It was late at night, and the seven-year-old boy crouched in a corner of the yard, dressed only in underpants and an old, tatty tee shirt of his cousin Dudley's. And a dog collar. It had been warm this afternoon, when Uncle Vernon had put the length of chain around his neck and hooked it to a lead line attached to the shed. But now it was cold, and he wanted nothing more than to be just hungry, like before, and lying in his cupboard under the stairs. Instead, he was cold, and wet, and very tired. And maybe a little scared, too. He brought his knees up to his chest and clutched them tight, rested his head on them and tried not to think about what had brought him to this.

Trying not to think about something never worked, though. He'd figured that one out a long, long time ago.

***Flashback***

"Boy! Get in here, now!"

They always called him "boy." That is, when they called him anything at all. Mostly, he could tell when they were talking to him by the tone of voice they used. Each of them used the same tone when ordering him to do something, or not do something, and rarely spoke to him otherwise.

Sometimes, he could barely remember what his real name was. But then, when he had vivid dreams -- scary ones at times, which woke him in a cold sweat -- people used his name. A woman with red-gold hair and bright green eyes that shed tears, she reached for him and whispered his name in a gentle voice, as if her heart were breaking. A man, with small frame glasses and messy hair like the boy's own, shouted his name from just beyond a shiny green haze. And the worst, a slit-eyed man whose voice threatened him in icy tones, then laughed, high and long, when the woman screamed. All of them used his name.

But he wasn't allowed to talk about his dreams, or remind his Aunt and Uncle what his name was. Really, he wasn't allowed to talk at all, except to say, "Yes, sir," "Yes, ma'am," and "I'm sorry." He wasn't allowed to look into Aunt Petunia's or Uncle Vernon's face, 'cause that was "impertinent," and wasn't allowed to sit in the same room as "proper people." He was supposed to do as he was told and otherwise be quiet and pretend not to exist.

Sometimes, he really wished he didn't.

In response to Uncle Vernon's call, the boy scooted out of his cupboard and into the kitchen. He kept his gaze on his trainers, the ones Dudley had just outgrown. They were red, with a white circle patch on each ankle, and were well scuffed in the toes, since Dudley dragged his feet on the pavement to brake, while riding his new bike, the 3rd this year.

"Yes, sir?"

"You didn't finish your list," Uncle Vernon growled.

The boy looked up quickly, then back down. He had finished all his chores, almost an hour ago. Rather than say so, however, he bit his lip. Uncle didn't like to be "contradicted by little whelps." Or argued with, or talked back to. "Sir?"

"You were meant to sweep the veranda," Uncle Vernon clarified. "But there are muddy tracks all over it."

The boy craned his neck to see past the rotund man and his ominously flustered face, to the back yard. He had swept the flagstones earlier, but he could see a few tell-tale prints, in the shape of Dudley's new hiking boots. Not that Diddy Duddums ever went hiking in his life, but he wanted hiking boots, and so he got hiking boots. The boy sighed.

"Go and do it now, boy," Uncle Vernon said. "And no food tonight."

Only his stomach growled in protest of this punishment. The boy nodded, head back down. Maybe he could sneak out of the cupboard after they'd all gone to bed. If he was really, really quiet. It had been two days already since he'd had anything to eat.

"NOW!"

"Yes, sir." Moving quickly, the boy sidled past the huge man, barely ducking a cuff to the back of his head, and clambered out the kitchen door to the backyard. He collected the broom from the shed, which he'd whitewashed that morning, and started sweeping again. The sun was still bright on this summer evening, but it wasn't nearly as hot out as it had been this afternoon, when he'd pruned the hedges and mowed the lawn. His face, arms and the back of his neck were badly sunburned, and he was really, really thirsty.

The mud came up easily, and the boy glanced at the outdoor spigot while he swept, thinking that if he could turn it on, briefly, he could fill his aching belly and cool off his skin. But he caught movement by the back door; Aunt Petunia was watching, and she did not approve of wasting water on "the boy." He ducked his head again and finished up quickly, then returned the broom to the shed and headed back to the kitchen door.

Aunt Petunia was gone, and Uncle Vernon blocked his way. "Sit there, boy," he said through the screen, and pointed at the step. "You stay out here till we're done."

"Yes, sir," the boy said, and sat where he'd been told, facing the yard. This was one order he was used to.

Smells of dinner coming to the table floated through the screen door: roast beef, roasted potatoes, gravy, warm rolls, and fresh peas. As dinner progressed, the boy didn't move, didn't make a sound. From the dining room, Dudley spoke loudly, often garbled words around a mouthful of food, which he exclaimed over. He went over his exploits that day with his new bike, and his muscled friends, at the park. Aunt Petunia encouraged him to eat, "Just one more helping, Duddy dear, you'll waste away else. There's mummy's boy." And Uncle Vernon praised Dudley's antics with such things as, "Good on you, son. Show those lads a thing or two . . ."

The sound of cutlery and chewing and talk went on long enough for the sun to set. Aunt Petunia ended the meal with a chocolate custard with whipped cream, and the boy's uncle and cousin had several servings each. Not that either of them needed extras, the boy thought bitterly, as his own empty stomach cramped hard enough to leave him panting for breath. He pressed his hands to his belly and bent forward, over his knees.

Maybe Uncle Vernon would change his mind. Maybe there would be something left for him. A little scrap, anything.

Chairs scraped back and the t.v. suddenly blared to life from the sitting room. Aunt Petunia appeared at the screen door. "Clean up in here," she said coldly. "And keep your paws off the remainders."

"Yes, ma'am," the boy said and climbed slowly to his feet. She would be watching him, he knew, maybe even counting up how many potatoes were left, and how many rolls. She often did. The boy got busy cleaning as his aunt settled in a flowery armchair next to the sitting room door. She glanced at him as often as she did the telly, as the boy cleared the table and counters, scrubbed pots and dishes, dried everything and put it all away, then wiped down all surfaces.

"Go to bed," Aunt Petunia told him as he rinsed the dishcloth for the last time.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. Shoulders slumped, he went back to his cupboard, wishing he'd tucked a wet cloth in his pocket. He could've sucked the water out of it once alone in the cupboard, and taken the worst of the edge off his thirst. But he'd hoped to be allowed to wash up before bed, maybe even use the loo. His Aunt wasn't in a generous mood tonight, it appeared.

He yanked on the chain to light the bare bulb inside the cupboard before pulling the door closed behind him. After skinning out of his baggy work clothes, he quickly slid into an old tatty tee shirt of Dudley's, which the boy used as a night shirt. Then he used the empty bucket in the corner of the cupboard to relieve himself, turned off the light and settled into his bed, an old camp cot that Dudley had bounced on so hard, the spine had broken.

Light filtered through the cracks around the door, as well as noise from the telly in the sitting room, same as every night. The boy lay on his side, curled up under his thin, patched blanket, and stared at the cupboard door. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see well enough to trace the lettering on a picture he'd drawn in day school, done in green, red and purple crayon.

"Harry's Room."

If all else failed, he used this sign to remind him of his name.

Later, after the light was out, and his relatives had thumped their way upstairs, Harry waited until he could hear his uncle's severe snoring from the far bedroom before he eased the cupboard door open. Pausing after each step, craning to hear any change in sounds from upstairs, he crept to the kitchen and over to the garbage pail. It was the only place Aunt Petunia never thought to count things.

Another pause, and he eased up the lid. Moonlight through the kitchen window was enough to see by, and he reached eagerly into the pail. Fingers calloused and blistered from work sifted past gravy and custard scrapings from the plates, then junk mail and a few used tissues, to potato peels and the gristled ends of the roast, which his Aunt had thrown away before they all sat down to dinner. Harry eased the sliver of meat and fat out of the pail and moved it quickly to his other hand, while he went back to grab peelings. Unable to bear the hunger a moment more, he crammed a handful of peels into his mouth and chewed fast.

Reaching for more, he gnawed on the end of the roast, savoring the taste and juice, and even the gristly texture. He sank further into the pail this time, almost up to the shoulder. Even still chewing his first bite, he nibbled again on the rough meat, unable to slow down. He'd just snagged something that felt like the end of a loaf of bread when the kitchen's overhead light flicked on.

Startled by the sudden light, Harry stumbled back from the garbage pail and spun around to see Uncle Vernon in the doorway to the hall. His face was purple, and his bushy mustache quivered over a furiously working mouth. His brown-checked robe was slightly askew over green pajamas, and one of his slippers was half off his foot. But Uncle Vernon didn't seem to notice this, and rushed into the room.

"Disgusting, filthy animal!" he shrieked and grabbed Harry by the neck, shaking him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "I knew you'd pull some trick like this. I told you, boy, no food. I'll teach you to disobey me, or commit your perversions! No good FREAK!" Uncle Vernon shoved him to the back door. "Outside with you! If you behave like a dog, you'll be treated as one. Should've know you were fit for living indoors with decent folk. Get out of my house!"

The boy flinched away from his uncle, but Vernon in a rage was fast. And strong. A fist clouted Harry's eye, staggering him, but he clutched at the countertop and didn't fall. Uncle Vernon dragged him away from the counter, and punched him again, this time on the nose. Harry's eyes watered, and the only thing that kept him standing was the grip on his neck. Blood poured over his upper lip and tasted coppery on his tongue. Uncle Vernon's fingers gouged the bread and meat out of his hands, and then he hit the boy again.

"Please, sir," Harry cried. "I'm sorry!"

"Sorry won't cut it anymore! Now, OUT. Get out!" Vernon shook him again and shoved him out onto the patio where he stumbled to his knees. The door slammed shut behind him, and the sound of the lock turning cut him deep.

Arms wrapped around his middle, Harry rocked back and forth under the moonlight and wished more than anything for this nightmare to be over.

In the morning, Aunt Petunia turned the hose on him, then shooed him off the patio and onto the grass. "Vernon'll sort you out, boy. Wait till he gets home."

Those words always frightened him, though he tried not to show it. Aunt Petunia curled her lip and went back inside. The early morning sky was overcast, and the air was a bit chilly. Soaking wet, Harry shivered and stayed on the grass. Feet tucked under him, he watched the door with all his attention. Cold water dripped from his hair to trickle down his cheeks, washing some of the blood off his lips and chin. He wiped his face absently on a sleeve of his nightshirt and shuddered. Uncle Vernon would sort him out. . . .

After a moment, he edged the shirt sleeve into his mouth and sucked on the frayed material. The water soothed some of the ache in his throat. Tears burned in his eyes nonetheless. He blinked furiously against them; he would not cry! Hadn't in years, really, and he wouldn't give his uncle the satisfaction. Still, he worried.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the boy waited, and watched the door. His right eye was swollen shut, and his head pounded, but it didn't bother him too much until Dudley strutted into the backyard, flanked by two of his friends. The three hulking boys threw stones at Harry, and clods of dirt, then shoved him back and forth between them, chanting insults about his clothes and bruised face. When a particularly hard shove knocked Harry down at last, Dudley started kicking him with his new hiking boots. "Doggie, dodgy Potter, itsy bitsy doggie, eating from the garbage," he chanted. "My Daddy's getting doggie food for you, you know." The other boys sniggered and kicked him, too.

Harry protected his head with his hands, and curled into a ball to keep them from kicking his stomach, and after a little while, they got tired of their game. He lay still until they left the yard. Several of his fingers felt broken, and blood dripped into his eyes from a cut on his forehead. His left arm hurt really bad, and so did his back. Struggling for a few minutes, he finally climbed to his feet. One of Dudley's friends had stamped on his ankle, and it was swelling already. His glasses were broken beyond repair, crushed under Dudley's heel.

The sky cleared in the early afternoon, and the sun beat down on Harry's back and neck, aggravating his sunburn. As the day wore on, he grew lightheaded and nauseous. Though sweat ran down his back and face, he was shivering as if he had a fever. Last time he'd had a fever, he'd been locked in his cupboard for a week. Today, though . . .

Late afternoon, the back door finally opened, ejecting Uncle Vernon onto the patio. Harry squinted at him, and saw that his meaty hands held a length of chain and a long, black rope. "Over here, now!"

It was always very bad when Uncle Vernon didn't even call him "boy." Warily, Harry stood, swayed a bit on his feet, and limped closer.

"On your knees."

Harry darted a look at his uncle's face, then quickly away. The glint in Uncle Vernon's eyes was frightening. But Harry's legs were trembling, so it was no hardship to sink to his knees. In seconds, his uncle had slipped the chain around his throat and cinched it tight like a collar. In the next moment, he clipped the end to the black rope. A leash! Harry realized with a jolt. His hands went immediately to the chain collar and tugged at it. No matter what his uncle said, he wasn't a dog!

"Leave it!" Uncle Vernon bellowed and slapped his hands away. Then he held up the last item in his hands, a large screw topped with a loop. Taking the other end of the leash, Uncle Vernon led Harry to a far corner of the yard. With a heavy mallet, he hammered the screw into the side of the shed and hooked the other end of the leash to it. He sneered at the boy as he headed back to the house. "If you're a good dog, you'll get some dinner tonight. Otherwise . . ."

Harry stared after him, silent with shock. Crouched in the shade offered by the shed, he tried to figure out what he could do to fix this. Was it even possible? Was he really just their dog now?

Just before nightfall, Aunt Petunia turned the hose on him again. Her horsie face was screwed up as if she smelled something bad, and she didn't say a word. She did pat Dudley's head, where he stood, grinning, on the steps, as she passed back into the kitchen. Harry wiped water from his eyes.

Uncle Vernon returned with two bowls. He placed them just beyond reach of Harry's line, and toed them forward, as if he were afraid of breathing the same air as Harry. One plastic bowl held water, and the other . . . no! This just wasn't on! Harry glared up at his uncle and pulled at the lead to the shed. He was not going to eat that!

"That's your dinner, whelp," Uncle Vernon told him. "That or nothing." He smiled nastily. "Straight out of a tin, too, so it's better than garbage." Turning on his heel, he went back to the house, leaving Harry with a bowl of dog food, as promised.

Dudley continued to laugh at him and stare from the patio. He'd already eaten, he pointed out cruelly, and listed off what his mum had cooked special, just for him: gammon steaks and potatoes and green beans, and they'd had ice cream for dessert. Harry glared at him with his one good eye, but stayed silent. He knew better than to respond to Dudley's taunts.

The sun went down before Dudley went back in the house. Light from the television flickered from the windows, and it was turned up loud enough that Harry could hear a canned laugh track. Still barefoot and in his dirty, bloody shirt, Harry waited as long as he could stand it before he went to the bowls. Using his good arm, he slowly lifted the water bowl and tipped it back, balanced to avoid jarring the broken fingers. The water was cold and clean, and he slurped it down. Hopefully, it would fill his stomach enough to ease his hunger. He would not eat that food.

When the water was gone, Harry wrung out his shirt over the bowl, to save more. He had no idea when they would fill the bowl again. He couldn't help looking at the other bowl, filled with a disgusting brown paste. The smell alone made him want to gag. He wouldn't eat it. He wouldn't. They couldn't make him. He'd run away first. It wasn't like he couldn't unclip the leash. There was just the question of where he would go.

In the morning, when he woke for the fourth day with only water in his stomach, but for a few scavenged peels, the thought of the second dog bowl sounded almost tempting. Almost. But he wasn't going to touch it.

Harry had slept badly, curled into as small a ball as he could manage where the back fence met the lee of the shed, knees tucked up to chest and arms hugging them tight. His left arm still hurt like it was burned, and the fingers on that hand were swollen and purple, like his ankle, and he couldn't bend them. His head hurt, too, and he had wished he could just go indoors for a little while and get warm. But the night had passed, with no sign anyone even remembered he was out here.

When the sun rose, he hobbled over to the two bowls to sip at the water he'd squeezed from his shirt the night before. Ants had crawled into the second bowl and covered the brown paste in a swarm of black. He looked away quickly, trying not to hurl. The little bit of water he'd saved did not sit well in his stomach, or not well enough. He was hungry, and tired and more alone than he had ever felt in his life.

-----------

Late that afternoon, at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk and peered over the rim of his glasses at his newest staff acquisition. Severus Snape peered back at him with nothing less than a scowl. He tended to rely heavily on that expression when he was unsure of something. Or frustrated. Or bored.

"You are the newest member of an elite group," Dumbledore told him. "The staff here is beyond compare, and I daresay you will fit right in, in that regard. I very much appreciate you accepting the position as Potions Master here."

"Of course, Headmaster," Severus replied, keeping his tone even. He had no choice, really. Despite being cleared of all charges years ago, he was still distrusted by so many, too many, and a hard time finding work that utilized his skills. He could sell potions of his own creation, and had a little business doing just that, in truth, but it was not terribly lucrative at this juncture, and would not be until he'd made more of a name for himself. A name he could create at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore smiled. "Call me Albus, please. You will have your own suite of rooms, of course, and access to whatever house elves you require. The grounds are open to you, as are all castle facilities. As we have discussed, you will be responsible for the Head of House duties for Slytherin, and I imagine you will not find those too taxing. There is a schedule for weekend duty during the school term, and you may work with your colleagues to find how best to implement that." The Headmaster paused, and his blue eyes twinkled brightly behind his specs.

Severus suppressed a sigh. He knew the man too well; twinkles of that kind never boded anything good. "Yes?"

With a fond smile, Dumbledore continued, "You will find I ask little in return for your compensation, save a well-run classroom, with well-stuffed student minds, the safety of all the castle's occupants . . . and one other small thing."

Severus' scowl deepened. Here they came to it at last. This "one small thing" was likely to be the utter bane of his existence. Well, if it came to be too much, he would refuse. After a pause in which he steeled himself, he said, "What is it then, Albus?"

"Harry Potter."

"What?" Severus shook his head, bewildered. "What are you talking about? What do I have to do with him? He can't be more than six or seven years old now. Not a student."

"He has just turned seven, Severus, yes." In truth, Severus knew exactly how old the Potter boy was, could calculate it down to the hour if need be. He'd had to, in the maddening months between his one short encounter with Lily and her subsequent whirlwind marriage to that idiot, James. But no matter how he counted or calculated, the numbers always came up the same. The whelp was James', not his.

The Headmaster was continuing, "And he is living with his relatives, Lily's Muggle sister, her husband and their son." Dumbledore paused again. "Do you know them?"

"Barely," Severus admitted. "I don't believe they were suited to our world."

"No, quite right, quite right. It's all well, though, for I have in place a couple of the Old Crowd who keep an eye out for any suspicious activity in the neighborhood. They let me know how the boy is doing."

"This is all very interesting," Severus said with a sneer and tented his hands before his face. "But do you think we might get to the 'one little thing' you ask of me?"

"Yes, yes, of course." Dumbledore took up a piece of candy from the perpetually filled dish on his desk and sucked on it a moment. "Every summer, the watchers I have in place are not available for a week or two, sometimes longer. I ask only that the current junior staff member checks up on Harry, make sure the wards I set in place are active, and that he is well."

"You want me to check on Harry Potter."

"Yes."

"And make sure he is well."

"Yes." Dumbledore gave him a warm smile.

Severus did not return it. He sighed instead, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "And what shall I do, say, if he is not 'well' or the wards have been breached?"

"I leave that to your discretion, my boy."

"Very well," he said with another dramatic sigh. "When is this gap in the boy's guard duty due to commence?"

"Tomorrow." At the younger man's expression, he continued hastily, "You shouldn't need to check on him every day, Severus. Once or twice a week should suffice."

"Not a great deal of notice, even so."

"I understand. By the end of the week, though. Please."

He had not seen the child since he was more than a babe in arms, hadn't wanted to. The stab of jealousy on their first brief encounters, when he'd taken in the shock of James' black hair over Lily's wondrous green eyes, had been almost more than he could bear. It should have been his child. He should have been with Lily, not that . . . that arrogant fool! He reined in his temper automatically, and gave Albus a short nod. "Of course. I'll see him by the end of the week."

What with one thing and another -- settling into his new rooms, setting up his potions lab and working out the details of duties he was to split with other professors and Heads of House -- Severus didn't get a chance to go to Surrey to check on Harry Potter until Saturday afternoon. Which was, he reflected as he prepared for the trip into a Muggle neighborhood, technically the end of the week in which Dumbledore had first laid the chore upon him. So he was keeping to the letter of the promise, if not the spirit; it wasn't the first time he'd done so, and was unlikely to be the last.

If he was going to be completely truthful with himself -- and why shouldn't he? Especially if he wouldn't be, with anyone else -- he was not looking forward to this trip for a number of reasons. First of all, he was annoyed simply to have to do it. He'd much rather be straightening shelves of mugwort and gillyweed and putting cauldrons in order than parading all over some suburban sprawl, in Muggle clothes no less! He brushed his long fingered hands down the front of the light oxford cloth shirt, gray vest, and gray trousers he kept for just such occasions, pulling non-existent bits of lint from the material with a scowl. And then there was Lily's family. He'd only met Petunia once, which was far more than enough. She was the worst sort of Muggle: brutish, dull-witted and patronizing. How he hated that.

Foremost on his list of distasteful items on this assignment, however, was the boy himself. Even if his aunt's stifling posture had prevented her from pampering the brat for six years and making a spoilt pimple out of him, he was still James Potter's son, and thus worthy of a bit of reviling all on his own.

Severus sighed and took up a walking stick to hide his wand-- He was primped like Lucius bloody Malfoy, now! -- and made his way out of Hogwarts far enough that he could Apparate directly to the Muggle's neighborhood.

The late afternoon sun was low in the sky when he arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive and rapped smartly on the front door. While he waited to be admitted, he took in the rest of the development, the identical hedges and drives, and even window dressings, for Merlin's sake. The automobiles, too, seemed to exist in only one of two models.

Few people were about in the still rather oppressive heat. On the other side of the road, three children peddled identical bicycles down the sidewalk. He wondered briefly if any of them were Potter. But no, two were blond and larger than seven years warranted, at least to his unpracticed eye. The third was a red head.

The boys closed in on him, having pedaled across the narrow street, and bellowed at him when he rapped on the door again.

"Not home!" the biggest of the three boys shouted as he pulled to a stop on the front lawn, dragging the tops of his shoes rather than applying brakes. His fat face was sweaty and bright red with exertion. "They've gone to the shops."

Severus drew himself up, the better to look down his nose at this sorry excuse for a boy. Rolls of pale pink skin fell over the top of the boy's shorts, which clung tightly to huge, flabby thighs. He couldn't make out knuckles on the meaty hands that clutched at the handlebars of the bicycle. "Indeed? You seem to know so much about them. Perhaps you might advise me on when they will return."

The whale of a boy scrunched his face up. Obviously, the process of thinking caused him pain. "They're meant to bring home ice cream, aren't they?" he said, and his two hulking compatriots nodded eagerly. "And that new cartridge for my Gameboy."

Severus sighed. "Are they your parents then?"

The boy nodded. "I'm Dudley," he said, importantly. "Dudley Dursley."

"And what of your cousin? Is he out with them as well?"

One of the other boys sniggered. "You mean the dog?" Dudley punched him on the arm, and the boy subsided.

"I beg your pardon?" Severus was tired and had not wanted to be here in the first place. The sooner he got his answers, the sooner he could leave.

The third boy was smirking, though. "Dudders, you hear him? He said--"

"Shut it, Piers," Dudley growled. "He's not my cousin."

"Be quiet!" Severus snapped. All three heads swiveled toward him, mouths moving like fish. "Dudley, is it? Is Harry Potter at your home right now?"

Dudley's face twisted into something ugly. "No. My Dad says he's not allowed."

Though he was obviously taken aback, Dudley glared his friends into silence when one of them appeared about to answer, and the two of them shrugged and looked at their shoes. Dudley looked at the sky.

Severus' knuckles grew white from gripping his walking stick; he dearly wanted to clout this child. He settled for stepping closer, and using his best looming look. "Well?"

The boy jumped. "Not s'posed to say."

"I suggest you rethink that position." The threat was clear in his voice, and the boy in front of him quivered, eyes fearful. "Now. Where is he?"

With a trembling hand, the Dursley boy pointed toward the fence that cut off the front yard from the back.

"Outside?"

The boy jerked a nod, and Severus strode for the fence, and the small gate nestled in its center. If Potter wasn't there, after all this, he would not be responsible for his actions.

-------

The boy had been outside, chained to the shed, for four days now. Maybe five. Maybe more. He'd lost count, really. After the first two days, his ankle was so bad he couldn't stand on it anymore, so he lay against the shed, trying to stay out of the worst of the sun during the day, and the worst of the wind at night.

Every morning, his aunt hosed him down, and filled his water bowl, and every evening after work, Uncle Vernon came to check if he'd eaten the blob of dog food in the other bowl. He hadn't, and he wouldn't. Not ever. No matter how hungry he got. But Uncle Vernon just sneered at him, every time, and said, "Perfectly good food going to waste, whelp. Perfectly good food."

Every day, Dudley brought his friends by to taunt him, and they seemed to take the greatest pleasure in waiting until the boy had to relieve himself -- which he did at the back side of the shed, at the farthest the leash would allow -- before jumping out at him and laughing, or pelting him with stones. After the second day, when his ankle was bad, he scooted as far as he could get from the shed on his bottom before he peed, timing his needs to as close to when Aunt Petunia used the hose on him as he could.

Late one afternoon, just after the first red blush of sunset appeared over the roof of the house, and the air started to cool down, the boy was lying on his side, facing the back fence, when he caught movement under the azaleas. A green snake about a foot long slithered closer, tongue flicking in and out. They boy watched it with tired eyes, not moving.

Surprised, though maybe he was sleeping, and this was a dream, the boy shook his head slightly. "Not yet."

The snake's head came up. "You ssspeak?"

The snake's head came up again, agitated this time, and it slithered back to the ground. "I musssst go."

-----

The yard looked empty on first inspection. Severus glanced around at the perfectly trimmed lawn, the freshly whitewashed shed, and the well weeded herb garden and saw no sign of Potter. Anger rose in him again at the antics of the boys out front, and he had nearly turned on his heel to go confront them when he heard a low hissing sound from the far side of the yard.

He had taken two steps toward the sound before he recognized it, and froze. Dread such as he had not felt in six years wrapped its coils around his chest and squeezed tight enough to cause actual pain. Parseltongue. He would never forget that sound. The only Parselmouth he knew was gone, however, destroyed by a mere child, so after another moment's hesitation, wherein he berated himself for cowardice most unbecoming, he continued across the yard.

The sound of snake language stopped abruptly, but Severus kept moving towards its origin. The only person who could possibly have uttered the speech was the object of his search, after all.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find, though the words and behavior of young Dursley and his cronies had unsettled him. Perhaps Potter was playing out here, or performing some chores, like weeding. Severus was positive that chores were good for building character, especially for the son of James Potter, who would need all the character he could get. Whatever he was expecting, however, the sight that met him when he rounded the corner of the shed, took his breath away, and he had to fight to regain it.

The hero of the wizarding world lay in a crumpled ball of skin and bones, barely covered by a threadbare, ragged shirt crusted with filth. One of the boy's legs was so swollen from calf to toes, but around such stick-like bones, that it was obscene. His face was smeared with blood and dirt, and his mouth was parted around pitifully chapped lips as he drew each obviously painful breath.

And the smell! Merlin!

Severus brought a hand to his nose to cover the stench. As he did, he noticed what his gaze had skittered over before, a neck rubbed raw from a length of chain latched to a black rope, which was, in turn, attached to the side of the shed.

The true horror of the little hooligan's words staggered the potions master, and he had to turn his face away.

Rage bloomed inside him at the daring, the sheer nerve of these Muggles. How could they get away with this, this monstrous behavior! And to Lily's son! A feral sound formed in his throat, and he knew he had only minutes before his much vaunted self-control snapped like a broomstick in a hurricane. In two great strides, he was alongside the boy, snapping the leash off the collar and hurling it away from them. The damned collar itself would need to be removed with more care, as it had been fastened too tightly and had dug deep into the skin. Wand out, he waved it over the child, who had not yet moved, and performed the first of the many healing charms he expected to need to before the day was out. A pain relief potion was next, helped down the child's throat by gentle strokes along the abraded skin with his long fingers. Then, at last, a sleep charm, to make the boy easier to move.

Once done, he sat back on his heels.

Dumbledore had left this to his discretion -- a neat way of being able to deny culpability, Severus realized -- which still allowed few options. St. Mungo's was out of the question, of course, for the Boy Who Lived. The publicity alone would stir an outcry against Muggles of all kinds. He could take the boy to Hogwarts and rely on the assistance -- and the discretion -- of Madam Pomfrey. But though Severus knew the medi-witch well enough from his own school days, he was not absolutely sure of her loyalties. Did Dumbledore trust her? Should he?

Or he could heal the boy himself. He was a fair medic, as one must to be more than a rank amateur with potions, and he was well versed in traumatic injuries, even those of the mind.

Decided at last, Severus eased the boy up as gently as he could, positioned what looked like a broken forearm to prevent jarring, and stood with Harry in his arms. Though side-along Apparition was often hard on the passenger, Harry would not be up for floo travel or portkey either. It had to be done. But he would be back here soon, of that there was no doubt in his mind. He would return with a vengeance.

Forming an image in his mind of the sitting room at the house on Spinner's End, he Disapparated with Lily's son, and the soft echo of a crack.

Several things happened all at once when Severus Apparated into the sitting room at Spinner's End. The least of these was the half-stifled squeak of a surprised house elf going about her chores. The elf -- Dappin -- popped out of the room and returned a moment later with a thick blanket to cover the nearly naked child Severus was carrying. This was just as well, because the most traumatic of events was that Harry had stopped breathing.

Cursing himself in seven distinct languages, Severus summoned the blanket with the wave of one hand, while with the other he eased Harry onto the settee. He drew his wand in a quick motion and cast a complicated spell over the boy's chest and head. A blue light flared briefly in the air over Harry's body, then vanished. From Harry himself there was no response. Nothing.

"Accio Revivifier Potion!" Severus called and from down the main hall, a cabinet door slammed open and a bottle of translucent yellow fluid hurtled into his outstretched hand. He poured it down the boy's throat, or tried to, holding Harry's head up slightly. But the potion just filled his mouth and dribbled out the corners, and no amount of pressure on his throat would make him swallow.

Frantic now, Severus tried the spell again. "Respiro Coactum!" Still nothing. Harry's lips were blue against skin bright red from exposure, but even as he watched, both lost color, changing to a waxy hue. He prodded the boy's throat with his fingers, and felt a pulse, weak and thready, but if he couldn't get the child to breathe . . . He tipped Harry on his side and let the potion spill onto the settee, completely unconcerned with the mess, then closed his eyes and lifted his wand a third time. Tracing the spell with utmost concentration, he growled the words through gritted teeth. "Respiro Coactum!"

The blue light flared again, but faded this time, too, without affecting the boy. The heavy weight of guilt pulled Severus down into the dark part of his soul. The adrenaline of his rage at the Dursleys drained out of him, leaving him shaking, spent and boneless. He gathered the boy close and rocked him back and forth, bowing his head over the tiny, concave chest. Oh, if only he had gone to Privet Drive when Dumbledore first asked him! Perhaps the damage done to this poor boy would not have been so horrible. And why had he Apparated them? He should have walked, or taken the Knight Bus, anything! He'd known the boy would been worse off for it!

Merlin, he'd killed the child.

An ache so deep he never knew he had the capacity for it, swamped his chest, and his head swam with a million self-recriminations. He whispered over the poor, broken body, "Oh, child. Harry, I'm so sorry . . ."

----

The darkness was comfortable, and he was without pain or want for the first time in forever. The boy rested, weary, and knew his torment was at an end. The yard was gone, and the hated leash. The sun had set, he thought, but he wasn't cold anymore. He could stay here forever, buoyed by the soft, forgiving darkness, at peace. Left alone.

A jolt of something went through him, then another, but the prickly sensation ended quickly, so he paid it no mind. He was safe here, in the quiet.

But then something eddied at the shore of the darkness, a shape blacker still. He shied away on instinct, heading for the deeper, calmer quiet of this place. The shape followed him, rippling the darkness around him like a stone tossed into a stagnant pool. Then, quite clearly, he heard a whisper of his name."Harry, I'm so sorry."

Harry was his name, not whelp or boy or freak. And someone was saying it. No one had since . . . since Miss Egglestrom in day school when he'd been allowed to go. She had called him Harry and he didn't even realize she was talking to him at first, not till she'd crouched in front of him and asked if he had a hearing problem. He didn't, but she told his aunt and uncle about his eyes, after he'd squinted at her all day, and made them get glasses for him.  This voice didn't sound like Miss Egglestrom at all, though; it was lower and gruff, and kind of sad. Who could it be?

Harry wanted to open his eyes and see, then, but it was like they were glued shut. His chest started to hurt, as if it were swollen, and he couldn't breathe! The darkness, far from comforting now, reminded him of the close, smothering feel of his cupboard. But there wasn't any light at all around the edges of the door. There was no door!

Panic seized him and a wind like a hurricane whipped through the dark. He wanted to breathe. He wanted to see. Sudden warmth engulfed him, stretched his muscles and tightened his bones. His heartbeat thudded in his ears and he smelled moth balls, close by. For one long, aching moment his heart stalled. Then the warmth returned and the beat resumed.

With a little sigh, he opened his eyes.

A man was holding him and had him wrapped in a blanket that had the moth ball smell. The man's eyes were closed at first, and almost hidden by a curtain of long hair as dark as his own. His mouth was moving and it took a moment for Harry to realize that the man was just saying his name, over and over. Even before he finished that thought, the man's eyes opened wide and stared at him.

The boy wasn't allowed to look at people's faces, so he averted his gaze immediately, and the man didn't yell at him for the mistake. He struggled to get out of the blanket, so he could get back on the floor -- he knew people weren't allowed to touch him like this, and he certainly wasn't allowed on a couch. But everything hurt so much, he only managed a gasp before dizziness overtook him.

The man tightened his hold, which hurt even more, but he would not cry! Crying only made everything worse. Uncle Vernon said so, even though Dudley was allowed to do it when he didn't get a third pudding. He stopped struggling, though, since the man seemed to want that.

"Harry?" the soft voice said.

"Y'sir?" he whispered back, feeling his way over teeth and tongue. Aside from the snake, he'd not spoken to anyone for days, not since . . .

"Thank, Merlin." The man rocked back onto his heels and continued, "I'm going to take you upstairs now, all right? To a bed where you'll be more comfortable, and we'll see about these injuries. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." He didn't know where he was, and wasn't entirely sure he wasn't dreaming.

The man rose, and Harry had to bite his lower lip to keep from crying out. He tasted blood, warm and thick, mixed with the remnant of a bitter fluid on his tongue. He swallowed convulsively and felt another little jolt. This one brought tears to his eyes. He blinked them away, furious.

"It's all right, Harry, just a few more steps. It's all right," the man said, and his voice was smoother now, soothing.

Then he was laid out on a soft, dry surface -- the bed? -- and overhead he could pick out a light blue ceiling and blurry white shapes that might be clouds if he squinted. He lay very still as the man removed the blanket, and didn't even flinch when his clothes disappeared, too, but kept his eyes on the clouds. It hardly occurred to him to wonder why he didn't have to pull his shirt over his head to remove it.

He was cold now, though, and shivered and tried to wrap his arms around himself, which set off another wave of pain. He turned his head just in time to avoid puking on himself. The vomit, water with flecks of blood and a yellow syrup, dribbled onto the bed instead.

"Sorry, sir," Harry rasped when he could get a breath to do so. "M'sorry."

"Easy," said the man, and his hands took hold of his shoulders and rolled him onto his side. One long, slender finger gently swabbed inside his mouth, clearing it of the yucky taste. "It's all right."

Harry closed his eyes, too tired to even thank the man.

"Harry," the man's voice urged. "Stay awake now."

But he didn't want to and felt himself falling back into the welcoming dark.

----

When Harry succumbed to sleep once more, Severus debated using a potion to wake him and keep him alert. Despite a miraculous recovery as a result of the boy's own magic, Severus did not like the glassy, dilated look of Harry's eyes, nor the shivers that wracked the pitifully small frame, despite multiple warming charms on the air, bed and blankets. But he finally decided against it, at least for the moment, since it would be much easier to work on the boy and clean him up if he was asleep.

