The children started entering the Great Hall, and Harry could hardly keep from bouncing in his chair. But he knew he had to stay quiet and behave himself like a proper gentleman or he'd be sent to his room instead, and he really, really wanted to stay. For one thing, he was sitting next to his father, and he always liked to be near him; it made him feel safer than anywhere else. And secondly, he wanted to see Charlie again, and Father had promised he would be at dinner.

This was the first time Harry had been to dinner in the Great Hall. He 'd had lunch with Father and some of the staff -- and even Mrs. Weasley and Ron and Charlie -- before, but the room was so full now. And noisy. And lit with thousands of bright candles that floated overhead, in the midst of a deep dark sky filled with stars. The tables were set with glittering golden goblets and plates, and the faces of the students shone like lanterns in the candlelight. It was beautiful.

And scary.

Father looked over at him when his knees started shaking, and put one of his narrow-fingered hands over Harry's where he had them laced together on the table top. "All right, Harry?" he asked. His voice was smooth and rich, and the way he said Harry's name made him want to smile. Father was the first person he remembered ever saying his name like that. Like he cared. Like he really wanted to know if Harry was all right.

"Yes, si -- er, yes, Father." He'd almost messed up again. He did that when he was upset sometimes, or scared, but Father never yelled at him when he made the mistake of calling him "sir" instead. Sometimes he looked terribly disappointed, though, and Harry hated that. It always made him feel small and stupid, like he still deserved to be locked in a cupboard and screamed at by Uncle Vernon.

"We can leave, if you want," Father said softly. "I can have Nelli stay with you downstairs. There are a lot more people here that you're used to."

Harry shook his head. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay. But sometimes, everything was just overwhelming. "I'm all right, Father," he said. "Honest."

Father's brows dipped down into a small frown, but then he nodded and let it go. The tables were almost full up, now, and Harry saw a flash of bright red hair amongst the sea of new faces. He sat up straighter, and lifted his hand in a little wave. At the table on the far left of the room, Charlie grinned at him and waved back.

A warm feeling infused Harry. He leaned back in his chair and relaxed.

"Happy now?" Father asked, with a twitch to his lips that Harry knew was like his laugh. "You see he's not forgotten you."

Harry nodded, a contented smile on his face. His Charlie was back. Maybe they could play Quidditch tomorrow, or Esploden Snape, and he could show Charlie the new passageway he'd found with Fern on the third floor, behind the statue of a witch with a humpback. Fern hadn't let him go dow n the passageway, but he bet that he could, with Charlie there. Then they could have tea with Hagrid and talk about dragons again. Harry loved the idea of dragons, but until Charlie started asking Hagrid all he knew about them and how to train them, he'd never actually thought they might be real! Now he really wanted to see one for himself, but Father said that was Not Going to Happen.

Peering out at the tables again, Harry saw Charlie talking with a boy to his left, with dark hair and a tanned face. Both were laughing, and Harry frowned at them, wondering what they were saying. Were they talking about dragons?

"Ah. Look there," Father said, and gestured with his chin toward a door to the side of the table. "Here comes Professor McGonagall."

"What's that?" Harry asked, and pointed at her. Professor McGonagall set down a small stool and put a battered cone of cloth on top of it.

"That is the Sorting Hat," Father said.

"What's it do?"

"You'll see."

Harry looked up at his father, the dark, fathomless eyes suppressing mirth. What kinds of things did the hat sort? he wanted to ask, but when Father got all mysterious like this, it was usually because he wanted Harry to see something without any "preconceived notions," whatever those were. But sometimes, he just liked to see Harry be surprised. Harry figured it wouldn't be anything scary, because Father knew not to surprise Harry with scary things.

Harry was going to change his mind, though, when the Professor left for a moment and then came back into the Great Hall, leading a line of terrified looking new students. Some of them were whiter in the face than Sir Nicholas, and at least one of them was actually crying.

"What's gonna happen to them, Daddy?" Harry whispered.

Father gave him a sharp look, and then squeezed his hands with his one strong one. "Don't worry, Harry," he said just as softly. "Nothing will hurt them at all. It's just a little test."

Harry swallowed and nodded. He trusted his father. Had to. Father had rescued him bunches of times, from Mr. Filch, from the squid and from the Dursleys, and he was the only person in the world who had promised over and over to keep Harry safe.

Right after the line of new students halted in front of the head table, to Harry's amazement, a slit opened in the side of the Hat and it started to sing! Harry didn't understand all the words of its song, but he heard the names of the Houses, like Father had taught him: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Father was in charge of Slytherin, and he said snakes were the best of the lot. Harry, who very much liked snakes, especially the ones he had talked with, had to agree.

When the Hat was done singing, there was a lot of clapping from the tables of students, and even from the head table. Then Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a scroll in her hands, which she unrolled. She looked over the line of new students and nodded. "When I read your name, you will come up here, put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Sarah."

A girl with long blond hair done in one wide pigtail down her back jerked forward as if pulled by an invisible string and stood next to the stool. The Professor lifted the Hat briefly, so the girl could sit down, and when she had, the Hat went on her head. The girl sat rigidly on the stool, her hands clasped together in front of her, for a few seconds, which seemed like an eternity to Harry. What was the Hat doing?

Suddenly, the Hat yelled out, "HUFFLEPUFF!" and there was cheering from one of the tables, and some good natured clapping from some of the other students. Sarah Abbott jumped off the stool, with a big grin on her face, and hurried over to the table that was cheering for her.

"See, Harry," Father said. "They're just being sorted into their Houses. No one's being hurt."

Harry grinned back at him, almost wishing he was going to be sorted, 'cause he could then be in his father's house, and be one of his precious snakes.

The rest of the students were sorted, but the only ones Harry paid attention to were the ones who ended up in Slytherin -- like Marcus Flint, Terrence Higgs, and Persephone Urquhart -- as well as Percival Weasley, Charlie's little brother, who ended up in Gryffindor. Percy -- as Charlie called him -- didn't smile like his brother, all teeth and dimples, but rather forcefully, Harry thought, almost as though smiling hurt his face.

The Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, got up and stood at a podium in front of the head table, as Professor McGonagall put the Hat and stool away. He had the widest smile of anyone in the room as he held open his arms. "Welcome back, to our returning students, and a hearty welcome to our first years! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words, and here they are: Shoe! Megaphone! Grindylow! Tweak!

"Thank you!" He sat down and everyone clapped and cheered.

Harry looked up at his father, who had sighed and shaken his head. "Father?"

"Don't worry, Harry," Father said. "I'm sure his madness is not catching."

Harry smiled a little, sure his father was joking, and then he jumped half out of his chair when the table was suddenly awash with bowls and platters, piled high with food. Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, Yorkshire pudding, sausages, bacon and steak, roasted potatoes, mashed potatoes, fries and peas, carrots, gravy and . . . Harry stared at it all. He had never seen so much food in one place before. He could almost taste it already, the crisp edges of the potatoes, the salt of the gravy and the sweet green peas . . .

"What would you like?" Father asked, breaking Harry out of his almost-trance. Harry looked at him again and shook his head, not knowing what to say. Father gave him a small smile and put a little of everything on his plate, then, before Harry could even ask, cut up the meat for him into bites he could spear with his fork.

"You'll want to close your mouth," Father said quietly, "and maybe pick up a fork."

Embarrassed, Harry quickly did as Father said, and dug into his food. Everything was delicious. He lost himself in the sensation of food, mountains of it, tender meat and crisp vegetables and the slick, creamy gravy. Eyes closed at one point, he startled when Father dabbed at his face with a cloth serviette to remove some potatoes from his cheek. But Father didn't call him out on his lack of manners, for which he was grateful.

Hagrid sat on Harry's other side, and he went through four plates of food before Harry got halfway through his one. Harry watched the huge man eat, and saw crumbs of bread and potatoes and even drips of gravy get caught in the scraggly beard. He wondered if that was how Hagrid saved food for later. Harry always just sneaked them out in a serviette.

When everyone had eaten their fill, the remains of the dinner faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean again. An instant later, they were replaced by pudding of every kind Harry could imagine. Blocks of ice cream in dozens of flavors, apple pie and cherry pie and strawberries with chocolate for dipping, eclairs and jam donuts and trifle and treacle tarts, spotted dick with custard and rice pudding and bread pudding and fig cake.

Harry's eyes were wide as he took it all in.

"You may choose two," Father said. "I have no desire to be up all night soothing your sick stomach."

Harry nodded. "Can I--"

"May I."

Wrinkling his nose at the reminder, Harry started again, "May I have treacle tart?"

"Yes," Father said and put a slice of it on Harry's plate. "And one other. If you want."

"Ice cream?"

"Is that how you ask?"

Harry winced. "No, Father. May I have that ice cream, too?" and he pointed at the block of white with black flecks in it.

"Of course." He scooped up a serving of that, as well, and settled it on top of the tart. "Excitement over a big dinner is no reason to let propriety slide," he murmured, and Harry nodded.

"Yes, Father. I'm sorry."

Father gave him one of his pleased smiles, a curving of the left side of his mouth. "Better start in, before the two melt together."

Harry giggled at the very idea, and took up a spoon. The ice cream was cold and smooth, the tart still warm, with a flaky pastry that melted in his mouth.

"Good?" Father asked.

Harry nodded, his mouth still full, and Father winked at him.

Beside Harry, Hagrid was drinking down his third cup of wine with a slurp. The smell of the drink bothered him, but he didn't say anything, just ate his pudding and drank some more pumpkin juice. Father said pumpkin juice was very important for growing boys to drink, though he made Harry have milk at breakfast. Even though he very much wanted to finish, he could only eat about half his tart before his belly was full to the point of aching. He stopped before eating any more, not wanting his father to have to "soothe a sick stomach" tonight.

At last, the puddings, too, disappeared, and the Headmaster rose again. The whole room quieted, with nary a clink of silver or a cough or a giggle. "Just another few words now that we are all fed and watered," he said. "I have a few start of term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table, and there was some soft laughter from those students.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

With a twitch, Harry's gaze was drawn to a sudden movement near the back entrance to the Great Hall, where a lank haired man with a ferocious scowl stood, holding a large cat in his arms. Mr. Filch. Oh, no. He could feel the trembles start in his arms and legs, even before his gaze connected with that of the man who had grabbed him and hurt him and threatened to put him back in chains. All he saw in the man's face was hate so raw it made him scoot back as far as he could into his chair.

Father's arm was around him a second later, and his head was bent low over Harry's head. "It's all right," he whispered, but there was a thread of suppressed rage in Father's voice that made Harry more fearful than comforted. "Harry, it's all right; he won't hurt you. I'll make sure of it."

Harry shook his head, even as Dumbledore continued, unaware of the drama playing out behind him, "Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that for the next two months, the lakeshore is off limits to students, while our Squid recovers from a nasty bout of appendage fragmentation."

"Wanna go, Daddy," Harry pleaded, burrowing his face in his father's robes. Mr. Filch was going to kill him, or string him up in chains and beat him, he just knew it. "Wanna go home."

"I know, I know. Just a minute more, Harry, I'm sorry."

Dumbledore had turned around at last, and was saying, "--introduce to you our new Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape. I hope you make him and his son, Harry, very welcome here. Professor Snape will also be the Head of Slytherin House."

There was a scatter of applause, mainly from the Slytherin table, but Harry barely heard it. His face was held close against Father's chest, and the arms around him were strong, as he let Father hold him, in front of everyone. Father half rose from his seat and gave a short bow, before pulling Harry fully into his lap as he sat back down.

"Hush, now, Harry. I'm here," he kept murmuring. "I will always protect you."

His hands tightened their grip in Father's robes, though, and after only a few moments more, like he promised, Father lifted him up and carried him through the door nearest the head table.

Father was the only in the world who had ever saved him.

Harry had to trust him to keep him safe.

Severus paced his quarters, waiting impatiently for Albus to arrive. He'd told the Headmaster to meet him here almost an hour ago, and though he realized Albus probably had plenty to do on the first day of school, Severus was not going to let this incident slide. What had the man been thinking?? To introduce Argus Filch so casually, as if the man's presence would have no effect on Harry? To even let that filthy squib within a hundred leagues of Severus' son, after what he'd done . . .

Severus was not pleased.

And he still had to meet with his Snakes; the first night was crucial, to his way of thinking, and would set the tone for his relationship with the Slytherins for the remainder of the year. For the new first years, it would likely set the tone for their Hogwarts career. Remembering his own first night here, sixteen years ago now, he knew how important tonight was, especially since it was his first time doing this. And yet . . .

And yet, he could not leave Harry alone. He had finally calmed the boy down - needing to resort to a calming draught after soft words and gently rocking the boy had not helped - after an hour of his weeping and shaking, made all the more heartbreaking as Harry was rarely so undone. He had, in the midst of caring for the boy, promised he would not leave him, and so he would not. Besides, if his last interaction with Filch was any standard, Harry's nightmares tonight would be ferocious.

Finally, Albus' head appeared in the fireplace, surrounded by green and yellow flame. "I'm rather busy just now, Severus. Can this wait till morning?"

"It cannot. If you recall, I told you I would deal with Filch if you did not. Is it your intention to leave the matter to my discretion?"

"Now, now, Severus my dear boy-"

"Don't you ‘my dear boy' me, Albus. I want you to come and see for yourself the result of your inaction."

With a gusty sigh, Albus' head disappeared, only to be replaced a moment later by his whole body, stepping through the Floo. He spelled the soot from his bright yellow robes with a wave of his hand and then held Severus' gaze. "Argus is a special case, as well you know." His blue-eyed twinkle was more muted than Severus had seen it in recent memory. "There are very few places where he could make an honest living, with his background."

"As there are few for me, Albus," Severus snarled. "And yet, I do not make it a habit to torture young children."

"Now, now, Argus did not actually harm Harry-"

"Do you truly think so? Come in here, then." Severus gestured down the hall to Harry's room, then strode through the partly open door, waiting for Albus to follow him. The boy was curled in a fetal ball, pressed into a corner of his bed against the wall, eyes squinched shut and arms clasped around his knees, head down. Tremors shook his tiny body as he rocked himself, and his sweat soaked hair was plastered to his head.

Severus gathered the boy in his arms once more, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. Even asleep, Harry flinched at the touch, but then curled in against Severus, wrapping tiny fists in his father's robes and pushing his face into Severus' chest.

Glaring at Albus, Severus lowered his voice to a whisper, but his tone was no less harsh for that. "He finally fell asleep, after taking twice the recommended dosage of Calming Draught for a child of eleven. Prior to that, he was inconsolable." He cupped the boy's head against his chest with the palm of his hand. "Pray, tell me again that he was not harmed."

Albus' face was unreadable, but Severus tried to gauge his reaction anyway. After a long moment, the Headmaster nodded. "I cannot send Argus away," he murmured. "But I will give him explicit instructions regarding Harry."

"That will not do!" Severus hissed. The boy whimpered in distress, and Severus hushed him again, rocking him quietly.

"It will have to, Severus. Unfortunately, I have little choice in the matter."

"Spare me your theatrics. You're the Headmaster; you could let him go."

"To what end? He is, unfortunately, better served under my watchful eye than not."

Severus fumed, in silence, for several long minutes. It was obvious that Albus was not going to bend on this issue, and just as obvious that he would not allow Severus to do as he pleased and rip the caretaker into tiny pieces and feed them to the squid. And so, he decided on a third alternative. "Then I will brew a Fidelity Draught for him to take. It's the only way I will stay here while he is also on the grounds."

"Severus!"

"No, Albus. That man is a danger to my son, and I will not have it."

"At least consider other options."

Severus was surprised to hear the pleading note in Albus' voice. He frowned. "I will give you until Friday, noon. The potion will be ready by then. If at that time, you have no better solution to offer, he will be bound to the utter protection of Harry. Else you will need to find yourself a new Potions Master."

Albus sighed again, and slowly nodded. "Very well. Let us hope it does not come to that."

Severus seconded the sentiment, wholeheartedly.

---

In the end, regarding his Head of House duties, Severus did the only thing he could. With Harry swaddled in a blanket, Severus clutched him close to his chest, and went to the Snake den as planned. Harry was far enough under the effects of the potion that he barely noticed, though lines of tension still creased his face in his sleep. The Slytherins, however, never ones to pass up a perceived weakness, watched them both with close scrutiny.

To compensate, Severus increased his scowl by a factor of ten, at minimum, and added extra menace to his voice. By the end of his speech on their responsibilities, his expectations, and the list of rules they needed to follow to escape his wrath, they appeared sufficiently cowed that he expected little in the way of problems from them, at least not in the near future.

One of the sixth year girls approached him afterwards, though, and offered to baby-sit Harry, if he ever needed the help.

He looked the girl up and down. "Miss Parkinson, correct?"

"Yes, Professor Snape. Rose Parkinson."

Though his instinct was to refuse her offer, with the excuse that familiarity bred contempt, he was all too aware that, currently, only a Gryffindor - in the person of Charlie Weasley - exerted any influence on his son, and he would be shortsighted to dismiss aid from one of his own House. Thus he spoke in measured tones, "I will consider it. I appreciate your interest."

"Thank you, sir." She smiled at the boy in his arms, her pug-like features softening. "How old is he?" she asked, and Severus sighed, resigned to holding a conversation.

"Seven."

"I have a little sister that age." She frowned a bit. "But he's so little," she murmured.

Severus snorted. "Don't let his size fool you; he's quite a terror when up and running."

The girl laughed. "Pansy is as well." She looked over her shoulder to where some of her year mates were gathered, watching her and waiting. "I should go; Prefect stuff, you know? But thank you, Professor."

With a muttered hmmph, Severus left his Snakes and returned to his quarters, knowing he'd lost something in the interaction with Parkinson, but unsure exactly what.

---

Harry's nightmares were horrid, and neither of them got much sleep that night. In the morning, the boy was clingy and fretful, and Severus despaired of getting either of them to breakfast on time. Finally, he had to call in both Nelli and Fern to stay with Harry in their quarters, while he went to hand out class schedules and grab a quick bite before he was due at his first class.

Breakfast was just about over when he arrived, however, so all he got for his trouble was a lukewarm cup of coffee. He spelled it hot again, but the resulting bitterness made him waspish. McGonagall, in particular, gave him wide berth. After a half dozen unsatisfying sips, he swooped down upon the Slytherin table and passed out schedules, ignoring the early morning whining of his students as they perused their timetables.

With only minutes before his first class, he hurried to the dungeon, robes billowing behind him in his haste. As he flew to class, he heard more than one comment about his likeness to a Great Black Bat. The idea made him smirk, and he put an extra bit of billow in his stride as he slammed open the door of the potions classroom, startling the third year combined class of Gryffindors and Slytherins so that they jumped almost as one in their seats and turned to stare at him.

He cast his gaze over the class, catching this one's eyes, then that one's, staring each of them down in turn. After he was sure they were all attentive, and suitably leery of him, he pitched his voice to a near whisper. "There will be no foolish wand waving here," he began . . .

---

"Where's my father?" Harry asked again.

Nelli cocked her head to the side, her big eyes sympathetic, though her voice was firm as she said, "Master Snape is teaching his class, Master Harry. And he is wanting you to eat your breakfast."

"I'm not hungry." His stomach hurt, like there were butterflies swarming around in there, and he didn't want to eat. He just wanted his father back.

"You is not supposed to be skipping your breakfast, Master Harry."

"I'm not skipping-"

"And you is not supposed to be whining, either," Nelli continued.

"I'm not. I just want my Daddy." His eyes filled with tears; he couldn't make them stop, even though he'd been feeling like this all morning. It was weird, really; he'd never cried so much in his whole life. "Why can't he come home and be with me?"

"Master Snape is teaching his class, Master Harry," Nelli said again. "But after you is eating your breakfast, Nelli can take you to visit Mister Hagrid and the slobbery dog, yes?"

"Don' wanna."

"Master Harry," Nelli chided. "Mister Hagrid is missing you, Nelli thinks. He is saying two days ago he is wanting to see you again soon."

Still sitting at the little table in their kitchen, Harry poked at his sausage and eggs, swirling them around on the plate. His toast lay to the side, untouched.

"Master Harry?"

"Okay," he said dully.

"You are eating your breakfast first, Master Snape says."

"Okay." He poked at the eggs a bit more, taking two bites before he gave Nelli a pleading look. "'M really not hungry," he told her.

Nelli tutted at the plate, but nodded, and Harry slid off his chair and, after donning his light cloak followed her outside. The day was cloudy, with a slight chill and the hint of mist in the breeze that blew across the grounds. Morning dew clung to the grass, still, and Harry's shoes were soaked, socks as well, within minutes of their descent from the castle. But Harry hardly noticed.

As they neared Hagrid's hut, Fang launched himself at them, and Harry pushed his nose away as the boarhound tried to lick his face off. "Down, Fang," he said, instead of laughing like he usually did. Fang obeyed.

"'Arry!" a loud voice exclaimed from the garden in back of the hut. "Good ter see ye, lad. Come in, have a cuppa with me and Fang."

"Hi, Hagrid," Harry said. "I'm not real thirsty."

"Not thirsty for tea?" Hagrid looked shocked. "'Ow ‘bout a nice cakie, then? Made ‘em fresh this mornin'."

"Not hungry," Harry said and drew a circle in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. "But thanks."

"Oh, now what's wrong, then, ‘arry? Never seen yer refuse a cakie b'fore."

Harry shrugged, and Hagrid came up in front of him, and put a couple huge fingers under his chin, tilting his face up so he had to look at the giant's face. "You can tell me, ‘arry. Anything a'tall what troubles yer, ye know that."

"Can't," Harry said, and to his horror, felt tears rise again. He roughly rubbed them out of his eyes before Hagrid could see.

"Sure ye can." Hagrid's voice was real soft, and so kind it made the breath hitch in Harry's chest, just to hear it.

"I want my father," he whispered, embarrassed, but desperate all the same.

"Ah, well, now, ‘arry, he's busy with classes today. Ye know that."

"I know, Hagrid. But he's . . . he . . ."

"Spit it out," Hagrid encouraged. "It's all righ'."

"He's the only one what'll keep me safe," Harry blurted at last, the words tumbling over each other. "When Mister Filch tries to kill me. ‘Cause he will. I know it. He'll catch me and put me in chains and hurt me bad, and only my Daddy can save me."

Hagrid's silence was like a roar of blood in Harry's ears. The giant stared down at him for a long, long time, and then his eyes filled with tears, spilling over to drip down his cheeks and into his scraggly beard. "Ach, no, Harry," he said and sniffled loudly, wiping fingers the size of sausages across his face. "No, no, never think tha'. Mr. Filch won't do it, not any of it. And the Headmaster wouldna let him, anyway, and neither would your Da'."

"But-"

"No buts, now, ‘arry. Yer safe as houses, I swear on Dumbledore's good name. All righ'?"

Biting his lip, Harry glanced at Nelli, who nodded quickly in agreement. Thoroughly outnumbered, he hitched up his shoulders a bit, but then nodded, too. "Okay. All right."

"Good, good." Hagrid patted him on the back, almost knocking him over. "Now, come inside a mo'. I got a delivery last nigh', some'at you'll like, I'm sure. All the way from Siberia, this one is. . . ."

Calling up a smile for Hagrid's newest acquisition, Harry followed him into his hut.

Calling up a smile for Hagrid's newest acquisition, Harry followed him into his hut.

After six hours of teaching incompetent, negligent dunderheads, two hours of cleaning up after them, an hour of listening to his colleagues complaints about the new -- and returning -- crop of students, and another hour of setting final times for nightly rounds and detention monitoring, Severus was exhausted, wanting no more than to take a hot bath and relax with a glass of brandy and a good book. Or maybe just sprawl in an easy chair and stare into space. That would be good, too.

But he had the potion for Filch to prepare -- one which took almost four hours of prep time before even starting the fire under the cauldron, followed by constant monitoring for another four, then simmering and stirring and cooling . . . it would be done by Friday, but only just, and he meant to have Filch drink it or be damned by then. Plus he had summer assignments to grade, two detentions already to monitor, both students from his House, with the detention assigned by Minerva -- damn her -- as well as potion ingredients to prepare for tomorrow's lessons.

It was going to be a long night.

He entered his quarters with the expectation that it would be quiet -- Nelli had been on duty with Harry until noon, at which point Fern and . . . the other one took over until bedtime -- and Harry should have been fed dinner already and be in the process of getting ready for bed even now. Severus was disappointed that he'd missed dinner with Harry, as he'd known the boy was still having a difficult time after the mess with Filch in the Great Hall. But Dumbledore had insisted he be present for dinner with the rest of the staff, for at least this week, and he had acquiesced.

Even with this expectation, he was not prepared for the still, almost deathly quiet of his chambers. No breath of sound came from anywhere.

Immediately on alert, with wand at the ready, Severus moved cautiously through the sitting room to the hallway which held doors to the bedrooms and his office. The door to Harry's bedroom was ajar, just a crack, and he crept quietly toward it, noting that a mere sliver of light escaped the room, enough for a single candle, no more.

Not until he was almost at the door did he hear anything, and then it was only an odd scritching sound . . . then silence again.

Sidling to the small shaft of light of the opening, Severus peered into the boy's room, able to see only a portion of the bed. Harry's body was sprawled across the part he could see, an arm, a leg and partial trunk. And then . . . over the band of Harry's black hair where it met his neck, a large, pointed tuft of white-furred . . . ear? appeared. The ear swiveled toward him and then twitched as a clawed paw rose to scratch at it.

What the . . . ?

Severus aimed his wand at the tufted ear, pushed open the door, then slipped into the room. Candlelight glimmered in ice blue eyes below white ears, in the white (or cream colored, perhaps), narrow feline face of a kneazle kit, no more than three or four months old.

Where the . . . ?

