Harry found himself in a world of confusion, wondering just what blissful, hazy cloud was the spell, and what was the drug. He mentally retreated from the foreign command…

Kill the house-elf…

… only to find himself wrapped in a strangely similar fog in some other part of his mind. The draught felt so very like the bliss of the Unforgivable, the detachment just as tempting, that he weaved in and out of the curse's influence, uncertain if Lucius was still gripping onto his will, or if he controlled his own mind.

Kill her… the voice insisted.

Instinctively, he recognized which voice was his own, and which voice he needed to disregard. But then… His muddled mind played back to the night before, that other Imperius Curse. It hadn't been his voice the night before, yet he'd still listened to it. There had been some urgent reason to listen to it then…

What was wrong with him? His brain wasn't working right. Why couldn't he remember the reason? Was this the same situation-- did he still have to pretend--

KILL HER.

The haze never quite lifted from his mind, but somehow he knew just when the spell ended, when the fog no longer tasted of the Imperius curse and instead was entirely the calming cloud of the draught.

Harry blinked several times, though the world never quite cleared around him.

It was funny… Even with such a high dose of the Calming Draught in his system, he still felt a profound shock upon seeing Minky's dead body.

"Well done, Septimus," came Lucius's voice from above him. He was no longer supporting Harry's weight, and the boy had dropped to his knees. "I should tell you now-- I lied when I told you she'd been watching us. Motivation, you understand." He leaned closer to Harry, gray eyes glittering into the boy's stunned green ones. "But you certainly rose to the occasion, didn't you?" He smiled, but there was something very cold and hard in his expression. "We'll make a fine killer of you, yet."

"You needn't look so distraught," Lucius informed him as he levitated the drugged boy back up the staircase. "Are you truly so afraid of Severus's reaction?"

Harry hadn't been thinking of Snape. He watched the banister float past, his mind fixed upon that one, devastating thing. He had needlessly taken a life, utterly destroyed a living being. There was no provocation, no reason. How could he-- why didn't he-- what had he--

Horrific thoughts raged through his head. He remembered Minky's wide, terrified eyes before he killed her, still unable to reconcile that image with that dead body… Dead body… He'd taken a life… If his parents could see… Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus… A killer. He'd become a killer.

It was not like the ducks. He'd felt awful about that, but this… This was nothing like that. It could be Dobby he'd just slaughtered, it could be anyone. He'd murdered someone.

Murderer.

Oh, God…

His thoughts leaped between the prophecy… Sirius… his parents… the ducks… Sirius… Minky… His brain felt like it would burst if he thought about it any longer, but when he tried to tear his thoughts away, he was seeped in cold horror at what he'd just done.

"There we go," said Lucius's smooth voice as his spell deposited Harry gently upon the bed.

Harry stared at the aristocrat's hateful face for an endless moment. It entered his thoughts that he should launch himself at the man, tear into him, punish him… But he felt ill and wretched

--what have I done?--

and even clawing at Lucius's pale skin until blood sprouted beneath his fingertips seemed too horrifically brutal to contemplate after he'd just murdered an innocent being.

Malfoy made as if to leave, but stopped. In a carefully calculated movement, he turned slowly to linger at the foot of Harry's bed. His features shifted into a soft look of concern,

--oh god WHAT have I done?--

and it was amazing how Harry could see the measure behind his every movement now that it was too late.

"Septimus," Lucius said, with a simpering degree of faux kindness, "I know you're worried about what Severus will say. How he'll… respond to what you did."

Harry shifted his eyes to Lucius; it was too much effort to focus on him, and somehow, far too painful.

Lucius stepped closer, his elegant hand reaching out to caress the coverlet near Harry's feet. "And I'd like to say your fears are baseless, but I don't want to lie to you. Severus can be a cruel and vindictive man."

--murderer, murderer, murderer--

The blonde drew closer, his eyes riveted to Harry's face. Harry sensed the pleasure thrumming beneath Lucius's mask of compassion; he could see the gleeful spark in the man's eyes as he played his favorite game.

"But I don't want you to worry," Lucius continued softly. "I understand that you're young, and very much at Severus's mercy. Do not forget that I am not." He was close enough now to rest his hand on Harry's arm, "I can protect you from him. You must never believe you are alone in this!"

Lucius knelt down now, bringing himself to eye-level with Harry. There was a ravenous, predatory look in his gray eyes, even as his smile projected understanding and kindness.

"I think you know that I've come to be quite fond of you," Lucius said thickly, and it took everything in Harry not to shrink away when he wove his fingers affectionately through the boy's hair. "You remind me so very much of my own Draco. And just as I'd protect my son, I'll now protect you." His features instantly turned grave, although his eyes never lost their delighted glint. "I will inform Severus that I am to blame for that creature's death--"

-- he'll think you did it, anyway and you KNOW it--

"--and he need never know your hand in it... Do not object!" Lucius forestalled with a raised hand the objection Harry had no plans to make. "I don't want you to worry about me, Septimus. I just couldn't bear it if Severus hurt you. After all," he smiled tragically, "I urged you to kill it, I persuaded you. It may have been your wand and your voice that issued the lethal curse-- and Severus may very well attribute responsibility solely to you-- but I know that I share at least as much culpability as you."

Lucius straightened again, and his hand trailed down from Harry's hair to stroke Harry's forehead.

Harry found himself absurdly hoping the Death Eater would feel the scar tissue there… He wanted to see Lucius's face change into shock, dismay, hatred… No more pretenses, only animosity...

But Snape's glamour did a thorough job of hiding his scar even from another person's touch, because Lucius was still smiling.

"You've made me very proud today."

Then he leaned down and kissed Harry on the forehead, like a father would. As he retreated from the room and spelled out the lights, Harry's eyes remained open and fixed on the ceiling.

The drug that still swirled in his system buzzed gently in his ears, serving as a thin film between Harry and the painful ache of his muscles. The lingering effects of the earlier curses were muted, but he suddenly, desperately, wanted to feel them. He wanted it to hurt. Anything to erase those giant, frightened eyes from his mind.

He reached up and scrubbed at his forehead with his palm, trying to scour what felt like Lucius's brand of approval from his skin. He raked with his nails, painfully mauling the surface, until the stinging grew fierce, but it lingered there relentlessly. And it was burning, burning. He could feel it. He swore he could feel it there, like a hot iron pressed into his flesh. The taint that Malfoy had left behind, that wretched, ugly thing that had reared to life within him…

He wanted to shred his own skin, if only to get it out of him. But nothing could change it; it was burned there forever. It would never go away. It was him. This sickness was him.

It was only later, as unconsciousness drew forth to claim him, that his sleepy mind separated Lucius's touch from the terrible pain.

The burning was his scar.

* * *

"Did you truly believe I would permit your house-elf to spy on me?" Lucius inquired smoothly as Snape stepped into the man's opulent bedchamber.

The blonde directed a playful look towards Severus, then coyly gestured to the Scotch resting on the bedside table.

"Drink, Severus?"

Snape's slow smile was one of genuine delight, and he knew just how horrifying it appeared to others. "Please."

He enjoyed the surprise that danced through Malfoy's eyes. Snape would never usually accept a glass from Lucius's hand, for fear of just what the man might have slipped into it. The acceptance was a show of confidence that immediately set the other wizard on alert.

Lucius's eyes only left Snape's briefly to pour him a glass, and he looked wary as he handed Severus his drink.

Snape made a show of savoring his drink, even going so far as closing his eyes to better relish the pungent liquid. He opened them to see a distinct thread of anxiety in Lucius's manner.

"Have I missed something?" Lucius asked sharply, before hearing his own voice and quickly smoothing it into the usual polished tones. "Or was it simply so gratifying to retrieve your herbs?"

Snape smiled coldly. "Yes. My excursion was… quite gratifying."

Lucius's gaze wavered, and the man retreated several steps, putting on a show of nonchalance. "You know, Severus," he drawled, "if you derive such pleasure from simply playing the gardener, I believe it is high time you found yourself a woman. A good pure-blooded bitch might show you some of the true pleasures in life."

"I'll keep it under advisement." He settled himself into a chair calmly. "Now, I believe you were leveling accusations at me?"

"Your elf," Lucius said, teeth gritted. "You ordered her to monitor my activities."

"Of course," Snape said unapologetically. "You've made quite a show of untoward interest in my charge. I fully intend to return him to his parents with his virtue in-- in the same state it was upon his arrival. Minky was to help me to that end."

Lucius smiled a little wolfishly at Snape's slip.

"Yes, he doesn't take after you in that area much, does he, Severus?"

Snape blinked. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"What I mean is," Lucius settled into the chair across from Snape's, suddenly looking smug at pressing some perceived advantage, "I've never known you to so much as look at another creature in a lascivious way; I doubt that's the case with him, is it?"

He didn't know if Lucius hoped to rouse his ire with this line of discussion, or if he were genuinely speculating. He found the prospect of discussing his son's-- Potter's sexual life rather disgusting. And he certainly wasn't prepared to discuss his own sexual experience with this man.

"There's quite a bit you don't know about me, Lucius." He swept to his feet. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he bears little resemblance to me. I've had no hand in his upbringing. He's a distant relation."

"Yes, distant," Lucius said, his sharp eyes fixed keenly on Snape's face. "So distant that you've never before discussed his branch of the family with me."

"A small matter," Snape said dismissively. "You know how little I care for my kin."

A strange light appeared in Malfoy's eyes.

"But you're quite attentive to him. Almost… dare I say, protective? And in certain light, the resemblance is almost uncanny, far more than I'd expect for a distant nephew--"

"Don’t be absurd." Harry didn't even remotely resemble him.

"The most interesting thing to me, though," Lucius said, still watching him intently, "is that such a broad swath of the Snape family possesses such… mental prowess."

"Mental prowess?"

Was he still talking about the boy? Where the hell had this come from?

"It's well known you're quite the gifted Occlumens. The Dark Lord himself is always praising your innate talents. It's very similar to some other gifts of the mind, isn't it?"

Snape watched him warily. What could the man be referring to? Had he tried to legilimize Harry? No-- impossible. Even if Lucius possessed skill in the art, he doubted Harry would be able to fight off even a cursory attack.

Then what--

The boy was resistant to the Imperius Curse.

He stared at Lucius for an extended moment, wondering if that could possibly be it. Had the man tried to cast it on Harry? Had the boy been foolish enough to throw it off in front of Lucius? It was an exceedingly rare talent, resisting the Unforgivable. Occlumens that he was, Severus himself could not do it. This would be difficult to explain.

But… when the hell had Malfoy tried to cast the Imperius on Harry?

"Yes," Snape said tonelessly. "There are several common traits in my family. It amplifies certain gifts, inbreeding-- doesn't it?" He sent Malfoy a derisive look. "Of course, you'd know far better than I would."

Lucius scowled.

Snape would have chosen this moment to make his graceful exit, but Lucius halted him with a delicate, "Wouldn't you like to ask after your precious house-elf?"

Snape stilled for the briefest moment, but his mind drew the most likely conclusion. "You killed her."

"You knew it was likely to happen," Lucius chided him gently. "And you still sent her after me? For shame, you callous fiend." He sounded genuinely amused. "For shame."

* * *

When Snape had first returned home, he found Harry sound asleep. He'd considered waking him, but eventually decided against it. The boy looked terrible; whatever that sickness-inducing hex had been, it clearly hadn't evaporated harmlessly from his system.

Thus Snape was surprised to find the boy awake when his steps brought him back up to Potter's room. Harry was gazing listlessly out the window, but he whirled around with frantic energy upon Snape's entrance.

Snape had heard the phrase 'death warmed over' before, but he hadn't quite understood just what that looked like until now. Sleep, perhaps, had been kind to Harry, because wide-awake, he appeared hollow-eyed and ill, his skin suddenly paler than Snape's own.

"Sit down, for Merlin's sake, Potter," Snape said sharply, levitating a chair across the room to plop next to the boy. "You're in no condition to be traipsing about."

Harry sent the chair a cursory glance. His green eyes were glassy, and even when he looked back to Snape, he had a feeling the boy wasn’t seeing him.

"Professor," Harry said in a strangely hoarse voice, before closing his eyes tightly, as if to gain his bearings. "Minky… your house-elf… Mi… M--"

"I know my own house-elf's name, thank you, Potter," Snape said, rolling his eyes. "And I told you to sit down."

Harry's eyes flew frantically to Snape's, and he still hovered indecisively over the chair. "You-- you don't understand. Your house-elf--"

"She's dead. I know," Snape said. "Malfoy informed me. Sit!"

When Harry still gazed at him with that odd, haunted expression, his skinny body shaking, Snape stepped forward to shove the boy into the chair.

"I killed her."

He barely heard the boy's words, but they stopped him short.

Harry looked up again, a frantic new energy seeming to jolt through his form. "I did it, I killed her! It wasn't him, it was me. I'm sorry!" His hands flew to his face, his fingers rubbing at his forehead as though battling a horrendous headache. "So sorry… so sorry… It means nothing, I know. I can't take it back, but I'm-- it's awful. I-- what I did-- what I--"

"You killed her?"

Snape was stunned by the admission, and then instantly disbelieving. Potter killed the house-elf? He would have to have--

"It started with the ducks, and I thought-- they're just ducks…" Harry's muffled voice came through his hands; he was scratching at his forehead. "But it was-- I swear I never wanted-- but it doesn't matter. It's too late. But-- I did that. So, when the ducks were finished-- but I never would have. No, not her. Dobby, I knew Dobby, so it wasn't the same… Not the same at all, and I didn't like what happened to the ducks…"

"Enough about the ducks!"

Harry's hands dropped from his face. He blinked at Snape dully before something cleared in his expression, as though he had only just noticed that Snape there in the room with him.

"What happened with the house-elf, Potter?" Snape demanded. "Explain. Coherently."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "I-- Malfoy, he said she was, er, she was watching us. When I-- during the ducks, I mean. He was teaching spells… For killing the du-- for earlier, I mean. But um, he said he lied about… But then he told me to kill her… But I wouldn't have-- I swear I didn't mean to-- And then he cast the Imperius Curse…"

Snape glanced up sharply. So it was true. An Unforgivable. Malfoy had used an Unforgivable under his roof.

"He cast the Imperius Curse on you?" Snape interrupted. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at Harry's reluctant nod. In a dangerous tone, "And I take it that wasn't the first time..?"

Potter shook his head mutely.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter," Snape exploded, watching the boy flinch. "Had you informed me earlier, I might have prevented--"

He caught a hold of himself, fully grasping the implications of Malfoy's actions. Immediately he was overcome with a surge of vindictive glee.

He had Lucius now. This would be enough.

Malfoy had used an Unforgivable under the roof of the Dark Lord's most valuable spy

It was difficult to fight the vicious smile that threatened to split his lips. Harry would certainly misread its cause.

"Continue, then, Potter," Snape said off-handedly. "He cast the Imperius Curse, and..?"

"--And I did it. I killed her." The boy's hand returned to his forehead, where Snape knew his scar to be, and he rubbed it absently. He spoke in a quiet, broken voice, as though understanding it for the first time. "I really killed her..."

Snape tore his thoughts from his impending victory over Lucius.

"I thought you could resist the Imperius Curse."

He hadn't meant to say it in quite so snide a manner, but it left his lips with that tone automatically. Too many years he'd spent, waiting for one of Potter's prodigal talents to fail; his statement twisted naturally into a barb, despite the inappropriate timing.

A look of absolute anguish twisted across Potter's face, and the boy stared shame-faced at the floor.

Had this been anyone else, Snape might have congratulated them on their guile. A Slytherin would have seen the murder of a house-elf as a small sacrifice to pay to conceal one's resistance to the Imperius Curse from an enemy.

Potter, though, very likely had not seen it that way; he would have tried to throw off the curse. He'd clearly tried, and for some inexplicable reason, failed.

Then again, if he'd been entirely unsuccessful, why had Malfoy alluded to the boy's ability to resist the Imperius Curse?

"He cast the Imperius on you, and you killed her," Snape said slowly, watching the boy flinch. "And just what spell did you use for this?"

Harry avoided his eyes. "I-- er, I'm not sure. Incendio, maybe? A blasting curse? It was-- it happened that way with the ducks. But… er, I'm still not sure."

"You're not sure?" Snape echoed skeptically. Since when would an incineration spell harm a house-elf? And why couldn't the boy tell him?

Harry was scratching furiously at his forehead. "I'm not sure. I don't really remember. You see, I-- he-- He was showing me a blasting curse, and then after the ducks when I, er, well-- she was dead. I don’t know-- Professor Dumbledore, what will he-- when will he--"

The boy was getting agitated again, and Snape realized suddenly that Potter was far too upset to give him a clear account.

He could easily fetch the boy a calming draught … But he was beginning to think he understood more about this situation than the boy himself did.

Yes, he could see Lucius's hand in every facet of it.

"Potter, go back to bed," Snape said absently.

Malfoy had used the Imperius Curse on Potter under his roof. He'd risked attracting the attention of the Mini--

"Bed?" Harry echoed blankly. "What about-- I killed Minky. Aren't you-- are you going to do something? I killed her, Snape!"

Potter's anxiety was simply growing irritating now.

"Don't be so melodramatic," Snape said repressively. "She was a house-elf. It's a great inconvenience, but it's hardly an unprecedented tragedy."

The words did not seem to have their intended effect. Harry's expression crumpled, and if anything, he looked more upset and wrought with self-condemnation than before.

Snape narrowed his eyes at the boy. He felt hard pressed to summon fury towards the boy when his last bit of energy was directed towards the ruination of Lucius Malfoy. But he should at least say something; he'd been waiting for days for the opportunity to berate the boy, and here it was.

"You were stupid to let Lucius manipulate you. I warned you about him… but the great Harry Potter can't be bothered to listen to other, lesser wiz--"

The harsh words seemed to rouse something in the boy, and Harry looked up intently as if to drink in Snape's scorn.

The rest of the insult died on Snape's lips.

He suddenly found himself utterly at a loss. What did the boy want from him?

How was he supposed to deal with this strange creature? The face gazing back at his-- the earnest green eyes, the features twisted with despair… This person seeking Snape's rage… The boy suddenly seemed more foreign than ever before. A stranger.

"Do not leave this room," he instructed Harry harshly, trying to shake off the feeling that this was all wrong. "And do not speak to Malfoy unless I tell you to. It is vital that you listen to me. Understand?"

Harry nodded mutely, still looking utterly wrecked by the events of the day. At least he was certain, for once, that the boy would obey him.

Malfoy had used an Unforgivable under Severus's roof… He could easily have attracted the attention of the Ministry of Magic.

And that was exactly how he would spin it.

"It is as though he does not fear being caught, My Lord." And perhaps, for some flourish: "He endangers my position as well; it will erode the Headmaster's trust if he believes I have been casting Unforgivables outside his knowledge…"

He had not pressed his case tonight; he'd made his usual report to the Dark Lord, only adding off-handedly his line about Dumbledore's refusal to discuss Malfoy's escape. He'd allowed the sentence to hang for the merest second, just enough to see those red eyes narrow into slits as his master processed the information-- the Dark Lord missed nothing-- and then he'd moved to other matters.

It was merely the seed of suspicion, but he thought, just maybe, it would bear fruit. Lucius doing something as rash and detectable as an Unforgivable demonstrated a blatant lack of caution… The carelessness one might evince if one's safety were assured.

Snape knew that in Malfoy's case, the carelessness stemmed from arrogance.

But perhaps the Dark Lord's paranoid mind would interpret it in a very different light.

At the very least, it was a legitimate excuse for Snape to kick Lucius the hell out of his house.

* * *

Alone in his study, he cast the Prior Incantato spell on Harry's wand with the slightest flicker of dread. He didn't think the boy capable of a killing curse, but given Potter's other innate abilities, it would come as no shock if he proved the rare exception who mastered it on his first try.

A shadowy figure rose. The most recent spell was an Incineration Curse.

"Deletrius," Snape whispered, ending the spell and setting Harry's wand down with a profound sense of relief.

Whatever else Dumbledore might think of him, he would never live down the man's disappointment if he sent Potter back to Hogwarts fully versed in the most dreadful Unforgivable. It would confirm every poor opinion the man had ever held of him if he managed to corrupt the Boy-Who-Lived in the space of a single vacation. Besides that, learning an Unforgivable could only lead Harry to ill.

An incendio. His brow furrowed. He could certainly see how it might destroy a non-magical being such as a duck, as Potter had been rambling about, but there was certainly no way the spell carried enough destructive power in itself to kill a house-elf.

Simply amazing. All the time Harry had spent with that oversized oaf Hagrid, and he still hadn't learned the difficulties involved in the destruction of a magical creature. There was an innate resistance to most destructive spells in even the weakest house-elf. Short of an outright killing curse, they were virtually invincible.

But the boy was convinced he'd killed Minky.

Snape smirked. He had to award Malfoy some points for this newest scheme; the man had been acquainted with Harry for only a few days, and even without full knowledge of the boy's identity, he'd hit the child in his weakest spot. Lucius Malfoy's only miscalculation lay in his assumption that Harry's sense of self-preservation would outweigh his guilty conscience. He'd obviously believed the boy would hide the truth from Severus, and perhaps even cling tighter to his new mentor as protection against the consequences of his actions.

Severus was overcome with an odd feeling of gratitude, that for once, for once, the boy had trusted him. He'd made all of this so much simpler. How easily he could have drawn them both into Malfoy's trap.

Harry had clearly resisted the Imperius Curse, yet somehow or other, Malfoy had tricked him into thinking he hadn't. Snape momentarily considered informing the boy of the truth, easing what seemed to be the boy's devastating sense of guilt.

But… no. Not yet.

Every Slytherin instinct in him screamed against the notion. Right now, Harry was crippled with self-reproach and entirely malleable to his wishes. The most urgent concern at the moment was getting Lucius the hell away from them, and doing it in some way that would not offend the Dark Lord. He needed the boy's complete cooperation, and a guilt-torn Harry seemed far easier to control than the alternative.

As soon as Malfoy was gone, he would tell Harry the truth.

Until then, a little more guilt certainly wouldn't kill the boy.

So it was that Snape returned to Harry's room and gave the boy's wand back to him. The young wizard grasped it with a trembling hand, and sat there staring at it grimly.

"Lucius Malfoy was always rather liberal in his use of the Unforgivables," Snape informed him, watching the boy critically. "I had not dreamed he'd possess the sheer audacity to use them in my abode, when he is fully aware of my precarious position, but evidently his arrogance knows no bounds. So, Potter, this is our situation: I will discreetly monitor Malfoy's interactions with you. The moment he slips up and attempts another of those spells, I'll expel him from this house. As long as I have a recollection of my own to yield to the Dark Lord's legilimency as proof of Malfoy's actions, I have a cast-iron reason to rid myself of him."

"You can't just… make up a memory? Like with Sir--" Harry's voice seemed to choke off abruptly, and Snape found himself wondering idly if this house-elf debacle was going to launch the boy back into the thick of his despair over Black.

He sighed inwardly; more Potter angst was the last thing he needed to deal with at the moment.

"I cannot fabricate a memory, Potter, because the Dark Lord is not nearly so gullible as you are. He would never invest faith in a disingenuous recollection."

Harry physically cringed at his words, and Snape mentally berated himself. Black was not the sore spot to be pressing, not right now. And… it wasn't entirely a case of gullibility. Harry simply hadn't the mental training to distinguish a false recollection from a genuine.

He attempted to redirect Harry's attention. "If Malfoy has truly used this curse several times, I'm confident he will feel free to use it again. Especially now that he perceives you to be in a disadvantaged position. I suppose he'll need to be… induced."

He scowled as soon as the words left his lips. Dare he trust Potter in this?

Perhaps… The boy hadn't given anything away up until this point.

And if he knew Lucius, the man would feel irritated by the boy's resistance to the Imperius Curse. He would look for any reason to attempt it again, to salvage his pride if nothing else.

"Don't worry," Harry spoke up, still staring with hooded eyes at his wand. "I… it shouldn't be hard to induce him. He doesn't really need a reason, I don't think."

No, just an opportunity.

He barely heard the boy add, "But I bet I could give him one, anyway."

* * *

A part of it was simple vengeance.

A part of him, still reeling from that horrific thing he'd done earlier that day, cringed even from this… even from pain inflicted on Malfoy.

But Snape wanted him to induce Lucius into using another Unforgivable, and this was certainly a way. Malfoy himself could not have contended with it. After all, he'd taught him all about it. By Lucius's own code, this was as legitimate a retaliation as any for the events of the day.

At the very least, Harry could try to atone for what he'd done to Minky. He was helping Snape hurt Lucius… And if Malfoy retaliated, all the better. The horrible, wretched guilt eating away inside him might subside somewhat if he just had a chance to pay for it. Whether it was penance at Malfoy's hands, or at Snape's, at least it was something to quell this awful feeling… there would be some sort of absolution.

Of course, whatever happened, it would not be enough. Harry knew that. How could you atone for murder?

He rubbed at his scar as he waited, knowing Snape was casting a net of detection spells throughout the manor.

He needed to induce Malfoy into using an Unforgivable. He already knew how.

It took him only a short time to shed the requisite six drops of blood for the Infervesco Sanguis curse. Even less time to speak the incantation, to direct the energy through his wand and gracefully release it into the air with a practiced gesture.

And then he waited.

He wasn't certain just how long it took Malfoy to experience the sensation of his blood boiling to life within his veins, but he guessed it hadn't taken the man long to figure out who'd put that feeling there.

The door to his room burst open. Lucius Malfoy staggered through the doorway, his features twisted with pain and absolute rage.

"Hi, Mr. Malfoy." Harry smiled coldly. "Still proud of me?"

Lucius forced a feral smile to his lips. "Of course I am. Now end the spell, and I'll show you just how proud I truly feel."

Harry felt an odd relief at the hatred blazing in Lucius's eyes. The animosity was welcome after days of playing their uneasy game. Seeing fury in Lucius Malfoy's face made him feel just a bit like Harry Potter again.

He watched Malfoy painfully make his way across the room, his wand clutched convulsively in a trembling hand, knuckles white from the strength of his grip. From what Harry had read in Kinship and Related Curses, the blood-boiling hex caused horrible, yet not entirely debilitating pain. It peaked and receded in waves, and one could almost function normally in its milder phases.

From the way the man was moving, this had to be one of those kinder moments. He was relieved that Lucius was not in total agony. Just enough to send shudders wracking up and down the gaunt body, to force Lucius's jaw into a tight clench, but not enough to bring tears to the gray eyes. He wanted to hurt Malfoy, but not brutally, not after M- not after those things he'd done. He didn't think he could bear to do that.

"Did you hear what I said?" Lucius seethed. "The curse. End it. Now!"

"But Mr. Malfoy," Harry said innocently, uncertain just how far he should push this; he wanted an Unforgivable, but certainly not a killing curse. "You wanted me to show you what a good teacher you are." The words brought back the horrific lessons of the previous day, and bile rose in his throat. Spiteful fury boiled within him, taking control of his mouth. "And I just wanted to show you how far the lesson has sunk in! Maybe I'll lift it if you ask nice -"

"STUPEFY!"

* * *

Hooded figures swarmed the clearing. He watched the curses streak from their wands with a sense of satisfaction, the slaughter sending a cold rush of power through his veins.

His eyes strayed to his own prey, the undersized mudblood who goggled at him with shock born of unreasoning terror.

He could see the eyes, frightened eyes watching him, and a smile curled across his lips. A high, thin voice: "Avada Ke-"

* * *

"Ennervate."

Harry's eyes slid open to the purple sky of early morning. Cool air caressed the heated flesh of his scar where it burned furiously. His head whirled, the killing curse from his dream ringing in his mind

He was tempted to feel alarmed that he'd had his first vision in months, but he was distracted from his troubles by Lucius Malfoy's jagged gasps for breath, splitting the tranquil silence of the manor gardens.

"You must be quite the… powerful young wizard," Lucius noted in a wavering voice. He was hunched on the grass by Harry's side, his gray eyes unfocused and slightly crazed. "Most curses end once the caster loses consciousness. Not yours, apparently!"

Harry pushed himself upright, his hand flying automatically to his forehead to rub his scar.

"Septimus, please," Lucius whispered brokenly, still kneeling on the grass even after Harry struggled to his feet, staring up with haunted eyes made dimmer by the darkness of the morning. "Remove the hex."

They were next to the pond, where they spent yesterday shooting down ducks. Killing M-

He choked on the thought, something ugly welling up within him.

"Take it off. Please, Septimus. Please!" To Harry's shock, Malfoy's eyes filled with tears. His plea was issued in a jagged, broken voice. "It hurts, Septimus. I can't bear it. You don't know how much it hurts!"

There was something in Malfoy's eyes, something calculating and restrained, that warned Harry the man was exaggerating his distress, hoping to play upon some weakness he perceived in his newest foe. Nevertheless, a sick feeling twisted in Harry's gut at the sight and sound of someone begging him for mercy. It was hard to swallow around the sudden knot in his throat. He'd never intended to take it this far. He'd just wanted to provoke Malfoy, and maybe make him hurt a bit for… for those horrible things yesterday. But... This was more of that. More of that ugliness, that horrid darkness in himself.

I'm no better than he is… Harry thought, nauseated.

With a sharp wave of his wand, he cancelled the curse. He experienced an internal sensation not unlike a sudden release of some taut chord as the spell dissolved.

The other sensation faded, to be replaced by an odd feeling kindling to life within him… a creeping warmth in his stomach as though he'd just downed a cup of hot chocolate. The foreign heat flooded Harry's chest.

Get up, Malfoy, he thought, watching a faint, dark smile creep across the Death Eater's lips when he realized his foe had just made the fatal mistake of setting him at liberty. Harry couldn't bring himself to be afraid.

Large, frightened eyes flashed through his mind.

He'd killed Minky. However Lucius had manipulated the situation, he couldn’t avenge her by hurting Malfoy. Harry rubbed his forehead furiously; it burned. He just needed- he needed to stop thinking about it. About what he'd done. About those terrified, tearful eyes…

Malfoy would curse him, Snape would kick Malfoy out of the house, and Harry would know he'd done at least one thing right in this past year. He'd killed Sirius, he'd killed Minky, he'd nearly killed his friends… But this would only hurt him. He could live with this. He could do something to redeem himself with this.

Malfoy raised his smug expression to Harry's, the dark look in his eyes promising terrible revenge. Harry took several steps back in a perfunctory show of fear. The only emotions he felt, though, were a vague curiosity and a strange sense of anticipation.

His scar burned.

He rubbed his stomach, glancing first at Malfoy, then at himself. The warmth in his stomach was growing more noticeable. He hadn't seen Malfoy cast a spell… This couldn't be a hex. The man was only now rising to his feet, only now retrieving his wand, shaking his head of blond hair furiously, as though ridding himself of the last of the spell.

Then it happened. A furnace flared to vibrant life within Harry's chest, sending liquid heat through his veins.

What in the hell? Harry gritted his jaw, fighting the sensation, trying to shake it off. Malfoy… watch Malfoy… Concentrate on Malfoy…

However much he tried to fight the sensation, fire welled up inside him, like an oven in his chest.

He was unaware of just when it spiked, the heat lancing through his veins and boiling into molten lava; he was not aware of collapsing to the ground as talons of fire raked through his skin.

Harry only came to himself, hands clenched into fists so tight his arms throbbed. He was rubbing his arms and legs against the cold dew on the grass, hoping to seep in more of the dampness, as though it could dilute this terrible heat. But it was inside. He couldn't get rid of it; it was relentless.

Fire. Fire fire fire.

Those eyes.

Why was he still thinking of Minky's eyes? Why could he still feel that spot on his forehead burning? He felt like he was melting with this pain, yet those eyes, those eyes…

He should be dying from this heat. But he wasn't dying, he was burning…

"Well, well. Would you look at that…”

He realized he'd nearly forgotten Lucius when the dry voice reached Harry amidst his private inferno. Struggling to regain a hold of himself, Harry bit hard on his lips and forced himself to look at the older wizard

Funny, how meeting Malfoy's ruthless, gray eyes suddenly told him exactly what was happening inside his body. Infervesco Sanguis. He was suffering from the blood boiling curse.

But… how? How had this happened? He hadn't seen Malfoy do anything!

Hmmm… He noted in a detached way that it really was quite painful; not quite as bad as the Cruciatus, but at least a few steps above a good dose of Skele-Gro. Some vague part of his mind admired Malfoy for managing to knock him out and hustle his unconscious form outside, when the man had been feeling this; Harry himself would be hard-pressed to even stand right now.

"I don't think you realize the magnitude of your error, Septimus," Lucius noted, smiling with vicious amusement down at Harry.

Harry tried to raise his head. It hurt… He let it slump.

"The… curse?" he managed to say.

Malfoy's laugh was cold and malicious. "No, not the curse itself. Your execution was perfect. Quite an effective means of crippling an opponent, a blood-boiling curse." His eyes glinted ruthlessly. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Oh, he'd agree, all right. His body was melting with hot agony. He felt like he'd died and gone to hell.

Well… it would certainly explain why Malfoy was still with him.

"Your mistake was declaring open enmity for me- after I'd only been trying to help you, dear boy- and then aborting your attack," Lucius crooned, drawing closer to where Harry lay gasping for breath on the lawn. "You ended it simply because I begged you... Or perhaps because of my pretty sheen of tears? A true Dark Wizard knows mercy for the virtue of the witless and the sentimental. You will find I am neither."

Harry's disillusioned glasses had tumbled off at some point. Malfoy appeared little more than a malevolent blur of blond hair and pale skin; he could just make out the man's gleaming white teeth, bared in a grin.

"Now, let's see… What have I neglected in your curriculum? Why has your curse rebounded back upon you?" Lucius asked lazily.

Harry looked up at him blankly. It was no longer a simple matter of provoking Malfoy. This… whatever it was… had changed the terms of their confrontation.

"Now, I taught you perfectly how to execute the curse, as we can both personally attest," Malfoy said slowly, still smiling viciously, extending with each slow-spoken word the burning of Harry's body. "But… I suppose this could be seen as a failing of mine as a teacher, nevertheless."

Lucius lowered himself to Harry's side, his smooth, cruel features growing clearer.

"Ah, yes, now I remember." Lucius's finger tapped thoughtfully against his closed lips, his gray eyes narrowing into calculating little slits. "I don't believe we covered that. A dreadful omission on my part. I must admit. I never even thought for one moment that I'd need to warn you about that."

"About what?" Harry demanded, through gritted teeth.

The fire inside him seemed to leap back into powerful life as the curse again gathered strength.

It occurred to him suddenly, sickeningly- fire. Had he killed Minky with an incendio? Had she felt this?

He forced himself to stop rubbing at his chest, forced himself to endure it. You did this to her… Strange how his acceptance suddenly cooled the flames, just when he hoped for the opposite.

"You see," Lucius said thoughtfully, "those curses we studied were written and devised by purebloods," he pronounced the word delicately, as though it were something holy in itself. "There are inherent… what I suppose you might call 'safety measures', to protect purebloods from those of lesser birth who might attempt to wield them against us."

Harry's gaze shot back up to his with a distinct feeling of alarm.

"Kinship curses rely upon a magical bloodline. As soon as you terminated your curse, it rebounded back upon you because the curse detected a significantly stronger Muggle heritage in you than in your victim." Lucius was watching his reaction intently with keen, calculating eyes. "I am a pureblood. If you, too, were a pureblood, you would not be suffering exactly as I have just suffered."

Harry's heart plunged into his stomach.

"Now, you're clearly no mudblood," Lucius noted softly. "Or the curse would have rebounded immediately. But you are a half-blood, or you would not be suffering now."

This was very, very bad.

"So I wonder, my little friend," Lucius drawled, settling back on his heels as if to relish Harry's situation from a better viewpoint, "Why would Severus, a Death Eater, an advocate of blood purity, shelter a half-blood in his abode?"

Even through his agony, Harry understood it suddenly. A wrong word now would not just kill him. It would kill Snape.

No! No no no no no…

His mind danced frantically over his options… from the memory charm he probably couldn't have performed even with his wand, to excuses and more excuses.

Excuses. All he needed was once decent excuse.

"HALF-BLOOD?"

The idea solidified in his mind. He thrust himself up from the ground in a show of fury.

"Half-blood? I'm not- I'm- That's impossible! You're making it up! You're lying!" Harry wound his hand in Lucius's cloak and yanked the other man's face close to his. "It can't be. It can't! My parents are- my father's pure- I don't have DIRTY MUGGLE BLOOD! You lying bastard- I- you- TAKE IT BACK NOW! I know you're lying! TAKE IT BACK!"

He made a grab for Lucius's wand, but a quick spell sent him tumbling back to the grass as the Death Eater retreated a step in a defensive posture.

"BASTARD!" Harry screamed at him, fighting against a heavy weight he knew to be an Impediment Jinx. It wasn't difficult to fake the fury or the hysteria; he was rather on the cusp of both. "It CAN'T be! I'm NOT a half-blood! You're lying! YOU'RE LYING!"

He noticed the comprehension seeping into Lucius's features. Desperate to nurture the possibility that had just occurred in Malfoy's mind, Harry screamed as though his world had just ended and squeezed his eyes shut. He clamped his hands over his face and shook his head back and forth in desperate denial.

"You lie, you lie, you lie! My mother would never- she would never- FUCK YOU, MALFOY! YOU LIAR!"

He peered through his fingers, and was not encouraged by the look on Malfoy's face.

He's not buying it… He's not… Damn, damn, damn…

"Oh, I assure you, I lie about nothing," Lucius said smoothly.

He had to totally debase himself; it was the only way Lucius would ever believe him.

So Harry fought, screaming, against the impedimenta spell until he was too exhausted, until the pain could no longer be ignored. His muscles literally gave out on him, and he slumped back to the grass. He allowed those tears of pain to surface at last, and broke into sobs. It wasn't difficult to cry; the curse, liquid fire flowing through his veins, was a persistent motivator.

"It's impossible! Mum wouldn't…" Harry sobbed, still shaking his head in frantic denial. "She wouldn't… She would never do that… I'm not a half-blood! I'm not! She wouldn't touch a mudblood!"

Malfoy began chuckling above him.

Relief like he'd never known coursed through Harry, but he never let his show of emotion slacken. An image of Dudley's theatrical tears flashed through his head, and he let out a wail of despair, hearing Lucius's mirth turn into outright laughter.

Harry was still sobbing brokenly as the man swooped down next to him, drinking in the exquisite agony he believed he'd caused Harry.

"Well, well," Lucius taunted lightly, waggling his finger at him. "It looks like one little bastard didn't realize his mother was a right whore, did he?" Harry moaned his denial. Amusement colored Lucius's voice. "I wonder if she fucked a Muggle or a mudblood? Who was your progenitor?"

Harry felt himself flush; the tears died somewhat as his anger asserted itself. He didn't enjoy Lucius taunting him over the sexual misdeeds of Septimus's mother anymore than he might over someone taunting him over what his real mother had done with Snape.

"This is just… beautiful," Lucius sighed in pleasure. Clearly in Malfoy's view, learning oneself to be not only a half-blood, but also a bastard, ranked among the worst things that could ever happen to a wizard. "All those pretensions of yours towards dark magic… and look! You're merely a half-blood- barely even a wizard!"

Lucius enjoyed his distress for an interminable moment more. The curse still raging through Harry's body seemed minor next to the horrendous tragedy he'd just averted… He hadn't killed another person; Snape was safe. Safe, thank Merlin.

And then Malfoy released him so abruptly from the curse that for several moments, Harry truly believed his body had gone numb. He heard the grass crunch by his ear, and became dimly aware of Malfoy staring down at him, his pale skin cast with a bluish tint in the early-morning light.

"I suggest you return to the house before Severus misses you, my dear filthy little half-blood."

It was a profound shock when Malfoy simply turned around, tossing Harry's wand disdainfully on the ground before walking back towards the house.

Harry shoved himself to his feet, ignoring the protests of his limbs.

No, Harry thought, stunned. Was all of this for nothing? Malfoy had been willing to crucio him for lying on the couch too long, but not for casting an excruciating curse on him?

There were any number of things he could do to catch Malfoy's attention. Attack him- but then the man could plead self-defense. Yell out Voldemort's name- but then Malfoy would be the loyal servant.

What... what...

"Run away then, Malfoy!" Harry shouted. "Just like you always do!"

Lucius's shoulders drew up like an alert animal.

Good… Malfoy pride. Hit him right there.

"So I'm a- a bastard- a dirty half-blood-but what about you?" Harry bellowed. "Everyone knows you abandoned the Dark Lord when his loyal supporters went to Azkaban. I know a FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD got you sent to prison last year! Even dirty mudbloods LAUGH at you!" Lucius halted, and Harry stepped closer to the immobile figure. "You're always talking about the greatness of the Malfoys. How many centuries ago was that, huh, Lucy? 'Cause judging by your 'greatness', I'd say you Malfoys have at least a few mudbloods diluting the line yourself!"

Malfoy turned then, and Harry felt an unexpected thrill of fear at the dangerous expression on his face.

"Would you care to repeat that, boy?" Malfoy asked softly.

Harry hadn't really expected to feel afraid, but suddenly his insides danced with anxiety. He twisted his face into his most ferocious expression and pressed on anyway.

"I said that the Malfoys are nothing more than a line of sniveling, cowardly, mud-blooded disgraces to wizardki- AAARRGGHH!"

It was amazing, though, how he could never quite remember just how terrible the Cruciatus Curse was until he was in the grip of it. He could never recall how the world collapsed into a narrow spectrum of pain and more pain.

The curse was fueled by hatred and sadism. And Lucius wanted him to suffer.

It didn't stop; it never ended. He clawed at the grass, thrashing, anything to escape it, to throw it off.

His world narrowed, blackened. He couldn't think. He was barely aware of his own screams.

And it went on and on and on… Until he heard two voices bellow- "EXPELLIARMUS!"

The curse had stopped, but it still hurt. Harry turned weakly towards the voices, but he could barely move. It hurt, everything killed him. Moving his eyes was hellish. Holding his lids open. Trying to form a thought was a new lesson in pain.

Snape was here, though. Snape was finally here.

It took an effort almost beyond Harry's dwindling strength to force his eyes open, to look at the two Death Eaters, circling each other like predators

"What do you think you're doing, Lucius?"

Malfoy stiffened. "You have some nerve intervening in this, Severus. Were you aware-"

"Was I aware that you've been using the Cruciatus Curse on my nephew? Under my roof? Oh, I certainly am now, Lucius!" Snape snarled.

His black, blurred form moved imperceptibly closer, just enough for Harry to see his wandless state. Alarmed, the boy's eyes quickly flitted up to Malfoy. He was relieved to see that Lucius was similarly disarmed.

Feeling a wave of exhaustion, Harry's head slumped to the ground. He felt Snape's gaze snap to him.

"Septimus?"

His body was trembling uncontrollably. He wanted to tell Snape it was okay, to concentrate on Malfoy, but his throat wasn't working quite as it should.

"Septimus? Boy! Don't you dare close your eyes!"

He heard Snape's footsteps draw rapidly nearer.

"Leave the little bastard," Lucius said coldly. He was watching Snape with a dark, predatory expression, recognizing this confrontation for the potential threat it truly was. "I had every provocation-"

"Provocation?" Snape spat. "To cast the Cruciatus Curse in my abode? To possibly draw the attention of Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic? You know what my role is! You know what I do! Do you realize that even now a team of aurors-"

"Oh, stop exaggerating so dreadfully, Severus," Lucius said, sounding slightly uneasy. "I know you have protective spells-"

"PROTECTIVE MEASURES are just that. MEASURES! They're not infallible! I will not put up with your idiocy any longer, Malfoy!"

"The Dark Lord-"

"Will hear my account before yours!" Snape roared. "You just wait- you'll be out of here-"

"And what makes you think I'll allow you to speak to him first?" Lucius said dangerously.

Snape's expression froze, and Harry watched his eyes narrow into lethal black slits immediately at the perceived threat.

"How do you propose to stop me, Lucius?" Snape asked softly. "I think we both know which of us has a greater avenue of access to our Lord."

"We are also aware," Malfoy said delicately, his eyelashes flickering in an almost coy manner, "which of us is on notice, and just which of us has more… shall we say, latitude with our actions?"

Snape smiled suddenly, that horrible smile Harry had only seen on a few unfortunate occasions. His eyes glimmered with deadly promise, and there was something genuinely gleeful about it.

"Yes, I think I am quite aware which of us is… 'on notice', did you say?" Snape drew a step closer to Lucius. Harry registered a faint note of alarm. He didn't know where Snape's wand was, but he had a feeling Snape was increasing his distance from it. "In fact," Snape added softly, "I think you might be surprised at our respective positions, once you're… slightly more informed."

Lucius's entire expression shifted. Harry remembered this one, this same terrible look on his face when Harry tricked him into freeing Dobby.

"What have you done, Severus?"

Malfoy's tone was softer and deadlier than he'd ever used with 'Septimus' or Harry Potter, as though the man instinctively knew he was dealing with a more lethal opponent.

Snape's expression never changed. There was still that malicious light in his eyes, and he drew closer again, a strange, unsettling smile on his lips.

"Let's just say, Lucius, that I put my respite from your company yesterday to good use. Very good use, indeed. And if I happened to alert our esteemed master to some… shall we say, previously unknown aspects of your fortunate jailbreak… it was only out of my great attention to my duties."

Was that fear that passed so fleetingly across Malfoy's face?

"What have you done, Severus?"

Malfoy's voice sounded slightly shrill. Yes, it was fear.

Snape shook his head slowly, his smile growing wider. "Oh, no, no. I'm afraid, for the good of our master, I must use some tiny amount of discretion." He cocked his head, his eyes chillingly black and empty. "But I must admit, you may find your status slightly… uncertain."

"You- you-" Malfoy's fear had dissolved into a sudden, unreasoning rage.

"I- I… what?" Snape taunted softly.

Malfoy held his gaze for a moment of soundless fury, and then made a sudden movement towards his wand.

It took every bit of strength Harry had to catch Malfoy's ankle with his foot, sending the man tumbling to the ground with his own momentum. Malfoy fell on top of him, crushing already-bereaved muscles.

Snape lanced forward in a whirl of his black robes, and was suddenly upon Malfoy, his pale hands clenching the taller man by the neck of his robs and yanking him up, away from Harry.

Lucius would normally have been the physical superior over the rail-thin professor, but months in Azkaban and the blood-boiling curse had robbed him of any prowess he might have possessed, had he deigned to indulge in Muggle combat. He was easily dragged across the lawn, where a quick shove by Snape sent him unceremoniously head-over-heels into the pond.

"What- wh-" Malfoy sputtered, blonde head breaking the surface just for a moment before Snape appeared on the side bank, grasped him by his wet hair, and thrust him back under.

A vicious expression twisted across Snape's face as his black arms remained plunged under the dark surface of the lake, holding Malfoy in place. He then yanked Malfoy up, allowing Lucius a desperate, fleeting gasp of air, before thrusting him back under for longer. And longer.

He's going to drown him… Harry thought numbly. It's been too long… There's no way he'll… no way…

And suddenly Snape whipped back up to his feet, dragging a limp and disoriented Lucius Malfoy out of the water and onto the bank, and dropping him to the ground with a look of disgust.

Malfoy collapsed bonelessly, coughing. Snape gazed at him for only a moment before he swept around and strode purposefully over to Harry.

Harry's gaze lifted to meet his professor's. Snape's empty black eyes swept over him, quickly assessing his condition, before the man swooped down and retrieved Malfoy's wand from the ground, an absolutely horrible look on his face.

"Have you any urgent concerns?" Snape asked him coldly.

Harry shook his head numbly. The gesture sent pain lancing through his neck and spine, and he balled his fists to stop himself from crying out.

Snape's eyes darkened.

"Do not fall asleep until we've assessed your injuries."

Snape sent him one last careful look, before turning back to Malfoy, watching the man struggle to breathe for a long moment. His lips quirked at the corners with some sadistic enjoyment of Malfoy's plight.

"Lucius," he called mockingly, "my apologies for using such a crude, Muggle means of torment." He stepped across the yard, his wet robes swinging heavily around his body. "My… lineage, as you know, is not nearly as refined as your own. After all, since you've endangered us with your reckless use of Unforgivables, I should have respected your partiality towards them!"

Lucius had a split second to look up, sheer terror on his face, before Snape cried, "Crucio!"

Harry stared in horror as Malfoy began to scream, thrashing with sheer agony. Snape closed in on the other man, as though to relish the pain he was causing from a better vantage point.

Then with an off-handed gesture, Snape released Malfoy.

"Enough?" he said quietly.

Lucius's body shook convulsively, and the blonde tried to nod.

Snape's horrible smile appeared again, that particular enjoyment on his face that always seemed to appear when Harry got an answer wrong in class.

"I didn't quite catch that," Snape noted softly, ignoring Malfoy's inarticulate cry of alarm. "You need to make more effort, dear friend. Crucio."

Malfoy's screams began again, louder, longer.

Harry wanted to clamp his hands over his ears, to yell at Snape to stop, but he could only stare in horror, first at Malfoy, and then at Snape.

Snape.

There was an absolutely inhuman look on his face, in his faint smile. A chilling emptiness with which he hadn't even greeted Harry after the Obliviation attempt. It was scary, it was horrible.

And Harry understood it fully for the first time-

Snape was a Death Eater.

He was not pretending to be a servant of a dark lord. He was not merely a spy. The man had joined the Death Eaters because he was a creature capable of the same blackness as the rest of them, who embraced the same evil as the rest.

That's why he hadn't reacted to what Harry had done to Minky. He took pain… he took death for granted.

It was then Harry realized suddenly, very clearly, that he couldn't. He could never do something like this.

He could get every single person he loved killed, but he could never hope to actively destroy another person. He was too cowardly to kill Voldemort, too squeamish to hurt Bellatrix Lestrange. The screaming… He couldn't stand it.

It suddenly felt like the breath had been stolen from his body, and Harry slumped back to the grass, the full extent of his injuries making themselves known. Malfoy's screams rang into the night, and he stared bleakly up into the sky as it steadily grew lighter. He refused to look at Snape even after Malfoy's cries died away.

He was vaguely aware of the black form that appeared above him, surveying him with his pale mask of deathly white skin.

"Can you walk, Harry?"

Harry closed his eyes against the sight, and shook his head.

The levitation spell swept him into the air, and there was something terrifyingly abrupt about it.

He was cold. Freezing, in fact. Some nameless force inside him seemed to fight the spell holding him several feet above the ground- Snape's spell- and his limbs trembled more furiously than before. Frustration- a blessedly normal, 'Hogwarts Potions Master'-expression- crossed Snape's face, and then the man floated him gently back down to the ground.

"Your magic appears to be resisting mine," Snape noted dispassionately. Harry tried to cringe away when the man knelt down next to him, not wanting that icy grip on him, but Snape gave him no choice, arresting the movement with a firm hand and bundling Harry's body up against him, physically lifting him into the air.

Harry's tremors increased; Snape's body felt like ice, seeping the very life from his skin. He forced himself to look back up into the sky, to turn his eyes from what had happened. A wave of exhaustion consumed him; his scar throbbed, blackening the edges of his vision with a relentless pulse of pain.

"Do not fall asleep!" Snape said gruffly.

I won't, Harry thought.

His scar was burning furiously.

He doubted he would ever sleep easily again.

After carefully arranging Harry on a couch, he summoned a rejuvenation draught laced with a pain reliever. It was a very short-term solution, but he didn't need the boy falling asleep and slipping into a coma. He could very well have sustained a severe head injury, convulsing under Lucius's Cruciatus.

As soon as he felt assured Harry would remain conscious, Snape cast a diagnostic spell, and was relieved to find that he was in no immediate danger. Slight concussion, several superficial injuries and a few slightly more serious ones, but nothing that would end up killing him.

Snape let out the breath he'd been holding, and turned his attention first to Harry's shattered kneecap. This one seemed to have the most potential for long-term damage, not to mention the most potential for excruciating pain once his nerves recovered. Best not send Potter back to Hogwarts with a permanent limp, or Minerva would accost him in a most unpleasant manner--

"What are you doing?"

Harry's voice was hoarse. From screaming, Snape realized, internally cursing himself for encouraging the boy to provoke Malfoy. Whatever he'd envisioned for ensnaring Lucius, this had not been it.

He felt oddly ill. It was one thing to bandy about the Imperius Curse-- it was more common and easier to wield than the ministry would admit-- but it was quite another to use the Cruciatus Curse. Severus hadn't expected even Lucius Malfoy to indulge in it, especially upon such an unequal opponent.

Perhaps Azkaban had quite unhinged the man.

"Your knee is severely damaged," Snape informed him.

"Oh." He glanced up at the boy's face, and noticed that Harry was staring, rapt, at some fixed point on the ceiling. "I think I fell on it a couple of times." The green eyes drifted downwards, as the boy stared with some morbid fascination at his twitching limbs. "They didn't do that last time."

Snape stiffened imperceptibly; he'd heard all about the Triwizard Tournament, from both the Headmaster and the Death Eaters who still relished having seen the famous Boy-Who-Lived writing in agony. Of course, he doubted the Dark Lord had cursed him nearly so severely as this. There was no way Harry would have dragged himself back to Hogwarts in this condition, much less that Diggory boy.

The curse had been long; almost too long. He'd been alerted immediately to Malfoy's use of the Unforgivable, and the suddenness of it caught him by surprise. He'd only departed Harry's company a half-hour earlier. He hadn't realized Lucius was even awake.

Lucius had somehow warded the garden, because it had taken Snape nearly two minutes to break through the barrier.

Nothing had prepared him for what he found, though. Nothing.

I should have killed him, Snape thought vindictively, clutching his fist tighter about his wand.

He felt Harry start against him, and only then realized his wand had begun to spark with his fury. Snape quickly forced the anger to the back of his consciousness, and caught a somewhat horrified look on Harry's face before he abruptly returned his attention to the ceiling.

He forced his attention back to Harry's knee, trying not to dwell upon the fact that Lucius could have given him a no stronger 'fuck you' than casting the Cruciatus Curse on a child Snape was supposed to be protecting.

And I could not have been more of a fool, piquing Lucius's interest in him.

Snape couldn't say exactly what it was; perhaps it had been something increasingly skittish in Harry's manner, or something increasingly menacing about Lucius. He simply knew at this moment, that he could pin down the very instant when Lucius's interest in the boy turned predatory.

"Not all of us, Severus, have such casual malice towards our own kin."

And he'd reacted. Reacted, like an undisciplined fool. He never reacted to anything. He was a spy. A master Occlumens. And he knew full well that Lucius could see any expression that so briefly flickered over a human face. Why had that statement slipped past his guard?

Together with that unfortunate moment in the garden, when Lucius had caught Snape staring, appalled, at some perceived intimacy between the two… That had done it.

When Snape looked over it, he could track every change in Lucius back to something he himself had done. 'Septimus' would have remained a diverting amusement for a lonely escapee, if Severus hadn't virtually trickled blood in the water for a ravenous shark.

And what would the Headmaster say, when he brought Harry back to Hogwarts, having endured such a traumatizing experience? Dumbledore would never forgive him for this; he would realize he was right, all along… How could he win Dumbledore's confidence back? Could he win Dumbledore's confidence back?

He was startled out of his thoughts by a hoarse voice.

"You called me 'Harry'," the boy said. "You asked me if I could walk."

Snape looked sharply up from where he knelt, healing Harry's leg. He'd called the boy by his first name?

Had he really?

His thoughts stretched back to the moment, and Snape was disconcerted to find that he had, indeed, addressed the boy by his given name.

He stopped his ministrations for a long moment, frozen, watching Harry's face.

He hadn't really believed, when he carried him back into the house, that Harry was even coherent; he supposed the slip was due to that unguarded moment. He was disconcerted to find Harry now calling him on it. It was as though Harry were confronting directly some shift in Snape's regard.

Snape was overcome by a dreadful feeling of exposure, as though Harry had just peeled open his skin to glimpse into his very thoughts.

A range of responses flew to his tongue, from scathing to indifferent. He almost settled on a dismissive, 'I hadn't noticed', to a perfunctory excuse about needing to ensure Harry was conscious… but something stopped him. He knew exactly what path those words would lead him down, but some inexplicable impulse held him back from plunging into that comfortable familiarity.

"So I did," Snape acknowledged in a level tone.

His palms flattened against the fabric of the couch on either side of Harry's knee, and he waited for his response with an odd, leaping feeling in his stomach.

Nerves, Snape realized, utterly appalled.

For the first time since they'd returned from the yard, Harry's eyes shifted from that distant spot on the ceiling he'd been examining, to meet Snape's.

"You killed Malfoy, then, didn't you?" Harry asked hoarsely. "You wouldn't have said my name if he weren't already dead."

For a full two seconds, Snape's brain failed to process the words. When they finally sorted out in his head, he fully comprehended that Harry had raised the issue because he was worried about Lucius, and suddenly he wanted to strangle the little brat.

"What do you care?" he snarled, jabbing his wand a tad too harshly as he resumed healing Harry's knee, nicking the swollen flesh and evoking a sharp hiss from the boy. "I suppose you fear you'll have less fodder for self-pity without Lucius around to torture you!"

"I never wanted him to die." Something odd in Potter's tone dragged Snape's gaze back up again, and he found the boy rubbing furiously at his forehead with his still-trembling arm. "I didn't mean to kill him… I didn't!"

"For Merlin's sake, Potter," Snape said harshly. "Even if Lucius Malfoy were currently dead, rather than stupefied in the backyard, he would have died because I made a conscious decision to kill him." Irritation bubbled through him at Harry's unwavering mask of anguish. "It's presumptuous of you to claim responsibility for the actions of others. You may be Dumbledore's precious little celebrity, but you hold no sway over me… Nor will you ever."

