Severus paced the dining room, downstairs, wrestling his temper back under control. He wasn't angry with the boy, but with himself. What was he thinking to have towered over the lad, when the boy had obviously come to fear those bigger and more powerful than he? And the look of terror in Harry's eyes when Severus has moved toward him . . . it cut him to the quick.

Doubts swelled again about this course of action. He'd spent a restless night, pouring over all the ways this adoption could turn out horribly. He'd reminded himself, again, that he had no idea of how to raise a child, especially one with such a history as the Boy Who Lived. He'd anguished over whether he would truly be able to put aside his loathing for the child's natural father, and treat Harry as his own son. Would he grow to resent the boy, as his own aunt and uncle had done? And what of Harry? He had no idea what he was getting into. How could he, at so young an age? He was so quiet, fearful, and at the same time, almost stoic and resigned. It was haunting, really.

But the more his doubts swirled, the more he realized Albus was right. He could not let the boy go back to his relatives, even if he did hate the machinations of the elderly Headmaster that forced this other choice upon him. He wondered, though, what Albus was thinking, truly? Hadn't he loved Lily enough to take her only son into his family? Did it all come down to a former Death Eater and spy?

None of these thoughts were conducive to settling his temper, so Severus spent another few minutes emptying his mind. When he was ready, he called Dappin and told her to bring them breakfast upstairs in Harry's room.

"Then I will need you to go to Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley," he told her. "Harry needs clothes appropriate for a formal ceremony today. Dress robes in blue. Have her put a Sizing spell on them and mark the cost down to my Gringott's account."

"Yes, Master Snape, sir." The diminutive elf bowed low and disappeared to the kitchen, presumably, with a POP.

After another minute of pacing, Severus could not justify staying away from the boy - or breakfast - any longer, and he headed back upstairs.

Harry was back on the bed, looking down at his hands, which were folded primly in his lap. He had the air of one who was resigned to a particularly unpleasant fate, and did not look up when Severus entered the room.

"Harry?"

Still the boy stared at his hands, but his shoulders hunched the slightest bit. Slowly, Severus moved closer to the bed, but was careful to remain more than an arm's length away. "Won't you look at me?"

"Not ‘lowed," the boy whispered.

"You are allowed to, here. I'd prefer it, actually, if you looked at me, especially when I am speaking to you."

The boy's hands were trembling, and then he clenched them into tiny fists, as though trying to keep his fear from showing. And why should he not be afraid of you? Severus berated himself again. After the way you growled at him. "Please, Harry. Look at me."

Harry hesitantly lifted his gaze, though his head was still lowered somewhat, peering through the unruly fringe of hair that covered his forehead and bright green eyes. Lily's eyes, he realized with a pang. Lily's eyes, looking already older than even he felt on some of his worst days. What had the boy been through, beyond the terrors of the latest treatment, for such a haunted look to imprint upon his mien?

"Thank you," he said to the boy. Then, "I'm sorry, Harry, for frightening you earlier."

"I wasn't -" The boy cut off his own protests and looked away, and Severus felt a surge of anger in his chest, at the boy's relatives who had reduced the Savior of the Wizarding World to such a state.

"It's all right, Harry." He tried to keep his voice - and bearing - as non-threatening as possible, and the boy nodded slowly, but didn't turn back to him, as his hands twisted together on his lap.

He was saved from having to say anything more by the appearance of Dappin with a breakfast tray. The house elf settled it on the table by the bed, and from there, Severus handed out food to himself and the boy. Harry and he each had a bowl of porridge, though the boy had a half-sized portion. Severus had coffee to Harry's juice, and there was a platter of lightly buttered toast for the two of them to share. Fresh strawberries and blackberries rounded out the meal.

Harry brought the goblet of juice to his lips, holding it with both hands under Severus' watchful eye. The taste must have surprised him because he looked up suddenly at Severus, then ducked his head again.

"What is it?" he asked the boy, after swallowing a bite of porridge.

"I never had this juice before, sir."

"It's pumpkin juice," Severus told him. "I don't think many Muggles drink it."

"Muggles, sir?" The boy's voice was very hesitant as he formed the question, and Severus knew this was another of those infernal rules from his old home.