As it was, Severus didn't dare use a calming draught or pain relief potion, as he didn't know how much of the Reviver potion the boy had ingested. Enough of that one, combined with either of the other two, could be fatal in such a small body. He cleaned the vomit away with a wave of his wand.

Over the next few minutes, Severus set up several monitoring charms, for respiration, heart beat, temperature and level of consciousness, then began the long process of healing the boy. He started with a diagnostic scan, which left him faintly nauseous as the list of injuries and illnesses went on and on . . . Then he Accioed two more potions before just ordering Dappin to bring him his medical box, where he kept a good supply laid in. Being a Death Eater for two years, and then a Death Eater-Turned-Spy for another two, even before the Dark Lord's disappearance, had its benefits. Other than professional healers, he had set more bones and healed more burns, contusions and curses than any other six wizards in Britain combined.

Three Scourgifies later, and the boy still stank of offal, and his skin was dark with filth, but his cuts were cleaned out, at least, and treated with a potion to speed healing. He next summoned a basin of warm water and a pile of soft cloths, and began to wash the boy. The water turned gray after only a few rinses, so he banished it and summoned more. He scrubbed behind the boy's ears -- which looked like they'd never heard of soap -- and between all his fingers and toes, and everywhere in between. He could count each rib, front and back, and shook his head at the obvious signs of prolonged neglect and malnutrition. Not just this one atrocity, then.

Once finished, Severus banished the basin, water and cloths as he decided what to tackle next. He frowned over the broken fingers, left arm and the ankle with torn ligaments. All three injuries had started to heal on their own, no surprise with youngsters, but none of them had been set properly first. The bones would need to be re-broken first, and the ankle . . . well, he'd have to be very careful with that one, or the boy would be left with a limp, regardless of how much he magicked it.

With a soft sigh, Severus cast a charm to put the child into a deeper sleep, so the pain of what he was about to do would not wake him. He applied a numbing salve to the hand, then waved his wand with a muttered spell -- one he had not cast since his Death Eater days -- and the bones snapped and rearranged themselves, ready to be set. He did so carefully, grimacing over the lack of flesh on the hand. He could feel each strand of tendon, and the child's fingers were like tiny twigs from a bird's nest. After charming the bones whole again, still unwilling to use more ingestibles like Skele-Gro, he continued his work methodically, the arm next, then a salve for sunburn. Another salve for the rash on the child's bottom, and one for the various bug and spider bites that littered his body. An ointment for the bruising on back, legs and face, then a triple casting of Contagio Inverno to eliminate various infections. He wrapped the ankle in a soft, flexible bandage, not willing to take on such a task without resting well first.

Harry was breathing more deeply now, and his dark lashes flickered against pale pink cheeks. So innocent he looked, so tiny. As if he were only three or four years old instead of seven. But only inches away from the pointed, elfin face was the nasty chain the Muggle had put around his throat. That had to go. Now.

A number of the links, each as long and round as his thumbnail, had pierced the boy's skin and dug in. In some places, a scab had formed over the embedded links, making it impossible for him to just banish the collar unless he wanted to scar the neck horribly. Severus' gaze flicked to the child's forehead. Harry already had one scar too many.

Slowly, with painstaking patience -- the likes of which he would never had admitted he possessed -- he removed the chain collar link by link from Harry's neck. The wound bled sluggishly; the boy was rather too dehydrated for more than that. After the bone breaking and salve rubbing he had done earlier, Severus was surprised that this job caused the boy to moan and attempt to turn away from his hands.

So Severus found himself speaking in a low tone he might use with an injured bird, soft meaningless words meant only to soothe ruffled feathers. The boy seemed to hear him, though, and subsided.

At last he was done, the last link freed, the chain's clasp released and the collar removed. He healed the last wound and inspected his work, wiping sweat from his forehead. A quick cast of Temporus let him know he'd been almost four hours at work on the child. He was as weary as if he'd been dueling all that time. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed for a moment before summoning one of his own nightshirts. He shrunk it down before cautiously dressing the boy in it, mindful of the recently healed limbs. Even shrunk, the shirt swamped the boy, made him look almost like a doll. With another silent vow to pay back the Dursleys for their kindness, Severus tucked the child into the bed and pulled one of the heavier quilts up to cover him.

He considered a moment longer. He would like to leave the boy in this deep sleep a while longer, to let his body continue healing, but he knew Harry needed fluids. Not food yet, perhaps; it was possible his stomach was too small or damaged for that. But watered milk, certainly, and some broth. It had also been long enough for the Reviver potion to have worked out of his system, so a vial of pain reliever would not be amiss.

After giving Dappin instructions on what he wanted, he brought Harry out of the deep sleep to the edge of consciousness while waiting for the house elf to return. He put a hand on the boy's injured arm as he did so, to prevent any flailing, if the boy was frightened when he woke.

Everything hurt. Arms, hand, back and shoulders. His neck . . . oh, God. And his ankle throbbed, the one Dudley's friend had stomped on. Not for the first time, the boy considered just not waking. But he had dreamt of the burning sun and a snake who whispered to him in the dark, and wrapped itself around his neck, coiling tighter and tighter until he couldn't breathe.

He didn't want to dream any more, and he was used to pain. As he decided to face what lay ahead, and come awake, he felt a light pressure on his arm and heard gentle words encouraging him. When he opened his eyes, the man was sitting beside him. The boy could see his face, still curtained by dark, shoulder length hair. He looked weary, his mouth a thin line.

The boy averted his gaze immediately and looked at the clouds on the ceiling.

Moments later, the man helped him to sit up a bit, plumping big pillows behind his back. It hurt a lot, bones rubbing together and bruises twinging, but he knew to not make a sound. Uncle Vernon didn't like complaining, not a bit. Before he could really catch his breath, though, the man held a thin glass bottle to his lips.

"Drink up," the man said. His voice was smooth and low, just like it had been before. "It will help with the pain."

Lips pressed together, the boy shook his head and kept his face turned away. He knew this game.

"Open you mouth," the man said, a note of annoyance in his voice.

A thrill of fear went through the boy, but he knew better than to drink things offered to him when he'd been bad. Last time Aunt Petunia had told him to "drink up," and had given him something yellow that smelt of lemons, it had burned his throat and his stomach. He'd been sick for days, and not allowed in the house. He'd deserved it, thought. She'd said so. He shook his head again, hoping the man would not hit him for his impertinence, even though he hunched his shoulders, expecting a blow.

The man was quiet for a long time, then took the bottle away. "I'll take a sip first, shall I?"

Surprised, the boy cut a glance at the man and nodded slowly. He watched as the man put the bottle to his mouth and drank a long pull of the thick blue fluid. After the man swallowed, he held up the bottle so the boy could see that the level of fluid was definitely lower.

"All right then?"

Gaze still on the bottle, the boy nodded and let the man hold it to his lips again. This time, before drinking, he flicked a glance at the man's face. An expression appeared there that he was unfamiliar with, at least when directed at himself. Aunt Petunia had looked at Dudley like that, though, when Dudders fell off his bike and she was cleaning his scraped knees.

The boy wasn't sure he understood that look, but when the man tilted the bottle up so he could drink, he took a mouthful. The medicine was chalky and kind of bitter. He gulped it down quick and shuddered at the taste, but it didn't burn or anything, so he took another sip before the man took the bottle away. In an instant, the pain faded from most of his body, though his stomach still ached with hunger.

Surprised again, he looked at the man in time to see the merest hint of a smile on his lips. "Better?" the man asked.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," the boy said, then kept his head down, though he chanced a look up through his bangs to see what the man would do next.

The man put down the odd medicine bottle and picked up a glass of what looked like milk. "You'll like this better, I imagine," the man said. "It's just milk, with a little water. It'll help clear the taste of the potion, all right?"

"Yes, sir." Still, he waited until the man took a swig of that, too, before he reached for the glass. His hand was shaking, and the man continued to hold the glass, though he didn't object to the boy putting his hands on it as well. It was milk, cold and soothing as it went down. Probably the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. He gulped it as fast as he could, afraid the man would try and take it away. His hands on the glass tightened with every swallow.

"Easy, Harry. Not so fast, or you'll be throwing it up next."

Harry. His name was Harry. He glanced at the man through his lashes, squinting a little to see his face more clearly. The man didn't look displeased or like he would take the milk away, but Harry didn't loosen his grip on the glass. Soon enough, it was drained.

"Good," the man said. The cup joined the "potion" bottle on a small table by the bed. "We'll give that a few minutes to settle before you have any more."

"Yes, sir." Harry picked at the quilt that was pulled across his lap. His hands were really clean, he noticed, cleaner than they'd been for some time. And the night shirt he was wearing was very soft, and didn't seem to have any holes or rips in it. He wondered who had grown out of it. They must've grown real fast to leave it in such good shape for Harry to use. Did the man have a son, too, like Dudley? He hoped not.

The man was watching him; Harry could always tell when he was being watched, as it made him feel prickly on the back of his neck, and he didn't like it. But he knew the best thing to do was pretend he didn't notice, so he ran his fingers along the stitching on the quilt and counted the blocks of color in it. He was up to eight different colors in triangles and six of squares before the man picked up something else from the little table. A bowl this time, Harry saw from the corner of his eye.

"Broth," the man said, and held the bowl closer to Harry's face. He dipped in a spoon and moved it toward Harry's mouth.

Harry drew back, looking aghast. "Sir?"

The corner of the man's mouth twitched. "Don't need help feeding yourself then?"

"No, sir!"

"Very well." There was a glint in the man's eyes as he turned away for a moment and said, "Dappin."

A short, wrinkle-skinned creature appeared out of nothing. Harry gasped and stared at its floppy ears and big, bulbous blue eyes. Dappin was completely bald, and wore a blue cloth trimmed with silver slung over one shoulder that draped to the knees. Was this whose night shirt he'd gotten? But his was nicer than Dappin's, he thought.

"A mug for the broth," the man said, "so we're less likely to slosh it."

The creature's ears bounced as it nodded wildly, showing pointed teeth in a wide smile. "Yes, Master Snape, sir. Dappin is getting a mug, sir." Dappin took the bowl from "Master Snape" and vanished again with another POP!

"What--" Harry cut off his question and hunched his shoulders again with a wince. He wasn't allowed to ask questions.

But the man seemed to understand what he wanted to know, and he didn't seem angry about Harry starting a question. Sometimes, even with Uncle Vernon, he could get away with one mistake. "Dappin is my house elf. She cleans, cooks and looks after the house."

Harry bit his lip and guessed he was a house elf for Master Snape now, too. Before he could make sure, though, Dappin popped back into the room, this time with a large mug in her long fingered hands. She held the green mug out to Master Snape, who took a swallow, showed him he had done so, then lifted it to Harry's mouth, letting him put his hands around it, too. The broth had warmed the mug, though not enough to burn his hands, and with Master Snape's help, he sipped at it gratefully.

Salty and tasting of chicken, the broth soothed his throat even more and spread warmth through his belly. Too soon, his stomach was uncomfortably full, though, and he pushed the mug away. "Thank you, Master Snape, sir," he said, making sure to say it like Dappin had. He was sleepy again. His eyes felt heavy, and he almost had to force them open after each blink.

Master Snape took the mug away. His voice was gentle as he said, "You did well, Harry. Go on back to sleep now."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. Curling on his side in the warm, soft bed, he pulled his legs to his chest and immediately sank towards sleep. He very much liked being a house elf for this Master Snape.

----

After the boy feel asleep, Severus watched him a while longer, to make sure he was well and truly under. He brushed an errant lock of hair off the child's forehead and away from his eyes, but sighed when Harry's face scrunched up as if he was wincing away from the touch. Clearly, the child had been mistreated and knew little in the way of physical comfort. From Harry's distrust of the drinks offered, to his perfectly polite form of address, even earlier, when he'd been in vast amounts of pain, Severus had other painful insights into the boy's home life. Alas, the circumstances of such maltreatment were not unfamiliar to him.

The more he pondered the child and what he had observed, his rage at the Dursleys was subsumed only by the realization that Dumbledore must have known. Hadn't he said there were people watching the boy and reporting back to him? Who were these watchers? Severus wondered. And how many of them could he strangle before he was sent to Azkaban?

He and his new employer were going to have serious words on this issue, and if the Headmaster's answers were unsatisfactory . . . well. He would decide what to do at that juncture, but his relationship with Dumbledore would be severely impacted, at the least.

The boy had not asked where he was and had expressed little interest in his surroundings at all, beyond what cup or glass was offered to him, and Dappin's sudden appearance. Such apathy worried him, if he were to be perfectly honest. Was the boy still in shock? Or were his reactions symptomatic of scarring, more severe than Severus would be able to handle?

He was out of his depth, either way.

Now that the worst of Harry's injuries were healed, he should move the boy to Hogwarts, assuming his conversation with Dumbledore went at all well. Then Madam Pomfrey could deal with him, and the Headmaster could offer his sage advice, if any, and Severus could get back to work setting up for his first term as a professor.

Perhaps.

After instructing Dappin to keep an eye on the boy, Severus cast a charm to alert him in case Harry woke, and headed downstairs to the sitting room to floo call Albus.

"Albus! A word!" Severus yelled through the green firelight in his hearth. He rose and paced before the fireplace, impatient and growing more irritated by the second. The minute or so before the Headmaster responded crawled by. He was about to shout again when Dumbledore's head appeared in the flames.

"Severus? I had not realized you were at home."

"I hadn't planned on the trip." Severus paused, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared. "I went on your little job."

"Ah." The wrinkles in Dumbledore's face deepened as he frowned. "Was there a problem?"

Severus clenched his jaw. "You might say that."

"Shall I come through?"

"Yes, do. You recall the password, I assume?"

"Of course."

Severus stepped back and waited for Dumbledore to exit the grate. A few moments later, the Headmaster emerged wearing lurid purple robes festooned with green moons and stars that sparkled brightly. Severus was almost certain he heard the faint twinkle of music emanating from them, and he was certain that the Headmaster wore mismatched socks. He'd have to get some for the old codger for Christmas. If they were still on speaking terms.

After wandlessly waving away the little soot that clung to his robes, Albus looked Severus up and down. "You have blood on your clothes," he said, his tone rather subdued.

"Indeed." With effort, Severus unclenched his jaw. "It's not mine, but the boy's."

Albus stared at him, then sighed softly and sank into one of the two comfortable chairs in front of the hearth. Severus' eyes narrowed. Until that moment, he hadn't been sure. But now . . . Dumbledore had known. At the thought, his stomach twisted. He hadn't wanted to believe it, hadn't wanted to think Albus would leave the golden boy, the Boy Who Lived, in such straits. This was like a stab in the heart--

"It's not what you think," Albus said, cutting through his recriminations, as if he'd read Severus' mind. But he could, of course, have done so. He was a powerful Legilimens.

Taking a slow breath, Severus counted to ten. Then, "Why don't you tell me, Headmaster, how often your watchers report to you."

"We're back to being formal, are we?" Albus peered at him over the half moons of his spectacles. Then he sighed. "Very well. They report as often as necessary."

"Which means?"

"Just that. I hear if there is a problem, or anything out of the ordinary--"

In one quick movement, Severus yanked the chain link collar out of his pocket and thrust it in the Headmaster's face. It was covered with blood and pus and tissue, some old, and some quite new, from when Severus had torn it from the boy's throat. "Tell me, then, Headmaster, would this be considered out of the ordinary, or perfectly normal behavior on the part of those Muggles?"

Albus did not take the collar, but his eyes widened perceptibly. "Where . . . ?" He shook his head as if to deny its existence, but then whispered, "It was on the boy?"

"Yes!" Severus snarled. "I have never seen such--" He struggled to control himself, and his voice came out all the colder for it. "A leash secured him to an outdoors shed. They had him tethered like a dog! The cousin said--" He cut himself off once more, rage swelling inside him. He had to run through several mind-clearing exercises as if he were Occluding, lest he snap again.

When he was calm enough, he continued, "I do not believe it was an isolated incident. But even if it were, these Muggles have not treated him properly in many other ways. Harry is severely undernourished and fearful of being touched. His body was littered with bruises and broken bones, and he does not dare meet my eyes. I would like to know who the hell was watching the boy when all this happened!"

As Severus explained, he watched Albus closely. The Headmaster's face paled and he held up a shaking hand to cover his eyes, but as Severus finished, the hand came down, and there was nothing but eerie calm on his face. "I never thought she would go so far, my boy. You must believe me."

"What? Who do you mean?"

"Lily's sister Petunia. The boy's aunt. I knew she had no love for Lily, nor for the Wizarding world, but she accepted him into her care, took him in to her home. I thought she would grow to love him."

"Looks like she grew to resent him! And you have ignored my question. Did no one ever tell you how those Muggles were treating him? What his condition was?"

With a slow shake of his head, Albus said, "Not as such."

Severus pierced him with a glare he'd used to great effect on subordinates in the past, when he'd easily reduced them to tears. "What did they say?" he bit out.

"Does it matter now?"

"It does to me."

Albus peered at him again and his hands tented together at his chest as he leaned back in his chair. "What is your intention, Severus?"

"Towards the boy, or with regards to my future employment?"

"Truly, Severus? You would let this impact your decision to join the staff at Hogwarts?"

"This!?" Severus shouted. "The Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived, chained up, beaten and nearly starved to death, and you wonder if I can let this impact me?"

Albus gave a tired sigh. "What would you have me do? He must live there. With his aunt and uncle. I know it will be difficult, but perhaps we can modify--"

"Albus! I don't believe you. What can you do? For starters, find someone else to care for him. Anyone else would fill that role better than those Dursleys." He turned away and paced the length of the sitting room. How could the Headmaster be so blind? How could he sentence Harry to such a life and yet live with himself?

"Even . . . you?"

Severus whirled to face the man. "Yes! I could do a better job. Not that I will, mind you. I have no desire to become a father." But hadn't he just been bemoaning the fact the other day that this boy should have been his, and not belonged to James? He pushed that thought away; he would not dwell on what could not be. "But even so, I could do better."

Albus leaned forward, his blue eyes intent and more serious than Severus had ever seen them. "If it came down to it, if the alternative was that Harry be returned to Privet Drive, would you take him in?"

"What kind of question is that? Why in the world would you send him back to that hell hole?"

"There are protective wards in place at that house, bound by Lily's blood, through her sister."

"Protective wards?" Severus echoed. "Protection against what? Not Muggles certainly?"

Albus had the grace to blush. "Alas, no. But no wizard or witch with the intent to harm the boy may pass the wards. When I placed him there, many of Voldemort's supporters were still at large, and it was crucial to protect him thus."

Many of the Dark Lord's supporters were still at large, but Severus saw no need to point this out. Albus knew it as well as he did. "Then move the wards. Find someone else to bind them to."

Albus shook his head. "It must be his family," he said softly. "Lily sacrificed herself for Harry, and I closed the bond with her sister when she agreed to take him in. The protection can only be invoked while he calls that place home. When he is with family."

Severus stared at the Headmaster, and his quiet, calm face and wanted to hurl the infernal man into next week. His mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments before he finally managed, "You really intend to return him to those monsters."

"He must stay with family."

"But you said, you implied that I could take him in. How would that be possible?"

Albus held his gaze, and the twinkle in his eyes returned with a vengeance. "Because, Severus, you could be the child's father."

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."

"Is that all right?" Severus asked the boy. Harry was so quiet, and his face so shuttered off, that Severus wasn't sure. "Do you want to call me Father?"

"I . . . I never . . ." Giving it up, Harry shrugged a little, then gave him a look of horror. "Sorry, sir!"

Concerned, Severus leaned forward, but did not move to touch the boy. He was still berating himself for taking such a harsh tone when he'd first seen the child scrabbling around under the bed, getting who knew what germs and dirt into recently healed lungs. "For what?"

"Shrugging, sir. Shrugging's not allowed."

"One of the rules at your old home?"

The boy looked miserable, and was refusing to meet his eyes. "Yes, sir."

Severus sighed. "I won't hit you if you shrug, but I don't care for it either. It's the sign of a weak mind. You should be able to form proper thoughts and voice them, not rely on such a primitive mode of communication."

"Yes, sir."

Suppressing another sigh, Severus forbore to correct the constant two word answer. It was obvious the boy was uncomfortable, and it would take some time before he realized he was not going to be punished here as he had with his relatives. Not that Severus would let him get away with disrespect, impertinence or vandalous behavior; he did not intend to relax his standards, but with this boy . . . he had to be careful.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes, sir," the boy started, and looked up hopefully. "But I . . ."

"Yes? But what?"

"But I really have to pee."

He was just barely able to keep in a laugh, for there was nothing funny about the way his relatives had made the boy go out of doors. But the look on his face was so plaintive, Severus had to smile. A bit. "Let me show you the washroom. You feel all right to walk?"

"Yes, sir!" Harry scrambled off the bed faster than he'd climbed up it, and bounced on the balls of his feet.

"Careful of that ankle, now. I still need to work on it, before it's completely put to rights." He had not yet fully decided whether to hand that fine-tuned healing over to Madam Pomfrey. Best that the boy didn't make it worse before it was fixed, though.

"Yes, sir," the boy said, and stopped bouncing.

"Come along." Severus led him out the bedroom door, and down the hall to a washroom with blue trim surrounding white fixtures, including a claw foot tub. Harry launched himself at the toilet, and Severus discreetly shut the door and waited on the other side.

He heard a flush a long moment later, and then the sink being run. The door knob turned a moment later, and one very relieved boy stepped out. "Thank you, sir!"

"Harry, you don't need to thank me for letting you use the facilities. You may use them any time you want."

Hope sprang to life in the boy's eyes again, and it hurt Severus' heart to see such gratitude, for such a tiny thing. "Do you want to eat downstairs, or back in your room?"

"My - my room, sir?"

"Certainly, your room. I can't have you sharing with me, can I? Is it to your liking?"

"The room, sir?"

"Yes," Severus said as he led the boy back down the hall. "Or would you like to do something else with the decorating? Within reason, of course."

"Decorating? I . . . I don't." He shook his head a bit and it appeared for a moment he might shrug, but stopped it midway and blurted instead, "I'm not sure what you mean."

As they entered the room, Severus gestured to the walls. "Many boys like to have posters on their walls, of Quidditch teams or players, or their favorite singing groups. I eschewed such inanities, of course, when I was young, but if you would like to do so, you may, within moderation."

He looked down at Harry, whose expression was one of base confusion. "I . . . um . . . what's Quidditch, sir?"

"A sport of high aggression and high danger, played, for the most part, by arrogant fools with no sense of self-preservation." He paused, and continued less bitingly, "Some people seem to enjoy that sort of thing."

"I don't think I'll like it, sir," the boy said, and peered at him through that thick fringe of hair, as if judging his reaction.

Severus, watching him, hesitated, knowing full well his influence on the child's sense of things, even at such an early time in their relationship. He could turn the child completely against James and everything he stood for, everything he valued and held dear. It was in him to do this, and he could do it well. But . . . but he knew Lily would disapprove, and, in the end, wasn't he taking the boy because he was the only one who had loved her enough to do so?

"No?" he said finally. "I shouldn't think you'd want to make a decision like that until you've seen the game played. I daresay you'll be able to make a more informed decision about your preferences then."

"Yes, sir," the boy said, and Severus was sure he could see the hint of a smile on his lips.

He studied the boy for another moment, surprised anew at the child's patience, and also his resilience. It had not been a full day since he'd been rescued, and Severus was amazed by the change in the boy's demeanor. "So, we were going to get you something to eat. In your room, or downstairs?"

Harry hugged himself around the middle and didn't answer right away. Severus noted that the boy did that when feeling particularly nervous, as if protecting himself. He thought he might know why.

"There's no wrong answer, Harry," he said quietly. "Either would be fine. Dappin can bring food in here as easily as the dining room."

"I'd like to stay in here, sir. If I can?"

"Of course, you may. Why don't you settle yourself on the bed, and I'll let Dappin know we'll be eating here." He turned away while the boy was climbing into the tall four poster, and summoned the house elf, giving her instructions for their dinner. In a few minutes, they each had trays on their laps, Harry's in the bed, and Severus' where he sat in the nearby chair. Harry had broth, more milk, a little bit of boiled potato, and some applesauce, while Severus had a glass of red wine, beef the broth had come from, candied carrots, potatoes with parsley, a slab of fresh bread with butter, and sliced pears for dessert. Though the boy attacked his food with abandon - and they were going to have to work on table manners, for certain - Severus caught him eying the more substantial meal with something like envy.

After one such glance, Severus dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Tomorrow, we'll give you a try on some of this, too, all right? Maybe some bread, or fresh fruit? I don't want to make you sick, with too much too soon, you understand."

"Yes, sir," the boy mumbled, and turned back to his own tray, and Severus' felt a pang of something he would have termed "guilt" in anyone else. But it wouldn't do for the child to be ill, after all the work he'd done so far in getting him better.

"Tomorrow," he said after observing the child a bit more, "someone will come to perform the adoption ceremony. He will be interested in meeting you, and might perhaps want to talk with you. I'll be there," he added quickly when the boy's head came up with fear in his eyes, "the whole time."

"Yes, sir."

"The ceremony is not long," Severus continued, "but during it, we will both need to shed a little blood. Just a pinprick. Not even enough to hurt." The boy still looked doubtful, so he offered, "Do you want me to show you? I could test it on my own arm for you."

Harry bit his lip and seemed to be considering, trying to guess the right answer again. Instead of making him decide, Severus conjured a sharp pin and showed Harry his right arm. He poked the skin near his wrist with the pin and a drop of blood welled on the spot. "See? That's all." A moment later, he banished the blood and waved away the tiny wound.

The boy looked greatly relieved. "And then . . ." The boy swallowed. "Then I'll be your son?"

"Yes, Harry. Then you'll be mine."

----

Harry didn't sleep well that night. He tossed and turned on the big bed, and found it hard to get comfortable despite the soft, clean bedding. It was dark in the room, and he didn't like the dark very much. Not complete dark, anyway. He hugged his knees close to him and stayed as close to the middle of the bed as he could get, curled into as tiny a ball as he could.

In the morning, the reddish glow of dawn spread slowly across the foot of the bed, and Harry got up and rubbed at his eyes, glad to not have to try and sleep any more. He had to go to the bathroom again, and crept down the hall to the washroom as if someone might jump out at him at any moment. No one did, but he rushed through his business, and scampered back to the bedroom as quick as he could. Master Snape - no, Father - said he was allowed to go whenever he wanted, but he might change his mind. Uncle Vernon often did that, and mostly didn't tell Harry, either, until after he'd broken a new rule.

Unsure of what he should do now, Harry went to the window to look outside. The house was on a narrow cobblestone street, and huddled up close to the nearest one, though this house was at the end of the street. There was a short, wrought iron fence in front, with a gate in the middle. It didn't look like the lawn -- a little patch with some peaked looking flowers -- had been tended very well. Maybe he could earn his keep that way. Master Snape had said he didn't have to, but he knew he would, really. He was worthless if he wasn't working. That's what they always said.

Sitting lightly on the edge of the window sill, Harry touched his throat carefully, but the chain was gone, just like the other times he'd checked. Master Snape had healed his neck, probably, like he'd done with all the rest. Harry knew he'd have to earn that out, too. Medicine was not for worthless little whelps, Aunt Marge always said, that should've been drowned at birth. He ought to be grateful he got anything at all.

Turning back to the room, he decided to make the bed, and then he could get dressed. But he didn't know where his clothes were, hadn't seen them since he woke up. Maybe they were being laundered? Maybe he could ask Dappin for them; she probably knew.

It took a little while to make the bed, as it was almost taller than he was, but he finally got the pillows in order, and the quilts smoothed out and straightened. He was just reaching for another of those cloths when the door opened and Master Snape stood framed in the space.

"Good, you're up. Hungry?"

"Yes, sir, um, I mean, yes, Father."

Harry's father actually smiled, and the darkness in his eyes softened. He was dressed in day clothes again, but none like Harry had ever seen. Like a housecoat, except longer and thicker, this one was dark green with black piping at the edges. "Come downstairs then, and Dappin will have breakfast ready for us." He waited in the hallway for Harry to follow him, and when Harry reached the door, he added, "We'll need clothes for you, for the ceremony today. And in general, too, but especially for today."

"Yes, Father, but, um . . ."

"What is it?" Father asked as they reached the top of the stairs.

"Clothes are expensive, and I'm not--"

"You let me worry about clothes, Harry," his father said sharply, and Harry made himself nod.

"Yes, sir." Harry hunched his shoulders. He'd made his Father angry, and they hadn't even done the ceremony yet.

The silence stretched on for a long moment, before his father spoke again. "Let me help you down the stairs. That ankle shouldn't be walked on."

Harry looked at the tall, lanky man who was going to be his father. He stood with his arms out, as if he expected Harry to go to him, but Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, really. Biting his lip, he stood, undecided and still worried about what his father would do, now that he was angry. The man stepped toward him, and without even thinking about it, he backed away.

"Harry. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to carry you downstairs." This time his voice was soothing, not harsh at all, and maybe a little sad. Feeling stupid and embarrassed, Harry turned his face away.

"Would you rather eat in your room?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. Please."

"Very well. Go on back in, and I'll let Dappin know."

"Yes, sir," Harry said again, and returned to the room alone.

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.

Severus watched Dappin usher Madam Collin into the dining room, and then lead Harry there as well, while he started signing paperwork that would go to the Ministry. Before he went through the doorway, Harry looked back at him, searching his face for something. Reassurance? Severus gave a small nod, and the boy, seeming relieved, followed the house elf to where he could get some lunch.

"He squints," Severus remarked to Albus, who stood just behind him. He was remembering the same scrunch-faced look from other times the boy had peered at him.

"Yes. He wears glasses."

"I haven't seen any." He looked at Albus. "And how do you know?"

Albus waved a hand dismissively. "I had a picture of him from a few years ago."

This was news. He frowned. "And how did he look?"

"Thin," Albus said softly. "And with big green eyes behind bigger glasses." A soft chuckle. "Rather like Professor Trelawny, in that respect."

"Trelawny?"

"My Divinations professor. She's been at Hogwarts eight years now."

Severus sneered. "Divinations. A more useless waste of time I've never encountered."

Albus put a hand on his shoulder. "There are many who would agree with you, my dear boy. But not every portent is false."

Severus turned to face the Headmaster. Something in his tone was troublesome. The clear blue eyes held nothing untoward, but he felt a sudden ache in his gut that warned of future hurt. "Such as?"

"Prophecy," Albus said simply.

Scoffing, Severus turned back to his parchment and made another sweeping signature with his quill. Prophecy indeed. Nothing but soothsayers and buskers. And yet . . . his mind churned, and he looked toward the dining room. "Do you mean--"

"I don't mean anything, dear boy. How could I?" But Dumbledore's smile rang false this time, and Severus could not shake off the feeling that there was something he needed to know. Something that was . . . Oh.

"She was the one you were interviewing at the Hog's Head. The one . . ." He drew a sharp breath. "Oh, Merlin."

"You didn't know, Severus. Don't blame yourself."

Disbelief warred with disgust at himself, at the base man he had been, and could be. "My eavesdropping, Albus. My report killed them! How can I not blame myself?"

"You did not know," the Headmaster said again, as if that absolved him. Which it did not, of course, and Severus knew he should save the rest of his recriminations for another, more private, time.

"What will Harry think of me?" What would it do to the poor boy's fragile trust, when he found out that his parents had been murdered because of his new "father"?

"Don't, Severus. Don't tread down that path. It will serve only ill to do so."

With a sigh, Severus nodded. Enough of maundering about ghosts. He had a very real, very alive child waiting for him in the other room. For now, he could put it to the side. He looked at the paperwork, and considered. Harry was his now, in blood, and could be, in name. Taking the "Potter" away from him would make life here much safer for the boy, which was one of the reasons they were doing this, right? Safer if no one knew a former Death Eater was now parent to the Boy Who Lived. Of course he had no ulterior motives in removing the surname of his nemesis . . . Oh, who was he kidding? "He doesn't look much like James," he murmured, still considering.

"No. He's pinched too thin for that. Maybe with glasses . . ."

"He does have her eyes," Severus remarked, recalling Albus' earlier comment.

"Yes. And his father's hair."

James' hair, perpetually windswept as if he'd just stepped off a broom. He saw little of that in Harry. Though, to be honest, the boy's hair had gone from matted with blood and dirt to dampened curls after his shampoo, with little in between to give Severus any idea of its true look. Harry could have been blond before, for all he knew. "How can you . . . ah, the picture?"

Without answering, Albus leaned over and looked at the parchment. "Thinking of changing his name?"

Severus nodded. "He should keep 'Harry,' as I think it might be too confusing for him else. But he should be 'Snape' now, too, as he is my heir."

Albus smiled, warmly this time, Severus thought. "Of course. And for the middle?"

"I thought perhaps to just add my own in. Traditionally. So, Harry James Severus Snape."

"Sounds quite good."

"Quite."

---

Nibbling on a cracker Dappin had pressed into his hand, Harry waited for his father. He sat at the table, elbows off, like he'd heard Aunt Petunia say to Dudley a time or two, and his chair was pushed most of the way in, thanks to Madam Collin's help. His feet didn't come anywhere near the floor, so he swung them idly back and forth and watched the door to the sitting room, where his father was still talking to Headmaster Dumbledore.

His father seemed to like the old man well enough, but Harry wasn't sure. Something about the way man watched him, even though he was always smiling, made him feel . . . odd. His scar itched, and he rubbed a hand across his forehead. Dudley said that scar made him look like a monster, like Frankenstein, all sewed together, and Aunt Petunia always turned up her nose when he asked anything about it, and reminded him that he should have died in the car accident, and should be grateful to just have a scar to remember his parents by.

But she'd been lying, or so Harry's new father said. But if his parents didn't die in a car, then where were they? Were they still alive? Would they come and take him away from his new father? The idea made him feel cold and ugly inside. He didn't want them to come; they'd never come when he'd been at the Dursleys, only Master Snape had. Master Snape was the one who had taken him away, and told him to call him Father. Not them.

He tugged a bit on his tie, under the pretty robes, and loosened it, not liking the feel of anything round his neck, then scratched at his forehead again. Madam Collin had looked at his scar, and so had Headmaster Dumbledore. He wondered why, but knew he wouldn't ask. Maybe they just thought he looked like Frankenstein, too.

Done with his cracker, Harry licked his fingers clean while looked at the rest of the food at the table. Just for a minute, he let himself dream that he would get to have some. There was something that looked like mince pie, and some biscuits, many covered with icing, and a platter with slices of sweet smelling ham, surrounded by tiny potatoes. A bowl of green beans sat next to one of raisins and shredded carrots, in some sort of dressing, and several baskets of rolls were placed strategically, steam still rising from their contents.

His mouth watering, and his stomach aching with hunger, Harry made himself turn back to the sitting room door, wondering what his father was doing. Was he changing his mind?

Harry jumped when a hand fell on his shoulder, and almost fell off his chair in his haste to get away. Climbing to his feet, Harry gripped the ladder back tight and stared up and Madam Collin.

"Forgive me, Harry." Her brows had drawn down in a V over her eyes, and she didn't look sorry, really. "I did not mean to startle you."

Tightening his hold on the chair, he glanced at the doorway to the sitting room again. "Yes, ma'am," he said automatically.

Her frown deepened. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Yes, ma'am." He darted a look at her face -- lickity split, so she couldn't tell on him -- then down at his new, shiny shoes. He'd never had new shoes before, unscuffed, with no holes or anything. And new clothes, too!

The woman moved, and he did, too, keeping the chair between them instinctively. She was silent for a long minute, but he could feel her eyes on him, and he didn't like it. "Who hit you?" she asked suddenly.