Harry had not stirred from where he had apparently passed out cold on the bed, though he looked unharmed. Severus glanced for only a split second at the House-elf, Fern, fast asleep in the small rocker in the corner of the room. The blue-eyed kneazle watched his movements, not blinking, and Severus stared right back. Very deliberately, gaze still locked with Severus', the little furred face lowered over Harry's neck and a little pink tongue lapped at his exposed skin . . . as if the bloody thing were taunting him!

Harry's hand came up and scratched absently at his neck, his eyes still shut.

After another moment, Severus stepped out of the room and said, under his breath, "Fern."

From his vantage point, he could see the House-elf's eyes fly open, accompanied by a soft gasp and then a Pop as Fern disappeared from the chair and appeared right in front of Severus. "Master Snape, sir!" she squeaked, and Severus shushed her, pointing out how close they were to Harry. Coloring in embarrassment, she whispered loudly, "You is home!"

Severus found it unnecessary to agree, but pointed at the kneazle and pitched his voice low. "What is that?"

"A kneazle, Master Snape, sir!"

"Yes." Severus sighed and regarded the creature. The indistinct grayish spots in the otherwise pure cream-white pelage, on top of a pink nose and blue eyes, leant the animal the look of a small, white leopard. It was rather beautiful. But it was in his home. "Now, what is it doing here?"

"Master Hagrid was showing the kneazle kit to young Master Harry, and Master Harry is liking the kit very much."

"And so Hagrid gave the beast to him." Another sigh. He was going to have to have a long talk with the man in which the second half of the compound term "gamekeeper" was elucidated. Honestly!

"Oh, yes," Fern said happily. "And Master Harry is showing Treacle the whole castle, even the ow--"

"Wait," Severus interrupted. "What did you call it?"

"Master Harry is naming his kneazle Treacle Tart."

Severus shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The boy had already named it. Damn.

"Father?" came a sleepy voice from inside the room.

Severus peered into the room again, and lifted an eyebrow at Harry's expression as the boy pushed himself up and rubbed at his eyes. One of the worst cases of bed hair Severus had ever seen was currently glued to the side of his face with sweat and -- he would swear -- drool. Maybe even some kneazle spit. The kneazle rose on back paws and stretched up to lick the boy's ear. Harry giggled. "Quit it, Tree." He scratched the kit's head and it leaned into his hand, purring.

"Harry . . . ?" Severus said, in a leading tone.

"Hagrid gave me her. Isn't she pretty? Hagrid says she can pr'tect me from bad people and help me find my way home if'm lost, 'cause she's nearly magic and real gentle. Can I keep her?"

Severus set his jaw. "I believe that is a question you should have asked before accepting Hagrid's gift. I have no desire to share quarters with a kneazle."

Harry's eyes opened wide at Severus' tone. They managed a combination of sorrowful and guileless that hit Severus in the gut, and yet he vowed to remain firm. He didn't like cats or kneazles. In fact, he was sure he was quite allergic to them.

A faint flush colored Harry's cheeks before he ducked his head. "Yes, sir," the boy whispered. "I'll bring her back." Avoiding Severus' gaze, he gathered the bundle of fur and claws in his arms and pressed his nose to the top of her head, then rubbed his cheek along her ears as he slid off the bed.

"It's late," Severus told him with some asperity. "Too late to pester Hagrid tonight. You can go down in the morning." He glanced at Fern, and then at the rumpled bed where Harry had been resting and asked, "Have you eaten dinner?"

"Umm . . ."

"Did you at least have lunch?" At Harry's blank look, Severus rounded on the House-elf. "How long have you and Harry been sleeping?"

"Master Snape, sir?" Fern's face wrinkled further briefly before she said, "Two hours and thirty-five minutes, sir! Master Harry was very tired from exploring the castle and--"

Sighing again, Severus turned away from both of them and strode back down the hall. "I would like dinner on the table, and Harry washed and straightened up by seven-thirty, if you can manage that." He retreated to his shower and very hot water, and quiet.

Twenty minutes later, he emerged, still cross but clean. At the table, Harry was standing beside his chair, clothes straightened and head down, with neither Fern nor the kneazle in sight. Dinner was laid out -- roast beef, potatoes and peas -- and smelled inviting.

At Severus' place was a glass of red wine. He sat, unfolded his cloth serviette and draped it across his lap, then surveyed Harry where he stood stalk still, fists bunched by his sides and arms trembling. "Harry, sit down," he said mildly.

The boy's head came up. His eyes were dilated, his mouth drawn tight. His gaze skimmed over the table and a breath hitched audibly in his chest.

Severus was rapidly losing patience. He knew he should get up and walk away while he was in a fractious mood, but he was hungry and tired and just wanted to relax after a long, arduous day. What was it about dinner that was so hard? "Harry, talk to me. What is it?"

Harry gave a short shake of his head. It may have even been just a twitch. The trembling in his limbs grew more pronounced.

Severus' eyes narrowed. What the hell? He had no idea what might be wrong, and the boy seemed unable to tell him. Well, fine then. "Look at me."

Harry met his gaze at last, and Severus whispered, "Legilimens."

A barrage of images bombarded him. Severus sifted through them carefully, easing past this memory or that, dismissing his own attitude toward the kneazle surprise as of no consequence, then the boy's afternoon's activities of mucking around in dusty corridors and running himself almost sick on the fields with a leaping kitten, searched back past Filch's terrorizing taunts, back days and then a week, then further and further in time, seeking reasons for the boy's behavior.

Ah. There they were. . . .

The remnants of a meal, roast and peas and potatoes, laid out on a white table top, and Harry pulls dishes down, one by one, to clean them, staring hungrily at every bit of food he is not allowed to have -- wipes down counters -- wishes for water, just a moist cloth to suck on in the darkness of a cramped, claustrophobic room -- rummages through a garbage pail -- the taste of potato peels, mealy but wet, barely chewed and swallowed quickly -- bright light, yelling and screams, Harry's screams -- the cold of a night outdoors, the coppery taste of blood on his lips -- the hose and blinding cold water, more water than he wanted and Aunt Petunia's cold words, "Vernon will sort you out, boy" -- kicks and punches of Dudley and his friends, aches in his ribs, his hand, crushed -- Uncle Vernon, "On your knees," with the collar, latching it tight, metal links cutting into his skin -- "If you're a good dog, you'll get dinner tonight . . ."

Severus withdrew from Harry's mind, feeling sick. His gorge rose and he struggled to keep his composure. If Dursley wasn't already on an express train to insane thanks to his previous visit, Severus would have gone directly to that damn Muggle's house now and flayed the skin and meat from his bones.

With a flick of his wand, Severus banished the unfortunate meal on the table, and turned his attention to Harry, who was on his knees, arms wrapped tight around his middle. Silent tears flowed down his cheeks as he rocked himself back and forth, mouthing words Severus could not hear, hunched over his knees.

Severus dropped down beside him, and his heart broke when Harry flinched away. The boy was cowering from him, and no wonder, with Severus' attitude over the last half hour. Cursing both his stupidity and lack of patience under his breath, he had to force his hands to stay by his sides and not reach for the boy, not wanting to frighten him again.

"Harry. I'm sorry . . . Harry, you're at Hogwarts, do you remember? Please look at me, Harry . . . Can you hear me? Son?"

Unable to stand the boy's silent keening, Severus reached for him again, but his hands were knocked away by a white blur that streaked across his field of vision.

---

"Disgusting, filthy animal!" Uncle shrieks and grabs the boy by the neck, shaking him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "I told you, boy, no food. I'll teach you to disobey me! No good FREAK!" Uncle shoves him to the back door. "Outside with you! If you behave like a dog, you'll be treated as one. Should've know you weren't fit for living indoors with decent folk. Get out of my house!" . . . . .

. . . . Later, Uncle's eyes are frightening. But the boy's legs tremble weakly, so it is no hardship to sink to his knees. In seconds, his uncle has slipped the chain around his throat and cinched it tight like a collar. In the next moment, he clips the end to the black rope. A leash! the boy realizes with a jolt. His hands go to the chain collar and tug at it.

"Leave it!" Uncle bellows and slaps his hands away. Then he holds up the last item in his hands, a large screw topped with a loop. Taking the other end of the leash, Uncle Vernon leads the boy to a far corner of the yard. With a heavy mallet, he hammers the screw into the side of the shed and hooks the other end of the leash to it. He sneers at the boy as he heads back to the house. "If you're a good dog, you'll get some dinner tonight. Otherwise . . ."

On his knees, the boy's hands went to his throat. It's not there. No leash. No collar, it was not there anymore. "No dog," he moaned softly. "No collar. Not there." He hunched lower over his legs, leaving his back exposed, but that was better than his belly, always. Terror whined in his throat and clutched at him like sticky spider webs that he could not break free of. His mind rolled through the memory of days of no food and little water, and the shed and his broken fingers and the whisper of the little snake who asked if he was dead yet, and the light flickering touch of its tongue along the shell of his ear.

But the snake was soft, and whiskers quivered against his cheek as wet sandpaper lapped at his jaw. No hissing. Not a snake. A furry head, purring, butted against his chin, and he released his hold on his belly so he could pet it, and his fingers carded through its fur. His breath evened out, and he relaxed a little more. The memory of those horrible days receded once more.

Then a voice called his name, "Harry . . ."

Yes. His name was Harry, and he was not the boy in that backyard anymore. Someone . . . someone had rescued him, and taken him away.

"Daddy?" Close by was the sound of a sobbed breath, and he opened his eyes.

"Harry . . . I'm sorry." Father held open his arms, but didn't try to hold him, so Harry threw himself into his embrace, needing his protection, needing to know Father was okay, and let him know he was okay. Father's strong arms wrapped around him and he burrowed into the embrace.

A white furry face peered into his, looking over Father's arm. Harry's throat felt thick, like he couldn't swallow. He wanted to keep the kitten so much, but Father had said no. Still, he reached toward her, and she rubbed her head along his fingers, letting him scratch her under the chin. "Treacle," he choked out her name, and his eyes burned. He buried his head back in Father's arm, not wanting to even look at her anymore.

Father's hand cupped the back of his head, and he pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead. His voice was very soft when he said, "She seems to be taken with you." When Harry lifted his gaze, Father continued, "Treacle Tart is an . . . original name. I imagine she could not hope for a better one."

"Ha-Hagrid c'n ch-change it, if he wants" Harry stuttered and blinked rapidly to keep his tears from falling. "He's good wif an'mals. Tree . . . Tree'll like him fine."

"No, I think you should keep her." Father's arms tightened around him. His voice was oddly hoarse, like he was trying to keep from crying, too. "She's very protective . . . I believe she will look out for you. And you can look out for her, too."

Harry's breath caught. "Really, you mean it? I can keep her?"

"Yes. You can keep her." Father shook his head with a small sigh, but he didn't sound mad anymore. "Merlin help us all."

"Yes. You can keep her." Father shook his head with a small sigh, but he didn't sound mad anymore. "Merlin help us all."

The next morning, Harry woke to a set of ice blue eyes staring him in the face. "Tree," he whispered, and held out his fingers for her to rub her head against, which she did, purring. Harry grinned, and scratched at Treacle Tart's ears. She was so soft, and she was his.

"You have the best name," he told her, and she agreed, purring more loudly and butting against his chin, "'cause you're the best treat."

"Master Harry," a voice said, nearby, and he jumped so fast Treacle jumped with him with a little hiss and a swipe of claws at the intruder.

"'S'okay, Tree," Harry told the kneazle kit. "It's just Nelli. She's nice."

Treacle cocked her white head to the side and regarded the House-elf. Harry grasped one of her paws, gently, and lifted it to wave at Nelli. "See, she's sayin' 'hi!'"

Nelli smiled hesitantly and said, "Master Harry, Master Snape is saying youse is to get up now and be ready for breakfast."

"Is he still here?" Harry asked, sliding out of bed quickly and reaching for the robe he was supposed to wear if he left his room while still wearing pajamas. Treacle jumped off the bed and rubbed her face along his ankle. Smiling, he bent to scratch her ears.

"He is being in his workroom, Master Harry, but youse is not to be disturbing him there."

Harry knew that. Father's Potions Lab was strictly off limits, both here and in Spinner's End. "Is he gonna have breakfast with us?"

"Nelli thinks no, Master Harry. Master Snape's is being very busy this morning."

"Oh." Harry tried to keep his disappointment from showing. He headed down the short hallway to the kitchen where they usually ate breakfast. "That's okay."

"After youse is done your breakfast, Nelli can take youse to visit Master Hagrid again."

"Maybe," Harry hedged as he hopped up into a chair. Someday, his legs would be long enough that his feet could touch the floor when he sat down. He hoped so, anyway. "I want to visit Charlie, though. I haven't seen him since he got back."

"Charlie Weasley?" Nelli asked. "He is being in his classes today, Master Harry."

"It's okay," Harry assured her. "I won't get in the way."

Nelli stared at him for a moment and sighed a little. "Youse is eating your breakfast, Master Harry." She pointed at the table. "Master Snape says fruit, eggs and bacon, and toast. Youse is eating some of everything."

Harry nodded, then grinned hugely when Treacle Tart jumped into his lap and peered up at him, then at the food appraisingly. "Good kitten." He petted her back slowly, laughing as her tail end rose up every time his hand reached the middle of her long spine. "Hungry?" Of course she was, he could almost hear her thoughts as she gazed at him with those beautiful blue eyes. Harry fed her bacon and toast in little bites, breaking off nibbles of his own serving, or taking some for her directly from the platters. Treacle didn't care for orange wedges, though she did like slivers of banana.

Once they were both done, Harry saved a bit of toast and orange in a paper napkin, and put it in his pocket when Nelli wasn't looking. Then he got cleaned up in his bathroom and dressed in his favorite green shirt and gray trousers that were considered casual enough for playing outdoors. Once he was "presentable," he collected Treacle and, followed by Nelli, went in search of Charlie.

---

It took almost an hour of wandering the castle, Treacle by turns in his arms or at his heels, and Nelli close behind, before he finally found his friend. Charlie was in a class, like Nelli said, but it was almost over, Harry was sure. He peeked through the window on the top half of the door; he had to jump to see it.

Treacle Tart stood on her back legs, front paws on the door. A low, rumbled, "Mrowr?" escaped her throat and Harry nodded. "You'll like Charlie. He's real nice and likes dragons and Hagrid and Quidditch."

A few minutes later, the class broke up, with chairs scraping back and papers rustling, and the students talking and laughing as they headed for the door. Harry scooped Treacle into his arms so she wouldn't be trampled, moved back from the door, watching another class let out down the hall, and waited for his friend.

Charlie was one of the last to come out, book bag slung carelessly over his shoulder and talking quickly to a dark-haired boy beside him, the same one he'd been sitting next to at dinner at the Welcoming Feast.

Harry lunged toward him. "Charlie!"

The redhead turned and looked down to see Harry. "Oi, Harry! How're you doing, mate? Your Dad giving you any trouble?"

"I'm good, Charlie, but look! I got a kneazle!" He held up the bundle of white fur. "Her name's Treacle Tart."

The boy beside Charlie snickered, and Charlie punched him lightly in the shoulder. "She's pretty, that's for certain."

"Yep, Hagrid gave me her. She's all the way from Siberia! And she's got gray spots, see?" He ruffled her fur a bit, so Charlie could see.

"That's great, kiddo, but I have to get to class. I'll see you later, all right?"

Charlie took a couple steps with the other boy, and Harry jogged to catch up with them. "But I found a secret passage, Charlie! You and me can 'splore it, and everything."

This time, Charlie hardly even slowed his steps, though he gave Harry a small smile. "Can't. I have Transfiguration now." His smile faded. "And McGonagall will kill me if I'm late again." He ruffled Harry's hair -- and Harry had gotten so used to Charlie doing that during the week he'd stayed here during the summer that he didn't hardly flinch at all. "Why don't you sit with me and Payton at the Gryffindor table for lunch today. You don't mind, do you Pay?"

"Whatever," Payton said with a shrug, but he rolled his eyes, too as if he was annoyed.

Charlie punched him again. "Be nice," he whispered, but Harry had really good hearing, or maybe Charlie wanted him to hear. "Kid looks up to me."

"Fine." He peered down the hall with a sharp gesture. "Well? Do you want to be late?"

"No, I'm coming."

"Don't you want to go 'sploring?" Harry asked.

"Sure, Harry, but not now. I really have to go." He started after the other boy who had already moved further away, and the two of them started jogging down the hallway.

Harry ran after them. "But Charlie! Don't you want to play Quidditch?"

"Later, Harry!" he called, and the two bigger boys disappeared around the corner. The sound of Payton's laughter drifted back to where Harry was standing, stung, with Treacle clutched in his arms.

Harry's face screwed up. Why couldn't Charlie go upstairs to see the Humpbacked Witch with him? He'd liked exploring before. Sure, Charlie had classes, but all the time? And wasn't exploring more important? And he'd barely even said hello to Treacle!

"C'mon, Nelli," he muttered. "Let's go outside." He led the House-elf out the front entrance and down the hill, but he curved to the left as they went down, instead of to the right like he usually did when they went to Hagrid's hut.

"Master Harry," Nelli warned, "youse is not allowed to be at the pitch without--"

"My father's 'spress permission. I know. This is just a faster way down," he told her. And it was. Smoother, too, and easier going for Treacle, who he'd let down as soon as they got free of the bunches of students who might step on her tail by accident. It was faster. He wasn't going this way just so he could go close to the pitch, no matter what Nelli thought.

The pitch was just beyond them now, to the left, and he hardly looked at it at all as they went by, honest. Last week, Charlie had showed him around the stands and they played some with real quaffles and bludgers and snitches like they used at practice and in the games, and Charlie had taken him flying, and they'd even used the changing rooms to get cleaned up after, like real Quidditch players.

Ron had been there, too, and he had to use a little kid's broom like Harry did, but Charlie had said -- afterwards, and in private so Ron wouldn't get upset or jealous -- that Harry was the better flier. No one had ever told him he was better at something than someone else. Not ever, even once.

"I'll be a great Quidditch player, Tree," he told the kneazle who kept up with his short strides with ease as they rounded the base of the hill and curled away from the pitch at last. "You'll see."

They did all the exploring they could on the way to Hagrid's, climbing over outcroppings of rock and peering into odd little burrows. It when he was clambering over a bit of slippery stone covered in green, fuzzy moss to get a better look at the queer looking tree nearer to the Forbidden Forest -- Charlie said was a Whomping Willow -- that he heard the voice.

"Watch your ssssstep, walker."

Harry looked all around, but it was Treacle who found the snake. Her ears were laid flat, her tail -- like a lion's Hagrid had told him, with the little puff of fur at the end -- was all bushed out like a bottle brush. She crouched, back end in the air, right between Harry and a pale gray snake with a black zigzag running down the length of its spine and an upside down V on its neck.

Nelli, just behind Harry, sucked in a breath and whispered, "Don't move, Master Harry. Please don't move."

Harry shot her a look, not understanding why not, and shrugged. "Sssorry," Harry told the snake. "I didn't sssee you there."

"You sssspeak?" the snake asked.

"Sssure. Why do you all asssk that?"

The snake's head rose slightly, making Treacle growl low in her throat, but neither of them moved an inch more. "You have ssspoken to one of usss before?"

"Yessss. In the garden of Ssspinner'sss End, and in Ssssurrey." He frowned over the memory of that first snake he'd ever talked to, but shook it away, not wanting to think about it. "Not many of usss speak, huh?"

"You are the firsssst I have encountered, walker. I heard sssstories of another, many hatchingsssss ago."

"Well, nicccce to meet you. My name isss Harry. Not walker."

He was almost sure the snake laughed at that; its head shook back and forth as it said, "But you walk, yessss?"

"Well, ssssure. I've got legssss." Treacle's hind end was twitching, like she might pounce on the snake, so he said, "No, Tree. Leave the snake be."

She didn't move, but her hind end quit being all wiggly, and Harry relaxed a little.

"Thankssss," the snake said. "Her clawssss look sssharp."

Harry grinned. "They are. Ssshe clingsss great to my ssshirt." He sat down on the rock and pulled some of the leftover toast from breakfast from his pocket. "Want sssome?" he asked, offering a piece to the snake.

Looking over Treacle's head, the snake peered at the browned bread. "Isss it dead?"

Harry laughed. "Nah, well, it'ssss not alive, isss it? It'ssss just bread. Toassst. You put jam on it."

"Not a vole?"

"No, ssssorry. Isss that what you eat, then? Volesss?"

"If posssssible. They are very tassssty. But lizardssss are nicccce, too." The snake turned slightly -- though still keeping one eye on Treacle -- and looked at the forest. "It issss almost time for ssssleeeping. Then, no more eating till sssspring."

"You hibernate in the winter?" Harry remembered that word from day school, when they'd been studying bears.

"Yessss. There issss--" The snake suddenly cut off and darted into a crevice in the stone, vanishing from sight.

"Hey!" Harry called, scrambling to his feet and looking down into the crevice. "Hey, snake! Come back!"

"Who you talking to, Harry?" a voice behind him asked.

Startled, Harry spun around. In his haste, he slipped on the stone, twisted his ankle and fell backwards. It wasn't very far to fall, no more than a couple of feet, but he landed hard on more stone, on his back. His breath rushed out of him, and it hurt to draw another. Above him, framed by the castle behind her, was someone in Slytherin robes; he could tell by the green and silver patch. The girl had long brown hair and a short sort of face, and peered down at him through narrowed brown eyes.

"You all right there?" she asked.

"Yeah," he managed to say once he got a little breath back, and pushed himself to hands and knees and then up on his feet. His ankle hurt, so he kept most of his weight off it. It was the same one he'd hurt when Dudley and his friends beat him up. His father had spent so long fixing it, Harry knew he couldn't let him know he'd hurt it again. His lower back hurt, too, but it was probably just bruised. He'd fallen worse before.

"Who were you talking to?" the girl asked again.

Harry shrugged and brushed stone ships and smeared moss off his palms. They were scraped and he blew on them a little to relieve the sting. "I don't know its name. I think it was a boy, though."

"A boy what?"

"Snake. Was just here. Must've got frightened when you came up."

"You . . . were talking . . . to a snake?" The girl sounded a little choked.

Harry nodded. "Uh-huh. It was hungry for voles. Do you know where I can get voles?"

The girl made another choking sound and shook her head. "Does . . . does your father know you're out here?"

With a glance at Nelli, who had gone quite pale, and was trembling besides, Harry nodded again. But he really wanted to sit down. And it still hurt to breathe. "But he's in class, so Nelli's got to watch me till lunchtime."

"I think . . ." The girl reached down for his hand, and Harry hesitated only a second before taking it and letting her help him up over the rock, while trying to keep the weight off his ankle. "I think he'll want to see you. "

"Really?" Harry asked. He'd be glad to see his father; he missed having breakfast with him and dinner and they'd only had one short story last night before bed. "Okay!"

Limping along, but smiling, Harry accompanied the girl back to the castle.

When Rose Parkinson interrupted the Potions class just before lunch, with a quick knock on the door before she opened it, Severus glared at her hard enough to bruise. But then he saw who she had by the hand, and his heart clenched, at the same time as he strode toward the two of them. Could he have not one morning where everything went as planned??

“Harry,” he said in a low tone. “What is the meaning of this?”

The boy looked up at him with confusion, one his hand firmly in Rose’s, and the other clutching his kneazle close to his chest. Severus noted that his clothes were in disarray, as if he'd been in a fight. To Rose then, he said, “What has he gotten into now?”

“I found him outside,” she said, almost whispering.

Nothing surprising there. Unless . . . “Was he alone?”

“No, he had an elf with him.” She looked behind her, as if expecting the creature to still be with them.

“Then I fail to see what the problem is. Why did you drag him inside?”

Rose’s gaze roamed the room quickly, and only when she saw the children – third years – keeping their attention on their potions did she continue, in an even lower voice, “He was talking to a snake. An adder.”

And just like that, Severus’s insides turned to ice, part abject fear, part horror. He remembered, when he’d first found Harry in the backyard of those Muggles, that he’d heard something like Parseltongue coming from just beyond his view, but he’d promptly forgotten those brief noises in the face of the utter depravity of the boy’s captivity. Now it all came rushing back.

And an adder. Of all things for him to . . . he could have been killed! Steeling his voice to measured calm, he said, “Thank you, Miss Parkinson. I will take it from here.”

“I just thought you should know.”

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson. That will be all.” His heart was threatening to beat its way out of his chest, and she wanted a medal?

Giving him a brief – yet almost crafty – smile, she released her grip on Harry and retreated from the room. That one would bear watching. And as for Harry . . .

“Could you sit over there for me, please?” he told the boy, and pointed at a chair near his desk. “Until this class is done. Then we’ll have lunch.”

“Yes, Father,” Harry said dutifully, though he still looked perplexed. As well he might; Harry had no idea of how frightening a prospect it would be to many wizards if he manifested the same odd, Dark power that Voldemort had. It would bring up far too many memories for most people, including himself. And he probably had no idea of the risk he had put himself, talking with such a poisonous snake as that.

Severus had almost turned back to his class, a snarl for them to “Pay attention!” halfway from his mouth, when he noted Harry’s gait was off. With a sigh, he said, “Harry, did you hurt your ankle?”

The boy’s head went down for an instant, before it came up again, and Harry did not meet his eyes. “N-no, sir?”

“Do not lie to me, boy.”

The tousled head shook wildly. “No, sir, I mean, yes, sir, I did hurt it, but I didn’t mean to, please!”

Keeping tight rein on his snappishness -- this was no time for the boy to temporize! -- Severus still gestured to the chair again, sharply. “Sit down!”

Then, before he could register the fear in his son’s eyes, he turned to the class. “Get this mess bottled up. You’ve had long enough. Anyone who did not complete their potion satisfactorily will turn in two feet on the uses of belladonna in calming potions by next class. Those whose potions are satisfactory, which should be every one of you, though I know that is much too much to expect, owe one foot. You should know who you are. If you don’t, you are beyond my help. Go now.”