"You are allowed to ask questions, too, Harry," he said quietly. "I would prefer that you did, in fact, rather than act out of ignorance. As to your query, Muggles are people who don't know magic. People like your relatives, but also the many people who don't even know that the Wizarding world exists. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, um, Father," the boy said, and took another sip of his juice. But his face was completely blank, and Severus knew there was something off, lurking under the surface.

"Do you have another question?"

"Yes, sir." The boy glanced at him briefly. "Are all Muggles . . ." The boy's knuckles were white where he gripped the goblet, and his face maintained the mask of indifference, but Severus could almost feel the tension flowing through the tiny body.

"Are they all what, Harry?" he pressed, although he was pretty sure he knew what the boy would say . . . or what he wanted to say. He had it in his mind that it would help the boy to be able to voice his feelings towards his relatives, but when the boy remained silent, and obviously distressed, Severus did not push further.

"Muggles are like Wizards in some ways," Severus told him. "One way is that not all of them are the same. Some do good things, and some do bad. You happened to have run afoul of some of the bad ones." He didn't say anything about his own despicable choices in the past, or the extremes of emotion that existed in the Wizarding world with respect to Muggles, or those wizards born of Muggles. There was no point to it, not now.

"You have another question?"

"Yes, sir." The boy hesitated again, and it was a struggle, Severus could see, for him to put his voice to it. Severus waited, with more patience than most would give him credit for, and was rewarded at last. "What's a wizard?"

----

Harry ducked his head, knowing he'd been wrong to ask. Is father looked so shocked! And no wonder. He shouldn't have asked about wizards. Didn't he know that "magic" was the worst word he could ever use? Hadn't Uncle Vernon reminded him, again and again, that magic was forbidden, and freakish, and wrong wrong WRONG!

But a moment later, his father cleared his throat. "A wizard, Harry, is someone who can use magic. Like me, and you."

"No!" Harry jumped, dropping his goblet and unseating his bowl of porridge. He scrambled back on the bed, farther out of reach. "I'm not! I can't be. It's freaks who use magic."

"WHAT??" Harry's father stood, too, and paced to the door, and Harry cowered against the headboard. When his father turned back round, his face was red, just like Uncle Vernon's got before he started hitting. He jabbed a finger in Harry's direction. "You are not a . . . a freak. I am not a freak. You can use magic and so can I, and so can a lot of other people: wizards, witches, even Dappin and other house elves. I don't know what they told you in that . . . family of yours, but I don't want to hear that word pass your lips again!"

Harry nodded frantically. At least one rule was the same. "Magic" was still a bad word.

It took a few minutes for Harry's father to sit back down again, and he gestured sharply to the tray and the spilt porridge and juice. In a trice, it was gone! Cleaned away. Harry gaped at where the mess had been, then closed his eyes and bowed his head. He wasn't supposed to see that, wasn't supposed to know. Ohhh, he was in for it now.

But nobody hit him.

Nobody yelled anymore. After a while, Harry stopped trembling and opened his eyes. He sat back down, cross legged, against the headboard. Keeping a careful watch on his hands, he squeezed them tight so they wouldn't shake.

"Eat up, now," his father said into the long silence, and his voice was quiet again, soothing as silk over sand. "Else you will be hungry all through the ceremony, and no one wants to hear your belly growling during such an auspicious occasion."

Glancing up quick, Harry snatched a piece of toast and nibbled on it. He had been going to wait until his father was done before taking anything, like he was supposed to, but his father pushed the plate at him and told him to eat, even while he was still eating! His belly felt comfortably full, and he knew he should stop now, after the porridge and juice, too, but he didn't want the food to go to waste. Nothing was worse than that!

His father cast looks in his direction every so often that made Harry feel odd, like the man was considering something. He hadn't made Harry say anything more about magic or about his aunt and uncle, so that was okay, but he looked almost sad again. Harry wasn't sure why his father should be sad, but was sure it had something to do with magic.

After another nibble or two, Harry scooted a little closer and put one of his small hands on the dark cloth covering his father's arm. His father looked at him, his black eyes wide in surprise. Harry's stomach fluttered in fear, but he managed to say, "I'm sorry, Father."

"Whatever for?"

"'Cause of making you sad. ‘Cause of what I said. I'm sorry, I'm . . . I'm not a good son."

"Oh, child," his father said softly, and put his own hand on top of Harry's. Through an act of will, Harry didn't pull away. The hand squeezed his, gently, as if he knew what it cost Harry to let someone touch him like that. Then the long, slender fingers patted the back of his hand, and it was nice, almost. Harry thought he maybe even liked it.