"Ma'am?" His gaze stayed on his feet. He recognized that tone. He was in real trouble now, and it would only be worse if he was impertinent. Somehow, Uncle Vernon must have found out where he was, and he knew Harry hadn't kept quiet about being hit, like he was supposed to. He knew! Had his new father told him? Had Madam Collin?

The woman moved again, and though he wanted to run, he couldn't. Fear froze him to the spot, and moreover, he knew if he ran, it only made things worse. It always made things worse. But she didn't hit him, just touched his cheek, where it was still bruised a little, and achy, but not bad, not like it had been, when Dudley kicked him. Then her fingers brushed over his neck and he couldn't help it, he jerked away.

"What happened, Harry? I didn't see before, but your face is bruised . . . and what is this scar on your neck? Who did this to you?"

"I fell," he told her, the only answer he was allowed to give.

"You fell? Harry, that's not --"

"Why are you interrogating my son?" asked a cold voice from the doorway to the sitting room. Harry's father stood there, and Dappin stood just beyond him, wringing her hands.

"Professor Snape!" Madam Collin turned, and Harry let out a relieved breath. "I was certainly not interrogating him. But those marks concern --"

"They are no one's concern, except for mine, and my son's." Harry's father's face was blank, but his dark eyes snapped fire. "I will thank you not to waylay him when I am otherwise occupied."

"Children's welfare is my concern!"

Harry's father opened his mouth again, but the Headmaster interrupted. "Enid, we will discuss the matter further another time. Not at present."

Harry watched their faces from under the fringe of his hair. Madam Collin looked tense and unhappy, but then she let out a gusty sigh. "Very well, Headmaster. May I expect a full report?"

The Headmaster, smiling, nodded. "I believe lunch is served." He moved into the room, having to push Harry's father in front of him, and took a seat at the table. He glanced at Harry's father, who frowned back. Something was going on, Harry knew, and it didn't feel right, but his father sat down, after helping Madam Collin into a seat beside the Headmaster.

"Everything smells wonderful," the Headmaster said, and Harry had to agree with that. Maybe if he was really quiet, they'd let him stay in the room while they ate, and he could at least still smell everything. He concentrated on making himself small, and unnoticed, hiding behind this chair, so they'd forget he was there. But then the Headmaster looked at him directly, over his glasses. "Why don't you sit down, Harry, and we'll celebrate your new family with a delicious dinner."

Instead of sitting down, though, Harry looked at his father. "I can stay?" he asked, scarcely allowing himself to hope. Though his father looked suddenly as if he'd been slapped, his face going white, except for patches of color on his cheeks, he gave a curt nod.

"Thank you, sir!" he said, and climbed into the chair. Dappin pushed it a farther in, so his face was level with the table, but he could still barely see the tops of the platters and bowls, and couldn't see his own plate except for the side. But he had a plate!

The chair shook suddenly, and he shot up into the air, then jerked to a stop. His chest was now at table level, and he could see everything! Eyes wide, he gaped at the table, and then at his father, who was just tucking something that looked like a brown pencil into his sleeve. What had happened? How had the chair gone up like that? He bit his lip hard, and looked at his plate. His father had said he could ask questions, but he knew better than to ask about how freaky things happened. Sucking in a quiet breath, he waited for the yelling to start.

But it didn't.

Instead, when he glanced up again, he saw that his father had taken his plate. Oh! No food then. Disappointed, but not surprised, he looked down at his hands and clutched them together to keep them from shaking. He wasn't really hungry; he wasn't! He'd had breakfast, after all.

"A little of everything, I think," his father said quietly, and Harry looked at him, cocking his head to the side, not sure what he meant.

But then his father put some of the carrots on his plate, and a spoonful of beans, a slice of ham, two small potatoes, and one of the rolls. He put the plate in front of Harry as he said, "All right then?"

Harry's mouth hung open, and he almost forgot his manners. But his father raised an eyebrow, and Harry blurted, "Yes, sir, thank you, sir!" He grabbed one of the potatoes off the plate, and was about to cram it in his mouth when he caught his father's frown.

"Wait until all have been served, Harry," he said very quietly, so probably only Harry could hear him.

Harry nodded and dropped the potato on his plate. "Yes, sir."

In an even softer tone, his father continued, "And use the silver."

"Yes, sir."

His father offered him a small smile, and Harry basked in it for a moment. When he looked at the silver, though, his stomach tightened. There were two of everything: forks, knives, spoons. Which was he supposed to use? Instead of ask, though, he watched his father, after everyone was served from the bowls and platters, as he picked up his outermost fork and used it on his carrots. Harry followed suit and took his outermost fork, too. Noting what he'd done, Harry's father winked at him covertly, and Harry gave him back a little smile.

"Harry," his father said, while Harry stabbed at carrots with a fork gripped tight in his fist, "now that you're my son, do you want my surname as well?"

Harry frowned. "Surname? You mean 'Snape'?"

"Yes."

"I'd be Harry Snape?"

"Harry James Severus Snape, actually. If you are amenable."

He remembered what "amenable" meant. It meant, if he wanted to. Harry nodded quickly. "Yes, sir, um, Father," he corrected, remembering that, too. Finally spearing a bite of carrots, he scooped it into his mouth before it fell off. They were tangy and juicy and really, really yummy. He chewed, swallowed and nodded again. "I'm 'menable."

When his father gave him a smile that reached his eyes, he felt sure he could fly.

Late in the afternoon, after Madam Collin had gone with all the papers his father had been signing, Harry drowsed on the settee in the sitting room, head back, feeling pleasantly full. The Headmaster was still there, talking with his father. The Headmaster was in the overstuffed chair by the fire, and Harry's father perched on the other end of the settee. Their voices were quiet, and lulled his eyes closed. His chin bobbed against his chest several times before he felt someone lift him up, and settle him on a lap.

Relaxed enough that he barely struggled, Harry was soothed by the low voice he recognized as his father's, telling him to shush, and that he was safe, and no one was going to hurt him. Though wanting to believe, Harry still pulled away until a gentle hand touched his hair and carded fingers thought it. The feeling touched something deep inside his chest, and he leaned into the touch like a cat. Another hand drew his head down to rest on a cloth covered chest, and he could hear his father's heart beat through the robe. As long as he could hear that sound, he was safe. He rested one of his own hands on his father's chest, too, and could feel the heart beat, and he took a low, shuddering breath. His father's arms encircled him and held him close.

The murmuring voices continued, but he was too tired to follow them much. ". . . be a problem?" his father asked. His voice rumbled in his chest, and Harry could feel it against his cheek.

"Not at all. . . . very discreet."

". . . won't let . . . interference."

". . . understand . . . take him . . . Hogwarts?"

"End of the week. . . . clothes and . . . used to magic."

Harry squirmed in his father's arms, feeling suddenly alarmed, but too lethargic to rouse more than that. He gentle hand returned and smoothed over his forehead, and his father's voice murmured his name, and he relaxed again.

". . . anxious, you see? . . . relatives told him . . ."

". . . over it, I daresay. . . "

The voices went on, but Harry had succumbed completely to sleep, feeling truly safe for the first time in what felt like forever.

---

Some time later, Albus rose to leave, and Severus got up with him, the boy still in his arms.

"He looks comfortable," said the Headmaster, with a fond look at the boy.

Severus rearranged the boy on his hip -- and how had he realized immediately that it would be easier to carry him thus? -- and cupped the back of the boy's head with his hand as the boy nestled his head in where Severus' neck met his shoulder. Harry's warm breaths whispered against his skin. "I'll have to wake him soon, or he'll be up all night."

Albus looked doubtful. "From all appearances, he could use a great deal more rest than he's recently acquired."

Severus frowned down at the thin body as his fingers combed through the soft, raven-black hair. It was long enough in the back to cover the neck, and would require a tie soon. Had James had long hair? No. Just that mussed, untamed mop. This hair was more like his own. Would the blood ritual work that fast? "He didn't sleep well last night, I don't think." Neither of them had.

"Did you have him under monitor?"

"No. Not last night."

"Give it a try tonight, then," Albus suggested. "It may be that the unfamiliarity of a new room makes him too nervous to relax well."

Severus nodded and Albus left a few minutes later. Madam Collin had gone hours ago, to file the adoption papers. He really hoped she would not make an issue of the marks she'd seen on Harry's body, or his odd behavior at dinner when he seemed to think he would not be fed. Dumbledore was certain she would not, but Severus was not as trusting as his mentor.

Regardless, it was done. No one could take the boy from him now.

He carried the boy upstairs, removed his shoes, socks, robe and tie, leaving him in trousers and shirt, then covered him with a light quilt, planning to wake him in an hour or two for some supper. Then perhaps he would show Harry the rest of the house, and they could relax a while before bedtime. In the meantime, he could work in his study on some lesson plans he'd been considering for his upper level classes.

Harry had other ideas, apparently, and woke twenty minutes later, screaming.

Harry had other ideas, apparently, and woke twenty minutes later, screaming.

The scream cut off before Severus was half out of his chair.  He bolted upstairs, almost frantic now.  Surely the boy was dead, or maimed or . . .  He hurtled through the door to the boy's bedroom and stopped dead.  The boy's mouth was open in a scream, his body rigid, eyes screwed shut, and fists tight against his sides, but Severus could hear nothing.  Absolute silence.

Someone had put up a Silencing spell. . . . the boy?

Pushing such thoughts away to consider later, Severus banished the spell, then immediately winced as the raw sound of his son's agony swept over him in a wave.  He rushed to the bed and tried to gather Harry in his arms.  But the boy fought back, much harder than he had when Severus had picked him up downstairs, this time with fists and nails and teeth.

"Shh, Harry," he soothed, but the boy would have none of it, flailing and kicking as if his life depended on him getting free.  "Harry, stop now, you're safe.  Come on, Harry, shush now.  Harry!"

At the sharp word, the boy's eyes snapped open and met his.  In an instant, Harry sagged against him like a puppet whose strings were cut, reduced to soft whimpers and hiccups.  Tears pooled in the brilliant green of his eyes, but did not fall.  He boy rubbed them away viciously with his fist.

"What happened, Harry?" Severus asked as he settled the boy more into his lap.  "Did you have a nightmare?"

The boy shook his head quickly but whispered, "Sorry.  M'sorry, sir."

Frowning, Severus considered the boy's expression.  Harry looked afraid, as if he expected a beating.  Slowly he said, "It's all right if you did have a nightmare, child.  I won't hurt you.  I'm here to help."

Harry stared up at him, then looked away, shaking his head again.  Severus suppressed a sigh.  "If it wasn't a nightmare, what happened?  Did something hurt you?"

Hesitating again, Harry nodded.  "All in my bones, sir.  Everything."

Peering closely at the child, Severus tried to figure out what might have hurt him.  He knew the blood ritual was bound to make some changes in how the boy looked, on a cellular level, but the change was supposed to happen over time, not all at once.  And it wasn't supposed to be painful.  He could detect no differences, however.  Harry's nose was still small, like Lily's, and his thin eyebrows arched over his expressive eyes.  He had high cheekbones, in a narrow face that needed to fill out more, and would, with a decent diet.  His hair, dark and fine, bore more resemblance to Severus' own that it had to that of either James or Lily.  So what had changed?

"Does it still hurt, Harry?" he asked at last.

"No, sir."

"Are you sure?"  He knew the boy was unlikely to tell him the truth about this matter.  He was stoic beyond reason, really.

"Yes, sir."

With an audible sigh this time, Severus helped the boy back onto the bed, then angled himself so that they sat side by side, but could still see the boy's face.  But Harry stared at his hands.  "You remember, I told you that you don't need to call me sir, don't you?"

"Yes, si . . . yes, Father."

"And how I said I'd rather you looked at me when we're speaking?"

"Yes, Father."  Wide, frightened eyes met his, blinking rapidly.

"Good.  Now, I want you to tell me how you made yourself very quiet, so I couldn't hear you when you were being hurt."

"Father, please, I . . . I didn't do anything!"

He tried to scrabble backwards on the bed, but Severus held him firm with an arm around his thin back.  The boy fought him, though, and Severus kept his voice as calm and soothing as he could.  "Harry, it's all right.  I'm not angry.  I just want to know how you did it."

"I didn't!  Please, sir, I'm sorry.  It won't happen again, I swear!  Please-"

Oh, Merlin.  What had those monsters done to this child, to make him fear his magic so?  "It's all right, Harry," he said again.  "I'm not angry.  You're not going to be punished."

He boy gulped a breath, then hiccupped.  Severus patted his back lightly.  "I'm not?"  His voice was very small.  "Really?"

"Really.  Now, tell me how you created the silence around yourself."

Though he hunched his shoulders, the boy seemed to relax a fraction.  "I . . . I dunno how, sir.  ‘Cept that I'm a freak."

"Harry," Severus said, letting a bit of disappointment seep into his tone.  "I asked you not to use that word."

The thin eyebrows drew down over puzzled eyes.  "You mean ‘Sir'?"

Severus shut his eyes briefly, feeling the start of a headache.  But the boy was so earnest.  "No.  There will be times when you may call me, or other adults ‘sir.'  What I was reminding you of was ‘freak.'  I will ask you again not to use that word in this house."

"But I--"

"No, Harry.  I will not bend on this.  I told you before, your relatives lied to you.  You are not a freak because you can do magic.  You are a wizard."

"Magic is a bad word, sir," the boy whispered.  "You said . . ."  His face screwed up in consternation.  "Didn't you say it was?"

"No.  You misunderstood me."  Severus kept his voice very soft, gentle,  knowing that any sign of anger would frighten the boy and set this fragile trust they were building back immeasurably.  No matter the rage he felt rising in him again.  Imagine telling a wizarding child that "magic" was bad and should never even be spoken about!  A visit to those Dursleys was in order, for this and their many other transgressions.  Immediately, if he could manage it.  "Magic is not bad.  Neither the word nor the deed."

"Really?"

"Really, child.  I am very happy you are a wizard.  Very pleased indeed."

Giving Severus one of his rare smiles, Harry leaned in close to him and whispered, "Me, too."

---

Some time later that evening, after Severus had settled Harry in the library, with instructions that he could look at, but not touch any books unless Severus was there, and making sure Dappin knew to feed the boy if he wasn't back by suppertime, Severus Apparated to Privet Drive.

The sun was low in the sky, as it had been two days previous, when he had first found the boy in the back yard.  This time, a car was in the drive, identical to the car at the house next door.  Good.  He wouldn't have to wait for them.

Clothes transfigured into Muggle-appropriate ones, and wand glamoured to look like a cane, Severus marched to the front door and rapped upon it.  A shout of "Boy!" sounded from inside, followed closely by a higher pitched call of, "Boy's gone, ‘member, Dad?"

A third voice, this from a woman, hollered, "Duddikins, get the door, will you darling?"

"Mummy, I'm playing my new game!"

Moments later, the door opened to reveal a horse-faced woman with a long neck, skinny arms and a sour expression.  She looked Severus up and down, and said sharply, "We're not buying."

"That is fine," Severus said, "for I have nothing to sell."

"What do you want then?"

"I have come," Severus told her, and placed his foot neatly across the threshold, "to discuss what you did to Harry."

The woman's pale face lost what little color it had, but she put up a front, even so.  "I don't know what you're talking about.  Harry who?"

"Harry Potter, though he is no longer called that.  Your nephew.  The child of your sister, Lily.  You are Petunia Dursley, are you not?"

"I . . . I . . ."  She turned and shouted.  "Vernon!  There's a man here asking about Lily's boy."

The roundest man Severus had ever seen thundered around the corner from their sitting room.  His face was red and getting redder by the second.  A bushy mustache hovered over protruding lips, and his eyes held a manic gleam.  "We don't know anything about that.  Now get out of my house!"

"I'm afraid I don't believe you, Mr. Dursley," Severus said smoothly.  He pushed his way in, past Petunia, gripping his wand securely.  "Because I found the boy chained in your backyard just two days ago."

"You!  How did you-"  The man seemed to realize what he was saying and cut himself off.  "I have no idea what you're talking about.  None at all!"

"I still don't believe you."  Severus produced one of his most menacing glares, and was gratified to see the bluster seep out of the huge man.  "And I have come on behalf of the boy to exact your punishment."

"You've come - punishment - what?"  The bluster was back, and Vernon Dursley stomped forward, obviously intent on intimidation.  It didn't work.

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus caught sight of the whale of a boy he'd met the other day, sneaking to the top of the stairs to watch the confrontation.  He sneered.  "Your son told me, himself, what you'd done to Harry.  Told me where he was."

"I didn't either!" the boy, Dudders or Duddikins or whatever he was called, shouted.  "Piers told him ‘bout the dog."  Vernon shot a look up the stairs, and Dudders clamped a hand over his mouth, too late.

"Now look here," Vernon started, putting up his hands and moving back a step.  "That whelp is dangerous.  You should have seen the things he's done.  I did it for his own good!"

"His own good."  Severus' voice dipped lower, to its most dangerous.  The red-faced man blanched.  "I have never met a person I more wanted to destroy than you, not even the Dark Lord, and he personally tortured and killed every person I ever loved.  But you!  Starving a child, beating him, chaining him up like an animal.  You're lucky the boy seems to have a kind heart, for many's the wizard who would have destroyed Muggles like you the first time you dared to lay a hand on him.  Yes, you got away with it for a good long time.

"But no more."

Dursley was trembling in front of him, hands still held up to pacify, but Severus was past the point of pacification.  He pointed the cane at the enormous man and canceled the glamour so the tip of his wand was mere inches from the man's fat forehead.  Sweat poured off the pink skin and ran down his flabby cheeks.

Severus snarled, "Legilimens!" and sank into the man's memories, searching out any that had to do with Harry.  What he saw sickened him and fueled his rage to new heights.  No wonder the boy was frightened of his own magic and sudden movements.  No wonder he only responded with his set two words: "Yes, sir," or "No, sir," and had thought himself a house elf, for he had known nothing else in his whole existence here.  His anxiety about having a room of his own was plain now, too.

He wrenched himself out of the man's mind without consideration for the pain such an exit would cause, and smiled grimly when  Dursley collapsed onto the floor, holding his head.  He lifted his wand to his next target, not sure what to expect, but bracing himself for the worst.  "Legilimens!"

Lily's sister had amazingly erected a semblance of a block to the spell, but it was flimsy as spun candy and he tore it to shreds, searching her memories for signs of the boy.  The woman huddled on the floor as he ripped through her mind, finding the reason the boy was so painfully, desperately thin and shied away from touch, and why showers were far preferable to baths.  Bile rose in his throat as he poured through the years, looking for anything, any memory at all that would mitigate the horrors these people had put Harry - his son! - through.

He found nothing.

Even when his wand turned on the son, the blubbery Duddi-dipkins, all he saw was a series of hurtful pranks, petty persecutions and outright violence perpetrated against the little boy who had found a way into Severus' heart.  This sadistic boy had broken Harry's arm and was responsible for the hurt ankle, many of the bruises, and for a thousand smaller traumas and taunts.

Enough!

The three Dursleys were on the floor, pale and shaking and repentant, with tears and pleas that would never reach him.  Severus was unmoved.  Instead, he told them, "Every sleight, every hurt, every unkind word or deed you inflicted upon my son, every one of these will come back to you threefold.  You will not rest, as he did not.  You will not eat, as he did not.  You will hurt and find no comfort, as you gave none to him.  You will find no respite, and no mercy here.  Priori Malum Res, Redeo!"

The screams from within the house, as Severus shut the door behind him, were like a balm, the smallest piece of vengeance, and he felt lighter already as he returned to his home and his son.

Alone in the library, Harry waited for his new father to return. He sat very still in one of the large leather chairs, and tried very hard not to fidget, ‘cause fidgeting wasn't allowed. Dappin had showed him in here, and said he could look at the books, but he wasn't to touch them. Harry knew better than that, anyway. He wasn't ever allowed to touch anything. Whelps and freaks and dirty little boys would only ruin things if they got too near, he knew that.

Hands in his lap, Harry concentrated on keeping his legs from swinging back and forth, but it was hard going. He listened to the tick-tock of a nearby clock, and tried to figure out what time it might be from the occasional chiming in the quiet room. But it was no good; he couldn't see the clock from where he was sitting, and the chimes were different from any he'd ever heard.

Aside from shelves and shelves of books, the room contained the chair Harry was sitting in, two others very like it, a desk with all sorts of papers on it, two lamps on end tables, and several glass cases that held some very interesting things. From where he sat, he could make out some of the stuff in the nearest case - a set of binoculars, except real small and with a handle, a silver dagger with a wavy blade and a green stone in the hilt, and a brooch like Aunt Petunia wore on Sundays and when there were guests for dinner, except this one was silver and green with a big S in it, instead of just showing the head of a lady. A couple more things lay in the case, but he couldn't see them without standing up . . . which he would never do, not on the furniture, no matter what Dudley said!

Except for having to be still, Harry liked the quiet of the library. It was well shaded from the sun, and thus cooler than his bedroom - his bedroom! - though the leather chair was warm under his legs. He was wearing the nice new clothes from earlier in the day, when he'd gotten a new father, and he was glad he hadn't spilled anything on himself when they ate dinner. Not even the pie with cream, the first real mince pie he'd ever eaten! He'd been really careful.

Harry considered the ceremony again. He could hardly forget it! It was weird, the way he'd felt after he drank the wine. He wondered briefly if Uncle Vernon ever felt like that after drinking. If he had, though, he wouldn't be so mean, would he? ‘Cause the one sip of wine had made Harry feel so very, very good, like he was flying and surrounded by happiness, all at once. No, Uncle Vernon could never have felt like that.

Bringing his hands up to rest on the arms of the chair, Harry stared at the toes of his shiny new shoes. His new father had already given him so much, and so had Dappin, but when Harry thanked the house elf for helping him with his laces earlier, she had almost cried and then tried to hug him, but he didn't like people grabbing him, not even small people like Dappin. He thought he understood her shock, though. After all, no one had ever thanked him when he was a house elf; he was just supposed to be quiet and not get in the way or make a fuss or be seen at all. But he also knew he was supposed to say thank you when someone helped him, or gave him something. Not that either had happened very often before he came to this house.

To keep from fidgeting, he thought more about the day. His new father had said magic was not bad, that he could say the word and not be punished. That he could even do magic and not be hit. But Harry didn't really do magic, did he? Just accidents, like when Dudley and his mates had been chasing him, and he'd ended up on the roof of the school, or when his teacher's hair turned blue that day she was yelling at him to pay attention, when he could barely sit down for the soreness on his legs and bottom.

And the Silencing. The Dursleys hated noise. They especially hated it when he made noise. And when he had the bad nightmares, the ones with the glowing red eyes in, he couldn't hardly help but cry out for help. Uncle Vernon had taught him lessons about waking them up in the middle of the night, or making any noise when having a lesson, that he would never forget. So he did the Silencing, but he wasn't sure how. He just knew he was supposed to be quiet, even if his whole body hurt like it was all on fire at once, like earlier today. Everything would be worse if he wasn't quiet.

But it was magic? And he was allowed to do it?

He wondered if he could do any magic on purpose.

How would he know? He didn't even know how he did it. Maybe, if he thought real hard about something magic happening, like . . . like a glass of milk suddenly appearing on the table next to him, ‘cause he was real thirsty, maybe he could do that?

He squinched his eyes shut tight and thought really, really hard, concentrating on what the milk would look like, and even taste like, in a tall, clear glass, not the baby cup Aunt Petunia sometimes made him drink out of. But when he finally opened his eyes, nothing had appeared. Disappointment swooped into his stomach, like a sudden fall off the last, unseen stair. But he was used to that, so he set his face back to "No attitude now, boy!" which Uncle Vernon preferred, and waited some more.

Maybe he wasn't really a wizard. Maybe his new father wouldn't want him, if he couldn't do the magic on purpose. If he couldn't, he'd have to make sure his father never found out then.

On the heels of that thought, he heard a whoosh, then a thumping sound from the other room, the sitting room, and he gripped the arms of the chair anxiously. Sounded like someone had fallen, someone big. . . like Uncle Vernon. Quickly, he scuttled off the chair and onto the floor behind it, like his Uncle always told him, ‘cause dirty freaks weren't allowed on the furniture.

But it wasn't Uncle Vernon who came into the room. It was his new father! He stood up when his father frowned at him. "What are you doing on the floor?" his father asked.

Feeling faintly queasy - He'd messed up already. How stupid was he? - Harry bit his lip and glanced at the chair. "I . . . I'm not allowed, sir?"

"You most certainly are allowed on the chair. Any chair." His father's frown deepened. "Except in my private study. That's off limits."

"Yes, sir."

"Harry . . ."

"I mean, yes, Father. Thank you."

"You're welcome." His father's face softened and he held out a hand. "Come here, Harry."

Swallowing thickly, ‘cause nothing good ever came from being to told to ‘come here,' he nevertheless did as he was told. But rather than put him over a knee, or lock him in a cupboard, his father gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

Father led him out of the library and into the sitting room, where they both sat on the settee, and Father turned to look at him. "This is your home, Harry, and you are allowed to go anywhere you want within its walls. Except where?"

"Your study, sir, um, Father."

"Correct. I have other rules, some of which we have already discussed. Do you remember?"

"No saying, ‘freak,'" Harry recited dutifully. "And I'm to be obedient and polite, but not to call you Master Snape, but Father. I can look at you when you're talking to me, and can use the loo whenever I need to, without . . ." he swallowed again, not quite believing, "without even saying thank you. I must use silver at the table, and wait till everyone's served before eating." He thought a moment more. "I'm ‘lowed to ask questions and say the word ‘magic.' And Silencing's okay."

Father stared at him, his mouth a small O. He must've said it wrong. Oh, no, he'd gotten the rules wrong! But which one? He tried to remember if any of them had changed, but maybe Father changed one while he was gone! Harry braced himself, but his father just looked at him another moment, then blinked, hard, like he was waking up.

"That's . . . very good, Harry. I'm glad you remembered all those rules. Now, the only one I think there's been a misunderstanding on is the Silencing, as you call it."

Harry's stomach sank even lower, and he tried really hard to keep looking at his father, ‘cause that was one of the rules, but he knew he'd been bad to do such a freaky thing, and it was awfully difficult not to stare at his feet instead. "Yes, sir. I won't do it again."

"Good." Father paused, and his eyes narrowed. "You think I don't want you to do any magic anymore, don't you?"

"Yes, s - Father. I know it's bad."

Father sighed. "That is not the case. I only wish for you not to Silence yourself when you are hurting. Remember what we said earlier?"

Harry shrugged up one shoulder and then hastily dropped it again. "Oh! And no shrugging!"

The corners of Father's lips drew up, very faintly, in what Harry realized was his smile. "Correct. No shrugging. But we were talking about Silencing. Do you remember why I don't want you to do that when you're hurt?"

"N-no, sir."

"Because I want to know if you're in distress. If you are hurt, or having a nightmare, I want to know, so I can help you."

Harry frowned, confused, and decided to ask a question. It was kind of scary, though, and made his stomach see-saw inside. He drew a deep breath. "Help me do what, sir?"

Father's face crumpled a little, like he was sad or upset. "Help you feel better," he said softly, and something inside Harry crumpled a little, too, at the sound of the words, and the sadness in them.

He stared at his hands, now, folded in his lap again. "No one's . . . I don't know . . . Why, sir?" He looked up at his father, feeling oddly adrift and not understanding how he had gotten here.

"Because you're my son, and that's what fathers do."

Harry thought about it for a minute, and remembered how Dudley was allowed to crawl into bed with his parents when he had a nightmare, and how Aunt Petunia always made a fuss over Dudley if he scraped his knee or fell off his bike, and he nodded. "Mums do, too, right?"

Father snorted a soft laugh. "Mums, too, yes." Another pause. "Harry, your Mum was . . . was a good friend of mine in school. I . . . I loved her very much. And I promise you, I will take care of you to the best of my ability. I owe it to her . . . and to you." Father waved his hand in a gesture Harry was beginning to learn meant he was done talking about something and wanted it to go away now.

"But, other rules," Father said sternly. "No Silencing, understand?"

"Yes, Father."

Father spared him one of his thin smiles; it was the first time Harry hadn't stumbled over what to call him.

Harry's answering smile was quick. He liked making his father happy, even if he couldn't do real magic.

"Good. And you will be responsible for keeping your own room neatened. No toys or clothes on the floor."

"But, Father, I haven't got-"

"Any toys, or clothes. I know. You will have them, before the week is out."

"Really? Of my own?"

"Yes, child. Of your very own. Now, you must not be late for meals. If you can't yet tell time, then Dappin or myself will call you."

"I can tell time! Only, not when I can't see the clock."

"That would make it more difficult." Father tapped his lightly upturned lips with one slender finger. "Perhaps, at first, we'll just make sure to call you for meals, until you learn where all the clocks are."

"Thank you, sir."

"You will have a bath every night - or a shower," Father amended, after seeing that Harry was going to protest. He'd told Dappin that baths were only for babies, but really, he just didn't like what happened in them. Showers were much safer. Faster. He was relieved when his father allowed for showers, instead. "And clean clothes each morning. Dappin will help you with selections."

"Yes, Father."

"You are allowed time in the back garden each morning, but as it's rather hot there in the afternoons, I would prefer your time after lunch to be indoors. Dappin will show the garden to you tomorrow."

There was a garden in the back? That must be where he would do his house chores. He nodded enthusiastically. He hated doing outdoors work once it got really hot, especially if he wasn't allowed drinks or shade. "Thank you, Father," he said.

His father reached over and patted his knee, which Harry thought was kind of odd, but since it didn't hurt, he didn't flinch away. Well, not too much. "I think that's enough for now. Why don't you go get washed up for supper, and meet me in the dining room in ten minutes?"

"Yes, sir!" Supper, too! This had been a very good day.

----

Severus watched the boy scramble toward the stairs and suppressed a sigh. The pure moment of glee he'd experienced at forcing the Dursleys to take on all the punishment they had dished out to Harry over the years, had vanished quite completely when he'd come face to face with the reality of a boy who thought he wasn't allowed on furniture and who had no memory of ever being comforted when he was hurt. Once again, he wondered how he had ever thought he was cut out for this. What did he know, anyway, of damaged children? He had been one himself! Hardly a glowing recommendation.

Before supper, though, he had one more errand. Going into his study, he closed the door, and tossed a bit of Floo powder onto the hearth. Emerald flames shot up, and he called, "Albus Dumbledore!"

Moments later, Albus' head appeared in the flames. "Good evening, Severus. How is everything? No troubles, I hope?"

"No. Not really." Severus sighed. "May I come through?"

"Of course, dear boy." The Headmaster's head vanished, and Snape tossed in a bit more powder, called for the Headmaster's office and stepped into the flames. After spinning around for the time it took to say the password, he slid gracefully out of the Floo and into Albus' circular office.

"Thank you," he said, cleaning his robes with a wave of his hand.

"Please, please sit down. Lemon drop?" the Headmaster offered, holding out a tin.

"No, thank you," Severus replied, although he did take a seat. "I visited the Dursleys," he said, bypassing all the annoying chit chat that might otherwise have gone on. "And performed the Priori Malum Res."

"Ah." Albus steepled his fingers in front of his face and peered at Severus through the tent.

"I make no apologies. I just thought you should know."

The Headmaster nodded. "It has been a long time since that curse was invoked."

"It's not Dark Magic, Albus!" Severus rose and paced the room. "Anyway, they deserved it. And I had right of kin!"

"So you did. But, the threefold law is a little . . . harsh for Muggles, don't you think?"

"If you'd seen . . ." He might as well confess it all, now as soon as later. "I Legilimized them first."

"All of them?"

Damn Albus and his soft, not-quite-accusing tone. "Yes," he snarled. "Even the boy. Seven years old, like Harry, and already more a bully than Black ever was, at his worst. He showed off Harry - who he called the dog, by the way - to his mates, and then egged them on when they took turns beating him."

Dumbledore sighed heavily, his blue eyes tired and drawn, but pierced to the heart of the matter, to his conscience. "How long will it last for them?"

Severus looked right in his mentor's eyes, knowing he would probably be Legilimized himself, and not giving a whit. "Six years, I suspect. As that's how long they've had the care of him. They won't die of it, but they might wish they had."

"Very well." Albus put the tin of lemon drops away in a drawer. "Is there anything else, Severus?"

"Yes, a trifling matter," he said, rather stiffly. For all Severus was grateful to the Headmaster and the help he'd provided on Severus' "legal troubles" with the Ministry, Albus could be a right pill sometimes. "Harry woke from his nap this afternoon, screaming. I could find nothing wrong with him, but he said everything hurt, down to his bones. But his appearance is unchanged, and anyway, I thought the blood ritual took months to work itself out."

"It does," Albus agreed.

"Another thing, he cast a perfect Silencing charm around himself, while still sleeping! Says he had to do it with the Dursleys because he wasn't allowed to make noise, even in his dreams."

"Quite talented, then, at his age."

Severus glared at him. "You're not even listening, are you? The boy has taught himself magic as protection from those bloody creatures, and won't even tell me when he's in pain! I want to know what the hell went wrong with the ritual. What fresh pain can I expect for my son, since he won't tell me about it himself?"

"None, I would suspect," Albus said serenely. His eyes had somehow regained their twinkle, and Severus didn't trust that a bit. "At least, not from any external magic. He will certainly have an adjustment period, living with an actual parent for the first time."

"You know something," Severus bit out. He didn't like the twinkle, nor the fond tone Albus had taken with him. "What are you hiding?"

"Me? Severus, you should know me better than that."

"I know you better than to expect a straight answer, you mean." Severus unclenched his fists and wondered for the hundredth time if he was doing the right thing by putting himself under the old codger's aegis. But what choice did he have, really?

"I always tell you everything you need to know."

"And not a tenth of what I want to know," Severus muttered. He grabbed the container of Floo powder, and wrenched off the lid.

"See you on Friday, then. With the boy."

With a barely civil nod, Severus flung powder into the flames and headed home.

Harry screamed in his sleep again that night. And without even realizing, he put up the Silencing spell. But Severus had already put up charms to wake him if Harry's sleep was disturbed at all and so was warned when the boy's nightmares started. In his room across the hall, he rolled over at the incessant buzzing sound, realized what it was after ten or fifteen seconds, and then lunged from his bed to the boy's room. He found Harry flailing around in the bed, caught up in quilts and sheets that had his trapped and practically hyperventilating . . . but silently.

Severus canceled the spell, bracing himself for the screams he now knew would follow, and then gathered the boy in his arms. For another few minutes, he had to fight the boy's fists and feet as Harry struggled to free himself from the one holding him, but when the boy finally wakened, his eyes were round as saucers and Severus knew he could never tell this child he couldn't do accidental magic, no matter how much it troubled him. The boy was rigid with fear in Severus' arms. His skin was flushed and sweaty from his exertions, and Severus spoke softly to him, saying, "Shush, now, Harry. It's all right, now. I have you . . ."

"Daddy," the little boy whispered, his breath hitching, and he sagged bonelessly, burying his face in Severus' shoulder, tiny, stick-thin arms snaking around his neck.

Startled, Severus patted the back of Harry's head rather awkwardly. Daddy? "Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Harry nodded against Severus' shoulder. His breath came in hot gasps. "Was awful. Sh'was screaming."

"Who was screaming, Harry?"

"The lady wiff red hair. An then there was green light and she was dead."

Severus felt cold all over and held the boy more tightly. Lily. He'd dreamed of his mother's death. "It's all right," he murmured.

"S'not all right," the boy argued. "She's dead, and I never got to know her."

"No," Severus said. "No, you never did."

After that, there was some more back patting, and Dappin brought them cocoa, which the boy said he'd never had before in his life but pronounced "Brilliant!" and then tucking in again. Severus left a small ball of light, about the size of a Remembrall on the side table, which Harry could watch as it flowed through various colors, if he wanted.

"Try to sleep again, though," he told his son as he started to shut the door. "Tomorrow will be a busy day."

"Father!" the boy called. "Please . . . leave it open?"

Severus nodded and did so, making sure his own was open a bit, too, when he returned to bed, in case the boy sought him out during the night. The rest of the night passed fairly uneventfully, although Severus got up several more times, just to make sure the boy was all right, one time needing to cover him up properly, as all his bedclothes had been kicked off.

