Prologue

"HOW MANY IS THAT?!?!?" A heavily set man bellowed.

This is how days often ended for a young Harry Potter. He would wake up before dawn, do ‘chores’ for hours on end, then wait in his cupboard until his uncle came home. The chores were everything from cooking, to cleaning, to transplanting all the plants in the garden. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t be beaten too badly. If he was unlucky, and his uncle came home drunk then he and the belt would get to know each other very well.

"S-sixty e-eight sir" A meek voice answered.

That was how today was. The list of ‘things to do’ was far to long, and by the time his uncle came home (late and smelling distinctly of vodka) he had just barely finished. The dinner he had cooked over three hours ago was long gone cold. Which made Vernon mad. Incensed, in fact. Ultimately meaning that Harry would soon be in a lot of pain.

And so we find the two in the basement, young Harry cowing under the brute’s hand.

Another clap of leather hitting flesh.

A whimper.

Another crack of sound.

A slight whimper of pain and another slap.

"Now how many more boy?!?"

"T-Twenty nine s-sir"

"Start over!"

Again.

The belt whistled in the air.

He was choking back sobs by now. "O-one sir."

The flash of a buckle.

An instant of pain.

Darkness.

A long while later the child awoke in the grim darkness of his cupboard Moving slightly there was a sharp intake of breath. Despite that he was only six, he did not cry. If he cried he would be given a 'lesson'. Hopes of being loved were crushed once again. His heart writhed in agony longing for what it was not allowed. He longed for a love. He longed for a grandma to spoil him, or a grandpa to tell him stories. He longed for a friend to play with on rainy days, or pet to cuddle with. He longed for a mother to kiss him better when was hurt... but most of all, he wanted a father. A father who would take him away and protect him, hold him at night when he was scarred, and to teach him how to grow up. A father who would love him.

But the little boy wouldn't have any of these. No one wanted a freak like him.

Pulling his legs to his chest he took a deep breath only to find his stomach convulsing in anger. Bile stung his thought as he dissolved into a wracking fit of coughs.

Despite his best efforts a tear dripped down a once happy face. He didn't want to be here any more. He wanted a home! He wanted to be wanted!

A small whimper no body should have heard escaped his dry lips as he fell into a fitful sleep.

But somewhere deep in the dungeons of a castle in Scotland, a man was woken abruptly by thoughts that were not his own.

Chapter One

It was the early morning of September 1st, 1987, and, after a long night of brewing, Severus T. Snape, was tossing and turning in his sleep. Not that it was unusual for him to have flashbacks, no, that was quite common. Common enough that dreamless sleep was useless. But the strange thing about this morning was the fact the memories were none he recalled happening. At all. Ever.

True, the were similar to some of his, but they weren't his.

All in all, this was rather concerning.

He had never had experienced anything like this before. It was a sort of backwards legilimency. At first he was recalling the joy and pride of knowing he would have a real family, one of his own, then the longing for what he had once had? No. That wasn't right. They were dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. They had been dead for five years, and they would stay that way.

The longing for home? But he had a home. Not much of one, but the dank dungeons were as much of a home as he ever had...

Walls closing in? But he never had claustrophobia...

Love? Okay, so he needed more of th-

"Severus!" a voice happily interrupted his train of thoughts.

"Severus!" The overly cheery voice called out again.

Damn him.

"Severus!!!"

Throwing once again black blankets off of his black bed sheets the groggy potions master promptly fell off the bed. On to the floor. With a slight grunt he got up and opened the door the joyful headmaster.

"Good morning Severus!"

Glare.

"Wonderful weather we're having isn't it? Perfect conditions for quidditch..."

"Get to the point Albus." He growled out.

The headmaster seemed to deflate slightly, but continued. "Fine, fine... Tea?"

Another glare.

"Lemon drop?"

"No." He defiantly wasn’’t a morning person.

Slightly defeated he went about making tea anyway, and after merrily sipping at it for a few moments looked back to the teacher.

"We've had some slight worries about the wards around young Harry Potter..."

"Get on with it."