Harry still sat there, staring at him with haunted green eyes, raking his forehead with his fingernails. The gesture irritated Snape to no end.

"Are you a canine, battling fleas?" Snape demanded, snatching Harry's hand from his face and pressing it harshly into the cushion next to the boy's torso. "Lie still!"

After holding his arm there for several seconds, he felt the weak resistance die, leaving only the convulsive trembling of Harry's limbs, twitching against his grip.

The knee was about as repaired as it would get; he would have to bring Potter to the hospital wing once they returned to Hogwarts, but he was fairly satisfied the boy would have no permanent limp thanks to his quick handiwork.

He resumed his diagnostic spell, and it led his wand up to the boy's chest. Snape felt a pang of unease, wondering if it was something internal, but parting the torn folds of Harry's robe revealed his chest, rivulets of blood seeping from tears that seemed to have been left by fingernails.

"How did this happen, Potter?" Snape asked carefully, summoning a healing draught for this one.

Harry weakly lifted his head, and appeared mildly surprised at the sight of his bloody chest.

"Oh," he said breathlessly, one of his hands creeping up to touch a wound as if to verify it was there. "I can't even feel them…"

Snape shoved his hand away. "Don't poke at it, boy."

Harry's head slumped back; he was breathing heavily as though he'd exerted himself. "I dunno how. Maybe during the, er, the blood-boiling curse. I was kind of… clawing at things, must have done it to myself, too. Right through the robes, I suppose."

Snape stared at him. "Malfoy used a blood-boiling curse on you?"

Harry gave a weak, rueful laugh, then clutched his ribs quickly as though to keep them in place. "No, I used it on me. Something about… blood purity… made it bounce…" The haziness that had slowly stolen over his expression suddenly cleared, and with a sharp intake of breath, Harry pushed himself upright. "Oh-- oh no! Snape, he knows, he knows!"

Snape grasped Harry's thin shoulders and shoved him back down.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, although he had a creeping feeling he knew exactly what the boy was talking about. He knew well what happened to a half-blood who used one of those kinship curses on a pureblood. If Harry cursed Malfoy, and the curse was returned to him, Lucius would have guessed immediately he was not a pureblood.

So… Lucius knew he was harboring a mysterious half-blood. That was treachery in itself, a slap in the face of the Dark Lord. The slightest deviation from the Dark Lord's ideology was seen as a sign of treason in the eyes of the Death Eaters. Snape would be punished, if not executed.

Perhaps he would be killing Lucius today, after all.

He felt a fleeting sense of remorse; there had been a time in his life, after all, when Lucius had been his only ally. But it evaporated the instant he remembered what the man had done just a few minutes earlier.

"He knows I'm a half-blood. He said the curse only came back to me because I was impure. I pretended I didn't know… That I was upset…" Harry croaked "I think… I'm pretty sure I convinced him that my mother had an affair, that I was just a bastard of some sort, but, uh, he knows."

A knot loosened in Snape's chest.

"Leave the little bastard."

Could Harry Potter have successfully deceived Lucius Malfoy?

It was actually a damn good excuse. It was not unheard of for a half-blood to slip into a pureblood line somewhere or other due to sexual promiscuity.

It part of the reason why there were so many kinship curses.

"You came up with that story yourself?" Snape asked, reluctantly impressed.

"No, Lucius made it up for me," was Harry's sarcastic reply.

Snape would grant he'd just asked an idiotic question, but he did not appreciate the boy pointing that idiocy out to him.

"Quiet, and hold still, Potter," he said brusquely, running his wand up to the boy's neck and over the strained tendons there. "You may very well have rescued us from the consequences of your stupidity. I congratulate you. A pity you haven't managed to do so in previous situations."

Harry shivered, his eyes growing cloudy, staring inward.

Black. Snape didn't have to legilimize him to know the damn boy was thinking about Black… again!

"Care to enlighten me, as to just what you thought you were doing with that curse?" Snape said, catching Harry's eye and forcing the boy away from whatever he was thinking.

Harry blinked at him. "I provoked him. You asked me to."

"I would not have condoned something so foolhardy as casting a blood-boiling curse on a Death Eater!" Snape snarled, his irritation rising in full force. "You're fortunate he did not use the Killing Curse on you in return!"

A smirk curled Harry's lips. "That would be an Unforgivable, too."

Snape's fists clenched; fury at this impertinent little brat pumped through him. How dare he, how dare he turn this into a joke!

"Malfoy taught me," Harry added, closing his eyes heavily. "I wanted to test it on him before--"He fell silent.

"Before?" Snape demanded.

Harry's eyes opened again, utterly expressionless-- a strange look on this boy. "Before I used one on Bellatrix Lestrange." He sighed. "I don't-- it won't happen now. Even if I could cast one without… without feeling it myself…"

He reached up to rub almost convulsively at his forehead.

"I gave you that book to use on the Muggles, Potter," Snape informed him coldly, inwardly cringing at another foolish thing he'd done since the boy had arrived here.

Perhaps stupidity is contagious, Snape thought, remembering just how brilliant and dastardly his plan of severing Harry from the Headmaster had seemed, back when he'd so carelessly proffered that dangerous item into Harry's hands.

He hadn't once given thought to the other things Harry could use it for. Why…

"You lied to me!" Snape said, his surprise at the realization overcoming his fury.

Harry had lied. And he'd believed him

"I never lied to you," Harry said tonelessly, his eyes sinking closed again. "I just never told you the truth."

Snape was still staring at him. He couldn’t believe the boy had mislead him. He always knew when Potter was lying. Always.

Snape noticed that Harry's eyes were still closed. The effects of the rejuvenation draught had to be waning.

"Go to sleep, Potter," Snape commanded gruffly.

He was inwardly reeling. How had the boy tricked him so easily?

It was in many ways a relief Harry was at last succumbing to exhaustion. Snape disliked how quickly the exchange had slipped from his grasp.

And… sleep would do the boy good. Snape could only administer the opiated draught once in a period of 48 hours, and he planned to save that until he was fully awake when he'd most need it. Sleep would be enough, for now, to battle the lingering effects of the curse.

In the meantime, he had a Dark Lord to appease, and a Malfoy to humiliate.

* * *

Only Lucius Malfoy could project an air of haughtiness as he lay on the ground, trussed up like a prize turkey.

Snape lingered a moment at the edge of the clearing, savoring the spectacle. He even made certain Lucius had spotted him before stopping to savor. It was positively delightful, the way the man's pale skin flushed into an almost… dare he say, Weasley shade of red?

"Severus!" Lucius bellowed. The man instinctively jerked at his robes, but quickly stilled in his movements, as though realizing his struggle was undignified. "Release me at once!"

"Oh, in a minute," Snape promised lazily. He crossed the lawn to lower himself across from the other Death Eater. He probably could have prevented his expression from reflected his amusement at this scene, but really-- why bother?

Malfoy was watching him through flinty, gray eyes. The shudders wracking his body seemed to stem from his fury as much as from nerve damage caused by the Cruciatus; Snape watched it with pleasure.

"You won't get away with this!" Lucius declared.

Malfoy's fury seemed laced with a desperate, almost hysterical anger. Snape watched him, amazed. Every once in a while, he was struck by just how much Draco reminded him of his father. This, however, was the first time he'd looked at Lucius and found himself reminded starkly of the son.

"Actually, Lucius, I already have," Snape informed gleefully. The rays of the mid-morning sun were beating down on his skin, and Severus made a show of stretching languidly in the warmth. "In fact, I visited our master while you were still… indisposed, and he agreed that your recklessness should no longer be tolerated, nor your arrogance indulged."

Lucius's lips thinned into a grim line. "He will change his mind."

"Perhaps," Snape said indifferently. "But not before he's corrected your insolence."

Lucius stared at him, something resembling horror flowering in his eyes. Snape was fully aware that he'd never been subjected to the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse, as every other Death Eater had been upon one occasion or another.

"He would not do that to me," Malfoy insisted. There was uncertainty in his tone, though, and it made Snape laugh out loud.

"Yes, six months ago, he wouldn’t have." Snape ran his finger across the line of his own lips, watching Malfoy intently, wanting to savor his every facial inflection. "After all, you were too powerful, too mighty for even the Dark Lord to dare curse. But you see, Lucius, without your position or your wealth, he no longer has to pretend he holds you in any particular regard… He can acknowledge openly what the rest of the wizarding world has known all along."

"And what is that?" Lucius demanded, his voice hard.

"That nobody truly cares about the 'Malfoy' name," Snape said delicately, "apart from the Malfoys."

That impotent fury again. Ah, Snape savored it.

"That's not true--"

"Oh, but it is," Snape said softly, leaning closer to the bound man. "You were nothing more than a resource to the Dark Lord; he accorded you privilege because you were valuable. When I return you to him, and you see just how those privileges have been revoked, well…" Snape smiled maliciously. "You'll remember my words."

"I find it interesting," Malfoy said, eyes glittering into Snape's with sheer hatred, "that you continue to provoke me when you've just exposed to me a potent weakness."

Snape stared at him, uncertain now just where this was going.

Malfoy read his confusion, and smiled viciously. "Do you truly believe the Cruciatus Curse is the worst thing I could do to your little nephew?" he whispered, gray eyes glinting malevolently. "He won't be in your care for long, Severus. Do you honestly believe I'll allow any power in this universe to hide him from me, after what you've done today? How long will he be out there, unprotected, utterly vulnerable, before I find him?"

Oh. Well, Snape wasn't too worried there. If Lucius chose to torment himself over a boy who did not even exist, he was free to do so.

"Go right ahead," Snape said gamely. "In fact… I had been meaning to learn more of your association with him. Legilimens."

The spell caught Lucius by surprise. The man resisted him for a full minute before he buckled under Snape's attack, and memories flooded the latter's mind.

Casting the Cruciatus Curse on Septimus… Running his fingers through the distraught boy's hair… Watching Septimus feed the ducks, feeling that strange warmth rekindle that he'd lost in Azkaban… Letting Septimus drop to the ground, stunned that he'd thrown off the Imperius... Casting the killing curse on the blasted house-elf himself over the boy's disoriented form… Laughing in sheer delight, realizing the accursed child had only now realized he was the product of a promiscuous whore…

Snape rifled freely through Lucius's memories until he found that last one, the one he'd been searching for. He called up several more images, simply to misdirect Lucius if he later wondered what Snape had been searching for, before surrendering to a malicious impulse and delving into several forbidden realms of the man's mind… simply because he could. He readily unearthed a string of embarrassing moments from Malfoy's childhood. Then:

Narcissa looked him over with distaste. "Julian is a far superior lover, Lucius, but I suppose it could also be attributed to a simple anatomical issue…" He felt a coil of fury and shame when her eyes flickered pointedly downwards, and he would have throttled the bitch if it weren't for Bellatrix's cackling laugh across the room…

Oh, that one was perfect.

"Why, Lucius, I never knew…" Snape purred, ending the spell.

Malfoy was huddled before him in the yard, still bound. The expression of absolute humiliation on his face was satisfaction enough for Snape, and he cancelled the binding spell, still leaving his wand trained on his opponent.

"Tell me, Lucius," Snape said coldly, still processing Malfoy's memories, "Was terrorizing a teenager like some common Muggle predator truly so gratifying for you? Did it for one instant help you forget you are an impotent disgrace to wizardkind?"

He grasped the still-distraught blonde by the arm, and directed him harshly back towards the house. The man stumbled passively in his grasp for their journey back, only showing signs of life when his eyes flickered with sheer greed at spotting his wand on the table by the floo.

"I'll make you pay for this, Severus," Lucius vowed softly, staring longingly at his wand. "You wait!"

Malfoy's deadly gray eyes returned to Snape's, as though the man wished to impress upon Severus the sincerity of his threats. Snape cut him off abruptly, tossing down a handful of floo powder and shouting, "Nott Manor!"

He shoved Lucius into the floo without another word.

After a moment's consideration, Snape tossed the man's wand in behind him. He could afford to be gracious.

After all, he'd won.

* * *

Snape had returned to his lab, aware that the boy would wake up soon enough, and he wanted to have a potion on hand to give Harry straightaway.

It was in this manner that he found himself still there, several minutes later, staring at the vials of the opiated calming draught, an odd feeling welling in his stomach.

There wasn't nearly enough. There should be more. The recipe made at least ten batches. And the boy had followed the recipe. Snape knew that; apart from a tad too much asphodel, the draught had been perfect.

He could remember now Harry's glassy expression, the night before. He'd written it off purely to distress. But… There were two doses gone. One Snape had imbibed himself, and the other…

He clutched the table, reeling under the implications of it.

Harry had taken it already today; or Lucius had fed it to him. Either way…

Malfoy had used the Cruciatus Curse already. He'd used it earlier, and obviously to such an extent that Harry had required a dose for himself.

Harry had known full well how Lucius would retaliate. It was not naiveté, it was not stupidity. He'd known, he'd known, he'd known…

Snape mechanically parceled out a sleeping draught, instead; at Potter's size, there was certainly no way his system could handle two doses of the opiate within a day. All he could hope to do was put him to sleep through the after-effects of the curse.

He returned to Harry's side, and paused, watching the boy rouse from his sleep, nameless feelings raging through him.

He planned this out. The thought only now occurred to him, meeting Harry's gaze as he opened his eyes and tiredly looked over Snape's expression, and the draught in his hand. The thin body still shook furiously, but only now did Severus recognize the clarity in his eyes.

He'd planned everything, hadn't he? He'd taken advantage of Malfoy's resentment of Snape to wrangle those curses out of the man, taken advantage of Snape's anger towards Dumbledore to get that book from Snape, allowed Snape and Malfoy to tangle for several days simply to play them both against each other… Harry Potter was a Scheming. Little. Bastard.

It had never occurred to him that Harry might have ulterior motives. He'd simply never lent the boy that much credence, to entertain the thought that he was wrangling something out of him.

He's my son… Snape realized suddenly.

The thought was horrifying, frightening, because it made more sense now than it ever had before, it struck home the way it hadn't when he was gazing at the guileless face of James Potter's brat.

This boy had never been the son of James Potter. He had never been the empty-headed Gryffindor. He was a scheming, plotting, vicious little Slytherin with the face of a…

What had this been about? Really about? It was more than helping Snape rid them of Malfoy; it was more than striking back at Malfoy for the events of earlier in the day.

It was… It was…

"Did you get what you wanted out of this farce?" demanded Snape harshly.

Harry blinked at him, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Snape thrust the sleeping draught to his lips, and practically it forced down the boy's throat. He couldn’t pinpoint just why he felt so angry.

He looked on in quiet rage as Harry's features slackened, the pain never quite fading, but the energy draining steadily. Heavy lids closed over green eyes.

An then the question was nagging at him relentlessly, one that he should have asked ages ago.

"A cupboard, Potter--"

The sleeping draught was rapidly taking effect, and Potter barely looked at him through green eyes rapidly fogging over.

"Why a cupboard?" Snape could see that the boy was blinking heavily, and knew he was about to fall asleep. He strode over to his side and planted his hands on the cushion on either side of his face, leaning closer, a sense of urgency stealing over him. This was not something he wanted to wait to hear.

"The Muggles were abusing you, sticking you in a cupboard. You know that. Why do you need it for Occlumency? Why is it soothing?"

Potter's eyes slipped closed, and Snape grasped him by the shoulder and shook him. "Potter!"

But Harry didn't open his eyes. He was sound asleep.

Despite the questions still raging through his mind, Snape was on the verge of surrendering to his exhaustion. He slumped into one of the armchairs, reluctant to leave the ailing teenager's side, but unwilling to summon a rejuvenation draught for himself. He was debating the merits of levitating Harry back up to his own room when his thoughts began to blur with sleep.

And then Harry began to laugh.

He raised his head wearily when the first dry, rasping chuckle issued from the boy's throat, and at last forced himself to his feet as the laughter grew high and cold.

"Potter?" Snape called, wondering if he'd underestimated the dosage of the sleeping draught.

Harry's face was still slack with unconsciousness, but his lips began to move in a smooth intonation almost as though they belonged to a separate body. "That pathetic display will get you nowhere, my slippery friend. I would think it beneath your ancient dignity to beg…"

Snape froze, knowing that voice.

"You make no similar appeal to your sister-in-law. Why is that, I wonder? Crucio."

There was something horrific about hearing the Dark Lord's familiar tones and cadences from the lips of a sleeping sixteen-year-old. Snape stood stock still, almost fearing to move any closer to the inert form.

"She does seem to be enjoying herself, doesn't she? Would you like your turn, Bella?-- You see, I reward loyalty. Competence. Two qualities you've been conspicuously lacking of late. Cru-"

As though waking up from a trance, Snape vaulted forward and grasped him by the shoulders.

"Potter!"

The Dark Lord's words died from Harry's lips when Snape shook him harshly, but the draught kept him steadfastly unconscious. Severus's furious heartbeat pounded in his ears, and it took him several moments to catch his breath and pry his fingers from the teenager's shoulders.

He staggered back a step from the now-mute form, utterly shocked. The Headmaster had explained to him the severity of Harry's visions, the extent to which the Dark Lord penetrated the boy's mind, but until now, Snape had not had the chance to witness one of those visions in progress.

It was one thing to hear of it, it was an entirely different matter to see first-hand the Dark Lord's influence over him.

Snape scrubbed his fingers over his lips, feeling cold and shaken by the spectacle. It only registered now, the full extent of Harry's vulnerability. He could see easily how the Dark Lord had torn straight into the boy's mind.

And now that Harry knew the details of his spying… now that he knew Severus was his father… the danger was greater than ever before.

They needed to work on Occlumency. He needed to figure out why exactly Harry's mind was eased by that cupboard… The question nagged relentlessly just outside the scope of his comprehension. It was frustrating, confusing, because even with his new insight into the workings of Harry's mind, it was the one element that refused to factor into the Slytherin persona he was constructing for him.

Why why why was Harry comforted by the image of being locked in a bloody cupboard?

And if he could simply figure that out, he could understand the morning's events. He would know Harry's motive for drawing Lucius into a violent confrontation that could only have one terrible result.

His eyes, straying over the unconscious form, halted abruptly upon catching sight of the blood crusted beneath his fingernails.

Snape's brow furrowed. He'd already cast several cleansing charms on Harry, trying to sear the events of the day from the boy's awareness at least in some measure. It was surprising he'd overlooked that detail.

With a quick glance to verify Harry still slumbered, he tentatively grasped one of his thin hands and raised it into the light. The scourgify charm worked quickly enough, but as Severus moved to release his grip, Harry's fingers clamped around his, curtailing his retreat.

Snape stilled. Even in his sleep, Harry's face had twisted into something resembling anguish. The grip tightened on his fingers as Harry murmured something unintelligible, pulling him closer. It took Snape a long moment to realize his physical presence was comforting for the boy.

He smirked. Harry would be mortified if he knew…

The thought of it amused Snape enough for him to permit Harry to continue clinging to him.

The fingers tightened again, the troubled expression on Harry's face growing outright distraught. He was murmuring something unintelligible over and over, and Snape leaned closer to hear it.

"… Sirius…"

With a disgusted snort, he wrenched himself from the weak grip.

"Sirius!" Harry's voice was anguished, his flailing hand closing on thin air.

Snape cursed Black silently, and gathered his empty potions vials into his hand. He didn't look up as Harry called the name several more times.

Then Harry's hand dropped, dangling off the side of the couch. "I'm sorry, Sirius…" he moaned. "… I'm so sorry…"

Snape did look up then, staring intently at the unconscious boy.

"So sorry…" Harry mumbled. "Didn't mean to… I'm sorry…"

And suddenly Snape understood all too well why Harry needed that cupboard.

This was it right here... the legacy of being raised by those Muggles.

Snape rubbed his hand as though Harry's touch had seared his skin, staring at the prone form. He was aware of a vague regret that he'd pulled away from his son's grip.

Well… He watched Harry curl in on himself and roll to his other side. He supposed it was too late to change that now.

* * *

Harry's head was pounding, his entire body throbbing with remembered pain. It took him several attempts to force his gummy eyelids open, and he winced at the onslaught of light.

At some point, Snape must have moved him. His last memory was of Snape healing him in the parlor, although he had some vague recollection of rousing and asking Snape how long he'd been out.

"Not nearly long enough. Go back to sleep, you foolish boy."

The memory now crawled sluggishly through his brain. The sleeping draught had left him slow and rather disoriented. How long had it been? Days? Hours?

His gaze traveled slowly about the bedroom, and then halted when he caught sight of a pensieve, resting on the table by his bed.

Harry stared at it in confusion for a long moment, trying to figure out just how it had arrived there.

Snape must have left it. Why? Is this some sort of test?

Harry gazed at it for a few cautious moments more, before deciding not to touch it.

He must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing he knew, Snape was standing above him, running a diagnostic spell. His professor looked exhausted, his hair greasier than usual, dark shadows under his eyes.

"How long..?" Harry asked, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, but it did nothing to dispel the sore feeling.

"Almost two days," Snape replied. He tucked his wand back into his pocket and surveyed Harry critically. "You'll be pleased to know you've suffered no permanent nerve damage."

"Oh." Harry rubbed at his throat, trying to sort out his memories of the last several days.

Snape's lips thinned into a grim, irritated line. "Another twenty seconds, Potter, and your mobility would have been permanently impaired. You were exceedingly fortunate."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he remained silent.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I hope you'll remember how narrowly you escaped that fate, the next time you choose to embark upon such a foolhardy venture."

Harry turned his gaze up to the ceiling, wishing Snape would just leave already. He was starting to feel a bit sick again.

The weight of Snape's gaze rested upon him for a long moment, before his professor backed off a step.

"The pensieve. Have you had a chance to look at it?"

Harry's gaze snapped up. "No"

Snape sent him a dour look.

"I… I wouldn't do that again," he added quickly.

Snape's eyes rolled heavenward. "Naturally, this is the one time you exhibit the remotest sense of decorum." He swept around the bed, and with a curt gesture, beckoned Harry over to the pensieve. "Come, Potter, take a look. I wouldn't have been so foolish as to leave it here if I didn't wish you to see it."

"Really?" Harry said bitterly, remembering the last pensieve he'd viewed.

Snape shot him an unfriendly look, and Harry fell silent. After a moment, he inched across the bed, ignoring the sharp protest of his sore joints. The older wizard retreated to allow him some space.

"This may be disconcerting," Snape noted, watching Harry adjust to his new position on the side of the bed. "This is a recollection from my mind, extracted from Lucius's mind, from a moment during which he was penetrating your mind. Be warned."

Harry shot Snape a dubious look, suddenly a bit nervous about just what he was going to see. He bit the side of his cheek and gazed into the depths of the pensieve, reluctant to proceed.

"Sometime today would be nice," noted Snape dryly.

Harry took a deep breath and prodded the pensieve, his heart thudding in his chest. Just what would he see? Did he have to re-live what happened with Minky? He didn't think he could stand to see that. Maybe this was some form of punishment..?

* * *

It took Harry a long moment to connect the pale, skinny boy half-slumped in Malfoy's arms with himself. He felt himself shudder at the sight of the aristocrat, memories of Malfoy torturing him and Malfoy screaming under Snape's Cruciatus Curse, dancing through his mind.

Lucius supported the other Harry easily; the boy's legs still refused to hold his weight.

"Kill the house-elf," Lucius instructed, gray eyes glittering intently. He appeared entirely confident in his ability to bend the younger wizard's will to his.

Harry shrank from the sight. He didn't want to watch Lucius turn him into a killer.

Lucius's eyes were misty, his attention entirely focused upon controlling Harry's mind. "Kill her."

The other Harry's misty green eyes rose, confusion blossoming in their depths. Harry felt sick watching himself.

Malfoy's grip tightened under the boy's arms, frustration stealing over his face.

"Kill her!" he insisted, his voice a harsh rasp.

The other Harry blinked, as though unable to tear his gaze from the house-elf, yet unable to comprehend just what he was being asked to do. His brow furrowed, and with what seemed like an effort, he opened his hand and dropped his wand to the ground.

Dismay and confusion stole over Lucius's expression. He stared at Harry for a long moment with an expression that slowly shifted into anger and… something like betrayal?

He shoved Harry roughly to the ground.

Lucius turned hard, angry eyes to the house-elf, still trembling fearfully before him on the lawn.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light streaked from his wand, hitting Minky in the chest. She slumped, dead, to the ground.

Lucius's furious gaze turned from the dead house-elf to the fallen boy. He surveyed the disoriented Harry with a cold, calculating glint in his eyes.

Harry saw the exact moment he forced a smile to his lips, although his eyes remained cold and furious. On the lawn before him, the skinny boy seemed to rouse out of his stupor, almost tumbling from where he crouched on his knees. He watched his expression change to one of shock and dismay upon spotting Minky's body.

Lucius was smiling viciously. "Well done, Septimus."

* * *

Harry was vaguely aware of Snape nudging him back onto the bed where he threatened to tumble off, and prying the pensieve from Harry's grip.

I didn't kill her…

The thought rang hollowly through Harry's mind. He knew he should be relieved, but there was a sick, tight feeling in his chest that refused to disperse.

It wasn't my fault.

But he couldn't tear his mind from that dead body.

Harry curled his knees up to his chest and hugged them with an arm. He felt his scar twinge, and it made him feel sick and vaguely unclean. He scratched at it.

"Well?" Snape asked lazily, removing the memory from the pensieve and placing the delicate white strands back into his head.

"Well?" Harry echoed numbly.

"You're not responsible for her death. Do you feel adequately consoled?"

Harry briefly wondered why it made a difference one way or another to

Snape how he felt about Minky's death, but the thought was eclipsed by that cold, dreadful feeling inside him.

I have to do that…

This hadn't been the first time he'd witnessed death. But it was the first time he'd been thoroughly convinced, at least for a while, that he perpetrated it himself. This was the first time he'd tangibly felt the blood on his hands.

He'd killed Sirius, it was true. He might as well have shoved him through that veil himself. But never had he confronted the reality of being a murderer.

And he would be a murderer. He would murder with his own hands, or die himself.

Harry curled in on himself tighter, wanting to be sick, wanting to scream. Something, anything, to dispel the horrible truth.

his scar BURNED-

There was no way out of it. He couldn't escape his destiny. He was going to kill someone. And he hadn't understood, not really, how terrible a thing that was until he'd seen Minky's body…

Or would he kill Voldemort? Was he strong enough? Was he even capable of it?

He scratched his forehead harder. So much depended upon him. So many lives. He just wished he could crawl out of his skin, lose his memory, forget, forget-

"Will you stop that?" Snape bellowed, yanking Harry's hand from where he raked his fingernails convulsively at his forehead.

"Sorry!" Harry gasped, trying to pull away.

Snape's grip tightened, forestalling his retreat. His black eyes seemed transfixed, and it took Harry a minute to see just what he was looking at.

There was blood under his fingernails.

Snape glared intently at his hand for a long moment, then his black eyes found their way to Harry's forehead, comprehension flickering in their depths.

"Of course!" he snarled. "Finite incantatem glamourie."

Harry felt a tingle over his forehead as the glamour Snape had employed to conceal his scar from Lucius quickly dissolved. Anger stole over Snape's face. The iron grasp on his wrist tightened, and his professor yanked him closer, clamping his fingers over Harry's chin and tilting his head back into the light.

"What is this, Potter?" Snape demanded.

"What is what?"

Snape's grip bruised his chin, and he turned Harry's head towards the wall mirror. "This!"

Harry was surprised, and then morbidly intrigued, by the sight of his bloody forehead where he'd clawed at his scar. Funny how even now, he couldn't seem to feel the injury, despite how he'd raked at the skin until it bled.

"What. Is. This?"

Harry stared at his shredded skin for a long moment more before forcing his attention back to Snape. "I didn't realize… My scar, it's been hurting a bit, but I didn't..."

"How long?" Snape sounded irritated.

With good reason, Harry supposed.

He turned from his own reflection, and almost rubbed at his forehead again before freezing under Snape's withering glare.

"Uh- I wasn't really thinking about it. I think after Mi- Minky." This time he did rub at his scar, caught in the unsettling memory. "Malfoy said he was proud. He-" Harry abruptly stopped speaking, suddenly overcome with humiliation at the memory of Malfoy's fatherly kiss to his forehead. He had a sudden urge to claw the skin out again.

There were so many awful things Snape could say about that. He didn't want to risk hearing them.

"And why does it hurt now?" Snape asked impatiently. "I just absolved you of your guilt. You have no reason to feel distressed."

Harry shrugged, disliking Snape's intense scrutiny.

"Do you need…" Snape gestured to the closet.

Harry gaze crawled over in its direction, and he was overcome with a sense of helpless despair.

He still longed for it; he wished he'd never left the oppressive simplicity of the Dursleys, that he'd never left his cupboard, never been the savior of the wizarding world, never been forced to assume such a terrible degree of responsibility.

But there was no fooling himself any longer.

Murderer or victim. Those were the only possibilities left for him now.

Harry shook his head. He clamped his hand over his eyes, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

His scar throbbed relentlessly, but he was painfully aware that nothing in this world would dispel the image of death from his mind… He could no longer ignore the reality of his glorious destiny.

Snape still loomed over him. Harry waited for him to leave.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt his hands pulled from his face. He stared up at Snape in confusion as the man pulled out a vial, and with a gentle swipe of his thumb, set about applying salve to Harry's bleeding forehead. Harry stared at him for a long moment, trying to reconcile this stranger with the Death Eater he'd watched enjoy another man's screams.

He simply couldn't. This was… this felt all wrong. This was some sort of trick; it had to be. What did Snape want from him?

"I can do it myself," Harry said loudly, sending him a challenging look.

Snape's black eyes snapped to his. His professor stared at him with an unfathomable expression for a long moment, and then his lip curled. He brusquely shoved the vial into Harry's hand.

"Fine. Do it yourself, then."

Snape stalked out of the room.

Harry stared after him. He would never understand how that greasy git's mind worked.

His hand shook as he rubbed the salve onto his forehead. His skin quickly healed, but his scar burned on.

It wasn't until the next afternoon that Snape received word the ministry had authorized a portkey to transport them back to Hogwarts.

Harry's health had improved enough for the boy to grow irritable with the confinement, and Snape maintained his distance. He preferred to regard it as a spiteful gesture, forcing the boy to attend to his own needs in a time of ill-health, but when he was honest with himself, it was more because Harry preferred it that way.

Their vacation had served the purposes Snape originally intended. He'd broken the glamour, wrested the boy at least temporarily from the influence of Dumbledore, and delayed Remus Lupin's triumphant re-entry into Harry's life. He'd forced Harry to acknowledge his true parentage, and asserted a certain measure of authority over the boy.

Yet the entire experience had left him unsettled, and distinctly regretful that he'd even embarked upon the venture. He had a feeling that he'd personally lost more than he'd gained. He was all too aware now of Harry as his biological son, but he knew this awareness was not reciprocated by the boy. His opinion of Harry had shifted, but he was certain Harry's opinion of him had only been reinforced.

And he didn't anticipate Minerva's reaction upon their return to Hogwarts.

"Merlin, Severus, he looks terrible!" she breathed. "What did you do to him?"

Snape shot her a sour look as he set the portkey on the desk. At his side, Harry's expression turned sulky.

"I'm fine," he said, clearly not appreciating her shocked scrutiny. "May I go?"

Snape had restored the glamour- a temporary spell of his own until the Headmaster could cast something stronger- but it was weak enough to reflect Harry's current physical state. The boy was pale and shaky, still exhibiting signs of his ordeal at Lucius's hands.

"You may go to the Hospital Wing to be evaluated by Madame Pomfrey," Snape informed him.

"But-" Harry began.

"Yes, to the Hospital Wing, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall said sternly, still looking rather appalled at just how pale and thin the boy looked. "I will check with Madame Pomfrey to make certain that you've seen her."

With a glare for both of them, Harry stalked towards the door. He paused only at the entrance with a hopeful look on his face.

"Er, Professor McGonagall? Is Remus here yet?"

Snape felt a curious sensation like someone had just dropped a lead weight on his chest.

Lupin… bloody flea-bitten mongrel…

"The hospital wing, Potter!" Snape said sharply. "You can seek out your beloved werewolf on your own time."

Harry's fists curled into twin balls of anger, but he turned and stiffly walked out of the office.

Minerva stared after him for a long moment before whirling on Severus, accusation in her eyes.

"Lucius Malfoy," Snape explained curtly, folding his arms and leaning back against the desk. "Do not pin the blame on me for his condition."

She pursed her thin lips, and glanced after Harry worriedly. "We should have horsewhipped Fudge into authorizing a portkey earlier. You wouldn't believe how many barriers the ministry was throwing up, trying to figure out just where we'd sequestered him."

"Well," Snape said, "I sincerely doubt we'll be forced to maintain this ridiculous truce much longer. Once the details of Malfoy's escape are known, we'll have a new minister within a week."

Minerva's eyes flashed with a vindictive satisfaction, and Snape was rather surprised to realize he didn't find her company entirely distasteful. Maybe he had some middling appreciation for some elements of humanity after all.

Perhaps a break from Hogwarts had been beneficial…

Lupin walked through the door of the staff room, and whatever notions of good cheer Snape might have momentarily entertained quickly died away.

Damned werewolf!

"Minerva! Severus!" Lupin greeted genially.

Snape was satisfied to note the deep lines on his face, the dark shadows under his eyes. Lupin had to have lost two stone since the last time he saw him, and aged a good ten years.

Probably mourning that mangy mutt…

"Remus! Settling in well?" Minerva inquired pleasantly.

Lupin smiled, and his thin face was rendered somewhat less haggard by the gesture. "Very well, thank you. All the furniture's in the same place. It's almost as though I never left."

Snape felt a bristle of distaste at Lupin's wistful tone, and remarked snidely, "Don't get too comfortable. If the parents have anything to say about it, I'm certain your stint among us will be blessedly fleeting."

Lupin looked at him a little sadly, but smiled nevertheless. "I suppose I should make the most of it, then."

Oh, he hated Lupin. He hated that soft, mild voice, that gentle way he parried aside every one of Severus's verbal thrusts.

"Did you pass Harry on your way in?" Minerva asked him. "I know he asked about you the first moment he returned."

The dark emotions curling in Snape's gut were offset by the way the smile vanished from Lupin's lips.

What's this? Snape wondered, peering at Lupin with renewed interest.

"Did he?" Lupin said mildly. He seemed to force his smile back, but there was something decidedly off about it. "I'll have to speak with him later."

Snape felt suspicion and loathing flare within him, and if anything, he glared with more fire at the other man.

Something was wrong. And Severus had a feeling he knew what.

Lupin knew. The blasted Headmaster must have told him.

So much for keeping this matter in confidence. First Minerva, now Lupin…

Angry thoughts raced through Snape's mind as he stormed out into the hallway later. Although he barely credited Lupin with sentience, much less with a mind suited for calculation, he no longer trusted the Headmaster. Clearly Lupin had been informed with a purpose. The werewolf clearly knew something. That was the only way to account for his odd reaction to Harry's name.

The Headmaster must have hoped Lupin would erode Snape's influence. Maybe he wanted a counter-balance to Snape. Maybe he saw Lupin as a more beneficial influence over the boy than Severus.

Well… Well… He'd just see about that!

He ran into Harry halfway to Gryffindor Tower. He watched dismay flicker across the boy's features as he seemed to search for some way to circumvent him, and Snape immediately pounced.

"Potter! You were supposed to be in the Hospital Wing!"

Harry gaped at him, eyes wide. "I went already. Madame Pomfrey let me out."

"Why don't I believe you?" Snape said vindictively. "You are clearly disregarding the directives of two of your professors, merely to visit your bloody werewolf!"

"I was going to visit Lupin, yes-" Harry explained.

"So you admit it, then," Snape said repressively, cutting off the boy's objections. "Very well, one week's detention."

"What-"

"… to be served with me starting tomorrow. Now, on your way, boy!"

Harry goggled at him in disbelief as Snape stalked past him, eyes glittering with dark victory.

"I went to the hospital wing!" Harry shouted to his back. "You can't do this! You have NO GROUNDS!"

Snape ignored him. He'd be damned if he was going to lie down and let another Marauder impede on his territory.

Not this time.

Lupin wouldn't get away with this.

* * *

Harry was still shaking with anger when he reached Remus's office.

At least he'd known better, this time, than to credit Snape with any sort of human decency before having his scant expectations crushed. Sure, Snape had taken care of him when he was sick, but Dumbledore would have been upset had he not. And those moments when the greasy git seemed less than evil- well, those were just there to mess with Harry's mind. He knew that now. They had to be.

Snape was so infuriating. And horrible. He wished he could talk to Remus about it, but he wasn't certain whether Remus knew.

And he wasn't sure whether he was ready to face Remus's disappointment.

Or worse, rejection.

But… no. It wouldn't come to that. Remus wouldn't reject him because he was Snape's son. That might have been a possibility with Sirius (it killed Harry to admit it to himself), but Remus wasn't like that.

There was a tense, anxious sensation fluttering in his stomach, and he had to stop to catch his breath once he reached the door to the DADA office.

He didn't know why he felt so nervous. This was just Remus, after all. And he'd missed him. Really, really missed him. Remus would be glad to see him, too. Right? Right..?

And Remus would understand. He'd lost Sirius, too. He'd been there when Sirius fell. He had to be hurting just like Harry was. He wouldn't accuse Harry of sulking or ask him awkward questions about how he was coping.

Damn it, he needed to see Remus.

Of course, Harry reflected bitterly, he'd needed to see him this summer, too.

Where the hell had Remus been? Why had he left, for no reason? How could he just have done that without at least sending Harry an owl?

Harry shook off the thoughts and knocked on the door.

He waited several seconds before knocking again. No answer.

Harry felt himself droop with disappointment. Remus wasn't in.

* * *

Harry was sulking when he showed up for detention. Snape supposed he could see why… he didn't have the best of grounds for assigning it, after all.

The boy had apparently gone to Minerva in an attempt to contest his punishment, but the woman had somehow convinced herself that Severus was using detention as a ploy to spend more time with his newfound son. Snape had scoffed when she called him out on it. Really, he had no idea how the woman got these deluded notions in her head. He had no appreciation for the knowing little smile she sent him before they parted ways.

It galled him to no end that she was drawing erroneous assumptions, so he perhaps was somewhat petty in assigning Harry the tedious task of brewing polishing serum for Slytherin Quidditch trophies, especially taking into consideration the boy's own ban from the sport.

He was mildly surprised when he glanced up from his lesson plans and found Harry stirring with a rather serene look on his face.

"Potter!"

Harry glanced up mildly. "Sir?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Enjoying yourself?"

His tone was scathing, but he was genuinely curious; the boy was a lamentable potions maker. He'd expected at least a few mishaps by now.

Harry shrugged his thin shoulders. "It's better than scrubbing cauldrons."

"I would think it would serve as a painful reminder," Snape said snidely before he could restrain himself. "You, after all, will have no chance to win one of these ever again."

Harry smirked Before Snape could summon the proper frustration at the fact that the boy had evaded the sting of his insult, he heard Harry mutter something into his potion.

"What's that, Potter?"

"I said, 'That shows how much you know.'" Harry's green eyes raised defiantly to his father's. "My ban was lifted. I'm not playing because I don't want to."

Snape stared at him in surprise for a long moment, even after Harry had turned his attention back to the potion.

This was a baffling development.

He studied the boy who once again looked like James Potter, all too aware of the boy who to some degree resembled him beneath the surface. It frustrated him to no end that he repeatedly encountered facets of Harry's personality he could not account for, or hope to understand.

Snape understood Gryffindors. He hated and despised their impulsive foolishness. Harry was not entirely a Gryffindor.

Snape understood Slytherins. He'd spent half his life actively manipulating the most lethal of them. Harry was not entirely a Slytherin.

So when asked to pinpoint exactly why Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the youngest seeker in a century, would willingly give up Quidditch, he was frustrated to come up empty-handed.

The boy certainly had talent. Even he had to admit it. There had been a damn good reason his house consistently lost to Gryffindor during Harry's stint as seeker.

Harry was a natural seeker. James Potter, after all-

Snape's thought stopped short.

James Potter was not his father. Harry's talent had absolutely no connection to James Potter.

He folded his hands thoughtfully on his desk, considering Harry speculatively. He'd watched Lily Evans… She had a certain degree of aptitude on a broomstick, but nothing rivaling Harry's own level of performance.

But Severus… he himself had possessed no small measure of talent. He'd swear it. His father had forbidden him to play, perceiving Quidditch as a frivolous use of time better spent in one's studies. When he'd found a moment alone, where no one could see him, though, he could fly.

Snape rubbed his finger across his lips, wondering about it. What would have happened, had someone else had the opportunity to witness his flying? Before that malicious hex his father had placed upon him, forcing any broomstick he mounted to buck furiously beneath him… Would he have flown like Harry? Would someone have perceived talent in him?

He suddenly wanted a chance to see Harry fly again, if for no other reason than to witness that talent and know it might have come from him, not James Potter.

And of course, he reflected irritably, the boy has chosen now to quit.

He stared at Harry in silent resentment for a long moment before a tentative knock interrupted his brooding.

"Enter!" he called, and then wished he hadn't as Lupin walked in.

"Severus, I-" Lupin's voice faltered. Then, "Harry!"

"Hi, Professor Lupin." Harry looked suddenly uncertain, as though he didn't know what to say next.

Snape heard an ominous fizzing from the potion, and with an exasperated sigh, vaulted over to wrest the ladle from Harry's hand.

The two hesitated a moment more, and then with an odd smile, Lupin enveloped Harry in a hug. Snape found himself watching Lupin carefully, nothing that odd expression still lingering on the werewolf's face.

"You've been well, I hope?" Lupin said in that soft, mild tone of his, stepping back from the boy.

"Er, fine…" Harry shot an uneasy glance at Snape; he clearly didn't appreciate having Snape there. "How are you?"

There was worry in his eyes, taking in Lupin's bedraggled appearance. It was all Snape could do not to roll his eyes.

"Just fine, thank you. Give me a moment, Harry…" Lupin turned to Snape. "The Headmaster sent me with regards to the next batch of Wolfsbane-"

"It will be made, Lupin," Snape said coolly. "I trust you'll actually remember to imbibe it this time. I doubt anyone would appreciate you mauling their children."

Regret flickered over Lupin's face. "No, I doubt they would. Thank you, Severus." He shot what seemed like an uneasy glance between Snape and Harry. "Well, I suppose I should leave you two to your potion."

"Your absence would be most welcome," Snape sneered.

Harry was staring at Lupin, looking as though his feelings were hurt and he trying to hide it. "You're going already? But we just- I haven't…" He stopped speaking, and then mustered a smile that was even less convincing than Lupin's. "I suppose I'll see you later, then?"

Lupin again looked at him with that strange, unreadable expression.

"Of course we'll spend some time together, Harry." He seemed to muster the energy to give them both a courteous nod. "Good luck with your potion."

Harry no longer looked serene after Lupin's departure. He stared down at the potion with dark eyes, a troubled expression on his face. The mistakes Severus had expected all along began to happen, turning at least two batches of the polishing serum into a white goo.

"Go to bed, Potter," Snape said at last.

He wanted Harry to sleep before his over-curious little friends returned from vacation the following afternoon. No need for unwanted questions.

Gloomily, Harry set about scouring the cauldron and gathering his materials. Snape did not miss it when he flinched, and rubbed harshly at his scar.

"Clear your mind before sleep," he added.

Harry nodded without looking at him, and set off for the door. Snape watched him leave, more troubled than he liked to admit by the reminder that he still needed to teach the boy to occlude.

He leaned back, considering matters.

What in Merlin's name was that display with Lupin?

There was no doubt in his mind now that the bloody werewolf knew. Only now, Severus was uncertain just what game Lupin was playing. Was he scheming to wrest Harry away from him, and simply approaching it in a subtle, disturbingly Slytherin manner, or had knowledge of Harry's identity truly changed Lupin's opinion of the boy?

It couldn't be that, could it?

Snape salvaged the remains of Harry's concoction. He didn't appreciate mystery, especially in Gryffindors he liked to consider utterly predictable. And he especially didn't like having to contemplate Remus Lupin.

Another man might have felt guilty, playing trusted confidant to a teenage boy whose father he'd days earlier tortured half to death. Snape did not.

"Professor Snape!" Draco called upon spotting him, rushing over to share his good news. "Did you hear, sir?" He was glowing with happiness. "My father…" he glanced around quickly before saying in a low undertone, "… escaped."

Snape smiled thinly. Stupid boy. As a senior Death Eater, of course he knew.

"Why, that's marvelous news, Draco," Snape said smoothly.

"I can't wait until Potter finds out," Draco said viciously. "I want to see the look on his face."

"Why don't you tell him?" Snape suggested, amused by the prospect of witnessing Draco's disappointment when Harry failed to react.

Really, he shouldn't be extending his enmity from Lucius to his son, but it was difficult to prevent himself.

Draco looked frustrated. "Mother said to play ignorant for a while."

"That shouldn't be too difficult for you."

Draco's head whipped up; he'd obviously caught the double meaning of the words, and he stared at Snape searchingly, trying to figure out whether it was intentional. Snape maintained a carefully neutral expression until the boy appeared satisfied. The briefly perplexed look fled from his face, to be immediately replaced with the familiar Malfoy arrogance.

"Once it's publicized, Potter's going to shit himself," Draco said brashly. "He knows my father's coming after him."

"No doubt," Snape replied dryly, wondering if the boy was truly deluded enough to believe his own words.

Draco's attention was caught by a group of Slytherins just entering the common room, and he tossed Snape a farewell smirk. "See you in class, sir."

Snape watched him stride away, undoubtedly to spread the word among the Slytherin ranks about his father's fortuitous escape. Inevitably, it would spread to the other houses, and then to the outside world.

No discretion whatsoever, Snape thought contemptuously.

He watched the young Malfoy speaking grandiosely to a crowd of admirers. Draco disappeared a moment beneath the sea of heads, and then emerged, holding a new broom aloft.

Snape had no idea why the boy needed a faster broom; he had no decent competition now that Harry no longer played.

He scowled, contemplating that. Really, it was ridiculous that Harry refused to play. Whatever psychological issues underlined his decision, Snape doubted they'd be alleviated by quitting a sport he seemed to love.

In any case, Severus could certainly envision reaping some visceral thrill from seeing his progeny defeat Lucius Malfoy's. He clenched and unclenched his fist, frustrated just thinking of it.

It wasn't until dinner that night, when he overheard two Gryffindor third years speaking about their prospects for the House Cup, that it occurred to him Harry must have concealed the lifting of his ban from his housemates. He doubted the Gryffindors would have left the boy in peace, had they known they could reclaim their best seeker.

Snape paused by the third years, noting with amusement the way they simultaneously jumped in alarm.

"Rather optimistic, aren't you?" Snape drawled. "Speaking of the House Cup as though Gryffindor has any conceivable chance of winning it."

He watched them flush with hurt pride, but before one of the little brats could speak, Snape added snidely, "Potter's ban may have been lifted, but you'll need more than a decent seeker to defeat Slytherin."

Comprehension flooded their features. The two Gryffindors exchanged a shocked glance.

Snape did his best not to smirk as he left them to wreak their havoc.

* * *

Harry felt a chill creep up his spine at the sight of platinum blonde hair amidst the crowd of students. He reigned in his anxiety; it had to be Draco, not Lucius. Lucius couldn't possibly enter Hogwarts.

Draco Malfoy… Harry studied him from a distance for a long moment, wondering how he should feel about the blonde Slytherin now that he was thoroughly acquainted with Draco's father. One part of Harry was tempted to pity him. Surely much of the other boy's vindictive behavior stemmed from his upbringing by Lucius. Had Lucius been as cruel and malevolent to his own son as he had been to 'Septimus'? Did he treat Draco with that precarious mix of affection and cruelty?

Or should he feel wary of Draco, now that he had some idea of how the boy was raised? Those dark curses at Lucius's fingertips, his eagerness to inflict punishment- had Draco inherited that?

He didn't have much of a chance to think about it. What seemed like half of Gryffindor descended upon him in a flurry of excitement.

Ron was the first to reach him, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

"Harry, we just heard! When were you going to tell us, mate?"

Harry glanced around in mounting alarm as they crowded about him.

"About… what exactly?" he said uncertainly, disliking the press of excited faces.

"You should have written us!" Ron cried. "Talk about a good Christmas present, eh?"

Harry gaped at them. What..?

"I told you it would happen," Ginny announced, grinning. "We worked out a new lineup while we were waiting for you. I'll take Chaser so you can have Seeker again."

Harry stared at them. They knew he wasn't banned. How had they-

Of course. Who else would it be? Who was one of the few people who knew about it, and the only one spiteful enough to use it against him?

Snape.

* * *

Harry waited for him in the dungeon corridor, seething with anger.

"You told them I wasn't banned!" he accused Snape as he approached.

The Potions Master smirked. "Oh dear," he said in a soft, mocking voice. "Was that supposed to remain a secret?"

Harry dogged Snape's steps as he walked. "Every Gryffindor has been on my case since last night, trying to make me play again!"

"I would think you'd relish the attention," Snape shot back. "Your celebrity appeal has somewhat diminished of late, hasn't it?"

Snape was clearly trying to goad him. Well, it was working!

Harry glared at him. "I can't believe you did this. You only told them because you knew I didn't want to play!"

Snape cast him a dour look. "I told them because the recent games have been exceedingly stale, and Draco Malfoy is sorely lacking a worthy opponent. As a Head of House, I am obliged to watch, and I am growing quite bored in the absence of true competition."

That stopped Harry short for a whole second. Snape was obviously unaware he'd inadvertently complimented him.

Then his thoughts returned to his memories of Quidditch. He'd… well, he'd loved it. The thrill, the flying, the razor-sharp focus in his mind every time he hunted for the snitch.

But after losing Sirius… he simply couldn't imagine feeling excited by something so insignificant as a game again. And he couldn't stand the prospect of all those eyes on him as he played, all the attention centering around him when he ended the match.

The last few months had been safe. He'd drawn as little attention to himself as possible. He wasn't playing Quidditch, speaking in class, or going to Hogsmeade, and no one paid more than cursory attention to him once they were over the novelty of meeting the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry could almost be fooled into thinking he was just like any other student.

And now Snape was trying to take that anonymity from him!

How could he get out of this? How would he explain to Ron and the others that he simply didn't want to play? What would he say? What would they think of him, if they knew he was refusing?

"They're not going to leave me alone after this!" Harry burst out resentfully. "They won't stop pressuring me!"

Snape looked pitiless. "I think you'll one day learn, Potter, that the best way to alleviate peer pressure is to succumb to it."

Harry stared at him incredulously, and the Potions Master sent him a sly, calculating glance.

"Oh, never fear, Potter. I'm sure you can explain to your housemates that you simply don't care whether they lose or not, they'll understand. Or perhaps you can tell them you are no longer capable of flying. I'm certain if you admit that Draco Malfoy is too formidable an opponent for you, especially in your current weakened state, well…" Snape allowed the sentence to hang in the air.

Harry glowered at him. "I know what you're doing!"

"And what is that?" Snape inquired silkily, raising an eyebrow.

"Reverse psychology," Harry spat. "Well, nice try. But I'm not doing anything because you're forcing me to."

Snape still looked exceedingly smug as they walked into the Entrance Hall, and Harry wanted nothing more than to punch him.

He then noticed Snape's features transform with loathing. Harry followed his gaze to Remus, who had just emerged from the staircase leading to Gryffindor.

"Oh, Harry," Professor Lupin said with a weak smile. "I was just looking for you."

Harry felt his heart clench in sudden hope. "You were? What- er, why?"

He was only vaguely aware of Snape shifting impatiently at his side, and he wondered briefly why Snape didn't just continue on to wherever he'd been heading. He approached Lupin tentatively.

Remus smiled down at him, and although the affection seemed… strained, somehow, it helped take the edge off Harry's anxiety.

"I heard you're going to be playing Quidditch again," Lupin said with a smile. "That's wonderful news, Harry! You must be thrilled."

"Yeah, well…" Harry shifted awkwardly, wondering how to word it.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you play," said Lupin softly.

Whatever strangeness had existed between them lately, Remus's eyes were earnest. He seemed to genuinely mean it, and Harry suddenly found himself hard-pressed to swallow around the lump in his throat.

"That's good," he croaked.

"I know your father would be so proud of you," Lupin added kindly.

Harry forced himself to smile. "Er, thanks. I'm- well, thanks."

He suddenly felt unbearably awkward and uncomfortable, and slightly sick, having realized he'd just committed himself to playing again.

Lupin smiled again, and clasped him on the shoulder briefly before leaving.

Harry stared after him, feeling hollow. He wanted to call Remus back, but he didn't dare. What if he wouldn't turn around?

At least he could sleep tonight, remembering what Remus had just said to him. He didn't want to risk another exchange that might rob him of this tentative return of Moony in his life.

Somehow his eyes found Snape, still lurking several feet away. He, too, was staring after Lupin, but there was an absolutely venomous look on his face.

Snape shot him a glare, too, before storming away. Harry wasn't sure whether he should find the man's inability to move on from old grudges amusing or simply sad.

Some people, it seemed, would simply never change.

* * *

Snape was feeling angry enough, and bitter, that he almost welcomed the familiar burn of his dark mark. He apparated to the Dark Lord, and found himself in a lavish country estate owned by the Dolohovs.

A small company of Death Eaters- the inner circle, mostly- lurked about, unmasked, waiting to be summoned for a private audience with the Dark Lord in his antechamber. Snape paced to and fro, a ball of restless fury, cursing Lupin to hell, and plotting several brutal detentions for Harry.

When his pacing brought him face-to-face with a wan and haggard Lucius Malfoy, Snape felt a spike of vicious glee and immediately pounced.

"Why, Lucius, you're looking a might bit unwell," Snape said viciously. "Someone must have had a good deal of insight for you."

Lucius bristled with fury, clearly recognizing his own language from the time their roles had been reversed.

"Do not push me, Severus," Lucius warned him coldly.

Challenge rang in the words, and around them, the other Death Eaters fell silent to watch. Snape felt an odd thrill of anticipation at the raw hatred in Lucius's expression.

Although he personally had no arch-rival among the Death Eaters, feuds between the Dark Lord's followers were common. One of the hallmarks of the Dark Lord's leadership was the enmity he encouraged between his own partisans. He clearly believed that while his hounds were baring their teeth at each other, they would have no chance to rip out their master's throat.

Periodic rivalries between Death Eaters were commonplace. And unfortunately, Severus himself had never much taken part in them. While he himself was certainly rude, snide, and capable of reducing the best of men to hysterics, whenever the hatred seemed on the verge of taking flight into genuine antagonism, his prospective foes inevitably retreated.

That part of him that would always remain that humiliated teenager, forever expecting to see the word 'Snivellus' on the lips of others, had whispered to him that his foes refrained from quarreling with him simply because they didn't perceive him as a worthy opponent.

But now, he was faced with the prospect of a feud with Lucius Malfoy himself. Up until this moment, their dispute had been 'tit for tat', but this threatened to be more.

Although Malfoy was not nearly the powerbroker he used to be, his former preeminence lingered in people's memories. It would still carry some measure of respect to be perceived as his rival.

He felt his mark flare with a sharp pain as the Dark Lord summoned him for a private audience.

"I must go." Snape sent Lucius a lethal smile. "Send my best wishes to Narcissa."

He paused for effect, and then spoke the words that sealed their enmity for all time.

"Oh, and convey my regards to Julian."

The Death Eaters about them broke into laughter at the open reference to Narcissa's not-so-secret young lover. No one had spoken openly of him in front of Lucius. From the look on his face, Malfoy had apparently been operating under the delusion his wife's affair was a secret.

Lucius's look of utter horror and humiliation was enough to make Severus smile behind his mask even as he drew the Dark Lord's robe to his lips.

* * *

It was only after Snape's departure that a seething blonde aristocrat sauntered up to his sister-in-law, receiving a contemptuous glance from her.

"Are you here to waste my time?" Bellatrix said coldly.

Lucius's smile was winning. "No. Just exchanging pleasantries with my wife's beloved sister… And perhaps approaching you with a proposition."

Bellatrix looked him over, expression filled with the disdain she'd reserved for him ever since he'd evaded Azkaban after the Dark Lord's fall.

"You have no proposition that could interest me."

Sensing her imminent withdrawal, Lucius leaned imperceptibly closer to her. "I know you've been growing restless with this recent inactivity. I have a gift to alleviate the monotony."

"Oh?" Bellatrix said, sounding bored. "What is it?"

He smiled wickedly. "An innocent, delectable young half-blood."

He didn't miss the spark of interest in her eyes, or the way Rudolphus Lestrange suddenly found their exchange worthy of attention and drew closer to his wife.

"Not just any half-blood. An uncommonly pretty boy," Lucius added in a salacious tone. "And I assure you, he screams so beautifully…"

The smoldering look Bellatrix sent her husband suggested she was in the mood to torture a half-blood right now, rather than wait for Lucius to bring one to her.

"He's small of stature, around fourteen I should think," Lucius continued, invoking a mental image of the boy, trying to find something that would definitively hook their interest. "He has deliciously expressive features…"

He considered his mental image of the boy for a long moment, searching for an appropriate description of those remarkable eyes.

"And green eyes... a very extraordinary shade of green," Lucius continued absently. They'd always reminded him of someone. He fumbled through his memory, searching for it.

And then the image clarified in his mind. A smile crept across Lucius's lips, because he knew this would be enough.

"They're the exact same color as Harry Potter's."

Bellatrix's crazed eyes snapped to his, and remained fixed intently on his face. Lucius felt a surge of pride. He had her.

"You must be seeking something in return, dear Lucius," Bellatrix purred. He could see from her expression that she was already indulging in sweet visions of a green-eyed half-blood screaming at her feet.

Lucius's smile was genuine this time, and he encompassed both the Lestranges with his avaricious gaze.