In the morning, he sat on the edge of the bed, still tired, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. How comfortable he'd become in such a very short time with the idea that Harry was his son now. Smiling faintly, he performed his morning ablutions and met the boy as he was coming down the narrow stairs to the sitting room. The boy was in the clothes he'd worn yesterday, though without the robes, and his dress shoes clacked menacingly on the steps.

"Clothes, today," Severus announced, looking the boy up and down. "Directly after breakfast."

Harry's eyes widened, but he said nothing except, "Yes, sir."

Severus' lips thinned, but he nodded once and led the way to the dining room where breakfast was already laid out. Once the child settled himself in a chair, Severus lifted it for him like he'd done before. Instead of looking horrified, this time Harry laughed with glee as the chair shot up, even though his fingers closed spasmodically on the arms of the chair. It was the first time he'd heard the boy laugh, and Severus resolved he wanted to hear the sound more often.

Harry looked over the table, naked hunger in his eyes, but did not reach for a single scrap. Severus picked up the platter of eggs and served a helping to himself, and Harry watched, eyes flicking from platter to spoon to plate and back in nervous anticipation. "Would you like eggs, Harry?"

The boy bit his lip rather than answer right away, and Severus cursed himself immediately. From his invasion of those Muggles' insect-like minds, he knew that same question - if answered in the affirmative, particularly - had almost always been jeered in response, by Harry's relatives. "Too bad, then, that you've been a horrid little boy and aren't getting any," from his aunt, and, "Only if there's any left after I'm done, right Mummy?" from the cousin.

So . . . "Have some eggs, Harry," Severus said, covering the awkward silence, and scooped a generous helping onto the boy's plate.

Harry gazed up at him with such adoration it made his heart lurch. "Thank you, sir."

"And bacon," and he popped three strips onto Harry's plate as well. "Toast, too." Two pieces of buttered toast followed, filling the plate.

"Thank you, sir!" Harry said again. He picked up his fork -- again in his fist, they were going to have to work on table etiquette soon -- but waited patiently for Severus to finish serving himself and lift his own fork.

"It's all right, Harry. You may eat now."

It took no more than that for the boy to cram the bacon in his mouth, with his other, forkless, hand, making it disappear faster than Severus would have ever thought possible, as if he were still sure that it would all be taken away. And, from the memories of his relatives, he knew it had been. Still . . . "Slow down, child. The food isn't going to vanish."

Looking chastised, Harry paused briefly with a second forkful of eggs only an inch from his mouth. The fork trembled as the boy eyed Severus, like he was waiting for the signal to start again.

"I just don't want you to be sick, Harry," Severus told him. "If you eat too fast, you will be."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and ate the eggs, actually managing to chew once before swallowing.

Severus suppressed a sigh. Manners would come better once the child wasn't so afraid of not being able to eat at all, he supposed. Until then, he could just avoid looking at Harry whilst at the table.

After breakfast, Severus showed the boy the rest of the house, including the kitchen, where Harry seemed rather too cheerful looking at where pots and pans and cleaning supplies were kept, much to Severus' dismay. And in the garden, he had to remind the boy that he was not a house elf, again, and would not be expected to do any gardening, but to play.

The image of the boy cocking his head to the side as if Severus had uttered a foreign word when he said "play" would stay with Severus forever. He recalled his own childhood, never a fond recollection at the best of times, which had been almost unremittingly gloomy and forlorn. Almost. This child . . . for him, the word "play" was foreign, but Severus vowed it would not always be so.

Thus, directly after they visited the clothier and had Harry measured and fitted for shirts, trousers, short trousers, pants, socks, sleepwear, shoes and robes, in various colors and levels of decorum, they toured the toy store next door, and Severus told Harry to pick out a few items. He watched the child's face as they went through the establishment, and the look of wonder as Harry took in all the magical toys and their noises and flapping wings and exhortations to "Play with me!" was pure gold.

Harry did not touch anything, but his gaze lingered on several toys that, when Harry tried to select toys that were small and inexpensive -- cheaply made, too, if Severus were to be honest -- with the obvious hope that if he didn't ask for more, that he'd at least get a little, Severus shook his head and led the boy back to their aisles. In no uncertain terms, he told Harry to take the brightly painted, fully functional flaming set of Romanian dragon figurines, the bag of blue and green gobstones, and lastly, the child's starter broom.

He imagined by the end of a week, he'd likely have cause to regret all the purchases, but for the moment, seeing Harry's unadulterated joy was recompense enough.

Like the clothes, he shrunk the toys and put them in his pocket, with a promise to hand them over to the boy as soon as they were home. Then they saw an Optician and had Harry fitted for glasses that had him exclaiming even more excitedly than he had for the toys. At last, they stopped in at the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry held the menu awkwardly in his little hands, up close to his face, but didn't seem to be actually looking at it. He stared at the table and mumbled incoherently when asked what he wanted to eat.

Severus frowned. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir, er, Father." His new glasses made his eyes brighter, rounder, and he wasn't squinting anymore, which was a definite improvement.

Another thought occurred to him. "Can't you read the menu?"

Red bloomed on the boy's cheeks before he looked away with a one shoulder shrug.

"Harry . . ."

"Sorry, sir!" He put down the menu and folded his hands in his lap, looked down at them miserably.

"Harry, I'm not concerned about your shrugging right now. I'm concerned about your reading. Didn't you learn when you were in school?"

The boy swallowed and shook his head.

"Whyever not?" He didn't seem addlebrained.

Unaccountably, Harry's eyes filled with tears. He swiped at them viciously with tiny fists. "'Cause I'm stupid."

"No. You aren't stupid. Anyone who could remember all the rules in my house is possessed of, at the least, a superlative memory."

"Am," the boy insisted. "Aunt Petunia said . . ."

"I'm sure," Severus said quietly, when Harry didn't finish his sentence, "that your aunt has said many things to you over the years which are simply not true. I've mentioned as much before, correct?"

Harry still didn't look at him, but he jerked his head in a tight nod.

"Just so. Now, were there any subjects you liked at school?"

"Yes, sir. Maths."

"Good. What did you like about it?"

"I can count fast, and numbers're dead easy to write out. There's only ten."

Severus nodded. Tom came to their table to see how they fared, and Severus waved him away irritably. When the man had gone, he said, "See now, that's well done. Why does reading give you trouble? And mind, I won't take the answer you gave before."

Harry's shoulder hitched up. "It's hard to think about."

"The reason is hard?"

Shaking his head, Harry said, "No, sir. In classes, was ofttimes hard to think."

"And why is that?" Severus asked, although he had a couple guesses.

"I'm easily distracted," Harry said, sounding like he was quoting something. "And after morning break, I'm often moody and unpredictable."

"Really. Who told you that?"

"Aunt Petunia."

Severus had mentally said the words along with the boy. He shook his head. "When did she tell you that you were moody and unpredictable?"

"When my marks came in, first year. She said the teacher told her so. And her Dudders was such a good student, 'twas a shame he had to go to school with the likes of me."

"Was . . . Dudders in your class?" He almost choked over the nickname. Merlin's drawers.

"Yes, sir.

"And when he was in class with you, did he ever distract you from your work?"

Harry finally looked at him, expression quizzical. "Sorry, sir?"

"Was he ever loud and obnoxious in your presence, to the point of keeping you from concentrating on your work?" He knew damn right well Dudders had been, but wanted Harry to see for himself. "Did he ever deliberately take your work and ruin it, or goad others into doing so?"

Very quietly, Harry said, "Yes, sir. Sometimes."

Severus nodded. "And during your morning break, after which you were so moody and unpredictable, did your cousin ever attack you or goad others into doing so?"

"Sometimes, sir." The boy looked completely miserable, and Severus finally relented.

"Do you think, if you were not being hounded by that oaf of a cousin every minute of the school day, that you might be able to concentrate on learning to read? And maybe even get better at maths?"

"Maybe," the boy admitted.

"Mm," Severus agreed and gestured for Tom to come over now, that they were ready to order. "We shall have to see."

---

The next couple days passed in a whirlwind for Harry. He tagged after Dappin and helped her with chores, and even though she said she didn't need him to, she always squeaked happily when she saw him. In the garden, he learned the names of all the flowers and plants, and recited them back to his father at dinner, and made his father give that light twitch of the lips that said he was pleased. During the day, Father was often busy with his own school work, he said, and so Harry played either in the garden or in his room, with the new toys his father had given him, especially the broom!

He loved flying, and only wished he could go higher than the kid's broom let him. He was only allowed a few feet off the ground, but his father said that when he was older, he could ride a bigger broom that went all the way into the sky. He'd see them, Father said, at Hogwarts, where they were going to stay during school.

Father had a lot to say about Hogwarts.

The best times were after dinner, when Father would sit Harry in his lap, in a comfy chair in the library and they looked at books together. Father made a game out of learning letters and sounding them out into words, and every evening before bed, he said Harry was very bright and would be reading on his own in no time. At bedtime, Father would tell Harry a story about the Wizarding world, sometimes about Hogwarts and the kinds of things he could expect there -- like real ghosts! -- and sometimes they were like fairy tales that Miss Egglestrom sometimes read to them in day school, with dragons and giants and monsters in.

He still had nightmares, though, awful ones with the red-eyed snake man and the green light that killed the lady. And others, where he still had the collar on his neck, and then Dudley put him in a cage and poked him with sticks while Piers chanted, "Dog breath, dog breath," at him and Uncle Vernon pulled the leash tighter and tighter until he couldn't breathe.

Harry's father never said again that he shouldn't put up the Silencing, and even though Harry did put it up, 'cause he couldn't hardly help it, as it was accident when he was asleep and all, Father always woke him from the terrible dreams and held him close, saying soft things, until he was ready to go back to sleep. Sometimes, he even stayed, sitting on the bed, when Harry'd laid back down, and his hands were gentle as they rubbed circles into his back, or carded through his hair. Harry hardly flinched at all anymore when he did that.

Harry even found a friend, in the garden. A red-banded snake had slithered near him when he was playing Dragon Battle! and its tongue tickled his ankle. He'd asked Father about snakes, and why their tongues flicked out like that, and he'd said they were tasting, so Harry said to the snake, "What do I taste like?"

The snake's head rose a little bit, and it regarded him with surprise, like the other snake had, back at the Dursleys. "You sssspeak?" it asked.

Harry didn't take offence this time, and just replied, "Yes. Aren't there any others who can?"

Harry didn't know if that was a good thing, or not, but decided if Hasseth liked it, it must be okay. "You can stay there if you want, and keep warm," he told the snake. "But I don't know if I can take you inside."

Grinning, Harry went back to his game, occasionally chatting with Hasseth and telling it all about Hogwarts, too.

Faster than he expected, it was time to go to the school.

They took a Floo -- which Father said was not the same as "Flew, like on your broom," even if it sounded the same -- like they had when they went to Diagon Alley, the Wizard shopping place. Harry hadn't liked it much when they went through the fireplace, fearing to be burned like had happened a couple times when Aunt Petunia punished him for dropping things in the kitchen. But Father said the fire wasn't hot when the magic powder was thrown in it, and that it was one of the fastest ways for wizards to travel.

Harry didn't tell him that he wasn't really a wizard, and couldn't really do magic, because he didn't want to see the crinkle-eyed look that let him know his father was upset or sad. So he took Father's hand and Floo'd to Hogwarts. He got a mouthful of soot, like he had the last time, and his father waved away the dirt from his clothes with the stick he usually kept up his sleeve, which he called a wand.

They stood in a big room, with all kinds of shiny, spinning things in them, and behind a desk sat Headmaster Dumbledore. Harry hid behind his father's leg, but Father didn't let him do that for long, but put a hand on his shoulder and brought him out to stand in front of him.

"Good morning, Harry," the Headmaster said.

Harry's father squeezed his shoulder a little, so he looked up at the old man with the funny robe and pointy hat and answered, "Good morning, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir."

The man smiled and his bright blue eyes sparkled like twin diamonds and held out a tin with candies in it. "Sherbet lemon, Harry?"

Harry bit his lip and glanced at his father, who inclined his head, so Harry reached out to take one of the candies. "Thank you, sir," he said and popped the treat in his mouth. It was very sweet and fizzed on his tongue. He grinned.

The Headmaster looked over his spectacles at Father and his smile deepened. "You have a very fine young man there."

"Of course," Father said, and his hand patted Harry's shoulder. "He's my son."

Harry felt his chest glow with happiness and sucked merrily on his candy while the two men talked.

"Let me have one of the house elves show you to your quarters. We've had to expand them, somewhat, to accommodate your changed circumstances. I've taken the liberty of assigning an elf to assist you with child care, during class times, if you are amenable."

Harry perked up, knowing what "amenable" meant, but he stayed quiet, like he was supposed to. Father looked over at him. "That seems wise," he said. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it, Severus. We've had parent teachers here before and I daresay we will again." He looked at Harry again, and Harry couldn't help but squirm under his penetrating gaze. "He looks a great deal like his father, doesn't he?"

Now Father was staring, and Harry tried hard to keep his head up, but it was very difficult, when he wanted to be small and invisible. "He does," Father murmured. "And so soon."

The Headmaster chuckled, and Father's head snapped toward him. He looked angry, and Harry ducked his head quick. But Father didn't say anything mean, and didn't hit or throw anything, but his grip on Harry's shoulder tightened, just a bit. "It's all right, Harry," he said softly. "I'm not angry."

Harry gave him a quick glance, not really believing him, and Father amended, "I'm not angry with you."

Only then could Harry relax.

A few minutes later, they were riding stairs that moved! Down to a long, corridor with a high ceiling and shiny wooden floors that Harry thought he might like to try flying his broom around in. Two ugly statues were at the bottom of the stairs, and someone who looked like Dappin, only shorter and with yellowish eyes instead of green.

"I is Nelli, sirs," the house elf said. "And I is showing youse to your chambers, Master Snape, Master Harry."

"Thank you, Nelli," Father said, and Harry echoed him.

The house elf bowed, smiling happily, and led them down the corridor to a wide set of stone stairs with banisters that would be just brilliant for sliding down. Above their heads, more stairs jutted from walls and even as Harry watched, several of them moved, swinging away from one connection and creating a new one.

"Father, did you see?" Harry asked, pointing.

"Yes, Harry. I told you about the stairs."

It was true, he had, but Harry hadn't been sure what he meant. Stairs just didn't move. "Yes, sir, but did you see it?!"

Father's lips twitched in his half-way smile and he nodded, taking hold of Harry's hand and following the house elf around the back of the grand staircase to a narrower corridor that slanted downwards. They followed the long hallway down to another set of stairs, and past many doors until they came to a blank wall.

Nelli stopped and pointed. "Here is being youse rooms, Master Snape and Master Harry. Master Dumbledore is saying the password is for your changing to whatevers you want. Now the passwords is Chocolate Frog."

At her words, the wall moved, like the stairs, swinging inward. A secret door! Harry clapped his hands together. "Father, did you--"

"I see it, Harry," Father said, but he sounded happy, not irritated, and led the way into their new home.

Severus watched Harry explore his new room. Albus had done well by the boy; the room was of a decent size, and airy, with a magical window in one wall that showed the Hogwarts grounds. Harry stared at it for long moments before turning round.

"Father, is that . . . ? I thought we went down a long way."

"Yes, we're underground here. It's a magical window. That's the Quidditch pitch you can see there."

"They play Quidditch here? On real brooms, sir?" They had - much to Severus' dismay - read a book about Quidditch (a gift from Albus, the Old Meddler) together one evening, and the boy had thought of almost nothing else, as far as he could tell, since learning it was played on brooms. Harry seemed to have a fascination with flying that went beyond anything Severus had ever heard of, and he despaired of keeping the boy's feet on the ground.

But for now, Severus nodded, and the boy grinned and went back to his explorations. The wardrobe was already hung with his clothes, and the full sized bed was draped in blue and gold curtains. A trunk at the end of the bed held extra quilts, and Harry used a shelf on the wall to arrange his collection of dragons, as well as his Gobstones, which Dappin had taught him how to play with. The house elf had become very fond of Harry, Severus knew, and was most upset to be left behind at Spinner's End.

This room even had its own bathroom, and though not as grand as the master bath, it was large enough for a sunken tub, basin and toilet. Rather than looked pleased, however, Harry stood in the door of the bathroom and stared, lip between his teeth.

With a frown, Severus surveyed the room, and the boy, before he realized what was wrong. "Move back a bit, Harry," he said, and Harry startled, but did as he was told. Severus drew his wand and in a few swishes and one flick, he transfigured the tub into a wide shower instead, the glass paneling covered with brooms chasing after golden snitches.

"Thank you, sir," Harry breathed.

Severus nodded again. They were going to have to discuss this particular fear of Harry's one day. But not now. Today, they had other things to address. One that he'd been putting off for some time, and another, newer development.

"Come out to the sitting room. We need to talk," he said, and the boy obeyed, looking suddenly fearful. To reassure him, he said, "You're not in trouble. We just have to . . . I have some things I need to discuss with you."

Looking slightly less nervous, but not at ease by any means, Harry stood in the sitting room, in front of the chair Severus settled into, until Severus waved him into a seat on the davenport. Putting up a privacy charm, to prevent any eavesdropping by Meddling Old Codgers, he peered around the room again.

The accommodations here were quite nice, really. The furniture was in neutral tones, and of a comfortable level of plushness for one's back. The walls were lined with built-in bookshelves, and there was plenty of space for more bookcases, should he need them. He probably would. A small private potions lab lay at the end of the hall, opposite his own bedroom, which was next to Harry's. There was a study as well as this sitting room and a small kitchen. For the most part, they would avail themselves of the house elves' cooking, but every once in a while, he liked to make his own tea, thank you very much.

Once his gaze returned to Harry, sitting with his hands neatly folded in his lap, still looking for all the world as if he were about to be chastised, Severus sighed a little. "Harry, look at me, please."

The boy lifted his gaze, but not his head, and Severus found himself staring at Lily's eyes, through shaggy bangs the color of coal. He was very glad after the adoption ritual that the boy still had her eyes, even though every time he saw them, he felt a pang for the chance he'd lost so long ago.

Choosing his words carefully, Severus said, "We talked very briefly before, about your parents and how they died, do you remember?"

Harry nodded. "You said they lied, my Aunt and Uncle did. That my Mum and Dad weren't really in a car accident."

"Correct." Severus unclenched his hands and made himself take a deep breath. If this was hard for him, he could only imagine how it must be for Harry! "The dreams you have . . . the lady you see in them is Lily. Your mother."

Harry's face paled as if he'd been slapped. "I hear her screaming . . ."

"Yes, child. Your parents - James and Lily - died when you were just a baby. The green light you see in your dream, that is called the Killing Curse. It's magic, but the very worst kind of magic. A Dark Wizard used that curse to kill them."

His mouth a little O, Harry stared at Severus as if he'd never seen him before. Severus waited, as Harry's brows drew down into a scowl reminiscent of his own. A few minutes later, the boy said slowly, "Aunt Petunia always said I . . . that I should've died with them. Did . . . did the Dark Wizard try to kill me, too?"

As gently as he could, Severus said, "Yes, Harry. But he didn't succeed. He vanished instead, and you ended up with just that scar on your forehead."

Harry clapped a hand to his scar. "I thought I got it . . ."

"In the car accident?" Severus tried hard not to sneer at the very idea. But Harry only nodded, and so he continued, "No. It's a curse scar, and will likely never fade. And many people in the Wizarding world know you survived the killing curse. They will know you by that scar."

The boy looked so confused, Severus relented. "I know it's a lot to take in, but Harry, you have to realize, no one else has ever survived that curse. The fact that you did, and that the Dark Lord has not been seen since the night he tried to kill you, makes you rather famous in our world. There are those who will fawn over you, those who will expect much more from you, and there are those who will not believe you capable of such magic and will resent you for it."

He paused, and considered whether to say more, but he had to, if he were to properly address the next issue. "And then there are those who followed the Dark Lord, who will be . . . less enthusiastic about the fact that you sent him scurrying. Those people, you will need to be careful of. I will protect you to the best of my ability, of course. But you will have to be vigilant as well."

"Vigilant?"

"On your guard. Even here, at Hogwarts, I'm afraid. Some of the children here have parents who once followed the Dark Lord. Of course, many of them say they were forced to act against their will, but . . ." He sighed, and stopped. There was no reason to get into the reasons why some Death Eaters were in Azkaban and others were not. It was enough - perhaps even too much - for the boy to know they were still out there.

"Will they try and kill me?" The question was so earnest, and serious, from such a young, innocent face that Severus wanted to scream from the unfairness of it all. This boy had been through so much, in his short life. Unloved, uncared for, aside from his first year, abused and neglected, then uprooted from everything familiar and told his parents were murdered . . .

But he owed Harry the truth. "They might," he said softly. "You will need to be very careful around them, and it is possible no one will mean you harm. But you will also be under my protection," he reminded him. "And I will keep you safe."

Harry nodded once, his expression not quite believing, and for some reason, that made Severus even more angry at the Dursleys than he had been since the night he cursed them. That they had used their six years as the boy's guardians to teach him little except for how not to trust that anyone would protect him, and that there was naught he could expect from life but pain. He hated them for it, and wished he'd used the Killing Curse on them instead, or had them sent to Azkaban where their every torment would plague them forever in the clutches of the Dementors.

But while his own legal status was mostly secure right now, he knew the Ministry still considered him just another Death Eater that they hadn't been able to imprison and would jump at the chance to rectify their lapse. As well, too much publicity about the Muggles the Boy Who Lived had been placed with would just put Harry's status in jeopardy. Thus, he had to content himself with knowing that at least for the next few years, the Dursleys would not have a moment when they were not reliving - as though in Harry's place - what they'd put him through. At least in their minds.

"Do you have any questions?" he asked now, though he suspected he had overloaded the boy with information that he'd have to process.

As expected, Harry shook his head. "No, Father."

"Then we have one more issue to discuss. We have been invited to have tea tomorrow with an old . . . friend of mine. He has a son about your age, Draco, who is also my godson. The Malfoys are an old Wizarding family, very influential in some circles, and they are anxious to meet you."

Harry was quiet again, and when he spoke, Severus was quite pleased that he seemed to understand the implications of the two topics he'd presented. "Do I need to be careful around them, then?"

"Yes. But Lucius Malfoy is very well thought of at the Ministry, just now, and it is unlikely he would do anything to jeopardize his position."

"Okay."

"Good." Severus rose. "It's nearly lunchtime. Why don't you go wash up and I'll have the house elves send us something to eat."

"Yes, Father!"

Severus watched the boy scramble off to the bathroom, the prospect of a regular meal still as exciting to him today as it had been earlier in the week. One day, he hoped Harry would take such things as meals and safety for granted.

---

After lunch, Harry's father sent him off with Nelli, so he could get some work done, he said, in his new classroom. Harry didn't mind, ‘cause Nelli was willing to show him around Hogwarts, though she said she couldn't take him out to the pitch without specific permission from his father. She showed him where the kitchens were, though, and some of the nearby student bathrooms, which he thought were huge and grand, with marble fixtures, and odd statues peeking out from corners. In the corridors, they passed hundreds of suits of armor and millions of statues, all of them wizards and witches, Nelli said, and Harry tried to read the plaques on their bases, but couldn't parse many of the words, only some of the letters. Nelli showed him some of the other classrooms, too, and they even toured a beautiful summer garden before she took him into the Great Hall.

Harry stood in the doorway of the enormous chamber, gaping up at the sky. They were indoors, and yet . . . the sky! Like his bedroom back at Spinner's End, but this one was so huge!

"It changes, Master Harry, sir, when the weather changes outside," Nelli said.

"It's brilliant! Is it magic?"

Nelli nodded happily. "Oh, yes, Master Harry. Hogwarts is having magic in the walls and in all her rooms and everywhere."

"Really? Is it all good magic?"

"Yes, Master Harry, sir. Hogwarts magic is the bestest kind of magic. House elves, like Nelli, sir, very much like working here."

Harry smiled at her. "I like it here, too."

"What have we here?" a voice drawled, behind them.

Harry jumped and spun in place. A very ugly man with stringy hair and beady eyes looked him up and down and scowled, more nastily than even Father could manage in his worst moods. A scraggly cat wound in and around his legs, its yellow eyes blinking slowly.

"Sorry, sir! I was just looking."

The man's face darkened as he caught sight of dirt from the garden on Harry's shoes. "Sneak in here, did you? Not enough to spend all my time cleaning up after brats while school's in, now you come in to ruin my work in summer, too? I won't have it!" The man grabbed Harry by the collar. "I'll have you to the Headmaster, boy!"

Though usually very fast, Harry was surprised enough that he did not dodge in time to avoid the man's claw-like grip. Too quickly, he found himself dangling by the collar, toes barely touching the floor as the man dragged him back down the corridor. Harry's breath came very fast, and he caught at the door frame, but the man was strong and pulled him away. The hard wood scraped his hands raw.

"Nelli!" he cried, but the house elf vanished with a pop. The man didn't slow, and Harry knew he was in real trouble, probably he'd get a beating. "Please, sir! I'm sorry. I didn't know I wasn't s'posed to go-"

"Shuddup, ye whelp. The Headmaster will hear of this. I'll have you in chains ‘fore the day is out, you mark my words."

No! Oh, no. Not the chain again, he couldn't . . . Harry could barely breathe, and thought, if he could just get to his father, if he could just get away for a second . . . He scrabbled at the hand gripping his shirt, digging into the man's flesh with his nails, and though the man cursed him and shook him hard, he didn't let go.

Oh, no. Please. He wanted to scream, but after the man shook him, he couldn't get any air into his lungs, couldn't breathe at all. Father, help!

A bright white light flared around Harry for the briefest of moments, then formed into a ball and darted away, toward the massive stairs and through the door to the dungeons. The man dragging him forward didn't pay any attention to it, though, and hauled him to the steps. Harry's feet and ankles banged on the steps as the man swung him up each one. Harry clawed at his shirt, bunched tight at his throat. Flecks of light sparked in his vision as the rest of the world went dark.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!? RELEASE MY SON AT ONCE!!"

The air crackled like just before a thunderstorm, but he wasn't scared. His father was here now, and he could let go.

Daddy came for me. That was Harry's first thought upon waking. The second was that his head hurt. He was in a bedroom, not chained in the backyard, and when he opened his eyes, just to peek, he saw he was in his bedroom, the new one at the castle. His glasses were on the nightstand and he stretched out for them and pushed them onto his nose.

That's when he heard the voices. Loud ones. Angry ones. Out in the sitting room, down the hall. Father, and . . . and the Headmaster.

"-want him dismissed, Albus! The way he manhandled the boy . . . almost choked him to death. I won't have him near Harry. I won't have it!"

"Don't you think you've done enough to the man already, Severus? Be reasonable! I know Argus was harsh, but he didn't know who Harry was-"

"In Merlin's name, why not? You knew we would be here today. Didn't you tell him?"

"I informed the entire staff, of course. But I suspect he didn't--"

"Didn't what? Care a whit who the child was or that he had every right to be there? If Nelli hadn't come to me immediately, I don't know what would have happened."

There was a long pause, and the Headmaster's voice was much quieter when he spoke again. Harry crept to the doorway and listened, like he'd always done back at the Dursely's, from within his cupboard. "What of the Patronus message?"

"Harry sent it. A cry for help." Father sounded sad all of a sudden. Harry couldn't remember sending any message, just the bright shock of light and then his father, there, saving him. "It would have come too late. He had passed out when I reached him, as it was."

But you saved me, Daddy, Harry wanted to tell him. It wasn't too late.

"I doubt he would have let it go further than that. He's already powerful--"

"Albus . . ." There was a warning note in his father's voice, that Harry could hear loud and clear; it was rarely so low and sharp at the same time. "You have no idea what those Muggles put him through. It went on quite far enough without his magic kicking in to save him. It's quite possible Filch could have killed him without Harry fighting him at all. You'll notice his spell work has not been geared toward getting him out of a situation, but towards mitigating it instead. The Silencing spell, to keep his suffering to himself? And then sending a message instead of just striking that bastard dead!"

Harry couldn't contain his gasp. He knew they were talking about him, and his accident magic, and he hated that his father sounded so upset about his Silencing, when he'd thought it was okay for him to do it now. But he couldn't kill anyone, even if they were really, really mean! Even the Dark Wizard who killed your parents? a little voice wondered. Harry told the little voice to shut up, even as the door opened wide to reveal his father staring down at him.

"Did you hear enough?" Father asked, his voice still cold and hard as glass.

Making himself stand his ground instead of darting behind the bed to hide, Harry nodded shakily. "Y-y-yes, sir."

Father lifted one eyebrow and took hold of Harry's shoulder, propelling him into the sitting room. He was angry. And Harry deserved his anger, he knew, for eavesdropping and for being in the Great Hall. "Sorry, sir," he said. "I'm sorry."

But his father didn't answer, just kept that one hand on his shoulder, kept moving them inexorably toward the Headmaster. Just like that scowly man had said he was doing. And the Headmaster would hang him in chains! He dragged his feet and tried to push back against his father. "I'm sorry! Please, sir, I didn't mean to look at the sky! Please, don't put the collar on again!"

The hand abruptly left his shoulder, and he fell backwards, against the wall of the short hallway. He gasped again as the ache in his head pounded harder.

"What?!" Father asked. "Harry, what are you talking about?"

"The man - he - he said - Headmaster would - would put - put me in chains, sir," Harry told him, between gasps. But he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't! "Please, don't, sir. I'll be good, I promise!"

"Oh, child." His father crouched in front of him, where he was half curled up on the floor. When he tried to put a hand on Harry's head, though, Harry jerked sideways, away from him. Father withdrew his hand. "There will be no collar, never again. Mister Filch is . . ." Father gritted his teeth; Harry could hear them grind against one another. "He is not a nice man. He will never do any such thing to you. And neither would the Headmaster."

"No, sir," Harry said, because he was supposed to, but he couldn't help making it sound like a question.

"That's right. I would never allow it." Father sat back on his heels and held out his hand. "Please get up, Harry. I am not angry with you."

Harry bit his lip and looked into his father's dark eyes again but didn't take the hand, not yet. "I didn't know I couldn't look at the sky, sir. Is it a new rule?"

"No. It's not a rule at all. Mister Filch acted inappropriately." He threw a look over his shoulder. "The Headmaster will punish him for laying hands on you when he should not have. Or else I'll do it myself."

"Really, sir?"

"Really," Father said. "And what are you supposed to call me?"

"Father," Harry whispered.

"That's right. Now, would you like some water or something to eat?"

"Yes, sir, but . . . Father, aren't you mad at me?"

Father dropped his gaze to his hands and shook his head. "I was worried about you. When I saw . . . I am very angry with Mister Filch. But not you, Harry, you did nothing wrong."

"But I listened. At the door. It's like spying and only sneaky little bastards do that."

Father paled and jerked back. "Where did you . . . who said such a thing to you?"

"Aunt Petunia. In my cupboard, I listened to them when they yelled, ‘cause sometimes it was about me, and I . . . I had to know." He didn't want to say why, that if he didn't know what they were yelling about, or what they were planning to do to him, then he couldn't be prepared. Whatever happened, it was always easier to deal with if he was prepared. "But she caught me at it, and told me I was spying on them. Said it's only for sneaky little bastards like me."

Father was quiet for a long moment, and didn't meet Harry's eyes. Then, finally, he looked up. "This is a difficult one, Harry," he said. "First of all, you are not a ‘sneaky little bastard.' That's another one of her lies. But . . . it's true that it's rude to listen in on conversations that you aren't involved in. It's just not your business. But sometimes . . . sometimes, it can be very important to do so. Remember how we were discussing how you have to be very careful around some people?"

Harry nodded. "Like the Malfoys."

"Yes. And, sometimes, listening to things you aren't meant to hear can save your life. If those people mean you harm. Do you understand?"

"I think so, si - um, Father. But if it's not to keep me safe, I shouldn't eavesdrop, ‘cause it's rude?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Okay. I won't do it again. I'm sorry."

Father put out his hand again. "Will you come with me now, Harry? I'm sorry for frightening you."

Surprised to hear an apology directed at him, Harry took his hand and, though he still trembled a little, went with his father to meet with the headmaster without balking again.

---

"Harry, dear boy. I hear you had a bit of an adventure today."

Severus nearly snorted at the Headmaster's audacity, but managed to keep it inside, not least because he was still furious with him. Why Albus thought he would reverse the hex he'd placed on Filch, he had no idea. The odious man would be unable to put hands on anyone, literally, for a month. He only wished he would be let to have another go, so he could remove the man's legs, too.

Harry looked up at him now, still fearful, and needing reassurance, and Severus swore his retribution was not yet complete. "It's all right," he told the boy, however. "The Headmaster is a bit barmy."

Half of the boy's mouth quirked up, and Severus' gaze softened, even as Albus chortled at the dig.

"Yes, sir," Harry said to Albus, and Severus squeezed his hand.

"I dare say you shouldn't have to go through that again. Let's make sure of it, shall we?"

"Sir?"

"We'll have you at dinner tonight, and you can meet the rest of the staff."

"No. Absolutely not," Severus told him. "I won't have you showing him off like some prized poodle. He'll eat here with me until I determine he's ready for such company."

Albus held his gaze for a long moment, and Severus didn't waver in the slightest. Two can play at this game, old man, he thought uncharitably.

With a sigh, the Headmaster acquiesced. "Very well. Term begins in three weeks. Surely before then?"

Severus inclined his head. Feeling generous -- and not stupid, despite his current aggravation -- he offered, "Tomorrow, we shall be gone to tea," he said quietly. "At Lucius Malfoy's invitation. I believe his connections at the Ministry have given him some information he wants confirmed."

"What do you plan to tell him?"

"The truth. Some of it. Harry is my son through adoption. Nothing else need be said." And though he wouldn't say anything more, Lucius would have ample opportunity to draw his own conclusions.

"Be careful, Severus . . ." Albus' blue eyes twinkled, just a little. "Though I hardly need say that, do I?"

"No," Severus murmured. "You never do."

That night, Harry suffered some of the worst nightmares he'd had since Severus had first rescued him, and could not be soothed for over an hour. It was his uncle, this time, and that horrid leash the bastard had tied him to, and Severus nearly cried himself, listening to Harry's whimpering and pleas for his uncle to let him go. He rocked the boy in his arms, swearing vows to anyone who might hear that he would see Harry to the other side of this, that he would never give his son any reason to fear him, nor ever allow anything like that to happen to him again.

He almost canceled the visit to the Malfoys, but decided not to, after much contemplation the next day. Lucius would not take kindly to being rebuffed, and Severus' own standing was not so secure that he wanted to insult the older, more influential man. Besides, perhaps Harry could use a playmate, and though Draco was a bit of a spoilt brat, he was at least well mannered. Mostly.

So it was that at half-three, he took Harry on another Floo trip, this one to Malfoy Manor.

---

Though he stumbled a bit coming out of the Floo, Father caught him before he fell, and Harry looked around at the huge room he'd landed in with wide eyes. Father cleaned them both off of soot with a wave of his wand, even as a tall woman with pale blond hair tied back in a single braid stepped towards them and offered her hand to Father.

"Severus. So good to see you again." Though her words were nice, her face was cold, and her mouth barely moved.

Father took her hand and bent his head, touching his lips to it. "Narcissa. A pleasure as always." Then his hand sought Harry's shoulder, and Harry moved forward, into the woman's regard. "This is my son, Harry. Harry, this is Madam Malfoy."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Harry said, just as he'd been instructed.

The woman's face was very still, but a spark of something gleamed in her eyes. "So polite," she murmured. "You may call me Aunt Sissy, Harry."

He looked up at Father, who inclined his head. "Thank you, ma'am . . . er, Aunt Sissy."

She turned and beckoned to someone by the door. "Draco, come and meet your uncle's son."