Hesitating he continued. "And because all of the other teachers are finishing last minuet preparations I wou-"

"No." he cut him off.

"But Severus-"

"No. I will not go and 'check up' on your golden boy Albus! He's not my problem, he's not my son, he's not my responsibility. I. Don't. Care."

"Severus-" it was slightly pleading

"No!"

"But Severus- do it for Lily"

"NO!" he stood up spilling the undrunk tea on the stone floor. "Never. Bring. My. Ex. Up. Again."

"Severus be reasonable-"

"You be reasonable old man! You made me spy on the dark lord thus driving my wife away from me after a miscarriage! Then she goes and has the bastard son of James-bleeding-Potter and DIES. Do you have any idea how painful that is?" His anger receded slightly. "No... of corse you don't. You never strayed from the light..."

"Severus, you may not believe me, but I /do/ know the pain of losing a child. Less than twenty years ago almost my entire family was murdered. Please- go check on him." His endless blue eyes spoke of fear for his meager family.

He looked to the still sitting old man, wondering where he ever learned to soften a stone heart. "Fine. I may have hated James for what he did to me, but I can not hate a mere child for his father's doings..."

With a swish of his robe he disappeared out the door.

Albus Brian Percival Wulfric Dumbledore sat in remorse. There was so much his (great grand)son-in-law did not know...

Despite the dislike of the task at hand, Severus Snape found himself wandering down the lane to number four Privit Drive. And hating every second of it.

All the houses looked the same, all the cars, everything. It was like a badly done horror film from hell. A white fence surrounded each white house, and under each kitchen window was a neatly trimmed bush.

And yet despite the relative calm a sinister air still lingered around shadows.

Finally coming upon a house identical to all the others, save the number, the dour teacher slunk into the shadows.

This was going to be a long wait...

Through the window one could see the every day breakfast of a normal family. A horse faced woman cooking breakfast, a pig like child whining for more syrup on his pancakes, and a heavy set man reading the morning paper. A perfectly normal house with a perfectly normal family taking care of their perfectly normal nephew.

With a double take confusion flooded the potions master. There was only one boy, and either the killing curse had caused a lot more damage than anyone predicted, or the fat little boy was not Potter. He assumed it was the later.

The man took one last sip of his coffee resting the paper on the table. Standing up he kissed his wife, kissed the obese little boy, and walked out the door.

Glad for the notice-me-not charm he had applied earlier, he eyed the woman as the made her way in and out of the kitchen preparing the boy for school.

And, for the first time in his life, he was glad he taught pre-teens and teenagers rather than six year olds. The boy was worse than the first Gryffindor potions class of the year! Having a temper tantrum about this and that, too much butter, not wanting to wear socks, wanting his other pair of shoes, not wanting to go to school, wanting chocolate, not wanting this shirt, instead wanting that one and so on.

Occluded himself from the rest of the world he was glad when it was all over. The woman dragged her still whining son out the door and to the car- probably to school.

But who cared where they were going, just that they were gone. Now was his chance to check on Potter.

Moving to the door a flick of his wand opened the house up to him. Stealthily he stalked through out the house opening every door on the base floor. Nothing. Dining room, kitchen telle room, lavatory. Nothing. No boy, healthy or not.

He started to creep up the stairs but winched when the bottom step creaked. Making a mental note to avoid that on the way back down he proceeded to check all the rooms upstairs. Bedroom- guest bedroom, a child’’s room, a room full of broken toys, he was earnestly beginning to wonder if the boy actually lived here.

After the second run through the house, he was beginning to doubt that Dumbledore had sent him to the right house.

Almost fearfully he turned to the one un-opened door.

Surely no one was cruel enough to leave a boy under the stairs in the dark... but it was the only thing left unchecked.

Perspiration dampened his brow as a hand captiously swayed to the handle.

With an almighty heave the door creaked open. To reveal a boy.

The boy's body was broken and purple. Nearly dead. Arms and legs off at strange angles, not looking half of his age. An old tattered blanket wrapped around his contorted naked body.

He leaned forward to get a closer look at the damage, but drew back in shock.

