Severus stared at him and did not breathe for many long moments; it was almost as if he had forgotten how. Then, "I am not Harry's father," he said bitterly. "I've done the math."

Albus smiled. "I did not know you coveted the boy enough to do so."

"There was merest curiosity about him," Severus said. "Not covetousness."

"Of course." Albus leaned back in his chair and Severus studied him some more. He did not trust the easy acceptance Albus had for his words, not the smile he saw on the man's lips -- and in his damnably twinkling eyes -- now. Such portents made him uneasy.

"What do you know of it, then? How could I be his father?"

"A blood adoption."

Ready to make objections, Severus gaped like a school boy. "That wouldn't be enough, would it? For the wards?"

"Not for anyone else, no. The ward must be based in truest love to continue the protections his mother lent him. But you loved Lily, didn't you, my dear boy?"

"I . . . yes. I loved her." He didn't wonder how Albus knew, not overmuch, at least. Either Ligilimancy or observant eyes could have told him the truth.

"And you would love the boy?"

"I--" He considered the waif upstairs and his pathetic treatment by his relatives, and his still fierce independence as he tried to feed himself. And he considered the sizable amount of accidental magic the boy had performed in an effort to save his own life, and the Parseltongue he'd overheard when he'd first found the boy, as well as the glassy, dazed look of one who has known too much pain and not enough love, and he knew this child would have a hard life of it in any family. There was too much to overcome. Too much for one small set of shoulders to bear. It would take someone who understood that pain to take care of him, someone who understood what it meant to be different, outcast.

Severus certainly understood those.

But could he open his heart to this boy, truly open it, after all he'd been through, after Lily and her marriage to James, and all of it? Could he look at the boy and not see lost opportunity? Could he even care for the child appropriately? He'd never had siblings or even young cousins to watch over, and he knew very little about rearing children. It was one of the things about beginning to work at Hogwarts that terrified him. He knew how to intimidate people, and had hoped that would be enough. But it wouldn't do for the boy.

Albus stirred in his seat, and Severus looked back at him , breaking his reverie. "I would hope to, Albus. But it's been a very long time."

"Yes," Albus said, and there was a note of regret in his voice. "I suppose it has."

"But if I can not do it . . ."

"Then he will need to go back. I'm sorry, Severus."

That was it, then. Despite how much he loathed being manipulated, he could not abandon the boy to those Muggles. He could tear his own soul like that. He would just need to grow used to the idea, that was all. "Then he will have to stay here. How soon till we can arrange the ritual?"

Albus' smile was like sunshine after a hurricane. "Tomorrow. I will bring a Ministry official, someone rather discreet, and we'll get it all squared away."

After a few minutes of deciding on the time to meet tomorrow, and discussing what would need to be done to prepare, Albus took his leave by the same method he'd come in, and Severus went upstairs to see to his son.

It was late evening, more than 24 hours after he'd rescued the child, before Harry woke again.

----

Harry woke feeling more comfortable than he could ever remember being in his life. And there was no pain. He blinked open his eyes and saw the sky again, and clouds, and for one fleeting moment thought he was still outside, still chained to the shed, but then he realized that even though the clouds seemed to be moving, they were actually painted on the ceiling, and he was in a bed. A very soft bed, with a very big pillow cushioning his head.

He rolled over onto his side and looked into two big, bulbous eyes staring back at him. A scream was half way from his mouth before he remembered. The house elf. Dappin. He thrust a fist into his mouth to muffle his scream. "'M'sorry," he said as soon as he got his breath back. He scrambled from the bed, sure he wasn't supposed to be on it, especially now that he was feeling better. His bare feet hit the floor with a thump, and his ankle twinged, but not too bad, so he ignored it, but he noticed a bandage wrapped tight on his foot, from near to his toes, to halfway toward his knee. He looked at Dappin again. "I'm real sorry."

"You wait here, Master Harry," Dappin said. "Dappin is going to get Master Snape now."

"No, please!" Harry held out a hand to her. "Please don't tell him. I won't do it again."

Dappin gave him an odd considering stare. "He is wanting to know, so I will tell him, Master Harry. You stay here." She disappeared with a POP, just like before.

Miserable, and sure he was in for some serious trouble now, Harry sank to the floor and clutched his knees to his chest. He suddenly had to pee really, really bad, but he wasn't allowed to go anywhere, so he held it in like he had to do sometimes when he'd been in the cupboard. It made his stomach cramp, but he ignored that pain, too. From his vantage point, he could see under the small table next to the bed, and under the bed itself, and he noticed it was dusty. Not terrible, but more than Aunt Petunia would have allowed. He climbed to his feet again, and looked around the room for the first time, having to squint like before he got his glasses.