A boy about Harry's age came into view. He had the same pale hair as his mother, a pointed face and clear, gray eyes. He looked Harry up and down, almost like Aunt Petunia did sometimes, and he felt really uncomfortable, like he was wanting in some way. But he was wearing new clothes, too, ones Father had picked out, even though Harry complained he wouldn't be able to play in such nice things, not in a garden, surely! Father had explained that they were due for tea, and, at least this time, it was unlikely there would be any playing with Draco.

But Harry made himself return the boy's stare, instead of looking at his shoes like he wanted, and finally Draco seemed to decide something, 'cause he held out his hand. "I'm Draco," he said.

Harry smiled and shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Draco. I'm Harry."

Draco gave him a brief smile. "Mother, I'm going to show Harry my room."

"Very well, darling. Tea will be in half an hour."

Draco heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes a little. Harry stared at him, astonished. "Yes, Mother." He grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him towards the door. "Come on! You've got to see my new broom!"

Harry laughed, delighted, as the two of them ran towards a huge set of stairs that would have done Hogwarts proud. "You like flying?"

"Of course!" Draco scoffed, taking the stairs two at a time. "Who doesn't?"

"My father." Harry wrinkled his nose a bit, trotting up behind his new friend. "He says if we were meant to fly, we'd have wings. I like flying, though," he added quickly, in case there was any doubt. "I got my own broom just this week!" He didn't mention that he'd never even seen a flying broomstick before he's gotten his own. Draco didn't need to know that, surely.

"Is it one of the baby brooms?" Draco led him along a wide hallway to a tall door of some kind of dark wood, and pushed it open.

Harry frowned. "No . . ."

"Is it a real one, then?" Draco turned and gave him another appraising look. "Can you go as high as you want?"

With a sigh, Harry admitted, "No. But I'm not a baby. I'm seven!"

"Don't look seven," Draco countered. "Here. This is my room." He gestured to the huge space, with dormer windows hung with sheer curtains in silver and green. A tall, massive four poster was in the middle of one wall, and had drapes around it that were pulled back with heavy silken cords. One of three wardrobes gaped open, showing it to be full of clothes. Shelves lined the room, filled with books, toys and trinkets, and Harry stared at it all.

"Here, look." Draco grabbed a broom from one corner and shoved it at Harry. "Cleansweep 400. Newest one. Father says I'll be the best player Hogwarts has ever seen. You play Quidditch?"

"Not yet." Harry ran his hand along the broom's handle in awe. It was much bigger than his, and he desperately wanted to try it out. "But I can fly good."

"Well. You can fly well," Draco corrected, and Harry scowled at him. To his surprise, Draco grinned. "Mother's always telling me that one."

Harry grinned back, and reluctantly handed over the broom. "Have you any Gobstones? I can play those."

"Gobstones are for ba--" Draco stopped as Harry scowled again. "I mean, wouldn't you rather play a nice game of Wizard chess?"

Severus sat at a small oblong table - small, in the Malfoy sense of the word, anyway, meaning it could only seat 12 - in their open air garden and sipped at his pre-tea tea.  A susurrus of falling water from a nearby fountain was the only sound aside from the clink of spoons on china and the occasional bird call from the rows of trees that formed the west wall.

Narcissa watched him with cold indifference, but her aloofness was more than made up for by Lucius' close attention.  The head of the Malfoy family was relaxed, for him, dressed in robes so dark green they were almost black, but with none of the elaborate piping or ribbons he often wore when he was out of an evening.  And, for a miracle, his silver tipped cane was nowhere in sight, which only meant his wand was probably up his sleeve, as Severus' was.

Sitting back in his chair, Lucius turned his teacup around on the saucer, as he'd done three times already - Severus was nothing if not an inveterate watcher of other people's nervous habits - then let it go, reluctantly and gave Severus a knowing smile.  "I hear you have taken a position at Hogwarts."

Though there was no particular inflection on the name of the school, Severus knew how Lucius liked to spar, and he would listen to Severus' response very carefully, for any sort of feelings Severus might project.  He wasn't too worried; Lucius was a terrible Legilimens, and Severus' Occlumency was among the best in Britain.  Still . . . it would never do to be foolish.  "Indeed," he said blandly.  "As Potions Master."

"Ah, finally got that Mastery, did you?"

"Yes," Severus said, and tried not to let the barb touch him.  It had taken more funds than he was ever liable to see in one place to do the necessary practicals, and thus he'd needed to stretch them out over the course of several years.  He very nearly could have made all the requisite potions in his sleep whilst still a student, but each had to be done in front of the review board.  Of course, Lucius knew that.  Money was just another tool he used to get what he wanted from people, and he hadn't wanted anything from Severus.  Not then.  "A year ago, now."

"Surely you remember, Luc darling."  Narcissa smiled coolly over her own cup at her husband.  "There was an announcement at Draco's birthday last fall."

"Ah, yes."  Lucius smiled.  "Of course.  I must have given you my congratulations then."

Severus inclined his head.

"And a son!  My, my, haven't we been busy."

Baring his teeth in a semblance of his trademark sneer, Severus said, "Harry is adopted, by blood rite."

Lucius' white-gold eyebrows rose and his hands fell to the teacup again.  "Is he now.  I imagine one must do all sorts of things to secure a position at Hogwarts."

"Indeed," Severus acknowledged.  Let Lucius think he adopted the boy under duress, if he liked.  It would be safer for Harry that way.

"And Dumbledore should prove an . . . interesting master."

He already is, Severus thought.  Certainly as manipulative as the Dark Lord, Lucius, but not quite as mad.  "I have no doubt."

Lucius graced him with a low chuckle, and moments later, a pair of house elves popped in with little trays of cucumber or watercress sandwiches, biscuits, and sliced fruit.  They laid out plates and more tea, removed the old pot, and arranged the table with a speed that bespoke a well trained staff.

"Dobby," Lucius said.  "Let the boys know tea is ready."

The house elf popped out after bowing and squeaking, "Right away, Master Malfoy, sir!" and the other finished fiddling with the silverware before it vanished, too.

Severus was glad the boys would be rejoining them; no matter that Draco was just a boy, he was Lucius' son, and Severus wanted to be sure that his son was safe.  He'd warned Harry of things he was not to talk about, and told him to be on his guard, but, well, he was only seven years old.  Anything could happen.  And as they waited, and waited, for the boys to show, Severus became more and more convinced something had gone horribly wrong.

---

Frowning at the Wizard chess board, Harry asked again, "How do the knights move?" and was immediately sorry for doing so.  The pieces - not just the knights, but the queens and half the pawns, too - started shouting at him to "Get on with it!" and "Over two, up one!" and "Lemme take him out; oh, please, I've always wanted to take a knight!"  Also, Draco rolled his eyes again.

Harry hated that.  "Sorry," he muttered.

Many of his pieces were gone, already, and he'd hardly taken any of Draco's, so he knew he was going to lose.  Well, now he knew.  At the start, he'd rather liked the way the pieces crashed into and smashed each other to dust, so he'd deliberately set up pieces to be destroyed, until Draco had caught on and made him stop, saying, "You're only s'pposed to kill my pieces," in a slightly whiny voice.  "You're not even trying."

Well, Harry had been trying.  He'd just not been trying to win.  And now, there was no point to doing so.  Chin cupped in one hand, he glanced up at Draco through his fringe.  "Can't we just make ‘em smash again?  That was fun."  With an almost sly smile, he added, "You've won anyway.  You can smash up my king if you want."

Draco stared at him for a minute, and Harry thought the other boy might refuse, but then Draco nodded.  "Well, all right.  I did win, really."

After Draco exploded Harry's king in a satisfactory manner, they spent the next little while setting the pawns after one another, until all the pieces were complaining, and both boys were cheering on the combatants, over a table strewn with shards of chess pieces.

Then a house elf appeared beside the table and announced, "Master Malfoy is saying tea is served, sirs.  Youse is to be going to the north garden now."

"Thank you," Harry said, standing up and starting to clean up the table.

The house elf's eyes - big, green balls, like ones for tennis - opened wider than Harry could have imagined was possible and then blinked once, slowly.  Draco's eyes were wide, too, and he hissed, "You're not supposed to thank house elves."

"Why not?" Harry asked, though he worried his lower lip.  Dappin hadn't liked it much at first, but never said he couldn't.  And Nelli didn't seem to mind at all.  Besides, Harry wished someone had thanked him, even once, when he was house elf at the Dursleys.

Draco grimaced.  "It's just not on.  My father says so."

"My father says I'm supposed to be polite," Harry countered.  "And it's polite to thank people who've done a job for you."

"But house elves aren't people."

"They are so!" Harry shouted.  The house elf in question was turning its head from boy to boy, watching them both with a horrified expression.

"Not like us!  They're regulated."

"What's that mean?"

Draco face was reddening, and it contrasted quite a lot with his pale, slicked-back hair.  "I don't know!  But it's bad, whatever it is, and they are it."

Harry couldn't help himself.  He laughed.

And as if realizing the silliness of their argument, Draco, too, burst out laughing a moment later.

"Sirs . . ." the house elf ventured after a while, when they showed no signs of calming down.  "Master Malfoy . . . tea . . ."

Draco, holding his sides after he'd been practically rolling around on the floor, grinned at Harry before saying, perfectly politely, "Thank you, Dobby.  Please let him know we're on the way."

Dobby gaped at them both a moment longer, then jerked his head in a nod and popped out.  Then Harry and his new friend raced downstairs.

---

When Dobby the house elf appeared, instead of the boys, and looking a bit wild-eyed, Severus gave the creature a hard look, but didn't immediately jump to his feet and start interrogating it, like he wanted.

"Where are they?" Lucius asked, obviously annoyed by his son's tardiness, but not appearing particularly concerned.

"Th-they is o-on the way, M-m-master Malfoy, sir."

Lucius' eyes narrowed at Dobby; the little elf's behavior did seem out of the ordinary.  It was trembling and its eyes, if possible, were even larger than before.  "What else do you wish to tell me?" he asked coldly.

"N-n-nothing, Master Malfoy, sir!  Dobby is g-giving the young s-s-sirs your message, Master Malfoy, sir, and the young sirs is on their way, now, yes, they are!"

"Very well," Lucius said, though he did not look mollified in the least.  "You may go."

"Yes, sir, Master Malfoy!"

True to the house elf's word, the boys tore into the garden a moment later, looking breathless and sweaty and rather rumpled.  But both were grinning, and Severus relaxed a fraction.

Lucius, however, pierced his son with a hard look.  "What is the meaning of this, Draco?"

Draco stood straighter and adjusted his robes, which were askew, either from their running, or some other activity.  The boy then clasped his hands behind his back and jutted his chin out slightly.  "Forgive me, Father.  Harry and I were finishing a game of Wizard chess."

Severus caught the look that Harry shot at Draco, even as Harry copied Draco's pose, and his straightening, but he wasn't sure Lucius did.  Something was off, here . . .

Lucius stood and strode toward the boys.  His cane had appeared from no where, and clacked on the ground with each step.  "When you are called to tea, does that mean finishing a game first, and arriving when it pleases you?"

Draco looked down briefly, then back up at his father and swallowed hard.  "No, sir."

With one hand caressing the silver pommel of his cane, Lucius looked both boys up and down.  Severus' gut tightened, but he willed himself to stay his hand . . . unless the elder Malfoy made any kind of move towards Harry.  For his part, Harry stared at the cane, and from where he sat, Severus could see the slight tremors in the boy's body.  His wand slipped into his hand.

But after another strained moment, Lucius merely said, "Do not force me to remind you of your manners again today."

Face smoothing out, Draco breathed and said, "No, sir.  I won't."

"Good boy.  Now, come and sit down and tell us all about this game of yours."  Lucius was all smiles now, once his control of the situation was acknowledged by his progeny.

For a second, Harry looked like he might fall over from relief, but then he gamely followed Draco to the table, and Severus forbore to draw any further attention to him by rising to assist him.  Harry gave him a small, furtive smile, which he returned in kind.

"I beat Harry soundly, Father," Draco boasted.  "Got almost all his pieces and his king."

Severus suppressed a snort.  How could the boy not beat Harry, if Harry had never played before?  But Lucius said, "Well done, well done," and then eyed Harry who was looking at Draco askance, even while waiting for the others to serve themselves before taking anything from the trays.  "Strategy not your best thing, is it, Harry?"

Harry's brows drew down briefly, and Severus wondered if he even knew what strategy meant, but then the boy just said, "No, sir," and he knew Harry was falling back on what he knew best when speaking to adults.

"Ah, well.  We can't all be gifted, I daresay," Lucius murmured, with a smirk in Severus' direction.

Severus wondered briefly how far off the grounds he could get if he were to wipe that expression off Malfoy's face permanently.  But all he did was smile lightly back and take another sip of tea.  To Harry, he gave a nod, silently reminding him that he was allowed to take what he wanted from the trays, and he was amused to see that here, too, his son copied Draco's mannerisms as much as possible.

Perhaps some good would come of this, after all.

---

Right after they got home - the Hogwarts home, not the Spinner's End one - Harry was surprised when Father asked him, "What really caused you to be late for tea?"

He didn't bother to ask how Father knew Draco had been lying, but he did think about how best to apologize for not correcting Draco at the time.  Nibbling his lip, he tried to think about it, but his hesitation must have made Father really angry, ‘cause his tone was very sharp a second later.  "It's a simple question, Harry!  I won't allow impertinence."

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said quickly, and managed - just - to stand his ground.  "I didn't want to lie."

"I did not accuse you of lying.  I asked you what you were doing."  Father's gaze was as sharp as his tone, and Harry nearly flinched from it.

"Yes, sir.  We were playing Wizard's chess.  At first.  But then we had a fight about the house elf."

Father frowned.  "Why would you quarrel about such a thing?"

"Well . . ."  Harry tried to recall exactly, and stared at his shoes.

"Harry . . ."

Harry jerked his head up to look at his father again.  He knew Father disliked it when he couldn't see Harry's face when they talked.  It was just so hard, sometimes, especially when Father was angry.  He took a deep breath.  "Yes, sir.  Sorry.  Erm, well . . . I said ‘thank you' to Dobby for telling us to come to tea, and Draco said you don't tell them ‘thank you,' and I asked why not, and he said they weren't people, but they are, and then he said they were regular, but didn't know what it meant, so I laughed at him, ‘cause that's stupid, to not thank someone, and you don't even know why, really, and then he laughed, too, and then we were late."

When Harry finished and took another breath, he noticed Father wasn't frowning anymore, but his eyes were still narrowed.  "And you didn't correct his account of the reason for your tardiness because . . ."

"I didn't want him to get hit, sir," Harry said very quietly.  He swallowed again, still holding his father's fathomless gaze.  "Canes hurt."

Father sighed and now gave Harry that almost sad look he sometimes wore.  "Yes.  I guess they do.  I must apologize, Harry.  I was worried that something had happened that you were afraid to tell me, and in my concern, I have once again given you cause to fear me."

"No, Father, really.  I'm not-"

"It's all right," Father said.  "I have a . . . temper.  I know it.  I shall work harder in the future to modulate my tone."

Harry gave him a small smile, which he returned, though his was still awfully sad.  But then Father crouched down and opened his arms, like he'd done a few times before.  This time, for the first time, Harry stepped into the hug he was offered, and when his father put one hand around his back and another on his head, patting his hair gently, he didn't even flinch.  He rested his head on Father's chest, listening to his heart beat, and the arms squeezed him a little tighter, making all the sharp words fall away.

"Perhaps we can have Draco spend some time here," Father said after a few minutes.  "Would you like that?"

A friend, at Hogwarts!  And with no silver canes around at all.  He still needed to watch out for Mister Filch, but with Draco here, he would have someone to play dragons with, and they could watch out for the mean man together.  "Yes, sir.  I'd like that."

"All right then.  I'll send a note round tomorrow, and we'll see if he can join us next week for a couple of days."

Harry leaned back and looked into his father's face.  "Thank you!"

"You're welcome.  Now, go get changed into something suitable for outdoors, get your broom, and I'll take you out flying, all right?"

Squeezing his father in a excited hug, he shouted, "Yes, sir!" and ran into his room to do just that.

Over the remainder of the weekend, Harry must have asked Severus at least twenty times if he had yet sent the request for Draco to come and stay. Whilst he was very glad that Harry was starting to feel comfortable asking him for things, especially things for himself, by the time he finally got around to sending the thank you note for tea, along with the request, on Sunday afternoon, he was quite ready to tear his hair out. But then, Harry just had a new thing to ask about: had the Malfoys responded yet?

In between these questions, the boy chattered on about the game of Wizard chess and Draco's broom and how funny his new friend was, and Severus was too grateful to see him more animated than he'd been since being taken from the Dursleys, to mind overmuch. Still, he was more than weary when bedtime rolled around Sunday night.

As had become their ritual, Severus tucked Harry in after he'd had his shower, dressed in clean pajamas, and brushed his teeth. He brushed the boy's hair off his forehead, briefly exposing the lightning scar. Harry caught his hand, and held it still, while his bright green eyes searched Severus' face.

"What is it, child?"

"I love you, Daddy," Harry whispered.

Severus caught his breath as bands of steel wrapped around his chest. How could he feel so much for this child, in such a short time? He felt his lips curve up in a smile, and he curled his hand to cup the boy's face. "I love you, too, Harry. Time to sleep, now. Tomorrow will be busy."

Harry smiled back. "You always say that."

"It's always true."

"Tell me a story about Hogwarts tonight, Father. Please?"

"All right, then. Settle in." He waited while Harry curled into his customary position on his side, knees drawn up to protect his belly. "Ready?" At Harry's nod, he started, "When I first came to Hogwarts, I was met at the train, like all first years, by a giant of a man named Hagrid, with a bellowing voice but as genial a disposition as you'll ever find . . ."

"What's geenal?" Harry interrupted softly.

"Genial. It means kind, Harry. Hagrid is a very kind man."

By the time he'd finished a particularly poignant -- in his opinion -- tale of the dangers of Hagrid's obsession with dangerous beasts when mixed with the curiosity of young new students, Harry had already drifted off. Severus smoothed the dark hair out of his face again, and briefly touched his lips to the child's forehead. Never mind his own feelings, how in the world had Harry decided that he, Severus Snape, was worthy of trust. Of love?

It made his heart ache for Lily, and for her son. His son, now. After spelling on the ball of light on the bedside table, he set the charm that would let him know if the boy woke or suffered any bad dreams, then rose and quietly made his way to the door. There, he turned back and watched Harry in his tangle of covers. As he'd told Albus, Harry did not look much different to his eyes than before the blood ritual that bound them, father and son.

But what, then, had caused the pain that had woken the boy from sleep that day? In the dim shadow cast by the nightlight, Severus watched his son sleep, and considered his slim nose and lips, and the arch of his brows, and Albus' enigmatic words, "He could be your son."

Turning from the room before he drove himself madder still with questions, Severus went back to the well appointed sitting room, selected one of the books he had already unpacked and settled in to read. These were questions that he was sure Albus had the answers to, and he would get them from the Old Codger, and sooner, rather than later. Without even thinking, he summoned a glass half filled with Ogden's finest brandy and took a long swallow. The rest of the glass he sipped at slowly as he paged through his book.

Harry managed almost two hours before the alarm went off, and Severus upset the glass of brandy as he jumped out of the chair. Not stopping to clean, he tossed the book down and rushed to his son's room to wake him from his newest night terror, ready to give him the comfort and reassurance of his arms.

---

Some time later, he realized he wasn't hurting so much, really, except for his head and his hand, and someone was holding him, rocking him, and saying his name softly, almost a whisper. He couldn't smell the drink anymore so maybe Uncle Vernon was gone.

He opened his eyes.

And he was gathered close in Father's arms, and Father's head was bent low over him while they rocked together, and there were tears on his cheeks. Harry reached up with his good hand to brush them away. "Don't cry, Daddy. Please. Don't be sad."

"Harry . . ." Father's voice sounded thick and he bent lower, so his forehead almost touched Harry's, squeezing his eyes shut before he blinked them open again. He cleared his throat. "You're awake."

Harry nodded, and his father smiled. Obviously, he was.

"I couldn't . . . you were having a nightmare, and I couldn't wake you," Father explained.

"I'm sorry, Father."

"No . . . no, it wasn't your fault. I think you . . . I think I gave you reason to think I was your . . . that I was that Vernon creature." His eyes were dark, like midnight, like the inside of a cupboard. "I swear to you, I will never have another drink. I . . . I didn't realize."

"Sorry," Harry said again, not knowing what else to say.

"Please, don't apologize, Harry. I'm the one who's sorry. I should have understood . . ." Father broke off, his voice thick again, and Harry frowned, trying to understand, himself. Uncle Vernon was gone now, so it didn't matter, right? "How does your hand feel?"

Harry brought it up in front of his eyes and saw a new bandage wrapped around it. It ached fiercely, and he tried to move his fingers, but they felt stiff and wrong. With a cock of his head, he asked a question, and Father nodded. "I healed the bite the best I could, Harry, but it's . . . because you did it to yourself, it has to heal on its own, for the most part. You'll have to be careful of it for a few days."

"Yes, sir, um, Father. It's fine." The lie came easily, like always.

"Good. Do you . . . I could have Nelli bring us some cocoa if you like."

"No, thank you. I'm tired. Can I go back to sleep?"

"Yes, of course. Would you like me to stay with you a while?"

"Yes, please." Father helped him snuggle back under the covers, and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on Harry's side, while Harry stared at the ball of light on the little table, and watched it spin through red and gold and green and pink, over and over, until his eyes were heavy enough to stay closed.

In the morning, Harry rolled out of bed sleepily and was half way to the kitchen to start breakfast before he realized that here, he didn't have to do that. In the sitting room, he turned round a couple times, but his father wasn't to be seen. The door to his bedroom was closed; maybe he was still asleep. Rubbing his tired eyes, he winced at the sharp stab of pain that shot through his left hand, then sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace and stared into the banked coals.

Maybe Father had gone Flooing. He could wait.

A while later, Nelli appeared beside him. "Master Harry, sir. Master Snape says you is to have breakfast and then Nelli is to be watching you this morning."

Harry scrambled to his feet. "Thanks, Nelli. Where is he?"

"Master Snape is talking to the Headmaster Dumbledore. Master Snape also says Nelli is to be making sure you is wearing play clothes today. But you is not to use your hurt hand, Master Harry. Master Snape is coming to look at it again at lunch time."

Harry sighed a little, wanting his father now, but said, "Thank you," again. He peered at the hand, and wondered what it looked like under the bandage. Aside from the one he'd had on his ankle when he first woke up at Spinner's End, he couldn't remember ever having a bandage before. He'd used shirts, old towels, and even pieces of newspapers to cover up cuts and keep them from bleeding, when he'd had to tend to his own hurts. It was weird that Father had done this for him. But nice.

"What is youse wanting for breakfast, Master Harry?" Nelli asked, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet.

"Ummm, I'm not sure," he said. "Toast?"

"And juice and eggs and ham, Master Harry?" Nelli suggested, bobbing her head up and down.

Harry grinned as his stomach gave an impatient growl. "Yes, please. Thanks, Nelli."

Nelli grinned back, showing her teeth, and disappeared with a pop. Harry returned to his room to dress. Selecting the clothes was easy, since Father had told him which ones were for play and which were not, and socks and underclothes took no time at all to get into. But when he tried to button his trousers, his injured hand wouldn't work right for him, still. And pain lanced through it, almost bringing tears to his eyes. He clenched his jaw against it and tried to do the buttons again. He just had to ignore the pain, like always.

With a last twinge from his hand, the button slipped into the hole, and he let his breath out in a gasp. There. No trouble.

He'd picked a pullover shirt, and that was easy, too, and he went out to breakfast a bit sweaty, and maybe lightheaded, but dressed. Nelli was already back with more food than he could ever imagine eating, but she made sure he took some of everything, and made sure he at least had some juice and milk and toast before she let him get up from table again.

"What is youse liking to do until lunch, Master Harry?"

"Can we go outside?" Harry asked the house elf.

Nelli hopped from foot to foot. "Not the pitch, Master Harry. Master Snape says no pitch without--"

"His express permission. I know. But can we just go walking?"

"Oh, we can go walking, yes, Master Harry! Youse be getting your shoes on now and we can be going outside walking."

Shoes. He wasn't going to be able to lace them. When all he'd had was Dudley's old shoes, he never had to worry about tying and untying, since they were always too loose and just slipped on over his feet. He looked at Nelli and took a deep breath. "Can you help me?"

Nelli grinned. "Yes, Master Harry! Nelli is helping you all day long. Here is your shoes!"

In moments, he was wearing shoes that seemed to lace themselves, and he gasped, watching them, then laughed. "That was wicked!"

"We is ready to go outsides now, Master Harry?"

"Yes, please." He led the way out of the dungeons, as Father called them, and to the main doors near the Great Hall, which he skirted around. Outside, the sun was shining, and though the air was warm, a nice breeze was blowing, so it wasn't hot. Harry shaded his eyes from the sun with his right hand and peered off toward the forest where he had been expressly forbidden to go. But near the forest, that was where Hagrid's hut was, supposedly, and he wanted to meet the half-giant.

"This way!" he shouted to Nelli and took off at a run, down the hillside. He heard the rise and fall of her voice calling behind him, and then beside him, cautioning him to be careful. "I am," he promised, and tucked his hurt hand closer to his chest.

He heard a dog's booming bark, before he ever saw the cottage, and the sound brought him up short. Ripper! He crept closer, much more slowly now, over the last little ridge, with Nelli trotting alongside him, looking worried. The round house with round roof sat toward the edge of the dark forest. A garden was spread out behind it, and Harry smiled, not recognizing any of the plants as ones he'd kept at the Dursleys, and liking it already for its differentness.

But the dog had a much lower and louder bark than Aunt Marge's Ripper, so he was pretty sure it wasn't him. Still, he was cautious as he approached the cottage. The door was standing open, he saw, and he sidled over a bit, to peek inside.

Just then, a big brown shape hurtled toward him, and he put up both hands to stop it from crashing into him. It didn't work. The mass of tongue, fur and drool knocked him completely over and snuffled at his ears. Despite the shock, he couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Stop, please! Oh, stop!"

"Fang!" someone shouted. "Geroff there, ye great beast. W'at ye have there?"

With a last sniff and lick of Harry's eyebrows, the huge dog leapt off him and circled around to go to an even huger man. Harry, lying on his back, looked up and up and up . . .

"Harry?" the man said, and his face showed surprise. "Is it you, now? Harry Potter?"

"Harry Snape, sir," Harry said, getting to his feet. He ran his shirtsleeve over his face, to wipe some of the drool off. Sticky! Fang had collapsed on the front stoop of the cottage and laid his head on his paws. "My name used to be Potter, though," he admitted.

"Ah, righ'. Professor did mention som'at about tha'." The man smiled at him and took a step closer. Each of his hands looked the size of a platter, and his feet were covered in shoes as big as dustbins. His beard looked large enough to use as a blanket. "Was wondrin' how long it'd take ye to find yer way down 'ere."

"I've just got in, sir," Harry told him. "On Friday. Father says you're gamekeeper, and that you're genie-all."

"Oh, now, call me Hagrid, lad. What's he mean, genie-all?"

"He meant you're kind, Hagrid, sir. He told me a story, about when you tried to keep Streelers, for bedtime last night. And how you wanted 'em as pets, even after the Headmaster wanted them all gone, 'cause of the wreck they were making of the gardens. They sound brilliant!"

"Ah, well, that was a long time ago." Hagrid had turned a bit red, but he was smiling. "Care for a bit of tea, Harry?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Righ', then, come on in and I'll set t'kettle on. Fang, move your lazy hind end!"

In the Headmaster's office, Severus sat with his head in his hands, and tried to hold his emotions in check. When he thought he could speak without breaking down, he said, "I don't think I'm cut out for this. I think we made a mistake."

"Why don't you tell me what happened, dear boy."

"Harry had a nightmare."

Albus nodded, an understanding smile on his lips. "Not his first, surely."

"No," Severus agreed. "But this was the first time I couldn't rouse him from it. And I had been drinking."

With a frown, Albus said, "Are the two related?"

"I don't know! Maybe. Probably. I should have remembered. I saw it in his memories. Vernon's," he snarled the name. "He was always more violent when he was drinking. Of course the boy would remember as well. And I spilled it, and he was crying, and biting his hand, like he shouldn't make any sound at all, and the blood . . ."

Before he realized it, Albus was beside him, a hand on his shoulder, and speaking, but it took a moment for him to hear the words as anything but condemnation. "Shh, Severus. Take a breath. He'll be all right, I'm sure."

"Will he?" Severus shook off the Headmaster's hand and was on his feet in a heartbeat. He thumped a fist on his chest. "I reminded him of that awful place, of his horrid uncle. I frightened him enough that he tore a chunk out of his hand to keep from crying! I can't do this, I can't hurt him anymore, Albus!"

"Severus, please. Calm yourself."

"I don't want to be calm, dammit! I want to go back to their despicable, hateful house and kill them. I want to send them to the Dementors, and I want to watch them lose their souls."

"And your wish for Harry?"

His pacing brought him near the fireplace, and he rested his head on the mantle. "I want him to be safe."

"He's safe with you."

Severus shook his head. "He isn't. I think I healed the hand well enough, but only time will tell. What if he never gets back function of it? He won't tell me when he's hurt, just says he's fine. I can't be good for him, though I try. My temper . . . there must be someone else."

"No. You're the only one who can do this now, Severus. You're the only ones the wards would form for."

"Albus, there must be someone else who loved Lily, who can take him. Someone more stable, more together . . . less like me." He couldn't bear the thought of giving the boy up, but he wanted more than anything else, for Harry to be safe . . . for him to feel safe.

"I'm afraid it's not as easy as that," Albus said quietly. "The ritual--"

He whirled around to glare at the Headmaster. "Was flawed! I know it and so do you. What the hell happened to Harry? The ritual should have made him change slowly, but he's . . ." Severus hung his head. "I don't know what he is."

"He's your son."

Sighing, Severus said, "Yes, I know. The ritual . . ." He looked at Albus, who was holding his gaze, and the knowledge hit him like a bludger. "You don't mean because of the adoption."

"No. He was already your son."

"That's impossible! I counted. Lily--"

"Was brilliant at Charms." Albus smiled gently. "And should have been sorted into Slytherin, I think. She . . . adjusted things, in James' favor."

"For Merlin's sake, why?"

"Do you really need to ask?"

No. He really didn't. It was so long ago, it was hard to dredge up specific memories, but he recalled how terribly alone he'd been feeling the night he and Lily were together. He had been working as a spy for Albus, for the Order, for almost a year at that point, and had no one to talk with about any of it, except for Albus, who had very little time for him, aside from reports.

He knew Lily was dating James at the time, but they seemed to have entered a cooler phase of their relationship, and he'd mentioned it to Lily after a meeting one September night, that she seemed sad. She'd broken down, and cried on his shoulder, about how James was being a prat --well, he knew that! -- and how she couldn't believe some of the things he'd say to her, or about other people. Over the course of the evening, they talked like they hadn't done since school, and when he kissed away the tears on her cheeks . . . well. One thing led to another.

Yet, inside of two weeks, she'd announced her engagement to James, followed in less than a month by their wedding, and Harry had been born in July, a good ten months after their one night together.

"No. It was ten months. She couldn't have . . ."

"Severus, give an old man some credit. Lily knew if it was discovered that the child was yours, your position in Voldemort's inner circle would have been compromised. She came to me, asking if I knew any way to delay the baby's birth, without harming him, of course."

"You . . . you helped her? You kept this from me, all this time?"

"I'm sorry," Albus said. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice. And Severus hated him for it.

"You're sorry! Just think what kind of life I could have given him, if only I had known! He would never had been with those Dursleys to begin with!"

"And your Potions Mastery?"

"Sod my potions! Why didn't you tell me? If not at the beginning, then at least once the Dark Lord was gone?"

"For the same reason Lily had to hide this from you." Albus' eyes were clear blue, and twinkle free. "Severus, there are still servants of Voldemort's at large, who would do whatever they could to harm the boy. You know this better than anyone. I thought he would be better off with protections from Lily, leaving you free to continue your work for the Order."

"And we see how well that worked out." Severus sank back in his chair, head back in his hands. He couldn't believe it. Harry was really his son. "What about the ritual, then? Why did it work at all?"

"I spoke with Enid before hand, and we discussed what would be best. She doesn't know the truth," Albus added quickly. "Just that not everything was as it seemed."

Severus couldn't help it; he chuckled low in his throat, an almost desperate laugh. "I can see through her charms, can't I? That's why he looked right to me from the start, even though he went through all that pain?"

Albus took his own seat again, and surveyed Severus over the top of his folded hands. "Lily's charms came off, yes, as a result of the ritual. But you could already see him as he truly was because he was of your blood."

"Why the subterfuge, Albus? Why not just tell me he was my son when you asked me to go take a look at him?"

"I had to make sure you truly wanted him, and not out of obligation. It was the only way the ward could be transferred."

Severus sighed, feeling tired, and sick to death of being manipulated. But none of that was Harry's fault. And f he truly was the only one -- besides the Dursleys -- who could keep Harry, then he would do it. He only hoped that he would not hurt the boy further in his ignorance and carelessness. "I may need to take him to a Muggle hospital, because of the damage to his hand."

"Whatever you need, my dear boy. I know this is a lot to take in. Perhaps you ought to spend the rest of the day with Harry. Don't worry about the staff meeting this afternoon. It will be mostly going over dormitory cleaning schedules, anyway."

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Severus rose. "Thank you, Albus," he said with a slight incline of his head.

"Not at all," the Headmaster replied, but Severus was already on the stairs, in search of Harry.

---

In Hagrid's hut, Harry took a seat when Hagrid waved him into one, having to climb up on to it like it was a jungle gym set at school. While the giant man filled the kettle with water from a big barrel, Harry motioned for Nelli to join him from where she was hanging back, by the doorway. Nelli shook her head, but Harry gestured again. "C'mon, Nelli. Father says Hagrid's kind."

"Oh, no, Master Harry. Nelli is not supposed to be in others's houses," she said with a worried frown. "Not unless she is invited."

"Well, Hagrid can invite you, right?" Harry raised his voice. "Hagrid, sir? Can you invite Nelli in for tea, too?"

The man turned from the fireplace, where he'd just hung the kettle and gave them a wide grin. "O' course, 'Arry. Step in, there you go, little Nelli. Always room fer one more."

"See?" Harry grinned at Nelli as she sidled closer to him and hopped onto the chair beside him -- there was plenty of room for them both. "Thanks, Hagrid, sir."

"Ach, 'Arry, it's jus' Hagrid."

Harry smiled at him. "And this is Nelli. She's a house elf, like me."

Nelli turned her head so fast Harry thought he heard a Pop! Her eyes were very wide. "Youse is not being a house elf, Master Harry."

"I was. At the Dursleys. Father says I don't have to be one anymore, though."

Hagrid put a plate of round cakes on the table. They were crusted with sugar and slivers of nuts. "Oh, now, Harry. People can't be house elves. They're a diff'rent kind o' creature alt'gether."

"But I was one." Tears of frustration formed in his eyes, and he dashed them away with his good hand. "I did cleaning and cooking and gardening, and all of it. If I wasn't a house elf, why'd they keep me at all?"

"'Ere, now, Harry. I don' know 'bout that. But have a cake. Made 'em meself!"

After a moment, he took one of the cakes and nibbled on the edge. It was very hard, and very sweet, but he didn't put it down. Food, after all, was not to be wasted. "Thanks."

Laying big mugs and a sugar bowl on the table, Hagrid settled in another chair, which creaked under his weight. "Now, tell me 'ow you're getting along with your new Da, eh? 'E treating you a'right?"

"Oh, he's great!" Harry said, perking back up. "He's got me all new clothes, and my own broom, and toys, and I have my own room and everything."

"Well, tha's great, Harry. Now, what happ'd to yer hand there?"

Harry looked at the bandage, which had a bit of dog drool on it, and some dirt from when he'd brushed off his pants, but was otherwise intact. "I . . . Father said I bit it. In my sleep." He shrugged and nibbled another edge off his cake. "It's fine."