"You will be a fine son. You are a fine son."

The look in the obsidian eyes was so raw, so open, Harry had to look away again. He felt the prickle of tears, and blinked them fiercely away. "Thank you, sir," he whispered, his throat aching.

"Try to eat a little more," his father said, breaking the silence again. His voice sounded odd, like he had a tickle in this throat, just like Harry did. "And then we'll see about that ankle."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and picked up his toast again. "Thank you, sir."

----

Severus had put the boy to sleep again before working on the ankle. After the child's reaction to even the possibility that he possessed magic, Severus was not willing to frighten him again. Already, he'd fractured the fragile trust building between them, by losing his temper once more at the damned Muggles Harry had been living with. He knew the words Harry spoke about magic were not his own, but parroted from his so-called family. It was yet another hurtle they would have to clear, in time.

Meanwhile, he let the process of working on the delicate strands of tendon and muscle in the boy's leg and foot soothe his own nerves. There was a good deal of damage around the still-growing bones, but after casting a few charms to reduce swelling and relax the muscles, he found it not as difficult as he had feared to fix. It would still be a bit weaker than the other foot, and for the next week or two, he'd have to make sure the boy went easy on the abused ankle, but he was pleased with his success.

He left the boy sleeping - having noted the dark circles under Harry's eyes that spoke of a restless night - as he went to shower and dress in the light clothes he would wear under his formal robes. Under the spray of warm water in the master bathroom, he went over the morning's fiasco in his mind again and again. He would have to get a grip on his temper when dealing with the child. There was no other course.

Perhaps a calming draught was in order.

Dappin had returned by the time he was dressed, and he sent her to the boy's room, with instructions for her to get him ready for the ceremony. The boy needed a proper bath and shampoo, and perhaps a trim for that untidy hair. He assumed the house elf would be able to manage.

Not five minutes later, however, as he sat at his desk going over the necessary paperwork for the adoption that Albus had sent via owl the night before, Dappin's POP brought his gaze to her.

"Master Snape, sir, Master Harry is not wanting to take a bath."

Severus frowned. "Did he say why not?"

"He says he's too big for a tub, that it's only for babies."

With a sigh, Severus said, "Let him use the shower then. Let me know if either of you require assistance."

"Yes, Master Snape, sir." She Popped out again.

Severus pressed fingertips to his forehead briefly before turning back to the parchment. He was just not cut out for this.

At last they were both washed, and dressed, and Harry came downstairs with Dappin and entered the sitting room. The boy was quite well turned out in his little blue robes with silver edging. Silver buttons impressed with the Snape "S" shone smartly against the dark robes. Black dress shoes covered his feet. His hair was still damp from the shower, and his face was that fresh-scrubbed pink instead of sunburned.

Hands gripping the fronts of his robes, Harry offered Severus the briefest of smiles, which Severus returned from where he leaned against the doorway to the dining room. His own robes were also blue, though several shades darker, and with gold trim instead, denoting his role as head of household. By the end of the day, Harry would be his heir.

"You look rather dashing, young man," Albus said from a chair before the fire.

Harry jumped and took a step back. Then he glanced at Severus, as if asking if the new person was safe. Severus' heart lifted with the expression of trust, and he gave the boy a small nod. Harry seemed to relax a bit, then faced Albus and said, in a voice aimed toward his shoes, "Thank you, sir."

Albus smiled at Severus, then said, "Let me see your eyes, child. I heard they are quite like your mother's."

The boy's head came up, and his mouth formed an O. He shot another look at Severus, who gave him another nod. They would need to get over his request for permission before speaking, and soon. "Really? Like my mum's?"

"Just like," Albus said quietly. His robes were the green of summer meadow, with bright yellow flowers embroidered on the sleeves.

A knock sounded at the door, making Harry jump again. Albus watched the boy over his half-moon spectacles, but spoke to Severus. "That will be Enid Collin, my contact at the Ministry Department of Children's Welfare. She'll have some questions for young Harry, and for you."

"Very well," Severus said, and went to answer the door. Enid Collin was a witch in her mid to late 60s, as far as Severus could tell, in dark brown work robes with a pattern of beige swirls on them that teased the eye. Her hair was done in a bun that sat at the nape of her neck, and she had an easy smile. He asked her to enter, and then introduced her to the boy.