They scrambled to obey, and Severus watched them carefully. It would not do for there to be an incident just because he was worried about Harry. He had a feeling – given the events of the last few weeks – that he was often going to be worried about Harry.

When the last of the little devils had gone, he turned back to his son. Harry was perched on the very edge of the chair, the kit – Treacle, was it? – held tight in his arms, with his cheek resting on her back, and his eyes wide, tracking Severus’ every move. The creature didn’t seem to mind the close contact, in fact she was purring if the sounds coming from the pair was any indication. The two of them made such a picture that Severus’ anger melted away, leaving only the overwhelming concern he had for the boy.

“Harry,” he said, after shutting the door and warding it for privacy. “Let me see your ankle.”

“’M’sorry, sir,” Harry said instead. His face was pinched with fear, but no tears fell from his over bright eyes. “I shouldn’t’a falled. Was an accident. Was just s’prised is all.”

“Harry,” Severus said again, and this time knelt on the floor in front of the boy. “I’m not angry. Please let me see where you’re hurt.”

Slowly, biting his lip, Harry held out the ankle that had been hurt once before.

Taking it carefully in his hands, Severus winced at the swelling. Parkinson should have brought him to the infirmary instead! “What surprised you?” he asked as he took off the boy’s shoe and rolled down the sock, as gently as he could.

“Rose. She said I could call her Rose. Do you think that’s okay, sir?”

Another wince for the realization that he had frightened Harry back into old habits. He pitched his voice to as mild a one as he could manage, low and soothing. “What are you supposed to call me, Harry?”

“Father. Sorry, Father.”

“It’s all right.” He cast a quick spell to bring down the swelling, and then another to see where the damage was. Merlin. That tendon was going to need more than his skill to repair, that was certain. Looked like another trip to Madam Pomfrey was in order. In the meantime, he immobilized the ankle and foot with an area specific Body Bind, which should hold it until after lunch at least.

First, he and Harry needed to discuss the morning’s events, and he had a free period just after lunch, so he’d bring the boy to the Medi-witch then. When his head was nudged by a soft, butting chin, he looked up into Harry’s green eyes, and at his face, almost hidden by white kneazle fur. He pushed he kneazle away from his cheek, but not with any rancor.

“We’ll have lunch in our quarters,” he said. “But I don’t want you walking on that ankle, so I’ll need to carry you.” He looked pointedly at Treacle Tart. “But I don’t give rides to kneazles.”

“S’okay, Father. She can follow us. She’s real smart, huh, Tree?”

Treacle seemed to agree, giving Harry a head butting, along with a substantial purr.

“So long as we understand each other,” Severus told the kneazle.

It stared at him, blinked slowly, then jumped out of Harry’s arms and looked up at both of them steadily, as if waiting for them to get a move on.

Shaking his head slightly at her antics, Severus scooped Harry into his arms, concerned once more than the boy felt too light by far -- weren't the House-elves making sure he ate properly? -- and walked them both back to his quarters. The kneazle stayed on his heels and darted through the door like she owned the place when he opened it.

Severus settled Harry on the couch, ordered up lunch for the two of them, and sat down in his favorite easy chair when it appeared. “Now,” he said quietly, once Harry had begun eating his apple slices. “Why don’t you tell me about the snake.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “He’s real pretty, all gray and with zigzags and stuff on his back. I think he was going to look for voles. They hibernate, did you know?”

“I did know.” He paused, not sure how to approach this. “Were you just pretending to talk to him? You know, how you talk to your kneazle?”

“No, Father, it’s real! Tree doesn’t talk back through her mouth like the snake did. He said I'm the only one he's ever talked to, but he was getting ready to sleep, and then Rose scared him away, and that's when I fell over.”

Severus thought as much, but it was still a blow. “And have you spoken to snakes before?”

“Yes, Father. There was one in the garden at Spinner’s End, and one . . .”

“Yes?”

Harry’s face took on a different sort of mask. Hard, yet almost brittle. “I thought . . . I thought I was dying.”

Severus’ heart skipped a beat. “Explain.”

“At . . . at my . . . my Uncle’s. I was so hungry, and it had been a long time since I’d even got water, and I thought maybe boys could only talk to snakes when they were dying.”

“Just before I took you away from there, yes?”

Harry nodded, the slice of apple forgotten in his hand. His lower lip stuck out just a little. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t know I wasn’t s’posed to talk to snakes. I won’t do it anymore.”

With a sigh, Severus rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I have not forbidden you to speak to them. It’s a gift for wizards to be able to do so. I would ask, however, that you be a little . . . circumspect in your conversations.” At the boy’s confused expression, he added, “It means, you shouldn’t let everyone know you are a Parselmouth. Some people would not understand.”

Harry drew a slow breath. “Like with the Dursleys, and any magic.”

Snape's gut reaction was to tell the boy that no one and nothing would ever treat him the way the Dursleys had, but he knew that he could not make promises like that. Not and be honest. He knew -- as did Dumbledore -- that the Dark Lord would rise again one day, and that Harry would be caught in the thick of it again. The very idea chilled him, and yet, he knew it was true. Too, the world was a fickle place, and those who sang praises over Harry's success in the past would be just as likely to condemn him in the future.

Thus, against all desire, he admitted, “Similar, yes. You must pay close attention to who you allow to see your special powers. I also want you to be very careful when you decide to befriend wild creatures, Harry. The snake you were talking to today is poisonous and the venom from its bite could have killed you. Made you very sick at least.”

“Oh. But it wouldn’t have bitten me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But it was nice!”

“Harry!” Severus took a slow breath. “Please. I don’t . . . I don’t want to lose you, son. Just please be mindful of the danger. There are all sorts of creatures around Hogwarts that are not nice, and will bite you, and poison you, given half a chance.”

A mulish expression stole over Harry’s face, and it angered Severus. How was he to keep Harry safe if the boy insisted on charging into dangerous situations with squids and snakes and who knew what else? “I am completely serious, Harry. You will obey me in this.”

Cowed, the boy nodded. “Yes, Father. I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now, eat your lunch. I’ll be in my lab. You are to remain on that couch until I return.”

“Yes, Father.”

---

Harry watched him go, feeling stupid and in the way and not hungry anymore. He was a freak, even among wizards. He should have known it was weird to talk to snakes, but he liked them, and they were nice, all the ones he’d met. But Father had said to be careful of them, ‘cause they might bite. Yet, how was he to know which ones would and which ones wouldn’t, unless he talked to them first? He buried his head in his arms and curled into the corner of the couch.

Treacle didn’t let him stay like that, but leapt onto the couch and butted at his arms with her head until he acknowledged her. He ran thin fingers through her fur, loving the softness of it. Sitting back up straight, he fed Treacle some of his lunch – she didn’t want apples, but did want the slices of sausage and the pepper crisps, and he poured a little of his milk onto the tray for her to lap up, then finished the rest of that.

And then he realized he had to go to the loo.

How long till Father came out of his lab? Harry wondered. He could hold his pee in pretty well, had learnt how at the Dursleys, but it had been hours since he’d been last. And he really had to go. The lunch was gone, the tray and plates vanished, and Treacle had curled up against his knee on the couch, cleaning her whiskers by licking her paws and then rubbing them over her face.

How much longer?

It got to the point where he was gripping himself hard to stop from peeing on the couch, and biting his lip, too, 'cause sometimes pain let him keep his mind of awful things, like what would happen if he went all over his father's couch. He rocked back and forth, eyes squinched shut. Please hurry, please, Daddy, please hurry, please . . .

Suddenly Treacle jumped down from the couch, and the sound of her paws hitting the floor startled Harry enough to make him lose control. Tears welled in his eyes, to run in hot streams down his cheeks, as warm liquid spilled into his trousers and dripped down his legs. Once the flow started, he couldn't stop it until he was empty and sopping.

Sorry, I'm sorry, oh Father, oh, sir, please, I'm so sorry, please . . .

---

Severus had lost track of time. This was not an infrequent event when he was engaged in making potions, especially one as tricky as the Fidelity Draught. His lab was soundproofed, of course, and spelled to stay as fume free and humidity controlled as he could make it, with various bubbling cauldrons always going. The lighting was good for his eyes, whether he was hunched over books of potions or those same cauldrons, and, all in all, the room was perfect for his work, allowing minimal distractions.

Indeed, when he noticed the time again, he realized he had spent not only the whole lunch hour, but also most of his free period in his lab, and he still had to set up the ingredients for his next class. It was a Gryffindor/Slytherin combined class of second year students, who he just knew he would have to watch over every second to make sure they weren't hexing each other or blowing up their cauldrons. He had less than ten minutes to finish up here and get it all assembled for them.

Thus, he was rushed getting out of the lab, practically tripping over that damned kneazle, who was scratching at his door, and rushed when he burst into the sitting room, and he was not inclined to be understanding when he saw the boy sobbing with his head down . . . and possessed of a rather pungent, all too familiar smell.

On the couch.

"Merlin's pants, boy! Don't you know how to use the toilet?"

The only response came through chattering teeth, Harry's head still down, and now covered by his hands. "Sorry, sir, sorry, please, I'll be good, please don't hurt me, m'sorry, sir . . ." over and over again like some sort of litany of his failures.

"Good grief," Severus murmured, and reached for the boy's arm, only then recalling the bad ankle, and how he was supposed to take Harry to the Infirmary, and now there wasn't time before he had to be at class, and where were those infernal elves!?

With a grimace, Severus grabbed the tops of both of Harry's arms and swung him up from the couch and carried him bodily -- though keeping the boy's small, wet form as far away from his own robes as he could -- down to the bathroom, where he plunked the boy on the floor in front of the shower.

"Nelli!" he called, and when the House-elf arrived, hiding her face in her hands much like Harry still was, he growled at her, "See that he gets cleaned up, then have Madam Pomfrey come down and take a look at his ankle. I'm late for class." He was half way out the bathroom door before he added, "And clean up that couch as well!"

Previously:

"Nelli!" he called, and when the House-elf arrived, hiding her face in her hands much like Harry still was, he growled at her, "See that he gets cleaned up, then have Madam Pomfrey come down and take a look at his ankle. I'm late for class." He was half way out the bathroom door before he added, "And clean up that couch as well!"

Once in his classroom, Severus was able to get a partial grip on his temper, even as he frantically started setting out potion ingredients. Hmm. Maybe he should start letting the students gather their own from the storage closet, he thought, as an added test of their skills. Not to mention, it would lessen the time he needed to prepare for each class. Time he should be spending with his son. His thoughts, as he set out jars of black beetles to be crushed, ginger root to be shredded, and monkey intestines to be chopped, returned to Harry, and the scene he had come upon in the sitting room.

What in the name of Slytherin had happened to make the boy behave so? It wasn't as if he didn't know where the toilet was, nor how to use it; he hadn't had an accident like that before, to Severus' knowledge. And his whimpering pleas had been utterly heartbreaking, as if he really feared Severus would hurt him. Severus closed his eyes briefly, recalling his harsh, angry words. Maybe . . . maybe Harry had reason to fear him.

But what had caused him to remain on the couch, when he was so obviously in distress . . .

Oh. Oh, no.

"I'll be in my lab. You are to remain on that seat until I return."

Oh, Harry.

Severus had ordered the boy to remain on the couch. And then, he had castigated Harry for doing exactly what he had been told. Ai, Merlin. How much more of a horrible monster could he have been?

More than anything else at that moment, Severus wanted to race back to his quarters and apologize profusely to the boy. How could he have been so dense? How could he have forgotten, even for an instant, how seriously Harry took any orders, how desperately the boy strove to obey in everything, every rule, even every hint of one? How could he have been so cruel?

He had no time, however, to make it up to Harry, as the students started to pour in from the corridor and take their seats. He bellowed at them for silence, then ran through roll call quickly, glaring at every one of the dunderheads that was keeping him from his son. After that, he started his little speech about how wondrous this class could be if only the students were not quite as stupid as he was sure they were. With that out of the way, he flung the day's potion instructions up on the board and snarled at them to get to it.

Over the course of the next double period, he assigned twelve detentions, took forty points from Gryffindor, and failed two students' potions outright, because they dared not follow his instructions to the letter. If Harry could follow his instructions, even to his own detriment, why was it these children, who were twice his son's age, could not? How dare they flaunt their arrogant defiance like that?

---

Father was gone. Nelli was there, though, her voice soft, even with words that shamed him. "Youse needs to get out of these wet clothes, Master Harry. Master Snape wants you to wash now. Youse be wanting a shower, Master Harry?"

Harry nodded bleakly, hands over his face. How could she stand to look at him? He was such a freak! Peeing his pants, and now crying! No wonder his father had yelled and left him here. He was ashamed of Harry, he had to be. Probably didn't want such a freak for a son. No one could.

Gulping a few unsteady breaths, Harry did what he was told and peeled off the wet clothes. The smell made him want to throw up, reminding him of days spent in his cupboard with no relief but what could be had in a bucket, when the heat of the summer made the cloying smell unbearable. Balancing on his good foot - the other ankle didn't hurt at all, in fact he could barely feel it - he stepped into the shower.

Nelli helped him with the spigots, until the water was comfortably warm. But freaks like him didn't deserve warm water; it shouldn't be wasted on him. He should have only cold water, and hard scratchy lye soap instead of this nice foamy stuff, and no flannel, just fingernails, nails that scraped across his skin, scratching at where he had soiled, clawing hard enough to tear into his flesh and draw blood.

"No, Master Harry," Nelli said. Her tiny hands grabbed at his, pulling them away from his body. "Youse is not to be hurting yourself. Youse wanting Nelli to get Mistress Pomfrey now?"

Harry shook his head, his throat too thick to answer. What did it matter? His father hated him, and didn't even want him anymore, he could tell. He never should have talked to snakes, never should have lied about hurting his ankle, and should have held in his pee like a big boy, and never started crying like a stupid baby.

He was bad and never deserved to have a father at all. Uncle Vernon was right. No one could ever love a freak like him.

"Come now, Master Harry." Nelli had turned off the water, and was pulling him from the shower. She patted him down with a towel, and he stood, shaking, though not with cold, arms wrapped around his middle. No more tears, he swore. No more being a baby, even if he couldn't help being a freak who talked to snakes and wet his pants. He had to take care of himself, just like always. He had to, ‘cause no one else would. He took the towel from Nelli's hands so he could finish drying. A little bit of blood from where he'd gouged his stomach stained it, and he just stared at the stain, wishing he knew how to get rid of the proof that he was a freak.

"Youse can sit down there," Nelli said, taking the towel and pointing at the little stool Harry stood on so he could see the mirror when he brushed his teeth and hair before bed. He noticed the wet clothes were gone, thank goodness, though he deserved to have to clean them himself, he knew. The House-elves shouldn't have to do it.

"Master Snape is not wanting youse to walk on youse ankle, okay? I brought youse clean clothes, see, Master Harry? Does youse want Nelli to help youse with your clothes?"

He shook his head again and, seating himself on the stool, started pulling on clean socks and pants. The hurt ankle felt very odd, and wouldn't bend, but he managed to get the sock on it anyway. Nelli handed him trousers next, which he wriggled in to, without putting any stress on his ankle, and then a shirt, the easiest thing to put on, though he made sure the bleeding had stopped on his scratches before he did, so the shirt wouldn't stain, too. The shirt was pale blue, with a collar and only a couple buttons, and was clean and soft, softer than a freak like him deserved.

"Youse wait here, Master Harry, and Nelli is going to get Mistress Pomfrey."

"Okay," Harry said and folded his hands in his lap to wait. "Thank you, Nelli."

It was only a few minutes later that Madam Pomfrey's voice came from doorway of the bedroom, "Harry? May I come in?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, but his voice was hoarse, and he coughed to clear it. "Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," he said a little louder. "Please come in."

The Medi-witch appeared in the bathroom door, her face creased with worry, probably because of his ankle. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable, shall we?" she said, and drew her wand. An instant later, Harry was floating in the air, almost like flying, except without a broom. But he couldn't even get excited about that, not now.

Madam Pomfrey floated him over to his bed, and settled him against pillows propped up behind him. "Your House-elf told me your ankle was injured. I'm going to remove this sock and see what I can do for it, and while I do, why don't you tell me what happened?"

"I fell, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said. He kept his hands in his lap and didn't look her in the eye, because he wasn't allowed to. He knew that. Freaks weren't like people, after all. But just then, Treacle Tart leaped up on the bed, sauntered over to him and walked up his legs as if she still liked him. She settled herself in his lap, on top of his hands, and purred and purred, till his eyes filled with tears again and he had to blink real fast to hold them in. He wanted to hug her close, bury his face in her fur and never look up again, but Madam Pomfrey was still talking to him.

"When did you fall?"

"Before lunch, ma'am."

"Where?" she asked as she removed his sock and ran her wand over the ankle.

"Outside, ma'am. On the rocks." He didn't mention the snake this time, since Father said that was to be a secret. Treacle butted her head against his arm, and he pulled a hand out from under her so he could pet her soft fur and scratch gently at her ears like she liked.

With a frown, Madam Pomfrey said, "This ankle has been damaged before."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry."

Her frown deepened. "Is your father in class?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"When did he put your ankle in the Body Bind?" He looked up quickly, confused, and she said, "When did he make it all stiff?"

"Oh. Before lunch, ma'am."

"Did he check it again before he went to class?"

"No, ma'am."

She waved her wand over his ankle a couple more times, and said some weird words almost under her breath. Pain flared all of a sudden, in his ankle, and he sucked in a tight breath. That made his lower back twinge, but he made sure not to wince or flinch away. That only provoked more trouble, he knew. But almost as soon as it started, the pain eased in his ankle, all the way down to a dull throb, followed by a pins and needles sensation, like his foot was waking up. The prickly feeling wasn't too awful, and he relaxed a bit against the pillows. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, though, and he swiped that away, feeling a little nauseous.

"What did you eat for lunch?" she asked. When, trying to catch his breath, he didn't answer right away, she said, "Harry?"

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, dear." She put a hand on his shoulder, and left it there, even when he flinched really bad. People weren't supposed to touch freaks like him. She squeezed his shoulder gently. "Can you tell me what you ate for lunch?"

He thought a moment, though it was hard with her hand there, even if it did feel comforting. He wasn't supposed to be comforted. "Um, some apple?"

"Is that all?"

"And milk," he admitted, sure he'd done something wrong. Maybe he wasn't supposed to have eaten anything. But Father had said to, hadn't he? "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Her hand left his shoulder, and though he knew it was bad to want such things, he wished she would go back to touching him. But Tree was still there, and her purring felt like it went right through to his bones, working against the ache in his chest.

Besides, Madam Pomfrey's wand was moving again. Then the pain in his back faded all of a sudden, as if it had never been there, and the same with the cuts on his belly stopped stinging. He let out a relieved sigh, glad it no longer hurt to breathe. "Why were you out on the rocks, Harry?"

As he remembered this morning, and Charlie, Harry's breath hitched again. Now he understood why Charlie hadn't wanted to talk to him, or go exploring, and why Payton had been mean and laughed at Treacle's name. Even they knew he was a freak. "I was ‘sploring, ma'am," he said quietly. "Not s'posed to be in the way."

Her head cocked to the side a bit. "Who told you that?"

"Uh-uncle Vernon, ma'am." He bit his lip, then dutifully repeated, "Good for nothing freaks must stay out of sight so normal people don't ever have to look at them."

Madam Pomfrey was quiet for a moment, and Harry peeked up at her from beneath his fringe, to see her eyes wide and her mouth in the shape of an O. Then she started muttering again, but this time about his father, saying things like, "How he could leave a child alone and in pain for hours without bringing him to me?" and, "Doesn't he have any idea of how to treat a child in his care?" and so on.

Harry closed his eyes briefly, only to open them again when Madam Pomfrey said, "Here, Harry dear, drink this for me. It will help heal your ankle, all right? And the bruising." Though he was a bit scared, he had to be brave and do what he was told, so he drank the potion she held to his lips, expecting poison and burning pain and vomiting, any second. The taste was yucky, but nothing worse happened when he drank the medicine down, and he leaned back again. "Good boy. Thank you, Harry," she said, and he knew she was lying, because he wasn't good.

She was quiet then, for a while, and Harry didn't even realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up, opening his eyes slowly and rubbing the crust off his lids. His eyes ached, still, and he remembered again - he'd been crying.

He heard the sound of raised voices from the other room. Madam Pomfrey and . . . Father?

Almost desperately, he wanted to know what they were saying. Were they discussing how to best get rid of him? Was father telling her what a baby he was, what a freak? He would be prepared, if he got up to listen; he would know what was in store for him. But he was too tired to move, really, and his ankle still throbbed dully, reminding him that father had not wanted him to move about. He wouldn't disobey; he couldn't.

Instead, he closed his eyes again, one hand stroking idly through Treacle's fur, and wished he was normal. Just once. For Father.

---

At the end of his class, Severus flew - almost bat-like - to his quarters. He expected to find Harry still in distress, but hopefully with his ankle fixed by Madam Pomfrey. He did not expect to have the Medi-witch, almost frothing at the mouth, greet him at the door with, "Severus Snape, there you are! It's about time. You should be ashamed of yourself! I have half a mind to call Child Wizarding Services and have them do an investigation!"

All he could glean of her speech was that something else had happened to Harry. "How is he? Is he all right?"

"He will be. No thanks to you! How on earth could you have become a Potions Master without learning a thing about first aid, I will never-"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"His ankle, Severus! You wrapped it tight and it swelled again, cutting off the circulation to the whole foot. If I hadn't gotten here when I did, he could have lost it. Permanently. Do you understand me?"

"I . . ." Feeling the blood drain from his face, Severus stepped back from her ire. He had bound the foot, meaning to take Harry to the Infirmary. He hadn't check it again. "I understand," he whispered.

"Good. Because I believe your priorities need some adjusting."

"My priorities?" he echoed.

"Yes. That boy," she gestured to the bedroom down the hall, "is obviously in need of far more supervision than he is currently experiencing. Whose care are you leaving him in while you are playing about with potions?"

"The House-elves," he said, unable to keep a note of defensiveness from creeping into his voice. Playing about indeed! He had a job to do! "Albus assigned them himself!"

She glared at him hard enough to almost make him shuffle his feet like a chastised child. "I imagine they might be adequate to the task of looking over an eleven-year-old or older, though perhaps not even them. But for someone Harry's age? He's barely seven, and he should not be made to rely on himself so much. They aren't keeping him safe on the grounds, nor making sure he's eating properly. Barely a few bites of apple, and a sip of milk for lunch. He's malnourished as it is, and you know it!"

"I told the House-elves to make sure he was eating enough."

"Well, apparently they are ignoring your orders!"

"Impossible . . ." Though, now that he thought about it, they did seem to disregard his directives on a fairly regular basis, allowing Harry too much control over his diet, his whereabouts, and even what pets he picked up. Perhaps the elves weren't clear on who was in charge? Or maybe they were too used to catering to the whims of students?

"All that aside, Harry is in much greater need of your company. He feels like he's underfoot and in the way."

Severus shook his head. "He isn't."

"I didn't say he was. I said he feels that way. Do you know what he told me an hour ago?" Her voice was rushed, yet rough with some unnamed emotion as she went on without waiting for him to answer, not that he would have anyway; he did not play guessing games. "He said that good for nothing freaks were to stay out of sight so normal people didn't have to look at them. Does that sound like he thinks he's wanted?"

Severus squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. His words from just before lunch came back to ring in his ears. And his attitude . . . with all that Harry had been through, was it any wonder he had reverted to thinking himself a freak, or worse, when his own father had seemingly rejected him?

"I suggest," Poppy said, more calmly than Severus felt, "that you go in there and make it up to him. And I suggest that you find someone competent to look after him whilst you're teaching. Or else, find yourself a job where you can be with him more yourself." She paused, and he opened his eyes, to see her regarding him with a mix of righteous anger and concern. "He needs you desperately, Severus. Do not fail him again."

She was right. He had been such a fool. How could he turn a boy like Harry, who had so much trouble with trust and lacked almost any instinct toward self-preservation, over to mere House-elves? How could they have any understanding of his issues, of his psyche? Of the particular needs an abused, malnourished, and essentially lonely boy would have in a huge castle like this one, dominated by older, busier people who all had their own duties, as well. He was pretty sure that each of the House-elves ad other jobs besides watching Harry, too, so he was not even their first priority.

If Severus wasn't going to be able to watch Harry all the time on his own, he was going to need to hire someone who could and would.

"I also think," Poppy continued, when he did not respond to her earlier remarks, "that you might consider contacting Molly Weasley again, and see if she has any insights for you."

Molly Weasley. Yes, actually, that might be for the best. The thought, the idea, nearly made him laugh, that he would seriously consider asking the matriarch of the Weasley clan for advice. But Poppy was right. And Molly did already know Harry, and know about him. "I will, Poppy," he promised.

"See that you do. Now go see your son, Severus," she said again. "He really does need you."

Severus nodded and she stepped out of his way. He had some planning to do, and a Weasley to contact, but first he had his apologies to make.

Severus nodded and she stepped out of his way. He had some planning to do, and a Weasley to contact, but first he had his apologies to make.

The first thing Severus noticed when he opened the door to Harry’s room was that the boy was staring down at his lap. There, the kneazle kit, Treacle Tart, lay on her belly, all her legs splayed in the air, except for one, which was curled around Harry’s hand, holding it to her belly so he could rub it.

They made quite a picture of contentment, actually, and the scene would have made Severus feel less horrible and inadequate as a father, if he hadn’t noticed the boy’s eyes were red and puffy from crying, and that he did not look up at Severus when he came in, as he almost always did nowadays. Clearly, Harry did think he was less than deserving of Severus’ care and interest, and all that was left to Severus now was to figure out how to make it up to his son.

He crossed the room quietly and eased down on the edge of the bed. “Harry?” he said softly.