Realization dawned upon him.

It was the boy's memories!

The man who had left the house earlier was the man that had hurt the boy.

The cupboard that the boy was in was the imprisoned feeling.

And... he was the father the boy had longed for.

But that was ridiculous.

This was the boy-who-lived. The son of James Potter. The bastard child of his ex-wife.

Then why was he so compelled to take the child and, Merlin forbid, love him?

With trembling fingers he brushed away blood and who-knows-what-else caked hair away from the boy's pale face.

Severus Snape froze. The face was not that of the boyishly handsome school time nemesis.

It was a six year old mix of his ex’’s and his own.

Was this why Lily’s departure had cut him so deep? Was this boy the reason for the sense of loss over these past years?

Was this the child he had longed for?

Once again he reached down to boy to remove him from the small jail. He whimpered.

He was still conscious.

With a flick of his wand he conjured a real blanket for the broken body. Wrapping him gently within the warm folds of the blanket, Severus saw as his disheveled... son? bit his lip- with what appeared to be a broken jaw, to keep from crying out.

Before he even knew what he was doing Severus began making crooning sounds and cradling the son he never had.

Until the untimely crashing sound of the front door.

Once again he reached down to the boy to remove him from the small jail. He whimpered.

He was still conscious.

With a flick of his wand he conjured a real blanket for the broken body. Wrapping him gently within the warm folds of the blanket, Severus saw as his disheveled... son? bit his lip - with what appeared to be a broken jaw - to keep from crying out.

Before he even knew what he was doing Severus began making crooning sounds and cradling the son he never had.

Until the untimely crashing sound of the front door.

Sluggishly the darkness around him had begun to fade, and the eerie sensation of something watching him began to register. It was not the same terrifying presence that /he/ had, nor was it the demanding one that gave him his 'chores.' This was new. This was different.

This was... safe?

Or was just another dream?

It didn't feel like a dream.

Dreams didn't hurt...

He squinted as the burning light pierced his weak eyes, trying to make out the new person.

The shadow of a hand moved towards his face. He was unable to move, petrified with fear as its slender fingers swept across his forehead, and... drew back.

No... pain?

It hadn't hit him, or slapped him, nor hurt him in anyway.

The movements were not exactly hateful, but they were not loving - though he had given up that hope long ago. But it was new. A good new. Or a better new anyway.

Pondering the sensation the boy was surprised when arms reached out and lifted his broken body from its would-be grave. Despite clenching his burning jaw tightly shut a slight whimper escaped.

Readying himself for the blow he was surprised as a warm blanket was wrapped around his small body and the man's arms cradled him close.

Sounds that he had only dreamt of hearing once again drifted through the air.

The atmosphere around changed abruptly as he came closer. The slam of a car door, the merry jangle of keys, and the crash of a door bouncing off a wall.

Unconsciously he curled further into the strong arms surrounding him, somehow knowing that they would protect him.

Willing the darkness to overtake him once again, the boy who lived slipped into oblivion as voices around him began to shout.

He didn't want to be hurt any more. And here, he would be safe.

(Break)

Severus's head snapped almost painfully back to see what had caused the noise.

In the door the man that had hurt his son was shrouded against the motion-sensitive light.

More time must have passed than he thought.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Vernon growled through his surprise.

Cold obsidian eyes stared at the red face of Vernon Dursley.

"Well?" he demanded once again.

Silent as death the Potions master rose to his feet, still clutching his son tightly to his chest. without any indication of what he was doing, he pulled back his fist and punched him. "What have you done to my son?" So much for being discreet.

"S-son?" Dursley spluttered and swore in shock.

"Yes son! A child! You do know what a child is, or are Muggles as inept at understanding the finer points in life -" So lack of patience was getting the better of him. It had never been one of his strongest attributes.

"I know what a child-" Apparently it was not one of Dursley's either then.

"Then why in the seven levels of hades have you treated him -"

"It's not a child it's a FREAK!" the burly Dursley screamed.

What small amount of self-restraint he had, the potions master lost. Years of being a spy had hardened an already frozen heart.