"Nothing. Nothing at all…" He leaned back in his chair, relishing his victory. "The boy will be entirely yours."

Lucius's eyes drifted to the spot where Severus had shamed him earlier, and he felt a surge of malicious glee.

"All I ask in return, Bella, is your help finding him."

Snape's bad mood had evaporated after the satisfying exchange with Lucius, so it was with something vaguely resembling good humor that he met with the Order the next evening. They were blessedly without Lupin's company thanks to the full moon, thus there was only one figure at the meeting (save the Headmaster) who inspired a significant degree of Snape's antipathy.

Nymphadora Tonks was seated innocently across the table from him.

Restraining himself from glowering at the idiotic woman was an active effort. And when the Headmaster requested he elaborate upon the incident with Lucius Malfoy over the holidays for the benefit of the Order (the official story held Snape's abode as a 'safe house' for the boy), Snape made sure to refute the Headmaster's fleeting concerns over the nature of Lucius's interest in Harry.

"After all," Severus said softly, a lethal smile curling across his lips as he turned his black gaze to meet that of Nymphadora Tonks, "Even Lucius Malfoy is not depraved enough to take a prurient interest in a grieving teenager. What sort of sick individual would do that?"

He smiled cruelly at her until she blanched and averted her eyes. Satisfied, he turned his attention away again. Apart from the sharp blue eyes of the Headmaster, and the perpetually suspicious eye of Alastor Moody, the rest were oblivious to the silent exchange.

He felt Tonks watching him as he summarized his most recent meeting with the Dark Lord, and turned just in time to catch the worry in her expression before she looked away.

Yes, I know what you did, he thought viciously.

Did she even realize that the boy had convinced himself he was in love with her? He was certain the idiot girl had not thought through the consequences of her physical intimacy with Harry.

For Merlin's sake, Harry had just lost the closest thing to family he'd ever known, and he'd lived the majority of his life without anything resembling human affection. How could he have embarked on a healthy relationship at that time, much less one involving sexual intimacy with a woman of such greater experience?

It was simply foolish of her. And utterly reckless. Even had this not involved Snape's own progeny, he would despise her for it. Toying with a young man's emotions, utterly heedless of consequences… It was cruel.

As Kingsley Shacklebolt launched into a report on the happenings at the ministry of magic- nothing he himself hadn't already heard- Severus found himself thinking of his night with Lily, when he'd tried to kiss her.

Snape was rather surprised by the sharp pang he felt, remembering how she'd turned her face from his.

He hadn't even realized why she wouldn't let him kiss her until he'd looked up into her face as he climaxed. Her hand was clamped over her mouth, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. She had immediately shoved him to the side, run to the bathroom, and retched into the toilet. The sound of her vomiting drifted into the bedroom.

James Potter could have humiliated him every day for several millennia, and he would never have felt so much like Snivellus as he had with her disgust echoing in his ears.

Lily had not sought him out because she wanted to see Severus. She'd just wanted to hurt Potter by doing the most degrading thing she could imagine- fucking Snivellus He hadn't even realized she saw him in that wretched light until she finished with him.

And honestly, Severus had never seen himself that way until he realized Lily did. Lily, who nobly and misguidedly tried to defend him in school. Whom he'd followed with his eyes even as he assured himself of the wrongness of it. Who seemed to disagree with the others who asserted he was scum.

It was a lie all along. She was just as callous as the rest of them, and she'd hit him where it hurt.

He hated her.

And he hated this woman, choosing to so carelessly travel in Lily's footsteps.

Snape observed Nymphadora Tonks with a cold, assessing gaze. There would not be a second generation of his family manipulated and used. He would make certain of it.

From her flustered reaction to his comment, though, he suspected with a dark satisfaction that great exertion on his part might prove unnecessary. Perhaps, if things went smoothly, she could be separated from Harry permanently with only a minimal amount of damage.

The sooner this woman was out of his son's life, the better.

* * *

Harry's scar throbbed like a jackhammer. Coupled with the terrible anxiety dancing in his stomach, he was in a terrible state for playing Quidditch. The Gryffindors around him continually shot him encouraging smiles, and it made Harry's heart sink with a dark dread. It had been so long since he'd played; two practices with the team hardly made up for a year of inactivity. And he could already feel the eyes on him, hundreds of people watching. There was nowhere he could escape them.

He heard Madame Hooch shout, "Mount your brooms please!"

The anxiety in his stomach flared into something resembling real fear as he clambered onto his Firebolt. His eyes strayed to Remus in the stand, fervently hoping this wouldn’t prove a disaster-

The high pitch of her whistle tore him from his fears, and Harry kicked off into the air.

They're staring at me… I can't do this… I don't want to do this… he thought as he rose swiftly into the air.

Yet something happened as he rose, as he caught sight of the bludgers, the flash of scarlet robes swishing through the air. His anxiety over the onlookers dissolved. Lupin, Snape, and Voldemort vanished from his thoughts. His sharp gaze swept around the pitch, and an odd, exultant thrill he'd nearly forgotten surged through him. Even the burning of his scar became a minor annoyance at the back of his thoughts.

He was playing Quidditch again. He was flying again.

How could he have ever avoided this?

With a blissful feeling in his heart, Harry looped-the-loops. He couldn't fight his grin when he spotted the Snitch, glinting on the far end of the pitch, and he took off in hot pursuit.

* * *

Snape was sitting in the staff Quidditch stand, glaring resentfully at his most recent nemesis. Three days had not cooled his fury at Lupin for usurping his place in convincing Harry to play.

"He looks so proud of himself," Snape groused. "Bloody werewolf."

"You can only see the back of his head, Severus," Minerva replied, sounding as though she didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. "You have no idea what he looks like."

"You should have seen him," Snape said angrily, still glaring at Lupin's back. "I am the one responsible for making Potter play again, and he wishes to take all the credit. I was the one who facilitated Harry's change of mind. He merely told the boy how happy he was, and clearly he now believes he has single-handedly propelled the boy back into the game."

"You sound as though you've thought about this quite a bit," Minerva noted.

Snape shot her an angry look, but the infernal woman pressed on.

"Severus, I don't believe you're lending Remus enough credit," she continued reprovingly. "You may have rendered Harry's life thoroughly unpleasant while he refused to play, but Remus was the one who encouraged him. Remus wanted him to play, and Harry knew it. He responds positively when he's well-treated."

"What do you think my motivation was?" Snape demanded thinly. "I, too, wanted to see the young idiot play. That's why I pressured him. If he's too foolish to see that-"

"Did you tell him that?" McGonagall demanded. "Manipulating the boy is not going to win his confidence. With your history, if you're not honest about your motives, he'll always read the worst into them."

"It doesn't matter to me one way or another what he thinks about my actions," Snape sneered.

"Then why are we having this conversation?" Minerva countered.

Snape turned to retort, but she was already rising to her feet, threatening to leave the narrow range of his impromptu silencing spell.

"You need to examine your actions, Severus," she informed him sternly. "Sort yourself out, because I'm not even certain you know what you've trying to achieve with him. Just remember that repeated detentions have never yet won a teenager's heart."

"I don't want-" Snape began, but she'd already stepped away from him. He watched with quiet resentment as she seated herself next to the Headmaster, clearly no longer of a tolerant disposition towards Severus.

She knows nothing, he told himself fiercely. The woman had no children, she knew nothing about Severus and even less about Harry. Who did she think she was…

He almost slumped in his seat, well-aware he was out of his depth.

His eyes drifted again with bitter envy to the back of Lupin's head.

Lupin's sitting in the front row, Snape thought inanely. He felt a fresh surge of hostility; the werewolf had obviously strategically chosen one of the front seats so the boy would see him. And funny, how he was in the same position on the bench as Snape, only several rows in front of him. If Harry's eyes drifted in their direction, he would automatically see Lupin, and not Snape.

Almost as if he hopes to overshadow me, he realized, with some shock at the werewolf's sheer cunning.

Gritting his teeth, Snape lurched to his feet and started down the stairs, pausing only by a surprised Remus Lupin.

"Is that seat occupied?" Snape asked with strained civility, hoping Lupin didn't hear the malice dripping from his words.

Remus blinked up at him in some surprise, and then offered Severus a pleasant smile. "Of course not. Please, sit."

He stared at Snape in some shock for a good twenty seconds after he'd taken the seat next to Lupin, and Severus sent him a vicious look that seemed to further confuse Lupin.

"What choice seating, Lupin," he growled. "A very favorable vantage point, wouldn't you say?"

Lupin stared at him with an expression that resembled confusion, then nodded. "Quite a good view, I agree." He chuckled. "A bit closer to the bludgers than I usually prefer."

Aha! Snape thought triumphantly, having caught Lupin's revealing slip of the tongue. He had admitted this was anomalous from his usual habits. Lupin had as good as owned up to his scheming.

Snape was still gloating bitterly as the whistle signaled the commencement of the match. His attention riveted back and forth between the werewolf- now watching Harry with that strange, conflicted look on his face- and his son.

For all the boy's resistance to playing again, on the various occasions that Harry flashed by their stand, he appeared to be wildly happy.

And although he did frighteningly resemble James Potter, Snape could see now a certain natural grace to Harry's flying that the former had never possessed. Snape felt particularly smug when Harry pulled off a complicated move just short of a Wronski Feint. James Potter would never have been able to execute that. Odds were against any son of James Potter performing it, either.

But his son could.

It was only twenty minutes into the game when Harry darted by the Ravenclaw seeker and deftly grabbed the snitch, veering to the right just in time to avoid an ugly collision with the Hufflepuff stands.

As the stadium erupted in cheering, an abrupt movement at Snape's side caught his attention. He turned sharply to see Lupin bolting to his feet and into the aisle. He had only a moment to catch the distraught expression twisting the man's face before he darted up the stairs, disappearing into the crowd.

That's it, Snape thought angrily. That confirms that he knows something.

Snape turned his attention back to the field, to Harry just now emerging from the horde of exultant teammates. The boy's eyes immediately riveted to the empty seat next to Severus, and he saw dismay fill his expression.

And then they shifted to him like two green glaciers, and Harry very pointedly rubbed his victory in Snape's face by planting a kiss on the snitch in his hand before sweeping away on his broom with a look of smug triumph.

Cocky little brat, Snape thought. He didn't find it as irritating as usual, though.

* * *

"Hey, Snape!"

He turned sourly to see Harry jog away from his teammates, running up to him with flushed cheeks and glowing eyes.

"Your plan didn't work," Harry announced breathlessly.

"Oh?" Snape asked dourly, trying to figure out just what plan this boy was talking about.

"You thought it would be terrible for me, right- playing Quidditch again when I didn't want to," Harry said in a quick, breathless tone. "Well- you couldn't have been more wrong! Guess what? I loved it. I'm glad to be playing again."

He grinned wildly at Snape, as though his animosity had been forgotten in the face of this triumph.

"It's all thanks to you, Snape, and next week we are so going to kick Slytherin's ass," Harry added loudly.

"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape said automatically, "for language and an apalling display of wishful thinking."

Harry let out a whoop of laughter, and spun away from him, still high on his victory. "Whatever you say, sir. Just remember- I won. Your plan failed."

He could have been referring to the game, or to the perceived conflict between the two of them. Snape was merely pleased that Harry had acknowledged his central role in forcing his return to Quidditch.

Me, NOT Lupin.

Minerva's words echoed in his mind, and Severus knew what he should say something...

I only told them because I wished to see you play again.

But something inside him froze at the prospect of uttering those words. How would the boy respond? With a belligerent demand for an explanation? With scorn? Anything spoken honestly could be an opening for some brutal rebuff, and Snape did not trust Harry enough to give him the power to refuse an olive branch.

So he sneered.

"I couldn't care less whether or not you-" He stopped, then, watching Harry's attention drift away, all to aware that he'd been quickly veering to the opposite extreme of what he should be doing, saying. And from the boy's complete indifference, he was clearly feeding right into his son's perceptions of him.

Leave. Walk away, his mind urged him. Say no more. There was no way to win this situation, no way to navigate a safe course.

He summoned as neutral a sentiment as he could.

"I enjoyed the match," Snape said lamely. "Your… participation was a factor in that enjoyment."

He almost hoped the boy wouldn't hear him and would simply continue to the changing rooms, but Harry's gaze swung back to him in surprise. He stared at Snape searchingly, uncertain whether he'd heard him properly.

"And if you enjoyed yourself too," Snape added, slightly more self-assured, "I shall not begrudge you that."

Harry's expression soured. "Gee, thanks Snape. I'm so glad you don't mind that I'm happy."

Hiking his broomstick up onto his shoulder, he whirled around and ran to catch up with his teammates. Snape stared after him in annoyance and some dismay, trying to figure out just why he'd hit a nerve.

* * *

He discovered Lupin in his office, shakily downing a cup of tea.

"An impressive display earlier," Snape noted drolly, "I suppose you had a good reason for your urgent flight?"

Lupin raised haunted eyes to Severus's.

"I just-" Lupin paused, drawing an unsteady breath. "He looks so much like James when he's playing. I can almost forget…" He raked his hand through his hair. "It's hard, Severus. I just couldn't stand to watch any longer."

Snape felt himself stiffen at the statement.

The expression on Lupin's face when he left, the strange looks he'd been giving Harry, his obvious attempts to outmaneuver Severus… They'd taunted Severus all the way from the Quidditch Pitch back into the Great Hall.

Lupin knew about Harry. A few minutes ago, he'd been almost positive. Now he was certain. The damn werewolf was as good as admitting it.

He knew about Harry, and he was having trouble coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't the son of James Potter.

It was damn well time the mangy werewolf ceased this foolish game of dancing around the issue.

"Do not mistake me for a fool, Lupin," snarled Snape. "I know exactly what's going on in that thick-witted brain of yours!"

Lupin looked up from where he'd been staring gloomily into his teacup. "What on earth-"

"I speak of Harry!" Snape spat. "Do you think I'm blind? I've seen the way you've been looking at him!"

Lupin's expression crumpled.

"Am I so transparent?" he asked sadly.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You admit it, then. You admit these events have shifted your feelings-"

Lupin sighed heavily, and then ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what there is to admit, Severus. You seem to have me all figured out." The werewolf looked troubled. "Did Harry notice?"

Snape stirred uneasily, wondering exactly how Harry would cope if he found out about Lupin's unease with his true identity.

"Did he perceive your fragile emotional state? No. And you should be glad of it. I doubt he'd invest much faith in you again if he knew of your current sentiments regarding him."

"Good," Lupin said tiredly, rubbing his forehead. "I don't want to hurt him."

Snape scowled, hating just how weak this man truly was. He had no discipline over his emotions. Lupin clearly wanted to accept the boy for who he was, and simply couldn't bring himself to do so.

Funny, he'd never taken Lupin for a typical Marauder, to hate a boy simply because his father was Snivellus.

Well… to hell with Lupin, and to hell with his reverence for James Potter!

"I suggest you get over it, Lupin," Snape said coldly. "Your dearly departed friend is gone. All you will accomplish by holding a grudge on his behalf is further injury upon an already traumatized teenager."

"I know that," Lupin insisted, looking at Snape hollowly. "But I can't help it. Every time I see Harry… I think of him, and it hurts me, Severus..." he choked, and pressed his curled-up fist to his mouth, trying to fight back his emotions, while Snape looked on contemptuously. "The sight of Harry tears that wound open, and it's like I've lost my best friend all over again!"

Snape scoffed. "It's foolish to allow your sentimentality for a dead man override your feelings for a boy you profess to care about."

"It's not like that, Severus. I love Harry," Lupin protested. "But I loved him, too. Harry's a good kid… but I'm just so angry with him, and I can't shake that off like it means nothing."

The exchange had moved beyond attacking Harry for his blood relation to Snape. Lupin's discontent was now directed at the boy himself. Snape was surprised to find himself still defending the boy.

"As little as I think of you, Lupin, I wouldn't have taken you for the type to blame a boy for something he has no power over."

"I shouldn't," Lupin agreed softly, expression wrought with self-condemnation. "And I keep trying to rationalize the situation. He's a teenager. Others are responsible. He can't help what's happened. But… it's just not working. I can't reason my feelings away. And I've tried- believe me, I've tried. I'm still trying."

Lupin gazed off into the distance, a haunted look on his face.

"But I miss Sirius so much. And I can't help thinking that if Harry hadn't been such a damned idiot, he would still be here!"

Snape fell into a stunned silence.

"But I'm trying, Severus," Lupin added wearily, sending him a half-hearted smile. "I owe that much to James."

He's all mine, now.

Once the shock of having completely misread the situation slipped away, Snape was aware of a vicious, possessive pleasure.

The competitor he'd imagined was no competitor at all. Lupin's claim to Harry hung by a thread, one Snape could easily snip.

If loyalty to James Potter motivated Lupin to remain by Harry's side, then Severus could rid himself- rid his son of the Marauders forever. Three words… three little words…

Harry would have no choice once he lost Lupin. Snape would be his only fatherly figure. There would be no more competition with others impeding upon his claim, no more watching his own progeny fix his hopes upon others…

But the thoughts stopped, because Severus was keen enough to recognize them for the delusions they were.

If Harry lost faith in Lupin, he would by no means invest it in someone else. If a figure he depended upon disappeared from his life, he would hardly rest his weight upon the next one, and certainly not upon Snape. Odds were, he would be even less likely to trust in the future.

Not that Severus even wanted the boy to see him that way, but still… it was his prerogative. He was Harry's biological father, after all, and it should be his choice free of outside influence not to be that father to his son-

This was not good.

It rather surprised Snape to realize it, but Lupin's presence was important. Snape loathed the man, but he had to begrudgingly acknowledge that Harry had formed some sort of attachment to the werewolf.

And it would kill the boy if he lost Lupin now.

He could reveal the boy's true parentage to Lupin, but something twisted inside him at the thought of crushing Harry so completely.

The realization didn't sit well with Severus. He appreciated the fine instincts of a Slytherin- that impulse to exploit every last advantage offered him. He didn't know where this consideration for Harry's feelings had come from, but he didn't like it. He didn't like that somehow he didn't want Harry to undergo the devastation that would be sure to arise if he took advantage of this situation to rid them of Lupin.

And for once, he wasn't certain by way of insult or comment just what to say to the damned werewolf.

"I believe it's time I left you to your wallowing," Snape remarked shortly.

Lupin nodded shakily, and Snape whipped around to get out before the man did something abhorrent like thank him, in which case Severus might not restrain his careful hold on his tongue.

He made a quick exit, feeling thrown.

He observed Harry from across the Great Hall that night, unsettled. Now that he thought about it, he rather preferred it when Remus Lupin was a competitor. With his new knowledge that Harry had essentially lost another staple figure in his life, there was this odd weight pressing on Severus's chest, as though there was something he needed to do... He raked furiously through his memory of the last few days, unable to remember any business to which he'd failed to attend.

But something nagged at the back of his thoughts, no matter how he tried to will it away.

* * *

His weekend was productive enough. Snape managed to reserve the Quidditch Pitch for the Slytherins, leaving the Gryffindors with odd hours here and there in which to prepare themselves for the upcoming match. The werewolf knocked over a vial of armadillo bile in the process of retrieving his wolfsbane, and was forced to visit the hospital wing when it spilled over his hands. And although Snape knew that technically he couldn't claim credit for that, he chose to anyway.

He even assigned Harry another bout of detention for hexing Draco in the hallway. Snape was fully aware the perpetrator had actually been Weasley, and it had been Harry who had inexplicably attempted to lift the Bloating Curse from Draco. But he'd been caught with his wand pointed at the rapidly ballooning Malfoy, and Harry was unwilling to let Weasley get into trouble by telling the truth. Weasley, in turn, refused to let Harry take the blame, so Snape took pleasure in assigning detention to them both.

While Weasley reported to Filch on Monday night, Harry unhappily trudged into the Potions classroom, rubbing his scar. Snape was pleased to note that the boy had stopped scratching, but the continued pain was a worrisome sign that the boy was no longer achieving even his middling success in Occlumency.

"I've been trying!" Harry objected over his cauldron when Snape confronted him. "It's not working anymore. I even snuck out to one of Filch's storage closets last night, and it's just not happening."

Snape shot him a reproving look, which Harry returned angrily.

"I can't believe you're annoyed about me sneaking out for this. You're the one who said I needed to master Occlumency. I thought it was top priority."

Snape let him off with a nasty look.

"Have you experienced any further visions?" he asked, changing subjects.

"A few," Harry said, leaning over to scrub a particularly tough spot. "I wrote them down and gave them to Dumbledore."

Snape felt a bitter sting of betrayal that Harry hadn't come to him first. He stewed in his anger for several seconds, then with a cruel smirk discreetly cast a charm to double the filth caked over the remaining cauldrons.

"Professor?" Harry said, his attention still locked on his cleaning. "Does, uh, anyone else know about us? The father thing, I mean?"

Snape folded his arms, scrutinizing Harry's carefully neutral expression. He was wary about just what had provoked this inquiry.

"No. Just the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall. And it shall remain that way."

Harry glanced up, a question on his lips.

"You may not tell your friends," Snape said through gritted teeth. "And you most certainly are forbidden to tell Lupin."

"Why?" Harry challenged, draping the rag over the side of the cauldron. "I trust Ron and Hermione, and Lupin's in the Order."

"I do not trust your friends," Snape countered harshly. "And you will not tell Lupin. It would be a mistake."

Harry's green eyes narrowed suspiciously. He was far too perceptive sometimes.

"A mistake? Why?"

Snape stalked away from him and began organizing the papers on his desk, simply to have something to do with his hands.

"The fewer that know about this, the better. Secrets have a way of making themselves known when they're spread too thinly."

"But you seem to think Remus in particular can't be trusted," Harry persisted. Snape heard him abandon the cauldron and cross the room. "Why?" There was a strange urgency in his tone. "Is it just because you hate him, or is it something more?"

"You are in detention, Potter," Snape said coldly, fixing the boy with his dark gaze. "Stop inflicting me with your incessant prattle and get back to work!"

Harry sent him a dirty look before returning to cleaning.

Knowing he needed to nip this in the bud, Snape continued, "I do not think it would be wise to tell Lupin, and you will not do so. Nothing good can come of it."

He saw from the brief flicker of defiance in Harry's downcast eyes that his words were only goading the young fool to do the exact opposite of his advice. Snape nearly growled in frustration. Idiot boy. This was for his own good.

Harry had no way of knowing that the only claim he had left on the blasted werewolf was the fact that he was James Potter's son.

… Or maybe the boy knew more than Severus thought.

There was a hooded look in Harry's eyes. The hand not scrubbing the cauldron began rubbing at his scar; clearly his emotional state had taken a sharp downturn, to render him vulnerable so suddenly.

Snape watched, troubled. He needed to keep the boy ignorant. With everything already weighing upon Harry's mind, it would destroy him to read rejection in Lupin's eyes now.

Severus felt that strange pressure on his chest again, and this time he identified it as a dreadful feeling of responsibility.

Responsibility. For this boy

Why was he feeling this now? It was the Headmaster's job to ensure Harry's welfare. It was his Head of House's job to protect him. It was Lupin who should be looking after him now.

But it was Snape himself who suddenly faced the daunting and decidedly unwanted responsibility of being a father.

And he didn't have a damn clue just what that was.

* * *

Harry's next Quidditch game was against Slytherin. He roundly defeated Draco Malfoy, despite a last minute attempt by the blonde Slytherin to shove Harry from his broomstick. He caught the snitch, and Draco unbalanced and tumbled to the ground.

Harry took one victory loop, simply to spite Snape, then alighted on the grass next to Draco, who was still plopped squarely on his bum, glaring up at his nemesis.

The gray eyes filled with shock when Harry offered his hand. Draco studied his face thoughtfully, grasped the proffered hand…

And yanked Harry onto the ground.

Harry heard Draco's malicious laughter as the blonde Slytherin swept gracefully to his feet, brushing the grass from his robes. Despite his momentary burst of anger, Harry reigned in his emotions and shoved himself upright, meeting the other boy's hateful gaze with a serene one of his own.

"Good game," Harry offered neutrally. "You almost caught it when we were by the Ravenclaw stands. It gave me a bit of a scare, for a minute there."

Draco's expression twisted with disdain and hatred. "What the hell's wrong with you lately, Potter?"

It was clear Draco was referring to Harry's attempt to end Ron's Bloating Hex the other day in addition to Harry's current civility.

"Just being polite," Harry said softly.

"We'll see how polite you are when my father tears your throat out," Draco threatened softly, his lips twisted with hurt pride at having lost the match.

Harry was struck with a profound pang of sympathy. This twisted little prat was the product of Lucius Malfoy. Draco had never had a chance to be a decent person.

Their respective teams flocked upon them and bore them off in different directions.

"Why'd you try to help that git Malfoy?" Ron demanded belligerently, hand slung over Harry's shoulder as he steered Harry to the locker room.

Harry shrugged beneath the weight of his arm, ignoring his friend's intense scrutiny. He couldn't tell Ron that his encounter with Lucius had left Harry with an odd feeling of pity whenever he encountered the younger Malfoy. As nasty and petty as Draco was, the old antipathy simply would not stir when he remembered how Lucius had cast the Cruciatus Curse on him simply to get him off the couch.

"Hey," Ron whispered softly in his ear, "Seamus and I have put together a 'Welcome Back to Quidditch' party… so we're sneaking out tonight after curfew."

Harry sent him a curious glance, and Ron grinned.

"Just you, me, and a few of the others. We're trying to keep this small. No telling Hermione."

Harry sighed. "I don't know if I'm up for it, Ron…"

He was a bit sore. His scar ached. But the hurt in his friend's expression made him catch his breath.

"You have to come, mate. It's for you!" Ron whispered. "We've been planning it for a week!"

Damn, Ron really looked upset.

Harry smiled, feeling the stirrings of guilt. He supposed he could muster the energy...

He understood several hours later just why Ron wanted to conceal the little celebration from Hermione, once the redhead had escorted him to the secret passage to Hogsmeade. Seamus and several others from the team awaited, along with a significant portion of the firewhiskey the Irish boy had been actively smuggling from Hogsmeade for the last three months.

"Ron," Harry said in a soft undertone, "is this where you and Seamus were going at nights last term?" At Ron's nod, he prompted in a slightly colder voice, "You showed him the secret passage to Hogsmeade?"

Ron drew in a breath to defend himself, but they were interrupted.

"Relax, Harry!" bellowed Katie Bell, sauntering up to them and shoving a drink into his hand. "Cheers!"

Harry cast a quick glance around at the expectant faces. Friends. They'd done this for him, and he was acting like a right prat about it.

Besides, he could remember Snape's words. "I think you'll one day learn, Potter, that the best way to alleviate peer pressure is to succumb to it."

Here's to you, Snape, Harry thought ironically. With a wry smirk, he downed his drink. It took him only a second to realize his throat was on fire!

The others broke into laughter as he nearly collapsed, coughing furiously, onto the ground. Harry had tears in his eyes when he rose again, but he couldn't help laughing along with them.

* * *

"You know Ron," Harry slurred sometime later, after several of the Gryffindors had already staggered back for the night. He threw his arm over the redhead's shoulder and grasped him tightly. "You're my best friend!"

Ron laughed. "You're pissed, mate."

"Mmm?" Harry released Ron and staggered a few steps, feeling quite pleased with himself for having such wonderful friends. He felt his best buddy catch him as he veered dangerously to the side. "Yeah, maybe just a bit." Laughter bubbled from his lips.

He was only half aware of Ron bidding the others good night before hauling him down the passage.

Ron always looks out for me… Harry thought happily, relishing the fact that his best friend was helping him. No one had done that for him before Hogwarts. No one had cared. If he'd died, the Dursleys would have been delighted. But not Ron. Not Hermione. Not the Gryffindors.

Harry was overcome with a wave of affection for his friend, and he flung his arms around him like Molly Weasley had once done to him.

"Argh, Harry!" Ron cried, the movement sending them both staggering into the wall.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled against his shoulder. "But I mean it. You're my best mate. I love you, Ron."

Oh, but he wasn't just happy about Ron. There were so many other people in his life who were good to him.

"And Hermione. I love her, too," he added. "And your mum, and Fred and George, and your dad, and Ginny, and your mum…" Oh, but… "I don't like Percy… he's a git… Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry. I know you don't like Percy."

"No," Harry snorted. "I'm shorr- sorry your brother's such a git!"

Ron gave up on dragging Harry's stumbling form for a while, and he slumped, breathing heavily, next to him on the floor near the entrance to the school.

"We should be singing something," Harry noted, feeling a little lethargic now. "That's what people always do on the telly when they're drunk."

Ron grinned, and staggered dramatically to his feet.

"God rest ye, Merry Hippogriffs-" he began in a painfully off-key voice.

Harry burst into tears.

Ron fell silent, looking shocked. "I didn't know I was that bad," he said, staring at Harry in dismay.

Harry clamped his hands over his face and curled in on himself, his shoulders heaving with violent sobs.

"Harry?" Ron said a bit helplessly, dropping to a crouch by his side, and shaking him lightly as though hoping to jar the fit of tears into submission.

Harry wept uncontrollably. He couldn't help it. He could remember suddenly Sirius singing that song in the hallway last Christmas, and he was suddenly terribly aware of that gaping hole inside him. He tried to muffle his sobs with his arm, and Ron patted him feebly on the back for lack of a better course of action.

When the tears began to subside, he was aware of Ron speaking. The horrible, choking grief eased somewhat as his confused mind latched onto what he could understand of Ron's discursive speech. "Quidditch again, we're definitely going to show them-"… see that git Malfoy's face when you-"… "that cow knocking Hermione over like she owns the place-"

It was when Ron mentioned that he thought Hermione was far prettier than Pansy Parkinson that Harry opened his eyes and looked at him blearily.

"What?" he said dazedly. "You think Hermione's… pretty?"

Ron face turned as red as his hair. "I'm not saying I like her like that or anything- I mean, she's my friend- but you know, she's, er, she's cute."

A smile stretched across Harry's lips. "You like Hermione."

"I don't-"

"You love Hermione!"

Ron punched him in the arm, and Harry fell back onto the ground, the world spinning, laughter bubbling from his lips.

"It's okay, mate," he told Ron off-handedly. "I won't tell her. It'll be a secret. Like me and Snape."

Ron shot to attention. "You and Snape?" A look of mock horror suffused his features. "You have a crush on Snape?"

"No!" Harry said, laughing even though he was horrified by the suggestion. "No… I mean it's embarrassing to say it, but…"

He laughed again, suddenly wondering why he'd tried so hard to hide this from his best friend. Ron would sympathize!

"Snape's my father," he explained. "My dad. He told me so himself. Dubbledore- Dumbledore knew all along, too. And we did a potion to prove it and I stayed at his house and read his spell books…"

It was so ridiculous suddenly that Harry found it amusing and doubled over with laughter.

Apparently Ron thought it was funny, too, because he grinned as he hoisted Harry back up to his feet.

"You've gone absolutely nutters. You're a terrible drunk."

Harry snorted in agreement.

He leaned his head drowsily against Ron's shoulder as the redhead hauled him along, and only vaguely registered Ron's swearing when he realized they'd left the invisibility cloak back in the passage.

"We'll go back for it tomorrow," Ron promised.

Harry didn't lift his head until Ron abruptly halted in the middle of the third-floor corridor.

"Oh, hell!" he muttered.

Harry felt a sharp poke in the ribs, and abruptly forced his head upright.

"Crap, Harry," Ron said. "It's your dad!"

* * *

Snape had immediately made a beeline towards the two very inebriated students out after curfew. Their identity gave him a surge of glee, but Weasley's words froze him in place.

He sent a look between the two. Harry's eyes were glassy, the majority of his weight supported by the larger boy. Weasley looked on the verge of breaking into hysterical laughter. They were both very drunk. And apparently, Harry had revealed something he should not have.

His dark eyes tore from the redhead to his own son. He could tell immediately that Harry wouldn’t absorb any furious lecture of his in this state, so he swooped forward, wrested him from the startled boy's grasp, and deposited him none-too-gently on the floor against the far wall.

Weasley's eyes shot to him with some alarm, alarm that rapidly blossomed into terror when Snape grasped his collar and backed him into the wall, brandishing his wand.

"Are you the only one he told?" Snape said gruffly.

"What?" Weasley yelped.

Snape pressed against the boy's throat, and Weasley was now breathing quite rapidly, fear swiftly piercing the glazed look in his eyes.

"ARE YOU THE ONLY ONE, WEASLEY?" he bellowed, his fingernails tightening on the redhead's shoulder.

"Yes- yes!" Weasley cried, openly terrified. "I'm- it's just me and Harry. Just us!"

"Now you listen here, boy," said Snape in a soft, menacing voice, pressing his wand into the boy's jugular. "I would obliviate you myself at this very moment instead of waiting for the Headmaster to do so, if I weren't certain I would irreparably damage your mind… Something you can ill afford, given your current lack of intellectual prowess. However," his grip tightened on the boy's collar, and Snape drew his lips up next to the boy's ear, "if I find out you have communicated this information to anyone, and I mean ANYONE, I may just forget that you dearly require both of your brain-cells!"

He shoved back away from Weasley, and glared menacingly into those frightened eyes. "Understand me, boy?" Snape hissed.

Ronald Weasley blinked up at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving. It seemed to take him a moment of thought to realize what Snape had been talking about, and his features lit with fierce denial.

"But, it was a joke!" he said weakly.

Snape felt his stomach plunge.

"You greasy git! You're lying! It's a joke, isn't it?" Weasley almost pleaded, shooting his gaze to Harry, now sleeping comfortably on the floor. "Harry was just kidding. You're not his- you can't possible be his-"

As though he'd just witnessed some cataclysmic event, his eyes traveled slowly to the prone boy on the floor, then to Snape. Horrified comprehension seeped into his features.

"But why else would you- Oh, Merlin!" he breathed, then shook his head in disbelief. "I don't believe it. It can't be true! That's- that's impossible! LIAR!"

That proves it, Snape thought fiercely, angry with himself. Stupidity is contagious.

Weasley was too stunned to say more. Snape would demand the Headmaster obliviate the boy… as soon as he ensured his wayward son, now passed out on the floor, was not about to die of alcohol poisoning before Snape had a chance to punish him.

"I would deduct several thousand points from Gryffindor," Snape informed Weasley fiercely, "But then I would have to explain them after you no longer remember this night. Let me assure you, Mr. Weasley, that I will take this out on your hide for the rest of the year! You will go directly to the headmaster's office! I'll be there shortly."

Weasley looked too devastated and shocked to object. It was only when Snape reached down to collect Harry that the redhead cried out in protest.

"What are you going to do to him?" He sounded slightly panicked.

"Nothing fatal," Snape replied menacingly. "Now, GO!"

Without a second look at the idiotic boy, Snape hauled Harry up and bundled him off down the corridor. The other Gryffindor stared after them, paralyzed with shock.

* * *

Harry awoke, feeling dreadfully thirsty. He noticed dimly the glass of water set on the nightstand by this bed, but he knocked it over when he made to grab it.

"Idiot boy!"

He flinched at the sound of Snape's angry voice and curled into a ball, trying to reign in the sick feeling in his stomach.

"I could give you something for the excruciating hangover you are about to endure," Snape said, grasping him by the back of the neck and hauling him upright to stare into glittering black eyes. "But I prefer to see you suffer."

Huge surprise there, Harry thought bitterly, wincing as Snape's grip on the back of his neck tightened. He raised his arms clumsily to shove Snape away, but then he felt a cool glass shoved against his lips.

Surprised, Harry gulped the water down thirstily. When Snape spelled it to refill, Harry blocked its path to his mouth.

"No more," he whispered hoarsely, trying to escape Snape's grip and lie back down.

"I think not, Potter," Snape said gruffly, shoving the glass to his lips again. "Drink. You must remain hydrated."

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Snape smiled darkly. "Then we shall simply have to repeat this process again."

With a groan, Harry drank the water. It actually went down pretty easily; he was thirstier than he thought. Snape at last released him and let him slump gratefully back to the mattress.

"This is becoming an unpleasant routine, Potter. I do not care to play nursemaid to you every time your stupidity renders you incompetent."

"Then why don't you just send me to Madame Pomfrey?" Harry complained.

Snape didn't answer him. Harry let his eyes close and tried to sleep.

"You should be expelled for this," Snape said bitterly across the room. "You imbecilic boy"

Even through his haze of inebriation, the words somehow reached the part of him that could still reason. Harry forced his head upright, feeling a thrill of fear.

What was he doing here? How had Snape found out?

Oh no, Snape knew he'd been drinking.

His thoughts danced to half-forgotten images. Sprawled on the floor of the passage, in the hallway with Ron…

Shit shit shit.

He'd told Ron.

Snape KNEW he'd told Ron!

He clamped his hand over his mouth in horror at what he'd done. He felt Snape's eyes, heavy on him, and shuddered under his gaze. Snape had to be angry, and in this case, he had every reason to be.

Oh, he'd been so stupid!

He was horrified at what he'd done. It must have showed.

"Oh, never fear, Potter," Snape said, sounding disgusted. "You won't be sent back to those Muggles anytime soon."

Harry barely dared to look at Snape.

"Even at the height of your deviance, I doubt the Headmaster would expel our resident celebrity."

Harry watched him warily. It was strange that Snape had attributed his horror to anticipation of the Dursleys. He couldn't quite understand why this seemed odd- his brain was barely working right now- but it surprised him Snape had bothered analyzing his reaction at all.

"Go to sleep, Harry," Snape ordered, voice softer this time.

He used my name, Harry thought inanely.

"I pray you have several debilitating nightmares about the nature of the detentions you've earned yourself tonight," Snape added maliciously before spelling the lights off.

Well, that rather nullified the name thing, he decided, as sleep once again claimed him.

* * *

Damn Albus Dumbledore. Damn him!

"This may be a fortuitous event, Severus," the Headmaster had responded gently to Snape's demand for Weasley's memory erasure. "Harry needs a friend right now, and Mr. Weasley is a great source of strength and support…"

Forget protecting the precious true identity of the Boy-Who-Lived. Forget protecting his only spy in the Dark Lord's inner circle. Sod it all! Harry needed someone to talk to!

Bitter thoughts raged through his head as he selected the perfect counter-agent to nullify the remaining alcohol and leave the hangover. He was still actively plotting many methods of punishing Harry for sheer stupidity when he heard the tentative knock on his door.

He opened it to reveal the unwelcome sight of an exhausted-looking Ronald Weasley.

"Er, Professor Dumbledore sent me down here to bring Harry back to Gryffindor before anyone misses him," Weasley said, looking as though he were trying to summon his usual contempt for Snape's authority, and simply couldn't muster the energy for it.

Snape glared at him. "I have much to discuss with Mr. Potter."

There was that familiar foolhardy defiance. "Dumbledore sent me," Weasley insisted. With an exasperated breath, he burst out, "Look, he's going to feel like crap today anyway, so why don't you yell at him later?"

"Harry needs a friend right now…"

Snape snorted in contempt at the memory of the Headmaster's words, yet for some inexplicable reason found himself standing aside for Weasley to enter his chamber and rouse the still disoriented Harry from his sleep.

"Come on," Ron said quietly, casting a furtive, suspicious glance in Snape's direction. "We're going back."

Harry murmured something unintelligible, but accepted Ron's help nevertheless, still half-conscious and mostly inebriated.

Ron sent Snape a dubious glance before helping Harry walk clumsily out the door.

Severus wasn't certain why he'd acceded to the Headmaster's ridiculous order to let Harry escape with Weasley, but somehow he found, that afternoon, as he noticed Lupin enter the Great Hall, that the horrible weight on his chest had lifted somewhat.

Snape remembered Weasley's reaction, when he'd started to take Harry away after their confrontation in the hall. The boy had been worried Snape would harm Harry

It seemed Harry had at least one stalwart ally. Weasley's contemptuous, defiant behavior towards himself on Harry's behalf should have infuriated him, especially because Weasley was undermining his own authority considerably with every insubordinate word that passed his lips.

For some reason, though, it didn't. And that unsettled Snape more than even the realization his life now depended upon Ronald Weasley's discretion.

It had taken Ron three days and many surreptitious kicks under the table in the Great Hall to stop goggling back and forth between Harry and Snape. Even after that, the redhead glared at Snape with renewed suspicion each time they passed each other in the hall.

"Are you sure, Harry?" Ron questioned again, scowling as he scrubbed the bedpan. "He was a Death Eater. It could be a trick!"

"Yeah, because Voldemort would have a whole lot to gain from…" Harry glanced around the hospital wing quickly, lowering his voice, "… tricking me into thinking my dad's actually that greasy git. Seriously, Ron, do you think Snape would willingly go along with something like that? He hates me. He hates knowing that he's the one who's… well, responsible for my existence."

He saw concern creep into Ron's expression. Harry rolled his eyes and turned his face from the other boy's scrutiny.

"It doesn't matter. I hate him, too."

"It must be, uh, a bit disappointing. You know," Ron fumbled, clearly stepping outside his comfort zone trying to say the right thing. "You were an orphan. And now you have a dad. But he's Snape. I mean… that must be bad for you."

Harry shrugged. "No big loss."

"Yeah," Ron persisted, "But still… I mean, you must have wondered what it would be like if—"

"Can we stop talking about this?" Harry interrupted him sharply. "You've been asking me nonstop about him for the last few days. I'm sick of talking about it, okay?"

He felt the weight of Ron's gaze on his back, and Harry turned his attention to scrubbing furiously at the bedpan.

Snape hadn't been joking when he promised dire consequences for Harry's drunken escapade. From cleaning out stalls for Hagrid to this current distasteful task, Harry had come in contact with all manner of unpleasant stenches in the last few days. And now that Snape had ordered him to resume Occlumency lessons on top of these physically exhausting detentions, a leaden feeling of dread settled in his stomach every time the final minutes of detention ticked away.

"Listen, mate—"

"Ron, I said—"

"Look!" Ron interjected, setting his bedpan down and crossing the room to hover in front of Harry. "I know he's a git, and he's not going to change, okay? But have you ever thought about the other stuff that comes with a father, eh? I mean, your parents didn't really leave anyone behind for you. But maybe Snape has a brother or a sister, or some other family you might like better. Just because he's a prat doesn't mean all his relatives are. You turned out okay!"

Harry thought back to those brief flashes of that crying boy in Snape's memories, and shook his head.

"No, his family's not… it's not a good idea—"

"Come on! They can't be worse than your aunt and uncle."

Well…

"I couldn't meet them anyway," Harry argued. "Septimus doesn't exist!"

"You can't right now. But maybe after You-Know-Who is gone, things will be a bit different."

Harry shot him an uncertain glance.

"Why are you pushing this?" He smiled uneasily. "That eager to get rid of me?"

He felt a little sick even as he said the words. He knew he spent more time with the Weasleys than he probably should. Maybe Ron was growing tired of Harry latching onto his family…

"No," Ron said earnestly. "You just— you know we all think of you as practically another Weasley, right? But you didn't come with us for Christmas. You don't seem to think—"

"I wanted you to be safe!" Harry protested, cheeks flaming.

He'd stayed at Hogwarts to protect them, not because he was rejecting the Weasleys! How could they think—

"I know," Ron said firmly. "But I'm just saying, I know there are things that'll hold you back from us. Maybe it would be good for you if you knew you had something else out there… something that's just yours."

Harry stared at Ron, amazed at how much thought the other boy had put into this. "Careful, Ron. You're starting to sound like Hermione."

Ron grinned ruefully. "You know, I've spent the past few days trying to figure out what she'd want me to say about this. For the record, I can't imagine a relative of Snape's being anything other than a greasy bastard— but you should still look into it."

Harry couldn't help laughing. "Fine."

Ron still looked thoughtful. "About Hermione… Are you sure—"

"NO!" snapped Harry.

"All right," Ron said a touch defensively.

Harry turned back to his bedpan. The temptation to tell Hermione was almost overwhelming for him, too, but he couldn't help imagining Ron vacant-eyed and drooling, with Snape smirking after having successfully scrambled his brain.

No… Best not to risk it. He couldn't bear losing his best friend to that.

* * *

Ron's suggestion lingered in his thoughts, though, like some illness he simply couldn't shake. So after a singularly unsuccessful Occlumency session that left Harry doubled over in a chair with the horrible, splitting pain of his scar, he gathered his thoughts as Snape tried to force-feed him a Tranquility Draught.

"Do we have any other family?" Harry asked Snape.

Snape's black eyes bore into his for a long moment, then the grip on his chin tightened and Harry felt the liquid slip between his lips. He swallowed automatically, and was only slightly disoriented when Snape yanked him up and shoved him towards the door.

"Go to bed, Potter!"

"I was just curious," Harry said belligerently.

Snape's eyes glittered darkly. "Out!"

The Tranquility Draught had kicked in, so Harry felt oddly at ease as he shrugged off the incident and returned to Gryffindor Tower.

The following afternoon, Lupin praised him generously enough in class that he felt confident enough to start a conversation with Remus outside the Great Hall. It took only moments for the horrible awkwardness creep up between them, and with a strangely guarded look, Remus made his excuses and left.

Harry stared after him bleakly. His emotions only darkened when he noticed Snape several feet away, witness to the whole awful exchange. His Professor only made things so much better by choosing that moment to swoop in on him and assign him detention. For no reason. On top of his detention with Filch for that evening.

It was a strangely complacent Snape waiting when Harry dragged himself into the office, and he was too exhausted to show his astonishment when Snape gestured him into a chair.

"I have no siblings," Snape said in a formal manner. "Your grandmother passed away when I was a second-year, and your grandfather followed several years after that. Many of my father's family live in Hungary, but I maintain little contact with them. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Harry stared at him, surprised. "Er, yes."

He was aware of an acute disappointment he hadn't expected to feel. He was glad he hadn't gotten his expectations up. It would have been stupid of him to let Ron's words put visions in his head of, say, cousins his age who didn't beat him up, or benign uncles who clapped him on the shoulders and called him by endearing nicknames…

No, he hadn't let himself be taken by such stupid fantasies.

He tried not to let his dejection show, and steeled himself for the impending detention. Snape rolled his eyes and rose to his feet.

"Although the vast majority of my bloodline are useless wastrels with little to recommend them apart from their ability to mangle the English language, I do have an uncle who cultivates Europe's finest gillyweed. I've intended to restock for several weeks now. If you hold your tongue, you may remain in this room while I contact him… He does have several granddaughters around your age who delight in inflicting us with their presence during these discussions."

As far as kind gestures went, it was hardly the most generous on record, but it still astonished Harry.

"You'd… let me stay?" Harry stuttered.

Snape sent him a sour look. "I insist on silence if you remain. I do not care to explain a strange young man's presence to him. You will stand in the corner, and I will bring him through the floo. Have you your invisibility cloak on you?"

Harry forced down his reluctance to give Snape knowledge of its whereabouts and nodded.

"Wear it," Snape ordered.

Harry scrambled to yank it from his bag and pull it over his head. He was still amazed Snape was doing this for him. Yes, he understood that the Potions Professor clearly needed to contact the man anyway, but when it came to Snape, this was downright generous.

Snape stared dourly at what Harry knew was his now-invisible form for several seconds more, before adding, "And for the record, Potter, I was not deceived for a single moment the day you accosted Draco Malfoy in that thing."

Harry tried not to smirk, remembering Draco's panic their third year upon spotting Harry's head floating mid-air.

"I know," Harry said, voice slightly muffled by the cloak. "Actually, even before I knew you were an Occlumens, I was pretty sure you could read minds."

"I would say that was an astute observation, Mr. Potter, but I have difficulty lending credit for intellectual prowess to a boy who still cannot get it through his head that Legilimency is not mind-reading."

Harry glared at him through the invisibility cloak as Snape scooped up a handful of floo-powder.

"Remember—"

"Silence, I know," Harry said impatiently.

Snape grimaced, as though an insult fought valiantly to escape his lips, then tossed the floo powder into the fireplace.

"Bassianus Snape!"

Harry waited expectantly.

Although on some level, he knew many of the purebloods were also his relatives, this was different. This was more than the simple inbreeding that went hand-in-hand with the pureblooded families. These were immediate relatives. His relatives. People other than Dudley and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon who were so closely related to him—

Snape shifted impatiently in his seat.

"Bassianus!" he called again, glaring at the emerald flames. "Get in here, NOW!"

I see why they don't talk to him much, Harry thought wryly, settling back in his seat, watching Snape's thin lips curl in exasperation.

"That old codger has twelve house-elves," Snape growled. "One of them should at least have answered by now."

With an irritated sigh, Snape slid from his chair and knelt by the fireplace. He shot Harry a look that warned him not to cause trouble, then thrust his head into the flames.

"Ba—"

But as soon as Snape's head disappeared into the green flames, his entire body shot forward and vanished into the fireplace.

Harry leaped to his feet as the tail of the black robes was swallowed by flames.

* * *

"EXPELLI— My, my, Severus, no wand?"

Snape's dread settled like a leaden weight in his stomach, and he forced his head up from the carpet to meet the smirking face of Lucius Malfoy. The other wizard looked far more confident and collected than at any point in the weeks since their confrontation.

"What a delightful coincidence!" Lucius declared. "Here I was just looking for a decent glass of wine, and who should pop up in the fireplace but my dearest Severus himself!"

Snape's hand whipped out to the jar of floo powder, only to feel the fragile glass explode at his fingertips as it was caught by Lucius's blasting curse.

"Now, this makes my job rather easier, doesn't it?" Malfoy purred.

Snape didn't hear the next hex that hit him, but something like electricity tore through his chest and limbs. He curled into a ball, his body wracked with pain and nausea, as the other Death Eater smoothly levitated him from the floor.

Snape relaxed passively into the magical grip, knowing he couldn't fight the spell. He instead cast his gaze around the hallway as Lucius floated him by door after door. This was, indeed, his uncle's abode. He'd thought at first that Lucius had somehow tapped into his floo to abduct him.

But, no. This was much, much worse. Lucius was in Bassianus's home.

"What," Snape asked harshly, "in the hell are you doing here?"

Lucius's laugh was low and husky, and it sent a new coil of fear through Severus's chest.

"Renewing an acquaintance of mine."

"Where are my relatives?" Snape demanded.

Lucius smiled. "Dead, mostly."

Dead?

Severus had no particular affection for his uncle or cousins, but the realization that Lucius had just killed them left him slightly troubled.

Malfoy ended the levitation spell with a jerk of his wand and unceremoniously dropped him to the floor of the reception hall. It took Snape several moments to fight down the lingering pain from Lucius's hex.

"Why are you here, Lucius?" Snape demanded, stumbling to his feet.

He was appalled to realize he felt nervous. Lucius was out for his blood, and he was all too aware he was at the other Death Eater's mercy.

"Why here? As in, this room?" Lucius asked smoothly, deliberately misreading Severus's question. His smile was genuine and unnerving, the hardship of the last year erased from the man's expression by his very real upper-hand in the situation. "Well, Severus, we can hear everything from here."

Snape tried not to let his confusion show, but Lucius seemed to detect it anyway; his smile widened. "Never fear, though. They can't hear us. I don't want our darling Bella to interrupt what I have in mind."

"Bellatrix…?"

Snape then fell silent, able to discern it for the first time. The muffled, distant sound of a person wailing.

"Bellatrix…" Snape repeated numbly.

"Hmm… Yes…" Lucius gazed idly at his fingernails, then sent Snape a coy look. "I did say they were mostly dead. I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else to supply you with Gillyweed. I fear your precious Bassianus will be in no state to do so again."

He didn't know whether the person being tortured was his uncle or one of his other relatives. Either way…

"What are you doing here, Lucius?" It took Snape an effort to keep his tone reasonable with the screams ringing in his ears. "Why is she here?"

Whoever it was— his uncle, he guessed— was crying out piteously now.

"He's a pureblood," Snape continued hoarsely. "She has no justification—"

"Bella does not like being kept from her possessions," Lucius interrupted brusquely, "and she's fully convinced your relations are blood traitors hiding a scintillating young half-blood from her."

A horrible smile stretched across Lucius's lips.

"But we both know better than that, don't we, Severus?'

"What do you mean?" Snape demanded, dreading the answer. He knew that Lucius was leading him into some snare with his words.

Malfoy leaned in closer, his gray eyes glittering with malice. "I'm talking about Septimus. That mysterious, young boy who doesn't even appear to exist."

"Don’t be ridi—"

"Caedo!"

Snape tumbled back to the ground as invisible fists slammed into his body. The pain receded as Lucius's impatience asserted itself, and he found himself on his back clutching his ribs, with the blonde aristocrat glaring down at him.

"Do you know just how many of your worthless kin I've questioned these last few days?" Lucius said coldly. "I've met eight different Septimus Snapes, but not a single one of them is our favorite little bastard. Do you know what I think?"

"I don't care—" Snape snarled.

"Crucio!"

Lucius grinned above him as Snape's world dissolved in pain. He couldn't help the screams that tore from his lips, and as soon as the spell dissolved, he found Lucius just inches away, staring at him intently.

"You lied to me about that boy," he spat. "So I thought about it…"

Malfoy leaned closer, smiling a bit maniacally.

"You sheltered a mysterious boy you claimed to be Hungarian kin, yet your Hungarian kin know nothing of him. This strange boy shares your blood, and is closely related enough to me that he can wield kinship curses upon me. And… best of all…" Lucius laughed at this notion, "you, my heartless friend, are protective of him. Do you know what my new conclusion is, Severus?"

Lucius's hand snaked around his neck, and he brought his lips to Snape's ear.

"Septimus Snape is your son."

Snape's throat clenched. "That's absurd—"

"You had a bastard with a Muggle," Lucius pronounced coldly, certain of his conclusion. "And you've hidden it from us all these years."

Snape needed to put a stop to this. "You listen, Lu—"

"Crucio," Lucius said almost playfully, triumphant laughter in his voice. "Don't bother lying to me."

The blonde aristocrat rocked back on his heels, enjoying Snape's cries of pain for what seemed like an endless length of time.

"He's not my son," Snape rasped as soon as the curse receded.

Lucius merely laughed.

"Severus… you fool," he said with malicious amusement. "Do you realize what you've given me? Of all the weaknesses you could have exposed, you should have taken this one to your grave!"

He heard Lucius's footsteps retreat across the room, and Snape forced himself up on shaky arms, mind racing desperately for some contingency plan.

"You know, the others thought I was mad to tangle with you," Lucius said unexpectedly.

Snape stared at the blonde aristocrat, surprised despite himself.

"They warned me that you're an inhuman monster with a thousand horrific poisons at your fingertips," Lucius continued lazily. "They claim you're a man of genius capable of deceiving even the great Albus Dumbledore. But their most salient point, Severus, and perhaps the one that has steered them clear of you for year after year, is the fact that you have nothing to lose. You love nothing, and I could therefore take nothing of value to you"

Snape realized with a sinking feeling that the other man was clearly beyond the point where he could sway him from his conclusions. Lucius knew he had a son. And he saw that son as a weapon to use against Severus.

But at least he didn't know that son was actually Harry Potter.

"I always found you rather pitiable," Lucius remarked, watching him intently. "No family, no friends. I was even convinced you were a virgin until I found out about your little bastard. For years, I thought it would be a mercy if someone ended your miserable existence. But this… this boy…" A smile crept across Malfoy's lips. "This son of yours… Well, Severus, you're not untouchable any longer."

"And how do you propose to use him against me?" he taunted softly, wondering if he could redirect Lucius's efforts towards finding the boy in the Muggle world. "You've had no luck finding him. I promise you, you'll never get to Septimus."

"Really?" Lucius smiled menacingly. "I think the boy has given me the perfect means whereby I might reach him, hasn't he? After all— we're kin. And now that I know exactly how closely related he and I are, I know exactly what spell to cast upon him."

With a flare of rage, Snape took a menacing step towards Malfoy, eyes glittering. "Keep in mind, dear friend, where Draco sleeps at night. You will encounter great difficulty locating my son, but I assure you, I will have no difficulty finding yours."

The color left Lucius's face. "You wouldn't. You've always liked Draco."

"I'm quite fond of Draco," admitted Snape mildly. "I wouldn't enjoy, say… discovering him strangled in his sleep, or perhaps watching him die in agony after a volatile ingredient ignites his potion… That's not to say I won't protect what's mine." He smiled darkly. "I simply will not enjoy it."

Lucius was studying him intently, as though trying to gauge the severity of Snape's threat.

"You're not bluffing," Lucius raked his cold, assessing gaze over his opponent. "A pity, then, Severus, that I cannot possibly allow you the chance to follow through on that threat."

Snape stiffened imperceptibly, sensing the lethal turn of the conversation.

"I would have preferred to kill the boy before your eyes, but alas…" Lucius shook his head regretfully, "I'll have to content myself with the knowledge you'll die with your son's impending death on your conscience."

Lucius leveled his wand at his chest, and Snape felt his heart freeze.

"Our Master will destroy you if you do this," he warned Lucius desperately. "We both know of my worth to him."

Lucius smiled malevolently. "I suppose I should be grateful, then, that I'm the only one who knows you're here."

Oh hell…

It was strange. This was not the first time Severus had faced his own impending death, but somehow he'd never faced it with this horrible sense that it was happening at entirely the wrong moment. There was a nameless horror clawing at his heart, knowing that Lucius had defeated him so totally… that he'd practically handed Lucius the means to destroy Harry.

Snape cast his eyes around desperately for a way out… he even imagined he could see the front door creeping open and then closing again… but there was nothing he could do. Nothing.

He'd failed the Headmaster.

He'd failed his son.

Merlin, how had things gone wrong so quickly? He'd just found the damn boy and now he'd as good as killed him…

"AVADA KE—"

"Stupefy."

Snape was stunned when Lucius slumped bonelessly to the ground. Harry shrugged off his invisibility cloak in the doorway. The material pooled about the boy's feet, and he scooped it up before stepping tentatively into the room.