Harry had tensed when Severus came in, and tensed even further when he sat down. His little hands were curled into fists, and he was holding his body so stiffly that tremors ran through it. He did not look up, but his voice came in a whisper, “Yes, sir?”

Severus did not address the ‘sir’ Harry used, since he only did so when he was very nervous, and Severus did not want to make it worse for him. Instead, he said slowly, “Harry, I am very, very sorry for what happened at lunch time.” There was a lump in his throat that he had to swallow past. To see his son so obviously afraid and needing reassurance, but unable to accept it, was heartbreaking. And he didn’t know what to do to make it better.

“I was wrong, Harry. I should never have yelled at you. I was the one who told you to stay on the couch, and I wasn’t even thinking about . . . You’re such a good boy, and you listened very well to what I said, and I didn’t even consider that you might listen too well, and that you might not use the toilet if you had to, because I’d told you one thing and then expected another.” He shook his head, aware he was babbling, for goodness sake, but not sure if his words were getting through, not sure if his words of earlier had been too harsh for him to ever be forgiven. He could but try and repair the damage, before everything was lost.

“I’m really very sorry, Harry,” he said again, his voice no louder than Harry’s own whisper now, though still tinged with desperation. It had taken so long for Harry to trust him, if he ever had, really, and Severus had crushed that burgeoning trust, manhandled it without considering how fragile it was, like the finest spun glass. Would he ever be truly worthy of the boy’s trust? Would he ever be able to regain it? “I love you, Harry. You’re my son, and I was very wrong. Can you ever forgive me?”

For the first time, Harry looked at him, one of the little, darting glances as had been his wont before Severus helped him realize he could look people in the face, and that Severus preferred it, in fact. But he looked, and that was a start. Then his teeth gripped his lower lip, and Severus wanted to ease the abuse bit of flesh from between them, but he was sure Harry would flinch away and did not want that to happen.

Another little glance, this time through his fringe, and Harry seemed to be considering something. Severus could only hope for the best.

“‘M’sorry, Daddy.” Harry’s voice was thick with unshed tears. And he had called Severus ‘Daddy,’ which Severus had noticed the boy did only very occasionally. He’d wondered about that, once or twice, but then realized he had told Harry that he could call Severus ‘Father,’ which the boy generally stuck to, except in times of great stress, when he reverted to the more casual name, one he probably recalled from living with his relatives; Severus could not imagine the great lump Dudley calling his own sire ‘Father,’ after all. “‘M’sorry f’r bein’ a freak.”

“Oh, no. No, Harry, you are not a freak. Not at all.”

“Am,” the boy said stubbornly, but his gaze was back on his hands, and Treacle Tart, who was curled around his arm, her great blue eyes watching Harry’s face solemnly. “I talked to snakes and lied to you, and peed and cried, too, like a baby. S’okay, Daddy, I know you don’t like freaks. You can send me back.”

Severus felt his face flush. “I will never ever send you back. I know it might be hard for you to believe, after what I put you through this afternoon, but I love you, Harry, and you are my son, and I am never sending you back to those awful people.”

“Even if I’m a freak?”

Severus shook his head, and wanted to reach for the boy, but made himself keep his hands still. “You are not a freak. You are a perfectly normal Wizarding child. You happen to have a talent that most other Wizards don’t have, but I’m sure other Wizards your age have talents that you don’t. Everyone is different, and we all have different skills.” He paused, took a breath, and waited till he thought Harry really was listening. “I’m very good at Potions, you know, which not everyone is. And also, remember how we’ve worked on keeping your nightmares away?” Harry nodded, and he continued, “That’s part of a skill called Occlumency, which I am also very talented at, but which very few other Wizards are. Does that make me a freak?”

“N-no, sir.”

“That’s right. And neither are you, just because you can speak to snakes. In fact, being a Parseltongue is a very useful skill to have.”

Another darting glance. “Really?”

“Really. Today, for instance, it is possible that the snake you met in your explorations might have been angered and bitten you or Treacle Tart, if you hadn’t spoken to him and made friends with him first.”

“But . . .” Harry nibbled on his lip. “But you said . . .”

“That the snake was dangerous, and so it was. But there’s no telling how much more dangerous he could have been if you had not spoken kindly with him.” Severus twined his hands together, to keep from touching his son. Harry was too afraid yet, for that, he was sure.

“So you’re . . . you’re not angry wiff me?”

“No, Harry.” Severus longed to brush the hair out of his son’s eyes, and pushed back his own instead, looking away for a moment to gather himself. “I am angry with me, since I was the one who behaved poorly. I put my classes and my potions ahead of my son, and I am ashamed of myself.”

“No, Daddy,” Harry whispered. “You’re good, not like me—”

“You are good, Harry. And you are not a freak. Remember what I said about that word.”

“I’m not to use it.”

“That’s right.” He swallowed hard, again. “Harry, I . . . please, I need to know that you forgive me, that you’ll give me another chance, let me prove I can be a good father to you. Will you do that for me?”

Harry gave a jerky little nod, and with a gentle push to get the kneazle off his lap, threw himself into Severus’ arms. Severus rocked back with the force of the little boy hitting his chest, and grabbed him tight, never wanting to let go. He pressed his lips to the boy’s hair and whispered over and over, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry . . .”

“It’s okay,” Harry whispered back, patting him on the back as if he were the one that needed to give comfort, “It’s okay, really.”

Severus knew it wasn’t, still, not by a long shot, but he would take what he could get for now.

---

The rest of the afternoon and evening – as Severus had no further classes today – they spent together, with Harry on his lap as they read together from his favorite Quidditch book, and then a quiet dinner just the two of them . . . and Treacle Tart of course. Severus did not have it in his heart to tell the boy not to feed her from the table, since she had looked out for the boy on more than one occasion. This afternoon, for instance, knowing that Harry was in distress, she had obviously been trying to get Severus’ attention while he was in the lab. Unlike Severus himself, she seemed only to have Harry’s best interests in mind.

After dinner, as Harry finished with his pudding, very nearly licking the bowl of chocolate ice cream clean, he smiled impishly when Severus lifted an eyebrow in his general direction, a look Severus was very glad to see. He set down his bowl sheepishly, and Severus let the dishes be cleared away by the kitchen House-elves.

Clearing his throat, Severus said, “Harry, we need to discuss a few things.”

The boy’s face immediately went blank with fear, and Severus rushed to reassure him, “It’s nothing bad, you’ve done nothing wrong. We just need to talk about how we can better spend our days, so you’re better taken care of.”

“You can take care of me, Father.”

“I want to, Harry, you don’t know how much. But I also need to work, so we can continue to live here.”

Harry frowned. “Can’t we live at Spinner’s End?”

“I’d still have to work, though. I’d just be doing different work, and sometimes, not even at home. And I’d still need someone to look after you when I can’t be there.”

“But Nelli looks after me here. And Fern, too, right?”

“Not as well as I’d like. They’re used to older children, not to younger boys like you, nor to parents who want something different for their son than the son sometimes wants.”

Harry gave him a confused look, so Severus elaborated, “Sometimes, Nelli and Fern let you do things that I would not have let you do. I think it’s because they are used to being around children who are older, and who make most of their own decisions. For instance, I wouldn’t have let you go near the Lake at all that day, nor would I let you get away with only having a slice of apple and a few sips of milk at lunch. Do you understand?”

“I think so, Father.” Harry worried his lower lip between his teeth. “But Nelli is nice.”

“Yes, she is. But she is not an appropriate caregiver for you.”

Unaccountably, Harry’s eyes filled with tears, though they did not fall. “You’re gonna send me away.”

“Oh, Harry.” Severus squeezed his eyes shut against the ache in his chest. But he had to be the courageous one here, and so he opened his eyes and held the boy’s gaze. “I will never send you away. But you remember, how Draco was here with us for a week, and then Ron was? I was thinking that perhaps Mrs. Weasley could come and spend some time with us again, and bring Ron with her. And then, maybe you could spend time at her house, in return. Maybe we could treat it just like school, like your day school, remember? Perhaps go to their house during the day, and then I would pick you up when I am done with classes. Would you like that?”

Treacle Tart, who had been lounging under Harry’s chair for the last few minutes, now leapt into the boy’s lap again, as if sensing his unease. Harry petted her and rubbed one of her ears in between his fingers. The tension in his shoulders dissipated somewhat as a result. The lip went between his teeth again, though, until he said, “I don’t want to leave here.”

“It wouldn’t be for very long, Harry, and like I said, first, I would get them to come spend time here.” If they could. Severus would have to speak with Molly soon. Tonight perhaps.

Harry gave a hesitant nod, and Severus rushed to say, “If you don’t want to do it, we’ll figure something else out, I promise. I don’t want you to ever feel like you are in the way, all right?”

“Okay. It’s okay, Father.”

Severus wasn’t sure if that was the truth, but it was somewhere to work from anyway. “Would you like to read some more?” he asked, and Harry’s eyes lit up. “We can sit in front of the fire and have cocoa.”

“Yes, please.”

“Let’s get you into nightclothes first, all right, in case you fall asleep.” Severus smiled at the boy. “Since I realize my voice can be very soothing.”

“I don’t fall asleep," the boy protested, though he had done just that the last two times they’d read together of an evening. “I was just resting.”

“Of course you were,” Severus said, suppressing a smirk. “All the same, nightclothes first.”

“Yes, sir . . . um, Father.”

Severus nodded, and watched Harry scamper off to his room and hurriedly change before scampering back, book clutched tight in his hand. It was one McGonagall had given him, a dozen Wizarding Fairy Tales with bright colorful pictures and words in large enough print that Harry could almost follow along if Severus read slowly.

Once the cocoa was ordered up, they settled together in the easy chair by the fire, with Harry on his lap and nestled in the crook of Severus arm. Treacle Tart, on Harry’s lap, purred and kneaded his leg with her paws, though she kept her claws carefully sheathed, Severus was glad to see.

Severus leant his cheek alongside Harry’s hair, which was as dark and thick as his own, and kissed his head gently. He opened the book to the next story, as they’d read several already, and started, “The Tale of The Wizard’s Glove. Once upon a time . . .”

As predicted, Harry was asleep before they had made through the second story, but Severus wasn’t too surprised, as the boy had had a trying day. He carried Harry to his bedroom and settled him into bed, smiling slightly when the kneazle followed at his heels and then jumped onto the bed, to curl into the curve of Harry’s arm, half under and half on top of the blankets. Severus kissed the boy’s forehead, and smoothed his hair back from the lightning bolt scar. “Sleep well,” he whispered, letting his fingers linger on the pale cheek for a moment before he left to go make a firecall to the Weasley matriarch.

---

Molly agreed to Floo through immediately, and speak to him in person, which was very good of her, considering how late in the evening it was.

“Can’t get enough of me?” she asked with a grin as she settled her bulk in one of his armchairs.

Severus ordered up tea from the kitchens, and offered her some, which she accepted politely. “In a manner of speaking,” he said quietly, not in the mood for her teasing.

Her smile vanished, even as she took a sip of her drink. “What happened? Is Harry all right?”

Trust her to see into the heart of the problem. With a small sigh, he told her what had transpired that day, and he even confessed his own horrible behavior, willing to fully abase himself before her, so she would know how dire the situation was, and would be less likely to deny him what he needed. What Harry needed.

She was quiet for a long moment, when he was done, and sipped thoughtfully at her tea, watching him over the rim of the cup. Finally, she nodded. “Well, that’s a right mess, isn’t it.” It was not a question, and so Severus did not answer. “It’s obvious the House-elves are nearly worthless. I should have listened to Charlie. He mentioned as much. Never held much truck with House-elves myself. Far too wishy-washy for my tastes.”

Severus forbore to say anything about how helpful they were in the right circumstances, since that would not help his cause. Instead, he nodded. “You see my dilemma.”

Molly smiled knowingly. “You need someone to take care of Harry while you’re teaching classes. Someone who will care for him like their own child, who will watch out for him, and make sure he eats and doesn’t find trouble, and who will clean up any scraped knees he has, or scrapes he gets into.” She paused, finished off her tea, and gave him another smile. “Someone like me.”

With a sigh, Severus swallowed his pride; he would do right by the boy, if it took everything he had. “Yes. Please.”

“I would be glad to, Severus. I loved Lily and James, too.”

Severus opened his mouth to tell her that this was his son, not James’, and that she should love Harry on his own merits, like he did, but he closed it again with a snap. She would come to love the boy, too. She had plenty for her whole brood, didn’t she? “Good,” he said instead. “I spoke to Harry about the possibility earlier this evening. I know he . . . I mean, he is worried that my sending him to others for caretaking during the day means that I’m sending him away, and he is already insecure enough as it is. I was hoping . . . that is . . .”

“Spit it out, Severus. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, and said in a rush, “I would like you to be able to spend a few days here, maybe with your youngest boy, too, until Harry gets used to the idea.”

She was quiet again, considering his request, and Severus hoped she would agree that it was best for Harry. Finally she said, “I have Ginny at home, too, and the twins. None of them can be left to their own devices all day long.”

Of course. He’d forgotten. She had other responsibilities, just as he did. Slowly, he said, “You could, perhaps, bring the lot with you if you came. Just for a few days. I’m sure Albus would not mind. And it would give Harry an easier time of it, too, don’t you think, if he met your other children here, where he is already accustomed to being?”

Her gaze sharpened. “And you would amenable to this? To having my ‘lot’ underfoot for several days?”

“If it will help Harry, yes.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “You have changed, Severus Snape. And for the better, I can see.” She smiled then, a mothering kind of smile, as if she were going to take Severus under her wing, as well as his son. “I’ll talk it over with Arthur and let you know in the morning, all right? But one way or the other, I’ll be here tomorrow for the little dear. That way you needn’t worry about him.”

Severus let out a sharp breath. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“You’ll be all right, dear heart. It just takes practice is all, being a father, and you’ve been thrown into the middle of a boiling cauldron.” She nodded again, her gaze searching his face. “You know, Severus, all parents make mistakes. Even those of us with more practice than most. We just have to accept that they’ll happen, learn what we can from them, and move on. You’ll do all right.”

He nodded, not quite believing her, but then she leaned forward and patted his hand. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, then hesitated briefly before she added, “I know you want Harry to forgive you for what happened today, but . . . try to forgive yourself, too.”

He was still staring at the space she had occupied when she Floo’d home, still startled by her insight and her agreement to aid him.

It wasn’t long before his reverie in front of the fire was interrupted by cries from Harry’s bedroom, and he dashed off to help his son through another round of nightmares. As he held the boy, rocking him and murmuring softly into his hair that everything would be all right, that he would never leave him, he wished fervently that he knew better how to help the boy, and that he could be what Harry needed so desperately. He despaired at that moment, that perhaps he would never be adequate to the task, that he was not good enough or strong enough for his son.

But in the dead of night, as he finally got the boy back to sleep and went to seek his own bed, Molly’s words came back to him, and he knew he had to take them to heart or he would never make it through another day as Harry’s father.

Accept that mistakes would be made. Forgive himself.

Two of the hardest things in the world for him to do. And yet he would learn how, he had to. For Harry’s sake.

The next morning, Harry woke early, to the feel of Treacle Tart butting his hand with her head, begging for ear scritches, which he happily gave her. Her purrs made him feel all warm inside, and he petted her gently, and, as he rolled onto his back, pulled her onto his chest so he could look into her bright blue eyes while he scratched her head. She was so beautiful. And good.

They lay there for a few minutes, until nature's call forced Harry out of bed and into the bathroom. His ankle was much easier to walk on, now, and he had no trouble putting weight on it. The bathroom, though . . . he was still embarrassed about having to put his wet clothes on the floor yesterday, and remembering how Nelli had needed to help him in the shower made his face burn.

But there was no help for it now. He just had to try and do better in the future, and not disappoint Father again.

Father hadn't seemed angry last night, especially when they'd read together, and at dinner, when he'd asked the House-elves to serve up Harry's favorite, shepherd's pie. They'd even had treacle tart for dessert. And Tree had been so good at dinner, too, he thought as he washed his hands. As if his thoughts summoned her, she jumped up on the sink counter and brushed past his chest, tickling his nose with her uplifted tail and making him giggle. He didn't pet her while his hands were wet, not wanting to get her fur all wet and sticky, but scooped her into his arms after he had tried them on a towel, and went back to his bedroom, donned his slippers, and headed out to the sitting room.

To his surprise, Father was already up, in his favorite chair -- which was Harry's favorite, too, 'cause they read in it every night -- and reading a magazine. Harry liked to watch him read, the slight cant of his head, the tiny purse of his lips if what he was reading was complicated, and the small crease of lips if it wasn't. Today, his lips were pursed. Potions journal, probably.

Father's gaze rose from the magazine to look at Harry as he crossed the room. "Good morning, Harry," he said in a very calm voice. Harry was glad to hear it.

"G'morning, Father."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, s . . . yes, Father." Harry flinched. He wanted to hit his head, he was so stupid sometimes. How could he not remember to call his father Father? After all this time, too.

Father didn't make any mention of his stupidity, though, just got up and laid aside his reading. "Good. I'm glad you're up early. Let me call up breakfast, and we'll have a bit of a chat."

"A chat?" Harry asked.

"Nothing to be nervous about, Harry," Father said. "I just want to talk to you about what you can expect this morning."

"Yes, Father." Harry went to the kitchen and sat at the table where they usually had breakfast. "Where's Nelli?"

Father's expression darkened. "She won't be joining us today."

"She . . . she's not in trouble, is she?"

"No, of course not." Father spent a few minutes getting breakfast delivered to their table, and sat down as he gestured to the spread before them, of eggs, bacon, porridge, toast, juice and bananas. There was a bowl of sugar, a pot of honey, and a little pitcher of cream, too. "I want you to have at least some porridge and juice. You can have as much as you want of everything else after that."

"Yes, Father." Harry pulled the bowl of porridge closer, and looked up at Father, and then at the pot of honey.

"Would you like honey on your porridge?"

"Yes, please."

Father smiled and used a dipper to drizzle the amber liquid across Harry's cereal. After he put the dipper back into the pot, he touched Harry briefly on the head, brushing the hair out of his eyes. Harry tried his best not to flinch, and Father didn't say anything about that, either, but his eyes were sad.

Treacle leapt into Harry's lap. Harry reached for a piece of bacon for her.

"Harry . . ." Father said.

"Yes, Father?"

Father pursed his lips, like he was trying to think of what to say, but finally he shook his head slightly. "I would prefer if Treacle Tart did not learn to beg at table."

"She doesn't beg," Harry said, frowning. "She only takes what I give her."

"Now, she does. But she . . ." Father sighed. "She needs to be provided with her own food, perhaps in her own bowl. Away from the table."

Harry didn't understand. Ripper ate right from the table, sometimes licking from Aunt Marge's own cup or plate. And Fang, the only other pet he really knew, also got food right from Hagrid's table. "Why?"

"Because it's not polite to have animals eat from the table."

"Why?"

Father closed his eyes briefly. "Because it isn't."

"But Tree's polite. She is! And Fang and Ripper get to eat from the table, so why not Tree?"

"Ripper?"

Harry swallowed, and unconsciously hugged Treacle closer to him. She did not protest, but butted her head against his chin. "Aunt Marge's dog."

Father's eyes narrowed, but he didn't ask any more about Ripper, and Harry was just as glad. He hated that dog. It was mean and it chased him and tore his trousers with its sharp teeth while Dudders laughed at him and called him a two-legged dog bone.

"All the same, Harry. Our family has different rules than those of the Dursleys', I dare say, and different from Hagrid's, too."

Harry pressed his lips together, but nodded. Father was letting him have Treacle Tart, even though he hadn't wanted to at first. And hadn't he just promised himself to be good and obey all the rules? He kissed Treacle on the head and let her down from his lap. "What kind of food should she have, Father?"

"We will . . . ah, we'll have to ask Hagrid, I suppose. You can find out from him today, all right?"

"But she's hungry now!"

"Harry."

Harry ducked his head. He shouldn't have yelled. "Sorry, Father," he said softly.

"Indeed." There was a pause, and Harry realized what his father was waiting for, so he lifted his head and looked Father in the eyes. Father nodded. "For right now, you can make her a little plate of eggs and bacon, broken up a bit."

"Okay." He started to slide off his seat, then stopped. "Can I get her a plate, Father?"

"May I get her a plate."

"Sorry. May I?"

"Yes, Harry. Thank you for asking, before you left the table."

Father's words made him feel warm all over. He liked doing things right. The cabinet where the little plates were kept was above the kitchen counter, and once or twice, he had climbed up there to reach it, but he was in a hurry this time -- he just knew Treacle was hungry; she hadn't much to eat yesterday, and she really wanted that bacon -- and so, at the base of the counter, he reached out his hand and Pulled. Quicker than thought, the cabinet door bumped open slightly, and a white dessert plate with tiny blue flowers on it flew into his hand.

Behind him, Father gasped.

Plate in hand, Harry turned around to see Father striding toward him, eyes wide. Oh. Oh, no. He'd done some freakiness again. Harry backed up a step, and another. He put his arms up to protect his head. "Sorry! M'sorry, I din't mean it! Please don't hurt me!"

Father froze where he was, his mouth hanging open like he wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come. "Harry," he whispered finally. "I'm not going to hurt you. I . . . I was surprised. I have not seen you do that before."

Harry slowly lowered his arms, chiding himself for forgetting that Father didn't mind magic, that Father would not beat him or lock him in the cupboard if he did any freaky things. "You do it, Father. With books and potions and all . . ."

Father was quiet for a long minute, and Harry could not tell what he was thinking. His dark eyes were very hard to read right now. Then he nodded. "Yes, but understand, Harry, I did not realize that you were capable of summoning objects."

"I never done it before," Harry admitted. One shoulder went up. "I was just in a hurry, 'cause Tree's hungry."

Father nodded again, this time with a slight crinkle around his eyes that meant he was smiling. "Very well," Father said. "Best get that plate together for her then."

Harry smiled back. "Yes, Father." He climbed back into his chair so he could reach the platters of food, and carefully broke a rasher of bacon into easy pieces for Tree to eat, then scooped scrambled egg onto the plate, too. After he'd set the plate on the floor and made sure Treacle had started in on it, he returned to his porridge, which had cooled considerably.

But Harry didn't mind. He liked porridge any way he could get it, even without honey, if Father had said no to that. He kept glancing down at Treacle, though, to make sure she was okay. He missed having her in his lap.

"Harry," Father said when he was about half way through his porridge. "Remember what we talked about last night, about needing someone better to watch you during the day?" He waited till Harry nodded. "Well, I spoke to Mrs. Weasley after you were in bed, and she is coming to be with you today, and with several of her children, I believe. Regardless, she will look after you today, while I'm in class."

Harry swallowed the bite of sweetened porridge he had in his mouth, and ducked his head again. He wanted to stay at Hogwarts! He didn't want to separated from his father. He didn't want to be with anyone else. But Father . . . he needed to work. And Harry didn't want him to think he was just a baby who would cry about being left behind.

"Harry," came Father's gentle voice. "Please look at me, son."

Harry obeyed, though he didn't want to. He didn't want Father to think he was upset or anything. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's all right," Father continued, still using his soothing voice, as Harry called it. "She . . . Mrs. Weasley has many children, as you know, and she is very experienced in watching after them. She will be very good to you. And, as I mentioned, I think she will bring at least Ron with her, so you'll have someone to play with. Won't that be fun?"

Harry made himself nod. "Yes, Father. But I don't know that place."

"No, Harry. You will all stay here, today, so you can get to know Mrs. Weasley better, and her other children, if she brings them, too. I asked if she could stay here for a few days or so, to let you get used to her here, before we ever go to the Weasley's house."

"Will . . ." Harry swallowed again. "Will you go there with me?"

Father nodded. "The first time, certainly. I won't make you go alone. I am, that is . . . I am concerned, Harry, about the level of supervision you've been experiencing since I had to start classes, and I want to make sure you're happy, too. The best I can."

Father was trying his best. Harry knew that. And it wasn't fair of Harry to try and keep his father all to himself. Uncle Vernon had to work, and other kids' fathers, and some of their mums, too, he remembered from day school. "Okay. It'll be okay, Father."

"I hope so, Harry. If it isn't, I want you to tell me. I want you to be able to tell me if anything is upsetting you. Will you try and do that for me?"

No one had ever wanted to hear from him before if he was upset. And he'd learned years ago that no one really wanted to hear anything he had to say about stuff like that, that if he tried, he would be punished. Sometimes, a lot. But Father seemed to be telling the truth. "I . . . I'll try, Father."

Father gave one of his thin smiles. "That's all I can ask." He nodded at Harry's bowl. "Finish up, please. Then I would like you to get dressed." He paused. "Do you need any help?"

"No! I can get dressed myself."

Father shook his head, that slight crinkle around his eyes. "I did not mean to impugn your ability to dress yourself, Harry. In truth, I was inquiring whether your ankle was well enough, or whether you required any assistance."

Oh. That was different. "No, Father. It feels fine today. Madam Pomfrey fixed it real good."

"She fixed it really well."

"Yep."

Father laughed softly and reached for his cup of coffee. "Finish your breakfast, silly imp."

Harry giggled and hurried through the rest of the porridge.

---

He was dressed for play, with his hair combed and teeth brushed, waiting in front of the Floo for Mrs. Weasley to come through. He had met her several times, of course, the week that Ron was here, and Charlie, but she had mostly been talking with Father, and what he remembered most about her was that she kept reaching for him like she wanted to smother him in a hug. She never actually did, he told himself. But the mere possibility still frightened him. He'd only let Father hug him, up to now. Father was the only one he knew would not hurt him.

"All right, Harry?" Father asked.

Harry nodded tightly, and gripped Father's hand in his own. Father squeezed back gently, and Harry was very, very glad that he didn't have to go through this alone. Father had classes coming up very soon -- in less than a half hour, actually -- but he had promised to stay until the Weasleys got here.