With no remorse, only unadulterated hatred, he sent the Cruciatus curse at the Muggle.

The heavy-set man fell to the kitchen floor writhing and screaming. Lifting the spell he bent down to Mr. Dursley who was at the moment still occupying the cold tiles. "By the time I'm back, you, such a pathetic excuse for a human, will wish that you were never-" But he was cut of, a crash having sounded over his shoulder. Reflexes took over as Severus sent the first hex that came to his mind flying at the noise.

Too late, Vernon Dursley had reached his mark. The knife had plunged deeply into his shoulder, the man holding it still smiling gleefully in his unconscious state.

Stumbling over the threshold the wounded man apparated away, as his attacker fell lifelessly to the utensil-scattered floor.

(Break)

His faint heart-beat was weakening steadily, and without assistance it would give in to fatigue completely. He had to get to Hogwarts, fast.

(Break)

As the last of the first years were sorted, and the start of school feast was finished, the headmaster stood to address the school.

"Welcome everyone to yet another year at Hogwarts. I would like to introduce our new Defence professor, Professor Court" The blond at the end of the table stood briefly to polite applause and sat back down. " I have a few friendly reminders to everyone. As the old students should know and new should learn the forbidden forest is actually forbidden. The list of prohibited items has extended to include another 43 items, and the entire list can be read on the outside of Mister Filch's office. Possession of any of these items will result in a week's detention."

"As some of you may have noticed Professor Snape is absent from tonight's banquet." The few youths who had not noticed this looked up in astonishment and the rest whooped in joy. Dumbledore paused, holding a hand up for silence. "He is gone due to urgent family business, and should be back-" the hopefuls groaned loudly as Dumbledore held his hand up once again."-sometime before next week. Needless to say, Potions will be canceled until then." he finished merrily.

"With that said, I bid everyone good night. Off you go!"

The student body wearily rose to its feet to diverge their way to the respective dorms.

Loud footsteps resonated across the hall as a figure in black hurtled over the floor, scattering students as he went. Stumbling in front of the headmaster, fully in 'powerful wizard that you really don't want to mess with' mode.

He was clutching a small bundle tightly to his chest. "Albus, help me." he gasped out, holding only closer in a protective manner.

Realization dawned upon the elderly headmaster. His (great) grandson in law was dying in front of him, meaning that the bundle of robes must be an even more injured Harry. "Merlin's Balls, Severus!" The old man knelt down to cradle the younger man in his arms, only then did he notice the sticky blood on his hands.

Ever so carefully he disentangled himself from the dying man on the floor. With a quick wave of his wand the bloody shirt was vanished from the Potion master's torso.

The student population had stopped in their tracks staring in horror as the scene unfolded before them, unconsciously forming a circle around the group. The handle of a blade stuck from Snape's shoulder as blood streamed down his bare back, his hair was matted and damp, no longer its normal sleek and well-kept self, and he was still holding the bundle of cloth close to his body.

"Someone, get Poppy." he ordered over his shoulder, beginning complex little movements with his wand to start healing Snape.

"Albuss" Severus whispered after his breathing eased up a bit.

"Yes m-boy, what is it?" he leaned in closer still.

"Albusssss... h-heal m-my son firssss." The fatigue finally overtook him as he passed out, still tightly holding the bundle.

Minerva moved the cloth away from the man, revealing a small body. A boy who couldn't be older than three was wrapped within the dirty folds.

With a gasp of horror, she realized that the boy was still breathing, but only just. His naked body was contorted and bruised almost beyond recognition as human. He looked dead.

"Albus..." She whispered wearily.

The old man looked from his Potions master to his great-great grandson cradled in her concerned arms. "Oh dear..."

"Albus..." She whispered wearily.

The old man looked from his Potions master to his great- great grandson cradled in her concerned arms. "Oh dear..."