"Sorry… There had to be at least fifty doors in that hallway, and my point-me spell wasn't working," Harry remarked, approaching Lucius's fallen form. "What's Malfoy doing here? This is your uncle's house, right?"

Snape stared at him for an endless moment more, recovering his wits.

"Are you okay, Professor?"

Snape gathered his faltering strength and forced himself to his feet, amazed at his reprieve. "You followed me," he said disbelievingly.

"I know I should have told Professor Dumbledore," Harry said defensively, "But I had my invisibility cloak, and there wasn't really time. You just jerked into the fireplace, so I knew something had to be wrong—"

Snape waved him silent. He couldn't— he didn't trust himself to react in the proper manner to the boy's presumption.

There were more immediate problems at hand.

His eyes returned to Lucius's crumpled form. Well… there was only one way to do this now. He had no choice.

He ignored the painful protest of his limbs as he knelt to retrieve Lucius's wand. It was only when he aimed it that Harry cried, "What are you doing?"

Snape sent Harry a seething glare. "I'm killing him. He would have killed me. You saw that! Now hold your tongue, boy!"

"But… he's unconscious," Harry faltered. "It's not like he can hurt you now."

Oh, wonderful. Delicate Gryffindor squeamishness at the prospect of killing a helpless man.

"Can't we hand him over to the aurors?" Harry tried.

"This is not open to debate, Potter!" Snape snarled, raising his wand again. The killing curse leapt to the tip of his tongue when a distant door slammed. Harry's head snapped up in alarm, and Snape's every muscle tensed. He realized he couldn't hear his uncle screaming now.

"Is someone else here?" Harry asked, glancing between Snape's face and the open doorway.

"Quiet!" Snape said gruffly, grasping Harry by the arm and directing him roughly out into the hallway. He heard another door slam in the distance, closer.

He couldn’t kill Lucius. Malfoy's discretion was more reliable than the odds that Snape would be able to spirit away the body before Bellatrix happened upon them. He'd hoped to make the man simply disappear, as Lucius had intended to do to him. Killing Lucius would raise more problems than trusting that Malfoy would do his utmost to protect his own son.

Bellatrix Lestrange was still here. Although Snape was a proficient duelist, he did not care for his odds in a direct confrontation with her, should she walk in and find herself in the same room as Harry Potter.

And he didn't want to risk any foolish actions on his son's part, either.

Oh, he knew all too well the boy had originally learned those kinship curses with her in mind. And although Harry professed to shy from that thirst for vengeance, Snape couldn't help but remember those flashes of Bellatrix from their Occlumency lessons, as Black tumbled back through the veil. He knew full well Harry's feelings might change if he realized the woman he hated was only several rooms away from him.

He ushered Harry down the hallway, adrenaline propelling him forward despite the black spots dancing before his vision… those hexes were catching up with him.

Lucius would know, once he woke up, that Snape was back at Hogwarts, and back with Draco. He wouldn't dare act on the information about Septimus as long as Draco was in Snape's grasp. He wouldn't dare breach the matter with the Dark Lord unless he became absolutely certain of his advantage.

Severus had time to plan his next move… He just needed to get the damned boy back to Hogwarts before Bellatrix or Harry realized the other was there.

Snape scraped up the remaining floo powder and practically shoved Harry into the fireplace before staggering in himself. His raging anxiety did not die until he found himself sagging against his own desk in his office, gasping for breath.

He noticed Harry just now rising to his full height across from him, and was immediately overcome with a surge of fury.

"You IDIOT boy!"

What would have happened tonight, had Harry followed him through the floo and encountered Bellatrix Lestrange? What if the house had possessed some form of unveiling invisibility cloaks? What if Lucius had seen him first?

"WHAT were you thinking?" Snape roared, forcing himself upright from where he was slumped over the desk. "You should have—"

Harry was watching him expressionlessly, as though he expected this.

The words died on Snape's lips.

Harry had explained himself earlier.

"No time… should have called the Headmaster…"

And most inconveniently, Minerva's voice entered his mind. "He responds positively when he's well-treated."

Snape didn't want to say this. Maybe he could succumb to his injuries now and avoid this? He closed his eyes briefly, and although his entire body throbbed relentlessly, he remained steadfastly conscious.

Oh, hell.

"You saved my life," Snape admitted reluctantly.

He was tempted to feel smug at how shocked Harry looked.

"And I… appreciate it," he added.

The boy was completely stunned.

Snape smirked inwardly. Ha! The little brat clearly hadn't expected—

He had no chance to gloat before the world went black.

Snape was still in the hospital wing, even though according to Dumbledore he was conscious again, and in his characteristic good cheer. The old wizard refused to discuss what he'd learned of Lucius's presence at Bassianus's house, and he'd informed Harry that he would have to ask Professor Snape himself.

Harry was keen enough to realize he was being kept in the dark yet again, and he resented the hell out of it. He hated it when people treated him like a little kid who couldn’t handle reality.

Lucius had been at Bassianus's house for a reason. Someone else had been there, too, at least one other person… someone Snape feared enough that he had decided to run rather than wait around for a confrontation.

Who could it have been?

Voldemort? No, impossible. His scar would have been killing him.

But who?

The knowledge that he was being protected from the truth again was infuriating. Still raging with irritation, Harry charged up a moving staircase, hoping to exhaust himself so he could actually sleep that night. His scar was pounding, and this irritation with Dumbledore, Snape, and the world was doing nothing to help his Occlumency.

His thoughts strayed back to Dumbledore's withered, old face when he informed Harry it was 'not his place to tell him' about Lucius, and how he'd just wanted to scream at him—

The burning in his scar suddenly seemed to envelop his entire being.

Harry was dimly aware of his legs sinking beneath him, his vision tunneling into blackness. He scrabbled with his hands for balance, all too aware of the unsteady floor teetering beneath him—

And then someone caught him, and eased him gently down to rest upon the steps.

"Thanks," Harry said breathlessly.

Gratitude cut through the thundering pain in his head, and he managed to forced his eyes open even as his scar made them water. His heart lurched in excitement at his rescuer's familiar grin.

"My pleasure... Wotcher, Harry!"

"Tonks!"

He almost hugged her before her grip tightened warningly on his arm, reminding him that anyone could see them here. Slightly abashed, Harry settled back on the steps. He couldn't fight his dazed smile.

"I can't believe you're actually here," Harry said blissfully. "Where did you come from?"

"I was heading to the Headmaster's office. How are you feeling? Are you sick?" Tonks asked him worriedly, her hands lingering on his arm for a moment longer than necessary. "Harry, you could have fallen."

Harry glanced off-handedly at the floor lurking fifty feet below the staircase. He couldn't feel that thrill of alarm at his near-miss, not with Tonks here with him. Finally here with him!

His heart thumped wildly as his gaze riveted to her familiar features, her lively eyes— amber today— and her thick sweep of garish, red hair.

"It's my scar. It's been giving me some problems lately." He rubbed it as he sat there, just grinning at her like some idiot. "What are you doing here? You didn't tell me you were coming. I would have—"

He fell short. What would he have done differently? Combing his hair never helped. Practicing a few smooth lines always failed. Figuring out exactly what to say to her, how to ask her whether or not they were… well, dating? And if so, how to warn her that Snape had found out about them?— there was really nothing he could have done but worry about the fact that she was coming to Hogwarts, and flub whatever he planned in advance to say to her once he actually ran into her.

His stomach was leaping with butterflies, and Harry wished their first encounter since July hadn't seen him on the verge of fainting like some wimp.

"It was pretty last minute," Tonks replied lightly, settling next to him on the staircase and sprawling her slim legs out before her. "Seems Dumbledore's planning a Hogsmeade weekend, and he wants to have a few aurors watching over you kids."

Harry glanced over at her sharply. You kids?

He felt the first niggling of dread when he realized she wasn't looking at him now; she was staring intently at the far wall, as though searching for whatever words she herself had rehearsed.

Oh. Oh no. Was she going to tell him it was… well, that he'd had the wrong idea?

"It's been so long since I've seen you," Harry said brashly, hoping to forestall it. "I've missed you."

Her expression softened. "I've missed you too, Harry. We had some good times this summer, didn't we?"

Good times? Great times. Fantastic times.

"Er… yeah. Yeah, they were."

A strand of her cherry-red hair had fallen in her eyes, and he just wanted to tuck it behind her ear; he didn't know how she'd like that, though.

Funny how things had seemed so natural when they were together at Grimmauld Place, yet now everything was so strained here at Hogwarts. Was this just the effect of passing time, or was there something about the school that brought the reality of their situation back to the forefront of their minds?

She started wringing her hands where they rested on her lap. "Harry… I need to ask you something."

He nodded uneasily.

"Does Professor Snape know about us?"

Harry's throat tightened. Oh no. Had Snape said something to her—?

"He's been giving me funny looks," Tonks volunteered. "And he's been making pointed remarks." She laughed uneasily. "Basically he's been alluding to me being a… a dirty old woman, or something."

Harry felt his cheeks color. He felt deeply ashamed to admit this. "Er, you know I take Occlumency with him, right? Well, uh, he sees inside my mind. He saw stuff from this summer, too." He faltered. "I'm sorry."

"Oh."

Her tone was empty and slightly flat. Harry wondered if she felt angry with him.

She had every right to be mad…

"I'm not angry with you," Tonks offered, looking at him for the first time, her eyes sharp and perceptive. "You know, what happened this summer… Well, Harry, we were alone together, and you seemed so depressed… You were barely eating or speaking, and I just—"

Harry's stomach dropped.

"You felt sorry for me?" he blurted out, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Oh, God, if that was the reason—

"No." She stared down, her cheeks flushing. "Well, yes, I did just a bit, but that's not why… It's just that, Harry… you've been through so much. You've seen so much. It's easy to forget sometimes just how young you are. And I shouldn't have let myself forget; I took advantage of you, and I'm sorry."

"I'm not that young," Harry protested. "I'm graduating next year."

She smirked ruefully at that. "There's a world of difference between sixteen and twenty-three."

"Funny how it didn't matter a few months ago when I was fifteen," Harry said bitterly.

He saw her expression shutter closed, and he instantly knew he'd said the wrong thing.

"Look, Tonks," Harry said quickly, drawing closer. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like that. I just… I don't think—"

She rose to her feet before he could get any closer.

"No, I'm sorry, Harry... I don't want you fretting over this. I'm the adult here, and I made the mistake."

She smiled at him, but she looked for all the world like she wanted to flee.

"I'm late for my meeting..." She gestured a bit helplessly to the corridor leading to Dumbledore's office. "Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital wing? I could... I'll help you walk, if you'd like."

Harry shook his head grimly, not trusting himself to speak around the knot in his throat.

"Take care of yourself, Harry."

The wistful smile she gave him before turning away made his stomach twist in knots. His gaze fell morosely over the edge of the staircase. He couldn't bear to watch her leave.

His hand strayed back up to his forehead, and he sat there a long while, rubbing at his scar miserably. There was something he could have said to salvage this. He knew it.

If only he could think through the pain in his damn forehead.

* * *

He couldn't say what exactly brought him to the Hospital Wing in his invisibility cloak later. Maybe it was his resentment at Snape for scaring Tonks away from him. Or perhaps it was his burning irritation that something big had transpired at Bassianus Snape's house, and no one had deigned to tell him what. But he found himself in the hospital wing, firmly ensconced in his invisibility cloak, glaring at the sleeping form in Snape's bed.

It was hard to stay angry at an unconscious man whose forehead was knit in remembered pain. He was furious at Snape for scaring Tonks away, but he'd at least known all along that Snape was going to do something to separate them.

It could have been worse; it could have been Azkaban.

Harry rubbed his forehead, thinking of her parting smile. It hadn't seemed like she felt nothing for him. Surely if he'd just handled the situation differently… if he'd been more mature and proved to her that he wasn't just some kid…

Snape snorted in his sleep, and Harry jumped. He stared at his professor for a long moment, conscious of how loudly his own heart was thumping. He glanced wildly to the exit, and it took a concerted effort to reign in the impulse to flee before Snape woke up and... sniffed him out, or something.

He turned reluctantly back to face the injured man. He'd been wondering about Snape since Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey had hustled his inert form away. He couldn't help it, really. Snape had looked dead.

He seemed in better shape now, though… A bit paler than usual, but otherwise alright.

It made Harry nervous, recalling the strained, shallow breathing that had filled Snape's office while he waited by the unconscious professor. He'd been too shocked at the time to consider the possibility that Snape could be seriously injured. He was glad that it only occurred to him now how tense those minutes of waiting had been.

A sharp breath caught his attention. Snape stirred to life in his bed, his black eyes slipping open and gazing sightlessly up at the ceiling.

Harry nervously slinked backwards away from the bed.

Snape's head shot up, and he glared in Harry's direction, sweeping his narrowed, black eyes back and forth.

"Who's there?"

He was still glaring around intently long after Harry made his successful escape.

* * *

Two nights later, Severus was restless. Dumbledore had assured him that he'd erected wards to prevent Draco from leaving Hogwarts grounds, and he'd already summoned a team of aurors to chaperone the next trip to Hogsmeade on the oft chance Lucius tried to retrieve his son, but the news had done little to set Snape's mind at ease. He felt anxious to depart Madame Pomfrey's care, yet the Headmaster remained firmly unmoved at Snape's appeals to leave the blasted hospital wing.

His mind raced now with tactical moves he couldn't make here in bed. He was in a deadlock with Lucius. Draco was his hostage, and in a very real sense, Harry was Lucius's. It was an infuriating situation, one that prevented him from even avenging his own family... nearly every last one of whom Lucius and Bellatrix had murdered over the last two weeks.

Severus couldn't figure out how much Bellatrix knew about the people she'd killed, or the reasons why she'd done so. He hoped Lucius had played upon the woman's sheer insanity to convince her to take part in the fun, but for all he knew, she could be whispering the delicious situation with Snape's half-blood son into the Dark Lord's ear.

And here he was, stuck in bed, utterly useless.

Snape's thoughts fell silent when he heard a sound

Footsteps were brushing over the floor… Snape fought his smirk, knowing he'd caught the culprit this time, and he feigned sleep, concentrating intently.

Yes, that was a person breathing.

Well, well. So he hadn't imagined it after all, these last two nights!

Was it someone with a disillusionment charm? A prankster? A thief? Harry?

He waited until he could hear the soft breathing just a bit closer, and then his arms whipped out and seized the intruder. There was a muffled yelp of surprise, and a yank of fabric revealed his son, tangled in his grasp.

"Potter!" he snarled. "What are you doing here?"

"Let go of me!"

Snape let the boy scramble from his arms, but snared Harry's elbow when he tried to escape.

"What are you up to, skulking about in here?" Snape demanded, eyes narrowed.

"Nothing," Harry said, trying to shrug off his grip.

Snape's fingers tightened, and the boy's cheeks flushed into two angry spots of red.

"Stealing from Madame Pomfrey?" Snape asked coldly. "Or perpetrating an amusing little prank on me while I'm incapacitated?"

"No, of course not!"

"Do you deny you've been lurking here the last three nights?" Snape persisted, drawing him closer. "I heard you."

"I couldn't sleep. I was taking a walk."

"Three nights in a row? In the hospital wing?"

Harry glared at the wall beyond Snape's head. "Look, I was around. And I was just wondering if you were feeling better."

Snape snorted. "A likely story."

"Sorry if I actually worry about people," Harry retorted, then with a little sneer, "… especially after they faint right on top of me."

Snape glared at him. "I did not faint. I passed out. There is a marked difference."

It was Harry's turn to snort.

"Whatever. I won't be here again. Let me go. Deduct points… do whatever you're going to do."

Snape appraised him coolly. He simply couldn't credit the boy with that story. Visiting his most hated Professor to see if he felt any better?

Then of course, this was the same sentimental creature who had been utterly distraught when he believed he'd killed a house-elf. Who'd taken it upon himself to put Snape to bed the last time he'd undergone a bout of the Cruciatus Curse. If anyone was the type to visit an enemy simply to see if he was well-recovered, it would be Harry. He was a sickeningly considerate boy that way.

He should break Harry of that; he really should. It would lead the boy to nothing but ill.

Irritated, Snape shoved him away. "Go to bed, Potter. Five points from Gryffindor."

Harry stared at him incredulously. Snape raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Five points?" the boy echoed.

"Would you prefer I make it ten?" Snape asked sourly, wondering why the young idiot was still gawking at him.

Harry laughed in disbelief. "Here I am, out after curfew, and you're only deducting five points?"

Snape glared at him. This would have been easier a few months ago, when he could simply devise some malevolent purpose for the boy's presence here. Now, he couldn’t fool himself into thinking Harry was anything but an unusually generous person who simply worried about others. Even about him.

He should say something cutting, but his thoughts turned involuntarily back to that humiliating day, when Harry had assisted him up to his chamber. When he'd brewed Snape a potion to help with the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

It seemed unbelievable now, that he'd believed Harry relished their power reversal. He'd wanted to kill the boy when he'd refused to leave Snape in the lab, when he'd levitated him up the stairs against his protestations… He'd spent his time, shaking in agony and humiliation in the bed, thinking how delightfully smug Harry had to be feeling, seeing his greasy Potions professor cut down to size. He'd almost spat that potion back in the boy's arrogant face instead of drinking it.

But he'd been entirely wrong. Harry was not gloating, nor was he arrogant; he was simply kind. It was rather unsettling to think of that scene, and realize the boy had only wanted to alleviate another person's suffering.

He looked Harry over, remembering his words that day.

"Perhaps those Muggles left you so pathetically desperate for attention that you hope to win my affection with this. Isn't that right, Harry?"

They seemed unduly cruel now, looking back, when he understood suddenly from the invisibility cloak still bunched in one of his hands that Harry had never intended to lord Severus's weakness over his head.

Harry had been… concerned. Just as he was right now.

It gave Snape an odd feeling to realize that. He wanted to say something to counter those words he'd spoken the last time this boy had seen him in a sickbed.

"The potion over vacation…" Snape spoke up clumsily. "The Calming Draught you brewed when I was indisposed…"

Harry's brow furrowed, clearly wondering just where this was coming from.

Oh, hell. He couldn't do this.

"You added far too much asphodel. It tasted quite bitter."

"Oh…" Harry said, still confused. "Sorry about that. Erm, do you want me to let you sleep now?"

Wonderful. Now the boy clearly thought he was rambling and delirious. That wasn't what he'd intended at all.

Harry had stepped back negligibly, eyeing his invisibility cloak as though gauging whether he could slip it from Snape's grasp. He grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him forward again.

Harry's brow furrowed, and his green eyes sought Snape in confusion.

Why was this so difficult to say?

"The potion otherwise…" he fumbled for a moment, "… exceeded my expectations." At the boy's silence, he supplied, "It was not an entirely poor effort."

"Really?" Harry said, surprised. He blinked several times, then his lips twisted in certain manner that threatened to become a smile. "I— uh, I didn't think you were very happy with me."

"It alleviated my symptoms. Perhaps I should have told you so."

Snape released his grip, allowing Harry to retreat.

Harry stared at him, his expression overcome with confusion and vulnerability. Snape wondered if he even understood the significance of the admission, but he rather doubted it.

It was strange; Snape gazed at his son in the half-light of the hospital wing, and he felt a hollow ache growing in his chest. He dimly wondered if there was something wrong with him, because he was increasingly aware of an obscene sense of gratitude to the boy for actually visiting him, and he couldn't pinpoint just why he was suddenly inflicted with this horrible onslaught of sentimentality.

The same awful tenderness compelled him to reach out and gently draw the hem of the invisibility cloak back over Harry's head, trying to ignore how the boy flinched at his sudden movement. Harry's surprise melted into bewilderment as thin air swallowed his expression.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor," Snape said to the unseen form. "And you will not care for your punishment, should I catch you out after curfew again."

"Yes, sir."

Harry's voice was slightly muffled. Snape nudged the boy towards the door, and was gratified to hear his footsteps padding away.

When he was certain he was alone again in the room, Snape sagged back into the mattress. That strange, unsettling feeling lingered within him; he didn't wish to analyze it, but now his throat felt tight, and a strange weight seemed to be crushing his chest. He knew there was something wrong with him.

It just seemed entirely too strange, knowing his son had visited him in the hospital wing.

My son…

What in the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't dislodge this horrible knot in his throat, though he swallowed several times, and even rubbed at it with his fingers.

His son had actually taken the time to visit him when he was unwell.

And judging by that invisibility cloak, Harry clearly hadn't wanted to be caught. He'd just wanted to make sure Snape was— was—

Snape rolled on his side, trying to ignore the foreign sensation flooding his chest. It shouldn't mean so much… It shouldn't mean anything that the stupid boy had come to check on him.

He was a smug, arrogant, condescending little Gryffindor brat… And Severus was inwardly berating himself for his stupidity, even as he found himself indulging in the wild thought that maybe, just maybe, he could do it.

Maybe he could be a father to Harry after all.

He sneered at himself even as it occurred to him. It was impossible. Ludicrous, even!

He was no Arthur Weasley, to shower a child with kindness and affection. He was no Lucius Malfoy, to gloat and preen over his spawn's every little achievement. He was a bitter, empty shell of a man, who could look no further than his own interests.

Yet... Finding Harry hidden under that cloak shouldn't have meant a thing to him, but for the first time since learning he had a son, Snape wondered if perhaps the situation wasn't entirely impossible after all.

He wasn't sure how to be a father, he wasn't even sure how to be someone's friend… But what if he could have that thing, that asset that the Weasleys and the Malfoys and their ilk seemed to prize so highly?

Could he be a parent? Would he dare?

He gazed at the empty space where Harry had stood just moments ago, and found Lucius's words drifting back to him.

"This boy… This son of yours… Well, Severus, you're not untouchable any longer."

A cold feeling settled over him.

It was strange that only now, he knew the stakes Lucius had been playing for all along.

He could never be Harry's father. A son was too great a weakness, too potent a vulnerability.

Snape willed that strange, choking feeling of sentimentality away, disconcerted that even clearing his mind did not seem to dispel the sensation that something had stirred to life within him.

Nor could he ignore the fear that Lucius perhaps had honed in upon the perfect weakness. Malfoy had finally found something Severus couldn't bear to see destroyed.

Harry had refused consistently all year when Ron and Hermione begged him to come along to Hogsmeade, so they seemed astonished when he finally agreed.

"Really? Why, that's wonderful, Harry!" Hermione cried, and he felt slightly chagrined when she actually hugged him. "I was so worried about you a few months ago when you wouldn't leave school at all. But this will be fantastic. It'll be just like old times."

Harry smiled amiably, but inwardly he was fluttering with nervousness. It was true he was finally ready to bear the scrutiny that came along with emerging in public, but it still made him feel anxious, knowing he would be doing so at the possible expense of his classmates' safety. And then there was the matter of his motivation for going there.

He was going to confront Tonks.

He'd been thinking about their talk the last several nights, and he'd come to what was hopefully not a conclusion born of wishful thinking: she had dumped him because she thought he was too immature. And if that was the reason, well… he wanted to talk to her, because even if he was too young for her now, who was to say what would happen in a year or two?

He loved her. And he couldn't imagine that just going away. If he just told her so, maybe she'd give it more thought before cutting him off for good.

Harry felt sick with nervousness the entire way to town. The first chance he had, he came up with a flimsy pretense and parted ways with them to "go speak to Professor Lupin" about his DADA grade. As soon as they were out of sight, he began to search for Tonks.

When he actually found her, though, his anxiety grew enough that he thought he might be sick on his robes. He caught her eye and nodded towards the alley running alongside Dervish and Banges. She nodded almost imperceptibly, and joined him just a few minutes after he left.

"Harry, what is it?" she asked, looking a bit uncomfortable herself.

Funny how he'd rehearsed everything he was going to say, but the words now seemed ridiculous.

"Er, I've been thinking…" Harry rubbed his hands on his robes nervously. "And, well, you see— I was thinking about why it couldn't possibly work. And I understand. I accept that. But…"

He fell silent, suddenly too nervous to speak. She raised a questioning eyebrow, and he steeled himself, and forged on.

"Well, I know I'm still at Hogwarts, and I know we can't really do anything for now. And I'm fine with that," he added quickly. "I respect your decision on this. But, er, I thought I should tell you… I really do like you. Or, uh, love you, I mean. I love you."

Surprise washed over her face. "Oh..."

Harry raked a hand through his hair, wishing it was lying flat. He couldn't imagine how ridiculous he seemed right now, stammering through a declaration of love with his hair pointing in all directions.

"See, the way I figured it, you might have thought I was too young, or too immature, or something, to really know what I was feeling. But, well, I do... I know what I'm feeling, I mean. And I really do feel it… I do love you. And even if you don't want anything to happen now, well… I didn't want to let this just end without telling you. And I figured telling you might be the mature thing to do, right? So…"

Harry floundered for a second, then shrugged. "That's all."

"Harry," Tonks said, pressing her fingers to her lips. "Look…" she rocked back on her heels, watching him with an odd smile. "It's really sweet of you to tell me that, and I appreciate it. But… I'm not sure you know just what you're saying."

"No!" Harry protested, feeling a little irritated now. "I do. And I've really thought about this. I'm not just… pulling this from nowhere. I've known for a while how I feel, but I didn't think you'd want to hear it. And I’m just saying this now because, well, I don't want things— what we have— to simply end without you knowing. With you thinking this was just… that this meant nothing to me. Because it didn't! It meant something." He stared at her, then admitted, "It meant everything. I love you."

Tonks studied him, her brow furrowed. "Harry, this sort of thing passes quickly when you're a teenager. I fell in and out of love every week when I was at Hogwarts." She gave a self-effacing laugh. "I know you think you might love me, but Merlin… you're only sixteen."

Harry grabbed her by the arm, frustrated. "Yeah, I know I'm sixteen alright? I get it! So by your reasoning, I can't possibly have any real feelings—"

Her eyes widened. "Harry, you know I don't think that—"

"Then what?" Harry cried. "I told I love you, and you told me I have no idea what I'm talking about!"

"I just think love is a big thing, Harry, and neither of us are in a situation where it would… well, when it would work"

"Then when would it?" he demanded.

"I don't know!" She waved her hand helplessly. "Maybe it would be different after you finished Hogwarts—"

"After I finish Hogwarts? Fine!" Harry leapt on the chance. "That's all I've been asking for! And what happens then, if I'm finally old enough, and I send you an owl saying everything I've said here? If I tell you again how I feel about you, and you see it's not just a passing fancy?"

Tonks smirked. "Nothing if you do it by owl."

This was too important for Harry to laugh at her quip. "If I come find you after Hogwarts… will you take me seriously then?"

She quirked a grin. "Sure, I will."

What?

Harry's gaze shot to hers, and she chuckled at his astonished expression. "Harry, I do like you… I like you a great deal. If you graduate, and you're still up for it, I'd be perfectly ready to meet for a few drinks… and whatever happens beyond that."

He stared at her. "Really?"

"Of course!" She trailed her fingers over the palm of his hand. "I'm not saying I think we should end this forever. If you graduate from Hogwarts, and we both still feel the same way… I don't see any reason why we shouldn't pick things up again."

Harry grasped her hand; it seemed suddenly too good to be true.

"Are you sure? You're— this really isn't… it's not the end?"

She shot him a coy look, and he realized that was exactly what she was saying. On impulse, he pulled her hand to his lips. "That's—-this is fantastic!"

Tonks laughed. "A kiss on the hand… Very medieval, Harry. And oh-so-smooth."

Harry felt his face heat up, suddenly self-conscious. He wondered if he should let go of her hand. "I'm not smooth at all."

"I know you aren't." Smiling, Tonks reached up and ran her finger lightly over his cheek, her eyes twinkling into his. "I wouldn't have you any other way."

He gazed at her adoringly as they started back towards the square. Even after Tonks tripped over a rock and he tripped over her, and she lay on the ground curled up with laughter, he simply stared up into the sky in wonder at the very real possibilities lying ahead of him.

And he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

* * *

"What's with you, mate?"

"Hmm?" Harry's thoughts were drawn back to the present, where his two best friends were smirking at him from across the table in the Hog's Head.

"You haven't said a word all lunch," Ron said through his mouthful of potato.

"And you've been smiling at the wall for the last hour," added Hermione, while Ron sent an exaggeratedly suspicious look at the aforementioned wall. The girl peered at Harry keenly. "I think you have something you'd like to tell us."

Harry shook his head in fierce denial, but he was still smiling.

"Well?" Hermione said briskly. "Let's have out with it."

"Come on, Harry. You know you can't lie to us," Ron said in a mock-stern voice. "We always know."

"It's nothing!" Harry protested, but he felt himself blushing. Oh, perfect!

"I bet he's been kissing some girl," Ron said with a snigger.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, Ron, must you always—" her expression changed when she caught Harry's flustered look, and her eyes widened. "Harry Potter! Have you been holding out on us?"

"I think he has," Ron supplied helpfully.

"Well? Let's hear about all about her, then!" Hermione drew her fork to her mouth, her eye sparkling in mirth. "Is she anyone we know?"

"Guys," Harry said, his cheeks burning, "Seriously, I don't have—"

"I'll take that as a yes," Hermione said smugly. "Is she a sixth year?"

Harry felt a prickle of irritation, especially when Ron said, "No, doesn't look like. See? He would have turned redder, I bet you."

"Guys, stop it!" Harry cried, terrified his friends were going to figure out everything just from how he reacted to their questions. He started to laugh, though. "I can't believe you think I'd actually be able to keep a secret from you." He ignored Ron's pointed look, and the way the redhead actually looked like he wanted to burst with what he wasn't saying. "I don't have any secret girlfriend."

"I believe him."

All three stiffened at Draco Malfoy's snide voice. He was standing several feet away, his arms crossed, a smirk plastered on his lips, with his two hulking bodyguards looming over his shoulders.

"The only girl who would look at Potty would be one as blind as he is."

Harry adjusted his glasses self-consciously. "Get lost, Malfoy."

Malfoy smirked. "Make me."

"Ignore him," Hermione intoned from across the table. "He's not worth the bother, Harry."

"Oh, I don't know…" Ron whispered. He discretely opened his palm to show Harry the trinkets Fred and George had sent him earlier that week. Harry grinned wickedly upon spotting them.

"Care to follow up on your big mouth, Malfoy?" Harry said challengingly, thinking with glee of the tablets in Ron's hand. One needed only throw them at an opponent's feet, and for the next three minutes, the only thing their wand would do was spray silly string.

Draco looked surprised, but he cast a glance at Crabbe and Goyle, clearly not wanting to be shown up in front of them. "Fine. A Wizard's Duel. Behind the Three Broomsticks. Ten minutes."

He shot Harry a vicious look, then gestured curtly for his lackeys to follow him.

Hermione was scowling at Harry.

"Come on," Harry said. "It'll be funny."

"You shouldn't provoke him," she said in a chilly tone.

"Well, I'm going!" Ron announced, sliding from the booth and tossing his fare onto the table. "Hermione?"

She shook her head in a dignified manner. "I'll have no part in this."

Harry and Ron exchanged an exasperated look, but grins broke out on both their faces.

"Your loss."

* * *

Draco looked absolutely enraged when his Expelliarmus produced silly string that simply wouldn’t spouting from the end of his wand, and that's when Harry fired his Rictusempra. He was even more furious, doubled over, laughing uncontrollably on the ground, when Crabbe and Goyle's attempts to end the tickling hex merely produced silly string from their wands. The giggling Draco rolled helplessly into the pink sludge as he fought the invisible fingers.

Harry and Ron were doubled up with laughter. Harry was still wiping tears from his eyes when he took mercy on Draco and cancelled the tickling hex, and it was with delight that he saw the blonde Slytherin rise to his feet, shaking with rage, his expensive robes positively smeared in the pink goo.

"I'll kill you for this, Potter!" he bellowed.

His words made Harry and Ron just laugh harder, and it grew even more delightful when Draco scooped up a handful of silly string and tried throwing it at them. It drifted to the ground several feet short of the target.

"Crabbe, Goyle!" Draco cried, anguished.

The two hulking bodyguards drew forward. Harry sent Ron an uneasy look, feeling a bit threatened for the first time.

"How much longer do those things last?"

"They're about done," Ron noted scientifically. "But who cares about the duel? Expelliarmus!"

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's wands all flew from their hands. Goyle and Crabbe's dropped somewhere beneath the pink sludge all over the ground, but Harry spotted Draco's bouncing off the distant wall. Draco, luckily, hadn't seen where it had disappeared to. He cast his gray eyes around frantically, then glared at Ron.

"I'll get you back for this, Weasley," he promised coldly. "And your brothers."

"Oh, I'm terrified," Ron shot back, still grinning.

His mirth evaporated, though, when all five boys heard the sound of screaming in the distance. Harry stiffened to alertness, raising his wand. A group of aurors rushed past, and Ron shouted at them, "What's going on?"

None of them deigned to answer, but an elderly witch hurried over to them from a nearby store.

"Word's been spreading that a group of Death Eaters apparated into the outskirts of town. You'd best find your teachers, dears." Her eyes fell upon Harry, and she sent him a sympathetic smile. "Especially you, young man."

Harry rubbed his scar self-consciously as she left. Ron turned to look accusingly at Draco, who was smirking at them.

"Terrified now, Weasley?" Draco asked smugly, as they were all fully aware Lucius Malfoy might be one of the attacking Death Eaters.

"You git! I bet you KNEW about this!" Ron screamed

Draco pursed his lips thoughtfully, his eyes glowing with delight. "Death Eaters… hmm… makes me wonder if they're here to kill some Mudbloods…" A cruel smile spread across his lips. "Say, where's Granger?"

Ron's face transformed with rage, and before Harry could stop him, he slammed Draco across the face with his fist.

"RON!" Harry cried, lancing forward and grabbing the enraged redhead, raising his wand to warn off Crabbe and Goyle, who looked like they were ready to pounce.

Draco Malfoy was rapidly scrambling to his feet, blood pouring from his nose.

"You're dead, Weasley," he rasped, his gray eyes wild with fury. "I'll kill you!"

Ron laughed. "Yeah, right, Malfoy. What'll you do? Stick your daddy on me?"

Draco glared from Ron to Harry, who was still wrestling Ron back. His expression grew chillier.

"Crabbe, Goyle, forget your wands. Find mine!"

Shit. Harry was determined to get them the hell out of here before Malfoy located his wand and made this even worse than it already was. He didn't want to be some idiot wasting his time fighting Draco while the aurors were battling the actual Death Eaters.

"Come on, Ron, let's get out of here," Harry hissed in his ear.

"How can you just back down? You know he's one of them, Harry!" Ron cried, pointing accusingly at Draco as Harry continued to corral him back. "He's probably in on the attack!"

"This. Is. Not. The. Time," Harry said firmly. "Now let's go!"

As rounded the corner, Harry cast a glance backwards. Draco was still scrabbling around for his wand; he and his bodyguards had evidently failed to spot it, lying by the distant wall, and they were digging through the ankle-deep silly string at their feet.

Well, so much the better, he thought as they scrambled down the street. No harm could come from keeping Malfoy too preoccupied—

A horrific sensation of cold swept over him.

He felt fear creeping up within him, and his grip remained locked on his friend. Harry's eyes sought Ron's, and he found his own terror reflected in the redhead's expression.

Dementors.

"Harry! Ron! Where have you been!"

Harry felt a wave of relief as Hermione ran up to them, her brown hair wild about her shoulders; she looked visibly worse for wear, and ran concerned, brown eyes over their bedraggled appearances.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked her, Draco seemingly forgotten.

"I'm fine, but Parvati was hit by a stray Reductor Curse," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "We need to get Harry to the center of the town; I overheard Shacklebolt saying something about securing a perimeter." Her voice lowered to a whisper, her eyes intent. "And I bet you feel that, too."

Both boys shuddered. They didn't need her to warn them that Dementors were nearby.

"Come on!" Ron said, grasping Harry's arm. He was a bit put-out to feel Hermione's hand slip around his other.

"Hey— what you doing?" Harry asked, looking at the secure hold his friends had on each limb. "I feel like I'm being marched to the guillotine or something."

"Harry, we all know how much they'd love to find you, here," Hermione replied tartly as they rounded the corner.

Their expressions were all strained; Harry could feel her hand trembling on his arm. The Dementors, wherever they were, were drawing closer.

Harry took another three steps before he realized they'd left Draco back there, still looking for his wand.

Death Eaters might be able to distinguish between their friends and foes, but he sincerely doubted a Dementor would pass up feasting on Draco or his cronies simply because he bore a resemblance to Lucius Malfoy.

"Oh, shit. Ron! Hermione!" He shook from their grip and pulled back. "We need to make sure Malfoy has his wand back. I bet he's the only one of those three who can cast a Patronus."

Ron stared at him, wide-eyed. "Are you crazy? The Dementors could be there already!"

Harry's heart leapt in fear. "Then we have to go now!"

He whipped around and set off in a run back to where they'd been. Somewhere behind him, he heard Hermione saying breathlessly, "Harry's right, Ron…"

He'd seen where Draco's wand had fallen. All he had to do was point it out, and…

Harry's heart froze in his chest when he rounded the corner, spotting Crabbe and Goyle shivering back against the wall as one Dementor drew closer, Draco pale and stock-frozen in front of the ragged form of a second one.

For a long moment, Harry's fear threatened to drown him as horrible images assaulted his eyes.

… Sirius was falling back through the veil…

The Dementor was reaching out to take Draco into its grasp…

"Bow to death, Harry… it might even be painless…"

He forced himself to think of pleasant memories. Something wonderful.

Something… Tonks. The smile on her face when she told him it wasn't over. The hope that blossomed within him when he realized there was something good for him in his future…

He felt his heart swell with joy, and his voice was strong as it rang out, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The Patronus shot from his wand in a blinding flash, and the Dementors retreated before the charging stag. The overwhelming cold crept from the air as Crabbe and Goyle's terrified faces, numb with fear, slowly unfroze.

Draco had collapsed on the ground where the Dementor had cornered him. Feeling a niggling fear that he'd been too late, Harry drew a step closer to the fallen Malfoy.

A pale, pointed face shot up, the gray eye large and wild with fright. Draco looked absolutely ashen, and he stared at Harry sightlessly for a long moment before he seemed to understand just who had rescued him.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked gently.

"What are you playing at, Potter?" Draco demanded in a trembling voice.

"Just because we hate each other doesn't mean I'd leave you to a Dementor, Draco," Harry said softly. He spotted Draco's wand on the ground, summoned it, and tossed it back over to the other boy.

Draco stared up at him incredulously. His limbs trembled where he was crouched on the ground, and his hand shook as it wrapped around his wand. He swayed, and didn't look like he had the strength to stand.

"Here—" Harry offered, drawing closer.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Draco screamed, lurching to his feet and away from Harry's proffered hand. Harry let it drop to his side. "JUST STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, POTTER!"

Harry raised his hands in surrender. Draco stared at him with a mixture of anger and fear as he staggered drunkenly back several steps. Then, with no further adieu, he whipped around and ran. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a confounded glance before lumbering after him.

Harry shot a baffled look to Ron and Hermione, lurking several feet behind him.

Really, Draco could at least have—

Lost in thought, he didn't see them coming. But Hermione did.

"HARRY, NO!"

Her cry was drowned out by the a loud, splitting noise of an unknown curse filling the air. Harry whirled around just in time to see the bright orange streak the Death Eater sent his way before he was shoved bodily aside.

It slammed square into Hermione's chest.

"HERMIONE!"

He was vaguely aware of Ron's anguished cry as the redhead fired a curse back at the Death Eater. He didn't notice three other Death Eaters emerging from the shadows. He only saw Hermione crumple soundlessly to the ground, and Harry caught her as she fell.

"Hermione. HERMIONE!" he shouted, afraid to shake her limp form, horrified at her ashen face.

Oh, no. NO! Don't let her be dead! Don't let her be dead!—

He almost screamed in fury when he felt strong arms lock around him, hauling him up and away from her. Harry fought wildly against the grip, but he heard the familiar voice behind him, "It's just me, Harry."

It was Remus.

"Remus— Hermione— she's—" he choked, still fighting Remus's grip. Why was Remus dragging him back? He was taking him away from her! She was hurt, damn it, didn't Remus SEE that?

"Leave her! There are too many!" Remus yelled, and with a firm tug yanked Harry away. "We need to get you out of here!"

"HERMIONE!" Harry screamed, struggling against Remus's unyielding grasp. Curses streaked through the air about him, but he fought Remus. All he could register was that they were leaving her out there, where anyone could get her! They were leaving her to die!

He cried out in frustration when he couldn't throw off Remus's grip. The larger, older man ignored his struggles, and forced him inside Madame Puddifoot's, then to the floor behind the front counter, pinning Harry's body with his own and raising his wand towards the open doorway. Harry screamed at him.

"Let me up, LET ME UP! She's hurt!"

"There's nothing you can do for her, Harry," Remus said breathlessly, sweat dripping from his forehead as he kept his wand level. "One of the aurors will take care of her. STUPEFY! STUPEFY!"

The Death Eater fell just as he charged through the door. The one behind him dodged to the side, and Remus's curse just grazed him. He appeared again suddenly.

"REDUCTO!" The Death Eater bellowed, and the counter splintered over their heads.

Remus ducked, and Harry pried his own wand from between their bodies and stuck it between the shredded pieces of wood. "STUPEFY!"

The Death Eater crashed to the floor.

"Good shooting, Harry," Remus panted, patting him on the back.

Harry chose that moment to shove himself upright, but Remus grabbed the back of his neck and forced him back to the floor, hard.

"No… Remus—"

"You're not going anywhere!."

"They need me out there!" Harry rasped, thinking with sick horror of Hermione, lying on the ground with everyone fighting around her. She could be dying… dead… And he'd just left her there…

"They. Don't. Need. You," Remus said through gritted teeth. "You go out there, you'll just get yourself killed."

"I can help them…" Harry pleaded, shoving himself upright again. "I can save someone—"

Remus slammed him back down. "Or you can GET SOMEONE KILLED! Didn't you learn anything after Sirius?"

Harry caught his breath. He lay crushed beneath Remus, feeling as though the other man had just punched him in the stomach.

The sounds of the fighting continued to drift in from the doorway. Still panting, Remus slumped on top of him, his breath rasping harshly in Harry's ear. His grip eased up negligibly when he seemed to realize Harry was no longer fighting him.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he whispered in the younger man's ear. "I shouldn't have said that."

Harry felt frozen beneath him, like he'd turned to ice. Somewhere out there, Hermione was lying injured, possibly dead, and he felt like he'd suddenly lost all the strength in his body.

"I didn't mean that," Remus said gently. "I didn't mean to imply— Harry, I don't blame you for what happened to Sirius. I didn't mean it."

Oh, yes you did… Harry thought, feeling cold. You did, and you know it.

So… Remus thought he'd killed Sirius. It was probably a bit stupid of Harry, to not have realized earlier that was the reason Remus's smiles hadn't reached his eyes, why his affection seemed so strained. He, too, knew about Harry's responsibility in Sirius's death. And he didn't care about Harry any longer because of it.

He really should have expected it. Why hadn't he seen this coming?

Harry felt a dull sense of shame, and wished he could just sink into the floor beneath him.

Remus eased his weight from Harry, and settled behind the counter next to him. Harry eased himself upright with shaky arms and sat back on his heels, unable to bring himself to look at the other wizard.

"Harry…"

He felt Remus's gentle touch on his arm and stiffened.

"Please, Harry, I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

Harry flinched back from that sad, terrible gaze, from Remus's touch, and circled his arms around his knees, his back pressed against the far side of the counter.

"Harry, I truly didn't," Remus pleaded softly. "You know that, don't you? I didn't mean it."

His heard thudded in his ears, but he nodded stiffly, sensing that Remus wouldn't let this drop until he did. He was aware of Remus's worried gaze lingering on him long after he forced a shaky smile and turned his eyes upwards to the ceiling.

A half-hour passed, as he crouched miserably in the shop with his lone sentinel, listening to the battle rage behind them. He pretended the words didn't bother him, and that Remus hadn't truly meant him, but the truth hung on the air between them like a toxin.

He knew in his heart that there was no more use pretending.

Wormtail whimpered as Harry pressed his finger to the Dark Mark on his forearm. Bellatrix's gleeful voice carried on in the background.

"… simply marvelous, Master…" Bellatrix plucked up her blood-sodden robes delicately, as though preparing to curtsey. "The children were screaming, and we lured the aurors from the perimeter and straight to Macnair. They were surrounded… you could practically taste their fear—"

Harry's attention strayed to Malfoy, who stood half-hidden in the shadows, looking irate.

"You are displeased, Lucius," Harry noted in a thin, cold voice. "I find that strange, given the success of your raid."

Lucius jumped to attention, and Bellatrix fell respectfully silent.

"Of course I am pleased, Master." Harry's eyes narrowed as Lucius clearly fumbled for an excuse. "I am merely… disgusted." At Harry's severe look, Lucius gestured to Bellatrix. "It's indecent for her to appear before you in that state!"

Bellatrix smiled down at her ruined attire. "Afraid of a little blood, cousin?"

Lucius watched her with unvarnished disdain. "You are filthy. And you smell. Such a crude method of slaying— conjuring a knife? Are we now stooping to the level of Muggles?… Not to mention, I distinctly recall Narcissa spending several thousand galleons buying you that robe. I will not permit her to waste thousands more buying you a new one!"

Bellatrix issued a cackling laugh, fingering the blood-soaked fabric. "You have no appreciation for art, dear cousin… dear brother. You should have seen her face… She was already half a Muggle, so I thought it fitting to kill her like one."

"I would refrain from criticizing Bella, my miserly friend," Harry warned him, his lips curling in amusement at the scene. "A cousin, and now a niece… I rather think she could dispose of a brother-in-law."

"That half-blood filth was no relative of mine," Bellatrix spat, before added in a deferential purr, "If it pleases you, Master."

Harry felt a flare of irritation at Bellatrix for contradicting him, but the crack of wizards apparating—

"Harry, wake up."

Harry opened his eyes, trying desperately to cling to the fleeting details of his latest vision. His scar throbbed like a jackhammer pounding his forehead. Remus was shaking him awake. Apparently the carriage had finally arrived at Hogwarts, after taking a long, roundabout route to avoid any Death Eaters hoping to ambush the Boy Who Lived.

It took a moment for it all to come back to him.

Hogsmeade. The attack. Hermione.

"Hermione!" Harry said breathlessly.

"She'll already be in the Hospital Wing," Remus said gently. "Harry, I—"

Harry slipped under his arm and ran.

* * *

Snape finally made his way out of the Hospital Wing as the victims of the attack upon Hogsmeade flooded in. His mark was burning, and the Headmaster's faint nod of approval sent him rushing from Hogwarts grounds to apparate to his other master.

The meeting was largely a self-congratulatory one. Snape's only role was to report exactly how many aurors had been killed— nine, with two in critical condition— and from there it degenerated into the Dark Lord perching in his makeshift throne as his followers praised his cunning.

It wasn't until the inner circle retreated to a smaller sanctum, and the masks came off, that Snape saw Lucius for the first time since their confrontation. He looked for all the world like he was sulking because his Master had received all the credit for the Hogsmeade attack he himself had planned.

But Snape knew better.

Lucius had planned that attack with the sole object of retrieving his own son amidst the chaos. Snape had encountered the shaken boy in the hospital wing, so Lucius had clearly failed.

He sidled up to Malfoy, who for his part, ignored him.

"A fine attempt, Lucius," Snape whispered. "Do you realize you nearly got your own son kissed by a Dementor? He had to be rescued. By Harry Potter."

Lucius glanced at him sharply, abandoning his show of indifference.

"Yes, you nearly killed your own son," Snape said softly, smiling. "He soiled himself in the carriage on the way back to Hogwarts… he was so very terrified."

Lucius's expression hardened. "You lie."

"I was there when they brought him into the Hospital Wing," Snape reminded him coldly. "How would he feel, knowing his own father had orchestrated the attack that nearly killed him?"

"You stay away from my son!" Lucius rasped.

"Then cease this foolishness, and accept that we are even!"

"Even?" Lucius hissed. "You have robbed me of my dignity, my position—"

"I could still take a good deal more," Snape warned him coldly. "Our Master's suspicions about your loyalty may have waned, but it would be easy enough to stir them back to life."

Lucius glared at him. "You have my son, Severus. That is the only reason I might indulge you in a temporary truce." He drew himself to his fullest height, looming over Snape malevolently. "But I swear, you will not have him for much longer. And your precious Sept—"

"Do not speak that name!" Snape snarled. "Will your idiocy compound your failure—"

"What failure?"

Bellatrix's sharp voice startled both men. She'd swept soundlessly up to them, and Snape saw his own unease fleetingly reflected in Lucius's expression.

"A Potions matter," Snape said smoothly, a smile curling over his lips. "Lucius has been unsuccessful in his attempts to secure me the necessary elements for an elixir he commissioned."

"All in good time, Severus," Lucius purred. "I told you to have patience." For once, it worked to Severus's benefit that Lucius was an accomplished liar.

Bellatrix glanced between the two speculatively for a long moment. The careful scrutiny threatened to shred Snape's last nerves. He knew the woman was mad, and worse, trusted above all others by the Dark Lord. Although Lucius had somehow utilized her in the hunt for Septimus without revealing the boy's relation to Snape— and for the life of him, Severus couldn't guess how— he dared not pique her curiosity now.

Evidently, he was not the focus of her interest. Her eyes settled like two hard flints upon Malfoy.

"Now, now, Severus… my dear cousin can never be counted upon to deliver his promises." She stalked over to Malfoy, scorn dripping from her voice. "He promised me a delicious present, raised my poor hopes, only to break little Bella's heart in the end. I fear he's not worthy of our trust."

"I've already told you, Bella, that I'll get it for you later…" Lucius's said patiently, "Or maybe something even better."

"Thank you," Bellatrix said in a soft, lethal voice, "but I don't care for your empty words. In the future I'll look elsewhere…"

Snape felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest as she swept past them; he always felt uncomfortable under the woman's fanatical eyes.

But he stiffened when she halted, and whirled around with an eerie grin. Luckily, her attention was still directed towards Malfoy.

"Think, dear brother… that's two Black sisters now who have given up upon you satisfying their needs!"

Lucius paled in mortification.

With a cruel, bubbly laugh, Bellatrix sauntered away. Malfoy stared after her darkly, looking ready to strangle someone.

Apparently he decided that someone was Severus, because the glare he sent him was filled with deadly promise. "This is your fault, Severus!"

"With your diminished status, Julian was certain to surface," Snape said dismissively. "Your wife's wayward interest is simply too great a humiliation to remain secret for long."

Don't say it… Don't say it…

It was too great a dig to resist.

"I wonder, though," Snape added softly, smiling maliciously. "What is more humiliating? The inadequacy that drove your wife from you, or the passive acceptance you evince towards her taking another lover?"

He wanted to feel that old satisfaction when Lucius stormed away, but instead there was a sick feeling of dread that he'd somehow made matters worse.

How could they be worse? He's already doing his utmost to destroy me… to destroy Harry…

That damn boy. If it weren't for him, he could sit back and enjoy Lucius's enmity, and wait with anticipation for the moment he could counter Malfoy's next move. Now he had to worry about whether Lucius's next blow would be directed at him, or at Septimus.

The blasted Weasleys treated parenthood like one exciting, rewarding romp. Severus was merely finding it the doorway to an entirely new realm of fears.

* * *

It had never taken him so long to get to the Hospital Wing. Corridors led into corridors, stairs stretched endlessly above him. It was with such profound relief that he finally approached it, that he didn't even notice Draco Malfoy until the other boy grabbed his arm and yanked him to an abrupt halt.

"What, Malfoy?" he asked tersely, his every muscle tight with restless energy. He didn't want to talk to Malfoy now. He didn't have time for this!

"I don't know what you thought you were doing," Draco said viciously, his pale, pointed face menacing in the torchlight, "but we're not friends. I'm not going to suddenly forgive you for the past six years because you decided to show off your Patronus. So don't expect me to fawn over you now like all those other idiots."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Malfoy. I don't care!"

He shot past Draco, but the other boy grasped his arm again and pulled him back.

"Why did you do it, then?" Draco demanded in a trembling voice. "What do you want from me?"

Harry trailed his eyes to Draco's gray ones, marveling that he could still pity the other boy even through his terrible worry for Hermione. Draco couldn’t conceive of helping another person without some motive for personal gain.

Harry pulled tentatively at his grip. "I don't want anything from you, Draco… I told you I wasn't just going to let you die."

"Such a hero!" Draco sneered.

Harry glared at him. "People do help others for no reason… Not everyone's like your father."

Draco's fingers tightened. "Don't you dare talk about my father, Potter!"

Harry managed to yank his arm from Draco's grip.

"Just leave me alone!"

He shoved past the other boy who persisted in blocking the doorway and plunged into the hospital wing, forgetting Draco the instant he drew aside a curtain and caught sight of Hermione's prone form.

Harry's heart leapt fearfully in his chest at how ill she looked, and a physical sensation of pain twisted inside him.

Oh, Hermione…

Ron was already at her side, one of her hands clenched convulsively in his. Harry drew quickly to the side of the bed and grasped her other. It felt cold. Why was she so cold?

Ron stirred across from him.

"She won't wake up," he muttered without looking at Harry, his expression gloomy. "They don't know what's wrong with her, and they don't know if they'll be able to fix it."

Harry clutched her more tightly, wishing he'd heard the name of the hex. For the life of him, he couldn't recall the words the Death Eater had spoken before firing that horrible orange light. He hadn't heard a thing.

It shouldn't be her lying there. It was aimed at him. This would have been so much easier if it was him…

His anger flared, at himself, at Remus… Remus…

But the fury died. It hurt too much. He couldn't bear to think about Remus, even to hate him for pulling him from Hermione's side. He'd lost Remus in one very real sense, and he was in danger of losing Hermione in a much more terrible one.

And Ron… he couldn't imagine how this was for Ron. Harry turned his concerned gaze from Hermione to his other friend. He trailed his eyes up over Ron's tense form. The redhead looked entirely washed out with anxiety, his freckles a stark contrast against pale skin.

He felt he should say something reassuring; one of them had to be the strong one, right? And even if he wanted to be sick with anxiety over what might happen to Hermione, there was no reason he should add to Ron's fears.

"She'll be okay," Harry told him, trying to sound confident. "You know she will. And by the end of the week, she'll be fussing at us for not studying, I'd bet."

Ron grimaced, but said nothing.

"I heard on the way back that you saved an auror's life using the silly string jinx," Harry said tentatively, hoping to distract him. "Erm, good thinking."

Ron's expression darkened.

"I had to do something." He looked at Harry for the first time. "You weren't there."

Harry felt something inside him wither with shame, because it was true. His friends had been left fighting for their lives while he was cowering in Madame Puddifoot's…

"Dumbledore ordered Remus to keep me out of the battle. He said there were aurors…" Harry said numbly. "He said they were right behind him…"

"Yeah, they were, okay? But that doesn't matter You left us!" Ron's voice rose. "She was lying there, dying, and you weren't there!"

Harry wanted to shrink into the floor with misery. "I'm sorry. I couldn't— I didn't have any—"

"She was only there because YOU HAD TO HELP MALFOY!" Ron bellowed. "And you left her! YOU LEFT US!"

"Mr. Weasley!" Madame Pomfrey's sharp voice was punctuated by the mediwitch's head popping through the curtain gap. "I will have to ask you to leave if you do not lower your voice!"

Ron's face was bright red, and he glared at the wall in silent fury until she retreated. His voice was softer, but it shook with anger as he resumed his attack.

"You threw your friends over for Malfoy, and now she's probably going to die! I hope you're happy!"

"I'm sorry…" Harry fumbled for something to say. "You know I'm so—"

"Why are you even here?" Ron demanded hatefully. "Why don't you just go off with your pal, Malfoy? I saw him waiting in the hallway out there!"

"Ron, I—

"JUST GO AWAY! HAVEN'T YOU DONE ENOUGH?"

"Mr. Weasley!" cried Madame Pomfrey, storming through the curtains. "I have sleeping patients! That is quite enough from you—"

Whatever she said, Harry didn't hear. He plunged through the curtains and out into the dim light of the hospital wing. It took his brain a moment to catch up with his body.

Hermione was dying, at it was his fault. It was his—

For the first time, he noticed bed after bed of injured students. There had to be dozens of them… He hadn't realized just how many had been hurt.

Was it me? he wondered, horrified at the prospect. Were the Death Eaters after me? Is this my fault?

There had been Hogsmeade trips all year. They hadn't been attacked until he'd joined them!

Harry staggered out of the Hospital Wing in a daze. Was it just a coincidence? Were there ever coincidences? It couldn't be an accident that the one time he'd gone to Hogsmeade was the one time the students had been attacked.

How could he possibly be the person destined to save the wizarding world when all he did was get other people killed?

He wished someone would just tell him if this was his fault. If only he could trust Dumbledore to answer him honestly.

But Dumbledore had lied to him before. He'd lied about Sirius, saying it wasn't Harry's fault. Harry had known the truth. And apparently— and it made his heart wrench to realize it— apparently Remus had, too.

His hand found its way to his aching scar, and he rubbed at it furiously. There was always that temptation to start scratching at it again, but nothing— even clawing the very skin from his head— would rid him of it. It was there forever. His curse, to destroy everything he touched.

He made his way to one of the parapets just outside the castle and slumped against it, unable to face the prospect of returning to Gryffindor just yet, and confronting dozens of accusing faces.

Ron blamed him for Hermione… with reason. Remus blamed him for Sirius… again, with reason. And what if the Hogsmeade attack was his fault? What would he—

Voices made their way to his ears, and Harry pressed himself back against the wall. The last thing he wanted was someone pestering him about just why he was out here.