At that moment, the fireplace roared with green fire and Mrs. Weasley stepped out, her arm curled around a small girl with red hair. Well, she wasn't small compared to Harry, but compared to Mrs. Weasley . . .

"Good morning, Severus," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Molly." Father inclined his head slightly.

The bulky woman turned her gaze on Harry and smiled warmly. Harry pressed himself closer to Father's leg. "Good morning, Harry."

Father gave his hand another squeeze, and he mustered up his courage for manners. "G'morning, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for coming."

She grinned. "You're very welcome, young man. It's good to see you again." As the Floo flared again, behind her, to spit out Ron amongst a gaggle of other arms and legs and red hair, Mrs. Weasley said, "This is my youngest, Ginny. Ginny, say hello."

The girl, who Harry had noticed was staring at him with her mouth open, blushed a shade of red brighter than her hair. "Hullo," she said quietly.

"Hi," Harry said, and glanced up at Father, who nodded.

Mrs. Weasley turned to the fireplace, and said, "Ronnie you know already, of course. The other two are my twins, Fred and George. Boys, straighten your shirts, please."

"Yes, Mum," they chorused, and their was a bit of a scuffle as the twins -- who looked exactly alike, as far as Harry could tell -- tried to straighten Ron's shirt, twisting and pulling at him between them, while he pushed them away and cried out, "Gerroff! Do yer own!"

Molly sighed a little and looked at Harry again. "You'll have to excuse them, they're a little excited."

"We're a lot--" said one of the new boys, as they quit picking on Ron and came forward as one.

"Excited, Mum. It's not every day--" said the other twin, picking up as if they were talking from the same brain.

"You get to meet someone--"

"Famous!"

"This is Fred," Mrs. Weasley said, gesturing to the boy on the left. "And this is George."

"Mum!" said the one she had called George. "I'm Fred."

"Honestly! And you call yourself our mother . . ." The other twin sighed.

"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley shook her head and peered at the boys. "I'm sorry, Fred."

"Just kidding, Mum." The boy grinned. "I am George."

"Now that introductions are well under way," Father said, his words clipped and precise, "I believe I must make my way to class."

Harry looked up at him, wanting to ask him to stay, but knowing he should not. Treacle Tart chose that moment to twine in through his legs, and he smiled at her, bending to scratch her under the chin.

"Oi!" said Fred . . . or George. "You've got a kneazle!"

"You didn't have it last week," Ron said. "Where'd you get it?"

"Hagrid gave me her," Harry said, picking her up and showing off her white coat and cute little toes to the others. "Isn't she pretty?"

"She's a beaut, she is," said George . . . or Fred. "Lookit those eyes."

"Can I pet her?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded, hardly noticing that Father had stepped away, toward the door, with Mrs. Weasley. "She likes her ears scritched." He grinned. "And she likes bacon."

"She's got good taste, then," said one of the twins. "Bacon's the best thing in the world."

"After Quidditch," said the other twin.

"And pranks."

"Like dousing Percy--"

"With a Rainbow Hair Tonic. Nothing better--"

"Than seeing that prat with--"

"Stripey hair."

Harry's gaze darted from one twin to the other as they spoke. Following their conversation was a bit tricky, but he was soon able to pick out small differences in their tones and the way their mouths twitched around words. "Didya really do that to your brother?"

"Sure. Mum was a bit--"

"Put out by it, but--"

"Less than Perce was, 'specially--"

"Once we told her it'd wear off before the prat--"

"Had to be at school."

The four boys stood close together, with Harry still holding Treacle in his arms.

"C'n I pet her, too? I wanna pet her, too!" Ginny was right behind Harry, and he jumped, startled, when she spoke.

"Why don't we all head outdoors, now," Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, from near the door. Father was there, too, arms crossed over his chest. "And I'm sure Harry will let everyone have a chance to pet his kneazle, if they are very kind with her."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said.

"Harry," Father said. "I am going to class now. Behave yourself for Mrs. Weasley."

Though his stomach did a little flip, Harry nodded, rubbing his chin along Treacle's head. "Yes, Father."

Father nodded in return. "I will see you at lunch time. Do make sure to check in with Hagrid this morning, if you can." He inclined his head slightly for Mrs. Weasley, and then he was gone.

"He's dark as a bat, that one," George said quietly.

"Charlie likes him all right," said Fred.

"Charlie likes dragons."

The twins grinned at each other, and then at Harry. "You gonna show--"

"Us around or what, Harry?"

"Outside," Mrs. Weasley said firmly and started to herd them toward the door. "Let's go."

Ron walked next to Harry as they made their way out of the dungeons and toward the Main Entrance. "We're gonna stay here during the days, Mum says, and go home after your Dad's done with classes. But just for a bit, and after that, you'll come to our place for days, 'cause there's stuff at home what won't get done by itself, Mum says."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly.

"Besides, the pitch we've got is easier to play on that the one here. And Mum says we wouldn't get a chance to play here, anyhow, not now that school's started up again."

"The pitch?"

"For Quidditch, you know. We've got one at home."

"A Quidditch pitch? Really?"

Ron grinned. "Yeah. We can play all the time when you're over."

Suddenly things didn't look quite so bleak. "That'll be brilliant!"

Severus hated leaving Harry behind for the day. Even if he was not leaving his son alone, but with the Weasleys, he still felt terrible about it, especially after yesterday debacle and Harry's rather obvious fears of being abandoned. He could not blame the child, not ever, for feeling like that, given what he had gone through for six years after his mother and James died. But Severus had been truthful about needing to work, either here or elsewhere, and at least here -- or at the Burrow -- Harry had more to do, and more children to play with than he would at Spinner's End.

Since he had taken breakfast with Harry in his rooms, and then waited for the Weasley clan to make their entrance, Severus was rushed in getting to his classroom to make sure all was readied for his first meeting with the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Fifth Years. He had just finished putting out tiny jars of dragon's blood for today's lesson when the students filed in. They were silent as they took their seats and set up their cauldrons.

Good. Seemed his reputation -- as a professor not to be trifled with -- was growing quickly. From the front of the classroom, he took roll then snapped out a few directions and watched the OWL preparatory class get started. In the previous couple days, he had found that Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff classes were far easier to manage than the others, if for no other reason than the Ravens just wanted to do their best on every assignment, and the Puffs would never dream of sabotaging any of their classmates' projects.

The Gryffindor-Slytherin combined classes . . . Well. That was a whole 'nother cauldron of mertlap. He would be more than grateful if he could manage to get those classes through the year without any of the students being blown up with their cauldrons. He had to watch them like a hawk.

This class was advanced enough -- and well-trained enough -- that he need only sweep through the room infrequently and not be beside the little blighters every second. He could even, occasionally, think about other things, like the last steps of the potion he was preparing for that bastard Filch -- and how he would approach Albus if the horrid man protested taking it -- or his son and how his day might be going with a passel of Weasleys surrounding him.

He supposed he would find out at lunch time.

---

Mrs. Weasley led the children outside, and started down the slope of the hillside just beyond the steps leading to the Front Entrance. Harry let Treacle out of his arms as soon as they reached the steps, and she bounded down the hill, though she stayed fairly close to Harry. He watched her play, rolling in the grass and pouncing on stray leaves, while Ron kept chatting to him the whole time, about Quidditch mostly. Harry didn't really know enough about the sport except what he had heard others say, or what Father had read to him, for him to make any comments back. But that was okay. He was fine being quiet. He was used to that, really.

What he was not used to -- and probably never would be -- was people sneaking up behind him, grabbing him bodily, and throwing him into the air.

When that happened, when they were half way down the hill, Harry's breath seized in his chest, and he curled his body into a tiny ball, limbs in tight, arms protectively over his head as he went up, even if only an inch or two, and then came down. Expecting to hit the ground hard, like he would have if Dudders had been the one who grabbed him, Harry was startled to be caught again in strong pale arms, and to hear boyish laughter in his ears. With a gasp, when he was let go, Harry scrabbled away, all knees and elbows and sharp movements, until he was hiding behind a small outcropping of rock.

"Oi, Harry! Wassamatter?"

"George, you great prat!" Ron yelled. "You're not meant to grab him!"

"Boys!" Mrs. Weasley called, turning around in time to see Treacle fling herself in front of Harry to defend against anyone who meant him harm. "What's going on here?"

Ron pointed at the crouching, half hidden boy. "Mum, George grabbed Harry and frightened him."

"I didn't!"

With a small sigh, Mrs. Weasley frowned at the twin, then approached the snarling kneazle and the hidden boy and knelt in front of him, but did not try and touch either one. "Harry, love, it's all right. Georgie didn't mean to frighten you."

Blood pounded in his ears, and Harry stared at her, not really hearing her words, but rather the tone of her voice, which was oddly soothing. His breath came in stuttering gasps, and his palms were sweaty. He held his arms tight around his middle to keep them from shaking. He wasn't scared; of course not.

But he wanted his father suddenly. He couldn't say so, though. Father was busy. He was with his students, and Harry was in the way, and so had to go with Mrs. Weasley. He couldn't have Nelli, either, ‘cause he was too much trouble.

Everyone was staring at him. Even the girl, Ginny. He ducked his head, wanting to hide forever. "M'sorry," he whispered. "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, Harry, dear heart, there's nothing to be sorry for." Her face was kind, and open. She held out her hand for him to take if he wanted. "Come on, now. Let's get the rest of the way down the hill. I've brought some games for you and the others to play."

Harry bit his lip and peered at the other children, but didn't move to take her hand.

George ran a hand through his shock of red hair and scuffed a toe of his trainer in the grass. "Hey, Harry, sorry for sneaking up on ye like that. I didn't realize you didn't like it. Ronnikins likes being tossed ‘round like that."

"Don't call me that!" Ron growled, fists clenched by his sides. Then he turned back to Harry. "They're just stupid, you know?" he said quietly.

"No, not stupid," Harry said, and reached for Treacle, who jumped into his arms and butted his chin with her head. Having her in his arms soothed him more than any words. He took a deep, much slower breath. "I jus' wasn't ‘specting it."

"Oh, sweetie, no one expects to be manhandled like that," Mrs. Weasley said, and frowned at George again. "But my twins are masters of doing the unexpected."

Fred nodded. "It's what we're--"

"-best at," finished George. "But I really am sorry."

"S'okay," Harry said. He shrugged and stood up, feeling embarrassed now. He was such a dunce; he should have known Mrs. Weasley wouldn't let him get hurt. "Can we go now?"

"Of course, Harry dear." Mrs. Weasley stood as well, but kept a closer eye on them as they continued down the hill to a fairly open, flat area near Hagrid's hut, but far enough away from the Forbidden Forest that it provided little temptation. Harry knew he wasn't allowed in there anyway. That was why it was Forbidden.

"All right," Mrs. Weasley said. She pulled a small bag out of one of her pockets and put it on the ground before tapping it with her wand. The bag grew and grew and grew, and in seconds was almost as big as Harry.

He gaped at it, and Ron grinned. "You never seen anything ‘nlarged before?" Harry shook his head, and Ron continued, "Mum's a wiz at it. She can pack more into a bag than Father Christmas."

Harry gave him an uncertain smile; he didn't know from Father Christmas, but he suspected Ron meant Santa Claus, who always brought Dudders dozens of toys, but nothing for Harry because freaks and bad boys didn't get anything for Christmas.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley was taking an assortment of things out of the huge bag and laying them out in a circle around herself. "Ginny dear, will you catch that, please?" she asked, pointing at something with springs and wheels and some kind of whistling part that trundled away from her.

"Yes, Mum," Ginny said quietly - she was near as quiet as Harry, and he was glad for it - and chased after the thing, scooped it up and put it back in its place. "Stay there," she scolded, shaking her finger at it, and Harry giggled, covering his mouth with his hand.

Ginny looked over at him and smiled shyly. "It's a Funderbus. Always wandering off, too."

Harry didn't ask what a Funderbus was, figuring he would be told or not, but it wasn't his right to ask questions.

"Mum," Fred said in a sing-songy voice that was not quite a whine, "can't we-"

"-just play now? You brought our-"

"-brooms and all."

Mrs. Weasley smiled, but looked a little weary, like she heard this all the time. "Lessons first, boys, you know that. Then play time."

"Awww, Mum-" George started, but Mrs. Weasley held up a hand and he trailed off before complaining. Mrs. Weasley didn't even yell at him for arguing. Harry was amazed.

"Now, Harry dear, you're new to this, so why don't you stand by me," said Mrs. Weasley, and gestured to a spot beside her. "The others will be spread out inside the circle." As she said it, the twins, Ron and Ginny each took a place within the circle of objects, some of which were making low humming noises, and some of which had moving parts and lots of arms that seemed to be waving at him.

Harry nodded and let Treacle down again, but she followed him as he stepped into the circle to stand by Mrs. Weasley.

"Excellent, dear." She waited, eyebrows lifted disapprovingly, while the twins swapped places with each other several times before settling down, and then she smiled down at Harry. "Now, I'm going to ask a question or pose a problem, and each of you will try and find the answer. You can use any of the objects in the circle to help you. Each of you will figure your own answer, and - except for Fred and George, dears, I know - it's unlikely any two people's answers will be the same. All right, Harry?"

Harry had absolutely no idea what she meant except that he was going to have to answer questions. It sounded almost like school. Well, he could probably do that, except he knew he didn't know near enough about anything to answer questions. Like Uncle Vernon said, he was lazy and stupid. But he nodded just the same.

"All right then," Mrs. Weasley said. "Please tell me four kinds of plants that are used in potions. If you're seven or older, I want you to describe the plants, too. If you're nine or older," she added, looking at the twins, "in addition to describing them, tell me where they can be found, and how to harvest them for peak performance." She grinned. "Go!"

The Weasley children all scrambled to the devices that surrounded them, and there was a sudden cacophony of sound: whistles, churning gears and the susurrus of metal and wood and cloth rubbing together. Lights appeared and glowing pictures of plants and trees and all sorts of things, over the objects and surrounding the children.

Harry stared, with no idea what to do. He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and bit down hard before stumbling almost blindly toward the edge of the circle. A squishy object sat there that looked like a plush animal with an elephant's head, except it had horns like a rhino, and a tiger's legs and paws. And several flaps on its belly that appeared to be liftable. Weird.

Crouching in front of the thing, Harry covertly checked to see what the others were doing. The twins each held a many-armed . . . thing made of cloth, and were poking each other with the arms. Ginny was sitting with her object, which looked almost like a scooter with many extra wheels, in her lap, and tapping the wheels with her index finger as if it were a wand. Ron was hunched over the Funderbus, poking it and seemingly talking to it, too.

Taking a slow breath, Harry lifted one of the flaps on the elephant thingy's belly. A tiny picture of a tree appeared on the fuzzy surface, almost like a telly screen, but then it grew and grew until Harry was surrounded by color and the smell of damp moss. A cool breeze touched his cheek like a soft breath. He spun around, mouth hanging open, staring at the scene. He was in the middle of a dense wood, with tall trees whose topmost branched nearly blocked out the sky. The ground underfoot was spongy, covered with dead pine needles and leaves, and a long-since fallen tree lay almost horizontal nearby.

Where was Hogwarts?

A sudden voice startled him and made him jump. "What do you want to know?" it said.

Harry jerked around till he saw who had spoken, and his gaze came to rest on a larger version of the elephant-tiger thing, which was sitting on its haunches and gazing back at him. The creature cocked its head to the side, and - if Harry interpreted the show of teeth correctly - smiled.

"Um . . ." Harry swallowed hard and hugged his arms around his middle. Was this thing going to tell him the answer to Mrs. Weasley's question? Or was it going to try and eat him? "Um, I'm meant to find plants for potions, sir."

"Ahhh," the creature said, though his mouth only moved a little, and not like he was really forming words. "That's an easy one. How many?"

"Er . . . four?"

"Very well," the elephant-tiger said. It stood up and stalked closer to Harry. Harry took a step back. The creature made that smile thing again, its trunk lifting and swaying slightly as it spoke. "Be not afraid, child. I am here to help, as I have helped many children before you."

Harry swallowed again and nodded, though he didn't really trust it to not trample him or anything. It was bigger than Dudders! "Okay."

"Come, look," the elephant-tiger said, and moved its lithe body closer to a nearby shrub. The shrub was a bit taller than Harry, with tiny white flowers and very long leaves. Harry could just make out tiny purplish-black berries tucked under the leaves. "This is the Devils' Walkingstick. See the gnarled trunk, and how it doesn't branch at all?"

Harry leaned closer and said, "Yes, sir," very softly.

"That's why it's called the Walkingstick, or sometimes, Hercules' Club. You may touch it, child, go on, but mind your fingers on the trunk, as it's covered in spines. When the leaves are young, you can cook and eat them like spinach. Do you like spinach, child?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Do you know what potions you might use this plant in?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir," he said and knew he was a failure. Father would know. Father knew everything about potions.

"That's quite all right, child," the elephant-tiger said, and didn't yell at Harry for being stupid, so he relaxed some. The creature leaned into the plant to nibble on some of the leaves. Still chewing, he said to Harry, "The bark, shredded, has been used in fever reducers, and the berries when steeped, can be used in pain relief potions. You don't want to eat them raw, however. They'll upset your tummy."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, and put all the information to memory, best he could.

The creature chuckled softly. "I'm no ‘sir'," it said. "You may call me Apples."

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. "Apples?"

The elephant-tiger-rhinoceros thing sighed. "Apples, yes. Alas for me, Molly Weasley chose to name me when she was only four years old, and her children refuse to call me different."

"I . . . I could call you different," Harry offered shyly. "If you want."

With a gentle smile, Apples shook its head. "It's all right, child. I've gotten used to it."

"I'm Harry. You could call me that."

"I shall then, Harry." Apples inclined his head slightly, almost a bow, and Harry felt his face heat. "Do you need more information, or will that do?"

"That's all, ‘cept for another three plants," Harry murmured.

"Very well, let us find another, then."

"Yes, si . . . I mean, Apples."

"Thank you, Harry. Now along this tree, you can see a climber known as European Honeysuckle, otherwise known as Woodbine . . ."

---

The sun was higher in the sky, and the Weasley children were sitting in their places, chatting, and waiting for him when Harry finally turned around to face them, with the plush Apples in his lap. Treacle jumped into his lap a moment later, and he scritched her ears just how she liked it. In addition to showing him plants, Apples had told Harry he was actually a Baku, an ancient being from Japanese folklore which traditionally ate nightmares. Harry wished he could take the soft creature to his own bed, so his nightmares could be eaten.

"Hello, Harry. All done dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. He looked at the other children. "Sorry. I din't mean to take so long."

Mrs. Weasley smiled kindly. "That's quite all right. The objects sometimes take a bit of getting used to, but you can always take as long as you need. Did you get along well with Apples?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He didn't tell her the Baku would have liked a different name, since he knew that would be rude. "He's nice."

Her smile deepened. "Indeed." She looked at Ginny. "Ginny, dear, why don't you tell us what plants you learned about."

"Yes, Mum." Ginny closed her eyes and her brow furrowed for a moment before she said, "Shrivelfigs are used in Shrinking Solution, fluxweed is used in Polyjuice Potion, lovage is used in Confuddlement draughts, and so is sneezewort."

"Excellent, Ginny. Thank you." Ginny turned bright red with her mother's praise, and Harry grinned at her, glad she had done well. "Harry? Would you like to go next?"

The bottom dropped out of Harry's stomach, and he chewed on his lower lip as he nodded. It wasn't like he had a choice. But now they would all know he was stupid and shouldn't be ‘lowed to go to school with them. "Yes, ma'am," he said, barely a whisper.

"Go ahead then, dear."

Harry stared at her, and couldn't think of a thing to say. His stomach turned over, and he was sure he was going to throw up his breakfast. His palms were all sweaty, too. Why couldn't he remember?

"Harry," Ron whispered beside him. "Just think about one plant, a'right? That way it's not so big a deal. Where did you go? Was it the woods? Did you see any trees?"

"Um, yeah, I mean, a shrub?"

"What did it look like?"

Harry described the Devils' Walkingstick to Ron, and by the time he got to what the berries and bark were used for, he had forgotten how nervous he was supposed to be. It helped that he had both Apples and Treacle in his lap, giving his hands something to touch and play with while he described his findings.

"Excellent, Harry dear!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed when he had finished going over his plants. "You did a marvelous job."

Harry felt his face redden, just like Ginny's had, and ducked his head. Surely Mrs. Weasley knew he wasn't meant to be praised? That he was stupid? Father didn't call him stupid, he knew, and said that Harry was very bright and was learning his writing and reading and maths really well, but, well, Father had to say that, didn't he? Because he was Father.

But Mrs. Weasley didn't laugh at him or take back her words, and none of the other Weasleys did either, so Harry didn't tell her not to say such things to him, and instead listened - though with his head still down - as Ron talked about the plants he had found, and then the twins came next, each one speaking every other line as Harry was starting to get used to. They provided even more information about their plants, including having a color display appear, of the Mediterranean island where the Rock Rose - used in a common sleeping draught - grew. It was very pretty. Even Mrs. Weasley said so.

Finally, they were done, and Mrs. Weasley let them get up and stretch their legs - encouraging the twins, particularly, to run about and work off some energy - for a few minutes before the next lesson. When she called them back, she posed another problem, this one about magical creatures, and added, "Try a different object this time. I want each of you to get used to using all of them, over time."

Harry knew she was talking to him, especially, as he had not let go of Apples yet, and had been hoping to talk to the Baku again in the next lesson. But he nodded like he was supposed to, and when she said, "Go!" he put Apples down reluctantly, and went to try out one of the other objects instead. To his surprise, the Funderbus was just as helpful as Apples, but different in its own way, and it actually made Harry laugh with the story it told about a tribe of rude and mischievous Cornish Pixies.

Once again, the children shared what they learned, and Harry was starting to feel not quite as stupid as he had before. After this lesson was over, Mrs. Weasley let them play gobstones if they wanted, or swivenhodge, a game where the players hit a ball - it had used to be an inflated pig's bladder, Fred told Harry, until that was deemed downright mean to pigs - back and forth over a hedge - in their case, a hedge conjured by Mrs. Weasley for the purpose - with brooms.

It was loads of fun.

Harry, Ginny and Fred were on one team, with George and Ron on the other. The game was played to a hundred points, but though Harry tried to keep close count, it seemed like no one else was, really, so he gave it up after a while and just enjoyed the swing of the broom and the thunk of the ball, the sight of it flying over the hedge, and trying to figure where it would come back to next. By the time Mrs. Weasley said they needed to break for lunch, they were all hot and sweaty and giggling like mad.

But lunchtime meant Harry could see his father again, so he picked up the play equipment lickety split, and bounced on the balls of his feet in anticipation.

"Come on, dears," Mrs. Weasley said when everything was back in her bag and she had shrunk it again to put in her pocket. "Let's back to the castle. I believe we are dining in Professor Snape's quarters today."

"Aww, but we-"

"-wanted to eat with Charlie, Mum, and-"

"-maybe take a poke at Percy!"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head fondly at the twins as they headed up the hill. "Another time, boys. Let's go."

Racing ahead so fast - with Treacle hard on his heels - Harry hardly heard her.

The commotion from Severus' sitting room carried down the hall to his study, making him close his book sharply. The hallway was short, but seemed longer than necessary just then, and he had his wand out before he rounded the last corner. When he saw one tousled, black head looking adrift amongst a sea of red, he put the wand away just as quickly.

"Harry," he said, catching the boy's eye. He was unprepared to have the boy fling himself into his arms, but he caught Harry nevertheless and held him close. "What's wrong?" he murmured into the boy's hair. "Are you all right?"

"I din't know where you were," Harry blurted. "You said we'd see you, and I din't see you, and . . ."

"Hush, little one. I'm right here." Harry's tumble of words clutched at his heart. How could the boy have missed him so much over just one morning? Not that he had not missed his son, but he expected Harry to be having fun with his new friends.

"Sorry, Father." His words were soft, hard to hear unless he strained. "Sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Severus told him. "I'm right here. Let's have some lunch, all right? The Weasleys are waiting."

Harry nodded against his chest, where his fists were curled into Severus' robes. "Okay." He peeked out shyly and gave Molly a soft smile, but did not look her in the eyes. "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley."

Molly's gaze rested on Severus, even as she said, "That's quite all right, dear. We're right as rain." To her children she said, "Washing up time. Ronnie and Ginny, you first." She grasped one ear each of her twins as they attempted to move past her, and held them fast. "I don't know what you two have planned -- you seem more than two steps ahead of me half the time -- but I won't have any pranks in Professor Snape's quarters, is that understood?"

"Yes, Mum," they both said.

"We'd never dream--"

"--of doing anything in here, Mum."

"No worries, honestly. What--"

"--do you take us for?"

"A couple of troublemakers, that's what," she responded, and then gave Severus a wry smile.

He scowled, having not until just that moment realized he had actually let a swarm of Weasleys into his place of peace and respite. He gave one of his best intimidating looks to the two boys, and watched with satisfaction as they gulped simultaneously. If there were pranks . . . well. He had learned quite a lot from his days of going up against the Marauders.

When he stood back up from his crouch, Harry still clung to him, and so he swung the boy up with him, and rested him on one hip. Harry wound his arms around Severus' neck, though not tightly, and rested his head on his father's shoulder. Severus had not expected Harry to be so . . . clingy, and yet, he was loath to let the boy go, either. He patted Harry's back as they made their way to the kitchen, to wash up in there, and talk for a minute in semi-private.

At the sink, Severus settled Harry on the counter just to the right of it, and ran the water till it was warm. "Did you have fun this morning?" he asked in a low voice.

Harry nodded, studying his hands and picking at a small callous on his thumb.

"Harry, please look at me when we're speaking."

Harry did, but his teeth took hold of his lower lip, and he looked very nervous for someone who had enjoyed himself. "Sorry, Father."