In his quarter century as a headmaster, and nearly more than eighty years as a teacher, Albus B. P. W. Dumbledore had known many, many children. But in all his one hundred and five years of life, he had never seen any child's future look as bleak as this one's did. When an old man looks at a child, he should see a better world to come, but when this old man looked at this child, he only saw impending doom. Which was beyond the obvious ‘‘bad'' considering that the boy had ‘‘the power the dark lord knows not.'' Fate had a cruel way of resting the future upon those who had enough burdens to bear. To think, he was only seven and the world already depended on him.

During his silent musings, the headmaster had ceased to acknowledge the student body as they formed a semi- circle around the bizarre scene. Whispers had broken out among them, and the Hogwarts rumor mill was at it again. As none of them actually heard the short breathy conversation between Dumbledore and the potions master, the students speculated. Weren't vampires nearly immortal?

He would have laughed had the situation not been so dire. It was thus that the mediwitch found him when she entered the hall Had it not been for her ability to stomach nearly anything (or was it her veteran healing sense?) she most likely would have fainted (were those Hufflepuffs unconscious?). Mind snapping back to the task at hand she surveyed the scene, eyes locking on Snape. "What happened?" she ground out. Silence reigned once again.

A few tense moments and then a student spoke. "HeadmasterDumbledore- had- just- explained- that- we- might- not- be- having- potions- for- a- few- days- and- then- Snape- came- in- holdting- that- boy- and- then- went- blaistic- when- they- tried- to- help- him- saying- something- about- healing- the- boy- first- "- breath- " a- and then he passed out from blood loss."

"Thank you Miss Brooks." the mediwitch replied quietly, easing a potion down Snape's throat. As his breathing became less labored after a quick spell, she turned to the boy in Minerva's arms. Horror was etched in her features. A few digonostic spells determined the problem(s). She shook her head dejectedly; a few students would later report that the mediwitch had actually been dismayed at the thought of healing! With a swish of her wand Snape was floating beside her. Motioning for Minerva they left the hall - Dumbledore trailing in a rather detached manner - still mumbling under his breath. Not a sound, not a word nor a whimper was heard from the spectators. Then pandemonium broke loose.

"Quiet!!!" Flitwick squealed. All eyes traveled to the usually quiet, though enthusiastic professor. "Professor Snape is in the best of hands I assure you ("A damn shame, too..." a Gryffindor whispered). I suspect that you will all be further informed tomorrow. Due to the present circumstances everyone is to be in their dormitories in twenty minutes."

"Lay him down, quickly now!" The boy was gently rested upon the soft linens.

At this point many thoughts were going through Madam Poppy Pomfrey''s head, but perhaps the most prominent was ‘‘Why did I actually take this job in the first place?'' Seeing children hurt was always painful. The younger, the more so.

It was blatantly obvious what had happened to the boy. He had been beaten - likely abused and neglected (children don''t get that thin out of choice) as well. She had seen much as a partially certified healer (working in a school ensured that) but never had she seen such an agonizing case.

Snapping back out of her thoughts she summoned a number of potions and some tubes and needles. This was going to be a long night.

Severus awoke when the morning light was hitting him in just the wrong way. And he was too hot. Wasn''t he supposed to be in the dungeons? Come to think of it, why was there a window in the dungeons anyway? Weren''t they supposed to be underground?

And then the memories came back. Confusion, memories, Albus, ridiculous errand- running, waiting, annoyance, a boy in a closet, a potential son, being stabbed, running bleeding and half dead looking into the great hall (full of spectating, rumor spreading students) and then passing out. He groaned. He really hated the start of term.

Pulling himself to a sitting position Severus surveyed the overly white room. Hospital wing, he realized.

But if he was here, than where was his son- ?

"Ah, You''re awake." Amazingly, the headmaster wasn''t wearing his ridiculously happy ‘‘Life is grand!'' smile on his face. It was rather sober and saddened actually.

He withheld a sneer.

"I have both good news, and bad news."

"Then get on with it you loony old coot."

Albus blanched ever so slightly.

"Good news first then I suppose. The good news is that the boy is alive."

Severus desperately tried to keep a small grin from sneaking onto his face.

"The bad news is that he''s in a heavily comatose state."