"… devastating. We'll need years to recoup our numbers after this."

"How many aurors did we lose, Kingsley?"

"Ten. McFarlane is still hanging in there, but Calixtus was dead before he could reach Saint Mungo's…"

Harry barely dared to breathe until their voices faded into the distance. It was only when he felt he was alone again that he pondered their words.

Aurors. They'd lost ten aurors.

For the first time since the attack, Harry's fearful thoughts turned to Tonks. She'd been there. He hoped she was alright. Surely she was fine…

He felt cold and afraid. He felt his scar twinge painfully, and rubbed at it. Maybe he'd send Tonks an owl, just to see how she was. He was worrying over nothing… It had to be nothing.

He fought against the turn of his thoughts, but something stirred in his memory.

Bellatrix, her robes covered in blood, grinning maniacally beneath dark, heavy-lidded eyes. "That half-blood filth was no relative of mine."

Ten dead aurors.

And Bellatrix Lestrange had killed a relative… a half-blood.

"A cousin, and now a niece…" Sirius was the cousin. A niece. That could only be...

No, he would not even think that.

But the horrible suspicion crept up upon him.

"She was already half a Muggle, so I thought it fitting to kill her like one…"

No. It was impossible.

She was fine. He was being paranoid. It was just the attack, Remus, Hermione, and Ron… he was under stress. He was anxious. Tonks would be just fine; he'd talked to her earlier, hadn't he? And she'd promised him that she'd give him a chance once he was out of Hogwarts. They had plans. They couldn't have just… reconciled today, and then have it end this way. Things didn't happen that way!

He wasn't aware of rising to his feet, much less running up to the owlery, and writing out his note. Harry found himself shivering in the night air, watching Hedwig flap away into the darkness, the white paper tied to her claw.

He stood there for hours, barely noticing the chilly air that seeped into his limbs, his very bones, or the cloudy breath that swirled before his numbed cheeks. He did not notice the sky steadily gathering light, black turning into purple. He just knew she was okay, she had to be, because the alternative would simply be too horrible to contemplate.

He only returned to awareness once Hedwig swooped back down with a paper tied to her leg. Tonks had sent him a reply. Sweet relief flooded his chest, and Harry eagerly tore the note open.

I HEARD SOME AURORS WERE HURT. WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OKAY? PLEASE WRITE ME BACK.

His stomach dropped. It was his note. He'd sent it to her, and it had come right back to him.

There was no one else to receive it.

Tonks was dead.

Remus Lupin felt awful as he arrived in the Great Hall that morning, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. His head was throbbing with a dull headache, and even the torches seemed to conspire against him, their flickering orange light burning directly into his eyes. He squinted against them and just made out the coffee that appeared before him on the staff table.

Lupin sighed as he picked it up, his mind turning back to what he'd said to Harry just the day before…. those words he'd spoken in anger, the ones he'd never intended to say.

It was just a slip, but it was an unforgivable one.

What would James say? Sirius?

It was supposed to be a private resentment, his dirty secret. That low-burning anger… He'd believed it would simply disappear, given some time. He'd hoped one day to simply look at Harry and see him as that boy he loved again, rather than as the reckless teenager who had led Sirius to his death. He'd hoped to spare Harry the knowledge of the terrible thoughts running through his head.

But in one moment of anger, he'd ruined any chance of that.

He was ashamed to admit it-- even to himself-- but there had been something terribly liberating about finally letting Harry know how he felt, even if he had hurt him.

And Merlin, how it must have hurt him!

At the thought of it, Remus felt his chest flood with shame.

He needed to speak to Harry today, to set things right. And maybe… maybe he needed to follow the advice of Severus, of all people.

"I suggest you get over it, Lupin. Your dearly departed friend is gone."

He should simply get over it.

Funny how he'd resolved to do just that every morning since he'd returned to Hogwarts, only to sink back under that disquieting anger that had lingered like some illness since losing Sirius. He wanted to cast aside his resentment towards Harry, but it would be as easy to tear off his own legs. It was just something that refused to die away, no matter how he tried to force it down.

Why couldn't he just forgive Harry?

Or better yet, why couldn't he accept that there was nothing to forgive? That Harry was a sixteen-year-old kid who'd merely been trying to save someone he loved? Who'd been tricked by an older, more powerful wizard?

Because he'll do it again, whispered some voice in the back of his thoughts, and Remus found himself remembering Harry, struggling in his arms just the day before, trying to return to the battle. Harry, charging after Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry, running straight towards the veil.

He is going to get himself killed, too. JUST LIKE SIRIUS.

His hand clenched into a fist on the tabletop.

He'd known… hell, everyone had known, that Sirius's recklessness would one day be the end of him. Anyone who had seen him, prowling restlessly like some caged beast in Grimmauld Place, would have realized that the man would one day charge into a violent fate. Even Remus had known that, however much he'd wanted to blind himself to it.

And Harry would do the same thing.

Harry… reckless, foolhardy Harry… charging into a battle with Death Eaters, hoping to defend his friends when he was their primary target…

Remus didn't want to go through it again. He didn't want to watch another person he loved die.

He was angry with Harry for what had happened to Sirius… but he was even angrier for what he'd done right after losing Sirius, for running straight at that veil, and for nearly meeting the exact same fate… for every opportunity since, when he'd reaffirmed that he truly didn't give a damn if people cared about him, he was simply going to throw his life away at the first possible juncture.

He cared about Harry, and Harry owed him more than that.

And Sirius had owed him more than that!

Maybe, though, he owed Harry a good deal more, too.

He'd thought simply burying his emotions would make them vanish. He'd believed Harry would remain blissfully ignorant of what he was feeling, and eventually he could step right back into the boy's life without creating any new scars.

But if Severus was to be believed… Hell, if his own instincts were to be believed, he'd been less successful at hiding his emotions than he'd thought. And what he'd said to Harry yesterday…

Well, there was no more hiding it now.

I've handled this the wrong way. Remus looked over the students just starting to trickle into the Great Hall, searching for that familiar head of black hair. I need to speak to him... I need to come clean.

What would he say, though? How could he possibly resolve this without hurting Harry further?

And where was Harry?

Remus sighed, knowing that in all likelihood Harry was merely sleeping in. And perhaps it was for the best. Yesterday had been hard… for all of them. There were still dozens of students in the hospital wing, and they'd lost two members of the Order of Phoenix.

Remus rolled up his issue of the Daily Prophet and rose to his feet, resolving to speak to Harry later. And he'd throw the newspaper away later, too… just as soon as he could bear to part with it. It had taken him three reads of the article profiling the lost aurors to really let the news sink through his head. Nymphadora Tonks…

He'd become fairly close to her over the last two years, through both their work in the Order and her occasional visit in Grimmauld Place. It was a blow, knowing they'd lost her. She was young… far too young. What was she-- twenty-three? Twenty-four…?

His thoughts occupied him as he strolled into the corridor just arching off the main one into the Great Hall. And then a familiar scent stopped him dead in his tracks.

Harry…

He couldn't see anyone; if it weren't for his acute sense of smell-- one of the few perks to being a werewolf-- he wouldn't have been aware anyone was in the hallway with him. Harry had to be wearing his invisibility cloak.

Remus strained his ears, and he could just hear the faint scuff of footsteps as someone tried to sneak past him.

"Harry?"

The footsteps halted, but there was no response.

"Harry, I know you're here."

He could hear someone exhale shakily. Had Harry been holding his breath? Trying to hide?

"Harry," Remus said, his voice sterner. "Answer me."

"What?"

He heard it somewhere in front of him. Harry's voice was rough and rang of belligerence, as though the word had been dragged from him.

"I didn't see you at breakfast. I'd like to speak to you."

There was a long moment of silence.

"What is it?" Harry said at last, his voice muffled by the cloak.

Lupin sighed, staring at the empty corridor before him. "Could you please take off the cloak, Harry?"

He could hear Harry's breathing grow more rapid, but no corresponding movement to indicate the boy would do as he'd asked.

"Please, Harry."

There was something strangely sad about Harry's refusal to remove the cloak, almost as though Harry believed that if no one could see him, no one could hurt him. It reminded Remus of a child trying to hide from his imaginary monsters, and he felt a pang of sadness at the reminder of just how young Harry still was.

His anger, whatever remained of it, dwindled away into a dark pit, leaving him suddenly feeling drained and empty, and very guilty for what he'd said the day before.

"Harry, please. Take off the cloak."

His voice must have sounded as exhausted as he suddenly felt, because he finally turned the tide of whatever internal debate Harry was holding. The boy reluctantly tugged the cloak aside to reveal the back of his slumped head, and a glimpse of his shoulder; the rest of the cloak remained firmly fixed in place, leaving Remus in the odd position of speaking to a head floating in the air.

"Thank you," Remus said graciously, trying not to smile at the strangeness of the scene. "Can you turn around, too?"

Harry reluctantly turned. Remus had expected despair, or maybe anger. He was surprised at the complete absence of expression on the younger wizard's face.

"What is it?" Harry asked flatly, watching him through empty green eyes.

"Harry, I--" Remus faltered for a moment, slightly daunted in the face of the boy's stoicism. "I just wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday…"

"You already did that. I told you, it's fine," Harry said gruffly, and Remus heard his cloak rustle in a way that made him suspect the boy was about to pull it back over his head.

"No, it's not fine, Harry!" Remus said, stepping forward and grabbing Harry's invisible shoulder to stop him from retreating.

Dull green eyes rose to his, and Harry watched him in a listless way that made Remus feel a twinge of worry.

"What I said… it was out of line. I was-- it's just been hard, Harry… it's been hard for both of us, losing Sirius." His hand tightened around Harry's shoulder. "When you lose someone you love, it's difficult, finding ways to understand it… You'd know that as well as I would. I've been-- I'll admit that I've been placing blame, or feeling angry, when I shouldn't have. But I never meant to hurt you, Harry. I never meant to say that to you. It was wrong of me, and I feel terrible about it."

"It's fine," Harry repeated, pulling away from Remus's grip. "I'm over it. It's not a problem."

"You don't look fine," Remus observed, taking in Harry's hollowed eyes, the faint, downward crease of his lips.

Harry looked anywhere but at him. "It's fine. Hermione's just-- you know about Hermione."

He took a step closer, and Harry skittered back like a frightened animal. Remus felt the first, faint note of alarm.

"Do you need anything, Harry?" Remus asked, genuinely concerned now. "You truly don't look well."

"No," Harry answered shortly, before his eyes found Remus's, and finally there appeared a first flash of anger in them. "What do you want from me?"

"Har--"

"Why are you pretending you still care?" Harry cried, retreating several steps further. "I know what you think of me!"

"I do care," Remus whispered.

Harry continued to back away, but he wobbled suddenly, as though his balance had nearly given out. A loud thwack echoed through the corridor as something fell out from under his cloak. Remus had just the briefest glimpse of the title-- Familial Bonds and Mag-- before Harry stooped down and snatched it up quickly, pulling it protectively back under the invisibility cloak.

"What's that book?" Remus asked, peering at Harry questioningly.

"It's mine!" Harry snarled.

"All right," Remus said gently, recognizing a clear sign it wasn't any of his business. Harry was darting his eyes towards the door, and Remus drew closer, worried he was going to try to run away. "Listen, Harry, please… just hear me out. What I said yesterday… I never intended to say that--"

"I know you didn't!" Harry said bitterly. "You probably wouldn't have said anything, just kept avoiding me all year, right?"

He withdrew several more steps, and Remus circled around to place himself between the younger wizard and his escape route.

"The way I've been acting, it's inexcusable, and I know that…"

"You think it's my fault, what happened to Sirius." Pain crept into Harry's expression, and Remus felt his heart wrench.

He'd never wanted to hurt Harry… Never…

Harry wasn't finished. "You think it… you said that…" Harry drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "But… you were right. I shouldn't have gone that night. Or I should have talked to someone, to Snape--"

"It's in the past, now, Harry," Remus found himself saying, and strangely, meaning it. "I was upset, irrationally so, for a long time. I-- Harry, it's never been easy for me to make friends. Being what I am-- being a werewolf-- there are so few people who can look past that. They were my friends… my only friends. It hurt, and it hurt terribly, to lose Sirius again. Especially after losing your father--"

"James?" Harry interrupted, his eyes unnaturally bright.

"Yes, after losing James and Lily. But I was wrong to direct that anger towards you. I can only hope you'll forgive--"

Harry shot him an odd, slanted look. "Why would you want my forgiveness? It's my fault, what happened to Sirius." His smile was bitter, and far too old. "It's my fault for a lot of things. I've done-- my mistakes are-- but why, Remus? Why does this matter? Is it because of my father?"

"Your father?" Remus echoed blankly.

Harry's expression grew fevered, and he crept imperceptibly closer, as though he needed to see Remus more clearly.

"You pulled me out of the fight yesterday. Why are you bothering? Why didn't you just let them kill me?"

Remus stared at him, appalled. Harry couldn't seriously think he'd stopped caring about him altogether, could he?

"Is it because of James?" Harry pressed on. "Because-- because if it is, you don't need to bother anymore. Not really." He drew a shaky breath, and something like resolve stole over his expression. "James is not-- he's not my father, you know."

"What on earth are you talking about, Harry?"

"Snape's my father." Harry tried to smile, or at least it seemed like it, but it came out as a grimace. "Not James. James never was my father."

"Harry, of course he's your father," Remus said, wondering why on earth Harry was speaking this way.

Harry shook his head quickly, a strange smile creeping across his lips. "No, no he's not. I found out-- Snape and I found out this year. You can ask Dum-- no, I can show you!"

And before Remus could get his mind around to what was happening, Harry thrust his wand out from within his invisibility cloak and pointed it at his own face, whispering a word over and over.

Lupin stared on, utterly confused, as Harry dismantled his own appearance. First the skin, then the nose and the cheekbones, the hair…

"Harry, what are you doing?" Remus demanded.

The boy whispered the spell once more, and then lowered his wand, blinking at Lupin through familiar green eyes from an utterly unfamiliar face.

"This is it," Harry announced. "See? No James, not anywhere. Your… obligation, or whatever it is, it's done. It's ended, see?"

"What have you done to yourself?" Remus whispered, staring uncomprehendingly at the younger wizard. Was it some sort of glamour? Why would Harry perform a spell to change his appearance?

Harry made a sound almost like a growl of frustration and thrust his wand back into his robes.

"I broke the glamour, Professor! The one that makes me look like James. This is what I look like!"

Harry's words finally rolled over him, arranging themselves in a way that at last made some sort of coherent sense.

Harry believed Snape was his father.

Lupin stared at him, aghast. "Harry, who told you this nonsense?"

Someone had lied to the boy. Who would do such a thing?

Harry's expression hardened. "Snape. And Dumbledore."

Remus shook his head, trying to shake off the words. No. There was no way Dumbledore would do something so ghastly, as trick an orphaned boy about his parentage. It was impossible. And Severus… he'd always thought better of him than that.

Someone was having a laugh at Harry's expense. Remus felt a wash of cold fury at the thought. Why would anyone be so vindictive? Especially right now, when Harry's life was so difficult anyway!

"Someone's played a trick on you, Harry," Remus said soberly. "A very cruel trick."

"No!" Harry backed away several steps. "No, see? Look at me! This is me, Remus. It's true."

"Harry-- did Severus tell you this?" Lupin asked, anger creeping into his tone. He could dismiss Dumbledore out of hand, and while he wanted to think better of Severus than this, it was no secret how much he loathed the boy. "Did he do this to you?" he waved at Harry's face. "Because I'll have a word with him right now. Do you hear me, Harry? We'll sort this out."

I'll sort him out! Lupin added silently, feeling his fury boil up against that son of a bitch. How dare Severus toy with Harry's emotions like this!

Harry seemed to visibly wilt.

"It's true, Remus. And I'm sorry, I really am. I'm sorry you wasted your time on me, all these years, but I didn't know, either."

Remus felt his alarm stir back to life at Harry's odd tone. Clearly Harry had been very disturbed by this prank.

"Someone's playing a trick on you, Harry. And we'll get to the bottom of it!" he pledged, trying to sound reassuring.

Harry's eyes darted towards the Great Hall. He stepped towards it, poised on the edge of flight. "I really am sorry, Remus. I mean that. But… well, I have to go now."

"Ha--"

"I have to go!" Harry glanced away, as though something else had distracted him, before turning his attention back to Remus, intent. "You, uh, you need to tell Dumbledore something for me, okay? Tell him… Tell him he had the wrong person. He made a mistake, okay? And I do hope he finds the real one someday. But… it's not me."

There was something dreadfully wrong here. Remus felt a stab of panic.

"Harry!" he called sharply, starting forward.

But in one fluid movement, Harry yanked the invisibility cloak back over his head, and the door burst open into the corridor. Remus rushed after him, hearing Harry's footsteps smack down the hallway, and right into the Great Hall. One whiff of the fifty or so people bustling about, and Remus knew it would be hopeless to try and track him in their midst.

He stared into the Great Hall in shock. What had just happened here?

Remus lingered there several minutes, hoping he'd detect Harry trying to leave again through the same door, but he was certain it was a hopeless endeavor given all the routes into and out of the Great Hall.

The things Harry had said… It was madness…

"If you don't mind, Lupin, some of us would like to eat breakfast today."

Severus's silky voice washed over him like a poison. Rage boiled up inside him, and Lupin whirled around, carried by his fury, and in one sudden movement grabbed Snape by the neck and wrenched him from the doorway, dragging the struggling professor into the side corridor.

Severus fought his grip all the way, but Remus was stronger, and angrier. By the time he slammed Severus up against the wall in the abandoned corridor, there was something like real fear in Snape's expression.

"Have you lost your mind?" Snape cried. "What in Merlin's name is the matter with you, Lupin?"

"You slimy bastard!" Remus bellowed, leaning right in Snape's face. "Where do you get off, telling Harry those horrible lies about his father?"

Snape's expression hardened. "Whatever are you going on about?" he asked in a chilly tone.

Oh, he was not simply going to let Severus retreat into his cold, dispassionate Death Eater façade. Not this time!

His grip tightened around Snape's throat, and he was gratified to see the alarm flicker back in Severus's eyes.

"I trusted you, Snape! I defended you when the others in the Order doubted your loyalty!" He slammed Snape hard into the wall, enraged. "Why are you doing this? Why did you make up that horrendous lie, simply to toy with Harry's mind? Hasn't he been through enough? Now you have him convinced James isn't his father!"

Snape's eyes widened imperceptibly. "He told you!"

"Told me! What, did you think it would stay a secret?" Remus snarled. "Did you honestly think you could twist Harry around in your sick little game, and no one would notice? Did you think that, Snivellus?"

He'd never said that name before, but it suddenly seemed like the most appropriate insult for the situation. The old moniker seemed to trigger something vicious and primal in Severus. In a burst of strength, Snape suddenly threw Lupin's grip off, and Remus found himself slammed back against the wall.

"It kills you, doesn't it?" Snape rasped, his sour breath flaring in Remus's face. "Knowing James Potter has nothing left in this world. No legacy, no son…"

"You lie!"

Snape's wand was out suddenly, pressing into his jugular. Remus froze; he'd been angry enough that he hadn't even thought to disarm Severus when he'd laid his hands upon him.

"Not a lie, Lupin," Snape said softly, his gleeful words coated with poison. A horrible smile crept across his lips. "Harry told you the truth. I am his father. I fucked Lily… right under James's nose… And that was my child, not his. My son you fawned over, my son your precious friends died for…"

Lupin tried to spring forward, but Snape's wand bore harder into his throat, pinching the skin relentlessly.

"Oh, deny it all you want, Lupin," Snape whispered venomously. "But he's mine. My son, my blood. All. Mine." The wand eased up imperceptibly, and Snape surveyed him through chillingly cold, black eyes. "I am merely astonished the boy told you; I would have thought he'd have better sense than that."

Remus shook his head fiercely. "It's not true; you're lying. You did something-- that's not what he looks like! You did something--"

"What are you talking about?" Snape snarled, his voice dripping with contempt.

Remus couldn't speak. He didn't believe this. He wouldn't believe this. Why would Severus own up to what he was doing? It was as though he really thought--

No, it couldn't be true!

"He--" Remus fumbled a moment, horrorstruck, remembering Harry's words, Harry's clear belief in them.

What would Severus have to gain from lying about this?

No! It wasn't true. It couldn't be true…

"He looked like you," Remus said raggedly, remembering Harry's transformation. The pallor, the sharp edge to his face.

"Look at me! This is me, Remus. It's true."

Snape's eyes were boring directly into his, and Remus did not realize he was being legilimized until Snape barked, "Potter removed the glamour?"

An abrupt motion sent Remus spilling to the ground.

He stared up at Severus, unable to comprehend the turn this morning had taken. He grasped for his rage, the anger that had made him want to pummel the other wizard's face in, and found himself mired in a world of confusion.

Was Severus telling the truth? Could this be something more than a sick prank? Was Harry… could Harry be in earnest?

"It's impossible…" Remus murmured. "It can't be. He's always been… he's always looked…"

Snape snorted, and looked down at him with disdain. "Ask Dumbledore if you'd like clarification. I'm going to suggest he obliviate you, although I suppose it will be no use if that idiot boy chooses to tell you again."

Snape's expression darkened, and his gaze wandered towards the Great Hall.

"I warned him…" His soft voice rang ominously in the enclosed space.

Remus at last picked himself up, too stunned to speak.

Snape's sardonic gaze found him. "Well, Lupin?" he asked caustically. "Isn't this the point you decry your association with him? You scorn the time you wasted on Snivellus's bastard?"

The words brought back his confusing conversation with Harry.

"Harry… he was acting strangely…" Remus said, almost to himself, though he could see Snape listening intently. "He-- he wasn't making any sense."

Snape's eyes rolled. "And as per the usual routine of late, I suppose I must inquire into the brat's welfare."

Remus stared at him, unable to shake himself out of the unreality of the scene. So attuned was he to Severus's expression, that he noticed the exact moment his eyes fell upon the newspaper at Remus's feet-- he'd dropped it at some point during the scuffle-- and he saw the strange look in Snape's eyes when something in particular seemed to catch his attention.

Lupin jumped when Snape started forward suddenly, and was surprised when Snape swept down and grasped the paper from the floor, his black eyes running over the print quickly.

He watched Severus's lips move soundlessly over the syllables.

Nympha-dora Tonks.

There was something dawning on Severus's face, an expression he'd never seen before.

"What is it?" Remus asked, rising from his stunned stupor.

Snape waved him off impatiently and straightened to his full height, briskly striding away. Remus followed, still feeling as though he were in some strange dream, and found Snape looming at the entrance to the Great Hall, casting his dark gaze around. His expression was still unreadable, and Remus looked back and forth between Severus's odd expression and the newspaper balled up in his hand. That name…

He understood suddenly. Despite himself, and amazingly, through all the conflicting emotions and sheer disbelief raging inside him, Remus felt a twinge of pity.

Could to be that Severus Snape had truly cared about someone? Was he human after all?

"Nymphadora Tonks…" he said softly, watching a vein flicker in Snape's forehead. "Were you very close?" he asked gently.

Snape's black eyes shot to his.

"No, I loathed that blasted woman!"

Remus wasn't sure what to say.

"Where did you see Potter?" Snape demanded harshly.

"Right here… just a few minutes before you came…" Remus said numbly.

Snape withdrew from the Great Hall, back into the corridor, ripping out his wand. "Point-me Harry!" he growled.

It was the 'Harry' that did it. Not Potter. Not Harry Potter. There was no reason for Severus to omit the last name unless he was telling the truth.

Remus felt like a lead fist had just slammed into his chest. He almost sank back against the wall, stunned and disbelieving.

"He's outside," Snape muttered. He whirled on Remus. "Lupin, go to Gryffindor, and get that bloody map from Potter's room... You know which one."

"Harry probably has it," Remus replied absently. "He's probably carrying it on him."

"Check anyway!" Severus snapped impatiently. "I'm going to search for him using a point-me spell, but they're notoriously unreliable. And we don't need two people searching for him with the same method. Look for that bloody map, Lupin, and I'll look for the boy. If I can't find him, you should be able to."

Snape started off, but Lupin snagged his robe.

"Why? Severus, what's wrong--"

"If he still means anything to you, Lupin," Snape said contemptuously, "Then find that map, and help me find him. Now unhand me!"

Remus released his grip on Snape's robe, and watched him stalk off down the shadowy corridor, a strange chill in his heart.

He didn't understand what was going on… He didn't know…

If he still means anything to you…

Severus's words rang ominously in his ears, and only half-aware of what he was doing, Remus hoisted himself to his feet.

If he still means anything to you…

Of course he did. He was still Harry.

He didn't understand what had happened… he was still confused about the lingering threads of anger he still associated with Harry's name… he didn't know anymore if Harry even was Harry…

But he loved Harry. And if there was something wrong, he was going to have to trust Severus about this. He started for Gryffindor Tower, only dimly aware of the students startled by their DADA teacher sprinting past them in the narrow corridor.

It was strange that the corridors of Hogwarts appeared completely serene after everything that had happened. Somehow Harry had expected them to reflect the devastation of the events since Hogsmeade. Tonks was dead, Hermione was near death, Remus and Ron hated him, and dozens of students were in the hospital wing because of him. It seemed unfair somehow that the world should continue smoothly along the same course when the events of a single day had robbed him of everything.

He wandered aimlessly, the note for Tonks clutched in his hand, debating feverishly whether he should throw it away or keep it. It seemed somehow disrespectful to simply rid himself of it, but on the other hand, it would make absolutely no difference if he kept it. Tonks wouldn't care one way or another. She was dead. And she hadn't even written it. Sure, it was intended for her, and it was the herald of her death, but really, she'd never even touched it, so it was absurd for him to treat it like some sacred relic. Would it really be wrong if he threw it away?

It wasn't until the morning sky filled with a dull gray light that Harry realized how much of an idiot he'd been, to spend nearly an hour debating whether or not to throw away a stupid fucking piece of paper, and he ripped it viciously into shreds.

As soon as he'd let them drift to the floor, he wished he hadn't done it. The paper debate aside, his mind was filled with a curious blankness. It felt simultaneously like his brain was going to explode with too many thoughts, and like he'd never have a single coherent thought again. He wanted to go somewhere as far away from the owlery as he could get, but there was nowhere he could go. Not to Gryffindor Tower… Ron would be there. Not to the Hospital Wing… People were hurt there. Not to the Great Hall… People would come there. He'd have to face them.

He couldn't think. His brain simply wasn't working.

And Tonks was dead.

How could she be dead, really? How could this happen just when they'd reconciled? How could it be Bellatrix Lestrange who killed her? How could she do that again to someone Harry loved?

Harry closed his eyes, but Bellatrix's grinning face burned under his eyelids. He remembered her hands playing lovingly with her blood-soaked robes. Her laughter… that shrill, gleeful laugh… The same laughter that had pursued Sirius through the veil…

He would have welcomed the liberating surge of anger that had overtaken him after losing Sirius, but all he felt was emptiness. He hadn't realized back then that he was going to lose everyone, one after another, simply by virtue of the scar on his forehead. He hadn't known Sirius was merely the first. And he hadn't realized that by failing to kill Bellatrix the first time, he'd condemned someone else he loved to the same fate.

Harry's eyes slid back open. Well… it wouldn't happen again. She would never do it again.

As though some switch had flipped in his mind, his priorities drew into relentless focus. Ron, Hermione, Remus, Tonks, Sirius, Snape, Dumbledore, the Prophecy, Voldemort… they all receded into the background. And suddenly the only thing he could think about was Bellatrix's grinning face.

It took him mere minutes to find the appropriate book. Several more to escape Remus when waylaid by him in the hall. It took him a little more time to cross the apparition boundary, where there would be no threat of school wards stopping him.

As soon as he'd memorized the incantation, Harry allowed himself a moment to indulge any doubts. But they just weren't there.

He didn't feel like he was simply acting on impulse, or like he was being carried on the spur of his emotions. He'd never felt more rational in his life, or more certain that he was doing exactly the right thing.

He'd been a fool to believe the Prophecy. He was no savior; the last two years had proved that time and again. Those people moaning in the hospital wing proved it. Sirius and Tonks proved it. This would prove it once and for all. Dumbledore would realize the truth. He'd have no choice.

Harry had believed for the last nine months that he was condemned to one of two options: kill Voldemort, or be killed by Voldemort. Finally now, he decided upon a third option: Neither.

This was his choice, and he was filled with cold conviction that he was finally doing the right thing. He would make her pay. And at last he would be the master of his own fate.

* * *

Fighting his anxiety as the outer edges of the Forbidden Forest pressed in around him, Snape threaded his way through the underbrush. It seemed to take him an age to come upon his son, and even then he entertained the fleeting notion he was staring at some strange apparition.

Whatever scene he'd imagined, it hadn't featured Harry tucked serenely against a tree, a book propped open in his lap.

"Potter."

It was slightly disconcerting when Harry glanced up at him dully out of those features he'd come to associate with 'Septimus'.

"Oh, hullo, Professor."

Snape glanced around sharply, waiting for a nasty surprise to spring upon him. Nothing. He shook off the feeling; he'd never cared for the Forbidden Forest, anyway.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, approaching the boy warily.

Harry shrugged. "Fine."

The anxiety Snape had felt upon reading that article was swiftly draining away into irritation. Damn the boy for being so impulsive, so foolhardy… If Harry were simply a bit more levelheaded like that Granger girl, Severus wouldn't be forced to worry like some overbearing schoolmarm every time something remotely distressing happened to him.

As things were, he felt faintly embarrassed, and extremely annoyed. Harry was simply sitting there, looking for all the world like he was just taking in the scenery, and Severus had practically run the whole way like some panicked Hufflepuff.

And Lupin had seen him do it. Lupin!

"Why do you ask, Professor?" Harry said blandly.

It took an effort for Snape not to snarl an insult. He was trying to express his concern; the least the brat could do was not play dumb, however talented he was at it.

"Nymphadora Tonks has been killed," Snape said bluntly, feeling vindictive enough to force it into the open. "I'm certain you've heard. You must be distraught."

It only occurred to him as the words escaped his lips that perhaps the boy was so calm because he hadn't heard. Snape knew a moment of sickening horror at what he'd done, but his fears proved unfounded when Harry still failed to react.

"I suppose I should be." Harry glanced down at the book in his lap, and creased the corner of a page before carefully closing it. "I guess it hasn't hit me yet."

"Well, then..."

Snape folded his arms, feeling distinctly out of his depth at Harry's calm. He'd expected rage, or perhaps tears… And although he'd cringed at the thought of the latter, he'd felt rather more prepared to handle it than this.

"I suppose I should be upset," Harry repeated, rising to his feet. "And I keep waiting for it to hurt. But it's still something I just know… I guess I'm not a very good person. I'm not even sad."

"You're likely in shock," Snape noted dryly, still feeling disconcerted. It was almost as though they were discussing the composition of a potion…

Well, no. A potions lesson would entail a good deal more anger and grief on both sides. They were merely speaking now about a woman Severus had taken it upon himself to drive away from Harry, a woman who had just been murdered.

Nothing to inspire bitter recriminations there.

"You are out of bounds, Potter. It's time you returned to the school," Snape said, resolving to bring the boy to someone who knew how to deal with this... Minerva, maybe. Or Albus. Or… he gritted his teeth, refusing to consider Lupin.

Harry blinked at him, and hugged his book closer to his chest. "No, I'd prefer to stay out here, Professor."

"I wasn't asking for your preference," Snape growled.

Perhaps this was the time to show some sensitivity. Lupin would probably offer to sit out here with him. But he couldn't do that. What in Merlin's name would he say to the boy? Lupin would know what to say. He'd say the right words, sort out whatever was going on in Harry's head. Bloody werewolf.

"Come along now, Potter."

Harry stared at him for an extended moment, then gave a faint smile. "Okay."

Snape swept to the side, waiting for Harry to scurry past him.

Harry raised his wand. "Stupefy."

It was just Snape's ever-present paranoia that made him duck as soon as the wand lifted, and the spell slammed into the tree behind him. A loud crack, and chunks of bark rained down on his shoulders. Snape immediately thrust forward his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego." Harry sounded almost bored.

Snape had to duck back behind the tree to avoid his own deflected curse. "What the hell are you doing, Potter?" he bellowed. "Stop this nonsense AT ONCE!"

"I told you," Harry said with deadly calm, "I'm not going back there."

Crouched out of the line of fire, Snape watched as if observing a stranger how Harry set aside the book, no care in the world, and rose slowly, his green eye scanning the underbrush. Snape prepared to rise, a paralyzing curse on the tip of his tongue… It was one of his few debilitating curses that wouldn't leave the boy permanently impaired…

Harry's voice rang out suddenly.

"You know, I thought you were… I thought what you did to Malfoy was horrible that night."

Snape froze. His instincts screamed at him to take advantage of the boy's distraction to curse him… But he supposed he had enough of an advantage to hear Harry out. Perhaps he would seem like a less incompetent parent, dragging his unconscious son back to Hogwarts, if he had some insight into his state of mind.

"I think I understand how you could do that now," Harry continued airily. "It's about much more than anger, isn't it? I think that's why I couldn't cast that Cruciatus Curse on her… I hated her, but I hated hurting someone more. I think it's… it's when they don't matter to you anymore that you can really hurt people, isn't it? That's when it's easiest? I didn't think I could kill anyone… But I can now. I'm sure I can. I'm not even angry with Bellatrix… I should be. She killed them; she killed them both… But I just want her gone. That's all I want. And I can do that much. I don't really care what I have to do for it. Tell Dumbledore that, when he asks. Stupefy."

Snape ducked lower behind his impromptu shelter, and felt a surge of irritation when the red streak smacked into the ground and flung mud onto his face. "Come now, Potter," he snarled, wiping his hand furiously across his face, "surely that's not the only curse in your repertoire?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

Hurt him? It was hard for Snape not to snort. Didn't Harry realize he was merely indulging him, letting him carry on like this?

"I just need you to leave me alone." Harry's voice took on a note of urgency. "I have something I have to do. Dumbledore needs to see. She needs to pay. I need to do this."

"And what is this urgent matter, boy? Sitting back down to read your bloody book?" Snape sneered. "Accio book!"

It smacked straight into his palm. He glanced down at the title, and found himself staring at Familial Bonds and Magical Weaponry, one of the darker volumes from the Restricted Section. He felt himself go cold, suddenly making sense of Harry's words. Harry was planning on killing Bellatrix with a kinship curse.

"You can't do this," Snape warned him harshly, glancing at the boy between the gap in the foliage. "The assassination spells-- no one uses them."

"Yeah, Lucius told me that if you murder someone with a kinship curse it usually destroys your own magic. He called it a 'safeguard protecting the proud institution of the pureblooded family', I think." Harry's easy smile was infuriating. "I'm not too worried."

"It won't merely destroy your magic," Snape said scathingly. "This will KILL YOU, YOU STUPID BOY!"

"I haven't forgotten that I'm a half-blood," Harry retorted. "I just know this is for the best." He sounded strangely cheerful, and for the first time, Snape realized, slightly deranged. "Dumbledore will realize the truth once I've done it… and my friends will be safer… and she'll be-- she'll be-- STUPEFY!"

Snape dodged, then lurched to his feet and threw at Harry a paralyzing curse, knowing it was no longer the time to humor him. The boy dove to the side with lightning reflexes, and again shot a hex at him.

Severus had thrown up his shield, anticipating him, but it shocked him when his shield nearly buckled under the force of Harry's spell. The impact slammed like a boulder into his chest, and he flew back through the air, his head smacking into a fallen tree trunk. His wand slipped from his hand.

Stars were swirling before his eyes, and Snape was torn between the humiliating realization that he was getting too old for rough wandplay, and the other humiliating realization that Harry's spells were powerful, far more powerful than his. Merlin, if the boy had used something slightly more lethal…

He was too long in reacting to grab his wand again; he had no chance of firing off a hex before Harry would be upon him. Against his every instinct, Snape forced his body to go limp, listening to Harry's footsteps crunch across the smattering of dead twigs, and then pause. He could feel Harry's assessing gaze, as though the boy were trying to gauge whether or not he'd truly knocked him out.

Snape barely dared to breathe, wondering if he'd made a mistake; would Harry be Gryffindor enough to turn around, presuming him to be unconscious? Or would he play the Slytherin and curse him anyway?

He heard Harry shuffle closer, and felt a bit smug. Gryffindor, it seemed… approaching his fallen enemy too closely. He peered between his lashes to confirm his suspicion, and felt a jolt of panic. The boy had raised his wand.

"Stu--"

Snape lashed out and grabbed Harry's legs, bowling him over to the ground. He scrambled on top of Harry, throwing the bulk of his superior weight over the boy, and twisted his arms with Harry's flailing ones, wrenching the wand from his grip. Severus tossed it unceremoniously away, and batted aside one of Harry's hands as it scrabbled viciously at the skin of his neck.

Harry fought his grip like a wild animal; Snape found himself hard-pressed to hold him in place. He could feel the boy's magic like electricity in the air, threatening to leap from his skin, to force Snape from him.

Snape gritted his teeth, willing his own magic to overpower Harry's. Harry was powerful, but undisciplined. He tightened his arms around the boy and hauled them both upright, hoping his son's frantic energy would wear out before Snape's own strength did.

And at last, it did.

Harry suddenly sagged in his arms, as though the will to struggle had simply dissolved. His green eyes grew dull and unfocused, and his gaze drifted up to the sky listlessly.

"Fine. Back to Hogwarts, then," Harry said.

Snape's fingers dug into Harry's arms, refusing to release their hold. He stared down at his son warily, uncertain if this was a trick, if he would suddenly spring back to life and throw him off… if he'd even have the strength to stop Harry if he tried to fight again.

"I will bring you back to the school, and you will not attempt this again," Snape told him harshly. "Understand, Potter?"

"Perfectly, sir," Harry said distantly.

Snape sneered, wanting to hex him. The blasted boy didn't even try to sound convincing!

He maneuvered Harry around so he could wrap his arms more securely around him, pinning his arms to his sides and pulling Harry's back against his torso. His son felt like a granite statue in his arms, and staring down at his blank features, Severus was flooded with the sick realization of just what would have happened had he arrived only minutes later. Harry would have used one of those curses… a lethal kinship curse upon a pureblooded relative… and it would have killed him; he might have been dead by now. If he hadn't come out here so quickly, he would have found his son's body.

Snape raged silently at the stupid boy for planning to do something so final, so selfish. He'd left Severus in this horrible position where he had absolutely no idea what he should say or do. He tightened his grip on his son, and felt consumed by his own helpless fury. Inspiration simply would not strike… He simply didn't know what to do with him!

He glared furiously at the forest, wishing he could obliviate Nymphadora Tonks from Harry's mind. That would solve this. And Sirius Black while he was at it. And the Dark Lord. And Lucius Malfoy. And those blasted Muggles. And--

He was startled when movement swayed the branches across the clearing from him, and he spotted the werewolf peering at them between a break in the trees, that familiar map clenched in his fist, an odd expression on his face. For once, Snape was almost relieved to see Lupin. Lupin could handle Harry. He would know what to do.

Yet instead of approaching, Lupin lingered at a distance. The werewolf's expression had softened. With a faint nod, and a hint of a smile that projected understanding, he withdrew back into the trees, and vanished the way he'd come.

Severus stared after him incredulously, and then glanced down to see if Harry had even seen him. His son was still staring dully in front of him, seemingly unaware of the world around him. Snape pondered that odd expression on Lupin's face… that same one he'd worn when Severus had asked for the seat next to him at the Quidditch game…

And he realized suddenly, humiliatingly, why Lupin had looked at him like that. He was sitting here with his arms wrapped around his son. Of course Lupin would think he was… that Severus was here to comfort him…

Bloody werewolf. What an absurd notion. Even if he were the type to… to do something like that, Harry was hardly the type to throw himself, weeping, into someone else's arms. He was nearly as emotionally crippled as Severus himself was, and about as keen on physical displays of affection.

The encounter made Severus feel exceedingly awkward still sitting there holding Harry in place. He expected any moment another passing soul to witness what he was doing and jeer at him, to misinterpret his motives. Lupin had no idea he was merely afraid Harry would run away in another attempt at murder and suicide… That bloody werewolf didn't know that if Severus dared to let the stupid boy go, that image of Harry's dead body lying in the woods could escape the confines of his mind and manifest itself in reality.

That image... Snape tightened his grip on the boy. It lingered like a poison, and Severus felt a twist of impotent rage knowing he'd take the boy back to Hogwarts, probably only for Harry to slip back out here at first opportunity and attempt it again.

He realized suddenly that he couldn't do anything. No one could. If Harry wished to destroy Lestrange, no one could stop him, not for long. They could merely delay it. Nymphadora Tonks and Sirius Black would not come back to life, and it would continue to eat at Harry until he'd gained some measure of closure. He would destroy Bellatrix Lestrange, and destroy himself in the process… And Snape knew him to be a resourceful enough person to make it happen whether Dumbledore and the entire castle stood in his way or not.

There was really only one thing for him to do.

"Very well," Snape said gruffly.

Harry's head lifted slightly, but the boy made no effort to acknowledge him.

Snape dared to ease up his grip slightly, and he noticed the red marks his fingers had left on Harry's pale arms.

"Very well," Snape said again, feeling more certain about his words. "You wish to destroy Bellatrix Lestrange? You want your vengeance, boy? Then I will assist you."

Harry stiffened in his arms, and he knew he had the boy's attention.

"If you wish to kill this woman," Snape said matter-of-factly, "I will help you kill her. But you'll do it properly. A killing curse, face-to-face. No more spellbooks. Kinship curses are for those who lack conviction. I trust you do not."

Harry glanced back at him tentatively. He looked more confused than anything else. Snape took anything other than that glazed apathy as a good sign, and twisted Harry around to look him straight in the eye.

"It's not true vengeance, after all, if you're not around to enjoy it. It's not worth it if you can't see the look on her face when she realizes she's about to die. I'll give her to you, Harry. I'll help you kill her. You'll have your revenge. And believe me," Snape added with a cold smile, "They don't lie when they say vengeance is sweet."

Harry was staring at him, his expression somewhere between disbelief and horrified fascination.

"You're lying," he said breathlessly. "You'd never help me."

"Oh, I will," Snape promised, for once in earnest, trying not to think of the practical difficulties in actually hunting down the Dark Lord's most powerful servant. "If you do not attempt this nonsense again, I'll deliver her to you myself. I'll give you a Wizard's Oath, even, if you'll give me your word you won't attempt this again."

"Dumbledore…" Harry said. "He'd never let you do this."

"Who says he needs to know?" whispered Snape. "No one will know about it but us, Potter."

Harry stared at him like he was seeing some demon… a demon with an offer too enticing to send away.

"And her," Harry said slowly.

Snape smiled maliciously. "And her. She'll know before the end, I daresay. She'll know all too well."

Harry withdrew several distrustful inches. "Why would you do this?"

"Come now, Harry," Snape drawled. "I've murdered many people for the Dark Lord. I can certainly kill one more for my son."

Harry still looked a bit horrified with the whole thing, but Snape noticed he made no more attempt to pull away. Severus's thoughts straying to the Dark Mark on his arm… his own corruption… and he was all too aware that he was horribly evil to nurture the darker impulses in a shattered child.

But this was the one thing he could offer Harry that Dumbledore, Lupin, and the others could not. They would all help assuage his grief, help dampen his anger. The horrible truth was that Severus was the only one who could channel it into something dangerous.

Perhaps this was why Dumbledore had never trusted him to be Harry's father… Maybe the old codger had been right all along.

But he's not here... Snape added silently.

It was Snape who had found Harry, Snape who hoisted Harry back up to his feet. And when he grasped Harry gently by the shoulder and steered him out of the forest, it was Snape who led Harry back to his life.

"Keep moving, Potter…""Don't trip over that cloak, boy…"

"Mind the log!"

The words barely registered in Harry's brain. It wasn't until he'd stumbled over the fallen tree trunk and sprawled across the ground that he realized Snape had been speaking to him. Pale hands descended upon his shoulders and hoisted him back to his feet, then briskly swept the twigs and dirt from his invisibility cloak.

"For Merlin's sake… you're in danger of making Longbottom seem vigilant."

Harry mumbled an apology, watching as though from a great distance how Snape ran his eyes critically over Harry's form before adjusting the invisibility cloak back around his shoulders. He endured the attention passively, reminded for a surreal moment of Uncle Vernon fixing Dudley's tie. Snape finally yanked the cloak back over his head and fumbled with potion-stained fingers to grab his invisible shoulder.

"Get going. We haven't much further."

When still he didn't move, Snape steered him forward with the hand on his imprisoned shoulder. Harry fell into step, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. A thick, merciless fog had descended over his mind in the minutes they'd been walking. He remembered Snape's earlier observation that he was very likely in shock, and he wondered now if it could be true. He certainly felt like his mind had simply shut itself off, too overwhelmed with the last twenty-four hours to function on a conscious level.

As soon as they entered the school, Snape removed Harry's invisibility cloak and restored the glamour.

"You'll need to go to the Headmaster again for a stronger spell," Snape informed him. "This is the best I can do for now."

Harry nodded absently, running a hand lightly over the familiar features of James Potter's face. It felt good enough to him… But then again, he was hardly the authority on the matter of the glamour Dumbledore and Snape continually added and removed.

"Go back to your dorm now, Potter," Snape ordered briskly.

Under Snape's unflinching black gaze, Harry's legs started automatically in the directionof Gryffindor Tower. It occurred to him only when he reached the next bend in the corridor that Ron might be there. Ron…

Harry trailed to a stop. His eyelids drooped closed. He was so tired… But Ron's expression in the hospital wing, the way his eyes had burned with rage, scorched Harry's mind, and he knew he couldn't face the other boy. He just couldn't.

He tried briefly to think of what else he could do, where else he could go, but his mind was still hopelessly blank. Perhaps he could just stay right where he was… Maybe put on his invisibility cloak, or disillusion himself, and sleep on the floor--

"Have you forgotten the way to Gryffindor Tower?"

He wasn't exactly startled by Snape's voice, but he was mildly surprised Snape had followed him, if only at a distance. When Harry still could find no adequate reply, Snape made an irritated noise and stalked the length of the shadowy corridor to descend upon him.

"Why are you standing here, Potter?" Snape's tone was biting. His black eyes bore into Harry's.

"I--" Harry couldn't decide. His mind simply wasn't working right. "I'm sorry," he finally said, feeling hopelessly stupid. "I'll go now."

Snape grabbed his collar before he could wander dazedly off. "You will tell me first where you plan to go, since you are clearly disregarding my instructions!"

Harry don't bother trying to throw off the grip. An oppressive feeling closed around him; Snape wanted an answer, and he was utterly unable to supply one. He wasn't sure where he could go.

Maybe just somewhere to sit for a while… sort out his head…

Snape at last released him from that relentless scrutiny. "Come along, then. Don your cloak. It will do no good for us to be seen together."

Snape's dark form glided past him in the hallway, and then paused expectantly. The command implicit in the gesture overwhelmed Harry with relief. At least he didn't have to think… not right now. Not when he felt so empty.

He followed Snape as if in a dream, the corridors growing dark and cold around them, winding into the depths of the castle. It wasn't until Snape had uttered a password, transforming a Slytherin tapestry into a heavy wooden door, that Harry realized Snape was leading him to his personal chambers.

Once inside, he was struck by an overpowering wave of déjà vu. The damp chill of the dungeons had retreated, replaced by an inviting warmth. Glancing around at the ornate chamber, he felt as though he'd been miraculously transported from the Hogwarts dungeons to the stately chambers of Snape Manor. For one bizarre moment he even entertained the delusion he had somehow stepped back in time and undone the horrible events since his sojourn at Snape's. But the spell was quickly broken by Snape transfiguring a couch into a bed, and gesturing with an impatient wave of his arm for Harry to claim his place.

"To sleep, then, boy. You look as though you need it. Will you require a potion to induce slumber?"

Harry shook his head. Snape lingered until he'd clumsily kicked off his shoes, then withdrew soundlessly to give him some privacy.

Harry settled between the covers. His gaze wandered to the front door.

He wasn't sure he could face what lay on the other side. At least this way, he wouldn't have to try.

* * *

It was sometime later that he awoke, slightly confused about his surroundings. His glasses had been removed at some point or another, and Harry looked blearily up at the dark form looming over his bed.

"Drink this, Potter. Quickly, now… I have class."

Was it Monday already? Had he really slept the entire day on Sunday?

I must have class, too, he realized. He squinted at the vial, and recognized it as a sleeping draught. Didn't Snape realize he was supposed to be in DADA?

With Remus. And Ron.

Harry shuddered, and downed the vial quickly before Snape could force him to leave. The older wizard removed the vial gingerly from his fingers and swept from the room, while Harry sank back into his pillows, his muscles relaxed as though they were melting into goo.

Harry's eyes closed as a wave of exhaustion swept back over him. Snape must be letting him skive off classes. He was too relieved to make sense of why.

* * *

The next time he woke up, Harry remembered immediately where he was, and that he'd been here at least a day and a half. The realization made him feel distinctly uneasy.

"I'm feeling better now."

"Good for you," Snape said coldly from across the room where he was writing on a parchment. He didn't sound like he particularly cared.

Harry felt exceedingly awkward. Why was he still here?

His mind grew steadily clearer, and suddenly the blankets felt far too heavy and rather sweaty.

He was surprised Snape hadn't simply kicked him out, but now he felt incredibly uncomfortable with the idea that he'd spent a significant portion of time here. These were still Snape's chambers, and he was probably not the most welcome of guests…

"Well, er, thanks for putting me up. I'm going to go now," Harry announced, and he flung off the blankets and started to his feet.

Snape waved his wand, and an invisible hand propelled him back down.

"Not yet." Snape lowered his wand and fixed Harry with an assessing gaze. "Not until I'm sufficiently assured you are prepared to resume your daily activities."

"I'm fine," Harry said. Inwardly, he still felt himself cringe at the thought of facing Ron, Remus, a world without Tonks… Hermione lying there in a coma… All the students injured in Hogsmeade…

He found himself clawing at the bedsheet and made his hand go still, lest he betray his anxiety… He was ready to get out of here.

"I'm fine," Harry repeated, "Really."

A smirk curled Snape's lips. "Drink the sleeping draught, Potter."

"I've been sleeping since yesterday morning. I don't want to sleep anymore," Harry insisted.

"A pity it's not your choice, then. Drink up." A wave of Snape's wand sent the vial floating into Harry's hand.

Harry stared at the draught, then at Snape, feeling the first prickles of anger. "You can't force me to say."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I disagree. Drink, Harry."

Snape was really going to do it. He was going to make him sleep.

"People are going to wonder about me," Harry said angrily. "Dumbledore will ask about me. My friends--" he swallowed hard, and had to force the words out, "They'll ask about me."

"Oh, not they won't," Snape countered silkily. "The Headmaster is fully apprised of the situation. He understand the need of a father to spend time in the company of a son, crippled with sorrow over a comatose friend. As for your housemates, well… I let it be known you are currently indisposed in Saint Mungo's after flying your broomstick into a goalpost."

An image of flying into one of the goalposts passed through his mind. Harry was appalled at the thought. How stupid would he have to be to fly into a goalpost? And Snape had told everyone that!

"People are going to think I'm an idiot!" Harry cried. "They're going to make fun of me for the next two years!"

Snape smirked. "Yes, I rather think so. Drink up, Harry."

Harry glared at him furiously. He hated Snape. He hated him. Everything in him was tempted to simply fling the sleeping draught in his professor's smirking face…

But suddenly his anger drained away. Harry's gaze dropped bleakly to the vial, and he wondered what he'd been rushing out to do. So what if Snape was forcing him to stay here? At least he wouldn't have to face those horrible things out there. Here, he could just sleep.

He swallowed the sleeping potion in one gulp. Glancing up at Snape, expecting to see triumph in his Professor's eyes-- he'd won, after all-- he instead saw that Snape's face was entirely devoid of expression. He wondered at that fleetingly before his exhaustion consumed him; maybe his surrender wasn't what Snape had wanted after all.

* * *

When Harry opened his eyes again, he was already angry. Why was he here, simply idling his time away? And Snape-- goddamn Snape-- was already there, waiting for him to wake up simply to put him back to sleep again, almost as though he'd timed this.

"More potion, then, Potter?" he inquired dryly. He was perched in a chair right next to Harry's bed.

Harry whipped to his feet, glaring at Snape. "No. I've had enough."

Snape's eyes narrowed, and he reached into his robes for another vial of the hated sleeping draught. "You still look shaky." His tone positively dripped with condescension. "Drink--"

"NO!"

Harry swiped at the vial and sent it shattering to the floor. He shot Snape a furious, defiant glance, waiting for an outpour of fury.

He was surprised, then, when Snape immediately rose to his feet and retreated from Harry's bedside, his eyes glinting with something like satisfaction. "I take it you are quite yourself again?"

Harry stared at him, thrown off by the mild tone.

Snape pointed his wand at the shattered vial. "Reparo."

"You were just… waiting for me to stop you?" Harry demanded, watching the shattered glass coalesce into its original form.

"You were very clearly in no state to resume classes two days ago," Snape replied coldly, studying the vial carefully before pocketing it again. "If you're back to behaving like an impertinent brat, I can trust you not to crumple at the first taunt from a Slytherin."

Harry closed his eyes heavily, trying to bite back his anger. "Why didn't you just tell me you were waiting for me to recover? Why did you have to manipulate me?"

"It's proven exceedingly effective in the past." Snape smirked. "You're angry. That's a far more liberating feeling than crippling despair, is it not?"

It was. But Harry was irritated he'd needlessly spent two days in bed, just because Snape was trying to provoke him. The greasy git was just playing around with him. He didn't care--

A horrible realization struck him.

"Were you lying about Bellatrix?" Harry said, wondering what he'd do if Snape admitted that he was. If Snape had been manipulating him again--

Snape shot him a long, hard look. "No. If you still plan to destroy her, I intend to assist you."

Harry's shoulders sagged. He didn't want to fight Snape in this.

"You must be hungry," Snape noted. "The potion contained nutritive elements, but they hardly substitute for a wholesome meal. Come into the dining area. I'll summon food."

Without waiting for his assent, Snape glided past him and disappeared into the nearest chamber. Harry set about searching for his socks.

As Snape's voice rumbled through the doorway, clearly asking for food from the kitchens, Harry's eyes settled upon a bookshelf. He knelt down in front of the collection of dark volumes and removed the first one of interest.

Spellcasting for the Ethically Unsound.

He flipped through the pages, and the door to Snape's dining room swung open.

"There's more menace in the title than in the entirety of that book."

Harry clutched the book defensively to his chest, his gaze creeping up to where Snape stood in the doorway.

"If you wish for appropriately dark spells to employ in offensive spellcasting, this one is preferable." The slightest wave of Snape's wand sent another of the volumes sliding into Harry's grasp.

Harry looked at the title, and felt a burst of something between anger and hurt.

1001 Virtues of Muggle Cooking

So Snape was making fun of him. He thought Harry was so inept he couldn't possibly handle darker magic.

"This whole Bellatrix thing just a joke to you, isn't it?" Harry said flatly. "You don't think I'm serious--"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Look inside, Harry."

Without waiting for Harry's response, he flicked his wand, and the book snapped open.

Harry caught a brief glimpse of the text, "… will therefore instantly liquefy the victim's intestines…" He flipped back to the cover to stare incredulously at the title again.

"Far more efficient than kinship curses," Snape said. "And no rebounding back upon you."

Harry flipped through a myriad of equally threatening spells, then back to the front cover to stare at the title again. "Why is it called that?"

"A Dark Wizard will hardly advertise his… proclivities, Mr. Potter," Snape said. "More often than not, a title of, say, The Darkest Magics, would be instantly confiscated in an impromptu raid by the Ministry of Magic. This, however, will arouse no suspicion, whilst alerting the true dark wizard about the nature of its contents."

"I don't get it," Harry said, glancing over the title again. "Why would a book about cooking-- Oh. 'Muggle cooking', right? Those are keywords? Kind of like-- er, burning Muggles alive or something?"

"Well done," Snape said, though it sounded grudging.

"But it's a bit obvious, then," Harry protested. "It's pretty easy to see a double-meaning--"

"If you look for it," Snape countered softly. "And you will find that Aurors are hardly the most flexible thinkers."

Aurors.

Tonks.

Harry stared at the page, the words blurring. He suddenly couldn't care less whether the title had two meanings. But before he could properly wallow, Snape wrenched the book from his hands.

"You will examine this later. Eat now."

* * *

Dumbledore's poisonous words from that fateful night three months earlier played relentlessly in Severus's mind.

"She did not believe you were ready to assume responsibility for the well-being of a child. I agreed…"

However furious those words had made him, on some level, he, too, had always agreed with them. He wasn't suited for fatherhood; he wasn't even a suitable instructor for those brats in his Potions classes. Just a few days earlier, it had struck him how profoundly dangerous it would be to even indulge in playing the father to his son.

He'd realized, though, after the close call in the woods--

a pale body on the ground, glassy eyes staring into the open sky--

how dreadfully dangerous it was not to play father to his son.

How many days had it been, since he'd mentally surrendered the boy to the care of Dumbledore, Lupin, McGonagall, and those stalwart adults he'd believed would fulfill his role beautifully? He'd trusted them. He'd believed they could prevent something like that from happening.

Well, they bloody well hadn't!

He'd found Harry mere minutes… perhaps mere moments before a catastrophe. And those responsible parties hadn't been anywhere near the blasted boy.

Then again, why had he trusted the Headmaster with the young idiot's safety? Hadn't he been forced to step forward and save the blasted boy's life during that Quidditch match several years back? Hadn't he been the only one who expended effort towards governing the boy's sheer recklessness, while the others only encouraged it? Rewarded it, even?