"It's all right. Did anything happen today to make you . . . uncomfortable?" He tried not to use the word ‘scared' when referring to Harry's emotions, as the boy clammed up almost immediately whenever he did. It was another legacy of those damned Muggles, the belief that he was not allowed the same range of emotions as everyone else. Severus did not want Harry to be frightened of anything, but neither did he want the boy to think he was not allowed to be if it was warranted.

"No, si- no, Father . . . not really."

Severus lifted one eyebrow and gazed at Harry calmly. "‘Not really' sounds almost like a yes. Would you care to explain?"

"Well . . ." A look of embarrassment crossed Harry's face, and then he shrugged.

"You can tell me," Severus said quietly. "I won't be angry."

"Not even at George?" Once the words were out, Harry's eyes widened in obvious fear, and he clapped a hand over his mouth.

Severus took a slow breath and reminded himself that Harry was uninjured, and so he had no reason to string the twin up by the thumbs. "Not even at George," he managed to say. "What did he do?"

The lower lip went between the teeth again, and Severus used thumb and index finger to gently pull it out before Harry could bite hard enough to draw blood. Harry closed his eyes briefly and nearly leaned into his hand before he whispered, "Jus . . . Just, he snuck up on me'n grabbed me. I was . . . I mean, I din't expect it, but he said he was sorry."

Severus nodded, and smoothed the boy's hair away from his face. This time, Harry did lean into the touch. "And I'm sure he was. Do you wish for me to speak with him?"

Harry's eyes snapped open and he pulled away. "No, sir, I mean, no, Father. Ron yelled at him already. And Mrs. Weasley said he din't mean to scare me, but I wasn't scared."

"Of course you weren't," Severus said soothingly, and touched Harry's hand now, patting it slowly so as not to spook him. Even if Molly hadn't told him, he would have known how starved for affection the boy was, and any touch that wasn't designed to hurt. Severus was not comfortable, himself, with the touch of others, but he knew Harry needed such reassurance, and so made allowances for the sake of his son. "But, you know, it's all right if something startles you badly, to be frightened by it. Everyone gets frightened sometimes."

"Not you," Harry whispered. His eyes were wide as he looked up into Severus' face, the green so dark it was almost black.

"Even me," Severus said.

"Really?"

"Yes, really." He certainly would not go into details about most of the things that frightened him, but he would say one thing. "I am frightened whenever you are in danger, Harry," he admitted. "Afraid of losing you, who are the best thing in my life. I was very frightened, for instance, when you were hurt by the giant squid."

"You were?" Harry's voice was very small, and his eyes were wider, if it was at all possible.

"I was."

"M'sorry, Father."

"No, Harry, please don't. I didn't say that to make you feel guilty, just so you would know that I do worry. That I, too, feel fear." He quirked his lips a little. "Every time you leave these rooms and I am not with you, I worry. But that's part of being a father, so I'm told. I wouldn't have it any other way."

A tiny smile appeared, and Harry ducked his head, hiding it. The hand Severus was patting snaked out, and then the other, and Harry wrapped both arms around his father's waist. He then rested his head on Severus' chest. Severus cupped the back of his son's small head with one hand, and rubbed gentle circles on the boy's back with the other.

"Are you ready for lunch now?"

Harry nodded against his chest.

"Then it's time to wash your hands. The water should be plenty warm now."

Harry laughed softly, the sound musical to Severus' ears, and did as he was told. The two of them then rejoined the Weasleys, who were at the dining table already. This time, Harry walked by his side, although he did keep a tight hold on Severus' hand, as if he never meant to let go.

After they were seated, with Harry on his immediate right, Severus tapped his wand to the table and the food appeared. He had arranged it earlier with the House Elves, so everything was fresh and hot. Harry gaped at the table, as if he had not seen the same thing happen day after day . . . but Severus knew better than to draw attention to the fact. Besides, it would probably be a long time before Harry took such things as food for granted, no matter how it reached the table. Also, the Weasley children were likewise as open mouthed as fish, that is, until their mother gave them all a Look.

And then, of a sudden, there was much grabbing of food and noisy chatter. Molly watched her brood like a hawk, but let them get away with many things that Severus would not have, though nothing that was actually rude or harmful.

He did notice that Harry fell back on his habit of not taking any food until everyone else had started eating, and even then he looked to Severus first to make sure he was allowed. Severus gave him a tiny nod, knowing they were going to have to deal with this behavior sooner or later, but not wanting to talk with his son about it in front of all his friends. Even with permission granted, Harry took tiny servings of chicken and rice and the mixed vegetable dish, but Severus made sure his cup was full of pumpkin juice. And he would make sure Harry had more to eat if he finished what he had taken.

He glanced up once Harry started eating, and saw Molly watching him with a cool expression. Maybe he and Harry would need to have that discussion sooner rather than later.

The meal proceeded apace, with Molly in the thick of it, cutting chicken for Ginevra, making sure that the twins did nothing terrible to Ron's food, and that they each ate a good portion of vegetables. Her children were loud, with the exception of her youngest, and Harry watched them with wide eyes.

Several times, Ron attempted to bring Harry into the conversation, with questions about Quidditch or Treacle Tart - who was sitting at Harry's feet, gazing up at him with her ice blue eyes - but Harry was having none of it. Just as he had been in the Great Hall, he was shy and almost silent. Severus did not know whether it was the newness of the people he was with, or their numbers, or because he was trying to eat with one arm snaked around his plate, which he had pulled close to the edge of the table and was now hunched over, as if protecting it from everyone else. It was not something Harry did - anymore - when just the two of them ate together.

Finally, lunch was over, and Severus wished he could have a lie down, as he had the beginnings of a headache. Alas, he had two classes this afternoon, and much grading to accomplish . . . plus he needed to have that discussion with Albus about Filch, now that his potion was complete. So he excused himself from the table when the children were still working on pudding, and rose.

Harry watched his movement with scarcely disguised anguish, and the look in his son's eyes twisted something deep in Severus' heart. He reached to touch the boy's head, and Harry leaned into him again, almost like a kneazle. "I'll see you at dinner time," he promised. "I'm sure you'll have a good afternoon with the Weasleys. All right?"

"Yes, Father," came the soft words, and he knew Harry was putting on his brave face.

With a sigh, he smoothed Harry's hair down again, and then patted his back once, still reluctant to leave. "Have you been to visit Hagrid yet?"

"Oh! Oh, no!" Harry looked down at Treacle Tart, and then back at his father. "I forgot, with lessons and all . . . M'sorry, Tree!" The kneazle in question rose onto her back legs and stretched up to put front paws on Harry's leg. He petted her head, and scratched behind her ears, but he still looked stricken.

Severus murmured, "I'm sure she'll be fine for a little bit. She had a good sized breakfast. See if you can't visit Hagrid this afternoon, though."

"Yes, Father. As soon as I can."

"Good." He looked at Molly, and assumed the blankest expression he could muster. "Will you be working in here this afternoon?"

"Oh, no, Severus. Albus has kindly granted us permission to use an empty classroom." She grinned. "Don't worry, your abode will be safe from this horde."

He very much doubted that, but all he said was, "Ah. Good." He really did have to go, though, as those papers would hardly correct themselves, so he told Harry once more that he would see him at dinner, and then left the boy at the table. He could feel Harry's gaze tracking him until the door to their quarters was closed behind him.

---

Mrs. Weasley let everyone finish their pudding and then had them wash faces and hands again before leading them up out of the dungeons to a classroom on the second floor. Harry had never been in this one before - he had done some ‘sploring with Draco, and then with Ron and Charlie, but he hadn't gone into all the classrooms yet. This one had a dozen or more desks with chairs, some of which Mrs. Weasley turned into two wide, low tables with the flick of her wand.

Harry was still not all that used to magic, and so he gaped at the tables, not sure they wouldn't change back immediately.

Mrs. Weasley smiled at him. "That's called Transfiguration, Harry dear. You'll learn how to do that when you attend Hogwarts as a student."

"Mum's a whiz at it," Fred said.

"Got top marks at school," added George.

"Just ask her."

"All right, you two," Mrs. Weasley said with a laugh, "that's enough. Come and sit at the tables. Fred and George at one, Ron, Ginny and Harry at the other. We're going to practice writing now. Harry, dear," she started as the children scrambled to obey, though Fred and George seemed to take three times as long to actually sit down, even if they were moving their bodies just as fast as everyone else. Harry ended up on the far end of the table, with Ron in the middle, and Ginny on her brother's other side, next to the twins' table. Mrs. Weasley stood right beside Harry as she continued, "How much writing have you done?"

Harry bit his lip. Father had not had very much time to work on his writing; they were still trying to get him used to using a quill and ink instead of a pencil. And even when he had been in school in Surrey, he had not done very much writing, for the same reasons he hadn't learnt much reading. "I can do my name," he said softly. He probably could.

"Excellent. We'll have you work on that then, dear, and learning other letters today, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good, good." She placed a piece of parchment, which was finer and smoother than any paper, in front of him, along with a small, stoppered bottle of ink and a feathery quill. She did the same for Ginny and Ron, giving them instructions on what they were supposed to write, and then went to the twins' table. They were fiddling with something that vanished in a flash of green and gold when she reached their table.

Harry watched as first one boy then the other grew red about the neck as Mrs. Weasley leaned over to speak to them quietly, and he wondered if she was scolding them. He thought maybe she was, when both of them said, "Sorry, Mum," at the same time, before she handed them parchment, too. "You two will write an essay about the potions ingredients you learned about today. Half a foot. Each. Let me know if you need books to do added research."

"Yes, Mum," said George.

"Whatever you say," added Fred.

"I'm sure," Mrs. Weasley said with a fond smile. "Now get started. The sooner you're done, the sooner we can all go back outside." She glanced at the second table, and Ron and Ginny, and then Harry, who had yet to open his ink bottle.

"Harry dear," she said. "Do you need help?"

What should he say? Father had told him a few times that he was there to help Harry, but Father wasn't here now. And in school, teachers were meant to help the students, weren't they? But the teachers at Harry's old school had not really helped him. They had called him uncooperative, and easily distractible, and Aunt Petunia said he was just stupid and lazy, and didn't deserve help.

"No, ma'am," he lied. "I'm fine."

"But you have not started yet. Do you want me to open the ink bottle for you?"

If he said yes, and then she refused, he would feel even stupider. But if he said no, he would have to open it himself, and the last time he'd done so, he had spilled the ink everywhere. Father had made the mess disappear in a trice, but would Mrs. Weasley do the same, or would she make Harry clean it? And he would still be stupid. Hesitantly, he said, "Yes, please, ma'am."

Beside him, Ron made a soft laughing sound, and Harry felt his face get hot. He should have said no, and then just done the cleaning afterwards. But Mrs. Weasley didn't laugh, or tell him, "tough luck," like Uncle Vernon would have, and she removed the stopper easily, without spilling a drop.

"There you are, dear. Now, put your name on the top of the sheet, if you would, and then we'll see what other letters you know."

Harry nodded, and slid the bottle closer, so it was within easier reach. "Yes, ma'am." He picked up the quill, and dipped it in the bottle, then, when drawing it out, scraped it lightly across the top of the bottle like Father had shown him, ending with a tiny tap. He brought the quill over to parchment, and tried writing his name, but the ink dropped in large, black blobs, and he ran out of ink to actually write with halfway through his "H". He repeated the dip, scrape, tap and brought the quill back to the parchment, but had the same trouble again.

Frustrated, he left off the tap at the end of his third try, but this time he dripped ink on the table as well as the parchment. He knew better than to ask for help, though, and so just tried again. And again. And again.

Now he had a parchment covered with black splotches, making it look like a spotted dog, and his hands were wet with smeared ink, and all he had written was H-A-R and half of a second R. His throat was aching, and his eyes were burning, but he would not cry. Tears never helped anything.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley's voice came from right beside him, and he jumped, almost oversetting the ink bottle. "Please let me help you."

Throat tight, he managed to nod, and just hoped she wouldn't laugh at him or call him stupid. She didn't, and though he could not look her in the face like he did with Father, since she had not given him permission, he could feel her gaze, and it didn't feel like she was angry. "First let's clean up your hands, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly, and she waved her wand and made the ink disappear, just like Father had. It didn't even feel sticky anymore. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You're welcome, dear. Now, let's try something else-" Then she was leaning over his shoulder and reaching for his arm . . . and suddenly Aunt Petunia was grabbing for him because he had dropped the forks while setting the table, and she would smash his hand onto the hot stove burner and he could smell the meat of his hand burning and oh, god it hurt . . . and the jolt from the memory was so fierce that the boy scrambled away from the grasping hands, darted under the table and was running, running, till he reached the door, scrabbled at the knob, and was gone.

Before anyone else could move, a streak of white followed him through the door and disappeared, too.

Blindly, the boy raced through the castle. He barely noticed the classroom door behind him slamming open against the wall and Mrs. Weasley's plaintive, "Harry, come back!" He barely heard the voice of Filch as he stumbled past the man, and his growled, "Running in the halls, are we?" All he knew was he had to get away, and he had plenty of room to run, far more than one short hallway that led to a cupboard. Far more than the length of the backyard or a leash.

The sun glared in the boy's eyes as he reached outdoors, and kept running, racing all the way down the hill, and toward the trees, where he could get lost, and lose those who wanted to hurt him. He was The Boy, the Freak, and he would be punished if he did not escape.

His breaths were coming hard, and his lungs hurt and his hand, too, with remembered pain. His flight slowed as he neared the trees, and he realized how dark, how forbidding they looked. He had enough energy to jump and yelp, however, when a dog barked from just behind him.

"Fang!" someone shouted, and before the boy could turn fully around, he was knocked to the ground by the large brown body of Hagrid's giant, gaping-mouthed dog. The boy's arms came up to protect his head, but he could not avoid the massive dog's attempts to lick his face . . . and after a moment, the boy realized that's all Fang was doing.

"Geroff 'im, Fang!" came another growl from Hagrid, and the dog backed off just a bit, enough so the boy could open his eyes and stare up at the big man. "You a'right there, Harry?"

Harry, the boy remembered. His name was Harry.

Harry blinked, squinting into the sun. "Hagrid?" he asked, his voice no louder than a soft breeze.

But Hagrid heard him. "One'n only. C'mon, 'Arry, let's get you up off the ground, a'right? Care for some tea? I made cakies to go with. They're still warm."

"Uh . . ." Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, and looked up at the castle, so far away now. He had run away from Mrs. Weasley. She must be terribly angry at him. A shiver ran through him at the very thought of what kind of trouble he was in.

"Harry?" Hagrid stepped closer, and his large body blocked the sun, casting Harry in shadow. "Somethin' wrong?"

He tried to tell Hagrid, but the words wouldn't come. How was he to tell the man that he was nervous about getting in trouble, but about something that was all his fault? How could explain running away? Or the choking feel of fear when Mrs. Weasley leaned over him like that? His throat was choked, even now. While he was still struggling to speak, Treacle Tart made herself known, climbing into his lap and butting her head against his hands, to get him to scratch her head. With a sigh, he did so, and the simple act of petting the kneazle loosened something inside him.

Peering up at Hagrid through his lashes, he admitted, "I ran away from class."

Hagrid frowned, but it didn't look like he was angry, just . . . confused. "What 'appened, then? Were those twins getting' outta hand? Or was Ronnie teasin' ye?"

"No!" Harry said quickly. "It was nothing like that. Nothing, really."

Hagrid cocked his head to the side and shook it slightly, his gaze searching Harry's face, but Harry had no idea for what. "Doesn't sound like nothin'. Sounds like somethin' went wrong."

Harry stared back at his hands, and Treacle, in his lap. She was rubbing her head against his skin, and it was so soft, softer than even the fur on the Baku. He was terribly glad that Father let him have Tree. He loved her.

Father.

What if Mrs. Weasley told Father that he had run away? Would he be real angry, too? Would he shout and send Harry away? Would he send Tree away? Would he be upset that Harry had messed up his writing, too? He'd know Harry was stupid now, and maybe he didn't want a stupid boy for a son.

Hagrid was crouched in front of him, and one of his massive hands moved in slowly toward Harry's face. Harry saw it, though, and wasn't scared. Hagrid wouldn't hurt him. Father trusted him. Hagrid's fingers dipped under Harry's chin, and lifted his face so Hagrid could look him in the eye.

"Tell me what's what, lad," he said softly. "Some things are better shared."

Could he? Could he tell Hagrid what really happened? The memory of what Aunt Petunia had done that particular morning was still raw, but he had, by this time, pushed it mostly away, trapped the fear, the pain, the look of disgust on his aunt's face in a box buried deep inside, where no one could see. The box was full of such memories, but he could always fit more inside. Such hiding was the only way he could deal with everything most of the time.

After a few minutes, when it became clear Harry was not going to speak, Hagrid said quietly, "C'mon, 'Arry, let's at least get you some tea." Hagrid held out his hand, and Harry took it, letting the giant pull him up. Carrying Treacle in his arms, Harry followed the man into his hut, and allowed himself to be settled on one of the big chairs. Hagrid fussed with a tea kettle hanging over his hearth, then brought two steaming mugs to the table.

Treacle had turned around in circles several times on Harry's lap before she laid down, and was now quite still. Harry rubbed at her ears absently, and when Hagrid placed the huge mugs on the table, he startled a little. "Sorry," he murmured, and noted the tea. "Thanks, Hagrid."

"It's hot, so be sure'n take care with it."

"Yes, sir." Hagrid lifted his bushy eyebrows in surprise, and Harry quickly amended to, "I mean, I will, Hagrid."

"Good lad." Hagrid took a long draught of his tea and swallowed noisily. Holding the mug between his hands, he turned it around and around. "Did y'not like yer class, then?" he asked carefully.

"I'm useless," Harry admitted. "And bad."

"Now, why would ye say such a thing as that? Who tol' ye such a thing?"

Harry shrugged and looked at his hands. "Aunt Petunia," he whispered. "And Uncle Vernon."

"Well they lied to ye, lad. Sure as spit. But no one here's said anythin' like that, 'ave they?" Hagrid's face was very serious. "Not yer Da."

"No!" Harry said quickly, and his words tumbled over each other in his haste to get them out, so Hagrid would not misunderstand again. "But I can't do writing or nothing like everyone else, and I made a real mess of things, and Mrs. Weasley was just trying to help, and I thought she was . . . I mean, know she isn't, and would never . . . but for a second, I thought . . ."

"Thought what?"

Harry jumped, startled again by the new voice, and practically fell off the chair as he spun around. He landed on his feet, though, and looked up to see Mrs. Weasley in the doorway of Hagrid's cottage. Her face was crinkled up, around the eyes, and there were deep lines in her forehead. Harry dropped his gaze back to the floor -- he wasn't supposed to look at people in the face; he knew that.

"Harry, dear?" She said, and stepped through the doorway. "What did I do to frighten you?"

"I wasn't scairt!" Harry protested. But he backed up a step. Couldn't help it.

Mrs. Weasley made an impatient sound, but then said softly, "Please tell me, Harry." She didn't try and come any closer, but crouched down where she was, so he didn't have to look up to see her. She kept one hand on the table for balance and her voice was still quiet and soothing. "If I don't know what I've done to upset you, I can't stop from doing it again."

Harry swallowed, and wrung his hands together. "I'm sorry, ma'am, that I ran out of school. I won't do it again."

"I didn't ask for an apology, dear heart." Her voice was so kind, it almost brought tears to his eyes. "I want to know, if you can tell me, what I did wrong."

That surprised him enough to look into her face. "No, ma'am! You didn't do nothing!"

"It's not true." Mrs. Weasley smiled at him, just a little. "I did, and I'd like you to tell me, please, what it was, so I can apologize."

Harry shook his head. "No, please! It was Aunt Petunia."

A touch of confusion appeared in her eyes. "Your Muggle aunt?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry whispered.

"What did she do?" Mrs. Weasley's voice was as soft as his.

"Was a long time ago."

"You can still tell me."

Harry looked into her eyes, and she didn't yell, or hit him and didn't tell him he was a good for nothing, worthless whelp that shouldn't be allowed to live or should've been drowned at birth. She didn't ever call him Freak or Boy, and he liked that. And she had helped him, when he asked her to. Gathering his courage, he squared his shoulders and said, "She burnt me, Mrs. Weasley. Burnt my hand." He held it up so she could see the palm and the shiny patch of skin that covered it. "'Cause I was bad. So she grabbed my hand and put it on the stove."

Mrs. Weasley gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes were suddenly wet, but she blinked her tears away. Harry could understand that. "That foul creature! How dare they treat you like that!"

Harry didn’t know how to answer that question, so he didn't, just hung his head and looked at Treacle, who was rubbing the side of her face against the top of his trainers.

Then, at a gulping sound behind him, he turned to see Hagrid, sitting on the edge of his bed, and mopping his face with a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth. "Ach, 'Arry," he moaned, wiping away the tears that fell unashamedly down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry!"

Harry shook his head. "You didn't burn me," he pointed out.

"But I helped bring ye to 'em, to those awful Muggles. The night yer parents d-died, Dumbledore had me pick ye up and bring ye to Surrey, and I'd no idea . . ."

When the big man trailed off in another round of weeping, Harry went to him, and climbed awkwardly up on the bed. Even as Treacle Tart leapt up beside him, Harry patted the man's shoulder. ''S'okay, Hagrid. I'm okay now, really."

Hagrid wept some more, but one of his arms snaked around Harry's back, and the giant squeezed Harry close in a half hug. Though he knew Hagrid could squish him to death if he wanted to, 'cause he was really strong, this hug wasn't even hard enough to squeeze the breath out of him, and Harry kept patting his shoulder and telling him that everything was just fine.

After a few minutes, though, when Hagrid was down to just sniffles, Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Her face wasn't so pasty now, but her eyes looked a little red. "I think it's time to go back to the castle, Harry. I had Ginny and the boys stay on the front steps to wait for us, when I saw you running down here, but I don't think they'll be patient much longer." She cast a look over her shoulder at the castle, as if wondering what mischief they'd gotten into without her constant scrutiny.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said. He slipped down off the bed, and faced Hagrid. "Thanks for the tea, Hagrid."

"Yer welcome, Harry. See ye soon?"

"Yeah, okay. Oh! I a'most forgot. What does Tree eat, 'cause my father doesn't want her eating from my plate."

Hagrid stowed his handkerchief away after blowing his nose a final time. "Oh, any kind of meat, kneazles like that, rats and mice're good. Iffin ye let her roam the castle a bit, or spend time outside, she can catch 'er own feast of mice. Ye can give 'er milk, but water's fine for 'er, too."

"Great! Thanks, Hagrid!"

"Any time, Harry. And come see me, any time, too."

Harry nodded, and left with Mrs. Weasley. They were trudging back up the hill -- much slower than Harry would have gone, but Mrs. Weasley wasn't a "young thing" any more, so they had to "take it easy on her old bones" -- when she said, "It must have been . . . startling when I tried to take your hand, to show you a different writing technique."

Harry sucked in his breath and darted a look at her, but she wasn't yelling, still, and didn't look angry, so he decided to tell her the truth. "Yes, ma'am. I . . . that was when I 'membered what Aunt Petunia did."

"I understand," she said quietly. "And I'm glad you told me." She was silent for a few more paces, and then, as they reached the last steppe, said, "Does your . . . father know?"

Harry shook his head sharply. "I can't! I'm not s'posed to tell."

"Was that one of their rules? At your aunt and uncle's house?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "You know, of course, that your father has different rules than they did. That he wants to know if anything bad happens. Or if something startles you because of things they did."

It took Harry a bit longer to respond this time, but finally he nodded. "Yes, ma'am. We have diff'rent rules."

"And he cares for you a great deal," she pressed. "And wants to know if anything bothers you. As do I."

Harry peered at her some more, trying to decide if she meant it. He thought she probably did. He gave her a tiny smile. "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Weasley smiled back. "Good. Let's see if I can wrangle the rest of the children together. I think we all need some outdoors running around time, though, don't you?"

Harry nodded with a grin. "Yes, ma'am!"

The next few minutes were spent with Mrs. Weasley dispelling some kind of spell that had made Ron's hair and skin green, and scolding the twins, who looked as innocent as Treacle could, with their twin wide eyes and upturned faces, while Ginny giggle behind her hands and Harry watched the whole thing bemusedly.

But then there was a game of tag, played with practice Snitches in gold and red and blue. As he jumped and ran and laughed along with the other children, Harry was able to put the horrible writing lesson and the memories of the Dursleys behind him, at least for a little while.

Severus was waiting for them in the sitting room, and when the door to his quarters opened - by Molly; he had reset the Wards to allow her entry while she was tutoring Harry - he stood immediately so he was visible, not wanting a repeat of Harry's upset at lunch when he couldn't find his father. As at lunch, however, Harry flung himself at Severus and hugged his legs tightly. Severus patted his son's soft, dark hair then gently cupped the back of his head. He was glad to see the boy, too, and anxious to hear how his day had gone. Not that he would say that in front of Molly Weasley or her brood, of course.

Speaking of which . . . "This is not a playground!" he barked at the Weasley children, who were climbing on his furniture and caterwauling like monkeys.

Still clutching his legs, Harry shivered at his raised voice, and he winced inwardly. He should never forget the abuse his son had suffered through and the effect shouting could have on him. And yet, he did, constantly, much to his regret. Lowering his voice considerably, he soothed, "It's all right, Harry. I'm not angry with you."

The little boy's head nodded, but he shifted slightly, so that his head was now burrowed within Severus' robes, as if he were hiding. Severus was instantly concerned. Even as Molly was organizing her brood and getting them ready to Floo back home, he caught her eye.

"What happened?" he mouthed, not wanting Harry to be further upset by thinking he had done something wrong.

"Later," she mouthed back. Her face looked pinched with worry, and when she glanced at Harry, still hiding, she shook her head slightly. Aloud, she said, "After I've fed this lot, and gotten them settled, I'll Floocall you, all right? We can discuss plans for tomorrow." Back to mouthing, she continued, "Among other things."