Hagrid grunted something under his breath, and got up a moment later to get the boiling kettle. He poured tea into each of the mugs and pushed the sugar bowl towards Harry. "Careful now, tha's hot."

"Yes, sir." Harry added a bit of sugar -- he'd never been allowed sugar at the Dursleys! -- and stirred it in before blowing on his tea. Nelli, beside him, was staring at her mug as if it were poisoned. "Aren't you gonna have any tea?" he asked her.

Her big blue eyes swiveled to meet his gaze. "Oh, n-no th-th-thank you, M-master Harry. Nelli is fine, sirs."

Well, something was weird, 'cause she was stuttering like that Dobby had been, when he was nervous. But he wasn't gonna make her drink tea, if she didn't want it. "Do you still have any Streelers?" he asked Hagrid.

"No, no o' course not. Had to give 'em all up, didn't I?" Hagrid rubbed a hand over his beard and came out with a piece of what looked like old biscuit, which he promptly tucked into his mouth. "Nope, sorry. No Streelers at all. Did come across a proper Porlock, though. Gave him a good spot in the fores', so 'e's not too bothered by students, ye know."

"What's a Porlock?" Harry asked.

Just then, Nelli gave a small squeak, and disappeared with a Pop! Harry stared at the space she was in and then at Hagrid. "Do you think she's afraid of Porlocks?"

"Nah. Probably got called by someone up t'castle. House elves're always bein' called, aren't they?"

Harry nodded. Though he couldn't vanish like that, he'd always been called when there was a job to do, too. He tried to lift his mug and found he needed both hands, but the left one was so sore, he couldn't really manage to close his fingers around it. Instead, he just used that hand for balance, and put all the weight on his good hand, easing it up to his mouth. The tea was much better than the cake, nicely sweet.

"Doesn' look fine," Hagrid said. "That hand needs lookin' at."

"My Father took care of it," Harry told him. "And it is fine."

"Uh huh," Hagrid muttered, just as Nelli reappeared.

"Master Snapes is looking for you, Master Harry. He is wanting youse back in his quarters. Nelli is to be bringing you back now, Master Harry."

With a little sigh -- he still didn't know what Porlocks were -- Harry said, "Yes, Nelli. Thanks, Hagrid, for the tea!"

"Come down anytime, Harry. I'll make up more cakes tomorrow, a'right?"

"Great, thanks!" Harry petted Fang's head as he went by the dog, still drooling on the front stoop, and followed Nelli back up the hill to the castle. He didn't think it was lunch time already, and wondered why his father was calling him back early. Maybe he was mad about Harry's hand and wanted to scold him. Maybe he was tired of Harry's nightmares waking him up, and wanted to send him away!

That must be it, that's why he'd been talking to the Headmaster! He'd have to go away, go back to the Dursleys, and no one would hold him anymore when he screamed at night. He was hurrying so fast to get back that he stumbled over a rabbit hole and sprawled headlong, catching himself, unfortunately, on his hands. A shock of pain shot up his arm from the injured hand, and he let out a gasp, rolled onto his side and curled into a ball, protecting his arm, his belly, his head.

Nelli was beside him in an instant, saying something, but he could hardly hear her through the pounding of blood in his ears. "Sorry," he whispered. "Sorry."

Nelli hopped from leg to leg, and he felt sick watching her. Shutting his eyes tight, he breathed through his mouth, even as the tea threatened to come back up and choke him. He wasn't sure how long he laid there, but when the nausea finally passed, he uncurled and struggled to his feet.

Nelli was gone.

Harry staggered several steps before he had to stop to breathe. Then he managed a couple more steps. By the time he reached the main doors to the castle, he was in a right state, shaking and tearful and ready to do anything to make his father keep him, even for just one more day.

---

Severus paced the sitting room and glanced at the clock on the mantle. Where was that infernal child? He'd sent Nelli to get him more than half an hour ago. Surely he couldn't have wandered that far afield. He should have specified, in his directions to the house elf this morning, that Harry should stay indoors today, preferably in their quarters. But he hadn't been thinking clearly, after the night's events.

Where was he?

"Nelli!" he called.

The house elf appeared, looking distraught.

"Where is my son!"

"Master Snape, sir, Master Harry is fallen outside, and his hand is hurting!"

"Show me."

Snape hurried along the corridor after the elf, his black robes billowing out behind him. He was almost at the main doors when one of them clicked open, and Harry fell inward from the breach and hit the floor with a dull thud.

His face was pasty and white, and trembles wracked his frail body. Blood had soaked the bandage on his left hand. Severus gathered the boy in his arms and ran back down the hill.

The Muggle hospital was white and clean and horrible. Severus sat, cradling his son to his chest in an Emergency waiting room, wanting desperately to Imperious someone just to get their attention. All around them were others as desperate as he, some with wounds caused by Muggle weapons, some suffering from falls, or on-the-job injuries, and one little boy, no older than Harry, was struggling to breathe through an asthma attack. His mother was gently solicitous of her son, but looked resigned to a long wait.

Severus had none of the paperwork necessary to actually see someone here, but a light Compulsion thrown at the receptionist kept him on the proper list. It had been over two hours already since they arrived, and Severus had done everything he could to make Harry comfortable, feeding him ice chips and mopping his brow with a cool flannel, immobilizing the injured hand, and speaking to him in soft, low tones, promising it would all be better soon.

Finally, they were called in to a curtained off area much like Madam Pomfrey's stations in the infirmary, and a nurse had him lay Harry on an adjustable bed before she took his temperature and pulse and blood pressure. Severus could have told her that all three were high, but didn't bother, as he wasn't about to explain how he knew.

When she unwound the bandage, which the child had somehow managed to get dog hair and dirt all over, and inspected the raw looking wound, she frowned. "How'd this happen, then?"

"He has night terrors," Severus said, figuring it would not help his cause to lie, not now. "And he screams, but last night he bit himself instead."

The woman looked dubious, inspecting the taping up he'd done with butterfly stitches from the Muggle First Aid box he always kept for emergencies like this. Her continued frown didn't give him much confidence.

"The doctor will be in shortly," she said at last, and left him alone again with his son.

He brushed hair off the boy's forehead, hair very much like his, and quickly conjured a new cloth to wipe away the sweat while no one was watching. Harry whimpered a little, and he leaned over, whispering, "It will be all right, Harry. Everything will be all right."

"Daddy?" Harry whispered back, his deep green eyes hardly open a crack. "Please don't go. Don't leave me."

"Never." He kissed the boy's forehead. "I never will."

---

After another two hours, they were ready to leave. Severus had received specific instructions on how to change the dressing on Harry's hand, how much of the antibiotics he was supposed to give the child, and how often, when they should return for a follow up appointment, and when to schedule the first of several surgeries. Harry had bitten clear through the tendons around his thumb, and it would require physical therapy, as well, to repair the damage.

Harry had also been referred to a child psychologist.

Aside from the medicine and dressings, however, Severus had no intention of following the rest of the "plan". There were fully qualified Wizard surgeons who could perform any operations, and between Madam Pomfrey and Madam Hooch, any physical therapy could be dealt with at Hogwarts. The psychologist was completely out of the question, although one might be worth looking into, at St. Mungo's, say.

Thus, after thanking the doctor and the nurse who had first ushered them behind the curtain, Severus Obliviated them and took Harry home.

Nelli was waiting for them, with lunch all set up and kept fresh with containment charms, and the little house elf looked positively miserable. Harry was still sleeping, as he had been, mostly, since they left Hogwarts, and Nelli's voice was quiet as she said, "Is Master Harry being all right, sir?"

"He will be," Severus said quietly. "But he will need to take it easy for a few days. No unsupervised trips outside. No running, and he'll have to be very careful of his hand." The hand in question was swaddled in several layers of Muggle bandages and a splint, so as to prevent as much movement as possible. Still, there was no sense in being careless.

Taking the child into his bedroom, Severus allowed himself to really think, for the first time, about what he had discussed with the Headmaster this morning. Harry was his and Lily's son. His, and hers, borne of that one night of compassion and empathy and -- dared he think it? -- love. And then, she had immediately run to James. The "prat." Severus had seen little of them over the next year, and only once or twice after Harry was born, and he tried to remember if Lily had been happy in her marriage, if there had been any signs at all that she wished for something -- someone -- different.

Severus removed Harry's shoes and pulled a light quilt over him on the bed. In his sleep, the boy curled into his habitual ball, cradling his injured hand close to his chest. Severus sat with him, carding fingers through the boy's fine, soft hair and watching his face, even now etched with lines of tension that no seven year old should ever have. Especially not his son.

"Was it worth it, Lily?" he whispered in the quiet. "All this pain. Was this what you wanted?" He neither expected nor received an answer. But when Harry murmured a little in his sleep, Severus began a story, to quieten him. This one began with a little boy with few friends, and the green eyed girl who captured his heart.

---

Harry woke to the soft sound of his father's voice, and he relaxed for a little while, just listening to the sound and not really hearing the words. But then he reached out with his good hand, trying to touch his father, and the voice stopped. A hand captured his and squeezed gently.

"Harry? Are you awake?"

"Mm-hm," Harry said and blinked his eyes open heavily. He yawned and tried to cover his mouth with his other hand, but it felt weird. He brought it up in front of his eyes and looked at the bandage that was wrapped from finger tips to wrist, and tried to bend his fingers, but they wouldn't bend. He looked to his father, then, and frowned at the look he saw on Father's face.

"What's wrong, Father?" he asked.

"We had a bit of a scare today, you and I." Father caught his injured hand and laid it back down on Harry's chest. He still looked very serious, and it made Harry nervous. He never wanted to scare his father, never wanted him to be mad or upset at all. "We went to hospital, to see to your hand. They had to put a splint on it, and give you antibiotics. It will take a while to heal. A month, or more."

Oh. He knew it. He was a bother, too much trouble. Father would send him back to the Dursleys as soon as he could. "When are you . . ." Harry swallowed and worked his courage up. "Sir? When will I have to go back?"

Father frowned slightly. "Never, I should think. As long as you do what you're told and keep the injury clean and well dressed. Poppy, or rather, Madam Pomfrey should be able to help us with that. And I'll talk to her about who we can schedule the surgeries with."

"I . . ." Harry was so confused. None of that made any sense, except that he wouldn't be sent back to the Dursleys if he obeyed his father. He could do that. He could.

"What is it, Harry? You look confused."

"I'm sorry, sir."

Father patted his arm, and Harry only flinched a little. "No apologies, Harry. Not for not understanding. What do you need me to explain?"

"Surgeries, sir?"

"For your hand. You bit through the . . . extensor tendon, and they will need to do at least one surgery in the next week, to repair it. Otherwise, you might not be able to move your fingers properly again."

"Oh! That's why I couldn't pick anything up."

Father sighed. "Yes. Does it still hurt? They gave you some of their medicine for pain, but I can give you a small dose of potion if it hasn't done the trick." Father's gaze held his steadily. "And I want the truth, Harry. No telling me something is fine if it isn't. This is serious business."

Harry's gaze flicked away. "Yes, sir."

"Well, then? Does it hurt?"

"No, sir."

"You're sure? You're . . . you're not a bother, if you tell me it does hurt. I'm your father, and part of my job is to look out for you, and make you feel better if you're not well."

Harry bit his lip, feeling tears well in his eyes, though he couldn't have said why. Maybe just that no one had ever cared about him like this. "Sorry," he whispered, and wiped angrily at his face. "Sorry, sir."

"Harry." Father's voice was very quiet, but a gentle quiet, not the angry quiet he could sometimes get. "You are allowed to cry if you need to. You are allowed to tell me if you're in pain. You are allowed to tell me to leave you alone, if you feel I'm hovering too much. But you are not allowed to apologize for things that are not your fault."

He couldn't have stopped the tears then, if he tried. They ran unchecked down his face as he threw himself into his father's arms and sobbed and sobbed. He couldn't have put into words what his tears were for, but it seemed like they were for everything. For the cupboard, and Uncle Vernon's belt, and the chain in the backyard and bathtubs and all of it.

Father rubbed circles on his back and let him cry, only saying things like, "It's all right, you can cry. I'm here, Harry, let it out. Father's right here."

The kindness and soothing words only made him cry harder, but there was something . . . good about the tears. He felt like all the bad things were being released from the prison he'd made for them in his gut, in his head, and he felt cleaner afterwards. Almost peaceful.

When he had finished crying, he was really, really tired, and didn't think he could move. And he liked the safety of his father's arms and didn't want to move, anyway. And father continued to hold him, for a long time, still not talking, not really, just being.

And it was good.

---

Later, after Harry had washed up, and they had eaten lunch -- although it was more like tea, really, since it was half four before they emerged from Harry's room -- Nelli Popped! into their quarters with a letter addressed to Father. Father read it and nodded, then penned something quickly and sent it back with the house elf.

"Draco would love to come to visit," Father told him. "We've agreed for him to arrive this Wednesday."

"Brilliant!" Harry jumped up from the sofa where he'd been looking at the pictures in his Quidditch book. "When's Wednesday?"

"Day after tomorrow. He'll stay for a week." Father's expression turned stern, mostly a slight narrowing of his eyes, but Harry knew when Father did that, that Harry had to make sure and do whatever was said afterwards, 'cause it was really important. "You and I will have to work out rules for when he's here. I won't have the two of you running roughshod over the castle or the staff."

"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir." Harry frowned. "We'll be good."

The stern face softened. "I know you will."

---

Wednesday couldn't arrive soon enough to suit Harry. In the meantime, though, he had plenty to keep him busy. Soon after Father told him about Draco coming to Hogwarts, he met Madam Pomfrey for the first time. She was very nice and gave him a chocolate frog, which he'd never had before, and which he had to chase after and catch when it tried to hop away. She also told Father that Harry needed more potions, for nutrition, and that he could use a very small dose of something called Dreamless Sleep, but only every other night, to help with nightmares. And then she looked at Harry's hand and clucked over it and nodded and talked with Father about it for a long time, while Harry sat on the edge of a narrow, but very clean, bed in the infirmary, nibbled on his chocolate, and watched the light from the tall windows sparkle on the floor.

In the end, they decided he should have the surgery the very next day, and Madam Pomfrey scheduled it while they were still in the infirmary. The idea of someone cutting up his hand made Harry very nervous, but Father promised him that he wouldn't feel a thing, as he'd be asleep, and that Father would be waiting for him when he woke up.

He took some of the Dreamless potion that night and didn't have any nightmares at all, and he only had a little breakfast the next day, because going to sleep for the surgery might make him feel sick, Father said. They Floo'd to another hospital place, where Father let him sit on his lap and play with the buttons on his shirt, until it was time to go to sleep, and then, when he woke up later, Father was there, waiting, just like he'd said he would.

Harry's hand was a little sore after that, but he had a new splint on it, and a green bandage with little yellow birds flying all over it, and Harry watched them, entranced, until Father made him sit down to supper. After supper he could hardly keep his eyes open, and so Father cast a Repelling charm on his injured hand so he could shower before settling into bed without getting his bandages wet. Then Father told a story, but Harry fell asleep almost before he started.

On Wednesday morning, Father changed the dressing on Harry's hand, and it looked strange, with white threads poking through his skin, and the obvious tear marks where his teeth had sunk in. But it wasn't angry red anymore, and wasn't even as sore as it had been, so Harry hardly minded Father touching it and putting the special cream on.

After breakfast, they spent some time adding a second bed to Harry's room, and more shelves and another wardrobe, for Draco. Harry was so excited, Father had to tell him three times that he needed to settle down.

But finally, Draco arrived!

Just after lunch, a whooshing sound made Harry look up from his book to see Mister Malfoy step through their Floo. Harry immediately jumped to his feet, even as Father rose from the desk where he'd been going over lesson plans.

"Severus," Mister Malfoy said, and handed over a tiny trunk, that Father waved his wand over till it got bigger.

"Lucius." Father inclined his head. "So good of you to come."

"Of course." Mister Malfoy looked at Harry then, and he couldn't help but take a step back. His knees ran up against the settee, and he used it for balance. "We meet again, Harry."

"Good afternoon, sir. It's very nice to see you."

"I'm sure." Mister Malfoy turned when the Floo made another whooshing sound and Draco tumbled out.

Instead of falling, like Harry often did, though, Draco caught himself and kept his feet. He grinned at Harry till he caught sight of his own father's face, at which point he straightened up even more and held his head high. "Uncle Sev. Thank you for inviting me to stay with you."

Father inclined his head again. "You're welcome. You can put your belongings in the room at the end of the hall. Harry, if you would show Draco to your room? And mind your hand!"

"Yes, Father!" Harry jumped forward and skirted around Draco's father, then grabbed one end of the trunk so they could drag it down the hallway. "Right down here, Draco!"

Draco took up the other end and the two of them hurried out of the sitting room. "It's small, isn't it?" Draco said, when Harry opened the door to his room and stepped inside.

Harry shrugged, feeling a little worried in his tummy. Would Draco not want to be his friend, if his room wasn't as big? It was loads bigger than his cupboard was, and even bigger than Dudley's main bedroom, but he had to admit that Draco's room had been loads bigger than this. "It's big enough for me."

"I guess." Draco looked around. "We're meant to share?"

Harry nodded unhappily at Draco's tone.

"Well, which bed is mine then?"

"That one," Harry said, pointing. "Father said you could choose your own dec'rations if you want something different."

Draco nodded and threw himself onto the bed. "Not bad. I guess I can get used to it. I'll want more pillows, though." He looked around again. "Where are all your toys? Do you have a play room?"

Harry's mouth opened and then he shut it, uncomfortably reminded of Dudley and his two bedrooms. Draco's room had been filled with toys, he remembered. Had there been even more, in another room? Harry could hardly even imagine it. "These are my toys. I've got dragons, see?"

"Mm-hm. Where's your broom?"

Harry sighed, knowing he was about to be laughed at for being a baby, and helpless to do anything about it. He'd wanted Draco to visit, but he hadn't counted on it being like this. Pointing to the corner, he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable jeers.

But when he heard nothing after another minute or two, he cautiously opened his eyes. Draco was standing by the broom, and his own lip was between his teeth as he watched Harry. "I had one like this, too. Till my birthday." He shrugged. "It's not really a baby's broom."

Harry gave him a tentative smile. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all. "Hey, Draco, d'you want to meet a giant?"

Draco's eyes widened, all traces of bragging gone. "Sure!"

"Father! Can we go--" Harry ran out into the sitting room, and came skidding to a stop when he saw Mr. Malfoy was still there. The tall man with pale, silvery hair was standing face to face with Father, and neither of them looked happy. Both of them turned to stare at Harry, who stepped back.

"What is it, Harry?" Father asked. His tone was cool, but his eyes weren't angry, like they could be.

"I . . . er . . ."

"What is it? Speak up, boy!" Mr. Malfoy snapped.

The words made Harry feel dizzy, and he shook his head to try and clear it. When the man took a step towards him, his sliver tipped cane flashed in the firelight, and Harry fled, back down the hall to his room.

He was dimly aware of his father calling his name, but his own breaths were coming too loud to hear more than that. In his room, he ducked behind his bed and wormed his way underneath, taking comfort from the small, cramped space. Almost like his cupboard, it was, and no one could get him here.

"Harry?" It was a new voice, and it took him a minute to realize it was Draco, and then, only because he could see Draco's pointed face at the edge of the bed, where he crouched down. "What're you doing under there? I thought we were going to go see a giant."

Shaking his head, Harry curled in on himself, making as small a ball as he could.

"Uncle Sev!" Draco called, and his face disappeared. "Come'ere! Something's wrong with Harry."

"Draco. Lower your voice. Only hooligans shout." Several sets of footsteps entered the small room, but the voice was Mr. Malfoy's, and Harry shivered as the man came closer.

"Yes, Father." Draco paused, then, "But Harry's under the bed, Uncle Sev. Like he's hiding. Is it a game?"

"Yes, Draco. . . . Why don't you and your father wait for us in the sitting room. We will be out shortly."

The footsteps retreated, but one set paused, and Harry could hear Mr. Malfoy say something very softly, and though he couldn't actually hear what was said, the man's threatening tone made him tremble and bite his lip to keep himself quiet. Then that set of footsteps went away, down the hall, too, and it was quiet once more.

Harry drew a shuddering breath, then coughed as he inhaled some dust. His eyes itched and he rubbed at them until he sensed someone nearby. His father knelt beside the bed.

"Harry," Father said, very softly. He was hunched over on the floor, and his bent nose and dark eyes were all Harry could see of him, through the black curtain of his hair. "Come on out, now. No one's going to hurt you."

"C-cane," Harry whispered.

"Mister Malfoy will never, ever use that cane on you. Never. I won't let him. Do you hear me?"

Harry's breath hitched and he nodded. "Yes, sir."

"All right then." Father put out his hand, and after a long moment, Harry took it and let his father pull him out from under the bed. "Good thing you were in play clothes." Father lightly brushed at some of the dust that clung to Harry's shirt.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, staring at his shoes.

"Harry," Father murmured, and Harry chanced a look at him, to see sadness and hurt in his eyes.

"Sorry, sir. I mean, sorry . . . Father."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Remember what I said about not apologizing for things that aren't your fault?"

Harry nodded and rubbed at his itchy eyes again, and startled when Father's long, slender fingers tucked under his chin and lifted his head. He tried to look away, but Father just waited until Harry, lip still firmly in his teeth, met his gaze. Father raised one eyebrow, and Harry mumbled, "Yes, si -- Father. I remember."

"Good. Now. You had a question for me?"

"Yes, Father." He wasn't sure he wanted to ask now, but Father was waiting. His words came out in a rush, "CanmeandDracogodowntoseeHagridagain?"

"Slower, and more distinctly."

"Sorry, sir. Can me and Draco go see Hagrid today?"

"You and Draco may go visit Hagrid, yes. But only with supervision, such as myself, or Nelli. I don't want you running about outside with that hand. Understood?"

"Yes, sir! Thank you!"

Father let go of his chin and put a hand on his shoulder instead, and his face was very serious. "And if you have any trouble . . . any trouble at all, with Draco or your hand, or anything else, you come right back here and I will sort it out."

"I will. Thank you, Father." He bit his lip again, and Father gently tugged it out from between his teeth with the tips of his fingers, making Harry flush with embarrassment. "Can you take us to Hagrid's?"

"Alas, I am busy this afternoon. But you may enquire as to whether Nelli is available." He looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he patted Harry on the shoulder and steered him toward the door. "Let's go out and say good bye to Mr. Malfoy now, like good hosts."

"Y-y-yes, F-father."

"Straighten up, Harry," Father said, and there was a warning in his eyes. "Don't let him see you afraid. Be brave."

Harry swallowed and nodded, straightened his shoulders and brought his chin up like Draco did. He was still afraid, but his father was with him, now, and Father would keep him safe. He'd promised.

"Good boy. Come on, then."

Despite his attempt to be brave, his steps slowed as they neared the sitting room, where Draco was standing next to the chair Mr. Malfoy was in, but Father's hand was on his shoulder again. Mr. Malfoy rose as they came in, and Harry held his gaze, though he really, really didn't want to. They moved further into the room. "Thank you for bringing Draco, sir," he said, and his voice only wavered a little. "It w-was nice to see you again."

Harry's father squeezed his shoulder, even as Mr. Malfoy smiled tightly. "Likewise. Severus." He nodded to Father, then shot Draco a hard look. "Do let me know if you have any trouble."

"Of course." Father nodded, too, and in the next minute, Mr. Malfoy was gone, and the air suddenly seemed lighter, making it easier to breathe.

As Father moved past them toward his study, Harry turned to Draco. "We have to ask Nelli if she'll take us." Draco gave him a blank look, so he reminded his friend, "To Hagrid's. You know, the giant."

"Oh. Who's Nelli?"

"Our House Elf!"

---

Though mindful of his father's instructions, Harry had to run down the hill towards Hagrid's hut, so he could keep up with Draco. His friend's legs were longer and he seemed keen on showing how fast he could run without falling.

Nelli trotted alongside Harry, half covering her face with her hands and moaning, "Youse going to be in trouble, Master Harry. Youse better not hurt your hand again!"

"I won't," he tried telling her, but she didn't really listen, and then they came over the last rise, and a barking dark blur ran at them like a stirred up nest of fur and gangly limbs and drool. "Fang!" Harry cried happily, and held out his arms. Fang diverted from careening into Draco - barely - and hurtled the last few feet to Harry, bowling him over once again.

Fang snuffled his face and drooled on his head and lapped at his cheeks and ears until Harry was giggling madly and trying to shove the dog away. And then Hagrid was there, shouting a command, and Fang loped away, though he trailed drool after him in a line that stretched from Harry's shirt to his jaws.

"Good ter see ye, Harry!"

Wrinkling his nose as he wiped his face, Harry said, "Hello, Hagrid, sir. This is Draco. He's my friend." He gestured to Draco, who was staring, with wide eyes, at Fang, and then at Hagrid, and back to Fang, seeming to not know which was the bigger threat. "S'okay, Draco," Harry assured him. "Father says Hagrid's genie-all. Means he's kind."

"Nice ter meet ye, Draco . . . you wouldn't be Draco Malfoy, now, would ye?" Hagrid loomed over the boys and though he was smiling, his eyes went a bit narrow.

"Y-yes, sir?"

"And yer a friend o' Harry's here?"

Draco nodded, and Harry saw him swallow hard, and he wondered if Draco was as scared of Hagrid as Harry was of Mr. Malfoy.

"Well, good ‘nuff, then." Hagrid laughed and clapped Draco on the shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling. "Let's have a bit of tea, lads. I've baked a slew of ginger biscuits. Should still be warm. Nuthin' like it, ginger. Good for what ails ye."

Harry grinned at him. "Thanks, Hagrid! And can you tell us a story ‘bout the forest?"

"The fores'? What you want to know ‘bout tha' for? Nuthin' you need to worry ‘bout in there."

"It's forbidden," Harry whispered to Draco as the three of them - including Nelli - followed Hagrid up the steps and into his home. "That means we're not s'posed to go in there."

"I know what forbidden means," Draco hissed back. He gave Fang a wide berth on the stoop, and looked around the small cottage. Harry hoped, suddenly, that his friend wouldn't say anything mean about Hagrid's place. It was small, sure, and certainly not as tidy as Aunt Petunia would have wanted, but it was full of interesting things on the walls, and smelled really weird, too, and Harry liked it.

"Yeah, well, Hagrid's Keeper of Keys and Grounds and the gamekeeper, right, Hagrid? So he knows all the creatures there are, like Streelers and Centaurs and grindylows and crups and all that. My father said so."

Draco rolled his eyes. "There aren't grindylows in the forest. They live in the water."

"Oh. Well, are there grindylows in the lake outside, sir?" Harry asked Hagrid, who was filling his enormous tea kettle.

"Some, yeah, there are some in there. Keep to ‘emselves mostly, stay outta the way of them Merfolk. And the squid." He nodded his chin at the table where a plate of star-shaped biscuits lay waiting. "Help yerself. Still warm, like I said."

"Thanks!" Harry took one and nibbled on the side, although as with the rock cakes, he decided he might want to wait till he had his tea, so he could dunk the biscuit in and let it soften before actually trying to chew it.

He and Draco and Nelli spent the next couple hours with Hagrid, who did tell them stories, about the forest's Centaurs to start with, and who made them gigantic mugs of tea and even convinced Nelli to have some, when she wanted to refuse on general principle. Draco had looked askance at the house-elf, when she first sat down next to Harry, but he seemed to forget about her after a few minutes of trying to eat Hagrid's biscuits without cracking his teeth, and listening to stories. At some point, Fang had decided Draco was drool-worthy, and put his large, soggy head in his lap, much to the other boy's displeasure.

Harry, though, had rarely had such a wonderful afternoon.

It would have been perfect, truly. After they left Hagrid's, the two boys went with Nelli to look at the lake and see if the squid was as playful as Hagrid said, so they could tickle its tentacles. But it wasn't out at all today, and the lake water looked rather cold and dark.

Yes, the afternoon would have been perfect, except that was when Draco suggested they should use their brooms to fly out over the lake, and take a closer look for the squid.

Yes, the afternoon would have been perfect, except that was when Draco suggested they should use their brooms to fly out over the lake, and take a closer look for the squid.

Even then, if Father had been in their quarters and been able to stop them from collecting their brooms, or if Nelli hadn't been convinced that, "just because we can't go to the pitch, doesn't mean we can't fly," it still might have turned out all right.

As it was, though, within half an hour, Harry and Draco were back at the edge of the lake, brooms in hand. Nelli was beside them, with her large head held in her hands. Soft sniffling sounds came from her, but she had already acknowledged that this wasn't expressly forbidden. Still, Harry felt bad for her, and hoped she wouldn't get into any trouble on their account.

"You're scared," Draco said. He was already astride his broom, and waiting for Harry to do the same.

"Am not." But Harry was, really. He didn't like the idea of going into that water if he fell off his broom. He didn't know how to swim, for one thing, and it was too much like . . . well, he didn't like it.

"Are, too." Draco looked over the lake. "Don't you want to see the squid?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He'd never fallen off yet, so why should this be the first time? Taking a deep breath, he swung one leg over his broom. "Up!" he called, and he was airborne, although only by about five feet. His broom wouldn't go any higher than that, till the child protection was taken off. And Father said he wouldn't do that for another year or two, at least.

Draco grinned at him and kicked off, hovering a few feet above Harry. "Ready then?"

Harry nodded, and they were off!

Draco swooped by him, and then to the side, so they were on the same level. The two of them cruised, side by side, just above the surface of the water. Despite the summer sun, the air just above the lake was chilly. Together with the wind in their faces, Harry was shivering in fairly short order.

Though Draco had to keep at a slower speed than he could have done, since Harry's broom had child safeties on it, they still flew in tandem, making sharp turns and steep-ish climbs that turned into dives, and all of Harry's fears of the escapade quickly slipped away. He really loved flying. He yelled as much to Draco on one of their quick turns, when their knees collided and he jiggered sideway to avoid a splash down.

Draco laughed and yelled back, "Me, too!"

Just then, something erupted from the lake right in front of them, too close for either of them to swerve. A wave of water crashed over Harry, who pulled frantically on his broom to avoid the long, pink sucker-covered tentacle that curled toward him. He darted under one of the squid's "arms" but his broom couldn't react fast enough to keep him from flying right into the next one. The tentacle swept around him and grabbed him tight around his chest. One arm was pinned to his side, his good arm, and the other flared in pain.

He couldn't breathe!

"Harry!" Draco screamed, and Harry twisted and turned in the squid's grip, but couldn't find his friend. The tentacle wrapped him tighter still, and his chest was caving in. Whipped to and fro, high in the air, his stomach knotted and he could barely see anything. He was sure he heard something snap. Arm? Ribs? Draco screamed again.

No! He had to get to Draco! Let go! LET GO!

A series of popping sounds echoed in his ears before he fell a long way through the air and crashed into the lake. Before he'd had a chance to catch even a tiny breath, water covered his head, and he sank down, down, down, into darkness. . . .

---

"Uncle Sev!" Draco shrieked as he hurtled through the castle's corridors. "Uncle Sev!"

Severus almost bowled him over as he ran, full tilt, towards the Main Entrance. Mere moments ago, he'd once more been accosted by a bright flash of light in the form of a winged snake - Harry's accidental Patronus - and he'd barreled out of the dungeons toward whatever scrape his son was in now.

Draco skidded to a stop in front of him, clinging to one wall and dripping wet. A gouge across his cheek was raw and bleeding. Shivering, he grabbed Severus' arm and yanked him toward the main doors. Gasping for breath, he panted out, "Harry . . . fell . . . squid . . . the lake."

Merlin, no . . . Shaking loose from Draco's grip, Severus raced down the steps and tore off across the grounds. Every conceivable scenario flashed through his mind; Harry was dead; the squid had eaten him; he'd drowned; he'd been captured by grindylows and ripped to shreds . . .

As he neared the lake, he caught sight of two small lumps by its edge, only one of which seemed to be moving. He angled in that direction and, despite the stitch in his side and his burning lungs, he ran even faster. Once he closed in on them, he could see that the lump that was moving was Nelli, and she was turning the non-moving lump on its side, and patting it on the back.

Harry.

Please, no.

Severus slid the last few paces to his son's side, and was on his knees before he'd even come to a halt. Nelli wrung her hands as Severus looked the boy over. Once again, Harry's lips were blue from lack of oxygen, and Severus had his wand out in seconds, waving it over him. Desperation had him shouting the spell, "Respiro Coactum!"

The spell worked this time, and with a hacking, rasping cough, Harry breathed, leaving Severus faint with relief. Another fit of coughing brought water, tinged red with blood, pouring out of the boy's mouth. His eyes were unfocused - he'd lost his glasses - and his skin was pale as death. He shivered all over and coughed up more water, and tears and snot ran down his face in equal measure.

When he tried to get up, Severus gently pushed him down, this time on his back. "No, Harry, stay still a minute." He continued doing a diagnostic with his wand, and was not surprised to find two cracked ribs, a shattered clavicle, and more water in his lungs along with numerous contusions. He fished in his pocket for a pain relief potion and held the boy's head up while feeding it to him, cradling his hurt shoulder.

"Dra-draco?" came a soft stutter, in between coughs.

"He's fine, Harry. Shush, now." He glanced back to see Draco standing just behind him, looking paler than usual.

Tears tracked down the bigger boy's cheeks. "S-sorry, Uncle Sev. I couldn't reach him. I tried, but then the squid just exploded!"

Harry had lapsed back into unconsciousness, though at least he was breathing, and as he eased the boy into his arms, Severus looked over the lake. Smears of blue, viscous slime floated atop the water along with chunks of what looked like a tentacle. He would have to find out what exactly had happened - was it more of Harry's admittedly powerful accidental magic? But for now he needed to get Harry inside and warm and dry. After lurching to his feet, he carried the boy back towards the castle. Nelli trotted alongside them, looking fearful and shocked at the same time.

"Did you fish him out of the water, Nelli?" Severus asked her as they neared the castle.

"Nelli did, yes, sir. Master Harry is going down, under the water. Screaming, and water goes in his mouth, and Nelli had to get him out of the lake, yes, Master Snape."

"Good, you did well." He have a talk with the house-elf later about letting the boys near the lake in the first place, but he did have her to thank for the fact that Harry had not drowned. What had they been doing? "Go let Madam Pomfrey know we're on the way up."

"Yes, Master Snape, sir."

As they climbed the first set of stairs to the infirmary, Draco kept giving him covert looks. Finally, Severus said, "What is it?"

"You . . . you won't tell my Father, will you?"

Without knowing the full story, he would promise nothing. "We'll see, Draco." When Nelli popped back into being, next to him, he said to her, "Take Draco back to my quarters and have him put some dry clothes on. Pick out some for Harry, too. Come back here when you're finished."

"Yes, Master Snape, sir." The house-elf bowed low, ears aquiver, and led Draco back down the stairs.

Severus pushed his way into the infirmary, where Poppy was readying a bed for Harry.

"What happened?" she asked, as Severus laid Harry down. Poppy spelled his wet clothes off, as well as the wet bandage and dressing on his hand. His chest and back were covered with bruises. Poppy frowned. "The house-elf said he fell into the lake."

"I think it's a bit more serious than that." He watched as Poppy ran the same diagnostics as he had, then went for a bottle of Skele-Gro. "Something to do with the squid."

"The squid! Well, no wonder, then." She spelled infirmary pajamas onto Harry, but as small as he was, he was swamped by them. Shrinking them down to fit him, she said, "I'd rather not wake him, to dose him. That shoulder's going to be painful as it heals, and he'll need a good bit of rest."

"Very well." Severus slid in behind Harry on the bed, and eased the boy up, so his back was against Severus' chest. This way, Poppy could feed him various potions with his help in making the boy swallow.

"You know, Severus," Poppy said conversationally, once she put the third empty potion bottle down and started rebandaging the boy's hand. "I'd like a day to go by in which Harry didn't end up in the infirmary."

