Aug. 15, 8:30 am

He's gone to talk to Dumbledore about the guardianship thing. I'm just as glad to miss that conversation, even though it is about me, since I know it would involve a lot of Dumbledore looking at me and asking me questions, and, honestly? I don't think I could handle that from him right now. I don't know if I could look at his office and not want to smash everything again. I wonder if he was able to fix any of it? I wonder why I care.

I think this is the first time I've been alone in Snape's quarters since I got here. He's awfully . . . protective of his privacy. It's gonna be hard for him to have me here, I bet.

Of course, the last couple weeks haven't been a picnic for either one of us.

I wonder if Remus is still here. Will he be the new DADA teacher? That'd be cool. I'd like to see him again. I think. I wonder if he knows about that . . . that night. I hope not. It's gonna be hard enough to be around him without him knowing. . . .

Oh, god. What will he say about Snape being my guardian? Oh, fuck! What will RON say???

---

Severus sat in Dumbledore's office, trading pleasantries with an outward calm that belied his inner raging temper. The man before him had shirked his duty to Harry, and had placed the boy in danger more times than Severus cared to speculate. Whether it was to frighten the boy into learning magic faster, or to test him and his capabilities, or for some other secret nefarious purpose, the end result was that Harry's welfare could no longer be trusted to Albus or Minerva or any of the others.

Thinking about all that Harry had confessed, about the things that should have been done for him -- as they would have for any other child, Severus was sure! -- it was all he could do not to punch the older wizard in the nose. Of course, then he would need to pack his bags -- or simply present himself to Voldemort; the result would be the same.

Rather than do so, he stared into a cup of tea he would never drink, and talked about the weather and how the frequent Death Eater attacks had become -- enough that the Muggle world was starting to catch on to something really strange happening -- and refused to make eye contact with one of the only people he knew who was a more powerful Legilimens than he.

Finally, when he had waited long enough that his temper was perfectly under control, he looked up. "I want to be named as Potter's guardian. And he has agreed to it."

The look on Dumbledore's face was priceless. It only took him a split second though, before he had resumed the grandfatherly veneer he traded on. "How is he coming along under your care?"

Suppressing a growl at the Headmaster's blatant sidestep of the topic at hand, Severus still could not help but grimace. "He is . . . better than I expected, this soon. But we have not addressed a number of issues as yet. I don't believe he'll be ready to begin classes in two weeks."

"No? Well, we must make sure that he is. It wouldn't do at all for his enemies to think anything was amiss."

Oh, no, that wouldn't do at all. Severus averted his eyes so the Headmaster would not pick up on his thoughts. He wondered if Albus knew he was playing right into the role that Harry had him cast in, where he was the grand manipulator and Harry was nothing more than a pawn, a weapon, to be used and discarded. Was Severus the only one who saw Harry as more than that? Albus had wanted Harry shunted off to St. Mungo's after all. Did he just not want to see the truth? To see the result of all his manipulations?

But the Headmaster continued, oblivious. "Do you think it would be helpful to have him more in contact with the rest of the staff? Remus had been asking after him, and Hagrid, too."

Severus frowned. That's all he'd need; Weres and Giants in his quarters. "I don't think he's ready for that, either."

The blue-eyed gaze sharpened. "I notice he has not been outside for several days."

The Old Codger would notice something like that. He wasn't about to tell Albus that the boy had been sulking for several days, when he wasn't throwing things or hollering obscenities or tearing out pages of a perfectly good journal and burning them. "We have an . . . arrangement. If he meets certain goals, he is allowed certain privileges. When he does not meet the goals . . ." Severus spread his hands, as if to say, 'what can I do?'

"Ah." The Headmaster was silent for a long time, as if considering his words very carefully. He even looked over at Fawkes, but the phoenix had no trilling words of wisdom for him today, it seemed. Once his gaze settled back on Severus, he said, "Do you think perhaps Harry has grown overly attached to you?"

"Pardon?"

"He has had little to no contact with anyone aside from yourself since the . . . time of his captivity. And though I have no doubt you have been helpful to him since, I merely wonder if he is becoming dependent on you."

"It's entirely possible, Headmaster." No doubt helpful, indeed. Severus kept a tight grip on his temper. He did not need to lose it now. And yet, he couldn't help glaring at the Headmaster, even as his voice dipped to little more than a whisper. "In fact, I would be very surprised if he were not. I know what happened to him, both in Topsham and in Surrey, and I do not judge him for it. Unlike anyone else, I have dried his tears, and comforted him when he's woken from nightmares, and I have saved him from his own self-rage. He has spilled some of his deepest fears and darkest memories to me, and I alone decried the treatment he received at the hands of those Muggles. Now I have offered him a place of safety and stability, a home, such as he has never been granted before. Why on earth would he not latch on to me?"

He wanted Dumbledore to answer, to make excuses for his own pitiful lacking, in the department of Harry's safety and well being, to protest that he had comforted the child at least once, that he had not always put the good of the Wizarding world ahead of its savior's needs. And then he wanted to throw all that back in the Headmaster's face, and show him what fifteen years of neglect had wrought, in the boy's fragile sense of self-esteem and distrust of any adults, his pervasive belief that he was not worth anyone's love or caring, that he was not allowed to feel joy or peace.

But Dumbledore merely sat behind his desk, looking very old all of a sudden, and all Severus could feel was disgust.

"I assume I have your blessing, then, Albus," Severus said as he rose from his chair and placed his untouched tea on the edge of the desk. "I will file the proper paperwork with Child Welfare at the Ministry today. I would appreciate it if you would mention, when they come to interview you, as I imagine they will, that I am doing this for Harry's sake. We can sugar coat it all they want, or all you want, dress it up in well considered statements about how well I can train the boy for his true purpose, but make no mistake, for once, this is what is good for him."