Harry had edged closer to Severus when he re-entered the room, and was almost hidden now, behind Severus' robes. He gently touched the boy's arm in an effort to nudge him forward. "Come, Harry, Madam Collin won't bite."

The thin face looked up at him with such concern, it made his chest hurt.

"I'll be right here," he promised. "No one will harm you."

The boy bit his lip a moment longer, then nodded and moved in front of Severus' legs, though he still stayed close enough for Severus to feel Harry's body tremble, even through his own robes. Cautiously, he put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and was surprised when the boy straightened under his touch, even as his trembles eased. The boy gave him another look, this one with that tiny smile, and Severus squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Usually, I like to question the participants for a ritual like this separately," said Collin. "So each person feels they can say anything they want, without fear of repercussion. In order to make a decision about whether it's the best placement for the child."

Severus opened his mouth to protest, but Albus beat him to it. "We already discussed this, Enid," the Headmaster said quietly.

The witch glanced at him. "Yes, of course. I am to understand that this is the only possible placement, but I would still like to know," and she moved closer to where Severus stood, with Harry leaning against his legs, and crouched in front of the boy, "if this is where he wants to be."

Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"You realize that Severus Snape will be your father, once the ceremony is complete. That you will be his heir, and that he will have right of guardianship over you until you come of age."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why do you want to perform the ritual, Harry?"

"I . . . " He looked at Severus again, and bit his lip, then turned back to the woman. "I like it here. And he treats me nice. I want him to be my father."

"Very well. And you, Mister Snape?"

"Professor Snape," Albus corrected lightly.

"Professor, then. Why do you want to perform the ritual?"

His fingers tightened on Harry's shoulder. "I enjoy having the child here. He will be my heir. I want to raise him as my own son."

Madam Collin nodded. "Very good, then. If you would both come to stand before the fireplace. . . ." She spent the next few minutes setting up what they needed for the ritual, then motioned for Severus to face the boy. They did, and she stood to one side, closest to the fire, and opened a small book in front of her. Albus rose from his seat, to face the woman and act as witness.

"Severus Tobias Snape. Do you accept the honor and duty of parent for this child, bound by your love and by your blood? Do you swear to educate him and guide him and treasure him for all your days, child of your heart to now be child of your blood?"

Severus peered at the little boy, who barely came to his waist, and saw hope shining in Lily's green eyes. A sudden lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed it down. "Yes. I do so swear."

"Harry James Potter. Do you accept the honor and duty of being child to this man, bound by your love and by your blood? Do you swear to be guided by him, honor him and treasure him for all your days, father of your heart to now be father of your blood?"

The little head jerked up and down, and at a look from Severus, his thin voice rose, "Yes, ma'am. I swear it."

Madam Collin smiled. From the low table beside her, she took a long, sharp pin, and held out her hand, between them. Severus put his hand in hers, palm up, and Harry followed suit a moment later. Albus picked up a goblet half-filled with dark, red wine and held it, just under their joined hands. Madam Collin pricked Harry's index finger with the pin, then Severus'. They each squeezed a drop of blood into the goblet. Albus handed it to the witch, who swirled the wine and blood together.

"Drink," she said, and handed the goblet to Severus, "that the blood of your son should run in your veins."

Severus took a long sip. It warmed his stomach, and the warmth spread out from there, to his back, legs, and each of his toes, to his arms, and hands, and each of his fingers. His face was suffused with warmth, as if he had a fever. Warmth like fire banked, yearning to be stoked to an inferno. The feeling dizzied him, and he took inhaled slowly, at once breathless and choked with too much air. Once he was steady again, he handed the goblet to Harry, who gripped it with both hands.

"Drink," Madam Collin said again, "that the blood of your father should run in your veins."

With a quick glance at Severus, the boy complied, though his sip was much smaller. Immediately, Harry's face flushed, and the cup trembled. If it was anything like what Severus had experienced, it had to be quite a rush for the little boy. He bent down to take the goblet to prevent spilling. As he removed it from Harry's - his son's! - hands, the boy looked at him with an amazing, sudden smile, like sunshine breaking through the clouds.

"I'm your son," Harry gasped, and Severus hurried to put the goblet down as the boy threw himself into his father's arms.

"You're my son," Severus agreed, and felt wetness on his cheeks.