Severus felt his own face burning. He obviously wasn't keeping as close an eye on Harry as he should be. "He has a knack," he said quietly.

"Mm." Poppy was just about done when Draco entered, with Nelli at his side. The boy was still sniffling, and Severus sent him a Look, which at least made him stand straighter.

"Is he . . . will Harry be okay, Uncle Sev?"

"This time." He nodded at a chair nearby. "Sit. And tell me what happened."

Draco sidled onto the chair, and sat stiffly, his hands folded properly on his lap. "Hagrid told us about the squid, and we wanted to see it, but we couldn't, not from the shore . . . so we decided to fly our brooms over-"

"What!!?" Draco flinched back in his chair, and even in his sleep, Harry twitched at Severus' shout. Severus gritted his teeth, and his voice was much softer, but far more menacing, when he continued. "You did what?"

"W-we flew our b-b-brooms over the lake, t-to see the s-squid. I . . . we didn't know it would come up like that!"

"Like what?" Severus felt like a parrot, but it was all he could do not to shake the boy. Instead, his arms tightened around his son.

"It just zoomed up and grabbed Harry out of the air. His broom . . . I didn't even see where it went. He was being squished tighter and tighter, and I tried to fly in and get him, but then there was this bright flash of light and the squid just . . . blew up. There were bits of tentacle everywhere, and Harry fell into the lake." Draco took a deep breath, his gaze on Harry. Tears poured down his cheeks. "I couldn't see him. I looked all over, but I couldn't find him. So I ran to find you, Uncle Sev. I never meant for him to get hurt!"

Severus exchanged a glance with Poppy, and she lifted her eyebrows. He knew what she was thinking, that Harry had blown up the squid. He already knew the boy was powerful, but this was the first instance of him using offensive magic. He would need to be reined in, or at the very least, taught some control.

Letting out a deep sigh, Severus pressed a kiss to the top of Harry's head, then rested his cheek on the still wet mane of hair. So much turmoil in this little boy's life. What were they thinking, to ride brooms over the lake? He thought the boy was afraid of deep water.

He peered at Draco. "Whose bright idea was it to take the brooms out?"

Draco bit his lip and looked away, which was as much answer as he needed, though he'd still like for the boy to tell him the truth.

"Did you bully him into it?"

"What? No, Uncle Sev! He agreed to go; he wanted to see the squid, too!" Realizing he'd just confirmed himself as the origin of the day's excitement, Draco clamped his mouth shut.

"And he expressed no reservations? You didn't say or do anything to convince him?"

Draco flushed, and Severus had his answer to that question, too. A sudden rage took hold of him and he barked, "Did you shame him into it? Did you know he was afraid? Get out of my sight! Harry could have died because of you! Get out! GO!"

Casting a last, tearful glance at Harry, Draco slipped off his chair and fled.

"Did you shame him into it? Did you know he was afraid? Get out of my sight! Harry could have died because of you! Get out! GO!"

Casting a last, tearful glance at Harry, Draco slipped off his chair and fled.

Severus held Harry a little tighter, but even as he watched the other boy scramble out of the infirmary, he sent Nelli after him, not wanting him to come to any harm. If nothing else, Lucius would kill him.

"I cannot believe," Poppy said, just to the right of him, "that I just heard words like that come out of your mouth, Severus Snape. And to your own godson!"

Surprised, as she rarely used such a tone with him, he turned to the Medi-witch, and immediately shrank away from the rage in her eyes. "Poppy, I-"

"I did not even have a chance to look the boy over!" she spat, her voice quiet for Harry's sake, he imagined, since she looked like she wanted to scream at him. "And don't you think he felt badly enough already?! He needed comforting, not that . . . that, whatever it is you call it!"

"Poppy, I-" he started again, only to be interrupted again.

"I don't want to hear it. I will care for Harry here, and you will find your godson and apologize!"

He raised one hand to her, in supplication? He wanted to speak, dammit! He had every right to dole out harsh words when they were merited, he did! Then why did he feel like he was seven years old again, himself?

"And don't you even think of coming back here until you do! I won't have such horrible things said in my infirmary." With that, the Medi-with aimed her wand at him and hissed, "Now, Severus!"

"But Harry-"

"Will be fine with some rest. Draco will not."

Her wand did not waver, and for the first time since he'd met the woman, almost sixteen years ago, when his Head of House had sent him up here, on the first day he arrived at Hogwarts, unnourished and sporting bruises and a broken arm courtesy of his own father, he actually feared what she might do to him. Struck hard by remembrance of that day, and the father he had always feared and hated, Severus slumped back against the headboard. He nodded, ashamed, and slid out from behind his son, lying the boy gently against his pillows.

"If he wakes . . ."

"I'll be here, and I'll tell him you'll return." Poppy's tone softened as soon as she'd seen he was doing what she wanted, or maybe she guessed at the reason for the heat in his cheeks.

She had seen him for what he was. He had never wanted to become the man his father had been, and yet, at first provocation . . . How was he ever going to teach at this school? he wondered as he made his way to the infirmary doors. Student were like to be unruly - they certainly had been in his day - and would he treat them all thusly?

Worse, how could he ever be a good parent to Harry, if he blew up the first time he was faced with a child's unthinking foolishness? What if it had been Harry who had decided to get the brooms? Would he have cast such aspersions on his own son? A sinking feeling inside told him more than he wanted to of his own nature. Doubts of his fitness as a parent reared in him again, and he pushed them ruthlessly to the side. Now was not the time to wallow in his own inadequacies. Now was the time to go grovel for a boy.

---

"Draco." Severus kept his tone as gentle as he could. He was still angry, but his upset with the boy was tempered with his knowledge that his godson did not deserve all he had said earlier.

From where he huddled on his bed, in the room he was to share with Harry, Draco made no sign he had heard anyone say his name. So Severus said it again, and this time, added a, "Look at me, please."

The boy swiped his arm across his face before turning over to do so, and Severus understood more with that one gesture than he could have with any words just how well he had failed. Even now, Draco needed to appear strong, and without feelings, a legacy of the elder Malfoy that Severus had hoped to erase. He hoped now to just be given the chance.

Draco's face was splotchy, with the cut he had sustained starting to bruise around the edges, though at least it was not bleeding anymore. And his hair - generally perfectly coifed - was still messy from his broom flight and race through the castle. But the boy didn't shed tears in front of him, and held his gaze steadily, with a touch of wariness, as if expecting more scorn to be heaped upon him. The very idea pierced Severus' heart.

"I . . . spoke out of turn, earlier," Severus said to the boy. "I was . . . upset, about Harry being hurt, and I took it out on you."

Draco stared at him, eyes narrowing, but did not reply.

Severus sighed. No doubt Poppy would know if he said the actual words. "And I am sorry. I should not have given vent to my anger in such a fashion, especially when you were still in need of medical attention."

Pale eyebrows went up over grey eyes like a summer storm. "Is Harry all right?"

"He will be. You . . . you did well, in coming to find me. Much longer and I might have not been in time to get him breathing again. But he will recover. He's sleeping now."

Draco swallowed. "I really never meant for him to get hurt," he whispered.

"I know," Severus said, almost as quietly. He gestured to the boy's bed. "May I sit down?"

"Yes, sir." Draco scooted along the bed till his back was against the wall, and watched Severus sit with a mixture of surprise and dread still playing across his face. Such openness would fade in the coming years, he knew. Lucius would not allow his son's emotions to be read so easily.

"You and I need to have a frank discussion about what happened today," he started, but at a worried look from Draco, he continued, "But I think that will wait until Harry is able to take part as well. He is responsible for his own actions, after all, and I would be remiss in not addressing his lack of judgment as well as yours."

Noting the widening of his godson's eyes, he nodded. "Harry is capable of making his own choices and could have chosen not to go with you." Even as he said the words, he wasn't altogether sure they were true, after what the boy had been through with those Muggles. But if Harry wasn't able to stand up for himself now, he would be, as soon as Severus could do anything about it.

"However," he continued, "he has been through a great deal, and as a result, he may sometimes go along with activities he would normally be adverse to, because he doesn't want to lose you as a friend. And because, I believe, he admires you and wants you to think well of him. So I must ask you, Draco, if he appears especially reluctant of something - such as flying above a large body of water - to please respect that and not push him unduly." He held the boy's gaze, and hoped he was doing the right thing. "Do you understand?"

After a long moment, Draco nodded. "Yes, Uncle Sev." He looked down at his hands, then up again quickly. "He was scared, but I . . . I thought it was because he really didn't know how to fly or something." He drew a deep breath, and the look that came over his face was filled with more grownup understanding than any other child he'd ever seen . . . except perhaps for Harry. "It was bad, wasn't it? Where he was before you got him."

Severus studied the boy for a long time before answering. Finally, he realized that, no matter his faults, Draco was not his father, and he had willingly offered Harry his friendship. Being honest now would not damage whatever lay between them. "Yes, Draco. It was bad."

---

Harry woke slowly to the familiar smell of disinfectant, like his cupboard sometimes, after opening a new bottle of cleaner. For a moment, he panicked - He was back there! Father had sent him back! - until he opened his eyes and, even through the fuzzy haze of no glasses, saw sunlight streaming through high windows. He gulped a breath and made himself let it out slow. He was in a bed. In the infirmary. At Hogwarts.

Not the cupboard.

Then he remembered the rest, the deep water and darkness and screaming while water filled his mouth and nose, just like baths when Aunt Petunia tore him apart with her eyes as she held him under and he tried and tried to claw his way out. . . .

He had to get up, and get away from here, and find Father, and Draco! Frantic, he pushed up on his elbows, but pain shot through his chest, and he gasped for breath. It hurt a little, going in, but he clamped his teeth together and breathed through his nose instead, slowly.

Madam Pomfrey, a large blur in white, was by his bed in the next second. She leaned over and smiled at him. "Harry, dear. Good to see you're awake. Don't move around now, your ribs don't need that." Plumping up his pillows, she managed to get him to a sitting up position without it hardly hurting at all.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, and his voice sounded funny. Rough, like he'd been eating sand.

"Oh, there now, dear," she said and patted him lightly on the cheek. He flinched, unable to help it, and she moved her hand away. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "Does your chest hurt at all?"

"No, ma'am," Harry said, ‘cause he could let Father know when he was hurt. But school nurses were right out. He knew that.

"Your shoulder?" Madam Pomfrey pressed, and held her stick - her wand - up by his arm and swished it around a bit.

"No, ma'am." He wanted desperately to ask where his father was, and if Draco was all right, but questions were right out, too. He could ask Hagrid questions, because Father had told him about Hagrid and how he liked to talk. But not Madam Pomfrey.

"Let me get you something for your throat, Harry. You swallowed a lot of water, and it's bound to be scratchy."

"It's fine, ma'am. I'm okay, thanks." He scooted over again, ready to get up and make a run for it, but the woman stepped in front of him at the side of the bed and put her hands on her hips.

"And where do you think you're going, young man?" she asked, but her voice as still kind, so Harry only flinched a little. "Your shoulder is still healing, as well as your ribs. You'll rest right there through the night, if I have anything to say about it, and you can go back home in the morning."

Harry's mouth dried out. There was his answer, then, for where his father was. He'd been really bad, probably gotten Draco hurt, too, and Father was sending him away. But he wasn't even going to say so, himself. Suddenly having no where to go, he nodded at Madam Pomfrey and slid his legs back on the bed. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away, quick. Tears weren't allowed. He knew that. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good boy. Get some rest," she said, and left him alone.

A horribly deep hole opened up beneath him and his stomach was first to fall into it, followed by his chest, and then the rest of him. He was alone again, and there was no use crawling out of the hole any more.

---

The first thing Severus noticed when he entered the infirmary, this time with Draco in tow, was that Harry was awake. The second thing he noted, when he strode closer to the boy, was that he had not seen such a blank look on Harry's face since he'd had first taken him from the Dursleys. He frowned as he stopped next to the bed, and Harry did not turn to look at him. Well, his glasses were missing, perhaps that was it.

"Harry?" he said quietly, and the boy blinked, but still didn't look at him. His face looked even tinier without the aid of his glasses, and his eyes were . . . not glazed, exactly, but looking at something distant, that Severus could not hope to see. Severus sat down on the side of the bed and took one of Harry's hand in his own.

"Harry, look at me, please." He was momentarily struck by the phrase, minutely different from the one he'd spoken to Draco only half an hour ago. Both boys needed to be handled with care, he knew, and he once more felt out of his depth. When his son still did not break that distant gaze, Severus felt the first stirrings of fear. He squeezed Harry's hand and spoke more firmly. "Harry. Look at me."

Draco stepped forward. "Harry?" he said. "Are you all right? I'm sorry about the lake, honest. I didn't think the squid . . ." He shot a glance at Severus. "I mean, I'm just sorry."

Harry blinked again and drew his head to the side as if he were half asleep, but his gaze was aimed at Draco, whose face was still pinched with worry. "Draco?"

"Yeah, Harry. Are you still sleepy?"

Harry shook his head. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. I was worried about you." Draco smiled a little. "You had us all worried, even Nelli."

"Nelli?"

Severus watched the back and forth between his godson and Harry, and wondered if Poppy had given the boy too much sleeping draught; he seemed truly out of it, and had yet to acknowledge that Severus was even there. He hated to admit that to be shunned like this hurt, a lot.

"The house-elf that was watching us. She pulled you out of the water, while I went to get your father. Do you remember?"

"My father's dead," Harry mumbled, and the words hit Severus like a Centaur's kick to the chest. "Car crash . . ."

"No! Harry-" Draco started, but Severus interrupted.

"Draco, if you would be so kind," he said, and nodded his chin at the chairs near the doors. The boy gave him a glare, but moved away like he'd been told. Meanwhile, Severus put his hands on Harry's shoulders and looked into those green eyes he'd so loved on Lily's face. "Harry, I am your father, and I am right here."

"Sending me back," the boy mumbled again, his gaze still not focused.

"I am doing no such thing!" He wanted to shake the boy, but instead merely tightened his grip on the bony shoulders. "You are my son, and I will never send you away."

"M'hand got wet. Disobeyed. Have to go back if I disobey."

"No, Harry. No." Merlin, is that what the boy thought? That he was here on a temporary basis, that the least infraction of rules would have made Severus send him back to those god-awful people? How was he going to make Harry understand otherwise? His voice came out rough when he said, "Listen to me well, Harry. I don't care what you do, you could do anything at all, but I will never, never send you away. I will never send you back to those people. You are my son and always will be. Do you understand me?"

Light flickered in those green eyes, briefly, and Severus rejoiced when Harry truly met his gaze at last. So much trust rested in there, still, and hope, and Severus vowed to become worthy of it or die trying. "Never send me ‘way?"

"Never, " Severus agreed in a whisper and pulled the boy close. Harry wrapped thin arms around his neck and buried his face in Severus' shoulder. As silent tears drenched his neck, Severus pressed his cheek to the side of his son's head and the tightness in his own chest eased, just a bit. Ah, what anguish, love.

Aside from having dinner with Draco in his quarters, Severus spent the rest of the afternoon with Harry, sitting by his bed in the infirmary. The two boys settled next to each other, leaning back on plumped pillows and talking softly, while Severus read from his newest Potions Quarterly and listened discreetly to their conversation. Draco hadn't apologized again, as well he shouldn't - groveling was fine on occasion, but excessive groveling from a Malfoy would be intolerable - but he was surprised to hear Harry ask Draco again if he was hurt.

"I heard you scream," Harry told him, earnest even in his very quiet voice. "I thought the squid got you."

"I didn't scream," Draco insisted. "I was just calling your name. You know, in a concerned way." Draco paused and nudged Harry lightly with his shoulder. "Anyway, did you know you blew up the squid?"

Severus stopped with the page of the journal half-turned, and listened carefully, as Harry whispered, "I never!"

"You did," Draco sounded a little smug. "It was disgusting, really. Blue slime all over the place. You got the tentacle that had you, and two others, too, I think."

Harry looked miserable and pulled his lower lip in between his teeth. "I just wanted it to let me go, so I could help you."

"You were the one in trouble. I didn't need any help." Draco smirked. "Comes from having a better broom."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, and his lips turned downward even more. "I s'pose mine's gone, innit?"

"It fell in the lake. I didn't see where it went after that."

Harry nodded, and Severus could tell the boy was trying hard not to cry as his fingers toyed with the blanket he was tucked under. Severus' gaze flicked to Draco for an instant, quick enough to see the look of indecision before the blond offered, "You can use mine sometimes, if you want."

Severus smiled behind his journal as Harry said, "Really?"

"Sure. But, er, we can't fly over the lake again, right?"

Harry's eyes got big. "Right," he swore. "No more lake."

Another, longer pause, then, "Why are you scared of the lake anyway?"

"I wasn't scared," Harry hissed, sounding scandalized by the very idea.

Draco frowned at him. "All right. Why didn't you like it, then?"

A much longer pause. Severus held his breath, waiting to see if Harry would tell his friend about what Petunia had done. He'd seen the memory of it in the woman's head, the night he cast Legilimens upon her, but Harry didn't know that he knew. Harry, in fact, didn't know he knew anything at all about the Dursleys, except what the boy had told him himself. And, he had yet to tell the boy that he'd seen Vernon and Petunia and meted out punishment. That could wait for another time, however.

Draco waited patiently, too, a feat for which he had likely received training from his father, and Severus had almost decided that his son wasn't going to answer at all before Harry opened his mouth again. "I don't like water like that. Deep and stuff."

"But why?"

Harry gave a little shrug and stared at his hands. "I almost drownded," he said, so softly Severus had to strain to hear.

"Honest? Where? How?"

Once more Harry surprised him. "Bathtub. I was real little."

"You're still little."

"Well, I was littler."

Draco wrinkled his nose, and Severus knew the boy wanted to correct Harry's speech, but was frankly shocked when Draco passed on the opportunity and instead said, "I probably wouldn't like lakes either, if I'd nearly drowned."

Harry gave him a small smile, and their conversation turned to the tea they'd had with Hagrid and how drooly the gamekeeper's dog was. Both of them were laughing inside of a minute.

Severus finished turning the page and picked up reading again.

---

"Father," Harry whispered, and Severus opened his eyes from where he was dozing on a Transfigured chaise longue. Draco was sleeping in a bed on Harry's other side, since Poppy had refused to let him take Harry back to their quarters, and Severus refused to leave either boy alone for the night. The boy's nasal snores were extremely un-Malfoylike.

Severus had told both of them a night time story - which Poppy apparently found uproariously amusing, to judge by her expression - and tucked them in, then read to himself for a while before closing his eyes. He'd assumed, with the sleeping draught Harry had been dosed with, that the boy would not wake till mid morning. But it was only 2am, now.

"Yes, Harry?"

The boy's eyes were hidden in the little bit of light from the moon that shone through the infirmary windows, and his face lay in shadow. Even so, he saw the boy swallow hard and fight to keep his gaze steady. "I'm sorry, ‘bout the squid, and my broom, and getting my hand wet, and getting hurt again."

"I know you are, Harry. We'll talk about it tomorrow, with Draco, too."

"Yes, si - Yes, Father."

Severus hesitated, but he knew he was going to need to address this issue sooner or later. Eventually, the boy would need to face his fear of water. He'd tried to, Severus knew, and if it hadn't been for the squid, he might have gone a step toward overcoming it. But now . . . Very slowly, Severus raised the chairback until he was upright, and moved his hand forward so it rested on the blanket next to Harry's.

"I know what happened to you in the bath, when you were younger, Harry."

Harry's mouth fell open and he shook his head.

"Yes, I do. I . . . saw a memory of that, your Aunt's memory, and I am more sorry than you can imagine, for what happened to you."

"Nothing happened," the boy insisted. "Nothing!"

Draco moaned and turned over in his sleep, and Harry's eyes widened, as he darted a look at the other boy. A split second later, a blue-white nimbus flared around Harry then faded slowly.

A moment later, the boy looked completely panicked. "I'm sorry!" he gasped and waved his hand as if swatting a fly. A smaller, less bright light appeared, and vanished more quickly. "No Silencing, you said, sir. I'm sorry!"

"Harry." Startled by the obviously intentional bit of magic, Severus leaned forward with a frown, which deepened when Harry shied away, shoulders hunched and head down as if expecting a blow. Severus put up his own Silencio, so they wouldn't be overheard. "Easy now. I think we've had another misunderstanding."

"We have?" A peek through his fringe gave him a tiny glimpse of green eyes.

"We have," Severus said, then went on very slowly, and firmly, "Because what I meant by you not performing that spell was that I don't want you do any Silencing when you are upset or in pain. I don't want it used when you're trying not to disturb me when you wake from nightmares or get hurt or scared, because I want to help you. Do you see how those situations are different from this one?"

Harry darted another look at young Malfoy before nodding once.

"Please explain to me how it is different, Harry."

"I . . . er, I'm not in pain right now, sir?"

"Yes, and?"

"And I'm not upset from a nightmare?"

Snape's lips quirked in an almost smile. "Yes. And what else?"

"And I wasn't disturbing you?"

"Exactly." He cocked his head a bit and gave Harry a piercing look. "But you didn't want to disturb Draco from his sleep with our conversation; that was very thoughtful. Did you put the spell up on purpose, or was it an accident?"

Harry looked away. "I can't do magic on purpose, Father. I tried before, at Spinner's End, and nothing happened. I'm sorry."

Severus shook his head and asked Harry to look at him, waiting until the boy met his gaze again. "I believe you can do magic, Harry. I believe you just did." When Harry's worried eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to disagree, Severus went on relentlessly, "Tell me, did you think about what you were doing when you put up a Silencing spell just now? Or did it just happen, out of your control? And when you canceled the spell again, thinking I was angry about it, did you know what you were doing, or did that just happen, too?"

"I . . . er . . ." A sudden smile lit up the boy's face. "I did do it on purpose!"

"Yes."

"Then I can be your son!"

"Of course you can," Severus said with a puzzled frown. "You are my son."

"But not if I didn't have magic, Father. Draco says people without magic are Muggles and they aren't allowed at Hogwarts."

"Well, that's true, but it would have nothing to do with whether you were my son or not."

"It wouldn't?"

"No, Harry. I told you earlier, you're my son no matter what you do, or don't do. You're not going away, and neither am I."

The boy took a long, relieved sounding breath, before he gave Severus a tiny, sly-looking grin. "Draco said there's no such thing as telly, too."

"Did he now?" Severus returned the boy's smile. He had no idea what telly was, but knew it existed at least; some Muggle picture contraption, he thought. "I guess that means Draco doesn't know everything. You'd be wise to keep that in mind, should any other adventurous ideas come up in your scheming together."

"Yes, Father," Harry said, his smile turning rueful, and leaned back against his pillows.

"Get some rest now. We'll talk more tomorrow," Severus told him, and pressed a kiss to his brow and was pleased no end when Harry didn't flinch.

---

After breakfast, which Harry ate from a tray, in bed, Madam Pomfrey let him leave the infirmary with Father and Draco. They'd gotten to eat in the dungeons, together, and Harry had felt left out, so he was feeling what Father called, "snappish" as they entered their quarters, and scowled a little when Father wouldn't let them go to his room and play, but told them to "stay put on the settee" instead.

Harry groused a little more when he saw that Draco could sit so his feet almost touched the floor, but Harry's ankles barely came past the edge of the upholstered cushion. He hated being the smallest all the time.

Father sat in his leather armchair across from them. His brows were drawn down as he stared over hands knitted together near his chin. Harry's irritation disappeared, and he felt a hollow pit open in his stomach. He and Draco were in serious trouble.

Draco was sitting perfectly still, hands folded in his lap. Harry copied him, and tried to keep his gaze on Father's face, and not on his shoes.

"I am very disappointed in you both," Father said.

Harry's heart sank into the hollow pit, too. This soft, calm tone was almost worse than Uncle Vernon's rages. And he never wanted to disappoint his new father, not ever!

"I trusted you to both to listen to Nelli and not give her any trouble. I trusted you, Harry, to not do anything that might re-injure your hand, after all the trouble we went through getting it fixed. And Draco, I trusted you to not put yourself in jeopardy with dangerous stunts, especially on your first day here. Neither of you lived up to my trust."

Shame washed over Harry as Father paused. He'd known he shouldn't go flying. He'd known Nelli didn't want them to. He'd been bad, and as Father pursed his lips, Harry clenched his hands together, readying himself for whatever punishment came his way. Would he be locked in a cupboard? Maybe he'd have no meals? Or maybe Father would use a belt? He could handle any of that, any punishment at all, except a collar and chain.

"I am trying to decide if it was a mistake to have Draco over, so soon after we arrived. Perhaps he should return home, so Harry can better acclimate himself to Hogwarts without distraction."

Both boys jerked at the pronouncement, and Draco looked even more scared than Harry felt, but neither of them said anything. Harry knew better than to argue, and figured Draco did, too. His friend had felt his own father's cane on his backside more than once, he'd bet anything.

Father leaned back, watching them both with his dark, glittering eyes. Then he sighed. "Alas, I fear the elder Malfoy would be rather put out were I to send his son back so soon, and thus I am forced to consider other consequences for your decidedly foolish behavior."

Harry braced himself, and saw Draco do the same, out of the corner of his eye.

"Therefore, I think it is only fitting that I should remove the temptation for this sort of . . . Gryffindor adventurousness by taking away broom privileges for the duration of Draco's stay. No flying for a week, for either of you. Perhaps you will learn to keep your heads on straight if they are closer to the ground." He raked them with his gaze once more and jerked his chin toward the hallway where Harry's bedroom lay. "That is all. Go on now, both of you. I have work to do."

Harry stared at Draco, who stared back, both of them taking relieved breaths. No brooms! It was disappointing, sure, but it wasn't anything as bad as he'd feared. They scrambled off the settee and dutifully headed for Harry's room. "Thank you, Father," Harry said as they passed his chair.

"Thank you, Uncle Sev," Draco echoed.

Father shut his eyes briefly, Harry saw, and when he spoke, his words were quiet and almost sad, which didn't make any sense, unless he was still really disappointed, but somehow, Harry didn't think he was. "You're welcome, boys. But please, try to behave yourselves today."

"We will!" they promised, and held themselves to it until well into the afternoon.

From last chapter:

"But please, try to behave yourselves today."

"We will!" they promised, and held themselves to it until well into the afternoon.

"Peeves!" Severus' shout echoed off the walls of the third floor corridor. A greave flew toward him and smacked into his chest. He snarled and lunged at the floating poltergeist, who was apparently as much of a bane to the existence of students now as he had been when Severus attended.

"Ha, ha! Got you, Snippy Snapey," Peeves cackled.

Pieces of a suit of armor littered the corridor, and Severus had to dart to the side to miss being hit by a flying visor. He caught his toe on a bit of cuisse and barely kept from sprawling face first across the floor. "Get out of here now, Peeves, or I swear, the Baron will be notified the moment I leave!"

Immediately sobering, the poltergeist flitted away through a nearby closed transom. A gasp came from several yards away, and as Severus grabbed at the wall to catch his fall, he shot a look at the open doorway. One blond head, and one covered by a dark mass of messy curls peeked around the frame, and both had worried eyes.

"Harry. Draco. Come here."

Red faced, both boys approached, but dragged their feet.

"Now!"

Harry raced to his side, immediately compliant, though his thin shoulders shook as he skidded to a halt. Draco was only a second slower. Severus reached out to steady the boy, but Harry brought up an arm to protect his head and ducked.

Severus swore silently. Instead of commenting, however, he pointed at the empty plinth where the suit of armor had once stood. "Explain."

Staring at his feet, Harry stepped back within arms' reach and held himself very stiffly, obviously embarrassed by his reaction. "I knocked it over, sir. M'sorry."

Surprised, Severus peered down at the boy. Harry had all the signs of guilt over the incident -- which Nelli had reported to him only moments ago -- and it would take but a few questions to get the real story directly from his lips, Severus estimated. But his patience had run thin today already, and he had a lot of work to do after the long staff meeting this morning. His tone, therefore, was sharper than he might have liked when he snapped, "Tell me the truth, Harry."

Harry only flinched again, hunching his shoulders.

Severus looked directly at Draco and lifted an eyebrow, inviting him to share his story, but the towheaded boy glanced away from him and otherwise ignored the situation.

Glancing up, Harry said again, "I knocked it over. It was my fault."

Gritting his teeth, Severus had to force himself to calmness. Although he was aware that Harry was stepping forward to spare his friend, he also knew the boy would be hurt by Draco's lack of the same, and he wanted to give Draco a chance to redeem himself. But Draco was not rising to the occasion, and Severus growled, "Were you playing near it? Running in the halls? How did it go over?"

"I . . ." Harry darted his own look at his friend, then back down to his shoes.

"And look at me when I am speaking to you."

Harry swallowed. "Yes, sir." He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and chewed on it. "I was running."

"Why?"

"I . . ." He glanced at the end of the corridor, where Severus had already found the remains of what Nelli had said was a rather large bag of compost, thrown at the boys by Peeves.

"Speak up, boy!"

Harry's head snapped back around. His eyes were wide and dilated. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I saw a . . . Draco said it's a ghost? Peeves, sir? And I ran, and I wasn't watching where I was going and I tripped and knocked down the soldier man."

"Is there anything else you wish to tell me?" Please speak up, Draco, Severus thought. Show Harry you are worthy to be his friend.

But only Harry moved, and then, just to shake his head. "No, sir."

He was going to need to be direct. "Draco?"

Draco jerked as if he'd been slapped, then brought his head up, eyes wide and innocent. "Uncle Sev?"

"Do you have anything to add?"

The boy gave Harry a quick glance and out of the corner of his eye, Harry shook his head, just a tiny bit, so little that if Severus had not been watching for it, he would not have noticed. "No, sir. But it was an accident."

"Very well, Draco. Harry, please go to your room. Now."

"Yes, sir." Watching his feet again, Harry took off at a half lope, half scuttle, and Severus sighed. His head ached. He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking he would likely not get a start on the infirmary potions today.

"Uncle Sev?"

Rage flared in him so strongly for an instant that he was sure that if he turned around, he would say many things he would come to regret, and he had already apologized as much as he was going to, to this child. Not looking at the boy, he said, "Draco, go back to our rooms. Do not even think of leaving."

"Yes, sir."

Severus heard the puzzlement in Draco's voice, and didn't care. "Go, I said!"

Draco jumped, and ran after his friend. Severus called up Nelli and told her to keep an eye on the boys, and that they were not to leave his quarters. Then he Reparo'd the armor and went directly to the Headmaster's office.

Once inside, having refused both tea and boiled sweets, he paced before Albus' desk. "This isn't working."

"What seems to be the matter, dear boy?"

"I am not cut out to be a father."

"We've discussed this before. I imagine we'll keep doing so until you feel more secure in your role. But where else would the boy go if you pushed him away?"

It was only one of the questions that plagued Severus right now. Another was, "Tell me, how do I keep from hurting him? I can not seem to keep from scaring him whenever I raise my voice. And I am not accustomed to being civil all the time."

Albus smiled benignly. "I wouldn't expect you to be. But I say again, you are Harry's only hope for safety."

"Albus, I--"

"I have not finished. Although you are the only one who can ward him from Voldemort's followers," Severus twitched at the casualness of Albus throwing out that name, "you are by no means solely responsible for taking care of him. You are not alone, my dear boy. I have taken the liberty of assigning two more House-elves to your quarters, to assist Nelli, and I have invited someone to come here who I believe can offer you some advice on parenting. They will be here tomorrow, to check in, and we will set up a good time for them to come and stay for a week or two."

"Oh?" Severus was relieved, for Nelli if not himself, about the additional House-elves; chasing after these two boys was simply too much for her to deal with alone, and she had become increasing frazzled. Almost as much as he. But he ran through a mental list of possible "mentors," and didn't like the options that presented themselves. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to object, although he really despised these kinds of manipulations. "And who might that be?"

"Why, Molly Weasley, naturally. She's a member of the Order, and obviously has a great deal of experience, as I'm sure you'll agree." Albus chuckled at Severus' expression. "Oh, now, don't worry. She has a son Harry and Draco's age, and she'll be bringing Ron along, too."

Severus closed his eyes. His headache had reached the thundering stage. "Ah. Perfect."

---

"Uncle Sev didn't say I couldn't be in our room," Draco said as he came in and sat on his bed. "He just said I had to stay in our quarters."

From the corner, where Harry crouched on his heels and waited to be punished, he tried to smile, but he was really scared. He'd lied to his father, and worse, Father knew it. Draco had been the one to knock over the armor, but Harry didn't want him to get sent back home, didn't want his friend to get hurt, so he'd stepped forward instead. But when he'd looked into Father's eyes, he'd known that Father could see into his mind.

Chewing his lip, he wondered if this time his father would hit him. Uncle Vernon hated lies, but seemed to like apologies, even for things that weren't Harry's fault. But it was hard to know what Father liked best.

"Come on," Draco said. "Let's have a game of chess." He dug his set out of his trunk and started to set it up.

Despite the heavy feeling in his gut, Harry climbed to his feet and went to Draco's bed. "Can we make 'em fight again?"

Draco nodded. "But let's try a game first, all right? Then they can fight, after."

"Okay." Harry followed his friend's lead in setting up the pieces and started encouraging them to do what he wanted. After a dozen moves, it was obvious Draco had the advantage, though Harry was doing better than the last time. Of course, this time he wasn't throwing his pieces away.

One of Draco's knights took a rook of Harry's and as the bits of rook were swept from the board, Draco said, "That was stupid, you know."

Harry scowled, both over his rook, and the words. "What was?"

"Telling your father it was you that knocked the armor over. Why'd you do it?"

"I didn't want you to get in trouble. I want you to stay here, and I didn't want him to send you away." Would Father send Harry away? Was a lie worse than a squid? Frowning at the board, Harry considered throwing another of his pieces into the path of Draco's knight, just to see them get crushed. But he sighed instead.

"Well, thanks." Draco smiled again. "He's certainly not going to send you away. He's your father. He can't."

Fat lot Draco knew. He'd already lost a Mum and Dad, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had wanted to be shut of him for a long time, and now they were. It was easy to be rid of people if you wanted to be.

---

It wasn't until after supper -- during which Father was almost silent, except for asking Harry to rest his dirty fork on the plate instead of the table -- that Harry was called into Father's study. The door closed behind Harry, leaving Draco in the sitting room with strict orders to, "Read something or sit still, your choice. But stay on the settee."

Father pointed to a chair by his desk and while Harry clambered into it, Father aimed his wand at the door and muttered a spell under his breath.

Harry shivered. His hands, though, were sweaty. The injured one ached, and he rubbed at it anxiously.

"Does you hand hurt?"

"No, sir."

"Why are you rubbing at it then?"

Harry hitched up one shoulder. "It aches a little."

"You don't consider that hurting?"

Gaze still on his hands, Harry frowned, surprised. "No, sir."

A sigh. "Harry, look at me." Biting his lip, he did so. Father was in his desk chair, his wand put away, and his forehead was wrinkled.

"Sorry, si -- er, Father."

"Thank you for remembering." Father's face was very still, even when he spoke, and his eyes looked tired. He didn't look angry, just . . . disappointed. Again.

"I'm sorry, Father."

Father was silent for a long time before he opened a drawer of his desk and took out a slender bottle that was wide at the bottom and narrow at the top. He uncorked it and handed it to Harry. "Drink that, please."

Harry held it tight, though the cool glass was slippery in his hand. He stared at the light pink liquid inside, then back up at Father. He had lied. Was he going to get a lesson in watching his tongue? In his hand, the bottle shook. He didn't want to drink it. He didn't want to be hurt again; after yesterday and the lake, his throat was just starting to feel better. Would the potion make him throw up or would it just burn? Would it make his insides twist together like writhing snakes?

But Father had said he wouldn't hurt him, hadn't he? He'd said so.

"Harry . . ."

The note of warning cracked his resolve. "Please, Father, I'm sorry! I won't lie again, I swear! I'm sorry, please don't make me drink it!"