Well, no longer. He wouldn't-- no, he couldn't trust them with something so precarious as the welfare of his son. Not anymore.

He would take Harry in hand. And if he had to guide him down the path of murder simply to exert some control over him, well, then, he would do it.

He was hardly one to quibble over morality, after all.

Snape found himself staring at the boy from across the dinner table. Meals at the manor had always been silent, solemn affairs, with the boy glaring in one direction and Severus in the other. Occasionally Harry voiced a question or complaint, tone replete with his animosity, and sometimes Severus condescended to give him a blistering reply. Today the boy stared grimly at his food, clearly unable to muster an appetite, and Snape watched him, fumbling for the proper thing to say or do.

Harry didn't appear nearly so beaten or cold as he had two days earlier, but he still wasn't quite himself. Every so often, some dark thought would grip the boy and his green eyes would grow distant, and far too introspective.

What would Lupin say at a time like this?

Snape regretted now so readily ejecting Lupin from his chambers several hours earlier when the werewolf had stopped by unannounced, clearly worried about Harry, and unappreciative of the mystery surrounding his presence in Snape's rooms. Perhaps Lupin could have made this easier, or told him what to say.

Lupin would have said something tactful. Something fatherly. Something that would make Harry feel good about himself. Bloody werewolf.

"Your beloved friend Lupin came by to see you," Snape said. "I sent him on his way."

He waited for an outburst from Harry, but if anything, Harry grew paler. His hands balled into fists on the tablecloth. "Oh."

"He surmised you'd be in my chambers," Snape continued, watching him closely. "Quite astute… for Lupin, that is. Then again, I suppose he was alerted to the possibility by your little slip."

Harry looked up at him uncomprehendingly. "What slip?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You told him." He tapped a yellowish fingernail on the tablecloth, trying not to vent his irritation and squander the boy's precarious goodwill. "I suppose it's fortunate you did, or I might not have thought to question your state of mind… but I warned you it would be unwise to tell him the truth about us."

Harry rubbed at his forehead, avoiding Snape's eyes. "Well, I didn't think it was a problem. I wasn't going to see him again."

Snape felt a flare of unease, reminded of that image-- a body in the woods-- "He seemed to take it well," Snape said, forcing his mind from it. "I suppose Lupin was always the least repulsive of James Potter's cronies."

"It's not like it was going to make him think worse of me," Harry muttered, staring at his goulash. "I bet he was glad to hear it. He doesn't have to bother anymore…"

He trailed off, and occupied himself with spearing a piece of pork.

"Bother with what, Potter?" Snape asked, watching Harry's pinched expression.

"Nothing. This soup's pretty good." Harry stuffed the meat into his mouth and made a show of chewing.

Snape folded his arms and waited until Harry swallowed. "If I'm to help you with your foolhardy venture against Bellatrix Lestrange," he said coldly, "then you can at least tell me what transpired with that blasted werewolf."

Harry stared grimly at the tablecloth for a long moment, as though having an internal debate. Severus knew it was risky, using his tentative agreement with his son as leverage… but Harry gave in and sagged down in his seat. "Remus thinks it's my fault. What happened to Sirius, I mean."

Snape looked up sharply. "He said this to you?" he asked in a chilly voice.

I will MURDER that bloody werewolf.

"He's not the only one," Harry muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, come on, Snape!" Harry cried, furious green eyes raising to Snape's. "Don't you remember? 'Such an exploit, killing Sirius Black…' You know it's my fault, too!"

Harry's eyes suddenly glinted with tears. Before Snape could so much as feel awkward, the boy rapidly blinked them away.

"You told me it made me 'worthy of the family name,'" Harry said roughly. "You said it!"

Snape's mind trailed back to that bitter day, the boy's bungled attempt to obliviate him, his scathing attack in return… The way he'd nearly suffocated Harry with a spell… How he'd used Harry's guilt over losing Black to hurt him.

He's too forgiving, Snape thought, feeling an unpleasant sense of unease, remembering how just days later Harry had helped him when he was in pain.

"I said that because I knew it would hurt you, you stupid boy," Snape said harshly. "You wear your heart on your sleeve. I warned you that would render you vulnerable, and I was right. I did not-- I do not truly hold you responsible for Black's death…"

He stopped then, knowing it would be inappropriate to finish, "Not that I would particularly mind if you were…"

Harry stared darkly at some point over Snape's shoulder, clearly not believing him, looking far too cynical for his years. He adopted another tactic.

"In any case, boy, we are both fully aware that Black was a fool."

Harry's hands clenched with fury. His fierce green eyes snapped back to Snape's. "Don't you dare say that about him!"

Snape smiled cruelly; he made a show of enjoying his soup before speaking again. "It's that damned mutt's own fault that he died. He was in the midst of a duel with the Dark Lord's most dangerous lieutenant, and he decided to play with her." His tone dripped with contempt. "Sirius Black was an idiot, and he brought his own death upon himself."

Harry practically leapt to his feet, looking ready to hex him. "So you're saying Sirius DESERVED IT?"

Oh, yes, that worthless bastard had. But voicing that would hardly be productive, so Snape allowed his tone to grow softer.

"No. I am not saying he deserved to die, but it's quite obvious his death was the result of his own stupidity and impulsiveness rather than anything else. The man would have gotten himself killed at some point or another with or without the Dark Lord's machinations, or your subsequent actions."

Harry still looked affronted on Black's behalf, but apparently his guilt reasserted itself. He sank back into his seat and stared miserably into the distance.

Snape sighed, and rose from his chair to circle around the table, sensing that was the only way he could fully capture the boy's attention. "I told you once before that it's presumptuous of you to claim responsibility for the actions of others. Black chose to play the hero that night, and Black chose not to disable Bellatrix while he had the chance in favor of goading her on. Bellatrix is the one who struck the final blow; she killed him, and you underplay those factors when you choose to pin blame upon yourself. You do Black a disservice, to attribute those actions solely to yourself. And besides that," Snape leaned back, surveying Harry through glittering black eyes, "You fail to mention the disservice he did you."

Harry looked genuinely taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"He was your godfather," Severus said in a soft, lethal voice, "For all intents and purposes, you were an orphan. He was entrusted with your welfare, and he squandered his responsibility by needlessly throwing his life away. And for what? To ease his boredom with the arrangements taken to ensure his safety! If anything, you are in your rights to resent him."

The boy stared at him as though Snape were speaking a foreign tongue he couldn't quite comprehend.

"Has this never occurred to you?" Snape demanded impatiently.

Harry shook his head, more out of denial of Snape's words than in answer to his question. "It's-- you're wrong. It's not his fault. It was-- it's not--" He practically sprung from the table, as though it were on fire. "I'm going now."

"You haven't finished your meal," Snape pointed out coldly.

"I'm not hungry."

Snape felt a flare of that familiar irritation, but he made an effort not to show it.

Patience… patience…

He needed to take the boy in hand. He couldn't send Harry in the proper direction if the boy stumbled out of Snape's chambers, consumed by the same guilt and loss that had crippled him just days earlier. Although it was clearly asking too much to simply detach the boy from his guilt over Black, perhaps he could cultivate more fertile ground in other aspects.

"You may leave, then." Snape allowed Harry to reach the door before adding, "But we will speak tomorrow after your Occlumency lessons about your plans for Lestrange."

Harry froze. He turned slowly back to face Snape, watching him suspiciously.

"You promised me you'd help me kill her… I'm going to hold you to that."

Snape inclined his head. "As you should."

Harry's green eyes swept around the room, finding 1001 Virtues of Muggle Cooking. The haunted look on his face had been supplanted by a glint of determination.

"Can I take that with me?"

"No you may certainly not!" Snape snapped. "Merlin forbid if the Headmaster or any of the luckless spawn of my cohorts notice you carrying it!"

"Oh," Harry said, crestfallen. "That's a good point, I guess."

"You may, however, return to peruse it here, if you wish," Snape offered. He instilled the proper degree of reluctance in his tone, but he knew that the more time Harry spent under his watchful eye, the less he himself would have to worry about the boy doing something reckless or phenomenally stupid in his absence.

"Fine," Harry returned with a note of challenge in his voice. He shot Snape a fierce look that dared him to retract his offer before disappearing under his invisibility cloak.

"Tomorrow night at seven, Potter. You know the way to my office."

His only answer was his front door swinging open and slamming back shut.

"So, Scarhead, did you really fly into a goalpost?"

Harry ignored the taunts that burned in his ears all day. They made him flush with embarrassment, but somehow he couldn't hate Snape over the ridiculous lie. He spotted Ginny's red hair and was vividly reminded of Tonks with her scarlet hair, lilting a quirky grin at him on the moving staircase. It was only Snape's promise of vengeance that prevented him from sinking into the hole in his chest. He heard Pansy Parkinson's laughter in the corridor, and the spiteful, shrill sound pierced like a razor into his brain just like Bellatrix Lestrange's delighted cackle. His fury did not taste so bitter knowing that Bellatrix would pay for what she'd done.

It wasn't just his own anger steeled against Bellatrix Lestrange… He had the promise of Snape. And however much he'd distrusted or resented the greasy bastard in the past, he was daring to trust him in this. It was somehow an immense relief, knowing he wouldn't be alone in his deadly enterprise, knowing someone far more ruthless and calculating than he was stood behind him.

Even later, out on the Quidditch Pitch with the Gryffindor Team, when a few of his teammates jokingly offered to install some airbags in his broom, Harry managed to smile through the ridicule.

The only thing that stung his heart was Ron steadfastly ignoring him, refusing to look at Harry as though the very sight of him was revolting.

He flew around the Quidditch pitch listlessly, trying not to think of Ron, unable to muster the proper enthusiasm. Towards the end of practice, he snapped out of his stupor just in time to dodge a particularly vicious hit by a bludger, and realized suddenly that Ron had sent it his way.

"Weasley, what the hell?" Katie Bell screamed across the pitch, rounding on Ron with a swift jerk of her broomstick.

"Forget it," Harry called, waving her off. "I'm going to shower now, anyway."

He ignored the voices that shouted for him to stay and alighted upon the grass, swinging his Firebolt back over his shoulder. He didn't notice Ron alter his trajectory and sweep into a rough landing somewhere behind him.

"So you flew into a goalpost, huh, Harry? You were at Saint Mungo's?" Ron shouted.

Harry's muscles jerked with tension. He turned coolly to face Ron, who looked ready for a fight.

"Yeah, that's what happened, Ron," Harry replied in a tired voice.

"Funny," Ron sneered, "Cause Lupin gave me the map back, and I saw that you were at Snape's the whole time. Oh, wait-- at your dad's, right?"

Harry glanced warily upwards, and saw that the rest of the team was safely out of hearing range. "Yes, Ron, I was at Snape's. It was just a story."

"So maybe that's why Malfoy's your best friend now… why he counts for more than Hermione!" Ron snarled. "Him being in Slytherin, and your dad being head of Slytherin--"

"Ron!" Harry gasped, noticing movement at the edge of the field. People were approaching. "Keep it down!"

"Why should I? If Hermione--" Ron snarled, then glared down when Harry urgently grasped his arm. "Don't touch me!"

"Ron, just listen--"

"LET ME GO!" Ron bellowed, tearing away from Harry's grip.

"Aw, getting cozy with the Weasel? Doesn't look like he likes it very much, Potty."

Harry almost groaned at the sound of Malfoy's snide voice across the field. Draco was the last person Harry needed to see right now!

Ron was already glaring at Draco, emerging onto the Quidditch Pitch with the Slytherin team on his heels.

"Get lost, Malfoy!" Harry shouted.

"It's our field. We have it booked now," Draco replied coldly, his calculating gray eyes flickering back and forth between Harry and Ron. "Take your little tryst somewhere else, or I might vomit off the side of my broom."

"You're a fine one to talk about trysts, Malfoy!" Ron shouted. He whirled back on Harry viciously. "Maybe that's why you went back to help him. Maybe your secret girlfriend isn't a girlfriend at all! "

"Ron!" Harry cried, horrified.

Draco broke into peals of laughter. He gestured quickly for the other Slytherins to hurry over and join the fun.

Observing this, Harry grabbed Ron again to urge him away from Draco and the Slytherins, but the other boy was lost in his rage and jerked back from his grip.

"Trouble in paradise, Potter?" Draco jeered.

Ron's glare was poisonous.

"Why are you even calling him that, Malfoy?" Ron said spitefully, and Harry realized with a thrill of horror what he was going to say. "After all, his dad's one of--"

"SHUT UP!" Harry bellowed, slamming his fist into Ron's jaw.

Ron tumbled back to the ground, and the sudden pain flaring in Harry's wrist warned him what he'd just done. He'd punched Ron. But he'd had to--

Ron immediately scrambled to his feet and tackled him, sending Harry crashing to the ground, a hundred-and-seventy pounds of furious Weasley on top of him. He felt Ron's fist drive into his cheek, and then saw a burst of red as it slammed down again into his eye.

Harry grappled with Ron's flailing body and managed to roll himself on top, only to be whirled back around beneath his opponent. He tasted blood when Ron punched him again, and sent a blind punch in return. Ron yelped and clutched his face, his other hand slackening up enough for Harry to grab Ron by the collar and propel them away from the ecstatic Malfoy, away from the crowd of onlookers. They rolled off the Quidditch Pitch, down a slope under the stands. Ron reared up to attack again, and Harry scrambled back, raising his hands quickly to stop him.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Harry rasped, staring wildly up at Ron through his good eye. "Is that what you want, Ron?"

"Shut up!" Ron bellowed, and punched him again.

Harry staggered back against a support beam, his ears ringing. Ron leaped upon him, and Harry dodged and shoved him brutally against the beam. Ron grabbed Harry's collar and they both tumbled to the ground.

Harry struggled beneath Ron's weight, and managed to fumble around for a firm hold on the other boy's collar, wrenching Ron's face down to his.

"Don't you get it?" he hissed in Ron's ear, ignoring Ron's struggles to pry himself from Harry's grip. "If you tell them-- if Voldemort finds out-- they'll KILL me! Is that what you want? Do you really want me DEAD?"

Harry stared into Ron's wild eyes, and wondered with a feeling of dull horror if Ron truly did want to kill him. However angry Ron had been at him at times in the past, he could always have vouched that Ron would pull through for him when it mattered.

But now… this was about Hermione. This was different. Maybe this time a line had been crossed. Maybe Ron truly did hate him.

He could hear footsteps rushing down to their position, so he whispered quickly, "Every Death Eater and his mother will be able to curse me once they know I'm related to them. They'll be able to torture me while I'm here, and track me down once I'm out of the wards. Ron-- they'll kill me, and they'll kill Snape. Do you really want that?"

Shouts and laughter accompanied the students-- Gryffindors and Slytherins both-- crowding about them in a wide berth. Slytherins held back the Gryffindors eager to pull apart the two combatants. Ron glared down at him, panting heavily, his weight still crushing Harry to the floor. Some people were yelling for them to start fighting again, others yelling for them to stop, but Harry put up no resistance, imploring Ron with his earnest eyes (well, an earnest eye) not to tell them. He watched anger and denial play across Ron's face, and his heart thumped furiously in his ears.

If Ron said anything…

Suddenly Ron released him, and the crushing weight vanished. Harry heard groans of disappointment, and he sagged onto the ground, heaving in frantic lungfuls of air. He was vaguely aware of his former friend looming above him, a black silhouette against the morning sky.

"It shouldn't have been her," Ron muttered.

He whirled around and shoved his way through the onlookers, disappearing into the crowd.

Slytherin laughter and Gryffindor whispers filled the air. Harry felt his muscles protest as he pulled himself to his feet; his bruised face throbbed mercilessly, and he couldn't seem to open his swollen eye.

He wondered if Ron's parting shot meant that he'd prefer Draco to be the one lying in the hospital wing, or Harry. The answer was one more of those things he didn't know for certain. Not anymore.

* * *

"What happened to you?" Snape asked sharply when he arrived in his office that night.

"Nothing," Harry said, flouncing into the seat across from him. The skin around his eye was still a bit yellow and purple, but Madame Pomfrey had given him a salve to reduce the swelling. "Just a fight. Madame Pomfrey said it would heal on its own."

"With whom?"

Harry sighed, meeting Snape's eyes wearily. "McGonagall's already giving us detention, so don't bother. You can't punish us, too."

"I'll be the judge of that," Snape replied dangerously. "Now, who?"

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

Snape's tone was replete with distaste. "I suppose this was another of your… Muggle fistfights. That display with Draco last year was positively disgraceful."

"Yeah, another Muggle fistfight," Harry replied, unwilling to say more. "Let's just drop it."

Snape considered him through glittering black eyes, then swept around the desk in a whirl of billowing black robes, one of his pale fingers running thoughtfully across the thin line of his lips.

"If you tell me who did this," Snape said in a careful tone, as though he were measuring every word, "perhaps I will be… inattentive while you use a hex from 1001 Virtues upon your opponent. I might fail to observe your transgression. And your opponent might fail to remember afterwards."

Harry would never consider hexing Ron, but the offer surprised him. Snape, turn the other way while he cursed someone? When he could easily give Harry detention? That was new.

"You'd do that?" Harry said, puzzled.

"Provided he's not a Slytherin," added Snape repressively. "If you wish to learn darker spells, you'll need test subjects… I will require a week to brew a memory alteration draught, but once it has been prepared, I'll allow you free reign upon the offender, provided you exercise some discretion of your own."

Harry shifted uncomfortably; he couldn't believe Snape was seriously suggesting this. Hermione-- he felt a lead weight in his stomach-- Hermione would be horrified. She'd call it a gross abuse of Snape's authority, and completely unethical. He felt suddenly very horrible, carrying the physical remnants of his fight with Ron and thinking of Hermione.

"Well, thanks," Harry said dully, "but I don't know if I'd want to do that to him. It would just be… I wouldn't want to do that." He touched his bruised cheek with a finger. "I can't."

"Come now, Harry," Snape said coolly. "Once you begin familiarizing yourself with the basic mechanics of offensive hexes, you'll need to apply them in practical scenarios. How do you think I learned my vast repertoire of spells?"

Harry thought about it a moment; he could probably guess. "You probably practiced them on my-- on James and Sirius?"

Snape smirked, and leaned back against his desk, his arms folded smugly across his chest. "They were both too skilled to serve as mere objects of practice... Lupin, however, was a different case." Snape's expression softened as he seemed to remember several of those practice sessions. "He was often milling about by himself in the hallways, and he was far too kind to hex me in return if my attempt failed. I learned quite a bit from cursing him."

Harry couldn't believe Snape had just gone around cursing Remus, and no one had stopped him. He couldn't believe Snape was admitting to it.

"He's never told me anything about that!"

"The point is, Harry," Snape said in a soft, malicious voice, his gaze locking with Harry's, "he has no recollection of it. Memory draughts are incredibly effective, and for the most part irreversible, provided they're used within an hour of the recollection one wishes to alter."

Harry was tempted to feel horrified that Snape had obviously tormented an unknowing Remus while they were at Hogwarts, and perpetually erased his memory of it… but instead he found himself thinking how much easier it would have been, had Snape used that potion on Ron several weeks ago. His friend would not have used the secret against him today; he wouldn't have had to punch Ron to keep him from blurting it out in front of Draco.

He wouldn't have further alienated his best friend.

"If you can really brew this draught," Harry said, a touch bitter, "Why didn't you use it on Ron? I know you wanted to obliviate him when I told him."

"The potion requires nearly a week to brew, and it must be ingested within twenty-four hours of completion. A potion-induced memory erasure must be premeditated."

"Oh." Harry was mightily tempted to do something to get back at Ron, but he didn't really want to hurt him… much less enlist Snape's help in melting his intestines or something. "My answer's still no. I don't want to curse someone."

His thoughts turned darkly to Bellatrix Lestrange-- how she laughed as Sirius fell to his death...

Just her... Only her.

Snape watched him with a scowl; he might have been looking into Harry's thoughts. "It seems squeamishness is one of your particular failings. I am thankful it is not a family trait."

"Of course it's not," Harry muttered, shooting him a dark look. "You'd never complain about hurting someone. You enjoy it."

Something strange flickered in Snape's expression, and Harry would swear he looked taken aback. "You believe I enjoy it, Potter?"

"You do." Harry looked up at him through clear eyes. "I saw your face when you were torturing Malfoy. You were-- you definitely enjoyed hurting him."

Snape's expression was unreadable. He gazed at Harry for a long moment through fathomless, black eyes.

"I do not enjoy inflicting pain, Potter. I enjoy exacting retribution. There is a difference." He sent Harry a hard, slanted look. "As you well should know."

Harry wanted to point out that there was a significant difference between getting back at Bellatrix for killing people he loved, and taking pleasure in making Lucius Malfoy scream in agony… but he had a feeling Snape would just twist his words against him and make him look like a hypocrite. He remained silent instead.

Snape turned sharply away from him. "In any case, we are not here to discuss me."

Harry nodded grimly, even though Snape couldn't see it. Talking about Malfoy obviously made them both uncomfortable.

Snape flipped through a stack of parchments perched on the edge of his desk. "I would like you to examine these spells; I've labeled them by ease of execution, and level of pain induction."

He dropped a thick stack before Harry, a cloud of dust floating up in their wake. He watched as Harry's eyes swept over the somewhat overwhelming influx of information.

"Consider this, boy," Snape said after a moment, "are you set on a physical confrontation, or might I acquaint you with the merits of poison?"

Harry looked up from the gigantic pile, a bit overawed. "Poison?"

A wave of Snape's wand brought a few dozen vials floating in from the adjoining room, and they arranged themselves on the desk in a neat set of rows. Snape immediately launched into explaining their uses, one-by-one.

Harry would never label Snape enthusiastic about anything, but he seemed to derive a certain glee lecturing Harry on the various intricacies of poisons. Apparently, he'd formulated several himself, and he presented those vials to Harry with a certain dark relish. Fast and slow ones, excruciatingly painful ones, basic Muggle poisons, magical poisons intended only for wizards.

It became readily apparent that he was particularly proud of one of his own creations in particular. "I call it Absynia. Note the texture," Snape said, swirling a vial of metallic gray liquid before Harry's eyes. "It perhaps appears somewhat grainy, but it dissolves instantly in liquid, and adds only the faintest hint of citrus to warn of its presence. I enjoy this one, for although it has no antidote, a careful application of counter-poisons can stave off death for months. It serves as an excellent means of coercion, or it allows the infliction of a slow, lingering death upon a victim."

A strange fizzing penetrated the room, and Snape's eyes drifted lazily to the small room branching off from his office. He set the vial back down upon his desk, and a swipe of his thin hand swept his curtain of greasy black hair behind his shoulders.

"We will resume this later, Potter. Consider this-- a direct confrontation might bring about several outcomes, both positive and negative. You will require preparation, training, and an advantageous setting." He shot Harry a long, measured look. "Poison, however, can find your target dead by the end of this week. Think about that."

Harry digested Snape's words as his professor gathered up the vials; he felt strangely anxious. Although poison certainly seemed to be the most logical course-- Snape claimed he'd allow Harry to brew it, even slip it in her drink himself if he wished-- it felt wrong for some reason.

He closed his eyes and tried to envision the satisfaction he'd feel, knowing he'd avenged Tonks and Sirius. All he needed to do was poison Bellatrix. Snape could set it up… Snape could get him close enough…

But simply killing her so quickly, so easily, wasn't enough.

What the hell do I want? he wondered, feeling angry with himself. A few days ago the prospect of killing her with a kinship curse-- without seeing her, with horrible consequences to himself-- had seemed ideal. Why now did simply poisoning her feel lacking?

His eyes trailed up to Snape, looming like some giant black bat over a cauldron in the adjacent room, peering into its smoky depths over his long, hooked nose.

"What potion are you brewing, Professor?" Harry asked, trying to divert himself from the unsettling thought.

Snape's eyes flitted to Harry's briefly before sliding back down to his cauldron. "Wolfsbane. Please do not feel free to linger in my presence."

The harsh words slid off him easily. "Cutting it a little close, aren't you?" Harry said with a note of challenge in his voice, gathering up his books. "Full moon's on Sunday."

Snape smirked into his cauldron. "The other batch proved unsatisfactory." His dark eyes rose to Harry's through the thin film of smoke. "Back to your tower, now, Harry. I must work."

A wave of his wand sent the door slamming closed between them. Harry was caught for a surreal moment by the fumes drifting from under the crack in the door, wondering if he really knew what he was doing… if he really was the impulsive idiot Snape always made him out to be.

Poison would be so easy… So why did the idea of poisoning her leave him feeling so cold?

* * *

"Stay a moment, Harry."

Harry reluctantly trailed to a stop, just on the verge of escaping the DADA classroom. Students streamed around him on all sides, oblivious to Harry's urgent desire to duck into their midst and get out while he could.

He couldn't stand to see Remus. As he walked reluctantly back to stand before Remus's desk, his feet feeling heavier than lead, he looked at the desk, the blackboard, anywhere but at Lupin.

"Yes, Professor?"

Remus sighed, and sank wearily into the chair across the desk from Harry. He folded his hands on his lap, stretching the patched elbows of his robes to what looked like their limits.

"I wanted to speak with you about what happened on Sunday morning."

Harry shifted his books uncomfortably to his other hand. "You don't have to. I'm--"

"Harry, I know you're angry with me. You have every right to be."

Harry's head shot up. "You're worried I'm angry?"

Remus scrubbed his palm over his prematurely lined forehead. "I didn't react well to learning about Severus." Harry felt himself freeze up. "And what with the way I've been behaving recently--"

"You-- er, I thought you'd be angry with me," Harry said quietly.

Remus smiled. It made him look very tired. "It was a bit of a shock, Harry. But I've had some time to think it over… The Headmaster has filled me in on the more pertinent details." His chuckle was a bit forced. "And Severus has been very happy to tell me the rest."

Harry dared not speak.

"Truthfully, Harry, I would never even have thought of Severus as a father, much less as your father." He smiled ruefully. "But from what I've seen, I suppose I've underestimated him." The smile died from his lips. "I just wanted to be certain you know it hasn't changed how I feel about you. It will be an adjustment… But James's son, or Severus's son… You're still the same boy I tutored in the Patronus Charm third year."

"And the person who killed Sirius."

The harsh words escaped his lips before he could stop them. Harry wanted to dissolve under the stricken look on Remus's face.

"I am sorry for that, Harry," he whispered. "I wish I could take it back somehow."

Harry cringed. He wished he hadn't brought it up. He didn't know why he'd even said it when things had been going so well. They could have just patched things up again and pretended it never happened.

But it did…

"Bellatrix Lestrange killed Sirius," Remus said, his voice strained as though it took him some effort. His eyes settled kindly upon Harry, and Harry saw in them for the first time the acknowledgement that they shared the same pain. "I think, Harry, that we both have some healing to do."

* * *

Snape was clearly in a bad mood when Harry arrived for Occlumency. Harry thought somehow it had to do with his negative reaction to the idea of poisoning Bellatrix, but after an hour of reliving Lucius Malfoy casting the Cruciatus Curse on him over and over again, he was too angry to care.

"Are we done now?" he demanded when Snape ended the final spell. Without waiting for a reply, he lurched to his feet and started for the door.

"No. You have not repelled me once tonight."

"Well, doing it for the hundredth time is not going to make my mind any clearer," Harry retorted. "Besides, you're really going for that same memory. Is there some point you're trying to make?"

Instead of challenging the assertion, Snape rounded on him and snarled, "I was proving to you, you idiot boy, that I was perfectly justified in what I did to Malfoy! Even by your ridiculous standards."

Back to that again? Harry wondered.

"I'll take your word for it," he replied. The ache in his scar was positively killing him. He nearly made it to the door before Snape grabbed his arm and propelled him back into a chair.

"Have you no gratitude, Potter?" Snape snarled, looming over him. "I saved you from him!"

"I am grateful--"

Harry stopped, realizing suddenly that he never thanked Snape for stopping Malfoy. He'd never thanked Snape for much of anything.

It didn't help that Snape made it so damn hard.

"Er, thanks," Harry said, feeling his cheeks redden, a bit ashamed of himself. "I guess I didn't thank you before. But I am grateful. You did stop Malfoy. And when you--"

"I do not want your thanks, Potter!" Snape said scathingly. "You will retract your assertion that I was being the very definition of a nasty, evil Slytherin when I punished Malfoy."

"When you exacted retribution?" Harry said sarcastically. "Why do you even care what I think?"

"I do not," Snape returned shortly, "But I will not permit you to proclaim yourself the moral superior merely due to a single incident with Lucius Malfoy."

It sounded like a fairly weak excuse to Harry, but he just wanted to go lie down and let the pounding in his scar fade away, and he wasn't in the mood to figure out Snape's problem.

"Fine, you were justified in torturing Malfoy. I do not think I'm morally superior."

Snape looked irritated and entirely dissatisfied, but he had no grounds for objection when Harry started for the door again.

Harry was happy to escape. He was even more glad that he didn't have Occlumency again until the following Tuesday.

Yet that night, Ron's curtain yanked abruptly closed upon Harry's entry into their room. The next morning, he kept noticing Remus's guilt-stricken face across the Great Hall, and his visit to Hermione in the Hospital Wing found her looking paler than ever, and still deep in a coma, her prognosis increasingly uncertain. The prospect of returning to Gryffindor felt oppressive as the evening hour approached, and somehow he found himself back in the dungeons, trying to figure out how to get past Snape's tapestry.

Abruptly the tapestry transformed into an open door. Snape loomed there, looking slightly bemused down at Harry's invisible form.

"Potter. What is it?"

Harry suddenly found himself questioning his own sanity. Why in the hell had he just willingly come to Snape?

"You said I could look at the book if I came back," Harry said, his voice muffled by the cloak. He waited for Snape to yell at him to leave.

Snape stared at him a long moment. "So I did."

And to Harry's surprise, Snape stepped to the side, allowing him to pass. Harry walked into Snape's chambers, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling that something fundamental had just changed between them at last.

Snape had been fairly decent the last few days, according Harry some degree of space as he studied the dark volumes, content to answer the occasional inquiry about one spell or another. He had no visitors, not even Slytherins, and when Harry was in his rooms, he felt almost as though he were in some isolated corner the rest of the world had long ago forgotten; he could almost forget the world in return.

He was not quite filled with the usual, all-pervasive dread on Sunday afternoon when he gathered up his books in the library for the journey to Snape's office for an Occlumency session. Snape had ordered him to practice clearing his mind the previous night, and he had actually made an attempt. An unsuccessful attempt, of course, but enough of one for him to enter Snape's office and face the Potions Master with only the slightest degree of trepidation.

"Potter," Snape greeted, drawing his wand. "Did you practice?"

"Yeah," Harry said, setting his books down in a chair and drawing his own.

Snape eyed him cynically. "We shall see."

Later, as he slumped in a chair to recover from an hour of Snape breaking into his mind, he watched idly as his professor removed a smoking vial of potion from the storage room adjoining the office.

"I must leave shortly to deliver this," Snape said, assessing his condition with a quick sweep of his dark eyes. "Do you require anything of me?"

"What is that?" Harry asked, wondering why the smoking concoction looked vaguely familiar.

"This?" Snape said lazily, trailing his dark eyes over to the goblet. A menacing gleam appeared in them. "It's Lupin's Wolfsbane."

"Oh. I'd forgotten."

Harry rubbed his forehead, making Snape frown.

"How is your scar, boy?"

Harry shrugged; it ached, but nothing worse than the usual. "It's fine. I don't think I need any of the Tranquility Draught today."

Snape looked him over with a clinical eye. "Your bruising is still evident. I have a salve that might help."

"No, thanks," Harry said. "It's almost healed, anyway."

Snape settled down across from him, watching him levelly. "I was informed that your brawl the other day was with Weasley. I believe I understand now your reluctance to curse him."

"It wasn't just because it was Ron," Harry said quickly. "I don't want to hurt anyone at Hogwarts."

He could tell the statement irritated the older man.

"I must commend your fine taste in friends," said Snape snidely. "The way I hear it, he accused you of a torrid love affair with Draco?"

Harry flushed. "Yeah, well you're one to talk about friends. Your best mate at Hogwarts was Lucius Malfoy."

Snape shot him an irritated look.

"I suppose he was my 'best mate'. But then again, I was not a celebrity," he drawled. "I did not have a bevy of admirers vying for the job. I would have exercised far more prudent judgment had my situation been different."

"Had your situation been different?" Harry echoed. "Well, how about your different situation right after Hogwarts, when you decided to pal around with a Dark Lord and his Death Eaters?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry regretted them; he knew he'd crossed a line, and he fully expected Snape to hex him for it.

But he found Snape watching him with a curious lack of emotion.

"I did not choose to follow the Dark Lord simply because I lacked companionship. You would have to be a Slytherin to understand the appeal of a friendship based upon mutual self-interest."

"The hat wanted to put me in Slytherin," Harry threw out. "So try me."

Snape looked startled. "In my house?"

"I turned it down. But think-- you might've been stuck with the son of James Potter in Slytherin. Bet you would have loved that. "

"Oh, I might have derived some small measure of enjoyment," Snape said with a dark smile; his tone sounded rather ominous to Harry's ears. Before he could even shudder at the possible torments his first-year self might have endured, Snape added, "Very likely your presence in my house would have proved far more vexing for me than for you. You are an exceedingly meddlesome boy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You would have expelled me the first chance you got. I'd probably be with the Dursleys now… But it might have been easier for you, knowing I was your son, if you'd also thought I was a Slytherin."

"Very likely," Snape said grudgingly, but Harry noticed he looked smug as he leaned back in his chair. "I always knew I could not have fathered a certified Gryffindor."

The words irritated Harry. Before he could rise up in his house's defense, though, Snape said, "I shall attempt to explain this to you, then: Lucius Malfoy and I were friends, in that our friendship fulfilled mutual requirements. As a student, I needed an influential ally in Slytherin House, and he needed an underling with a certain measure of cunning to support his prefecture. As an adult, he invited me into the Dark Lord's ranks and imbued me with a certain measure of status in their eyes; he required in return a powerful ally against his rivals within the ranks. Our friendship was based upon the fact that we fulfilled mutual needs. The dissolution of our friendship occurred when circumstances forced me to move openly against him. I realized then that I no longer required his goodwill to maintain my standing in the Dark Lord's circle."

"So that's why he tried to kill you," Harry said. "Friendship's over for a Slytherin when you don't need each other anymore, huh?"

"In part." Snape shot him a condescending glance. "Surely you can see why my actions this last holiday might have antagonized him."

"Well, obviously. You did cast the Cruciatus Curse on him."

"More than that, Potter. I humiliated him. I forcibly ejected him from my home, and I successfully defied his attempts to exert his absolute authority over my affairs as well as yours. There were several points of contention that arose between us. And my refusal to buckle to his will was the final aberration he could no longer tolerate."

Harry watched him curiously. The Professor Snape he'd always encountered in the classroom was a snarling, relentless authoritarian; he couldn't quite imagine Snape as someone else's stooge.

"Why did you go along with it so long?" Harry blurted out. Against his better judgment, he continued, "I just can't imagine you being the Greg Goyle to his Draco Malfoy, if you know what I mean."

Snape sent him a cold, slanted glance. "Or the Ronald Weasley to his Harry Potter?" he returned snidely.

Harry winced; trust Snape to hit the sore spot.

"Ron and I aren't like that," he snapped. "And you know that."

Especially not now.

"Don't look so offended. You deserve it for comparing my younger self to that dim-witted lout Goyle!" said Snape harshly.

Harry forced himself to be silent, hoping to avoid a confrontation.

Snape's tone grew bitter. "As for why… Well, boy, I had a gang of Gryffindors who thrived on tormenting me. I would have faced similar derision in Slytherin House, had I not won the favor of one of its most powerful members. I was unattractive, tactless, and far more intelligent than my peers, yet I possessed not the cunning to hide my awareness of it. Surely you can see why I was an object of ridicule. As arrogant and self-serving as Lucius Malfoy was, he spared me an even more intolerable seven years. I was happy being his minion; it was far more merciful than the alternative."

Sirius's taunt about Snape being Lucius Malfoy's lapdog floated into Harry's thoughts, and he cringed at it. He couldn't help thinking of Dudley and his gang, and he felt a pang of guilt for even bringing this all up.

"I understand... I do." He felt like he'd embarrassed Snape somehow, so taking a deep jagged breath, Harry offered, "Dudley and his gang used to beat me up, and anyone who tried to be friends with me. I guess if someone had been nice to me anyway, or if they'd, um, protected me somehow, I would've been pretty grateful, too."

He felt his cheeks heating up as he said it. He couldn't believe he'd just admitted that to Snape.

Snape's dark eyes still rested heavily upon him, and Harry winced inwardly, waiting for Snape to mock him. "The woes of our poor little celebrity…"

"Your relatives should not have allowed that to occur," Snape said evenly.

Harry couldn't believe what he'd heard; he barely dared to breathe. Snape's next words shocked him even more.

"And I certainly would never have allowed it."

He was overcome with an odd mixture of anxiety and embarrassment. Harry stared at his hand, clenched tightly over the edge of Snape's desk, and tried to ignore the feeling that all the dead, slimy things in Snape's jars were watching him closely.

"Lest you operate under a misconception," Snape said, in a decidedly louder voice that announced he was veering from this dangerous subject, "I would like to emphasize that I was not so sickeningly grateful to Lucius Malfoy that I became a Death Eater purely by his caprice. I do not wish you to leave here with that impression."

"I know," Harry said, surprised Snape would think that. "You also probably wanted to get back at James, right? Get revenge? And I bet being pureblood and having your father be such a-- being the way he was, you were probably brought up believing in that whole pureblood cause, too. And I guess you probably liked the power."

"Yes," Snape said in an odd tone. "Those were important factors."

Harry watched him intently, an idea burning its way into his mind, one he couldn't simply dismiss.

He knew he shouldn't ask about it… But he couldn't help it. Not this.

"Did my mother have something to do with your quitting? Did she change your mind about believing in Voldemort?" The words spilled out of him. "Did you feel something for her, even though she was a Muggle-born? I mean-- I know you said why she-- er, why she was with you. But, er, you never said why you decided to go along with it. And she did defend you in school…"

Harry trailed off at the dangerous glint in Snape's eyes.

"Wouldn't that be quaint," Snape sneered. "What a precious fairy tale-- your mother and father uniting in love… Your saintly mother, redeeming your ghastly father from his wretched misdeeds with the sweet nectar of her kiss."

Harry watched him with a sinking feeling.

"You're male, Potter," Snape said scathingly, "Surely you realize a hormonal virgin might willingly partake of an attractive female when she chooses to dispense her favors. And she was quite liberal in dispensing them."

Harry felt a hot rush of blood to his face. "You don't have to tell me anything more," he said through gritted teeth. "I get it."

"My defection had nothing to do with Lily Evans!"

He'd practically spat her name, and it occurred to Harry then in a sudden flash of insight that he'd touched upon a particularly sore point by mentioning his mother. The realization muted his own rising anger.

"As it happens, I was given a particularly unwelcome gift courtesy of the Dark Lord," Snape said, a vein on his forehead twitching furiously, "and my loyalties changed that very night. Your mother had no bearing upon my decision whatsoever."

"Okay, I believe you," Harry said quickly. "I really do. It wasn't about my mother."

Snape fell silent and glowered down at him.

"I won't mention her again, okay, Professor?"

Snape looked abruptly away.

"Now that you have wasted an excessive amount of my time with your prattle," he said coldly, grabbing the smoking Wolfsbane, "You must excuse me. I must give the werewolf his potion."

"Oh. Okay. Sorry." Harry gathered up his cloak as Snape waited impatiently, then trailed several feet behind Snape out the door and into the hall. "Tell Remus I said 'hi'."

Snape stopped suddenly in place, and sent Harry a very strange look. "You are speaking with him again?"

Harry shrugged, feeling inexplicably embarrassed about the whole thing. "Yeah. Lupin and me-- I guess we're going to try to work things through."

Snape then did a very odd thing. He sent an alarmed glance at the goblet in his hand, and suddenly vanished it with his wand.

"Professor?" Harry said, bemused.

"A-- an insect. In the potion." Snape looked at Harry with what he would swear was wariness. "I must retrieve another vial. Excuse me."

Without further adieu, Snape whirled around and started back for his office. Bemused, Harry turned and started off for Gryffindor.

* * *

Snape lingered as Lupin sipped at his Wolfsbane. The other man sensed his scrutiny and glanced up.

"Still here? Are you waiting for the poison to kick in, Severus?" Lupin joked weakly.

"No," Snape said, with regret.

"How is Harry holding up?" Lupin said quietly. "I heard they're bringing in a specialist from Malaysia for Hermione."

"My son is well," Snape said coldly, "Despite your best efforts."

Lupin looked up sharply. "Pardon me?"

Snape snarled, "I am aware of what you said to him… That you virtually accused him of killing Black himself."

Lupin paled, but he held his composure. "What I said to Harry was very unfair. I've apologized to him for it. I'm trying to make it up to him."

"I warned you not to breathe a word to him," Snape growled. "If the boy weren't so forgiving, I would have half a mind to lace your Wolfsbane with an expectorate."

Among other things…

Remus scrubbed his palm over his eyes, his exhaustion and guilt showing in the tired lines of his face. "And you'd be fully in your rights as a father to do so. I know I hurt him terribly. I truly do feel awful about it." He sighed, and opened his eyes again. "I will say, it forced me to come to terms with what happened to Sirius. And it won't happen again, Severus. I'll take a Wizard's Oath, if you'd like."

"That's fortunate… for you," Snape said dangerously. "I give you fair warning, Lupin, if you choose to so much as waggle your tongue in the wrong direction with that boy again, you will be in for an unpleasant surprise."

"And I'll deserve it," Remus said, watching him with a strange expression that almost resembled respect. "You know I never wanted to hurt Harry. I told you as much."

Snape grunted. Reluctantly, he remembered.

"He would have run right out into that battle, Severus. He would have been killed," Lupin whispered. "I was angry. Sometimes he just doesn't think things through."

His expression darkened, and Lupin looked to the far corner of the room, as though his gaze had been caught by some shadow in the distance.

"He didn't have an easy life before Hogwarts. I worry sometimes that he thinks of himself the way those Muggles did. He thinks he has to prove himself worthy of us. He doesn't realize that even if he doesn't save the day, we'll still care about him."

Snape started violently at Remus's words, at being so casually grouped in with the boy's horde of admirers, but the other man seemed oblivious.

"I'm afraid he'll take it too far one day, that he really will get himself killed." Lupin took another sip of his Wolfsbane, shuddering slightly at the taste. "And most of all, I'm afraid because he's not afraid of that himself."

Snape looked at Lupin sharply, suddenly wondering if Lupin somehow knew about what Harry had tried to do, how he'd nearly destroyed himself simply to kill Bellatrix Lestrange.

But then he realized-- no, Lupin did not know that. He just knew Harry.

An odd feeling stole into him. His jealousy still burned, for the werewolf understood so well that side of the boy he himself could never quite comprehend, yet at the same time there stirred an unfamiliar sense of kinship, knowing Lupin of all people shared his same fears, Lupin understood.

"The boy conducted an inappropriate liaison with Nymphadora Tonks," Severus said, not sure why he felt the need to tell the other man. Lupin's eyes widened in shock, as Snape continued, "Before she died, he'd convinced himself he was in love with her."

Lupin stared at him in disbelief. "I can't believe that."

"Oh, it's true," Snape said darkly. "I saw it in his mind."

He watched comprehension creep across Lupin's face, and added mercilessly, "He will not speak of it, but my guess is, your accusation coincided with the very day he lost the great love of his young life."

Lupin's expression crumpled. "Oh, Merlin, Harry…" He looked more devastated in that moment than Severus had ever seen him.

Snape smiled darkly, enjoying it. "Finish your Wolfsbane, Lupin."

Snape watched Lupin draw the vial to his lips with a trembling hand, and he knew then that the knowledge had just hurt him more than anything he could have slipped into his goblet.

* * *

"Severus. We must speak."

Snape glanced up from dinner the next night to find Dumbledore standing above him, a grim look on his face.

"Accompany me to my office," Dumbledore whispered, and waited for Snape to rise before heading for the door.

His expression was very grave, and Snape knew instantly he had some bad news. He found himself wondering suddenly if they'd lost another member of the Order. He hoped it was Moody.

"I've received some unfortunate news from the Ministry of Magic concerning a student in your house," Dumbledore said solemnly, lowering his ancient body into his chair. "I'd prefer you break the news to him before the Daily Prophet does."

"Who is it?" Snape asked, with new interest.

"Narcissa Malfoy was found dead this afternoon in her home," Dumbledore informed him, and Snape felt as though his blood had frozen in his veins. "She missed a social engagement last night. An employee from the Ministry is missing as well-- a Julian Noailles. They believe he might have had something to do with her death. He was last seen in the vicinity of her home a week ago."

"He's dead," Snape said instantly, and knew it to be true. "It was Lucius. He must have concealed the body to throw suspicion off himself. He killed them both."

At Dumbledore's searching look, Snape supplied, "They were having an affair."

And he remembered vividly the last time he'd seen Lucius, when both he and Bellatrix had taunted the man regarding his wife's conduct. He fully understood now the look on the other man's face, when it had become one taunt too many.

"What is more humiliating? The inadequacy that drove your wife from you, or the passive acceptance you evince towards her taking another lover?"

Lucius must have gone on to murder his wife that very night.

In his memory danced an image of a young Lucius and Narcissa grinning at each other over their wands. Lucius had always let her win when he faced her in the Slytherin house duels. It had irritated Severus to no end, for his position as the other boy's lackey had obligated him to always bet upon Lucius. Whenever he'd complained, though, Lucius had waxed sentimental about it being 'the price of love, dear friend.'

Snape knew then with cold certainty that they were in the final stretch of their enmity. Lucius had murdered his own wife-- a wife he'd dearly loved-- and he would blame Severus for it. He would not rest until he'd killed Severus, killed Septimus. This was a declaration as final as if he'd written it on a scroll and signed it with his blood.

"That is not the version you will be telling Draco," Dumbledore said solemnly, watching him. "The Ministry believes it was a one-sided infatuation. You must not tell him otherwise."

"Why?" Snape said. "It's common knowledge among the Death Eaters. He's bound to find out anyway."

"Because a sixteen-year-old boy has just lost his mother," Dumbledore said, his voice cold. "I will not have you compound that grief, not until it's necessary."

"I see," Snape said sarcastically. "You're sparing him the pain of knowing the truth." He whipped around and started for the door. "The boy's not as smart as his father, but he's no fool. He'll figure it out. He'll hear whispers."

"Not from you, I trust," Dumbledore said sternly.

Snape looked back at him, his expression cold. "I will be… gentle with him. But I find it odd you'd prefer the boy continue loving and admiring the father who just murdered his mother."

"As long as Lucius remains a fugitive, and Draco remains within our jurisdiction," Dumbledore said, "It will only serve to hurt him further, knowing what Lucius has done. Allow the boy a period to mourn. Then we will find some way to tell him the truth."

Snape silently cursed Dumbledore for his ridiculous compassion, his need to shelter even the worst sort of children.

However angry it made him, though, he was unaccustomed to defying the Headmaster. "We will continue to monitor young Mr. Malfoy, then?" he asked stiffly.

"I've already assigned a team of Order members to guard him during the funeral."

Snape's heart lurched violently in his chest. "You are allowing him to leave?"

"I cannot justify preventing a boy from attending his mother's funeral," Dumbledore said in tone clearly meant to calm him. "The family has requested Draco be unescorted; they wish this to be a private, family affair. The Order members will be exercising utmost discretion, concealing their presence."

Snape saw it suddenly, Lucius's entire plan stretching out before him. Lucius had killed Narcissa in more than just the height of passion; it was an act of the coldest calculation. He knew there was no excuse so cast-iron as the death of a parent to draw a son from the safety of Hogwarts. He knew Narcissa's family would not want the likes of Severus or aurors around to bungle their private mourning. He'd done this all to get his hands back on his son again.

There was a horrible, dropping sensation in his stomach. "You realize why he's doing this," Snape said, his voice hoarse. "You realize if that boy escapes our hands, Harry and I-- we'll both--"

"I will do my utmost to ensure that does not happen," Dumbledore pledged softly, leaning closer. "But I cannot forbid his departure. The Ministry would intervene. And I cannot ignore the wishes of the family."

They shared a long look, in which Snape realized suddenly why Dumbledore looked so grave, and he realized just how helpless their position was. Everything they'd done to secure Draco had been unofficial, beneath the sight of the Ministry of Magic. This was one situation where they could not exert their efforts to shield Draco from Lucius to their fullest.

"You must permit me to tell him the truth," Snape said vehemently. "He must know."

"Will it change anything, Severus?" Dumbledore asked. His blue eyes were soft with compassion, his voice almost sad. "Would he desert his father if he knew the truth?"

And Snape remembered suddenly the adoring, almost fanatical gleam in those gray eyes with the boy spoke of his father, the absolute devotion inspired by years of strident conditioning. Lucius had raised Draco to worship his father, and Draco would never turn from him. Not even on account of his mother.

"No," Snape said with a sinking feeling of dismay.

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "Then let us not shatter one more spirit than we must."

* * *

Draco looked grumpy, his blonde hair uncharacteristically disheveled with Snape summoned him down from the Slytherin dorms. He considered bringing the boy into his chambers, but opted instead for his office, fearing to show Draco his personal space.

He explained carefully the ministry account of events, watching shock suffuse Draco's pale face.

"I am deeply sorry, Draco," Snape said softly. "The Headmaster will be escorting you to the Hogwarts Express in the morning, where your relatives will be waiting."

The boy seemed too shocked to speak. When Snape departed to his office and returned with a Tranquility Draught, hoping to subdue the boy before any unwholesome outbursts, he drank it automatically.

Watching Draco's pale Adam's apple bob as he drained it sent a dark idea crawling into Snape's mind, one he couldn't immediately dismiss.

Gradually the boy laid his head down, closing his eyes. Silent tears trickled out from between his lids and dribbled onto the desk.

Snape rose as silently as a black wraith from the confines of his chair and glided into the back of his office, his eyes running over the potions in his cabinets, lighting upon a metallic gray vial.

Absynia. Why else had he formulated it, if not for a situation such as this?

He stole a glance at Draco, lost in his grief at the desk, and then considered the vial again.

He would need to brew a new batch. He was still uncertain how long a dormant batch remained potent. It would take all night; he'd be lucky if it cooled in time. But once Draco had ingested at least a few sips, well… There would be no question of Lucius's compliance. Lucius would risk many things for a victory, but he would not risk his son. And only with Severus's help-- his careful application of counter-poisons-- could he ensure Draco's survival from week to week.

Snape quietly gathered the ingredients, occasionally glancing at Draco to ensure the boy was still oblivious to him. Draco, however, had no interest in what Severus was doing. He curled up into a small ball in the chair and rested his pointed chin on his knees, tears still coursing their way down his cheeks.

"I have some brewing to catch up upon, Draco. Tell me if you need anything," Snape told him. "It might be best if you stayed here for the night. I will conjure you a more comfortable chair."

"I'm fine," Draco mumbled, but he didn't bother objecting when the desk chair morphed into a luxurious easy chair. He merely curled deeper into the cushions, looking small and very lost.

"Would you like something to read? Anything to eat or drink?" Snape asked, hoping to brew uninterrupted.

"No," Draco said faintly. "I'm fine."

"Very well. There is another Tranquility Draught on the desk if you need it. Or a Cheering Formula, in the top drawer. Use them at your discretion."

He watched Draco cast a listless glance towards the desk before his head slumped back down onto the arm of the chair.

Snape left him there, staring at the wall with tears trickling down his cheeks, and brewed the poison to end his future.

* * *

"Draco-- wake up."

Draco's eyes slipped open, and he glanced bleakly around the room. Snape watched him with what he hoped was a kind expression-- he wasn't very good projecting compassion.

"It's nearly seven thirty. The Headmaster will be down here shortly to collect you," Snape said, watching the devastation steal into Draco's eyes when he fully understood it hadn't all been a bad dream. "I thought you might like something to eat first."

Draco shook his head. "No, I-- I'm fine." He choked on the words, and tears welled in his eyes.

"At least have something to drink. I'm certain you're parched," Snape said softly, reaching out and stroking his blond hair in a comforting gesture. "Pumpkin juice? Tea?"

The blonde boy stared at him blankly for a long moment, and wanting to hurry things along, Snape said, "I think it shall be pumpkin juice, if you have no objection."

Draco shrugged noncommittally, but Snape felt confident now that he'd drink whatever he put before him. He stroked the boy's hair again with seeming affection, remembering how he'd seen Lucius do this very thing to Harry.

"However dark the cloud, Draco," he whispered, smirking inwardly at how ridiculous he sounded, "there's always a silver lining. You will be a stronger person for this in the end."

The boy nodded mechanically beneath his hand, and Snape offered him a fond smile, then rose to his feet.

The potion had nearly finished cooling just a few minutes earlier, and he'd already ladled out a vial, allowing it to finish cooling on its own. He closed the door separating him from Draco, and waved his wand to conjure a glass of pumpkin juice. He reached for the Absynia, when a sudden movement behind him made him jump violently.

"Hey!" Harry whispered, slipping his cloak off and bunching it in his hand.

Snape stood frozen in place, his hand poised in front of the potions collection. He felt like someone had just placed his heart in a vice and squeezed it; he couldn't breathe. Harry was here. Harry had been here. Harry had seen.

His son stood before him, staring at him as though he'd never seen him before. Snape was paralyzed under those green eyes, horrified to the depths of his being at just what Harry knew about him now. Whatever he'd thought of Snape before, he would never forgive him for this; if he'd thought of Snape as a monster before, he knew it now.

And Severus realized, in his heart, that even if he screamed, This was for YOU. This was ALL for YOU, you stupid boy! Harry would still never excuse it. He would never forgive him for this.

Torturing Lucius Malfoy was one thing. Planning the murder of Lucius's sixteen-year-old son was infinitely worse. And Harry would recognize that potion. He would know exactly what Snape was going to do.

Harry was still staring at him with that odd expression, and Snape realized with a deep, churning feeling of sickness that there was nothing he could do now to change this. His hand dropped to his sides. He felt those green eyes were penetrating into the very depths of his soul and finding nothing but waste.

"Say what you're going to say, Potter," he said resignedly.

"I came--" Harry said, gesturing with a wave of his cloak, still watching Snape intently, "I forgot my, er, my Transfiguration textbook last night. And I wanted to get it before class. I saw--"

He gestured helplessly in Draco's direction, never taking his eyes from Snape.

But there was no condemnation in them when Severus dared to read their depths. No disgust. Something else, something that had never been directed at him before.

"I didn't mean to spy on you. I meant to get out, but he woke up and I couldn't just open the door… But anyway, I-- er, I just wanted you to know," Harry said a bit breathlessly, "That I think it's a really good thing you're doing for Draco in there."

Snape stared at him, feeling a strange sensation like his brain had just grown light. "What?"

Harry smiled a bit tentatively then, and the warmth in his eyes made Severus's head whirl.

"With everything that's happened with Lucius, it's really decent of you to be so nice to Draco. What with his mum and all… I saw it in the paper." Harry shrugged, then pulled his cloak halfway on again. "I just wanted you to know."

Severus couldn't speak. His son was still looking at him with that same expression, the one he wore when he looked at Lupin. When he'd looked at Black.

"Also," Harry said, closing his eyes briefly and drawing a jagged breath as though mustering his courage, "I know-- I realize you've done a lot for me. After T-- T-- after Tonks--" his voice faltered as though her name hurt him, "You saved my life, you took care of me. Again."

Harry swallowed hard, and glanced towards the door separating them from Draco.

"I should have realized it earlier. You've-- you've really been looking out for me, haven't you? I'm sorry I didn't appreciate it." Harry fixed him with a steady gaze. "But I will."

Snape could not have spoken if he tried. It seemed that any words he forced from his lips would extinguish the warmth kindling in his son's eyes, expose all in him that was vile, show him for the hypocrite he was. And suddenly now that Harry was looking at him with that same affection he'd always reserved for others, for those he loved, Severus could as easily tear his own heart from his chest as destroy it.

So he said nothing, trapped in his hypocrisy. He watched silently as Harry smiled, and pulled the invisibility cloak back over his head.

"If you just open the door, I'll try to sneak out without him hearing me," said Harry's voice in front of him. "Sorry for talking so long. Were you going to give him a potion?"

A potion.

Snape's heart thudded in his chest, and he turned mechanically to the potions lined neatly before him.

"A calming draught," he heard his voice say, ringing hollowly in his ears. He watched his hand close around a clear vial, bypassing the metallic gray poison altogether. He watched as he poured it deliberately into the pumpkin juice, and swirled it about with a slight shake of the cup.

He pushed open the door, and heard Harry's footsteps softly padding behind him. His heart felt like it was twisting in his chest, and even after he set the goblet before Draco's sightless eyes, and opened the door to 'get some air', he felt uneasy as though Harry still lurked somewhere in the room with them.

For all he knew, Harry did.

Snape felt tense and on edge. He glanced towards the open door to the hallway. Had the boy left or not? How was he to know?

He could hear Draco swallowing the pumpkin juice. There was still time. Still a world of time. He'd simply give Draco the draught. He'd lie about what it was… He'd force-feed him if he had to… Just as long as he knew that Harry was gone…

And suddenly the Headmaster appeared in the open doorway, his eyes alighting upon Draco.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," he said, "Are you ready to go?"

Draco looked up dully and nodded his head. He rose to his feet and serenely pulled his coat back on. The Headmaster's gaze fell to the goblet. Snape stared at the floor, furious with himself.

He felt Dumbledore's eyes rest upon him, searching his expression gravely. He met Dumbledore's gaze challengingly, almost as furious with the Headmaster as he was with himself.