Severus nodded, hugging his son against him, not sure why exactly he felt the need to reassure the boy, but he was acting so oddly. Still, the boy needed to use his manners, too, so he patted Harry's head once more and murmured, "Harry, the Weasleys are leaving. What do you say?"

With minimal movement, his son peeked at the matronly woman and his voice was soft as he said, "Thank you for coming, Mrs. Weasley."

She smiled cheerfully. "You're welcome, dear heart. Perhaps we will see you tomorrow."

Harry bit his lip, and Severus ached to pull it out from his teeth, but resisted. Then the boy's gaze flicked to the children, who had calmed down, mostly, and were milling about near the fireplace. "Bye, Ron'n Ginny. And Fred and George."

"See ya, Harry," Ron said, even as Ginny turned bright red and ducked her head.

"You're good at-"

"Snitch catching, Harry," the twins said in that odd way they had of finishing each other's sentences.

"Could be a-"

"Seeker someday!"

"All right," Molly said. "Go on with you. Fred and George first."

With a bit more encouragement, Molly got her boys through the Floo, and followed them with Ginny beside her, after wishing both Severus and Harry a good evening.

Once they were gone, Severus helped Harry disentangle himself from Severus' robes and legs, and they made their way to the bathroom to wash up. Harry's hands and face were a bit grubby with dirt and . . . dog fur? Severus had thought they were going to work indoors this afternoon, on reading and writing lessons. Perhaps something had changed. Harry was very quiet while they washed up, and when they went to their dining table, shrunk now from the expanded version they had used at lunchtime to accommodate all the extra people, the boy clung to his hand, seemingly reluctant to be parted even for that short a time.

Trying to get a handle on what had happened, before talking to Molly, Severus said, "Did you play outside this afternoon?"

"Yes, Father," Harry said as he scooted up onto his seat, only then releasing Severus' hand. But he looked away while answering, and Severus didn't know why.

Rather than fret about why, he asked, "Did something happen while you were playing?" Grasping at possibilities, he ventured, "Did George try and grab you again?"

A look of relief passed over Harry's face, and Severus tried to interpret the reason, even as Harry said, "No, Father." Then the boy folded his hands in his lap and gazed down at them.

Severus pressed his lips together in a thin line. He would get to the bottom of this one way or another, but he did not wish to upset Harry any more than necessary. Instead he tapped his wand on the table so dinner would appear, and as the dishes popped into view, he said, "What's this about catching a Snitch?"

As expected, Harry's face lit up and he looked at Severus for the first time that evening. "We played tag wif ‘em," he said. "I caught the most, even though I'm littlest."

"Ginevra is younger than you," Severus pointed out.

Harry scowled. "But she's still bigger. Taller, I mean."

Having hit a sore spot, apparently, Severus responded in a chiding manner. "Best eat lots of dinner, then, so you catch up." He reached toward the platter of baked filets of fish and served Harry a generous portion, then did the same with the bowl of asparagus spears and the potatoes, which had been broiled with rosemary and tarragon. "A growing boy needs plenty of sustenance. Especially if he's to be," he suppressed his own scowl, not wanting to discourage his son from something he found enjoyable, "a world famous Seeker."

Glancing at his plateful of food, Harry smiled shyly. "Thank you, Father."

"You're welcome," Severus replied. "Now, eat up."

The rest of dinner passed amicably, with Harry describing in more detail the game he had played with the other children involving Snitches, but little else about the afternoon except that he had met with Hagrid and asked about food for Treacle Tart. Severus did not press for more, figuring Harry would tell him when he was ready, or he would get the story from Molly.

Not to mention, while he listened to Harry, he was also considering what to do about the Filch problem. Severus had finished the potion that would prevent the nasty Squib from harming Harry, and would in fact bind him to the boy for a period of no less than six months. He would have administered the damned thing today, except that Albus was balking. It was unfair, the Headmaster said, for Filch to be punished so severely - beyond the removal of his arms for a month, which Albus thought had been excessive and Severus, too light of a punishment - for what had essentially been a misunderstanding.

Severus had nearly turned in his resignation right then. He had warned Albus, after all, that he would not put up with the caretaker's continued presence in the castle without there being some kind of hold on his baser behaviors. Harry had been traumatized quite enough, thank you.

But Albus promised - promised! - that he would personally monitor Filch's whereabouts and would speak to the man, again, about the fact that Harry was to be considered off limits for any interactions.

"I don't want him even looking at my son!" Severus had told him. "At all. If he is so much as in the same room as Harry, I want him removed!"

"You're over reacting, my-"

"We've been through this, Albus. You did not see that man at the Welcoming Feast. He's planning something, or if he isn't, he will take any opportunity to get back at Harry. And I. Won't. Stand. For it."

Albus had stared at him for a long time, but Severus would not back down. "I understand," he said finally, and Severus hoped he truly did.

Thus, in addition to whatever monitoring spells Albus had on the Squib, after his classes were done for the day today, Severus had added his own. They would alert him in case Filch got within a hundred feet of Harry in any direction - allowing for walls and floors, of course.

He hoped it would be enough. If not, he still had the potion.

"Father?" Harry asked as they finished up dinner. Severus was glad to see he had eaten most of what was on his plate.

"Yes?"

"Can we read a story tonight?"

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "You mean, like we do every night?"

Abashed, Harry ducked his head, but nodded all the same.

"Very well," he said as if it were a hardship, though Harry's head came up in time to see the glint of humor in his eyes. "Go on and take a shower now, and get your pajamas on, brush your teeth. Then we'll read together for a bit."

Harry's smile was wide, and Severus was hard put not to grin back at him like some . . . some Weasley. Instead, he inclined his head. "Go on, now."

The boy leapt from his seat and tore down the hallway, only slowing when Severus called, "No running indoors!"

"Yes, Father," came the reply.

Severus banished the dinner dishes back to the kitchens for the House Elves to deal with. Then he moved to his desk and tweaked a few lesson plans while he waited for Harry to finish his nightly ablutions. When the boy returned, freshly washed and smelling of soap, Severus let him climb into his lap while they settled in one of the armchairs. Predictably, the white kneazle followed, settling herself on Harry's lap.

Severus Accio'd the Wizard Fairytale book they had been working their way through. It had many large-type words that were hopefully familiar enough to the boy that he would recognize them, or begin to, at least, over the course of their stories. But it also had new words, longer words that Severus hoped the boy would learn, too. He had been rather taken aback when he had learned his son could barely recognize his own name when it was written, wondering how in the world the teachers of his Muggle school could have neglected his education so completely. But then, Harry was so insecure and unassuming, he would never have made a fuss at school, Severus knew, nor asserted that he was not stupid when everyone assumed he was. And that damned aunt and uncle of his obviously hadn't cared if Harry never learned a thing, so long as their own whale of a son wasn't inconvenienced or shown to be lacking.

Severus hated them all.

But, for Harry's sake, he banished those thoughts from his mind as they started a new story about a swan, once a maiden, who was turned into a harp by a Wizard.

When Harry started drooping at the end of the story, Severus carted him off to bed, then sat by his bedside watching him sleep. Treacle had curled up next to Harry's face, so that each of his breaths ruffled through the pale fur of her back legs, like a soft breeze. The boy himself had rolled into a ball, as he almost always did while sleeping, protecting his stomach, and his face, like any good prey beast. Severus sighed, his fingers itching to smooth the hair off of Harry's forehead, so he succumbed, carding through the thick, untidy locks, so like his own when he was a child.

It might take a lifetime to undo the fearful instincts the Dursleys had instilled in his son, but by Merlin, he would undo them.

He only left Harry's room once he heard the chime for a call coming through the Floo. Likely Molly, but it could be the Headmaster, meddling or being otherwise annoying.

To his relief, it was Molly.

"May I come through?" she asked when he acknowledged her presence in his fireplace.

Severus inclined his head, and she was in his sitting room moments later. He offered her tea and biscuits, she accepted, and a few minutes later, his own cup sat on the nearby table while he waited as patiently as he could for her to speak.

She took a long draught of her tea, and watched him over the brim of the tiny cup. Finally she said, "How much do you know about how . . . those Muggles treated Harry? Specifically, I mean."

Severus' eyes narrowed, but his tone was nothing if not polite when he answered. "A fair bit."

Molly's eyes widened with surprise. "Harry's spoken to you then?"

"About the Dursleys?"

"Yes. Or about today's situation, particularly."

Severus sat forward. "What happened?"

With a frown, now, Molly said, "So, he didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" He considered hexing her on the spot, but forbore to do so, at least until after she answered his bloody question!

Instead of answering, though, she asked something more. "How do you know about what happened to him, if he hasn't spoken to you about it?"

Severus gritted his teeth. "It doesn't matter!"

"But it does, Severus," she said, in a tone that implied she was speaking to a small, dull child. "Harry needs to talk about these things, and if you aren't encouraging him to do so, he will keep all those feelings bottled inside, and we'll see far more episodes like today."

Severus found that he was gripping his wand through the pocket in his robes, and it took a supreme act of will to let it go. And another to unclench his teeth. His voice was dangerous when he growled, "Tell me what happened to Harry today. Now."

Molly looked startled, as if she couldn't imagine Severus taking umbrage with her obtuse behavior. But then she sighed. "He panicked, when I made a move to help him with his writing. I tried to take his hand in mine, to show him the proper way to hold a quill, when he turned pale as a ghost, ducked under the table and fled the castle."

Severus gaped at her for several moments before he found his voice again. "Obviously you found him."

"He had gone to Hagrid's. He was still pale and shaky when I got there, but between Hagrid and myself, we got him to tell us what was wrong. Now, I would like to know how much you know about how the Muggles treated him."

"Why?"

"Because when I asked if he had told you, he said he wasn't supposed to speak of what happened to him there. I imagine it was one of their rules."

Taken aback, Severus nodded slightly. "He's said as much before. But . . ." He waved a hand helplessly. "He doesn't want to talk about them. I have to drag him through every mention of them, every conversation in which their specter is raised."

"He may not want to," Molly said quietly. "But he must, nonetheless. Or he will never truly recover."

Since Albus had said much the same thing, Severus was more convinced than he would have been otherwise. But he did not want to upset the boy, and he knew speaking of his relatives upset him.

"You used Legilimency, didn't you?" Molly asked, into the quiet that followed.

He stared.

"On Harry, or on the Muggles?"

Feeling like a fish out of water, suddenly, he heard himself say, "Both."

Her frown returned, multiplied. "It's a dangerous habit to get into, Severus. A great uncle of mine was a Legilimens, and relied on it so heavily he could not carry on normal conversation for his last score of years. Not only because he wasn't used to it, but because no one trusted him near them anymore." She shook her head. "And Harry has enough issues with trust, don't you think?"

Nodding again, he looked away. He didn't bother to justify himself with his reasoning at the time; he'd been so overcome, himself, when Harry was panicking about dinner of all things, that he hadn't really let himself think of alternatives. But he wasn't sorry about doing it to the Muggles.

"Today," Molly continued, when it was obvious Severus was not going to respond further, "Harry had a recollection - I think they call it a flashback, amongst Mind Healers - of a time when his aunt grabbed his hand and forced it down on a hot stove as punishment for dropping some forks. So, when I reached for his hand, he . . . flashed on that memory, and thought I was his aunt, trying to punish him again."

Unable to do anything but stare at Molly, Severus fought the rise of bile into his mouth. Oh, Harry . . .

"After he spoke to Hagrid and me about the memory, he seemed a bit better off, and was able to play with the other children for a while as if nothing was wrong. But," Molly said, her voice very soft, as if she did not want to say what she was about to, and yet had to nonetheless, "But Harry is a very troubled boy. I cannot imagine what other horrifying things they did to him, even just knowing the one. But I can tell you he will have more episodes like this. I think talking about what happened, however, before memories crop up like this, will help mitigate them somewhat."

Severus shook his head. "You think it will help. Maybe? I know it will upset him!"

Molly drew a deep breath. "I know he should not have to suffer these memories alone! And that's what it means, when he thinks you don't want him to talk about it. It does him no good at all for you to know, but for him not to have unburdened himself. All that does is assuage your curiosity. If you want to be a good father to him, you will need to think of Harry's good in the long term, not your discomfort in the short."

Rage, sudden and overwhelming, swept through him, and he leapt from his seat. "You go too far!" he shouted.

Molly merely shook her head again, and kept her voice as low as it had been all through their conversation. "And you do not go far enough. I know you care for him a great deal, Severus, and do not want to see him hurting. No parent wants that for their child. But you have a special case here, and Harry needs to know that no matter what he says about those horrible people, or what he remembers, that you will still love him."

"Of course I will," Severus insisted, his voice rough-edged. He collapsed again into his chair, wondering what he thought he was doing, trying to be this boy's father. He obviously was not qualified in the least.

"I know that. But Harry doesn't. Not yet."

Severus put his face in his hands. "I'm failing him," he whispered.

"You aren't. You just need to get him to open up more. Talk to you, tell you when he's hurting, or when he's upset and why. But I can almost guarantee that he won't do so without prompting. Right now, he doesn't think he's worth anyone's regard." She offered him a small smile. "Though he desperately seeks to please you, and from the way he latched on to you each time we returned today, he obviously trusts you more than anyone else and finds comfort from being near you."

"Indeed." The word ‘limpet' came to mind.

"Perhaps . . ."

Severus lifted his head when Molly trailed off. "What?"

"Perhaps he would benefit from the expertise of a Mind Healer."

"No, absolutely not."

"But if you aren't willing--"

"I am! I will! Harry . . . he can't go to a Mind Healer. For one thing, the Ministry doesn't even know he's not with the Dursleys. It's a tricky situation, but I won't put his status, and thus his safety, in jeopardy."

Molly gazed at him a long time, her expression pensive, and concerned. Finally, she nodded. "If you think you can be what he needs . . ."

"I will," he said again, and he never meant anything more. "You have my word."

Her smile was kind. "I know, Severus. And I will do all I can for him, as well."

Severus nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Will you be back tomorrow?"

Her smile widened. "Of course. My boys had a lovely time, they said, and Ginny was very pleased to make Harry's acquaintance."

Recalling how the girl had blushed every time she looked at his son, Severus sneered. "I'm sure."

Molly merely raised her own eyebrows in response, and took another sip of tea.

The sun slanted through the pale yellow curtains of Aunt's kitchen and across the Boy's face, warming it, as he climbed on a stepstool and reached into the cabinet that held the dinner plates. Like almost every day, he hesitated briefly before counting the plates out, wanting to take four, but knowing he could only take three. He would be fed afterwards. Maybe. If he did everything perfect.

On the cooker beside him, a pot of potatoes boiled, the water reaching the rim but not boiling over. Aunt hated it if the water splashed on the hob. It stained, she said, and was dirty, like the Boy. Balancing the plates in the crook of one arm, the Boy slipped down off the stepstool and moved to the table, where he set the plates out carefully. Then, he returned to the drawer next to the cooker, for the silverware. As he was counting out forks, he heard the hiss of hot water hitting the hob, and he jerked around to see the pot start boiling over.

The silver clattered to the floor as the Boy grabbed at the heavy pot to move it to another part of the hob. He'd forgotten to take up a pot holder first, and the hot handle startled him, but he hung on gamely, swinging the pot off the heat.

More water sloshed over the rim to splash on the surface of the cooker.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU UNGRATEFUL BOY?!"

Aunt Petunia was behind him, in the doorway, and now moving forward, he saw, darting a look over his shoulder, and her face was tight and her eyes were furious, and he wasn't supposed to look her in the eyes, he knew that . . . and she snatched his arm and spun him around, and he managed just in time to let go of the pot though some of the water splashed over his hand.

She glared down at him, like he was a beetle, come crawling from beneath the fridge. The Boy dropped his gaze to his bare feet. "You vile, disgusting creature. Must you ruin everything?" she spat. "My mother's silver. My kitchen. My family." Squeezing his upper arm hard enough to bruise, she wrapped thin fingers around his bony wrist and dragged him the one step back to the cooker.

A thin, tight smile curved on her lips, and the Boy knew then that he had to get away. She had that smile every time she had some special torment planned. He pulled at his arm, his hand, but she had in a pincer-like grip. Before he could fight more, she whispered, "You should be dead. Maybe I'll kill you," and she pressed his hand to the bright red hob. She used her weight to hold him down.

The Boy screamed.

. . . and screamed and screamed, and then there were other hands holding him which he tried to fight because he would be hurt again, he knew it. But the hands turned into comforting arms, and there were soothing words and gentle rocking and tears and . . . and Father.

"Harry, it's all right. I have you. It's all right, son. I'm here, Harry," Father was saying, over and over, like he believed the words. Like he meant them.

And the Boy's name was Harry.

Once the crying eased, his breaths came in hitching gasps. His face was hot and ached from crying. He hated crying. He hated being a baby.

"Sorry," he said, his throat sore from screaming. Treacle Tart purred softly and butted her head against Harry's leg, and he petted her soft fur and his breathing slowed. "Sorry, Father."

"No, no, Harry, it's all right. You've done nothing wrong." Father hugged him closer, and from Father's lap, Harry hung on to his arms like he might fall away into nothingness if he was ever let go.

They sat in stillness for a long time, and Harry's eyes were getting heavy again, but he didn't ask Father to put him back down on the bed. He could not hold back the yawn, however, though he pressed his face into Father's chest to help cover his mouth.

Father kissed the top of his head and rested his cheek on the spot directly after. "You didn't put up your Silencing tonight. "

"Didn't?" Harry's eyes were still closed, but he tensed. But he wasn't supposed to do the Silencing, so maybe he wasn't in trouble?

"No, you didn't. I'm proud of you."

Harry shook his head slowly against his father's chest. Waking Father with his nightmares was nothing to be proud of. He was so stupid, such an infant.

But Father wasn't finished. "This is the first time, Harry, that you haven't put up that charm. I hope that means you're starting to realize -- even when you're half asleep -- that I will always be your father, and having nightmares will never make me think less of you. You are not weak. Not a baby. So get those thoughts out of your head. You're my strong little man. And strong young men like you need to know when to ask for help."

"Did I send a message?" Harry asked through another yawn.

"Yes," Father said quietly. He kissed Harry's temple. "But I heard you calling, too. Do you want to tell me about your dream?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't want to remember any of it. He couldn't tell anyone about what happened or why he dreamed about them; he knew that.

Father sighed a little, his chest moving up and down with the force of his breath. "Harry, son, I need you to tell me about your dream. It will make you feel better."

"M'fine, Father," Harry whispered. He didn't need to talk to feel better. Just having Father with him was enough.

"But will you have more nightmares tonight?" Father asked. "Talking will help that not to happen."

"Don' wanna." Harry pushed his face further into the folds of Father's night clothes. Father was warm, and his arms made Harry feel safe.

"I know you don't," Father said, his voice soft, and almost sad. "But it would be better if you would." A pause, then, "I want you to."

Harry swallowed and hunched his shoulders. An ache, like something was stuck in there, bloomed in his chest. Father wanted him to talk. He wasn't supposed to talk. Not about what they did. Not ever.

"I know you're frightened, Harry. I know you think you're not supposed to talk about them. But you are not with them any more, and you never will be again. And I want you to tell me what they did to you. What made you so upset tonight, to make your nightmares worse."

Still, Harry remained silent. Was Father telling him the truth? Was he really allowed to talk about Aunt and Uncle and his dreams? He had never been allowed before.

Father smoothed a hand over Harry's head, and the gentleness of that touch made his breath hitch again. He hugged Father tight, even as Father said, "Remember, Harry, that we have different rules here. Rules between you and me. The rules you had with those other people do not apply anymore."

"Dunno what to say," Harry whispered.

With a smaller sigh, Father cupped the back of his head with one of his long fingered hands. "It's all right, Harry. Just tell me what you remember."

"I . . . I . . ." He felt tears prickle in his eyes and blinked hurriedly to make them go away. Crying was for babies.

"It's all right," Father said again. "You can tell me anything. I still love you."

"She hurt my hand," Harry said in a rush. "It burned."

"Your aunt?" Father asked softly.

Harry nodded against his chest.

"What happened?"

Hesitating even more, Harry said, "I was bad."

Father's arms tightened around him. "Did she say that?"

"Uh huh." Harry sniffled a little; his nose was running. "Said I was disgusting and I ruined everything."

"You are not disgusting," Father said. "And you could not possibly have ruined everything."

"Did," Harry countered. "The pot boiled over, and messed up the cooker. And I dropped her Mum's silver. Deserved to be burnt."

"No. You. Did. Not." Father's voice was sharp, even though his arms were still holding Harry close. "No one deserves that. No one. Least of all you."

"But I was bad!"

"Harry. Do you really think dropping silverware is a valid reason to burn someone? To cause them so much pain?"

"I dunno . . ."

"Harry . . ." Father held him away from his warm, safe feeling chest, far enough that he could look Harry in the eyes. "Look at me, son."

Doing as he was told, Harry couldn't help but gnaw at his lower lip and hunch his shoulders even more.

"Do you really think that?" Father asked again. "Or is it possible that your aunt was just a very angry person and she took it out on you?"

Harry shook his head wildly. "I was bad!" he cried. "All the time! I broke the rules and ruined their family."

Father's eyes glittered darkly in the gloom of the room, lit only by the ball of light by Harry's bed, cycling through its colors. "I know that's what they told you. But, Harry, the rules they wanted you to keep . . . no one should be held to those rules. You were meant to be cared for, not hurt by them. They never should have burned you or beaten you or chained you up. One does not do that to children in their care, no matter what."

Harry stared at his father. "Not even if they're bad?"

"Not even then. Remember when you and Draco went up against the squid, and how we had that talk afterwards, and you were punished?"

Harry nodded. The fear he had that day had been overwhelming, but Father had not hit either of them, and had not confined him to a cupboard or taken away his meals or anything.

"You were not allowed to use your broom for a week. That is the kind of punishment that is acceptable to use on children. In comparison, if you dropped some silverware in our home, I would expect you to apologize, and that's all. At most, I might send you to your room for an hour so you could consider better how to handle other people's things." Father paused, his gaze boring into Harry, and Harry squirmed, trying not to look away, but it was very hard.

"Do you understand the difference?"

"I . . . I think so." He didn't, really, but Father seemed to want him to.

Father nodded. "Your aunt over reacted. She treated you poorly. It was not your fault that she did so."

"Even if I was bad?" Harry whispered.

"Even then. But Harry, dropping silver isn't really bad. It was an accident. And accidents are rarely bad." He was quiet for a few moments then added, in an even quieter voice, "They were the ones who were bad, Harry."

Not knowing what to say, Harry remained silent, resting his head on Father's chest again, and Father let him, smoothing his hand over Harry's head again, until Harry's yawns grew more frequent.

"Do you think you can go back to sleep now?"

"Mm hm."

Father helped him lie back down, and covered him with his blanket, tucking him in. Tree settled next to his head on the pillow. "I want you to clear your mind, Harry. Think of the sky and the clouds, remember how to do that?"

"Mm hm." Eyes closed, Harry reached blindly for Father's hand, and held it on his chest. The weight of it was soothing, and made him feel safe. "I forgot to do it before," he admitted, waiting for Father to pull back in anger. But Father didn't.

"I thought maybe you had. We'll have to make sure of doing this each night," Father said. "I'll sit with you now, and we'll practice, all right?"

"Yes, Father."

Over the next few minutes, Father worked with him on breathing, and picturing the sky, and the clouds, and clearing his mind of all other thoughts. No more aunt or burning flesh. Just peace, and breathing, and his father's low, soothing voice.

---

Once the boy was asleep, Severus rose from Harry's bed and made his way to his own bedroom. He was drained. Exhausted. Angry -- at those miserable Muggles. But he was also hopeful for the first time, that maybe he could help his son get past the damage they had done to him. Harry had trusted him enough to tell him about the incident with the cooker. He hoped such trust was not a one off thing. He would have to make sure it wasn't.

He left his bedroom door open, in case Harry had any more nightmares, but he hoped for both their sakes, that it was an unnecessary precaution.

---

Harry woke, feeling achy and tired, when someone touched his shoulder. Before he could draw breath he was out of bed and in a crouch halfway across the room.

"Harry," said a familiar voice. "It's all right, it's just me."

Opening his eyes for the first time, Harry looked up and up to see his father staring down at him. Harry's face flushed and he looked down at his feet. His fingers fiddled with the hem of his pajama top. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Come on then, time to get ready for the day." Father didn't sound angry or even annoyed, so Harry chanced another look. His father's face was calm, but with that particular crinkle of his forehead that meant he was thinking hard, or maybe upset, and didn't want anyone -- like Harry -- to know. And then he held out his hand for Harry to take. "Breakfast is waiting."

With a huffed breath, Harry smiled a little and took his hand, letting Father pull him upright.

"All right there, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Father. Was just startled, is all."

"I understand." They walked down the short hall hand in hand. "What kind of juice would you like?" he asked as if he didn't know.

"Pumpkin juice!"

Father chuckled softly. "I thought as much." He led Harry to the table and waited while he climbed into his chair. Then he piled eggs and toast and several sausages onto Harry's plate before he poured a good sized portion of juice. "The Weasleys will be here in less than one hour, so I suggest you get started."

Harry grabbed up his juice, holding the cup -- which Father called a goblet -- in both hands so he wouldn't spill. He took a long swallow, savoring the cool sweetness of the drink. He had yet to pick up his fork. "Will I have lessons again?"

"Yes." Father peered at him from where he sat. "And today Mrs. Weasley has promised to help you with your writing. I told her you were still working on forming letters, and basic quill skills, so she will know better how to proceed."

Harry bit his lip and did not answer.

"I want you to tell her if you are having any difficulty with the tasks she assigns." Father paused. "Harry, look at me."