Severus had the urge to hit himself. Closing his eyes slowly, he regained his composure. Letting out a sigh he asked the question Albus had been undoubtably dreading. "Can I see him?"

The headmaster nodded solemnly, transfiguring his Potions master''s hospital gown into a more suitable set of black robes. A kind gesture perhaps, but he was completely capable of transfiguring them himself. Oh how he hated being treated like a student...

He was ushered into the hidden private room in the back of the wing. The illusion melted away as he stepped through the doorway.

And there was his son. Sterile blankets and sheets encased him, making him nearly indistinguishable from a small Egyptian mummy. But the fact that he was breathing (though by a ventilation spell) and the absence of rotting flesh were some obvious differences.

Various potions hung in the air, connected to the boy with small tubes that snaked in and out of the body and blankets. He was remarkably cleaner than before, but crimson still matted his black hair. The more minor injuries had been left unhealed - Snape presumed this was to prevent magic overload.

Carefully he lifted the blankets to see the state of the rest of his son''s body. The small torso was wrapped in gauze, and all the limbs were in casts.

Was the internal damage so bad as to keep Poppy from healing the bones? Gently setting the blankets back down, Severus sat in the nearby chair.

Silently he was handed a medical report by Poppy. Albus watched as dark eyes scanned the grim report, momentarily widening before fluxing back into their usual cool, calm form.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose Dumbledore made his way out of the room, followed by Poppy.

The broken family needed some time alone.

Last Time...

Silently Severus was handed a medical report by Poppy. Albus watched as dark eyes scanned the grim report, momentarily widening before fluxing back into their usual cool, calm form.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose Dumbledore made his way out of the room, followed by Poppy.

The broken family needed some time alone.

Dark looming shadows flitted at the edge of his consciousness, focusing as he came to.
Large figures meant pain. He tensed out of habit attempting to pull his limbs close and protecting his body.

It never occurred to him that he should hurt. That the last time he partook of the waking world he was on death's doorstep. That he shouldn't be able to move at all, seeing as the last time he was taking part in the experience of life numerous bones were broken and he was bleeding internally.

It did however occur to him that his arms were much heavier than they ought to be, which, of course, left him exposed.

Exposure meant pain. Be it from a beating or his uncle ... 'playing' with his privates.
What his uncle did didn't seem like ... 'play' to Harry. It made his privates get all puffy and red... and it hurt.

Harry didn't know much- he was only seven after all. He did know that he didn't like it when his uncle touched him there... it made him feel sick.

While his uncle was 'playing' he would get sweaty and rough. What would start out as light touches became painful grabs where fingernails scraped at skin leaving trails of red behind.

This was different.

Even when he was little and his aunt had taken him to the doctor who took his temperature it wasn't so bad. When his temperature was taken it didn't make him feel like one of the toys Dudley didn't like anymore and broke.

It hurt worse than anything his uncle had ever done before- including the stove. At least with the stove he stopped feeling after a little while. With this...

Harry was only seven at the time and therefor didn't know much, but he was pretty sure that... whatever had happened... wasn't supposed to.

Once his uncle finished he cried. He knew that tears only made things worse, but he couldn't help it. His privates and bottom hurt bad.

His uncle hit him, and told him not to be such a sniveling waste of space. That only made him cry harder.

As such when he felt something happening around his privates, he began to cry. Tears leaked from his eyes as he desperately tried to stay silent. Relief filed him when the movement ceased, only to be replaced by fear as something cool was put on his bottom. The battle with tears lost, shuddering sobs wracked his body before a soft hand was placed on his forehead. Words that made little sense were whispered into his ear, calming him as the hand stroked his hair. The cool thing was taken away and sobs reduced to thin gasps for breath.

The kind hand continued to run through his hair, eventually lulling him into a sense of safety. Though he was reluctant to fall into a more venerable state, the little boy found himself nodding off into the much kinder world of dreams.
____

Poppy removed the gloves, vanishing them with a wave of her wand. As if the poor boy hadn't been through enough already, waking up in the middle of an exam. Looking to the doting father she took in the touching site. There, sitting next to the bed of a child was a man who many claimed had no heart, and yet here he was comforting a small boy through a trying experience.