Don't look at me like that, you old coot! You know what I am, you left him with me. You KNEW what I would do!

But when it came down it, he hadn't done it. And the realization made him sick with horror.

Dumbledore rested his hand on Draco's shoulder as the boy passed, and sent Severus another searching look before disappearing with the boy down the corridor.

Snape stared bleakly at the half-empty goblet of pumpkin juice, and he knew then he'd made a fatal mistake.

And he had. Draco vanished on his way to the funeral. The boy was reported missing by his relatives, spirited away by 'persons unknown'.

Lucius had his son back. Severus knew that it was only a matter of time.

He'd made a mistake, letting Draco go free. And he'd killed them both.

Remus was awake.

Harry stopped short, the breakfast tray nearly tumbling from his hands. He'd only meant to drop by some food for Lupin; he knew what a wreck Remus was after a full moon. It was just supposed to be a nice thing he could do for him now that they were trying to be friendly again. He hadn't meant to actually speak to him.

It was too late to turn back now. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Harry approached Lupin where he sat half-slumped in his office chair. His professor smiled in weary greeting, rubbing with clumsy fingers at the heavy bags under his eyes.

"Harry, how are you this morning?"

"Fine, thanks," Harry said, unable to ignore the butterflies fluttering inside him. He set the tray down, edging back skittishly. "Did you, er, need help getting back to your rooms?"

"No, it's alright," Remus said, reaching for the pumpkin juice. "There's a passageway I usually take after a rough night in the office." He chuckled at his own private joke, then sucked in a breath and clutched at his ribs.

Harry eyed him warily. "I didn't mean to bother you… I thought you wouldn't be fit for a trip to the kitchens."

Remus's faint smile made him look exhausted. "I appreciate the gesture, but I don't tend to have an appetite right after the full moon."

Harry felt stupid; he hadn't even thought of that. "Oh, never mind. I'll just--" he started to take the tray, but Remus stopped him with a gentle hand on his wrist.

"No, stay a little. I need a minute to gather my strength, and I should be very pleased to have some company." He sipped his pumpkin juice, watching Harry fondly over the brim of his glass. "This was very thoughtful of you. I'm sure you haven't even eaten breakfast yourself."

It occurred to Harry suddenly that he hadn't. Remus gestured for Harry to help himself, and he didn't need to be told twice. He plunked down into a chair and stuffed a forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth with the relish of a hungry sixteen-year-old boy. Remus quickly hid his smile.

"Did you have a good weekend, Harry?"

Well… He'd spent most of it in Snape's. Any time he'd been away from his Professor's stoic presence and his dark curse books, he was confronted with one of those many reasons his life was shit. So, no, not really. But he shrugged.

"Okay, I guess."

Lupin's hand suddenly rested on his arm, drawing Harry's attention from the breakfast he was devouring.

"Harry," Remus said, "how are you really? Your father told me about Nymphadora."

Harry's mouth went dry. The eggs suddenly tasted like styrofoam, and he had to swallow hard to get them down. "He-- what did he tell you?"

Remus's thumb lightly stroked Harry's skin. "He told me you two cared about each other very much."

Harry drew back from his grip with an uneasy laugh, feeling stripped bare under Remus's perceptive gaze. "He told you that? Really?" He stared at the breakfast, wondering why in the hell Snape had gone and told Remus. "You must think it's weird, huh? Snape did. But it really wasn't. Tonks and I--"

"I don't think you did anything wrong, Harry," Remus said softly. "I just wanted to see how you're holding up."

Harry folded his arms over his chest, avoiding Lupin's eyes. He felt suddenly as though a weight was pressing on his chest, and everything in him wanted to get away from this subject. His thoughts turned to Snape, and he felt a fresh burst of outrage that Snape had just taken it upon himself to tell Lupin… Probably hoping Remus would be disgusted with him or something…

"I should have known that git would tell you," he said bitterly. "I shouldn't have told him we were trying to work things out. I knew he'd just try to get you angry with me again."

"Or maybe he thought I could help," Remus said, his brow furrowing. "He's worried about you. We both are."

Harry did laugh then. "You really don't know Snape all that well, do you?"

Remus stared at him for a long, searching moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft and measured, as though he were dealing with a volatile child.

"I think perhaps you don't know him very well, Harry, if you think he doesn't worry about you." Lupin smiled ruefully. "Last night, I thought he was going to hex me right there for what I said to you."

Harry turned his attention from Remus dismissively, and dug his fork unnecessarily hard into the scrambled eggs, scraping the metal across the plate.

"Yeah, well, he acts like that sometimes. He thinks it makes him look bad when something happens to me. Don't read too much into it."

Remus remained silent, and Harry polished off half the meal, more as an excuse not to talk than due to ravenous hunger. Unfortunately, when he paused for just a moment, Lupin spoke up again.

"Harry, you must realize that Severus-- your father-- well, he's a very lonely man. More lonely than I think even he realizes." Lupin fell silent a moment, watching Harry intently as though debating whether or not to continue. "I think it's been a long time since anyone's shown him they cared about him. Kindness is something you learn from others, and I'm not sure how many people have been kind to him."

Harry drew a sharp breath to retort that the Dursleys had been perfectly nasty to him, and he'd still known not to insult and mock every person he'd ever met, but he fell silent; there was only so much he could stand to mention about the Dursleys.

He remembered suddenly with a pang of uneasiness that Snape was the only one who knew the way they'd really treated him.

"Severus cares about you a great deal," Remus continued. "Maybe he doesn't know how to show it."

Harry wasn't sure what Remus was expecting him to say. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding his eyes.

"Well," Remus said with a heavy sigh, suddenly looking too tired to speak further, "I don't expect to change your mind just with a talk. But think about what I've said. You have a father who cares about you, Harry. I just think it's a shame you don't know it yourself."

Harry took this as a cue that Remus needed to catch a few hours of sleep now. Relieved, he sprung to his feet.

"Are you sure you don't need any help getting to your rooms?" he asked, even though he was secretly glad he could get away from this confusing conversation.

Remus smiled, and patted him gently on the shoulder. "I'll manage. You have a good day in class. I should like to spend some time with you later this week. "

"Sure," Harry said quickly, grabbing the tray. He flashed Lupin a quick grin. "Take care, Professor."

"And you, Harry."

* * * It was a rare day that Harry chose to pull a Ron and go for a second helping of breakfast, but he did so today. As soon as he entered the Great Hall, though, he knew something was amiss.

A hush had fallen over the room, a tense silence penetrated only by the faint hiss of whispers. Students were either intent on their Daily Prophets, or casting strange looks towards the Slytherin table. It was only when Harry retrieved a copy of the paper that he realized why.

NARCISSA MALFOY FOUND DEAD IN HER HOME

Any thought of Remus, Snape, or a second breakfast fled his mind. Harry glanced around the Great Hall, and found many other students doing it as well, searching for the familiar blonde head.

But of course, Draco wasn't there. His family had probably picked him up hours ago.

At the other end of the Gryffindor table, he spotted Ron looking a bit shame-faced, maybe having realized that around the time he'd accused Harry and Draco of having a fling, Draco's mother had already been dead for several days. Harry felt a low, churning guilt of his own, though he couldn't pinpoint just why. Maybe he should have made more of an effort to be nice to Draco.

Yeah, Malfoy was a git… but within one week he'd nearly been kissed by a Dementor, and he'd lost his mum. Who else did he have? His dad was a fugitive and a sociopath. His aunt was crazy. His friends were all future Death Eaters, and if Lucius had spoken the truth, Draco already was one himself. He was condemned to a life of servitude. Harry had spent the last several days dwelling upon how horrible his existence had become, but suddenly Draco's was looking a good deal bleaker.

Breakfast appeared before him, but he instantly shoved it away and rose to his feet, unable to staunch the pity for his nemesis. He knew the other students would want to talk about it; Harry really didn't think he could do that without feeling like some sort of vulture, preying on Draco's loss.

He hoisted up his bag up to his shoulder, and realized then that it was simply… too light. He glanced inside and fumbled around; his Transfiguration book was missing. His mind raked intently over where he could have left it-- his room? the library? Snape's office?-- all the while, he tried not to be distracted by the whispered conversations around him about Narcissa Malfoy.

Snape's office seemed the most logical choice. He could remember carrying it from the library; he had no memory of bringing it back to his room.

He hoped Snape wasn't in there. A strange feeling of unease stole over him at the prospect of seeing him. Lupin's belief that Snape had developed some sort of attachment to him was obviously mistaken, but it added a note of uncertainty to his relationship with Snape just when things had begun to grow so clear.

Snape didn't like him, but he seemed to have accepted some obligation to keep Harry alive, whether because Harry was related to him, or because he didn't think Harry was truly capable of taking care of himself. And Harry had grown accustomed to Snape, he supposed. The insults didn't really hurt all that much now; they just came hand-in-hand with being around Snape.

In a way, Snape had become safe… He was the one person in Harry's life who was dependable and predictable in his twisted way.

He made his way up to Snape's office, and at the last minute pulled on his invisibility cloak before entering; it would be easiest just to avoid him. He was bound to be annoyed with Harry, anyway, for cluttering up his office with his book, or something along those lines, so he could spare them both some trouble and remain hidden.

He was already several steps into the Potions Master's office when he realized his mistake. There was a new easy-chair in front of the desk, and a pale, blonde figure curled up against the arm.

Harry froze, his heart leaping to his throat. Draco.

He knew he needed to leave. He immediately inched backwards, hoping to sneak out the way he'd come, but a dark figure emerged from the next room. Harry scuttled hastily into the corner, trying to stay out of the way of Snape's billowing black robes.

His professor stood still a moment, blocking the exit, considering Draco with an expression on his face Harry couldn't identify.

"Draco, wake up. It's nearly seven thirty." Snape's voice was unusually soft, and Harry had to glance at him twice to fully register that he was actually watching Draco with something that resembled pity. "The Headmaster will be down here shortly to collect you. I thought you might like something to eat first."

"No," Draco mumbled, ducking his stricken expression out of Harry's sight. "I-- I'm fine."

To Harry's disbelief, Snape's expression softened further, and he reached out to gently stroke Draco's hair. "At least have something to drink. I'm certain you're parched. Pumpkin juice? Tea?"

Harry stared at this strange being who looked like Professor Snape. Snape was… he was actually being pretty nice.

Snape was never nice!

Well…

He supposed Snape had been alright that time Lucius had made him sick, asking him if he wanted water, trying to make him better with potions. And, well, holding him (it made his cheeks heat up with embarrassment even thinking about it)… But that was different. He'd never seen Snape like this.

"I think it shall be pumpkin juice, if you have no objection," Snape continued, still looking like he actually cared whether or not Draco was alright.

Snape didn't like Draco. Harry knew his opinion of Draco had soured along with his regard for Lucius; he'd seen it in the hallways when Snape docked points from an incredulous Draco, heard it in Snape's voice thundering with derision after one misdeed or another of the blonde Slytherin's. He knew Draco wasn't Snape's favorite student any longer. Far from it.

But now he found himself wondering if he'd really seen anything, because he'd swear Snape wasn't actually capable of a human emotion so powerful as pity, and certainly not for a student he loathed.

Was he?

His eyes riveted morbidly to Snape's hand, still caressing Draco's hair, and Snape's expression, so compassionate and so unlike Snape that it took his breath away.

"Harry, you must realize that Severus-- your father-- well, he's a very lonely man. More lonely than I think even he realizes."

Against his will, Harry found his thoughts turning back to earlier in the week, to Snape forcing potion after potion upon him until he was sure Harry could bear to face the world… to Snape pinning him to the ground until he'd convinced him not to cast the kinship curse… to that foggy night Snape had taken care of him when he'd gotten drunk with Ron…

He could recall now that strange time Snape had seemed almost… well, not happy, exactly, but certainly not enraged to discover Harry in the Hospital Wing with him. There had been an odd expression on his face, a certain gentleness when he'd pulled the invisibility cloak back over his head and sent him on his way…

"Severus cares about you a great deal. Maybe he doesn't know how to show it."

Harry's thoughts turned to that look of black fury on Snape's face when he'd caught Lucius torturing him.

His mind riveted to that day, the one that still chilled him, and he wondered suddenly if it would be madness to read something other than Snape's inherent sadism in his actions… something other than Snape's need to 'exact retribution' against Lucius…

He watched Snape, still looming over Draco like some protective shadow with an empathy he would never have expected in Snape.

A strange feeling that resembled anxiety welled up in Harry's stomach. It was hard for him to watch as Snape leaned impossibly closer to Draco, still running his hand fondly through Draco's fine blonde hair.

"However dark the cloud, Draco, there's always a silver lining… You will be a stronger person for this in the end."

Harry stared at him, feeling as though he stared at a stranger. He wondered for a wild moment if Remus had really seen this in the way Snape treated him… If Snape had been worried about him, too.

He closed his eyes against the sight, his heart thudding violently in his chest. It didn't seem possible… he couldn't have been wrong this whole time. He couldn't have been convinced for so long that Snape merely put up with him if Snape had been treating him like this, worrying about him like this.

Snape still insulted him at every opportunity; Snape still took points whenever he had the chance. And even when he protected Harry, he seemed upset about it. There was no way… no possible way…

"Kindness is something you learn from others, and I'm not sure how many people have been kind to him."

But what Snape had just done for Draco didn't seem possible either. And it had just happened. He'd seen it with his own eyes.

Snape was comforting Draco. He had nothing to gain from it; there was no advantage in doing so… Snape was merely choosing to be decent.

Just as decent as he had been with Harry.

His mind returned to those instances-- too numerous-- when in one way or another Snape had done something that protected him, something for his own good, something almost like a father might do for his son.

Snape had warned him away from Lucius, hadn't he?

"Lucius Malfoy is your foe. He will cheerfully eviscerate you and bring your broken body to his master!"

And-- the wild thought occurred to Harry now-- he supposed Snape had even tried to protect him from Tonks.

"Nymphadora Tonks's tastes, or lack thereof, are not the issue here. The issue is a twenty-two year old woman taking advantage of a teenager!"

Harry's blood roared in his ears and his mind spun with the implications. Snape had been watching out for him... he'd been doing it for months.

He was torn from his thoughts when Snape rose to his feet and headed into the next room. Harry stood there paralyzed for one horrible moment of indecision, wondering what in hell he should do about this, what he should do after such a long period of ignoring what was right in front of his eyes.

"You have a father who cares about you, Harry. I just think it's a shame you don't know it yourself."

Harry felt like he was going to be sick with anxiety.

But he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

He stepped forward and followed his father through the door.

* * *Severus Snape found himself in the disconcerting position of being trusted by his own son. He was no longer on the receiving end of that suspicious look Harry always directed his way when he made a suggestion regarding Occlumency or dueling; there was no thoughtful pause in which his son analyzed his motives and tried to figure out just what he had to gain from being helpful.

His tip on timing breath during an Occlumency attempt proved a success. His advice on twisting the end of a wand when casting a blasting curse, however, was a colossal failure, and it cost the Potions Master a shelf of priceless potions as well as a torturous ten minutes in which Harry stammered apologies, attempting to clean the mess himself and only mucking up the office further.

Severus's reprimand was half-hearted. However vindicated he felt by his son's sudden belief in him, nothing could make him forget the price he'd paid for this new confidence. He knew himself to be living in a fool's paradise, and any moment Lucius Malfoy would call in his debts and tear apart their fragile peace.

But Malfoy was certainly taking his damn time. It had been five days since Draco's disappearance, and Snape hadn't so much as received a threatening owl.

The lousy bastard was clearly enjoying the upper hand, hoping Severus would spend the interval sweating.

Well, he wouldn't. And he'd already ingested a healthy dose of Counter-Hyperhidrosis Potion to make sure he did not

He was distracted by his musings, so after a long night in which Harry proved himself bereft of any talent at Occlusion, it took him a moment to realize the boy had not yet departed.

"Sir?"

Snape glanced up. "You're still here?"

Harry's expression flickered. His eyes drifted to the entrance as though he were second-guessing his decision not to escape while he had the chance. Snape relented.

"What is it?" he asked, forcing a more patient tone.

"I wanted to tell you about something," Harry said. "I'm not sure if I should. It's a secret… but I suppose you're good at keeping those, aren't you?" Harry laughed uneasily. "Better, probably, than anyone else. I mean, you're a spy… Occlumency Master, huh?"

"What is it, Potter?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "Why do you still call me 'Potter'?"

He held Harry's eye for a severe moment, and the boy shuddered as though physically ridding himself of something.

"Never mind…" he mumbled, grabbing his books. "This is a mistake--"

Intrigued despite himself, Snape locked the door with a wave of his wand. "Come now, you have piqued my curiosity."

Harry turned to face him again, his green eyes glittering oddly. "I've changed my mind."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps we aborted our Occlumency lesson too early. I feel quite ready for another round." He rose to his feet, his wand waving threateningly at his unarmed son. "Shall we make an exercise of it?"

Harry stared back at him with an expression fast becoming disappointment. "Don't do this."

Something about his tone sent doubt curling through Severus's mind. Disgusted with himself, he unlocked the door again.

"Get going, then, Potter!"

He whirled away from Harry and turned his attention to his course plans. Predictably, Harry lingered, clearly still intent on airing whatever grievance was nagging at him.

"You shouldn't call me Potter," Harry said. "He's not my father. It's not the right name."

Snape sent him a withering look. He'd be happy to rid his son of the hated moniker, but it was a force of habit at this point, and he was not feeling charitable enough to point it out.

Harry's eyes grew hooded and thoughtful, and Severus disliked the look on his face. Calm deliberation was entirely out of place on his expressive features.

"Then again," the boy said in a loud, snide tone that reminded him disconcertingly of Sirius Black, "I guess it makes sense that you don't. You're probably just afraid you'll slip up and call me by my first name in front of someone else, right?"

Snape stiffened. "I do not 'slip up'," he sneered, mortally offended. "I am far too disciplined for that." After a moment, he added in a tone that bordered on malicious, "As you shall see, Harry."

"Yeah, I guess I'll see," his son said in a dubious tone, but there was a triumphant glint in his eyes.

It occurred to Severus suddenly that he'd just been manipulated. Very skillfully.

Impressed despite himself, he had to look down quickly to hide the sudden rush of pleasure that flooded him. That Harry had chosen to outwit him, and over something like this… He intensely disliked this burgeoning sentimentality. It was embarrassing.

When he at last mastered his expression, he saw that Harry had lowered himself into the other chair. The tension in the room had dissipated with his son's clever maneuver.

"I want to tell you something," Harry said, his green eyes glowing feverishly. "I suppose I should have told you earlier… It relates to Occlumency; it always comes to my mind when I'm trying to clear my head. And I'm sure you could handle knowing about it." He looked troubled suddenly. "I bet you're one of the only people who could handle it."

"What is it, Harry?"

Harry eyed him carefully. "The Prophecy-- the one all the Death Eaters were chasing last year… Do you know about it?"

"Who doesn't?" Snape said dryly. "A load of nonsense. Sybil Trewlaney could not predict a storm if it thundered down about her head."

Harry cracked a grin, suddenly looking relieved. "Yeah, it's crazy, isn't it? I couldn't believe it. Dumbledore does, though. He really thinks I'm the one who has to kill Voldemort…" He glanced away sharply. "Or be killed by him, more likely."

Snape froze.

Oh, he'd known there was some prophecy pertaining to Harry and the Dark Lord, some prediction in which both his masters inexplicably had chosen to invest their faith. He had no idea Harry himself was familiar with its contents… or that it truly pointed to Harry as the destroyer of the Dark Lord.

"The Headmaster believes this?" Snape said in as neutral a tone as possible, his heart picking up a beat.

He wasn't supposed to know this; Dumbledore, the Dark Lord-- one of them would have told him if he was meant to know.

But he had a right to know. It was his damn son.

"Yeah, he really thinks it's true. 'Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives'. Either I kill Vold-- sorry, the Dark Lord, or he kills me." He raked a hand through his unruly hair. "It's… it's really been bugging me. I mean, how could I take on Voldemort? I'm not nearly that powerful. He-- I've seen him fight Dumbledore, and he's a match for him. And so I try not to think about it… But I just keep remembering it at the worst times. I'll be about to sleep, I'll be trying to occlude--"

"You could not possibly defeat the Dark Lord," Snape said, stunned. "You would need decades of training, and even then…"

Harry threw him a despairing look, and for a crazed moment Severus wondered what in the hell the boy had been waiting for him to say. Why had Harry told him this? What did he want from him? A lie?

And then he realized it suddenly, just what Harry could always expect from him that he could never expect from the others.

"That prophecy," he said hoarsely, "sounds like the most nonsensical piece of drivel I've ever heard." He fixed Harry with a level stare, shaken inside. "Any wizard who seriously entertains the thought that you could challenge the Dark Lord needs a specialist from Saint Mungo's."

It seemed to be the right thing to say.

Harry grinned suddenly. "Yeah, it can't be true, can it? It's ridiculous."

"Utterly ridiculous," Snape assured him. "You would be a fool to think on it further. I suggest you confine your delusions of grandeur to Quidditch where they have some basis in your actual capabilities."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, sounding more cheerful.

Long after his departure, Severus stared after him, horrified to suddenly know the true weight resting on his son's shoulders.

* * *Harry regretted his presumption as soon as he spotted Snape the next evening across the Great Hall. The Potions Master was hovering in the doorway, watching him with a thunderous expression on his face. He instantly felt alarmed, wondering if Snape was angry at him for some reason. He dared to send him a questioning glance.

Abruptly, Snape whirled around and vanished back into the hallway. Harry was torn between the bizarre impulse to follow, and his every last survival instinct.

As it turned out, Remus appeared behind him and took the choice from his hands.

"Harry," he said pleasantly, "Are you busy tonight?"

Harry glanced uncertainly in the direction where Snape had disappeared, then shook his head. "Er, no. I suppose not."

"In that case," Lupin said, lowering his voice, "Are you busy right now? I have something I'd like to show you."

* * * Remus hadn't been certain what to expect when he brought Harry to the wizard graveyard just outside Ayrshire. He knew Harry was hardly one to openly air his grief, but he'd expected-- or at least hoped-- for something more than the blank look he sent the tombstone of Nymphadora Tonks.

"They buried her here?" Harry said in a neutral tone.

"That's right," Lupin said softly, watching him intently for any sign of emotion. "The funeral was last week."

"Oh." Harry took a tentative step closer to the grave, then shot Lupin a curiously empty look. "What am I supposed to do?"

Remus stared at him helplessly for a long moment. How was he supposed to answer that?

"It depends," he said. "Some people just like to… well, reflect. Some leave personal items. Maybe flowers."

Harry stared at him blankly. "I didn't bring anything."

"I could conjure you something if you'd like… But really, it doesn't matter."

A grim little smile twisted Harry's lips. "No, it really doesn't, does it?"

He turned his back to Lupin, and Remus's conviction that this had been a good idea suddenly faltered.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought this might help you."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, not sounding like he particularly meant it.

"We can leave anytime you'd like," Remus offered.

"That might be a good idea," said a cold voice.

Lupin spun around with a wild start to face a glowering Severus Snape.

"Severus!" Remus exclaimed.

Snape fixed Lupin with a lethal glare and prowled slowly over, his gloomy black robes for once placing him entirely in his element.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded icily. "Did you even think to inform the Headmaster you were removing him from Hogwarts grounds? I was alerted by a tracking spell I placed on the floo! Any one of the Dark Lord's followers could have done the same thing!"

Remus watched him approach with mounting confusion. "I'm a Hogwarts professor, Severus. I have permission."

"You bloody fool!" Snape snarled. "Did it not occur to you that they might be tracking his movements?"

"Did you hear something?" Remus said, instantly alert.

Snape sent a wary look at Harry, who was listening intently to their every word.

"I did not," he said slowly, enunciating every syllable as though for Harry's benefit. His sharp black eyes snapped back to Remus's. "I simply possess some modicum of judgment! He cannot leave the school without an escort!"

"I am an escort!"

Snape gave him a derisive sneer, "An escort sufficiently capable of protecting him, Lupin."

Remus wrestled with the desire to point out which one of them was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but for Harry's sake, he bit his tongue and tried not to argue with the boy's father. He glanced down at Harry, and found him watching them, his posture stiff and his skin deathly white.

"We should go," Harry whispered.

"There's no immediate danger, is there, Severus?" Remus asked in a hard tone, never taking his eyes from the suddenly distressed Harry.

Snape, too, was watching Harry with a curious expression. "Nothing immediate. I am merely assailing your exceedingly poor judgment."

Harry raked his hand through his dark hair, smoothing it over his scar. "Look, don't coddle me, okay? I'm not panicking… After what happened at Hogsmeade, I just want everyone to be safe. We should go. They could come after me here, too."

It took Remus a long moment to understand the implications of Harry's words; he saw comprehension cross Severus's face at nearly the same moment.

"The attack upon Hogsmeade was not about you, idiot boy," Snape said, looking and sounding for all the world like was dealing with an imbecile. Remus cringed as he continued ruthlessly, "I am continually amazed at your ability to ascribe blame for everything to yourself"

"Severus…" Remus said warningly.

"There's a point when self-flagellation becomes outright narcissism!"

"Enough, Severus," Remus said, taking an aggressive step forward.

Snape flinched back from Lupin as though he carried a fatal disease, and fixed him with a lethal glare.

"Ten minutes, Lupin," he said in an icy voice. "No longer."

Remus sent Harry another worried look, and knew from his alert posture that ten anxious minutes would do little to bring his charge some solace.

Nothing. He'd accomplished nothing.

"I don't think we need ten minutes," he said resignedly. "Are you ready to go, Harry?"

He glanced at Harry when he received no answer. The young wizard's eyes were fixed on a nearby plot, his expression cloudy as though his thoughts were miles away.

SILVA SISSELTEIN: BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

"What about my--" Harry faltered, shooting Snape an uneasy glance before continuing, "What about my mother and James? Are they-- are their graves--"

Lupin had expected this question; he sucked in a breath for the response he'd prepared, but Severus beat him to the punch.

"Desecrated," Snape answered with cool disinterest. "The Dark Lord's surviving partisans were severely disappointed by his defeat; they made quite a mess of the bodies."

Harry's eyes widened as though someone had just slapped him. Remus felt a surge of white fury that nearly blinded him.

"Careful, Snape!" he hissed, sending Severus a dangerous look.

The bastard! Didn't he think? Had he considered for just one moment how Harry would feel hearing that?

"Don't look at me that way," Snape said coldly, misreading the cause of Remus's anger. "I did not participate."

Snape's eyes then slid to Harry-- drained of all color, staring a hole into Silva Sisseltein's tombstone-- and something like regret stole into his expression. Remus's expression was still murderous, and he moved past Severus to lay a hand on Harry's tense shoulder.

"They were relocated to a Muggle graveyard by the Ministry. They were heroes, Harry, and everyone wanted them to rest somewhere undisturbed." He shot Snape another scathing look over Harry's bent head-- he could tear him apart!-- and continued in a soothing voice, "I'll ask Arthur Weasley to make some inquiries. How would you like that?"

Harry shrugged under his hands. "They're dead." His voice sounded strained. "I guess there's no real point just going to visit some gravestones. It's not a big deal."

"Harry--"

"It's really not." He glanced around the graveyard bleakly. "These are all just… names. They don't matter." His gaze settled on the tombstone of Nymphadora Tonks; there was a glassy look in his eyes that warned Remus immediately he was no longer engaged with the situation. His voice sounded distant. "She's not there. It's just a body. So why does this matter?"

Lupin watched him with a helpless expression.

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"You know, Lupin," he drawled, "I find it highly dubious that the Ministry has yet to release the secret location of the Potters' graves even to their closest friends. I am certain they simply disposed of the remains... assuming anything was even left of the Potters after--"

Lupin whirled on him. "So help me Severus, if you do not Shut. Up--"

He stopped abruptly when Harry jerked out from under his grip, the thin veneer of indifference torn by Snape's callous words.

"They did that?" Harry cried, rounding on Snape. "They just… threw them away?"

Snape stood there, a picture of calm, as Harry's entire form shook with anger.

"No." Snape shrugged his thin shoulders. "I'm certain there are quite a few sentimental souls in the Ministry who would have secreted them away and even paid the expenses out of their own pockets. They were nauseatingly revered, though Merlin knows why…" He shot Harry a calculating look. "But that wouldn't matter, now, would it, Harry? We're simply discussing two bodies."

Harry's eyes drifted away from Snape, back to the grave of Nymphadora Tonks. Remus watched in disbelief as the clarity stole back into his expression. The boy swallowed hard, and then took a tentative step closer to her plot.

Lupin found himself torn between admiration that Severus had so effectively halted Harry's retreat into himself, and fury that Severus had done so in such a cruel way.

"I don't know whether to punch your lights out or pat you on the back," he said in a low voice, making sure Harry couldn't hear.

Snape glanced over, and his lip curled in distaste. "I would prefer neither. I understand lycanthropy is contagious... And I have my own theories about rank idiocy."

Remus sent him a challenging look, rankled by the implication in Snape's tone.

"He needed to come here, Severus," he said, forcing himself to remain calm. He knew any show of anger would simply goad Severus on. "There's more to taking care of a child than protecting his physical well-being."

"I doubt blatantly endangering it qualifies," Snape sneered.

"He needs some closure," Remus argued quietly. "He has no memory of his parents, and he lost Sirius too soon. I don't know if this will help, Severus-- really, I don't… But perhaps some feeling of resolution will help him move on from the pain."

Snape watched Harry, his black eyes glittering oddly. "Anger will help him there, too."

"Harry's not a vengeful person, Severus."

Snape shot him a withering glance. "Really?" his tone was sarcastic. "How well you must know him, Lupin!"

"It won't help him, Severus," Lupin repeated, with conviction. "He'll drown in it. He needs some peace."

Snape scoffed. "You don't know what he needs. Your little respite from his life removed you quite thoroughly from any new developments in it."

"I don't know much of what's happened to him recently," Lupin admitted sadly. "But Severus, I do know Harry."

Snape looked at him sharply, his eyes suddenly intent, and Lupin wondered for a moment just what he'd said to make him react so strongly. But then Snape glanced away, a muscle in his jaw fluttering.

"Very well, Lupin," he growled, in a voice so low it was nearly imperceptible. "You know him so well-- do your job. Comfort him."

Remus stared at him in confusion for a long moment, but instead of elaborating, Snape merely pulled out his wand and stalked away. He marched to the perimeter of the graveyard as though he'd chosen to remove himself entirely from the situation.

The gesture made Lupin unaccountably sad; it seemed to him then that Severus would always be retreating to the background, surrendering his responsibilities with his son to those he felt could actually handle them.

He was torn for a moment between the urge to follow Severus, and the need to support Harry.

But he knew that only one of them would welcome his help.

"Harry…"

The dark-haired boy glanced back at Lupin briefly before returning his attention to the grave. "Is it time to go?" he asked tonelessly.

Remus laid his hand on Harry's shoulder; the muscles felt tense beneath his palm. "No. Take your time."

He stood next to the boy, and considered the lively, laughing girl buried beneath them. Sadness welled up inside him for Nymphadora Tonks, and for all those nameless souls they'd already lost in this fight.

"We need these moments, I think," Remus whispered. "It can't fill the hole left by their passing, Harry… but perhaps we can make some peace with what we've lost."

And when Harry's eyes found him, they both shared the silent knowledge that he was speaking of more than just the woman who had just died… Of another man, vanished into his anonymous death, one whose loss only they would truly feel.

Sirius had died still in the shadow of the world's disgrace. But when Remus reached out and draped an arm around Harry's shoulders, it was certain at least two people would never forget him.

Severus Snape was not a man given to self-doubt, but discovering that Lupin's firm convictions about Harry were entirely different from his own had left him strangely shaken.

It had never occurred to him that he might be wrong, urging Harry forward in his quest for revenge. Stoking Harry's rage had preserved the boy's life at a critical moment, and seemingly allowed him to deal with the fallout of the untimely demise of Nymphadora Tonks. He hadn't questioned guiding the boy down such a dark path; the progress, after all, had been so smooth.

He had always known that Lupin would coddle Harry, approach his loss with weakness and sentimentality… Perhaps he hadn't been entirely opposed to the idea; in a way, the other man complemented his own approach to the boy, catered to the part of his son inclined towards those softer tendencies, the side of Harry that Snape could never influence.

But the werewolf's unwavering conviction that nurturing Harry's destructive impulses would only be destructive for Harry had caught him off guard. However wholeheartedly he despised Lupin, he knew the other man understood what lurked in Harry's heart. Lupin would know why the boy had felt wretched, believing he'd killed a mere house-elf, why he'd assisted the injured Snape even at the height of their enmity… Lupin could explain why witnessing one act of charity towards Draco had entirely changed the boy's view of him.

Lupin knew Harry. And Snape could no longer vouch with certainty that he did as well.

His thoughts were drawn relentlessly to Harry's reluctance to poison Lestrange. The boy's conviction had seemed so firm that morning out in the woods, when a kinship curse had been his only weapon, yet days later he had not jumped upon the opportunity to simply murder the woman.

At the time, Severus had believed him to be dissatisfied with his passive role in such a scenario; he'd believed the boy was holding out for his original promise-- a face-to-face killing curse.

But Lupin was right. Harry was not vindictive; he was not waiting to see the look on her face, or reserving an excruciating death for her. It was not malice or hope of a more vicious plot that stayed his hand. It was something else entirely.

And for the life of him, Severus could not figure out what.

Snape stalked away, aware of the werewolf's bemused expression as he left them to their mourning. He did not go far, however much he wished to part with their distasteful company; Merlin only knew what might happen if he entrusted the werewolf with getting the boy back in one piece.

He prowled around the perimeter of the cemetery, starting to attention at every imagined movement. He half-expected Lucius to appear, a wraith slinking out from behind one of the towering tombstones, or a dark figure emerging from the depths of a mausoleum. The shadows played tricks with his mind, sliding as the sunlight swept out from between clouds, and five minutes of his torturous surroundings found his heart racing furiously in his chest.

In desperation, he cast his gaze over to Lupin and his son. His irritation flared at the sight of Lupin's arm draped over Harry's shoulder.

Oh, yes, he'd told the werewolf to go comfort the boy, but really, this was too much.

He wanted to march over and force the two to leave with him, but even amidst his disgust he was aware of his own inadequacy. This was something Lupin could offer that he never could; he simply wasn't capable of nurturing.

He stared in morbid fascination at Lupin's hand, running soothingly up and down Harry's arm, and like a sharp pain, he realized suddenly what his son had seen in that office.

Harry had witnessed him comforting Draco. He probably believed that Severus truly was the man he'd seen then, that he was no more of a monster than Lupin or Minerva and the rest… Perhaps he believed Snape had only been pretending to be cruel…

And maybe he was wondering right now why Severus was not draping an arm over his other shoulder.

Snape stared at the distant figures, reeling with the thought. That new look in Harry's eyes-- as though possibilities were only now being opened up before him-- it would die away once he realized this was all a lie. And he would have to; Severus could not be the man he was expecting him to be.

He had no scruples about a relationship based upon a lie. But he knew in his heart that eventually Harry would see right through it, through him.

A fluttering in the corner of his eye nearly sent him jumping out of his skin. He considered hexing the bloody bird for a full three seconds before it launched itself back into the air.

Snape lowered his wand, glowering at it as it disappeared into the distance.

He glanced back towards Harry, and reflected with a humorless smile that it probably wouldn't matter anyhow. Malfoy could kill them both tomorrow… Or the Dark Lord, depending upon just how Lucius chose to take his revenge.

Severus shoved his wand back into his pocket; he felt like a fool.

* * *

Snape was very cold and distant after the visit to the cemetery. Harry couldn't quite pinpoint why. The behavior was hardly unusual-- it was classic Snape-- but the abrupt change bothered him.

He hadn't noticed how much gentler Snape had been around him until now, when Snape was suddenly back to an icy authoritarian.

It nagged at him. He arrived early for an Occlumency lesson, hoping to demand an explanation, but he found Snape occupied in brewing a potion.

"You will wait while I complete this," Snape said in a cold, formal tone.

"Fine," Harry agreed mildly, seating himself across from Snape, trying to think of what he should say.

He distractedly picked at a seam in his robe, and at length Snape's dark eyes drifted up to him through a light curtain of smoke.

"You seem in good spirits," he sneered. "I suppose Lupin's foolish gesture quite cheered you up?"

Harry peered up at him suspiciously. Was that why Snape was angry with him? Was he upset because Harry was being friendly with Lupin again?

Snape's odd moments of jealousy usually galled Harry to no end, but since witnessing the scene with Draco, Harry wasn't sure what to think of them. Should he resent them? Or were they a sign in some twisted way that his father actually cared about him? He wished he could ask Ron.

"I guess it was… not nice, I suppose, but, er, it doesn't hurt quite as much about Tonks," Harry said carefully. His thoughts drifted to Sirius, and he felt a stir of unease as he admitted, "Or Sirius. It felt sometimes like he wasn't really dead. There was no body." He'd managed to pull out a thread from the seam of his robes, and he tugged at it, feeling distinctly awkward under Snape's intent gaze. "I guess it doesn't feel now like he simply disappeared into a void."

"But that's exactly what he did, Potter," Snape said malevolently. "There's nothing behind that veil. By any definition, Black did simply disappear into a void."

Harry flinched, the words cutting deep. In his mind, he could see Sirius's startled face as he tumbled back through the veil and into nothingness; he was momentarily reeled with an awful feeling like the contents of his stomach were boiling up into his throat.

"Why do you even ask?" Harry said, swallowing it down.

"I have observed that you are exceedingly sentimental," Snape said in that ruthlessly distant tone, his attention back on his potion. "You of all people," he said with disdain, "would likely derive some pleasure from dwelling upon your vast world of woes. Perhaps I was remiss in not taking you to visit your dearly departed grandfather. He's buried there…" he waved his hand carelessly. "… somewhere. What a pity you had no chance to know him. He might have enriched your life as gloriously as Black himself did."

Harry clenched his fists, anger washing over him. He'd seen Snape's memories; he knew just what a slur that was against Sirius.

"Yeah, we should have seen him," Harry said, giving into a malicious impulse. "You should take me back sometime, Dad. Maybe tell me some stories from your childhood."

Snape's gaze snapped up to his. Harry instantly wished he could take back his words, remembering that little boy he'd witnessed in Snape's memories, crying as his father shouted at his mother. He felt sick, like he'd just done something terrible.

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry--" Harry blurted out.

Snape snorted. He watched Harry over the cauldron with what seemed like a mix of irritation and reluctant amusement. "You know, boy, for several seconds I pondered awarding you points for a fitting retort. Thank you for apologizing and quelling that unwholesome impulse."

Despite his harsh words, Snape's expression had relaxed somewhat when he whirled away from Harry to slice several stalks of gillyweed.

Harry stared at him for several moments, trying to figure out just what he'd done to please Snape. Was it the apology? Was it hitting Snape's sore point after he'd so accurately targeted Harry's? Some combination of both?

He peered at Snape suspiciously, wondering if he'd mentioned his father for a reason. Had he been hoping to draw Harry into an attack? Or was he trying to lead him somewhere?

Testing the theory, Harry said casually, "When did your father die?"

Snape sent him an odd look, and Harry immediately wondered if he'd made a mistake continuing the conversation.

"If it's not too personal--" he added quickly.

"No," Snape said absently, returning his attention to slicing the gillyweed. "It's hardly personal. He was killed two years before the Dark Lord's fall. By a Death Eater."

Harry caught his breath, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with this entire thing. His curiosity, though, propelled him forward like a relentless master.

"Was that, er, why you switched sides?"

The question hung tentatively in the smoky air for several moments, leaving him to wonder if Snape had even heard it. But at length, the Potions Master replied.

"I had several reasons," Snape said gruffly, glaring down at the gillyweed as he dug into it with his knife. "But I will admit that his demise was the deciding factor."

The knife nicked Snape's thumb, and he cursed, dropping it to the table with a clatter. He raised his hand to stare at his bleeding finger as though mystified by the sight; from his detached scrutiny, it might have belonged to someone else.

"I hated my father," he offered, unasked, uttering a quick healing charm. "And there were many times when I wished for him a most excruciating death. But what happened that day was not in accordance with my wishes."

Harry barely dared to breathe, suddenly starkly aware that Snape was baring one of his darkest secrets… From Snape's distracted manner, perhaps he was doing it without any awareness himself of the monumental nature of what he was revealing.

"The Dark Lord viewed it as a gift," Snape said, his tone still very dispassionate as though they were discussing the composition of a remedial potion. "He was rewarding me for my loyal service. After all-- he had gleefully murdered his own father, and quite enjoyed doing so. Why should I not welcome the death of my own? Our mutual hatred of our forbears was one of those factors that most endeared me to him. Had I refused, well… I could not refuse. He only trusted me on his terms, and once a servant loses the Dark Lord's trust…"

His voice trailed off ominously, and a chill crept up Harry's spine as he understood what Snape was saying.

"You let him die."

Snape's gaze drifted up to Harry's. "Yes. I let my father die." A horrible smile curled across his lips, rendering his thin face menacing. "And what would you have done?"

Harry shivered under Snape's intent scrutiny, knowing that anything he said here could be wrong. Snape watched him for a long moment in which he felt like the man was peeling off his skin.

"Unfortunately, I can hazard a guess," Snape sneered. "Gryffindor nobility." He swept his eyes derisively over Harry. "More fool you be."

He turned suddenly back to his gillyweed.

"I valued my life more than I valued my father's. And by retaining the Dark Lord's confidence, well…" He resumed slicing. His movements-- clumsy before-- were again steady and practiced. "I have damaged the Dark Lord far more with my obedience than I would have with a show of noble defiance."

Harry squirmed uneasily, wishing he could relieve the strange tension that had crept up between them like a tangible barrier. "Er, well… You can also get payback this way, too. I bet your dad would be glad of that. You're making it up to him."

He'd thought maybe he could cast Snape in that comfortable light where they didn't seem all too different. But his words didn't seem to have the intended effect of easing the tension crackling in the air. Snape's fingers curled tightly around the handle of his knife, and his relentless gaze again found Harry.

"Oh, you misunderstand me, Harry," Snape said, watching him through glittering black eyes. "My father's death did not turn me because I was heartbroken over his loss... I betrayed the Dark Lord because he took it upon himself to kill my father in my place. I should have ended his life; I should have been the one to destroy him. I earned it. The Dark Lord had no right to take that from me."

Harry stared at him, wondering if he'd misunderstood. Snape read his expression and a smile stretched across his lips as though he truly enjoyed Harry's incredulity.

"I served the Dark Lord believing I would be more powerful than man or wizard. But when he stole my father's death from me, all that supposed 'power' was a farce. Not merely in my eyes. In the Dark Lord's…" Snape's expression darkened impossibly. "And ultimately, in my father's."

Snape stared down at the knife in his hand. "He begged for his life before he was killed, but he did not respect me. I'm certain he looked down on me even as he writhed at my feet."

Harry felt a dull throbbing in his hands; he realized that he was digging his fingers into his palm. It took an effort to unclench his fists.

"By murdering my father," Snape said, watching him, "the Dark Lord gravely insulted me. I would have preferred he outright declare me too weak to complete the task myself before circumventing my will under the guise of friendship. I was utterly powerless; I could not express my displeasure, I could not refuse his gesture of goodwill… That was the day I realized the power of a Death Eater is meaningless. And that was why I returned to the Headmaster."

He turned away from Harry and set about lining the gillyweed stalks in a neat set of rows. Harry stared at him disbelievingly, and Snape sent him a sly look.

"Were you imagining heroism?" Snape said contemptuously. "Or some noble reason behind my actions? Love for your mother, perhaps-- or a desire to make up for all the terrible wrongs I committed? It was nothing more than pure spite that motivated my turn, Potter."

Harry couldn't meet his eyes. He supposed on some level he always had thought there was some… well, compelling reason Snape was on their side. Maybe because Snape had saved his life even before he'd known they were related. Or maybe because Dumbledore had so much faith in him.

He couldn't imagine Dumbledore believing in a monster. He just couldn't.

"Dumbledore would never have trusted you if that was the only reason!" Harry objected with a heat that surprised him.

Snape raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Is that so, Potter? Do you truly believe the Headmaster is so blind as to overlook a potent ally simply due to petty moral scruples? Why do you think he concealed you from me? He clearly did not want one such as I raising a son."

Harry held his gaze with fierce green eyes. "Don't call me 'Potter'," he said. "I told you to call me 'Harry'."

"Your willful blindness is touching," Snape said, not sounding particularly appreciative. "Did my display with Draco move you so deeply? Do you love me now, Harry?"

Harry couldn't speak; he felt as though the breath had been knocked from his body.

Snape's eyes narrowed into slits. "You're a fool to trust what you see, Potter."

He swallowed hard, but held firm under Snape's glare. "Call. Me. Harry."

Snape made a disgusted noise and turned away.

"Clear your mind, Harry."

He was back to saying Harry's name like a swear word, but perhaps that was still better than the disavowal inherent in 'Potter'. Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and pulled out his wand.

* * *

He was in a restive mood that night. He couldn't sleep, but he couldn't bear to stay awake in bed thinking about what Snape had said. His scar pounded relentlessly from Occlumency-- it was in Snape's words, one of the most 'spectacularly unsuccessful' sessions in the last month.

In a desperate attempt to at least accomplish something with his time, he hauled his Transfiguration and DADA books down to the Gryffindor common room in a futile attempt to catch up in all his classes. Strangely enough, though, the books succeeded in doing what class alone could not. As soon as he applied himself to work, his eyes grew heavy.

At some point he must have drifted off to sleep on the couch. The only thing that broke through his waking dreams was a distant voice.

"Potter..."

He tried to shut it out, but it nagged at him relentlessly.

"Potter. POTTER!"

Confused and groggy, Harry forced his gummy eyelids open, his gaze drifting over to the Gryffindor fireplace, where he could make out the vague shape of a face-- or was he imagining it?

"Potter, for Merlin's sake, I can't say here all night…"

Harry snapped to full alertness then, recognizing the snide, aristocratic voice echoing out of the fireplace.

"Malfoy!" he blurted out, shocked to his core by Draco's face gazing at him from amidst the flames. He practically stumbled off the couch and over to the fire. "What the-- what are you--"

"I don't have time," Draco said brusquely, watching Harry with unveiled dislike. "Refoveo. That's all you need. Use it on Granger."

Harry blinked at him sleepily. "What?-- Refoveo. Why..?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "It will get the Mudblood back to her usual irritating self, okay?"

The realization that Draco had just offered the cure for Hermione shot like lightning through Harry's mind.

"How do you--" he stopped.

How did Draco know? Because he was probably friends with the Death Eater who had felled her.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry demanded. "How can I believe you? You hate Hermione. This will probably make her worse!"

"Trust me," Draco sneered, "I'd be all too happy to finish off the Mudblood. But I owe you a Wizard's Debt. We purebloods respect that. You use this, you fix her, and our debt is off, you understand? I owe you nothing. Are we agreed?"

It was dawning on Harry that this might be for real, that this truly might cure Hermione.

"Yes! Yes-- of course!" Harry blurted, unable to believe his good fortune. "If this saves her, it's off."

He stared at Draco's head, wreathed in flames, lost for words. If this was truly the cure…

"Thank you," Harry whispered. "Thank you so--"

"Don't thank me. It makes me ill thinking I saved a Mudblood," Draco said as he drew back, but Harry jerked forward quickly, suddenly remembering that Draco was supposedly missing.

"Draco!"

The other boy paused, watching him warily.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked softly. "I heard-- people are saying you disappeared. Do you need help?"

Draco stared at him for a full second.

"Such a bloody hero!" he sneered. He vanished back into the flames, and Harry was left alone in the common room once again.

* * *

It was late; Madame Pomfrey had to be sleeping now. A part of him was tempted to simply cast the spell himself, but he dared not take Draco on his word. If it made Hermione worse…

He considered the corridor leading to the library for a long moment, wondering if he should simply research the incantation himself. But that could take weeks. And he didn't know how long Hermione had left.

In the end, he found himself approaching the man who seemed the most logical choice for any number of reasons. Snape knew Draco; he could gauge the sincerity of his desire to make up for the wizard's debt. And he might recognize the incantation. If Draco had lied to him to try to hurt Hermione further, Snape might very well know it.

Somehow he was unsurprised to find Snape awake. Harry closed the tapestry behind him, waiting for the older wizard to lower the wand from his face.

"I trust you have an urgent reason for disturbing me at so late an hour?"

Harry nodded quickly. He wondered idly if Snape ingested his own concoctions to keep himself awake; it seemed sometimes like he never slept.

"It's a concoction called coffee, Potter," Snape said sourly, his dark eyes locked on Harry's, clearly picking the surface thoughts right out of his mind after their intensive Occlumency session earlier in the night.

Harry didn't bother correcting him on the name.

"Have you ever heard of Refoveo?" he blurted out.

Snape stared at him. "It sounds familiar… One of a relatively obscure class of revival spells that have long been in disuse, I believe." He peered at Harry questioningly. "Why?"

"Draco told me it would save Hermione."

Snape gripped his shoulder suddenly, intent. "You've been in contact with Draco Malfoy? How?"

"The floo-- in the Gryffindor Common Room." Harry shifted his weight, uneasy with Snape's odd urgency. "He said he was paying me back. He owes me a Wizard's Debt."

"Draco owes you a Wizard's Debt," Snape echoed in a quiet voice, his fingers tightening on Harry's shoulder; his eyes were suddenly distant. "That's right-- he owes you his life. I entirely overlooked that."

Harry shrugged out of his grip, sensing that Snape was missing the point. This wasn't about Draco's Wizard's Debt. It was about whether he could save Hermione!

"So you think this is for real?" Harry demanded. "You think this incantation can save her?"

Snape considered him for a long, calculating moment, and Harry realized suddenly the man was trying to decide how best to maneuver him.

"Probably not," Snape said repressively. "If Draco Malfoy supplied you with the incantation, it will very likely kill her."

He drew back a step, gazing down at Harry from his greater height.

"I suggest you refrain from using it," he advised. "At least until we've had time to research it."

There was a long pause, then Snape added:

"And no need to simply throw away a perfectly viable Wizard's Debt."

Harry understood instantly that Snape wasn't worried about Hermione at all; he just wanted to keep Draco indebted to Harry. Probably so he could use it in his game against Lucius Malfoy.

But Harry didn't care about that. He just wanted to save his friend. He looked down quickly to hide his thoughts from Snape.

"That sounds like a good idea. We'll do more research," Harry said, his tone light. "It's good we have some idea of where to start now."

After an endless moment, Snape stepped back to let him pass. His gaze lingered heavily on Harry's back as he walked to the door.

Harry could barely hide his elation. He'd learned what he needed-- it was a legitimate incantation, and Snape clearly believed it would save Hermione, however much he wanted Harry to think otherwise.

As for whatever move Snape was planning with this information, well… he would have to be disappointed. Harry was going to save Hermione.

If Snape made one critical error, it was underestimating Harry's capacity for deception. After several minutes of quietly celebrating his success at dissuading the boy, his reason overrode his pride, and it was suddenly glaringly obvious what Harry was planning to do.

By the time he stumbled out of his half-mad charge to the hospital wing, his son was already hovering over Granger's bed, wand drawn. The dark head shot up in alarm upon Snape's arrival, and Severus detected the faint blue flash of a shielding charm flickering to life around Granger's bed.

"You have not yet performed the spell," Snape said, half in question.

"Just back off," Harry said, meeting Snape with a cold, level gaze that told him the boy knew exactly how he'd tried to mislead him. "You can't stop this."

"Think about what you're doing!" Snape bellowed. "For once, don't be a rash fool!"

"There's nothing rash about this," Harry retorted. "If this is going to save Hermione, I don't give a damn who told me about it. I'm using it!"

"For Merlin's sake, boy-- the Malfoys want us both dead!" Snape roared. "That Wizard's Debt gives you leverage. If you throw that away, you will have nothing! "

"I don't CARE! She's my friend, and she's dying!"

Snape drew closer to the invisible barrier, mind racing over counter-shield charms; Harry's wandwork was too quick for a direct assault. He needed to take him by surprise… he needed to stall.

"Lucius knows about us."

Harry froze. "What?"

Snape watched him closely. "He murdered several of my relatives, searching for Septimus." At Harry's stunned look, he felt compelled to add, "He was seeking to revenge himself upon me for his humiliation at my hands. He learned in the course of interrogating my-- our relations that Septimus Snape does not exist."

He held Harry's eyes with his dark ones, silently willing the boy to relax his guard.

"Lucius has since deduced that the boy he met this winter is my offspring, product of an illicit liaison. How long before he looks further into the matter and uncovers your true identity? You will not be long for this world once he knows the truth. Draco's debt may very well save your life. But only if you preserve it. Do not use that spell!"

Harry shook his head, undaunted. "If it wasn't her…" His eyes trailed down to Granger's sleeping face, pale and wasted in the dim light of the hospital wing. "I can't lose Hermione… she's my best friend--"

"She's your best friend," Snape echoed in a nasty, mocking tone, his patience frayed. "What does that matter? You're so terribly eager to play the martyr, I believe you'd throw your life away if it was the Dark Lord himself lying on that bed!"

Harry's gaze snapped back up. He stared at Snape, confused, seeming to fumble for a retort that never came.

A slow, horrible grin twisted Snape's sallow face. Like some predator that had just scented blood, he stalked closer to his son.

"Tell me, Harry-- what was it you hoped to accomplish that day in the woods?" he said in a soft voice that mocked tenderness. "Was it really Bellatrix you intended to destroy? Or was your vendetta against her merely another instance of rank ­self-delusion?"

Harry's eyed him warily. "What are you talking about..?"

"I am not blind," Snape spat. "When I saw you that day, planning to kill Lestrange, you were completely willing-- pleased, even, to execute it, despite knowing it would rebound upon you!"

Snape stalked closer, dropping his voice to a lethal whisper.

"Or perhaps you were pleased because you knew what that spell would do to you? Could Lestrange's death have merely been a side benefit?"

Harry looked befuddled. "I wanted her to pay. That was all."

"So you claim," Snape sneered, his black eyes glittering. "But I don't believe for one instant that it was pure revenge. Your every action betrays you-- your inability to occlude without that cupboard that lets you imagine yourself in another place, your retreat into self-isolation upon Black's death… It's not a thirst for vengeance that drives you, it's your desire to flee! And what was your attempt upon Lestrange but an escape attempt? You knew full well that kinship curse would kill you. You were counting on it-- the final flight of Harry Potter from his daunting responsibilities!"

An odd look stole across Harry's face. "That's not true. It's not! I'd never do that--"

"It was an escape attempt," Snape insisted, "and one perfectly compatible with your misplaced sense of guilt over the misfortunes of those around you." He drew back a step and surveyed Harry like some strange insect, all the while waiting-- waiting-- for the boy to lower his wand. "You refused to poison Lestrange. And I did not understand why until I listened to what that bloody werewolf had to say about you."

"You've been talking to Remus about me?" Harry said, sounding uneasy with the idea.

Snape smiled coldly and did not acknowledge the question.

"Revenge," he said, "was never your sole motivation… There was a more pressing concern underlying your every action. When you told me about the prophecy, you informed me that every occlusion attempt finds you dwelling upon your responsibility-- and perceived inability-- to destroy a far superior opponent. You clearly do not believe you will succeed--" Snape caught himself just in time to stop the "nor should you" from escaping his lips, and instead continued, "And you are tormented by the prospect of failure. Lestrange gave you an excuse to escape this torment. She gave you a pretense."

Harry stared at him, appalled. "I would never-- I wouldn't do… that."

"Oh, you would never admit it," Snape said derisively. "Not even to yourself. That infernal Gryffindor pride would never permit such a cowardly action… But vengeance against Lestrange was simply a permissible disguise. I robbed you of your pretense in the woods when I told you we'd destroy her together. I did not rob you of the desire."

Harry's cheeks flushed into two spots of angry red. "I think you're just saying this because I didn't want to poison her," he said coldly. "I told you it wasn't enough. She deserves something worse. It's not enough."

"No, it's not enough" Snape replied coolly. "You hate her, I'm certain you wish her ill, but I have come to the unfortunate conclusion that you are not nearly as vindictive as I, and her death alone will never satisfy your needs. It offers you no escape. And you cannot deny this to me, Harry-- you know you do not want to face that prophecy."

He watched Harry's face closely, and he could see that the boy was considering his words, however much he disliked them.

"And now," Snape said darkly, "you seek to escape yet again… Lucius will destroy you if you use that spell, you know it, yet still you pursue it. Here is yet another opportunity for a frightened little boy to escape his problems, another excuse not to fail!"

Harry's troubled expression cleared, and his green eyes riveted sharply to Snape's.

"No, you're wrong there, Professor," he said with quiet conviction. "I get what you're saying… And although I don't agree, maybe it's something to think about… But you're wrong now. This isn't about me. It's about her."

Snape realized instantly that he'd overshot the mark. The uncertainty was dissolving from Harry's expression, and a fleeting look into the boy's surface thoughts warned him that he was growing calm and determined.

"I'm going to save her," Harry announced quietly. "And I'm sorry if you have objections, but you won't be able to knock down my shielding charm and take my wand in time before I use it."

Snape fumed silently, knowing it was true.

"I'm not a coward," Harry said, almost to himself. "She's my friend, and I love her… I'm sorry that it bothers you, but I'd never let someone I love die just to save my own skin."

It took a moment for Severus to catch the implication of the words. He felt the blood drain from his cheeks.

"Unlike me?"

He could kill the boy. He could murder him.

Harry sent him a questioning glance, but Snape was blind to all but the dark rage frothing in his veins.