Father's face crumpled and he covered his eyes with one hand. "Oh, Harry." He shook his head and then took back the little bottle. With Harry watching, he took a sip, like he had done back in Spinner's End, for the first few drinks Harry had been offered there. Holding out the bottle again, he said, "It's for pain. Please drink the potion."

Hands still shaking, Harry obeyed, holding his father's gaze the whole time. In seconds, the ache faded from his hand, and his side where the squid had bruised him. His chest still hurt, but that was just fear, Harry figured. "Thank you," he whispered, feeling stupid and ashamed. Of course Father wouldn't hurt him like that.

Father took back the empty bottle and set it on his desk. "Thank you, Harry. I know life is different here, and you aren't used to it, or used to me. But understand me. I will not hit you, nor will I ever give you anything to eat or drink to cause you pain. Nor will I deny you food or lock you in a cupboard. I will not chain you in the yard, and I will not send you away." He paused and moved as if he might try to grasp Harry's hand, but then rested his palm on the flat surface of his desk instead.

Harry nodded. "Yes, Father."

A flicker of something appeared in Father's eyes, gone swiftly, then, "I expect I'll need to tell you these things again and again. One day, I hope you will believe me."

Some of the tension leeched from Harry's chest. But he still didn't know how he would be punished.

Father watched him fidget, and though he was uncomfortable, Harry kept his gaze on Father's face. Another long few minutes passed in silence, with Harry worrying his lip. Finally, Father moved his hand, very slowly to cup Harry's cheek, and his thumb eased the lip out from between his teeth. Harry hung his head.

"I know you're expecting punishment for lying to me about who knocked over the suit of armor, but you have already been punished enough, by spending the afternoon in your room instead of being able to wander about freely."

Harry jerked his head up. "I have?"

"Yes." Father grimaced like he'd just smelled something a bit off. "Also, I want you to know that I understand why you took the blame for Draco. You were afraid of what would happen if he had to go home."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but then just gave a single nod. Father knew, there was no sense in making the lie worse.

"I admit," Father continued, "that I am glad you did not tell me that Draco was the one who bumped into the armor, for tattling on your friends is no way to keep them. You were loyal to your friend, and I have little problem with that, except when such loyalty is not reciprocated."

Harry frowned, not really understanding.

"You're not in trouble, Harry," Father said, watching his face. "I am not angry or disappointed in you."

Harry's frown deepened. "Father?"

"I am disappointed that Draco did not offer you the same measure of loyalty you showed him. Remember, Harry, what we discussed about the Malfoys."

The heaviness swelled anew in his chest. Father couldn't mean what he thought! "That we had to be wary, but Father, Draco's my friend."

"I know he is. But he will not always look out for your best interests. When his own interests are more important to him, like this afternoon, he will think of himself, not of you."

"No! He wouldn't do that!" But in a tiny back corner of his mind, he knew what Father meant, and he saw how Father would think Draco didn't care about him, because he hadn't admitted to the accident. But it wasn't like that. Just, Harry didn't want him to be hurt, not when he could help it.

Father shook his head, and there was an odd edge to his voice when he spoke again. "Your ideals of friendship are, I imagine, more absolute than other people's. You are still so trusting. Merlin knows how after all you've been through. I know you want to trust Draco. But Harry, please stay wary."

The expression on Father's face more than anything else made Harry pause before arguing again. He looked so sad. Even more than worries about Draco, seeing his father like that made his chest hurt. Harry slid off his chair and moved till he was flush against Father's legs. Harry patted him on the shoulder, like Father had done for him. "Don't be sad, Daddy," he whispered. "I'll be wary."

Eyes shining with moisture -- was he crying? -- Father opened his arms, and Harry let himself be enveloped in a hug. He closed his eyes when Father kissed his forehead and then rested his cheek on Harry's head. He didn't know what to think about Draco, but for now, he just took strength and safety from his father's arms.

---

That night, when Harry had nightmares, he managed a Silencing to keep Draco from waking. But he also sent a message of light to Father, who came quickly so Harry could cling to his neck and cry softly against his shoulder. While Father held Harry and rocked him, he whispered over and over than everything would be all right, and also how proud he was, that Harry had finally asked him for help.

In the morning, over breakfast, Father told them that they would have another boy to play with today. He and his mother were expected late morning.

"Another boy? Who, Father?"

"His name is Ron. He's your age. I expect you'll make him welcome."

"Yes, sir!"

Father smiled at Harry then glanced at Draco, who was scowling at his eggs. "Draco?"

"Chess only takes two players, Uncle Sev."

"Yes. But I have a set, too, so if you rotate a bit, or get a fourth player, you can have two games going."

With a huff of displeasure, Draco said, "All right, fine."

"We can visit Hagrid!"

Father held up a hand. "You will stay well away from the lake if you venture outside at all. And if you do go outside, Nelli or one of the other House-elves will be with you, and you will listen to their instructions. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!" both boys said together.

---

Ron came through the Floo with his mother into the Headmaster's Office. Another boy came through right after them. They all had the same red hair, and Ron had freckles all over his arms and face. The second boy wasn't too much taller than Ron, but Ron had a few inches on Draco.

Harry sighed. They were all taller than him. He tried his best not to scowl, especially when he was introduced to Mrs. Weasley, and she charged at him with her arms wide, like she was trying to herd cats. "Harry, dear!"

Harry hid behind Father's leg, and was glad when Father let him.

"Severus Snape! What have you done to this child?" Her voice was lighter than Aunt Petunia's, and she didn't look as sour as Harry's aunt, but she was obviously mad about something. "He's skin and bones, and look how pale and fearful he is!"

Father crossed his arms over his chest -- and Harry wanted to do the same. "What have I done to my son? I have rescued him and prepared a home for him. Is that what you mean?" To the Headmaster, he said, "I assure you, Albus, that I do not require assistance of this nature."

"Now, Severus--"

"I refuse to be considered negligent from the outset. Let us get a few things straight, Madam," Father said, and turned to Mrs. Weasley again. "I have agreed to listen to your opinion on matters of child rearing, but under no circumstances will I tolerate interference in how I raise my son."

From where he peeked out from behind Father's leg, Harry could see Mrs. Weasley looking Father up and down. Her face had pinked, but not nearly like Uncle Vernon's could get. Then, suddenly, she smiled, and there was an almost mischievous glint in her eyes. "Of course, Severus. I do will do all I can to help."

Father took a step towards her, but Harry grabbed at his robes, not willing to let him go, and not wanting to have anyone fight over him, or about him, or anything. While Father glanced down at him and touched his shoulder in acknowledgement, Mrs. Weasley crouched in front of him. To his surprise, she was right at Harry's eye-level, and her smile was much warmer. Kind, really. He gave her a tentative smile in return.

"There's a good lad," she said, and didn't try to touch him again. Then she beckoned the other two boys forward. "Harry, these are two of my boys, Ron, my youngest," she gestured at the boy with all the freckles. "He's seven, like you. And this is Charlie. Charlie's a bit older than you, he's in Hogwarts already, on the Quidditch team, too--"

"Aww, Mum, don't go on," Charlie complained as his ear grew red and he ducked his head.

"Anyway, dear," and she ruffled Charlie's hair, "he'll be able to keep an eye on the three of you today, along with, Nelli was it?"

The Headmaster nodded. "Indeed. I believe she is waiting downstairs, if you boys want to go and play . . . ?"

Harry looked up at Father, whose mouth was still twisted with annoyance with Mrs. Weasley. But when he nodded, Harry grinned over at Draco, who had stayed near the door the whole time. "Come on, then! Draco, we can all go see Hagrid!" He raced to the stairs and led the other boys down.

Behind them, he heard Mrs. Weasley say, "Oh, let them go, Severus. They'll be fine."

Severus sat stiffly in Dumbledore's office, when where he really wanted to be was outside, riding herd on a passel of children . . . or one particular child, at least. He had no doubt that, even with explicit instructions to the contrary, Harry could find a way to end up at the short end of the stick, and could quite likely find himself in the infirmary again. And Severus' nerves were already shot, thank you very much.

Molly Weasley, who had accepted the Headmaster's offer of tea, was sipping slowly, and watching him over the rim of his cup. "You look tired," she observed.

Severus managed - just - not to roll his eyes. "Indeed."

"How have you been sleeping?"

"Fine."

She gave a huff of annoyance. "Please, Severus. I'm trying to help. It won't do either of us any good if you aren't candid with me."

"If you already knew the answer, why did you ask?" he snarked.

"You should know the answer to that one," Molly said with a soft laugh. She turned to Dumbledore and lifted her eyebrows as if to ask what she was to do with a recalcitrant child in her care. Severus did not like the implication one bit.

"I have been sleeping as much as possible," he said at last. "Harry is . . . plagued by nightmares, and his sleep is often interrupted."

"And thus yours is as well." She nodded. "I know how that can go. Ronnie still has nightmares about spiders some times, and when he does, we're both shattered the next day. How bad are they?"

"Bad enough." With a pointed look from Albus, he elaborated, "They're horrible. Every night, except once when we - Madam Pomfrey and myself - dosed him with Dreamless Sleep. I admit I'm wary about giving it to him too often, however, due to his age and his size. He frequently screams himself hoarse, though. A few nights ago, he tried to stop his own screaming by biting his hand. Tore through the tendon along his thumb."

Molly gasped. "Oh, my word. Is that why . . ."

"His left hand was wrapped. Yes."

She was quiet for a while this time, and Severus took the opportunity to study her, in turn. He hadn't seen her in six years or more. Not since her youngest was born, since the Potters had died, since the Dark Lord had vanished. She had seven children, it was true. Six of them boys. He'd heard from the other professors that Bill was a bit rebellious, but a good student for all that, and likely to be Head Boy. Charlie, whilst a decent student, was much better at Quidditch. According to Albus, he'd been responsible for Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup for several years now and apparently had a yen for dragons. Severus wasn't sure he trusted the youngster with his son, but it was obvious that Molly Weasley cared for her brood, with a fair and affectionate hand.

Would that he could someday say as much about himself.

"I was surprised to hear that you'd taken Harry in," Molly said suddenly.

"I daresay many people are, or will be."

She smiled faintly. "May I ask what prompted such a move?" Her gaze flicked to Dumbledore, who was watching their interaction with thinly veiled amusement, and he understood. The Old Coot had not told her that Harry was actually his son. Well.

Fine.

"Such information isn't necessary," he said coolly, "in order for you to dispense your advice."

"No . . . But it would help me understand his circumstances, and better aid you in preparing for his future behaviors."

Severus frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I can only assume his last placement - with his aunt and uncle, correct? - was less than satisfactory, due to the state I saw him in a few moments ago. He is clearly undernourished and rather small for his age, and he's fearful of being touched. . ."

"Maybe he's fearful of being charged at!"

She ignored him, and talked right over his outburst, "I expect he was abused, quite likely with some frequency. It will take you a good while to win his trust, but you seem to be making headway there. He looks to you for reassurance and for guidance."

Quiet now, Severus considered her words. Everything she said was true.

"Have you tried Legilimency?"

Startled by the question, Severus shot a look at Albus, but the Headmaster merely sucked on a lemon drop and ignored his silent plea. "Pardon?"

"To help with his nightmares. I know you're a Legilimens, Severus. Have you used it on Harry?"

"No, I . . ." He hadn't really considered it, but it might work. And perhaps, if he worked with the child on developing some skill in Occlumency, too, Harry would be more relaxed when he went to sleep. He knew the boy could learn the skill; he was rather more powerful than Severus had first thought, and his "accidental," wandless magic was becoming stronger by the day. And far less accidental, too.

"That's a good idea, Molly," he admitted after a few minutes. "I will try it."

"There. That wasn't so hard." She smiled at him as if he'd finally gotten his homework done after much struggling against it. "Now, tell me about your disciplinary methods . . ."

Severus sighed. This was going to be a long day.

---

Out on the grounds, the boys were playing a loud game of tag, along with Fang, while Hagrid and Nelli the House-elf kept an eye on them. Nelli looked a bit fretful, to tell the truth, but Hagrid kept a discreet distance, for him, just a glance or two every few minutes, and weeded his garden. Fang tired of the game far earlier than his human counterparts, and lay panting in the shade of the cottage. Drool collected in a puddle near his head.

Hagrid laughed at him good naturedly and tossed a half ripe tomato at the beast's huge paws. Fang lapped it up; he enjoyed a good steak as much as the next boarhound, but never let a tomato go by either. Darlin' beast, he was. Gentle as a lamb. "There's a good lad. Eat up!"

From the shrieks of laughter and equally loud, happy calls of "Not it, not it!" it seemed the game was going well. Harry was enjoying himself, Hagrid thought, watching him chase after Ron Weasley, who was skipping and grinning madly, and he was glad to see it. He'd worried for the tyke when he'd first come down to visit, with his injured hand and talk about being a House-elf, and his wary, not-quite-trusting smile. Fang had put the lad more at ease, he thought, as had a spot of tea.

And then he'd returned, with Draco Malfoy, no less! He had no liking at all for Lucius, no, that one was bad to the bone, as it were, but he had nothing against the nipper, ‘less he did anything more to get Harry in trouble. Going after the squid, honestly! But Draco seemed to have decent manners, at least, even let Fang drool on ‘im. Now, with the other boys, he looked more carefree than his father would ever deign to be, and was running and grinning as much as the others.

Charlie Weasley was a good lad, enjoyed that Care of Magical Creatures class Professor Kettleburn taught, from what he'd heard. And he was a dab hand at Quidditch, too. His little brother, Ron, was cute as a button, if the button was red haired and gap toothed from missing front baby teeth.

After another hour, when Hagrid was down to snapping peas on his front stoop, the boys staggered over to collapse in giggling, tuckered out heaps in the shade nearby. Hagrid listened to them discuss Quidditch - Harry's knowledge being on the low end, no surprise, since he couldn't have heard of the sport before Professor Snape had taken the mite in, but Draco and Charlie both seemed to know quite a lot about current standings and statistics, and a lot of other facts that went clear over Hagrid's head. Ron was somewhere in the middle, very enthusiastic, but not very strong on facts, to hear his brother's objections.

Up close, it was easier to see Harry's face, and though he smiled at his new friends, there was something off in his expression. It took a few minutes of close observation to figure it out, and by then two House-elves appeared with a basket of lunch for the bunch of ‘em. Harry invited Hagrid - and the elves! - to join them, but he knew they would not have brought enough food for a half-giant and so declined. The House-elves looked properly aghast at the very idea of sharing trenchers with the people they were serving. Hagrid did take a serving of pumpkin juice, though. He loved the stuff.

All the boys looked hungry, though Hagrid noted that Harry not only waited until the other lads had their sandwiches, crisps and fruit piled high before taking anything for himself, but once he did have a plateful, he laid down on his belly and wrapped one arm around the outside of his plate, clearly protective of his meal. The gazes he aimed at the bigger boys had grown steadily warier, even though the midge tried to hide it.

Hagrid decided to keep an eye on the lad, and if he didn't settle easier pretty soon, he'd mention it to the Professor. Odd how Snape had taken in the boy; but they both seemed glad of the arrangement. Going back to his peas, he watched the boys eat everything before beginning a rousing game of Exploding Snap, courtesy of a pack of cards pulled from Ron's pocket.

Harry jumped a span the first time the cards exploded, as if he'd been bit by a Horntail. But then he grinned and laughed along with the other boys, and the game started up again.

---

In the afternoon, under Nelli's watchful eye, the boys played chess in Harry's bedroom. Draco and Ron paired up, and Charlie, having admitted he knew less than nothing about chess, played against Harry. Their game dissolved into a "Pieces Fighting Match" at Harry's suggestion, and when their hoots and catcalls got too much for Draco and Ron, the "serious" game was moved to the sitting room.

Charlie grinned at Harry, who was feeling a little forlorn - and if he was admit the whole truth, a little nervous - at the abandonment. Charlie was a lot bigger than him, and older, too, and he probably could do all sorts of things with magic that would hurt. He was glad Nelli had stayed with him. She was currently sitting on a small chair by his wardrobe and watching him with a soft smile.

"Miss them, huh?" Charlie asked suddenly.

Harry stared at him and shrugged. It wasn't like they were far away, but he wanted to be their friends, not have them just be friends to each other. It felt almost like primary school again, with Dudders making everyone stay away from him and beating them up if they didn't.

"Don't worry on it. After this game, Ron'll be back right quick. He's a bit mental about chess, actually. Percy won't play him any more, and no one else even knows the first thing about it."

"Percy?"

"My little brother, just after me." At Harry's blank look, he said, "There's seven of us, six boys and a girl. First born is Bill, he's the heir, you'll meet him when term starts up again. Then me, then Percy, who'll be a Firstie in September. Then the twins, Fred and George. Ron's the youngest boy, and then there's Ginny. She's the baby." He pulled a face. "Except don't tell her I said that; she's six now; she'd kill me."

"I won't tell," Harry promised, smiling. Charlie was all right, he guessed, especially since he thought brooms and were really cool, and played Quidditch, too. Ron he wasn't too sure of; he tended to call "no fair" a lot when they were playing something, and Draco called him out on it, saying things weren't always fair in life and he'd better get over it. Harry knew that was true, and figured it was something Draco had learnt from his father, the way Harry had learnt from Uncle Vernon.

Charlie set one of his bishops out to clobber a couple of pawns. Harry quickly moved in a knight of his own to cover them, and maybe smash it with the rooks a bit, too. "So . . . how're you getting along with Draco Malfoy? I gotta tell you, it was a surprise to see him here."

"How come?"

"Well . . ." Charlie's ears reddened. "It's no secret that his father was a big supporter of You Know Who."

"Who?"

"You Know Who . . . I mean, the Dark Wizard who, well . . . er, . . ."

"Killed my parents?" Harry supplied helpfully. When Charlie just nodded, he continued, "Oh, I know that, about the Malfoys. Father told me."

"He did?"

"Mm-hm. Well, he said I had to be careful around them. But it's okay. Draco's my friend now."

"Uh -huh. It's good you're keeping an eye out." He smirked and sent a horde of pawns across the board to attack Harry's pieces, which were mostly unprotected, now that he'd moved all his rooks and knights. "Guess you should watch the game, too."

Harry laughed and finally brought his queen to bear, having held her in reserve. "Go get ‘em," he ordered, and the board was soon littered with dust and little chunks of arms and legs. It was fun.

---

That night, after supper and showers and teeth brushing and a story, Father sat on the edge of Harry's bed and made a silencing around them. The night light Harry had brought with him from Spinner's End went through a rainbow of colors before he said anything, though. Harry grew a little uncomfortable under his steady gaze and squirmed away.

"Did you have a good day today?" Father carded light fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his forehead and the scar that Ron had asked to see, earlier. Harry leaned his face into the touch, glad he could have this time alone, sort of, with his father.

"Yes, Father." Harry gave him his best smile. "We visited Hagrid and played Sploden Snap and chess and Charlie told me ‘bout dragons, and he wants to work with them when he leaves school."

"Sploden Snap?"

"It's when the cards all splode everywhere!" He jerked a little, realizing he'd been loud, and looked over at Draco, but his friend was resting peacefully. Then he remembered the Silencing.

"Ah. Exploding Snap. I trust no one lost an eye."

Harry giggled. "No." Then he frowned. "Can you, from Esploden Snap?"

"I very much doubt it," Father said, and his lips twitched a little, like they did when he found something funny.

"Good. Are Ron and Charlie gonna come back again?"

"Would you like them to?"

"Yes, Father. But maybe not till after I can use a broom again, ‘cause Ron and Charlie both play Quidditch, too, and I'd like to play."

"I suppose we could delay it that long," Father said slowly, and his lips did that thing again. "Perhaps next week. They can come over and stay for a few days, like Draco is now."

"That'll be brilliant!"

"Hush, Harry. You're supposed to be settling down now."

"Sorry, Father. Are you gonna tell me another story?"

"No, Imp," Father said with an almost full smile. "I'm not going to tell you another story now. But I am going to start teaching you something that may help with your nightmares." He held up a finger in warning when Harry flinched away, suddenly apprehensive. "If it doesn't work, you are not to feel guilty about this, all right? It might not, but I think we should try."

"Yes, Father."

"And if it doesn't work, and you wake up again tonight, what are you going to do?"

"Send a message to you," Harry whispered. There was a weird lump in his chest, and it made his eyes sting, too. "So you can help me."

"Exactly. I will always be here if you need help, Harry. I just wish you didn't have to go through these night terrors at all. Understand?"

Harry drew a shuddering breath. "Yes, Father."

"Good. Now close your eyes. I'll put my hand here. I want you to think of something pleasant, yet quiet, that can take up all your thoughts. Hm. Do you like to look at the sky, Harry?"

Harry nodded, feeling safe with the weight of Father's hand on his chest. He thought of the sky painting on the ceiling of his room at Spinner's End, and the clouds that trailed across it, making pictures sometimes. "And clouds," he murmured.

"Yes, and clouds. Now, keep a good picture in your mind of the clouds, and focus on your breathing. I'll breathe with you, just follow along. Breathe innnnn. Breathe ooouuuut. Innnnn. Good, now oooouuut." While Father spoke, Harry kept a picture of the ceiling of the other room in his mind, imagining clouds floating by and turning into bears, and ships and mountains. Father smoothed circles on his chest, one way with the breathing in, and reversed for the breathing out. His words were soft, almost like he was telling a story, and Harry relaxed further and further while the sound of ‘In. Out," kept time with his breaths.

After some long while, when he was almost sure he was already asleep, Father's hand stilled on his chest. His voice sounded far away when he said, "Keep your mind on the clouds, Harry. Watch them carefully, and if anything comes into your dreams, just bring back your picture of the clouds."

A whisper touched against his forehead; Father's thin lips. "Love you, too, Daddy," Harry murmured, but he wasn't sure his words traveled any further than his own mouth.

When the red-eyed demon invaded his dreams this time, he pushed him - and the green light - up into the sky and covered them with clouds the shape of ducks and apples and dogs like Fang. It was hard, and it hurt his head, but when he woke, he was trembling and in a cold sweat, but not screaming.

He was so surprised he forgot to send the white message. But Father came anyway, and held him close until he could do the breathing again.

The next few days passed without anything tragic or horrible happening to Harry or Draco, to the great surprise and relief of Severus, as well as Poppy, Albus and even, if she had been asked, Nelli.

By the end of the week, they had fallen into a routine of sorts, with the boys up soon after the crack of dawn, dressed and breakfasted while Severus hovered over his first cup of coffee, and then herded outside by Nelli and her assistants, for running around and loud play. Meanwhile, Severus worked on lesson plans for the upcoming year, and set up his classroom and store rooms. During lunch, the boys would describe to him in minute detail all the games they had played and the winner of each, as well as the conversations they'd had with various of the castle's denizens, including Sir Nicholas, the Bloody Baron, Peeves, and several of the more loquacious portraits. And afterwards, they were encouraged to engage in more quiet play, in Harry's room or the sitting room if necessary, while Severus attended staff meetings or prepared potions for the infirmary.

Dinner consisted of more tales of the antics of two seven-year-olds, and after that, there was time for reading and writing practice (for Harry) or a game of chess, and then showers, teeth brushing, story time, and bed. Though Severus was not the one chasing after them all day, he was still exhausted by evening's end, and marveled at the energy of House-elves. For one thing, he was unused to having so much . . . company and conversation, and the lack of solitude was sometimes rather distressing. One part of him hoped Molly Weasley was right when she said he would get used to it, and another part was almost dreading the idea that he, Severus Snape, would becomes accustomed to the inane chatter of young children.

By the weekend, Albus was no longer interested in accepting "no" for an answer when he asked for Harry and Draco to meet the rest of the staff, and so Severus relented, promising they would be present for Saturday lunch. He did, however, insist that they not be flung into the presence of all the staff at once. Small groups would be best. No more than two or three new faces. Gratified that Dumbledore acquiesced to this demand, he did not think to specify which staff he thought would be easiest for the boy to meet first. Thus Saturday at lunch found Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout seated at the table, along with Albus and Hagrid.

Harry, dressed in neat, green robes, stuttered to a halt just inside the doors to the Great Hall and stared. Draco, naturally more self assured, and doubtless used to dinner parties in which he had been introduced to numerous new adults, gave him a curious look before leading Harry by the hand to the table. Severus followed behind them and ushered them into seats at one end of the long table, as opposed to putting them in the middle of the group.

"Don't be scared, Harry," Draco whispered. "They're just teachers."

"Not scared," Harry protested, but the pallor of his skin and the wideness of his eyes suggested otherwise.

Draco shrugged and looked at Severus, who shook his head slightly. "Harry, Draco, this is Professor Flitwick, who teaches Charms." He gestured to the very short man directly to his left, who was sitting on a large cushion on a chair magically raised into the air, just like Harry's.

"Pleased to meet you," Flitwick squeaked in his high voice and beamed at the two boys.

"Pleased to meet you, Professor Flitwick," Draco said with a tiny nod, and after a moment's hesitation, Harry copied him, words, intonation and the nod.

"I recall your mother," Flitwick said and leaned practically onto the table so he could catch Harry's eye, where he sat between Severus and Draco. "Very talented in Charms, Lily was. One of my best students."

"My Mum?" Harry asked, scooting forward in his seat, curiosity overcoming his inherent wariness. "Really?"

Flitwick grinned and nodded. "You have her eyes, Mr. Potter. I hear you also have a certain talent for Charms."

Harry bit his lip. "I don't think so, sir."

"But I've heard you can send a Patronus message already? And wandless, too, I might add."

Harry leaned into Severus and looked up with worried eyes. "Father?"

"He's right, Harry. The white message you send when you need help is called a Patronus. It's not a spell just anyone can learn, especially when they're young." He curled his arm around Harry's shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze. "The professor is giving you a compliment."

Harry gave the diminutive man a half smile. "Oh, er, thank you, sir."

On his other side, Draco gaped at him. "A Patronus? Is that what the bright light was when the squid attacked us?"

"I guess so," Harry admitted, even as Severus said, "Yes."

"Wow. I mean, my Father's said that's a fifth year spell."

"Indeed," said Severus.

Harry just shrugged and poked at the food on his plate, and Severus noted his shrinking posture and hunched shoulders. The boy really hated having attention drawn to him. "Draco, why don't you tell the professor about your book of logic puzzles?"

"You enjoy puzzles, young man?" Flitwick asked, and Draco perked right up and went off on a fairly in depth account of some of the brain teasers in the book he'd brought from home. Harry seemed to enjoy the puzzles as much as Draco, but Draco's chattering took the pressure off his son so he could actually eat. By the time pudding was served, Harry was eating normally -- for him, which meant he picked at small portions from a carefully guarded plate -- and listening intently to Flitwick's high pitched voice with a tiny smile.

Still, when Minerva came round to meet him a few minutes later, Harry pressed against Severus' side, trying to hide behind his robes. Severus quietly tutted his disapproval, and encouraged Harry to display proper manners after introducing her. With a wary air, Harry finally whispered, "Pleased to meet you, ma'am," to the stern looking matron, but ducked his head as he did so.

Minerva smiled benignly in response. "Not quite as extroverted as his father, is he?"

Severus frowned, but this was neither the time nor place to let the staff know that Harry was his true son, as well as his adopted heir. He still had not revealed that particular truth to Harry!

"No," he agreed instead, for it was true that Harry was not even as outgoing as Severus was. Not with adults, at least, he thought, having watched the boy with Draco -- as well as Ron and Charlie -- the past week. He gave the boy a little wink as he continued, "But he's quite capable of answering questions about himself, if they are directed to him."

Pomona Sprout stopped only briefly, saying she had to get back to the greenhouses and harvest the Banethistles before they went to seed and infested the entire school grounds. But she gave both boys a nod and a friendly if rather distracted smile, and Harry seemed to find her enough less threatening than Minerva that he managed to return both, with only a sidelong glance at Severus.

The next day it was time for Draco to go home, and once the blond boy had gone through the Floo to his waiting parents, Harry was beside himself with disappointment and worry, asking over and over when his friend could return. "Not till well after school starts, at least," Severus told him, every time. "It will take both of us some time to become adjusted to the new schedule, and as I have not taught before, I'm not sure yet how much free time I will have once classes start."

"But we have Nelli and Bitti and Fran!" the boy insisted. "They can take care of us."

"During the day, yes, and they will continue to do so when classes are in session, but the evenings will be busy enough with papers to grade and lessons to prepare, as well as making sure you are proceeding in your studies. I don't expect to have time to devote time to your friends, too."

Harry had pouted then, for the first time in Severus' memory, and he was surprised enough that he'd sent the boy to his room until they both cooled off.

Later in the evening, Harry had been repentant, begging for his father's forgiveness for being rude and insolent. Severus had grave doubts that the boy even knew what insolent meant, but he reassured Harry that he was forgiven and that he was not angry, not really. To prove it, he held Harry on his lap for a long time, letting the boy cling to him as he hugged him close. Reassurance, Molly had told him, was of the utmost importance to their relationship, reassuring Harry that he was loved and cared for, and that Severus would be there for him no matter what.

She'd also said that Harry, especially given his background, needed to be frequently shown physical signs of affection. Although Severus had never found physical contact reassuring, and oftimes rather distressing, he understood Harry's need for it, and had become more attentive to Harry's non-verbal requests for hugs and a reassuringly gentle touch. It was something they would both grow used to, Molly promised.

This time, his words and touch seemed to work, and though Severus thought the nightmares might be worse Sunday night, they were not. Harry was, once again, able to clear his mind enough to keep the worst of them away.

On Tuesday, Molly Weasley returned with Ron and Charlie. They were ensconced in guest quarters on the second floor, letting Harry get used to having his own room again. While Charlie kept the boys busy during the morning, Molly and Severus discussed parenting styles and she answered many of the questions he had about taking care of Harry, usually without him actually needing to voice the question. In the afternoons, they watched the boys play, and he often took cues from her on when to intervene and when to let the boys sort their own issues out, as well as when to insist on rules being followed, and when standards might be relaxed.

It was rather a grueling week.

The biggest test of his new role as father and protector of Harry came when Charlie wanted to give the two younger boys a chance to play Quidditch. Severus, at first, said, "No. Absolutely not," but Molly eventually bargained him down (though not in front of the children) to, "Only under strict adult supervision."

His fears -- that the boy would be hurt by Bludgers or falling or worse, as well that he might become quite as Quidditch obsessed as James -- were completely realized when Harry's face almost literally glowed after being on a real broom for the first time. The boy seemed to live for flying, and his skill and grace in the air were astounding, for one so young and so new to the experience. When they touched ground again, Charlie complimented Harry, and the boy was all smiles for hours afterwards. And thus, Severus could hardly say no to his repeated pleas to play again. Even he had to admit that Harry had a gift for Seeking out the snitch, but he still watched his son carefully, whenever his feet left the ground.

Harry seemed to get along well enough with Ron, though the red head was a bit more volatile than Draco, and louder as well. As long as they were outside, Severus didn't mind, but he could not abide shouting in his quarters. Aside from his screaming nightmares, Harry was really a very quiet child. Severus supposed it was yet another result of his upbringing, and a desire to go unnoticed. Severus couldn't bring himself to mind that particular trait, though he often had to cajole his son into making his needs known.

What was a surprise to Severus, was how completely Harry took to Charlie, tagging along after him whenever possible like a duckling following its mother. He looked more and more to Charlie for approval or praise when they played Quidditch, or even "Esploden Snap" and accepted the older boy's opinions as if they were inviolate.

Seemingly aware of the admiration he'd inspired, Charlie doled out praise and approval whenever possible, and Severus spoke to him about it over hot cocoa one evening after the two younger boys had gone to bed.

"Well, I have four younger brothers, sir," Charlie said. "So I'm kind of used to it."

"Still," Severus told him, "I appreciate how kindly you've interacted with Harry. He needs people . . ."

"To trust?" Charlie guessed.

"Indeed." Severus peered at the fourteen-year-old shrewdly. "How much has your mother told you about Harry's background?"

Charlie shrugged. "Not much. I mean, everyone knows Harry Potter . . . er, well, Snape now, but Potter before you adopted him, but she didn't say anything except that he'd had a rough time of it. I could tell that on my own, just watching him."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, well, he watches a lot, doesn't he, before he'll enter into a game or even take food from the table, like he's checking to make sure he's doing the right thing or that he'll be accepted. And the looks he gets sometimes . . . Ron snuck up behind him once when we were playing outside, and tickled him, and I thought he was going to faint dead away, he looked so scared."

Severus nodded. "Thank you for helping out with him this week. We both owe you a debt."

Charlie grinned. "No way, sir. I liked being here, and Harry's a lot of fun to be around, even for a little kid. He even introduced me proper to Hagrid, and we had the best chats about dragons. I mean, Harry's shy and stuff, but he's a really good kid."

"He is indeed," Severus agreed, and was gladdened again that Molly had brought the boy with her.

Once the Weasleys had gone home, there were only a few days left before term started. Severus was all nerves, and found himself being rather more short with Harry than he would have liked. To try and mitigate any trouble, he pressed Nelli, Bitti and Fran into taking the boy almost around the clock, while he dealt with his pre-teaching jitteriness on his own.

After two days of this, however, Nelli alerted him to the fact that he couldn't just abandon Harry to the care of House-elves without facing repercussions.

Harry was distraught at not being able to spend time with his father, she reported, though the words Nelli used were, "Master Harry's sobbing bad now, Master Snape. He's crying that youse don't want him no more."

"Show me," Severus said, and Nelli brought him to a little used bathroom on the second floor. The bathroom's wooden cubicles were worn and ill-maintained, and even the stone sinks were pitted and chipped. Harry was tucked under one of the sinks in the row under a cracked mirror, scrunched into a tiny ball, his thin frame shaking silently.

Severus crouched beside him, but did not touch the boy, as he knew doing so was likely to frighten Harry more than comfort him, at least at first. "Harry," he said gently. "Please come out from under there."

The boy's shoulders tightened when Severus said his name, but he didn't look up. Into his arms he mumbled something that Severus couldn't catch.

"Harry," he said again, with a pained expression. "I don't speak Mumbelese. You'll have to tell me again in English."

"'M'sorry," Harry said, but only a little louder, lifting his head from his arms and swiping his tears away with his forearm. "'M'sorry, Father."

"What are you doing under there?"

Harry bit his lip and avoided looking at him. "Stayin' outta the way. Don't wanna be noose ants."

Severus frowned, and then understood. He'd used the word last evening, when he'd been trying desperately to finish up the lesson plans he had to turn in to Dumbledore this morning, while Harry had been chattering on about his most recent visit with Hagrid. "If you'd quit being such a nuisance," he'd snapped, "I could get this done and then we could have a proper talk."

Harry had been quiet after that, and he should have realized the boy was being too quiet. He hadn't spoken at all at breakfast today, for instance.

"I'm the one who's sorry, Harry," he said now. "You are not a nuisance. I was busy last night, and annoyed, and rather than ask you politely to come back later, when I was finished, I was rude."

"'S'okay," Harry said, still looking away. He rubbed his arm over his face again. "I shouldn't'a bothered you."

"Oh, my child." Severus reached out hesitantly and smoothed a hand over his son's back. Harry flinched a little, but did not jerk away, and finally looked up, his green eyes still wet with tears. "I've been under some stress lately, but it's not your fault, not at all. Come out from under there, please."

With a little more coaxing, Harry came into his arms, and Severus promised to make time every day for just the two of them, even when he was very, very busy. Remembering something that Molly had told him about honesty and directness, he said, "This is new to both of us, you know." Harry, still holding himself very still, risk a glance a glance at his face and Severus smiled faintly. "I've never had a son before, Harry. It's rather an adjustment."

Another glance, brow furrowed in confusion. "I have to get used to it," Severus clarified, and Harry's frown smoothed out as he nodded, just a little. "Don't ever think I don't want you," Severus told him, and kissed the boy's fine, dark hair. "You're my son. Always."

At last, Harry seemed to relax enough to be hugged and his tears abated. A moment later, he'd squirmed around so he could snake his arms around Severus' neck and hug him back. "Forever?" the boy whispered in his ear.

"Forever," Severus agreed.