"How is it?" The soft baritone startled her out of her musings. Dark eyes met her own, desperately searching for an answer.

She sighed. "The rectal tearing has healed significantly, but I went ahead and applied another dose of the salve. I also had to replace the Foley."

"And that is what woke him?"

"I suspect. Having a tube pulled out of your urethra and then replaced can be quite uncomfortable if not slightly painful, especially for one so young. You did a good job of comforting him."

The Potion's Master's dark eyes closed before he nodded wearily.
Madame Pomfry pulled up a chair beside the dour man. "There was nothing more you could have done. Its not your fault Harry's in this condition. If anything, you saved his life."

Obsidian snapped open resembling the fiery pits that birthed them. "Only after I had condemned him. If I had listened to my wife he never-"

"True," she retorted "If you had listened to Lily your son would never have been in this situation. However, Lily thought you were dead. When you miraculously 'came back to life' the Filidus charm had already been cast and there was no going back. What happened was merely a tragic result of multiple situations out of anyone's hands."

Now," she said with a wave of her wand. "I believe the best place for Harry to be is with his father. You are just as competent as I in taking care of him at this point in time. He shouldn't fully awake for a few days yet, and when he does awaken I have full confidence in your capabilities as a parent." Gently picking up the child and wrapping him in his sheets the Mistress of the Hospital wing handed Harry no longer Potter to his father.

Marveling for a second at how easily Snape slipped back into paternal mode, she shewed them out.

Severus began by wrapping his child in his warm outer cloak (he had learned that, like any child Harry associated safety with his parent's scent), carefully picking him up as to not jostle any injuries and exiting the Hospital wing in the early morning of the first day of term. Being the first day back few students were about in the halls, having not yet readjusted to the school schedule. And, even if they did see him... well, after last night's entrance not much was left to imagination. His heart ached for the pain the boy had gone through and the inevitable questions it would raise. Clutching the boy to his chest his mind once again asphyxiated upon Lily.

If only he had known.

It was not long before he reached his quarters in the dungeons. Resting the boy on the seat of a large arm chair he ran to the washroom, casting a quick air warming charm and running a bath. He retrieved the child and knelt by the luxurious tub, unwrapping the still naked boy. Though a number of cleaning charms had been cast (before the symptoms of magical overload had been recognized)- nothing beat an old fashioned bath. Feverish his son shivered in the still-to-cold dungeon air. Checking the temperature with his hand Severus lifted the boy from the floor and into the tub. Utterly catatonic before being immersed in the water a pained and fearful wail escaped a parched throat as he weakly thrashed against his father's strong hold. "Shhh... it is alright my child, I am not going to hurt you." The potion's master whispered, snarl and cruel sarcasm absent from his silky voice. Perhaps it was on some unconscious level- or, maybe the boy had just given the fight up as futile the child stilled, flopping limply once again in his father's arms. Though this was less unwieldy than the previous frenzy his state still posed many problems. Previously animated he was now but a dead weight, unwilling to support himself. It was nearly impossible to both balance the child on one arm, cleanse him with the other and still stay kneeling on the wet and slippery floor.

After a few minuets of failed attempts his mind was made up. The boy was comforted by his presence- and he could use that to his advantage. He stripped to his undergarments and slipped in behind Harry, pulling him close and resting him on his chest. It was decidedly strange to have human contact after so many years (and the headmaster did not count!) but not entirely unwelcome.

Methodically he went about cleaning him, careful of various unhealed or partially healed injuries. He began with his hair and face- making sure not to get any soap in his eyes. Next came his torso, still sore and red striped with welts- thankfully no longer filled with sticky, yellow congealed puss. He moved forward to his legs and feet, removing the remaining dried blood. Finally, without any other option he moved to his son's nether region. He did not want to- he did not want to acknowledge what had happened to his child. Cleaning him- healing him would force him to do so. Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply he steeled himself. He was the only one who could- or, at least the one who would save Harry the most humiliation and pain. As per Harry's reaction to Madame Pomfrey and the various treatments, it would be best to avoid any further stress.