Dumbledore seemed to pull together at last and Severus sneered, meeting the older man's gaze. This stage of the war was taking a heavy toll on the old man, it was true, but it was no excuse for weakness. Or for giving up. "Of course, Severus. I will do all I can to make sure it goes through."

"Thank you." Severus nodded and left the office. His chest hurt and his steps were heavy as he made his way back to the dungeons. He had wounded the man, his mentor, his oldest friend, the one who had been like a savior to him when all others had turned away. But he would not take back the words he's spoken, for they were the truth, a commodity which had run in short supply of late. And Albus needed to hear that truth at least once.

Back in his quarters, Harry's head came up from his journal as soon as Severus entered the room. He studied Severus' expression for a long moment before pulling his lower lip between his teeth. Severus had become quite adept at reading the boy's moods, especially since Harry could not keep from showing everything in his eyes. Green the color of a Killing Curse, or a perfect Shrinking Solution, and which reminded him so much of Lily, they were a window to this troubled teen's soul. Now they held a glimmer of hope, warring with apprehension and doubt.

"How, er . . . how did it go?"

"Well enough. The Headmaster will not oppose my request, and has promised to aid us however necessary."

"Did you think he would, sir? Oppose it, I mean?"

Severus heaved a sigh. "I had my doubts." He decided not to say anything about the dependence issue, nor how the Headmaster had shown himself to be concerned more with The Chosen One's ability to thwart his enemies than with Harry's recovery from trauma. He knew Harry's dependence was the case, and they would deal with the ramifications of that later. "But I convinced him it was in your best interests."

"You did?" A ghost of a smile crossed the boy's lips. "What did you say?"

"It's not important," Severus said, wearily waving his hand in dismissal, though he gave a significant glance toward the journal. "Now, I have paperwork to fill out and send to the Ministry on our behalf. But I imagine you are ready for some flying time, yes? Would you rather go now, or when I finish the paperwork?"

Harry spent a good minute chewing his lip and going over his options, until Severus was ready to make the decision for him ten times over. But he waited, as patiently as he could -- offering control of small things when possible would help Harry feel more in control of larger things later -- until finally he got an answer. "Paperwork first, sir. Please."

"Very well. I trust you can keep yourself occupied until then."

"Yes, sir. May I borrow one of your books?"

Severus' eyes narrowed. Since he kept truly Dark texts under lock and key, he didn't have many books on display that he would consider out of bounds for an almost sixth year student, but there were a few, and Potter had probably found one of those. "Which one?"

"Oh, ummmm," Harry rose and went to a bookshelf and selected a rather thick tome with a green leather cover, embossed in gold. "This one. It's Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts . I've read it before . . ." He swallowed hard, suddenly, and looked away.

Nonplussed by the sudden change, Severus took a step toward the boy. "Harry?"

"It's just . . . Sirius gave me this book, for Christmas last year. It came in handy with, you know, DA and everything." He sucked in a breath. "I suppose it's gone now."

"Gone . . ."

"Yea -- yes, sir. It was in my trunk, with all my other school stuff." He looked over at Severus, hope giving his eyes an odd gleam. "Maybe it's still at the Dursleys?"

Though he hated doing it, he had to shake his head. "I'm afraid not, Harry. The Death Eaters went on a follow up to your aunt and uncle's home, and took everything they thought belonged to you. Hoping it would be of some use to them, I expect."

"Oh." Harry nodded a little and squared his shoulders, a bleakness settling in his expression that Severus wished he could erase. How many people, in their whole lives, lost everything they owned all at once? He resolved to work on Harry taking a trip to Diagon Alley soon. "Well, okay then," Harry said, and his face was a blank mask. "Can I borrow this one?"

"Have you finished the mind focusing book?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then yes, you may."

"Thank you, sir."

Severus watched him for a few minutes more, while Harry curled himself into a ball on the settee and opened the book to the index before paging through it, and marveled at the boy's resilience. As he'd told Dumbledore, he was frankly amazed Harry had made so much progress from the week of catatonia, and then to the possession Riddle had of his mind. He had barely dissociated at all in the last few days, and only had a couple of panic attacks.

After lunch, they would work on Occlumency, and he would see if Harry really had read -- and more importantly, if he had absorbed -- the book or not.

---

Severus gritted his teeth and shoved at the blank wall inside Harry's head. It was like stone, but impossibly pitted. Above the stone were trivial matters such as what he'd had for breakfast and a concern that he might need more potion supplies before classes commenced, and almost nothing else. Where were the thoughts about flying, or the memories of the discussion from just before lunch? Was he truly Occluding that well that he could direct Severus' prying that much? Was this slab of stone working so perfectly for him? It seemed impossible.

Working along the edges of the gray surface, he distracted Harry's conscious mind by focusing a small, separate part of his Legilimency on seeking memories above that near-blank slate. It worked; Harry was too occupied with that he didn't notice the slyer, slipperier portion of Severus' skill digging at the shadows. The edges of the stone were worn smooth, unlike the rest of the scarred and pitted stone, and it was here that he focused his efforts. He eased his mind through a small fissure near the edge, slower than Harry would notice, more carefully than walking through a field covered with erumpent parts.

Breaking through at last, he had just caught a glimpse of a maelstrom, dark and explosive and churning like the fires of hell under the stone when he was ejected forcibly from Harry's mind.

"No," Harry gasped, bending over at the waist, even as Severus collected his own breath and tried to figure out what the HELL he'd just witnessed. That couldn't be . . . not all the torment and rage and fears hidden like that . . . Impossible.

The boy's eyes were squeezed shut and thin tremors ran through his body. But his voice was clear as he said, "No. You're not allowed in there."