A wardrobe like Dudley had was on one wall, and there was a small fireplace on the wall opposite the door that probably led to the hallway. There were some clean cloths on the little table next to the enormous bed, and he picked one up. He'd just wriggled his way under the bed to catch up as much dust as he could when the door opened behind him.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Harry jerked up so fast that he smacked his head on the underside of the bed. He tried to scoot back quick, but not fast enough, it seemed, because next thing he knew, his legs had been grabbed, and he was hauled out from under the bed. Master Snape set him on his feet, and Harry clutched the cloth to his chest like a shield.

On trembling legs, he gazed at the floor. "I'm sorry, Master Snape, sir. I wasn't fast enough."

Silence met his declaration, and Harry chanced a peek at the man through his bangs. Master Snape was wearing a dark blue dressing gown that came almost all the way to his feet, and his hair looked slept on. Oh, no. Dappin had woken him up. He knew he was in for it now. But he couldn't show fear, and he couldn't cry. He knew that would just make it worse. So he steeled himself, but bit his lip, the only outward show of his nervousness. His gaze rested on the floor once more.

"Fast enough for what?" Master Snape asked, and his voice was very quiet. Not as gentle as it had been when he was making Harry drink the potion, but much quieter than shouting.

"With cleaning, sir." He swallowed. "I wasn't sure where to start."

Silence again, and Harry braced himself for the blow he knew was coming. But it was a long, long wait, and finally his muscles were practically vibrating due to tension, and he had to relax them. Maybe that's what he was waiting for?

But all he said was, "You shouldn't be out of bed, Harry. You're still recovering. Do you want me to help you up?"

"Sir?" He glanced up, and Master Snape was staring down at him, with a hard to read expression. Then Harry looked at the bed. It was kind of tall, but he could get up there on his own. "No sir. Thank you, Master Snape, sir."

"Go on then," the man said, and Harry clambered up on the bed, and even, after Master Snape gave him another look, went under the covers. Master Snape sat on the edge of the bed, then turned away for a moment. When he turned back to Harry, he had a glass of milk in his hand. Harry was surprised -- where had the glass come from? -- but he didn't reach out for it until Master Snape had taken a sip first.

"Drink it down, there's a good boy."

Harry's hands were not shaking as much this time, and he could hold the glass much better. Master Snape let him hold it by himself most of the way, after the first few sips made it lighter and easier to manage. When he was done, and feeling almost giddy with the idea of having milk two days in a row, he handed back the glass. His stomach tightened, and he remembered he had to pee. "Thank you, Master Snape, sir."

That odd look was back in his eyes. "Harry, you don't need to call me Master Snape. You are not a house elf."

Sucking in a quick breath, Harry shook his head. He wasn't good enough. He hadn't cleaned fast enough, and now Master Snape would send him away. "I'm sorry," he pleaded. "I can do better, I promise! Please let me stay!"

"What? No, Harry, you're not going anywhere. This is your home now, but you don't need to clean anything. You're not a house elf. You're . . . " Master Snape sighed, and looked at his own hands, before he lifted his gaze to meet Harry's. "You're going to be my son."

Confused, Harry frowned at him, not sure what he'd heard was right. "But I . . . my father's dead, sir. He died in a car accident. Mum, too."

Something dangerous flashed in Master Snape's eyes. "Who told you that?"

"M-m-my Uncle Vernon, sir." He swallowed again. "And Aunt Petunia. Th-th-they said they were freaks and g-got what they d-deserved."

"Well, they lied!" Master Snape rose from the bed and paced the length of the room. Harry watched him steadily, not knowing for certain what he'd done this time, but expecting the consequences nonetheless.

"Car accident," Master Snape muttered. "As if they could be killed in so Mugglish a fashion. I'll car accident them."

Harry sat quite still while Master Snape ranted, and waited. He was very used to waiting. Finally, the man ran himself out, and turned back to the bed. He waved a hand as if banishing his words, and strode to Harry's side. "Well?"

"Sir?"

"Do you consent to becoming my son? It's an adoption ceremony, to take place tomorrow if you're amenable. If not . . ."

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't . . . what's amen bowl mean?"

A small twitch of a smile ghosted over Master Snape's lips. "Amenable," he said slowly. "It means, do you want to stay here with me? Or would you rather go back to your aunt and uncle?"

A bright bubble of feeling swelled in his chest. "Oh, I'll stay, sir! Please! But how'll I earn my keep?"

Master's Snape's face smoothed out and he looked younger, more relaxed. "There's no question of earning anything. As my son, you will be given what you need, and though I will expect you to be obedient and polite, I will not have you call me Master."

"But . . ." What would he call him then?

Master Snape must have read the question in his eyes, because he said quietly, "If you like, you may call me Father."