He thought back to his time right before he had finished his mastery. Part of gaining a mastery in potions was a private study, and he had chosen to intern at a muggle hospital to learn their ways in hope of furthering his research (particularly in the treatment of injuries) by using methods overlooked by wizarding society. Muggle methods.

/He was finishing up his shift when a girl of about seventeen came in. He could tell that she was trying to hold herself together. To the well trained eye it was obvious that something had happened. She was shivering, despite the warm weather. Her hair was mussed and her face flushed. She limped slightly as she came into the exam room. He sat her down, and asked what the problem was. She eyed him wearily before speaking softly. His obsidian gaze met meeting her red rimmed eyes. "I was raped." She had whispered.

He nodded, immensely grateful for his ability in occlumency and skill in hiding emotions. He sat down on the stool next to the exam table. "Are you sure you would... like me to do this? I have colleges-"

"No." she had cut him off. "I- I know that I can trust you. I can tell."

Indeed, his experience in the muggle world had proved irreplaceable . Rape just didn't happen in the wizarding world. It was one of the safe guards of accidental magic. In a highly emotional situation, magic responded. Explosively. More often than not it killed or seriously maimed the assailant before anything could happen. For his son, however... A tear escaped from behind closed eyes.

He was immensely thankful he had shared his experience and research with Madame Pomfrey. She was able to keep herself separate from the case in a way he never could. The boy was his son. He couldn't keep professional about it... the muggle mantra rang in his head. You don't treat family...

Severus let out a breath he hadn't known he had held.

Bending down close to the child he spoke softly into his ear. "Harry, child... I need to finish cleaning you-"

A whimper cut him off followed by barely discernible words. "Don't.... hurts..."

"I promise I will not harm you, Harry. I won't leave you to fight this battle alone. Never again. Never again..." Severus trailed off, talking more to himself at that point than his son.

"Promise?" The child asked.

His heart ached at the innocence and trust in the boy's voice.

"I promise." They could get through this. Together.

Harry allowed the man to treat him. He was gently scrubbed and rinsed before he was pulled out of the tub and dried. The entire time Harry was tense, willing himself to let go of his past experiences... but allowing it. Once he was dried and dressed Harry finally relaxed. He was safe. With his daddy.

Severus did not have any classes until the afternoon and bathing his child had been incredibly taxing- both physically and emotionally. Resigned he dressed Harry in an overlarge years worn soft nightshirt before dawning his customary black robes. Harry had taken the first steps of a long journey to heal. His heart swelled with pride at the courage Harry had to allow his father to care for him properly. Absently, he wondered if this was at all like caring for an infant. (Admittedly he had the sneaking suspicion that it was not. For one infants inherently trust their parents and it was obvious that Harry exerting a great deal of self control born from years of abuse to still his body.)

Sitting down in in the chair behind the desk, son safely in his arms deep asleep, his prematurely aged face lit as he faintly remembered the smell of Lily's hair on one of the few nights that they had been able to spend together.

A quiet, incessant mummer awoke the Potions Master from the first restful sleep he'd had in days.. It was only when he felt a shift of the weight in his arms did he realize the damning situation he was found in. Before him the entire fourth year class was seated. Many of them were smiling (smiling!) and a few of the girls were giggling and chittering about how cute it was. The rest were just white with apparent shock. With a start his eyes flew open to take in the scene.

Attempting to rectify the situation he growled menacingly and managed to regain his composure (which was rather hard considering he still had a beaten and abused seven year old in his arms,) Harry however, had other ideas. He began to softly cry, and paternal instincts took over. He shooshed the boy, rocking him until he was quiet. The students in the room seemed to distress him- first and foremost he needed to remove his son from the situation. Then (and only then) he could prosecute the students for unruly conduct. His private quarters and house elf would be sufficient to care for the boy for an hour or so. He ought not wake again, anyway. Shutting the door behind him with his son safely stowed in his rooms, the potions professor returned to his class.

His reputation was shot.