"You dare to use that?" Snape whispered viciously. "You presume to assert that your petty little dilemma is even remotely similar? You stupid, naïve little fool-- YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME! NOTHING!"

"What are you talking about?" Harry said, alarmed at Snape's inexplicable reaction. He seemed… confused.

Severus stared at him for a long moment, at a loss. And slowly, humiliating comprehension dawned-- there had been nothing pointed about his son's words… no sly allusion, no attempt to strike out.

He had not even been thinking about what Snape did to his father.

Feeling a lingering anger towards the boy tinged with not a little bit of humiliation, Snape turned inward, groping for a deadlier weapon… Deadlier, colder. Something that would hurt. Something that would work.

All that was dark and cold within him recognized it instantly, the sharpest blade, the one with the deepest cut and the poisoned tip… One he was bastard enough to use.

"Very well, I know you cannot bear to see her in this condition," Snape said, lowering his wand. "Heal Granger if you wish."

Harry's eyes lingered on him warily; they both knew this was not the final word, and his son already seemed to be bracing himself for the inevitable strike.

Smart boy.

"I give you fair warning, though, Harry," added Snape quietly, catching Harry's green eyes with his own. "If you save your friend, you destroy someone else."

He let the words hang on the air for a long moment, watching Harry's eyes widen imperceptibly. Snape wasn't sure if the strange sensation that fluttered in his gut was anticipation or-- Merlin forbid-- a twinge of conscience.

"You destroy me."

Harry stared at him for a long moment, too surprised to react. Then, "This has nothing to do with you."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Snape countered softly. "Our fates are linked now, they've been joined since the moment Malfoy laid eyes upon you in my home. If you play into Draco's hands and absolve him of his debt, we will have no defense against Lucius. Use this spell on Miss Granger now, and you do not merely throw away your only leverage, you throw away mine. You will destroy me… You will…" the words lingered on his tongue a moment, almost too brutal for even him to deliver. He said them nonetheless.

"You will kill your father."

Harry stared at him, as if he couldn't believe Snape would strike so low.

"That's not fair," he said. "Don't say that."

Snape remained unmoved, noting with his calculating, black eyes the boy's eroding confidence. "I am only stating the truth, Harry. If you use that spell, you are making a conscious decision that will lead to my death. Is that truly what you want? Do you wish to be an orphan again? I only wish to inform you of what you'll be doing if you take this action. You will be killing me. You condemn me to die."

Harry looked horrified. It was enough to make Snape feel slightly ashamed, but only slightly.

"Do it, then," he challenged quietly, gesturing towards Granger with an elegant wave of his hand, never taking his eyes from Harry. "Kill me. Use Draco's spell, and be done with it. Become the next Snape to murder his own father. Save your friend, and throw away your family. You've never much cared for me, after all, and I've been less than kind to you. It may even give you some satisfaction to see me dead. I certainly never mourned my own father after I killed him."

Harry looked like he'd been struck. "I-- how can--" He sputtered for breath a moment, then argued passionately, "You didn't kill your father! Voldemort killed him. You told me that!"

"I told you that a Death Eater killed him," Snape replied coldly. "A Death Eater."

The implication hung on the air. Harry's eyes widened with horrified comprehension. "But… how?"

Snape felt his lips twist into a sneering smile. "I told you that it was my reward for my faithful servitude. I was summoned to my master, and before him waited my father-- on his knees. He'd been tortured for hours. It was a scene of my own conception. The Dark Lord knew how many times I'd fantasized about it-- about my father begging me for mercy, begging me not to hurt him, pleading with me not to kill him… The Dark Lord was fond of me, and he wished to see one of my greatest desires come true. And my father certainly pleaded. I fired a Killing Curse, and then he was dead."

Harry stared at him as though he wanted to look away but couldn't bring himself to do so. Snape's eyes drifted to rest dispassionately on Granger, and he found himself speaking again, wanting to hammer brutal word after word into the air between them:

"His death was born of my desires and ultimately done by my hand-- but I maintain that I am not responsible for killing him." He glanced at Harry briefly and, as expected, found that the boy looked repulsed by him. He glanced away again. "I was a loyal servant of the Dark Lord-- as faithful a Death Eater as any-- and what I chose to do that day was not murder to my father, but to accept my Master's gift. I chose to preserve his faith in me by accepting his generosity."

He glanced up briefly; Harry was still staring at him with morbid fascination as though watching a terrible accident. Severus wanted to legilimize him, but he couldn’t hold the boy's eyes long enough. He found himself staring again at Granger's inert form-- one of her pale hands where it rested unmoving against the white bedsheets. She seemed at the moment the most innocuous object in the room.

"Had I killed him of my own initiative-- and eventually I would have-- I could have claimed that I murdered my own father. From your perspective, I'm certain you see it that way regardless." He finally forced himself to meet Harry's eyes. "But guilt and responsibility are all in one's mind. I have chosen to perceive the Dark Lord as responsible for the death of my father, just as you doubtlessly perceive me as the guilty party."

Harry was still staring at him, horrified. Snape felt a stab of dark anticipation as he added: "Just as I know you will ultimately assume upon yourself responsibility for my death, once you cast this spell."

Harry broke the gaze this time, swallowing hard.

"So I ask you, my son," Snape said quietly, "Will you squander Draco's Wizard's Debt and condemn me to death, or will you leave Miss Granger in her current state? Our fates are in your hands."

Harry raised his eyes again, anger blossoming in their green depths.

"You bastard."

Snape raised an eyebrow, considering and then rejecting the notion of pointing out which of them had been born in wedlock.

"You absolute bastard," Harry whispered harshly, his voice rising with anger. "You know what you're doing, you know it! I hate you. I hate you for this!"

Severus let the silence speak for him as Harry cast his furious gaze between his father and his friend, his jaw tight as though he was grinding his teeth with sheer frustration. His fist clenched and unclenched around his wand.

The debate was clearly raging in the boy's head; he neglected to realize that Snape had already made the choice for him. He didn't realize his wand had dropped sufficiently, his distraction was great enough, that now was the time to act. And right as the boy looked at Granger again, Snape spell lashed out and collapsed Harry's hasty shield. Before the boy could so much as fire off a return hex, his wand was flying into Snape's hand.

Snape pocketed Harry's wand, feeling his son's burning glare on him like a tangible heat. He locked his eyes upon Harry's, his triumph fading somewhat at Harry's distraught expression.

"You were distracting me," Harry said. "Weren't you? That was all a distraction."

Snape chose to ignore the question. "Back to Gryffindor with you, Mr. Potter." He waved Harry towards the door with his own wand. "It's well beyond curfew."

Harry lingered, dragging his gaze back to Granger, clearly torn about leaving her. Content in his possession of both wands, Snape did not force him. He felt a small niggling of unease at what he'd just done. Perhaps he should simply have fought the boy first…

Well, he'd let Harry stay with Granger a few minutes more. This was the last time he'd see her for long time. He would smuggle Granger out-- merely until Draco's debt was used properly, and Lucius was taken care of. Surely she wouldn't die anytime soon, would she? He could research an alternative treatment. Refoveo merely gave him grounds to start.

Or perhaps he'd just act quickly. He'd use the debt, secure Draco back into custody, and then he would put an end to Lucius, once and for all.

No Killing Curses. No Absynia. Something sudden. Something painful. Something fitting for a Malfoy.

Harry spoke abruptly, "Did you ever feel guilty?"

Snape drew himself rigid.

"Guilty?"

Harry cast him a sideways glance as though he were only daring to look at him. "About your father."

The question caught Snape off guard. His fingers tightened instinctively around his wand, but Harry had resumed gazing mournfully at Granger's unconscious form, so he relaxed just a fraction.

"I hated my father."

"I know you hated him," Harry said distantly. "That must have made it so much worse, huh? You hated him, you wanted him dead, and then he died… all because of you."

"Forgive me if I do not follow your logic."

Harry glanced at him again in that odd way, and Severus suddenly came to the uneasy realization the boy was paying careful attention to his expression… just as he always did to the boy.

"You said Voldemort acted on a fantasy straight from your mind," Harry explained in an almost gentle tone. "But it was a fantasy… You never actually planned it. Every time your father was a bastard to you, you could look forward to the day you made him pay for it, you could imagine hurting him. But if you'd really wanted him dead, you could have killed him yourself. Even without magic! You could poison him, stab him, strangle him--"

Snape cut him off abruptly, "You betray a lack of refinement, Mr. Potter. I assure you, I wanted him dead… just not in so simple a manner. I was biding my time."

"I don't think so," Harry said with infuriating calmness, still watching him closely. "You see, when I really hated you, I'd imagine using the Cruciatus curse on you and watching you scream, or I'd imagine dumping a cauldron of poison over your head…"

Snape fell silent, thrown off by the turn in the discussion as much as by Harry's words.

"Or after Sirius died," Harry continued conversationally, "sometimes I'd imagine that soon Voldemort would catch you and kill you. I'd imagine letting him see you were a traitor in my mind so he'd kill you. I had fantasies about hurting you because I couldn't do anything else... You were always so awful to me, and the only way I could make you sorry was in my head."

Snape truly didn't care for this line of discussion. It was increasingly disturbing.

"What. Is. Your. Point, Potter?"

"I can't imagine how I would have reacted if it had actually happened, though," Harry admitted, watching Snape with what he suddenly realized-- damn the bloody boy to hell!-- was pity. "However much I hated you, I think I would have felt so awful if you'd actually been tortured, if you'd actually been killed. I'd always feel guilty, knowing I'd wanted that for you once. I would probably always doubt myself for wishing such horrible things for you, and then having them happen… maybe I'd always wonder if I'd contributed to it somehow--"

"If you are trying to draw parallels between the two of us," Snape snarled, "I'd like to point out that crippling sentimentality is your failing, not mine!"

"And you weren't even my father back then," Harry continued, steadfastly ignoring him. "But he was your father. Your family. And it wasn't just a coincidence that you wanted it and it happened… he was killed because that fantasy was in your mind." He held Snape's eyes unflinchingly. "He was your father, and he died because of you… You even had to kill him-- you didn't have a choice! Voldemort made you kill your own father. And you had to live with the fact that he did it because you'd wanted it. That must have been horrifying. I can't imagine how awful that was for you."

Everything in Snape wanted to lash out of the boy for his presumption, but it felt as though his throat was suddenly blocked off and he couldn't manage a word.

"I knew Dumbledore would never believe in a monster," Harry said, with that damnable understanding in his eyes. "But I bet it's always been easier to tell yourself you wanted him dead than to admit you didn't… This way you don't feel guilty, you don't regret. Or at least, you don't think you do. And you don't have to live with your father dying because you were stupid enough to believe in Voldemort. You just tell yourself it's what you wanted all along, that there's no reason to feel bad about it. It probably hurts less that way."

Snape remained frozen in place. Wild thoughts of hexing the boy passed through his mind, but his arms remained locked at his sides as if he'd been paralyzed.

"I know how it feels," Harry said quietly. "You don't even have to say anything… you don't have to admit it. You can yell at me if you want. I just want you to know that I know how terrible it is to be at fault for something like that. I do understand."

A strange feeling like he was choking clogged Snape's throat. He wanted to strangle the boy. He wanted to strangle him.

But he couldn't even move.

Harry finally looked away from him, releasing him from that stranglehold of compassion.

"I don't want to lose Hermione," Harry said quietly. "But I don’t want to lose you, either. Not just because I'd feel awful about it… but you are my father. And you've-- I think you've been looking out for me like one, too."

He peered up at Snape with a strange trust in his expression, and Severus felt an increasingly familiar, sick feeling in his stomach.

"What should I do?" Harry questioned gently. "What do you really think I should do?"

Snape felt a weight pressing on his chest; suddenly it seemed there was far more at stake than merely their lives.

"Please," Harry said, "Tell me what I won't hate myself for. Tell me what I should do."

Tell me how not to end up like you!

The phantom words stung him like bile. Although a tiny corner of Snape's mind still screamed in fury at this gentle manipulation, he'd never before felt so helpless against it. He felt like he'd been torn open by the boy's ridiculous assertions.

They were absurd. They were unfounded. And they'd left him undone.

And now that Harry was doing something so horrendous as trusting him to make the right choice, the decision-- so icy clear before-- seemed muddled and clouded. It had been so easy to face an adversary… but this… This was so much greater… It was so much worse.

He stood frozen before Harry, paralyzed. He could not help but remember that distant night when he'd made another decision that had seemed in many ways so obvious, in others so murky-- the decision to take the life of a man he'd long hated at the behest of his Master-- and he felt suddenly as though he could never make a decision again.

Harry watched him attentively.

At length, his son seemed to comprehend his paralysis. Harry drew closer and gingerly worked his wand out from within Snape's robes, moving slowly and carefully. All Snape had to do was reach out and stop him.

Severus made no move to do so, feeling sick and almost faint.

Grasping his wand, Harry held his eyes for a lingering moment in question. When Snape gave him no indication, he turned towards Granger and raised it.

A soft-spoken "Refoveo" whispered through the air as though from a distant dream. Granger drew a sharp breath that filled the hushed room as she abruptly snapped back into the waking world.

Snape's eyes closed against his volition, almost unable to bear this.

It was only when he instinctively felt Harry come back to his side that he heard the faint whisper:

"Don't worry about Malfoy. We'll stop him. I swear that to you… father."

Harry's quiet promise lingered in Snape's mind long after he dared to look, dared to see his son hovering over his friend-- smiling, whispering quiet assurances to the still disoriented Hermione Granger.

He found himself turning mechanically on his heels, and starting the long walk back to his chambers.

As he emerged into flickering torchlight of the Hogwarts corridors, it seemed that he was emerging into an alien world. They had just thrown away their sole advantage, and his mind told him that Harry's ridiculous assertion was unfounded, ignorant, and completely foolhardy. He couldn't say in that instant why it struck him so powerfully as prophetic.

But something felt very different, lingering on the air about him.

It was the same sensation from when he'd first known Dumbledore, that terrible optimism of faith. He was afraid that this time, it might not fade away. He didn't know if it could.

He didn't know if he wanted it to.

"… can't believe you said that! That's the most absurd, utterly ridiculous--"

She trailed off when she caught sight of Harry, who had just appeared in the doorway. Her anger transformed into a bright smile.

"Harry! Ron was just telling me what an utter ass he's been to you the last few weeks." She turned a glare towards Ron. "And he's very sorry."

Harry glanced at Ron, whose face had gone redder than his hair. He wondered which one of them had initiated the conversation. Hermione, probably… She'd seemed a bit suspicious yesterday when he stammered yet another flimsy excuse about why he and Ron weren't visiting her together-- "Er, detention… schedule problems… Ginny's upset about Dean…"

She was watching Ron expectantly now; the redhead looked chagrined, but his lips were set in a thin, stubborn line.

Hermione let out an exasperated breath.

"Honestly, Ronald, what did you expect him to do?" she demanded. "Leave him to a Dementor? I'm not going to let you leave until you apologize!"

"Sorry mate," Ron muttered, staring somewhere above Harry's head.

Hermione sent Ron a withering glare. "Oh, and you sound so sorry--" she said scathingly.

"He was just worried about you," Harry said, hoping to forestall another insincere apology. "Really."

Ron glanced at him, startled.

Hermione was eyeing him skeptically, and Harry added quickly, "We all were. It's not a big deal."

Hermione took the cue and left the subject; it was only an occasional glare Ron's way that betrayed her continued irritation. Harry launched into a conversation with her, ignoring Ron's questioning gaze.

When Madame Pomfrey informed Hermione that it was high time she caught up on some sleep, she rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, I've been sleeping for weeks!"

With a huff, she flopped back into the bed.

"Can you two take back all these things--?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the personal effects that had somehow migrated from her room onto the bedside table. "I don't know what Lavender was thinking… I'm gone for a few weeks, and she dumps half my belongings in the hospital wing! You'd think she was just waiting for an excuse to clear me out of Gryffindor…"

Later, as Harry and Ron levitated two boxes Hermione's belongings back to Gryffindor Tower, Ron trailed to a stop right in front of the portrait hole.

"Er, listen," he said, eyeing Harry uneasily. "Thanks for that-- back there. You know, when she gets going--"

"It was nothing," Harry said dismissively.

He turned to call out the password, but Ron's hand on his arm stopped him. Harry pulled from his grip as though it burned.

"No, it was--" Ron faltered a moment, cringing. "It was stupid of me, saying that to you."

"Was it as stupid as almost getting me killed?" Harry snarled, with a flare of latent resentment. "Or--" he lowered his voice. "Snape? You almost exposed him!"

Ron colored. "Merlin, Harry-- I said it was stupid! I was a bloody idiot, okay? But, er--" he eyed Harry, as though trying to figure out his words, "You did get to punch me. So it wasn't all bad for you."

Harry stared at him, thrown from his anger by the turn in the conversation.

"And, erm, if you hadn't been trying to talk some sense into me," Ron forged on, "You probably would have gone on to flatten me."

"Yeah, I would have," Harry said, his tone still cold.

Ron was clearly trying to amuse him, to draw him from his anger. Harry hoped it wouldn't work.

"That's something, there," Ron added helpfully. "Being tougher than a Weasley…" His brow furrowed suddenly. "I mean, you probably would have gone on to flatten me, but you might not have--"

Harry couldn't help it now. The anger was slipping away.

"Make no mistake," he said, trying not to smirk. "I was winning until I tried talking sense into you."

Ron's expression grew animated. "No, you see, I said you probably could have flattened me, meaning it was possible, but if you really think about it--"

"No, no, Ron," Harry said, shaking his head. "I was going to win. But it takes so much energy to get anything through your thick head, that it just sapped my strength--"

Ron aimed a fake punch Harry's way, and Harry found himself grinning as he reeled back from it.

"--but I was definitely going to be the winner," he persisted.

Ron's arm fell back to his side, and Harry found himself returning his grin.

Maybe I should just admit I can't hold a grudge to save my life, he thought wryly.

Ron's grin slipped from his face.

"I really am sorry," he said, suddenly serious. "I don't know why you're still friends with me."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling his scar twinge unpleasantly; he was ready for this stupid fight to be over. "Let's just forget about it, okay?"

Ron looked like he wanted to say more, but Harry called out the password.

"Come on. Hermione's going to kill us if we don't get her things back to her room."

"-- And tell Lavender to put them back, 'Exactly, and I mean exactly where they belong!'" Ron mimicked, rolling his eyes.

Exchanging a reluctantly friendly look, the two boys ducked through the portrait hole.

* * *

Harry was lingering in the potions office, glancing idly over the Dark Arts titles peering from Snape's bag, when his father appeared in the doorway.

"Come along, then," Snape said impatiently, casting his gaze between Harry and the books. "You are inconveniently early."

"Sorry," Harry said, digging his hands into his pockets and following him into the office. "I'll wait..." At Snape's forbidding look, he amended, "I'll wait quietly."

"That you will," Snape answered coldly.

Harry leaned against the doorway, watching him retrieve ingredients directly from their pouches and cast them swiftly into the cauldron. Snape didn't even need to consult his books, it seemed; the most complex potions just came to him by instinct.

It wasn't until the potion began sputtering that Snape retreated a step, the tension draining from his shoulders. Apparently he'd completed the tricky part. He now turned his attention to Harry, watching him from across the chamber through dark, perceptive eyes.

"I noticed you speaking with Mr. Weasley at lunch today."

Oh, this would not be fun.

"Yeah," Harry said. "We're speaking again."

"You have forgiven him then," Snape said sourly. "You have simply allowed his offense to pass. Amazing how quick you are to 'turn the other cheek.'"

"He was upset," Harry argued. "People do stupid things when they're upset."

Snape dipped a ladle in the cauldron, and shot him a dark look as he stirred. "He physically accosted you--"

"Actually, I physically accosted him. "

No need to fill Snape in on why.

"--and he apparently accused you of a sordid affair with Draco Malfoy," Snape said, pronouncing the name with distaste. "Yet, you forgive him… No harm done."

"Basically, yeah."

Snape's mouth twitched, as though he'd thought of a perfect insult, and was frustrated he couldn't use it. He shot his potion a scathing look, probably in lieu of glaring at Harry.

"You are too forgiving," he said shortly.

Harry tried not to smile, grateful for what he knew was a considerable degree of self-restraint.

"Don't worry," he said wryly. "I know for a fact it's not hereditary."

Snape shot him a sour look. "Indeed, it is not."

He glared back down at the potion.

"If I'd had my way, both Weasley and that bloody werewolf…"

Snape trailed off, a fact for which Harry felt more than a little relieved.

Harry watched idly as Snape added ground runespoor eggs, his movements jerky and his expression dark as though he remained displeased. He considered and then rejected the notion of trying to figure out the source of his consternation. He felt like he'd already encroached far enough into Snape's personal territory two days earlier; anything more would almost be a violation of this uneasy peace that had settled between them.

He was struck suddenly by how odd it felt, to sit in Snape's presence without some feeling of restless discontent He'd once taken it for granted he'd always feel miserable around Snape. But perhaps for the first time since-- well, ever-- he felt as though he could sit in the same room as him without constantly holding a defensive position, without feeling the ground erode beneath his feet.

It was funny how in one moment, after Snape had disarmed him, knowing he'd just lost the chance to save his best friend, he'd suddenly understood why his father was the way he was.

Snape had played upon Harry's guilt and the prospect of having the death of his father on his conscience. And he'd unwittingly handed Harry the very key to understanding him… because for the first time, Harry was able to step right into Snape's place and realize exactly what was going on inside his head. It was the only instance Harry could remember where he'd suddenly understood Snape as acutely as Snape seemed to understand him.

And his words in the hospital wing had obviously hit home; Snape hadn't even tried to stop him when he'd cured Hermione.

This strange new feeling that he understood Snape… and, dare he venture?-- the feeling on Snape's part that Harry understood him-- seemed to have been enough to break the impasse between them, strip away the last of that wariness that perpetually set them at odds.

Harry dared not mention it; he wouldn't speak of it, not to Snape. But it felt like a new understanding lingered on the air between them.

And if Snape was being prickly, Harry was pretty sure it was just because Snape was… well, prickly.

The older wizard removed the cauldron from the fire and set it on a rack to cool, extinguishing the fire with a wave of his wand.

Harry rose to his feet and drew his wand, prepared to retreat back into Snape's office for their Occlumency lesson.

"Wait a moment," Snape said, gesturing for Harry to lower his wand.

Confused, Harry dropped his wand to his side.

"First we will discuss Bellatrix Lestrange," Snape said, watching him coolly.

Harry hadn't expected this. His grip grew weak around his wand. "Now?"

"We touched upon this the other night," Snape said, watching him closely. "And yes, I did see you perusing those books, you silly boy. I think we should clarify now your intentions towards her. Do you still intend to kill her?"

Harry stared at him. "Of course. I-- she killed Sirius. And Tonks."

"And I suppose you feel you would be remiss in your affection for them if you did not avenge their deaths?" Snape said dryly.

"Yes!" He fell silent for a moment, feeling foolish. "Well, no. I don't know. It-- I guess it makes no difference to them now, anyway, does it?

"It doesn't," Snape said. "But you feel obligated."

Harry shrugged, still finding this a difficult subject to speak about.

Snape drew closer, watching him intently. "You realize that if you wish to punish her, there are worse things than death."

"Such as Azkaban?" Harry said darkly. "Wow. It did work so well the first time they stuck her in there."

"You oversimplify the situation," Snape said tersely. "Yes, she did emerge from Azkaban relatively… I cannot say 'sane', but relatively undamaged." His black eyes narrowed; he was watching Harry's expression closely. "But her strength in Azkaban was born of her conviction the Dark Lord would rise again. She is a fanatical follower-- the Dark Lord is her faith; he has no disciple of greater conviction than Lestrange."

Harry listened, suspecting where this was going.

A cold smile touched Snape's lips. "It was only faith that sustained her during her tenure in Azkaban, her unwavering belief that the Dark Lord would rise again… But sometimes life, Harry, is the greatest punishment. If, indeed, it is your lot to destroy the Dark Lord completely, then your vengeance has already been had. No one can bear a life without hope, not even Lestrange."

"Great," Harry said sarcastically, thinking of the difficulties entailed in that. "So I just need to fulfill my destiny and I'll make her pay, too. Maybe if I have time between classes, I'll pop on by and do it tomorrow."

Harry hadn't intended to sound so bitter; his voice simply came out that way.

"I do believe," Snape said, watching him through glittering black eyes, "that you presume too much by supposing any proactive measures of yours will have any hand in the Dark Lord's demise."

"You think I'm being arrogant again?" Harry snarled, suddenly angry. "You're the one who brought it up!… I didn't choose this!"

"No," Snape parried coolly. "You did not. You would be a fool if you had. You are a sixteen year old boy, and decades of immersing yourself in the darkest spellbooks in the world would still very likely fail to yield the mechanisms for the defeat of the Dark Lord."

Harry stared at him. "So what are you saying? I should just… do nothing? Let whatever happens happen?"

"I am suggested," Snape said waspishly, "not only that you do nothing, but that you accept there is nothing you can do."

"You can't seriously be suggesting I just-- just give up." At Snape's level gaze, Harry's incredulity mounted. "You think I should just lie down and say I have no chance… that I shouldn't even bother?"

"You do not have a chance," Snape responded, "and you shouldn't even bother."

Harry stood there, unable to believe what Snape was saying. He floundered for a long moment for some suitable reply, but Snape pressed on:

"If the prophecy is true, and you have some 'power the Dark Lord knows not'," Snape said, his voice sarcastic on the last words, "then I'm certain it will surface, and the way will be made known. If it does not, it is hardly any fault of yours. At present, there's very little action you can take by way of defeating such a vastly superior opponent. It's patently ridiculous to strive for a victory that you can never hope to achieve."

"That's a horrible thing to say," Harry said quietly. "It would be my fault… it would all be my fault what happened if I gave up."

"It would not be giving up," Snape sneered. "'Giving up' implies some action on your part can truly affect the outcome of your situation. That's not true. As the situation currently stands, your defeat by the Dark Lord is inevitable, thus it can't possibly be deemed your fault. If some event transpires to change the situation, you may reevaluate it then."

Harry couldn't muster a word to say. He couldn't believe Snape was saying this. It was-- it was awful!

"Put aside that infernal Gryffindor pride and consider the sense of what I have been saying," Snape ordered. "You have assumed a misguided mantle of responsibility, when in fact, some examination of the reality of your situation will liberate you from it."

"I'm not a coward," Harry said. "I don't-- I don't want to run from it."

Snape smirked. "Of course you don't."

He turned and stalked into the adjoining chamber.

"Clear your mind," he ordered from the next room.

Harry was still reeled by Snape's words as he picked himself out of his chair and made his way into Snape's office. He really couldn't believe what Snape had said, that he shouldn't even bother… That he should recognize his limitations and heed them, give up upon hope for the impossible.

It was an awful thing to say; everyone else encouraged him to be something greater. The very House of Gryffindor demanded the courage to strive for something greater.

For a moment, he was threatened by anger. It was just like that greasy git! Saying he wasn't that capable, telling him not to bother because he simply wasn't good enough… It was a horrible thing to say!

He dared not admit to himself that, somehow, it made him feel marginally better.

It should have infuriated him. It should have roused his defiance, made him want to prove Snape wrong.

For some reason, though, it was a relief to have at least one person who saw him as the inept kid he still felt he was, one person who wouldn't be shocked and disappointed when he failed.

Snape would never feel he'd let them down. Snape would never blame him if they lost. And coming from a person who was not kind enough to spare his feelings with a pretty lie, he knew it to be true.

When his father cast the legilimens on him, for the first time in months, Harry was able to shove him out of his mind.

* * *
]
"I should remember this," Harry said at the end of their session, clutching his pounding forehead.

"Remember what?" Snape said, raising Harry's fringe with a sweep of his thump to assess the appearance of his scar; he seemed to use its degree of irritation as a gauge for what potion to give Harry after their Occlumency sessions.

"I should remember that you were right," he said.

He caught Snape's eyes. Snape raised a questioning eyebrow, compelling Harry to elaborate.

"You seem to understand me better than I do. Sometimes, at least," Harry said, feeling exhausted to the point that he'd abandoned his reserve. "You-- it's like you always seem to guess right. I wouldn't have thought so… not until it was easier to block you. And the other night, er, well maybe you had some points there, too."

Snape withdrew his hand and let Harry's fringe brush back down over his forehead; there was an odd look on his face, as though he weren't entirely sure how to react. Harry felt a pang when he realized how unaccustomed Snape was to being appreciated for much of anything.

"I should have realized it sooner," Harry added, a bit bolder. "I really could have listened to you more."

His thoughts turned to that first night when Malfoy arrived at Snape Manor, Snape's warning not to leave his room. If he had only listened to him, maybe everything would be different now. Maybe Malfoy wouldn't be trying to kill them…

Well, he'd probably still be trying to kill Harry. But not Snape or the fictitious 'Septimus.'

"While I will admit I have questioned many of your decisions," Snape spoke at last, "You do generally employ sound judgment… You do not make the decisions I would make, but your choices are often not without merit."

"I went to rescue Sirius," Harry said darkly. "I was stupid. You wouldn't have done that."

"No," Snape said flatly. "Nor would I have spared Pettigrew. I would have left Draco Malfoy to die at the hands of a Dementor. And if I'd encountered my most hated professor, suffering in the aftermath of torture, I would have 'left him to rot'. My life would have been considerably easier in many respects… but I am not you."

He leaned back and watched Harry speculatively.

"As you can see," Snape concluded, "we are very different people, you and I. You dare to gratify your nobler impulses, and I myself have never had that fortitude. You rescued Miss Granger from a troll, and to this day she is your friend. Black,"-- Harry noticed he did not quite spit the name this time,-- "owed his life to you, and was devoted to you in return. We approach matters very differently, which is one of the reasons you'll very likely live out your life surrounded by loyal friends, and I'll very likely die alone."

Snape spoke coldly, matter-of-factly; he clearly hadn’t intended to evoke pity, but Harry was suddenly overcome with a powerful wave of it. How lonely Snape's life had to be, isolated with his potions, living the deceptive life of a spy, too caustic for friends, alienated from any family.

"You won't die alone," Harry said quietly. "I'll be here. After all, I'm your son. It's part of the deal. "

Snape sent him a withering look that almost made Harry retreat, disavow his statement. Harry regretted what he'd said-- Snape did not appreciate being pitied-- but the finest shreds of Gryffindor courage forced him to maintain eye contact.

"And you, er, might need a kidney one day."

Snape stared at him for a long moment, in which Harry wondered if he was about to be shot down. Then, unbelievably, the corners of his thin mouth twitched as though he were reluctantly amused.

"I might," Snape acknowledged. "Especially if I am regularly immersed in saccharine discussions such as this."

Harry grinned, the tension broken in a single moment.

"I won't make it a habit if you won't," Harry quipped. "But knowing you, that might be asking too much, huh?"

Snape shot him a dour look.

"Go back to Gryffindor and sleep, Mr. Potter. Your exhaustion has clearly rendered you delusional."

Harry gave him a cheeky grin. "Yes, sir."

Snape rolled his eyes and retreated into the brewing chamber.

He set about gathering his books, and after a moment, his eyes found Snape, peering into the depths of his cooling cauldron.

Suddenly Harry could picture vividly Snape's life-- lonely rooms saturated with potions fumes… looming in front of classrooms of students who neither liked nor respected him… apparating to a dark wizard to whom he was practically a slave… lying, manipulating, deceiving… always standing at a distance.

All to redeem himself for the fatal mistake of believing in a cause… And sacrificing the only family he had.

Harry's thoughts turned to Lucius Malfoy, Snape's only friend in school… Now his enemy, purely because he was protecting Harry.

Snape's words haunted him. "Use this spell on Miss Granger now, and you do not merely throw away your only leverage, you throw away mine."

Harry sent one last glance at Snape before leaving the office. Through his mind flashed those days and nights since Snape had taken him from the Great Hall and sneeringly informed him they were father and son. However much he'd hated Snape at times, however many angry words they'd exchanged, he could honestly see now that Snape had made sacrifices for his sake, and received so little in return. And asked for so little in return.

A fierce, protective warmth kindled inside him, and Harry turned away.

Malfoy won't hurt him again, he vowed silently. I swear it.

* * *

Harry was aware of the voices in the distance. He was in the Gryffindor Common Room, and Ron was baffled as to why his Wizard's Chess pieces kept speaking to Harry in parseltongue. Harry was translating in broken English, telling him the snakes were mocking Ron's new goatee. Meanwhile, Ron's goatee had swelled into a giant, cumbersome beard rivaling Dumbledore's-- a beard that also spoke parseltongue-- when the voices in the distance swelled and Harry found himself pulled from the scene, drawn by a wave fierce, cruel delight.

He was in a dim, ornate chamber, smirking. Frantic figures argued before him-- a bedraggled woman divested of any hint of restraint and a tall, cool aristocrat whose composure was clearly being put to the test.

"--the courage to tell him, dear brother!" Bellatrix cried, waving at an alarmed blonde boy who appeared to be fighting not to retreat behind the shelter of his father. "TELL HIM! Tell him you murdered his mother!"

Draco froze, seemingly forgetting his attempts to escape attention. He stared, stunned, at the woman.

"Do not repeat this slander in the presence of my son," Lucius snarled, taking a menacing step forward as though cutting off Bellatrix's line of sight would hide his son from her voice.

Bellatrix cackled-- a high, shrieking laughter that verged on hysteria and made Harry smile.

"Oh, but he should hear the pretty details!" she cried. "He should know you MURDERED my sister-- STRANGLED HER like a common MUGGLE--"

"SHUT UP!" Draco bellowed, whipping out his wand. "STOP SAYING THAT!"

Bellatrix giggled madly, eyeing Draco's wand as though he held all the menace of an infant brandishing a rattle.

"The poor widdle baby doesn't want to hear the twoof," she sneered. "Your daddy killed your mummy, little Draco. Your widdle biddy spells aren't going to change that!"

"I said STOP IT!" Draco screamed, casting a furious glance at his father, his cheeks flushing red. "Why are you letting her say that? WHY DOES SHE KEEP SAYING THAT?"

Lucius did not spare a glance for his son, watching Bellatrix with cool, calculating appraisal. "We will discuss this later, Draco. Lower your wand."

"But--"

"Do not raise your wand in the Dark Lord's presence!" Lucius roared, casting Draco a warning glare, before meeting Harry's gaze with apology in his faint smile.

His son stared at him beseechingly, not receiving anything by word or look from his father. He turned again to see the delighted anguish of his aunt, and then to Harry, who could not suppress his amusement at this sordid scene.

"Master!" Bella dropped to her knees. "Give me leave to punish him! Let me hurt him!"

Malfoy stiffened in alarm. "My Lord?" He sounded a bit panicked.

"No, Bella," Harry hissed. "I will not tolerate any damage inflicted upon one of my lieutenants."

Bellatrix dipped her head reluctantly; Lucius shot Harry a grateful look.

His son suddenly roused from where he'd been frozen. He rushed to his father's side, as though seeking refuge from what he'd heard.

"It's not true, is it?" he pleaded. "It can't be true. It can't be."

Lucius sent him a cold, unyielding look. "Silence. You are making a spectacle of yourself."

Draco stepped back, gaping at him. All propriety forgotten.

Lucius lowered his voice, to a pitch where it was barely audible.

"We will discuss this later."

Draco reeled back, as if he'd been struck. "No… it can't be-- you can't have--" he shook his head in fierce denial.

"Silence your son," Harry drawled, his amusement fading into irritation.

"Draco--" Lucius said, stepping closer--

In a flash, the boy disapparated.

The scene dissolved around him…

* * *

Harry jolted upright in bed, groggy, horrified. Voldemort's amusement lingered at the back of his mind like something noxious, and he stumbled from his tangled bed sheets.

It took his exhausted brain a long moment to wrap around what he'd just seen.

Draco-- Lucius…

Lucius had killed his wife.

Draco's father had killed his mother. Good God.

The devastation and horror on Draco's face burned behind his eyelids; he couldn't shake the image from his mind.

Draco had just learned his father had killed his mother.

Harry pulled his robes on with shaky hands, still shocked. He couldn't believe it. His mind returned to the boy he'd seen, hunched in a chair in Snape's office, tears streaking down his face.

Lucius killed Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry mindlessly grabbed his map and his wand, determined to tell Snape at once what he'd seen. He yanked his invisibility cloak over his head and started down the staircase. Snape needed to know this; this was huge.

At the entrance hall, Harry froze, the full import suddenly sinking in.

Draco had disapparated. Where had he gone?

Something tugged at the back of his mind… A notion, perhaps a fanciful one, but--

He dug out his Marauder's map and held it aloft in the dim torchlight. Then he saw it.

A dot labeled Draco Malfoy, just inside the apparition boundary. He stared, transfixed, as the dot crept first closer to the school, then halted again.

Draco's here…. Harry thought, his heart pounding wildly. Draco's here… I have to get Snape--

And then the dot started back-- slowly, reluctantly, but it was retreating.

There was no time to get Snape. He had to get Draco now before he left.

Harry grasped his wand and sprinted out into the night.

The dot moved backwards and forwards, as though caught by indecision. Then it started towards the apparition boundary again and threatened to disappear from the map entirely. Harry felt his heart leap and tucked the map away, throwing himself into tearing towards Draco's location.

He was out of breath by the time he crossed school boundaries and trailed to a stop, feeling his first flicker of unease. He was beyond the apparition wards… Maybe this wasn't such a good--

It was then that he caught sight of Draco, his head buried in his arms against the trunk of a tree, and Harry's fears were forgotten.

He debated as he approached the merits of pulling out his wand… But it would only take Draco a split second to disapparate; he didn't want to seem like he was threatening him. After what he'd just learned…

He felt a pang of pity. He pulled off his invisibility cloak, and kept his wand at his side just in case he needed it, but not immediately in Draco's line of sight.

"Malfoy."

The other boy's head whipped up. He pulled out his wand, and nearly tripped over the roots of the tree stumbling back from Harry. The blue light of early dawn caught the faint glisten of tears on his cheeks.

"What do you want Potter? Get away from me!" Draco cried, his voice breaking.

Harry stepped closer, then slowed when the other boy cringed backwards instinctively.

"Look," Harry said softly, "I know what happened. I know why you're here."

Draco glared at him, furious, terrified; his hand shook where it held the wand.

"You don't know anything, Potter!" he roared. "Stay back! I'll hex you!"

"I'm not here to do anything to you, okay?" Harry said reassuringly. "See? I'm not even pointing my wand at you."

He could hear Draco's ragged panting in the hushed air; the other boy's eyes were swollen-- he'd been crying for a while.

Very carefully, Harry ventured, "I know what Lucius did to your mother. I--" Harry fell silent, trying to figure out what to say. "I saw everything."

Draco's face crumpled in pain. "How--" his anguished voice barely choked from his lips. "How? Who told you?"

Harry dared to draw closer to the other boy, willing Draco to trust him.

"I have visions. I see what Voldemort sees when he's feeling a strong emotion-- angry, happy." He felt something foul boil up in his throat. "Amused."

Tears welled up in Draco's eyes again. "He thought it was funny. The whole time, he was…" Again he choked on his words.

Harry could see the pale, thin form trembling in the cool air, the quick, frantic breaths clouding into faint mist.

"I hate him," Draco whispered.

Whether he referred to Voldemort of his father, Harry could only guess. He'd venture it might be both.

"I HATE HIM!" In one fluid motion, he tore the Malfoy crest from his cloak and yanked at it with his fists, trying to tear it to pieces. "I hate him… I hate him… I hate him…"

The fabric would not yield, and Draco's fury only seemed to mount. He stamped it into the ground, screaming incoherently.

Harry hovered at a distance, at a loss, wondering if he should do something more.

Draco abruptly fell silent, staring blankly at the defiled family crest. And suddenly his head shot up, his crazed eyes riveting to Harry's.

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Harry was knocked backwards as his wand flew from his hand.

He froze on the ground as Draco drew closer, wand raised, his concern for the other boy subsumed by this sudden, very real danger.

"I told you to stay away from me…" Draco's voice shook. "I TOLD YOU!"

"I know you did," Harry said, feeling anxiety dancing in his stomach at the crazed look on Draco's face. The other boy could simply kill him… no one would be here in time to help…

"You should have stayed away…" Draco repeated hysterically. "I could kill you now, Potter. I could do it."

"Yes, you could," Harry said carefully, fighting his instincts to flee. He looked between Draco's wand and his face before slowly pulling himself to his feet. "But I don't think you want to."

At the bemused look on the other boy's face, Harry felt his courage mount.

"I think you came here for a reason," Harry forged on, watching Draco's expression carefully. He saw from the flicker of unease in the other boy's eyes that he was right. "You must have. You came to see--"

The words froze on his lips. Not Dumbledore. Draco had no reason to trust Dumbledore.

"You came to see Snape, didn't you? You came to ask him for help?"

Draco's eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. "You don't know anything, Potter."

"I know a bit more than you think, actually," Harry replied, daring to draw a step closer. "I know he'll protect you from Lucius and Voldemort. I know you can trust him."

Draco sneered at him, seeming to gain confidence from Harry's ignorance.

"You're an idiot, Potter!" he scathed. "You really think Snape can be trusted? You think he wouldn't turn me over to the Dark Lord in a second?" He glared back at the school. "Snape's a Death Eater. He'll only help me if he thinks he can hurt my father… he'd kill me in a second."

He turned a fierce glare at Harry, and Harry wondered how much he should pretend to know about Snape.

"Bet you didn't know that, did you?" Draco said viciously, misreading his look. "Snape's a DEATH EATER! He'd kill you if he could! And he'd kill me, too. You're stupid if you think he'll protect me."

"Draco, listen--"

"The only thing Snape could do is hide me from my father," Draco continued, his voice laced with fury. "They hate each other, after all. But I was stupid to come here."

Draco eyed him for a long moment, as though uncertain what he should do, his wand trained relentlessly on Harry. After a long moment, he let out an angry breath and sent a spell lashing out at Harry's wand that knocked it into the distant underbrush.

"Get out of here, Potter," Draco ordered. "Come back for your wand tomorrow. Just leave me alone."

Harry hesitated. "What are you going to do? Are you just going to go back to them?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Draco shouted, brandishing his wand threateningly again. His eyes had welled up with tears again. "GO!"

"All right," Harry conceded, raising his hands. He really hated leaving Draco there, and he really hated leaving his wand there.

He felt an oppressive sense of failure descend upon him as he backed away. He'd wanted to do something-- anything-- to help Snape out with Lucius.

Maybe there was still time. His mind raced over the possibility of running as soon as he was out of Draco's sight, getting Snape--

A loud crack split the air.

Harry didn't need to see his face to know who it was. He yanked his invisibility cloak over himself faster than he'd thought he could move.

Draco, for his part, started violently, then whipped his wand around towards the new intruder.

Lucius Malfoy.

Father and son faced each other in the half-light. Harry felt like he might choke on his anxiety. He couldn't get away in time. All it would take was one word from Draco…

"What do you want?" Draco demanded. His expression was twisted with pain and betrayal; he made no effort to wipe away the tears coursing down his face.

Lucius seemed to take in Draco's state in a quick sweep of his eyes; he wisely chose to hang back; Harry noticed he hadn't drawn his wand.

"I thought I might find you here."

"Did you?" Draco snarled.

"And I understand why," Lucius said gently. "You feel hurt and betrayed. You were hoping Severus would help you punish me."

Draco's shoulders heaved violently, as though he were fighting a sob. "You deserve it!"

"Perhaps I do," Lucius conceded, his expression twisting with something that approximated guilt. He made no move to grab his own wand, holding is distance as though in respect for Draco's magical skills. "I never wanted that horrendous event to transpire. I never imagined I'd do such a horrendous thing. I loved your mother dearly-- she was dearer than life to me. I never wanted that to happen."

"Why did you do it, then?" Draco demanded in a strangled voice.

Harry tore his attention from the scene and cast his eyes about for a means of escape. The ground was littered with dead twigs, forest debris. He was too close to Lucius; it was pure luck he'd apparated in with his back to Harry. But now, there was no way he'd be able to pass without being heard…

Damn it, if he just had his wand…

His only hope lay in the fact that Draco hadn't revealed his presence to Lucius, that Draco's eyes glimmered with hatred, fury, and betrayal as he stared at his father. How agonizing this was-- his fate rested in Draco's hands.

"I think you know why it happened, Draco," Lucius said quietly. "I think you know what pushed me to those limits. I'm sure you've heard the others snicker about her-- her indiscretions. And when I came to see my wife-- the wife I loved so dearly, and that man-- in our home…"

He closed his eyes heavily, as though caught by a powerful wave of emotion.

"The most important thing in this world to me," Lucius said, his eyes sliding back open. "Is family. My family. My wife and my son. My. Son."

Draco stared at him, frozen as though he'd been paralyzed.

"You are the most important thing in this world to me, Draco," Lucius whispered, in a gentle, loving voice. "My entire existence is about you, about the two of us-- father and son. Your mother defiled my love for her… She defiled our family. And with all these horrendous events that have transpired-- my unjust imprisonment, Severus's betrayal… it was too great a strain. I couldn't bear to see her treat our love so callously… throw me away to play whore to a half-blood…"

"Don't say that," Draco hissed.

"You and I are Malfoys, Draco," Lucius persisted, taking a step forward. "We are the inheritors of an ancient legacy, Draco. None are like us in this world. None have our noble bloodline, none our ancient fibers of strength. You may journey from one corner of this world to another, until its very end, and you will never find another who understands you as I do… there will never be another who loves you so unconditionally."

Tears slipped down Draco's cheeks. His wand wavered.

"Don't let this bond-- this noble blood of ours-- be torn apart because of a woman's misdeeds," Lucius said appealingly. "You and I-- father and son-- we are worthy of this legacy. Are you simply going to throw it away? Will you let her destroy it?"

Draco was silent; Harry was afraid he might be considering Lucius's words.

Don't listen to him! Harry thought, horrified. He's manipulating you, don't you see that?

"My son," Lucius said, still in that affectionate tone, "If you choose to abandon me now-- if you choose to march through those gates and seek Severus to plot my undoing, I forgive you."

Shock washed over Draco's face.

Harry closed his eyes, pained. He knew this maneuver.

"You are my son," Lucius whispered, "and I will love you whatever misdeeds you commit..."

His smile faded, and his expression grew solemn, almost pitying.

"But I will fear for you, my son… I will mourn for you, because one day you will realize you've destroyed the single person on this earth who truly cared for you, who truly valued you. And I never want you to experience the pain that will cause you. I love you too much to wish that upon you."

Draco looked devastated by Lucius's gentle acquiescence. The elder Malfoy, with a damnably understanding look on his face, stepped aside for his son to pass through the apparition boundary, into the protective shelter of Hogwarts.

Draco watched his father with an expression of absolute anguish.

"Go ahead, then, Draco," Lucius said gently. "Do what you wish. It is your right. And I will never challenge it."

Draco bowed his head, his eyes sliding closed. His entire body was shaking, his expression pale and strained. For a long moment he stood there, and Harry knew Lucius's words were doing their work, playing on his fears. Even amidst his own fear, Harry could remember how Lucius had tried to isolate Septimus, make him feel like he was his only ally in the world. He knew Draco, at this moment, was probably feeling as though his entire world was about to slip out from under his feet.

Harry felt like he might be sick. He suddenly knew exactly what was coming.

When Draco looked up, he seemed strangely calm.

"Accio invisibility cloak," he called out to the air.

Harry made a desperate attempt to cling to the treacherous fabric, but it slipped right through his fingers, leaving him fully visible, and entirely defenseless, not ten feet in front of the shocked Lucius Malfoy.

He knew he couldn't get to safety in time; his heart thudded violently in his ears.

A dark smile curled across Lucius's lips.

"What an unexpected surprise, Mr. Potter," he drawled.

The words stirred Harry out of his shock. He jolted to his feet and lurched forward, knowing he wouldn't make it.

The stunner hit him before he'd taken three steps, and the world tunneled into darkness.

It was not the sluggishness in his mind or the creeping numbness in his limbs that most alarmed him — it was the aching loss of his glasses. There was no comforting weight on his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He knew even if he opened his eyes, he would not be able to ascertain his surroundings. It was a horrifying realization, even more so than the knowledge he was tied to a chair, his arms yanked cruelly behind his back.

Harry was tempted to flex his fingers against the numbness creeping from his hands up his wrists, but he suddenly thought the better of it. It tested the very limits of his self control, trying to regulate his breathing, drawing and releasing steady breaths despite the terror that choked his throat. He could hear footsteps close at hand — scuffling across the ground, echoing faintly in the cold, stale air. He kept his eyes closed, knowing his poor vision would not serve him in the least, and breathed deeply, trying to figure some way of escape. Lucius could very well be waiting until he was awake to torture or kill him.

Then again, why would he wait for Harry to wake up of his own accord?

He was waiting for something else. But what?

Or who?

Harry’s heart raced in his chest. He tried not to dwell upon the possibilities.

In the distance, someone suddenly gave an impatient huff. Harry almost betrayed himself by jumping.

“What are we waiting for?” Draco Malfoy’s nervous voice demanded. “Why don’t we just take him to the Dark Lord and get done with it?”

“Because He does not wish it,” was Lucius’s cool reply. “Just as I do not wish to hear more of your pathetic whining — such a display is unworthy of a Malfoy.”

Harry almost smirked, remembering how Lucius had played upon the family pride just hours (was it hours…?) earlier to persuade Draco to see things his way. Now he was using it to berate him.

And indeed, Draco had fallen silent. His father’s rebuff had obviously stung his pride.

Harry could picture the polished aristocrat surveying his son through those merciless, scornful eyes. Lucius was apparently expressing his resentment now for Draco’s attempted betrayal.

How do you like that, Draco? Harry thought unsympathetically, remembering how the other boy had sold him out. If you’d gone over to Snape, at least Lucius would have respected you for it!

Well, he’d made his choice. And Harry was glad he could feel angry about it; it at least helped him ignore that mindless, animal panic threatening at the edge of his consciousness.

“What does He want, then?” Draco persisted.

His curiosity and nervousness evidently impelled him to risk his father’s wrath.

Lucius gave a long-suffering sigh.

“What do you think, fool? He wishes to ascertain the contents of the prophecy. He suspects that old man has revealed it to Potter… Once he knows, he will know how to destroy him.”

“So that’s why he didn’t fall over himself to thank you,” Draco said snidely. “He must still be pretty angry if he’s sending —”

“ENOUGH!” Lucius roared. His voice dropped back to its usual polished, collected tones. “He will show his favor in due time, when Potter is dead. He is merely being cautious. As for his… choice of legilimens—”

Harry felt his heart leap in sudden hope. Could it be..?

“I made the request myself.” A moment of silence. “That surprises you, I see.”

He could hear the smile in Lucius’s voice, and Harry felt a sudden pang of fear. If it was Snape, and Lucius was allowing him to come here, it couldn’t be for any good reason.

“I don’t understand,” Draco said. “Why would you ask —”

“Because, my imbecile son, a rare stroke of good fortune such as this —”

A cold finger touched Harry’s cheek. It took every ounce of his self-control not to betray himself by flinching.

“— does not happen every day, and I intend to take full advantage of it. If that means succoring my enemies to win them as friends, I will do so. If it means destroying them because they remain implacable foes —” Harry could almost see Lucius’s dangerous smile through his lids, “Well, then, I shall be very happy to do so.”

“And that’s why you want me to —”

“But of course,” Lucius said silkily. Then, “You look uneasy.”

“Snape isn’t stupid. He’ll know —”

“Then occlude your mind. You were only too happy to do this six hours ago —”

“I told you I’d already decided —”

“— It shouldn’t be too difficult to do it again now… He doesn’t need to trust you, Draco… In fact, I’m counting on him not trusting you. I’m certain he’ll go along with it, at least in the beginning, pretend to be tricked. And that’s all I want him to do.”

Harry could feel the dark, smug satisfaction radiating from Malfoy.

“I’ll make a show of playing our usual games. Severus doesn’t need to be fooled, he doesn’t need to be trapped. He merely needs to do nothing… With the Dark Lord’s favor on our side, none shall intervene… And all I need, Draco, is a single moment when he drops his guard.”

Lucius chuckled then, as though delighted with himself.

“The greatest wizard inevitably blinks, my son. All Severus needs to do, just for a single moment — is close his eyes.” Lucius’s footsteps drew closer to Harry, and then his breath suddenly caressed the boy’s cheek. It took everything in Harry not to flinch away.

“And then, I’ll have him.”

The words chilled Harry. He didn’t know what Lucius had in mind for Snape, but he didn’t want him to have the chance. If only--

The air was suddenly split by the distant crack of an Apparating wizard.

“Ah, it seems our guest is here,” Lucius said smoothly. “Go about your business, Draco. You know what to do.”

Harry was torn between hope and fright, knowing Snape had arrived. He felt a blissful relief, knowing Snape could save him, but he was terrified of what ruin Lucius was plotting to rain down upon his father.

Lucius’s next words, however, plunged him into cold horror.

“Ah, Bellatrix — how good of you to come.”

~*~"We found his wand."

A deep chill swept over him as Severus surveyed the eleven inches of phoenix feather and holly, resting innocuously on the Headmaster's desk. The Aurors had unearthed it within minutes of beginning their search.

He knew what it meant.

"Severus?" queried Lupin from somewhere behind him. "What are you thinking?”

"I think," Snape said, still transfixed by the wand, "that we now have our answer."

He picked it up and held it before him, as though it were just another wand, as though it signified nothing.

"The boy is dead."

"We don't know--"

Snape gritted his teeth, fighting the impulse to hex the werewolf. "The little idiot is dead."

"We don't know that," Lupin maintained. "He could have wandered into the forest--"

"'Wandered into the forest'?" Snape sneered, sending him venomous glare. "And I suppose he left his sole means of defense in a hedge for safe-keeping?”

Lupin flinched.

“Of course," Snape said scathingly, "I quite forgot that you were his instructor in Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

His attacks upon Lupin weren't helping the situation, he knew, but on some level, he relished the distress his words were causing. Shattering the werewolf’s disgusting optimism gave him a marginal satisfaction, a momentary relief.

“Let me disillusion you, then, Lupin," Snape said ruthlessly,” his wand is currently in my hand because an assailant disarmed him. Make no mistake -- if he still lives, it's merely because the Dark Lord wishes to torture the Order’s secrets from him before he executes him. The boy is dead -- or he will be very soon!"

Lupin looked devastated. Snape’s lips twisted into a bitter smile at the sight.

Dumbledore must have perceived immediately that Severus was about to vent more frustrations upon Lupin, for he chose that moment to assert his venerable authority.

"We may know nothing as of yet, Remus,” Dumbledore said reassuringly, “but Harry is resourceful. He’s survived worse than this —”

Name one instance, Snape thought darkly, thinking of the wand in his hand.

“-- And many have underestimated him at their cost. As for our part, we’ll use every resource we have… We’ll bring him home yet, Remus.”

The idiot seemed reassured by Dumbledore’s compelling tone. Snape watched with a jaundiced eye, knowing they were words of comfort, empty sentiments. Dumbledore hadn’t said they’d bring the boy home alive, and he fancied the omission purposeful.

Crafty old bastard. How he loathed him.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, please," Dumbledore said gently, gesturing for Lupin to leave them to speak privately.

The pale, haggard man looked reluctantly between the two, but an objection seemed to die upon his lips. He dragged himself from the office as though his legs were made of the heaviest steel, and Dumbledore instantly spelled the door shut behind him.

The Headmaster's gaze returned to Snape. Severus made no move to acknowledge him. His temples pounded violently, his vision seeming to narrow in upon the wand clenched in his hand. His pale knuckles had become a stark white, but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to loosen his fist.

A short time ago, it had been a day like any other. And now this.

It had only been an hour since they'd realized Harry was missing… a single hour that had changed everything. The boy hadn't arrived for his Transfiguration class, and Weasley had rushed to the Headmaster in a panic, saying Harry hadn't been in their room that morning. The stupid boy had been so deathly pale, gabbling that he’d been sure Harry would show up at class… He’d been so sure! He hadn’t known!

To Severus, it meant one thing -- Harry had been missing all night, and no one had realized it. There was no way to know.

He could have been murdered hours ago.

His mind turned involuntarily to his own activities over the course of his sleepless night -- he’d brewed an antibiotic serum; he’d read an inane novel by torchlight; he’d taken a bloody shower. His son was being — kidnapped..? tortured..? murdered..? -- and all the while, Severus had been consumed with dread over grading the abominations his students called essays.

The memory mocked him now.

Perhaps the greatest frustration was not merely his ignorance — it was his sheer helplessness; he’d requested a summons the moment he received Dumbledore’s missive… He was the only Death Eater with the ability to request one, and he’d always felt as though it imbued him with a certain power. But sometimes -- as in this infuriating instance -- the Dark Lord failed to respond with a summons. Staring at his Dark Mark, waiting for any response, the sheer lack of that burning pain had never felt so horrid as it did now.

Either his master believed Snape had nothing of import to tell him, or he was too busy torturing his new prisoner. It made bile rise in Severus’s throat, just to think of it.

"Severus,” Dumbledore’s grave voice broke into his thoughts, “Have you considered all of the possibilities as to why you have not been summoned?”

Snape closed his eyes, knowing what he was being asked. “I assume you’re alluding to the possibility he’s extracted information about me from the boy?” Snape opened his eyes, a queer smile stretching his thin lips. “Oh, I know well the Dark Lord might be aware I’m Harry Potter’s father… and a thrice-cursed traitor.”

“If he summons you,” Dumbledore said, watching him closely, “it may be for your execution.”

Snape smiled bitterly at the boy’s wand. The wand his son lacked. The wand that meant his son was utterly defenseless. Helpless.

"Yes, it’s very likely." Once they’re finished with him.

"Have you devised a contingency plan?”