Harry snapped his head up, with a quick, "Sorry, Father." He knew he was supposed to look at Father's face when he was speaking, but it was so hard to remember sometimes.

Father waved a hand to dismiss the issue. "Do you understand me, about Mrs. Weasley? She cannot help you to the best of her ability, if you do not tell her when you need her help. She wants to help you with your writing an reading and maths, but you have to let her. Understood?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Father."

"And, do you promise to try and heed me?" Father shook his head a little when Harry gave him a confused look. "I know it will be hard, admitting you need help, and asking for it. But I just want you to try. Will you promise me that?"

With a tiny smile, Harry said, "Yes, Father." He could try. With that, he picked up his fork, and ate his breakfast, feeling a bit better about the day already.

---

"The day went by fairly smoothly," Mrs. Weasley said to Father when they had gathered back in the dungeon late in the afternoon. She had sent her children through the Floo already, after making sure that Mr. Weasley was home to be with them.

Harry was tucked in against Father's legs, and didn't even flinch when Father patted his head, smoothing the hair that had gotten stuck up in all directions during the game of Snitch chasing they'd had after lessons. It had been a smooth day, Harry thought. No one had tried to grab him or hurt him, and he hadn't gotten yelled at even once. Ron hadn't laughed at him for not knowing his letters, and Ginny had called Treacle Tart "Very cute," though that was before Tree caught a field mouse and worried it before eating it almost whole. He'd gotten to play with the Baku again, and everything.

"Is that so," Father said in his low, cool voice.

"Yes." Mrs. Weasley smiled down at Harry, and Harry hid his face a little from her, but she didn't say anything about that. "Harry did some very good work today. Perhaps you can show your father later," she suggested.

Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said from the folds of Father's robes.

She smiled again. "We had no running off today, which was also very good. And Harry was able to ask for help with his writing, when he was having trouble with dripping ink. I very much appreciated that you asked me, Harry. I was glad to be able to help you."

Harry felt his face burning and hid it again. But Father put some pressure on his shoulder. "What do you say?" Father asked.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. For helping me."

Father squeezed his shoulder again, the kind of squeeze that made Harry feel like he'd done something good, and he could not help but smile. Father thought he was good.

"You're very welcome, Harry. We'll be back tomorrow, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am. Good night."

"Good night, Harry dear. Severus." She nodded once and bustled over to the fireplace where she disappeared in a wash of green flame.

Father crouched down, so he was looking Harry eye to eye. "So," he said, and his mouth made that little quirk of a smile. Harry grinned back at him. "Tell me about what you learned today."

Harry spent the next twenty minutes -- while washing up for dinner -- doing just that. Severus could not help but smile as his son excited described something called a Baku, and how he had learned from the creature all about three new "temp'rit region" plants, as well as how he had learned to write three new letters -- Z, Q, and W -- and how he had beat Ron in a maths quiz.

"Congratulations, Harry," he told the boy, and they sat down for their meal. "I'm glad you had a good day today."

"Me, too, Father. And Mrs. Weasley said I'm real good at maths for my age."

Severus nodded, and served out a piece of grilled chicken and a portion of vegetables and rice to his son. "I believe I said the same thing to you, a month ago."

Harry smiled shyly, but he ducked his head and his shoulders hunched as if he expected a blow.

Narrowing his eyes, Severus said, "I'm glad you're good at maths, Harry. Don't ever think I want you to do less than your best at anything. All right?"

"Yes, Father." Harry waited patiently -- as he always did -- for Severus to serve himself and take his first bite, before he picked up his own fork, speared a largish piece of chicken, and tore a bite off with his teeth. Harry's table manners had improved drastically since that first meal at table they had shared, just after Harry had been formally adopted, but he was still far behind his peers in basic utensil use. He had yet to learn to use a knife properly, for instance, and tended to fall back on a spoon when faced with loose, small foods like rice or peas.

Patience, Severus reminded himself. "Would you like me to cut up your chicken for you, Harry?"

"Er . . ." Harry looked critically at Severus' plate, and then at his own, seeming to discern the difference between how their chicken appeared, at once. "Yes, please, Father."

Severus nodded, moved the plate a bit closer to himself, and proceeded to carve the chicken breast into bite sized pieces. He slid the plate back toward his son.

"Thank you, Father."

"You're welcome." He took a bite of his own dinner, and watched as Harry shoved a bite of rice onto his fork with his fingers before bringing the fork to his mouth. Almost half the mouthful fell into his lap on the trip up. Suppressing a sigh, Severus ignored the falling rice; that was a skill that would come with time and improved dexterity. But he could address the boy's grip. "Harry, here . . . let me show you how to better hold your fork."

Harry looked up at him with surprise, but handed over the fork willingly enough. Over the next few minutes, Severus positioned his fingers around the handle properly -- "Like holding a quill, see?" -- and demonstrated how it made scooping up things such as rice a bit easier.

"Feels weird," Harry said at one point.

"It will, until you get used to it. Like doing anything new, for the first time."

Harry grinned at him, peering up through his fringe. '''Cept using a broom."

"Cheeky," Severus said in a mild tone, but he had to agree. The boy had taken to broom flying like a salamander to fire. "Yes, your broom was one thing you never really had to learn to use, isn't it. That's a real gift, Harry. Most people have to learn to fly, just like learning to write or read."

Harry positively beamed at the praise, and Severus vowed to call attention to his son's accomplishments more often. "D'you think I could really be a Seeker, Father? Like on the Slytherin House team?"

Severus chuckled. "You think you'll be sorted into my House, do you?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "Slytherin's snakes, and I really like snakes."

"I've noticed," Severus said dryly.

"And I can talk to 'em and everything. So, I should be in Slytherin, shouldn't I, Father?"

"I would be pleased if you did," Severus admitted. "But I will be proud of you no matter what House you're sorted into." Even as he said it, he knew it was true, though he had not really considered the possibility that Harry would not be in Slytherin. Of course he would be.

"But I can be Seeker, right, Father?"

"If you are in Slytherin, and you make the team, and if you're the best one for the job, I don't see why not."

Harry frowned, then scratched his nose with his thumb, his fork still tucked between his fingers. "That's a lotta 'ifs'."

"Yes," Severus said with a smirk. "It is."

"Don't you want me to be Seeker on your team?"

Severus set down his fork and peered at his son, lifting one eyebrow. "I would enjoy it very much. But Harry, that's years from now, and I don't think you should be worrying about something that might not happen, or that you might change your mind about, when it's so far off in the future."

"Oh." Harry's gaze dropped to his plate. "Sorry, Father."

With a frown of his own now, Severus wondered what he had said wrong to get that reaction. "But if you were to be a Seeker on the Slytherin team, like I said, I would be very happy. And if that is a goal you want badly enough, and you work hard for it, I have no doubt you could manage to accomplish it."

"Yeah?" Harry gazed at him hopefully.

"Yes." He shook his head fondly. "Now eat your dinner, Seeker."

Harry grinned and did as he was told.

---

After Harry was in bed, Severus met with Molly again, and this time there was only good progress to report. No running off, as she had told him earlier, no flashbacks, and no violent reactions to being touched. Molly admitted she had told her children -- especially the twins -- that they were not to grab Harry or even touch him unless he initiated the contact. No hugs or pats on the back unless Harry made the first move. It had made for a much smoother running day, and a far more emotionally stable Harry.

Once she was gone back to the Burrow, Severus readied himself for bed. He still had essays to correct for several of his classes, but he was too tired to deal with them right now. As he had been doing recently, he left his bedroom door open, so he could hear if Harry had a nightmare but didn't quite wake from it. He knew that he would be up and helping Harry with a nightmare at some point during the night; Harry had yet to have a night without one, except those nights he had been on a dreamless sleep potion. Every night, for an hour or two, depending on how long it took him wake Harry from the night terrors to begin with, he would soothe Harry and lull him back to sleep.

It was frankly, exhausting, and Severus knew he was suffering from sleep deprivation. But then, so was Harry, to a certain extent. And Severus could do nothing else. He cared about Harry far more than he did about sleep. Still, he was already behind in grading school work and meeting with all his new Slytherins. He was also grouchy while teaching his lessons.

Of course, this last consequence of sleeplessness seemed to work to his advantage. A grouchy, mean-looking professor was heeded far more quickly than an easy going, friendly professor, like Flitwick, for instance. And making sure the students heeded him immediately was, frankly, the most important part of teaching potions to a school full of dunderheads.

Severus eased himself into bed and Nox'd the lights. What felt like only a few minutes, but was -- when he noted the time -- actually almost three hours later, he was up with his son, soothing him out of another nightmare. He rocked the boy in his arms and whispered nonsense words in a low tone till Harry quietened enough to be guided back to sleep. Many nights, like this one, Harry had more than one nightmare from which he needed to be woken and soothed, and thus, by the time his morning alarm woke him, Severus felt he had gotten almost no sleep at all.

But Molly Weasley was there just after breakfast, and helped Harry through the day, while Severus groused his way through classes.

Dumbledore stopped him as he was retreating to his quarters for lunch, to remind him he was expected to make an appearance for at least two meals a day, every day, in the Great Hall. He had a House to look after, too, he should recall.

Of course he recalled. But he had a son to tend to, as well, or did the Headmaster not remember?

Dumbledore merely peered at him over the half moons of his spectacles, and Severus back tracked, apologizing curtly and saying he would do his best to be at dinner that night.

With a benevolent smile, Dumbledore let him go, and Severus fretted about taking Harry to dinner for the rest of the day.

He needn't have worried so. Harry was well behaved at dinner, and though he was quiet, and perhaps a little withdrawn, he did not seem actually frightened of the students or staff. He even smiled at Hagrid, and waved at Miss Parkinson at the Slytherin table, the young lady who had been with him when he talked to the adder on the hill.

Altogether, it could have been worse.

---

The next few days passed smoothly enough that Severus began to worry again, sure that something would go horribly wrong any moment now.

He and Harry had settled comfortably into a bit of a routine. Molly came with her four children each morning and stayed until dinner time. In the mornings, Harry usually had lessons in which he practiced writing, spelling and maths, and then had practical experience looking for and identifying plants -- as an introduction to Herbology or Potions -- or learning simple household charms, such as Lumos and Nox, taught to most wizarding children. After lunch, the children had plenty of opportunities for outdoor play, running about like rabid crups, or flying on children's style brooms, or playing Exploding Snap and Gobstones.

Meanwhile, Severus taught his classes, met with students from Slytherin or his Advanced Potions sections during his office hours just after lunch, and graded papers and sample potions for the ten to fifteen minutes he had between each of his classes.

In the evenings, after dinner in the Great Hall -- Severus tried to eat breakfast there, too, after making sure Harry was safely ensconced with Molly and her brood -- he and Harry would retreat to their quarters, where Severus would have Harry get ready for bed, read him a story or two, then tuck him in with their before-sleep-preparation of Occlumency. The boy was usually so exhausted by his day that he would fall asleep during story time, but was awake enough after being carried to his room, that he could follow the breathing exercises that were supposed to help with his nightmares.

Severus would then spend a few hours finishing his grading, preparing for the next day's lessons, and dealing with any issues that had come up with his Slytherins, before crashing into bed for the hour or two before the first of Harry's nightmares hit.

By the weekend, he was more than ready for a break, and when Molly invited him to bring Harry to the Burrow so the boy could get to know the place before he started spending the days there next week, he readily accepted. He and Molly agreed that he could stay for the morning, and then go back to Hogwarts in the afternoon. That way, Harry could get a feel for being there without his father, and Severus could finally get caught up on his grading at least.

Thus, Saturday morning found Severus ushering Harry through the Floo to the Burrow. Immediately upon exiting the large fireplace, both were surrounded by redheads clamoring for Harry, primarily, to "C'mon and play!"

After greeting them both warmly, Molly shooed the children outside with a, "Show Harry around, dears, and don't forget the pumpkin patch. There you go."

With only one backward glance at his father, Harry followed the Weasley boys and Ginny outdoors for the grand tour.

"They'll be just fine," Molly said, as if Severus needed her reassurance.

"I know," he said into the cup of tea she pressed into his hands as soon as he sat down.

"And Harry certainly knows the way back inside, if he needs to see you."

"Yes, of course," he agreed.

"This morning, I'll let him just get used to the place, play with the others; we've even got a Quidditch pitch out back. Small one, but my boys seems to enjoy it well enough. This afternoon, I have some chores need doing, and thought Harry could pitch in. Pumpkins need to be thinned, and--"

"No."

"Pardon?" Molly asked, taking a sip of her own tea.

"I don't want him doing chores."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Whyever not? I've always found chores to be a great way to build a sense of responsibility and it certainly helps keep this fam--"

Severus cut her off again. This was an issue he was not going to budge on, but he would try his best to make her understand. "Harry was treated worse than a House Elf by his relatives. They worked him like a slave, with food as his only reward, though starvation was the norm, and beatings as punishment if he did not get their impossible-to-finish lists done. I won't have him think he's gone back to that now."

"But Severus, you know we would never--"

"I know you wouldn't treat him like that, of course not, and neither would Arthur. But Harry doesn't know it. He doesn't know you well enough. All he would understand is that I had left him somewhere, and he's being told to work again, by people he has to obey or else." He kept his tone as steady as possible, but he could feel his anger rising. Could she not understand? His fingers clenched around the teacup. "I will not let him think for one moment that he has gone back to being someone's slave, not for a heartbeat, even if I know it isn't true."

Her blue eyes narrowed as she peered at him, trying to read something in his expression. Whatever it was she was looking for, she must have found it because she nodded shortly and said, "Very well. I would, however, like to revisit the possibility of chores at some later date, Severus. I still believe they are a good learning tool."

"Perhaps," he acquiesced, "once he no longer has nightmares about those horrible Muggles."

"Every night still?" Her moment of pique vanished and she was all concern again. When Severus nodded, she sighed. "That poor boy."

"Indeed." He smiled a little into his cup as he considered her words. Frankly, he thought Harry was one of the strongest willed people he knew, or had ever known. In spite of all he had gone through, he still had the ability to laugh and smile, to trust and to love. His son's resilience was both humbling and awe inspiring. Harry made every minute of lost sleep worth losing and every moment of worry worth dealing with, so long as he was allowed to spend time with his son, the greatest gift he had ever been given.

Despite what Harry had expected, the yard outside the Weasleys' front door was nothing like outside the Dursleys' door. The Dursleys had a perfectly manicured lawn, perfectly trimmed hedges and perfectly weeded flower beds, all in perfect little rows. Harry ought to know, having done almost all that work himself -- though Aunt would never in a million years have told him it was perfect. The Dursleys' drive, where they parked their clean and shiny sedan, was asphalt, with only a couple tiny cracks in it, and the door was painted bright white, with a black "4" hanging just to the right of it on the front of the house.

The Weasleys' yard, however, was nothing like that. They didn't have a drive, nor even a car. They hadn't any hedges to block the view into the next yard; there was no "next yard" at all! No neighbors to peer over the fence and pry into their business, or to yell at The Boy for making too much noise while working outdoors in the early morning. Their front yard was part chicken coop, with several chickens scratching at the earth and squawking in their odd voices, and part odd collection of brooms and wellingtons.

Standing by the coop, Harry gaped around him, mouth hanging open, wondering what they were going to have to fix first, when Ron said, "Never seen a chicken before, Harry?"

He shook his head. "Only in a book," he admitted. At his primary school.

"Wish I had," Ron said. "These stink, and they'll claw your eyes out if you're not careful."

Ginny came up beside him and said, "Nuh-uh. Mum said that wasn't true. I asked. Mum says the chickens are doss-ull."

Ron puffed himself up. "Well, George told me they . . ." He trailed off and glared at his older brothers, who were giggling together by the corner of the house. "You said they'd claw my eyes out!" he yelled.

George snickered harder. "Don't believe everything--"

"--you hear, little brother," Fred finished his sentence for him.

"You oughtta know that by now."

Ron turned back to Harry and rested his head on his arms. Under his breath, he muttered, "I hate those two."

Harry bit his lip, not knowing what to say. Dudley often screamed that he hated Harry -- though what he said was, "I hate that freak!" -- and Harry did not doubt it for a second. But Ron didn't seem to really hate his brothers, not for true. He often played with them and laughed with them, especially when they were playing Gobstones or something like that. Dudley had never played with Harry or laughed with him, only laughed at him, and beat him up with his friends.

It was very confusing.

The next moment proved even more so, when Fred and George called for them from around the corner of the house, and Ron perked up with a grin and a laugh and ran alongside Harry to see what the twins were up to.

Harry rounded the corner of the building to see both boys up on brooms, a good ten feet above Harry's head. He stared up at them, wanting to be up there with them. Flying was the only time he felt free, and sure that no one and nothing could hurt him. When he was in his father's arms, he felt safe, but there was always that niggling fear that someone could still get to him.

Even if he wanted to be up in the air with the others, he could never ask for such a thing. He was not allowed to ask for anything. He was learning, slowly, that if someone -- like his father, or Mrs. Weasley -- offered him something, he could accept. But even that was oft times hard to remember, since Dudley had often played the trick on him of offering something -- food, a toy, a shirt that had no rips in it -- and then swiping the thing away when Harry said yes. He would then run to his parents and tell them that Harry was trying to steal his stuff.

Harry had learned his lessons very well, though from the beatings he still got, until his father came, no one would have known.

Ron could ask, though. Obviously. He jumped up and down, hands in the air as if he could catch one of his brothers if he leapt high enough. "I wanna play! I'll be Chaser, okay? Okay, George? I can be Chaser, right?"

"I dunno, Ronniekins. Chaser?" one of the twins said and grinned, turning to the other. "He'd make a better Bludger, wouldn't he?"

"Right you are," said the other, who Harry was pretty sure was George, really. "The way he knocks into things."

"You want to be a Bludger?" They both asked Ron at the same time.

"No! That's stupid. I wanna be Chaser!"

The argument went on a few more minutes, until Ginny shouted that she would be a Bludger, and the boys all stopped fighting, looking horrified by her suggestion. Harry didn't really understand the situation. Nobody could be a Bludger, he didn't think, 'cause that was the ball the Beaters hit. Wasn't it?

Maybe he had it all wrong. It wouldn't be the first time.

Regardless, they were all up on brooms a few minutes after that, with no one being a Bludger, not even Ginny. The pitch was no more than a field with a goal post at either end, but Harry found it strangely beautiful despite the lack of precision and straight rows of flowers. Or maybe because of that lack.

"It's all hid from the Muggles," Fred said, as if that made sense to Harry.

"Dad's real careful about that," added George, kicking off into the air again.

"They live over there, Muggles do," Fred told him, pointing off in the distance where Harry could just see the tip of a church spire.

"And they don't even know we're here!"

They played for a good long time, everyone alternately playing Chaser or Beater, and only when they were all sweaty and the score was around a million points for each team -- as neither had a Keeper or Seeker -- did they end the game.

"Mum said to show Harry the pumpkins," said Ron as they put up the brooms. The twins suddenly remembered they had somewhere else to be, but when they tried to escape the yard, a call from their mother brought them back to Ron, Ginny, and Harry, and a reluctant trip to the pumpkin patch.

The garden was smaller by far than Hagrid's, but the pumpkins were large and very round, and were just turning orange. Ron walked through the rows, pointing out the ones he had planted himself, as Ginny did the same. Harry said they looked good.

"You ever planted anything?" Ron asked him.

He nodded. Every spring. Aunt Petunia liked annuals as well as perennials, and so every spring and summer, he was on his knees in the dirt, mulching, hoeing, weeding, watering, and all the rest. He knew how to plant things, and how to make sure they were properly taken care of after that. Many of his early beatings were earned while learning this skill.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Daffodils," Harry replied. "Roses, delphiniums, peonies, daisies, nemesia, geraniums, snapdragons--"

"Whoa there, boy-o," said Fred, leaning over the little fence meant to keep rabbits and deer and such out; Harry thought it was too short for the latter, and the spacing too wide for the former. But maybe there was something different about growing things way out here in the country, that people in Little Whinging knew nothing about. Something magic.

Harry stopped his recitation, having not gotten half way through yet, and said, "Sorry, Fred."

"'S'okay. Did you really plant all that stuff?"

"Yes."

"How come?" asked Ron. "Did your Dad make you?"

Harry shook his head. "No. The Dursleys."

The other children exchanged a silent look, and Harry wondered why.

"How come?" Ron asked, and then one of the twins shoved him, hard enough so he fell in the dirt. "Ow! Geroff!"

"You're not s'posed to--"

"--Ask him about that lot, Ronniekins. When'll you--"

"--Learn to keep your gob shut?"

"Shut up! I didn't mean it!" Ron yelled, and looked like he might cry.

Harry didn't understand why, since the push had not been that hard, and Ron wasn't bleeding or anything. But he did understand big kids pushing little kids around, and he moved suddenly, swiftly, to place himself in between Ron and his brothers. Just because no one had ever stuck up for him against Dudley, didn't mean he couldn't stick up for others. "Leave him alone," he said in a low, quiet voice. His hands were curled into fists at his sides.

"Looka the fierce, little fighter," said Fred. His red eyebrows were hidden under his fringe they had climbed so high. He didn't look angry, but surprised.

"Sticking up for ickle Ronnikins," added George, who also appeared startled, but with a tiny, almost approving, smile.

"Who woulda thought?"

Harry didn't say anything, just lifted his chin a fraction higher. He couldn't help but swallow hard, though. Both of them were far bigger than him, and outnumbered him besides.

Fred gave a laugh. "Merlin, Harry, don't worry on 'bout it."

"We wouldn't ever really hurt him," George said.

"He's our brother, for Merlin's sake."

Harry nodded, but not like it meant anything. Brothers, he figured, could turn on you as quick as cousins.

George shook his head with a sigh. "Oh, c'mon, Ronnie. Stop your whinging."

"We're sorry, all right? Quit it or--"

"Mum'll hear and call us all in."

Ron had already climbed to his feet and now pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes for a second, to wipe away the tears which had barely had time to collect, never mind fall. "S'all right," he said as he turned to Harry and grinned a sudden gap-toothed grin. "I'm all right. You really stood up to 'em for me. Ta, Harry."

With another nod, Harry smiled back a bit, but gave the twins a wary look over Ron's shoulder. He didn't know why Fred had knocked Ron down, but he would keep an eye on them from now on.

"Boys!" a call came from the front of the house. "Ginny! Come here, please!"

"What d'you figure she wants now?" George grumbled.

Fred kicked a stone with a scuffed trainer. "Probably wants to know why were not done thinning the pumpkin patch yet."

George gave his twin a sly smile. "Maybe we can--"

Fred nodded as he continued their thought, "--Make out for the orchard--"

"--Before she gets wise to us?"

"Race ya!" they called to each simultaneously. Ron, Ginny and Harry watched them dart to the other side of the house and away towards the nearby orchard.

"C'mon," Ron said as he glared after them. "They might get away with ducking out, but we won't." He trudged around to where their mother had been calling.

"Boys!" she was yelling again, just as they rounded the corner. "Gin-- Oh! There you are. Come here, Harry dear. Your father is Flooing back to Hogwarts for the afternoon and would like to say goodbye."

Harry froze in his tracks. He'd forgotten. Father had told him that he would be here for the afternoon without Father, and he had forgotten. He didn't want to say goodbye. Maybe, if he didn't say goodbye, Father wouldn't leave. . . .

But he had been given a direct order, so he moved closer to the door, where Mrs. Weasley was standing.

"That's a dear," Mrs. Weasley cooed, smiling down at him. Then she cocked her head slightly and peered at Ron. "Where have your brothers gone, Ronnie?"

Ron tried a shrug and a look down at his trainers in silence, but Mrs. Weasley wasn't buying it. "It's hardly your fault they're made themselves scarce, Ronnie; just tell me where they went off to."

"The orchard," Ginny piped up, and Harry gaped at her. He could not abide tattlers. Dudley was the worst he'd ever met, of course, but tattlers of any stripe were horrifying to him.

"Thank you, Ginny sweetie. Come on in, all of you. I have lunch ready. Harry, your father is in the sitting room."

Sidestepping Ginny-the-Tattler, even as Ron stuck his tongue out at her, and she reciprocated, Harry mumbled a, "Thank you, ma'am," to Mrs. Weasley and darted into the house. He found the sitting room again, no problem, and his father, too.

Father!" he cried, and ran at him, launching himself into his father's arms as soon as he was close enough to do so. Father, fortunately, caught him and held him close. Holding Harry against his chest, with one hand behind Harry's head, he sat down in a soft, patterned chair to the side of the fireplace, with Harry straddling his knees.

"What's wrong, Harry? Did something happen? Are you hurt?"

Harry shook his head and pressed his face into the crook of his father's shoulder, where it met his neck. "No, Father," he said in a low voice. "Please, don't go."

Father made a soft sighing sound. "I must," he said. "I have work to do for my classes, and you need to get used to being here without me."

Harry shook his head again, silently.

"Yes, Harry. I have to go now."

Harry held him just a bit tighter.

Father sighed and squeezed Harry back, but his voice was tinged with sadness as he spoke. "Please, son. I promise to return in . . . in just four hours, all right? I'm sure Mrs. Weasley will give you some sort of timer, if you ask her. But we have to do this. I need to work, and you need to make new friends, and to learn your lessons so you'll be ready for Hogwarts in a few years. You want to learn as much as you can, don't you?"

Harry wanted to tell him about Ron hating his brothers, and how Fred was a bully just like Dudley, except not really, since he seemed truly sorry afterwards, and how Ginny was a tattler who would get Harry into trouble plenty, he knew, and he wanted to beg his father to let him go home with him. But Father had asked a direct question, and he knew he was being a clingy baby. And he was no baby.

He loosened his grip and slipped out of his father's arms. "Yes, sir," he said, looking down. "Sorry, sir."

"Look at me, Harry."

Harry made himself look up into his father's face, expecting to see disappointment, or worse. But he didn't. Father merely shook his head a little with a fond glimmer in the depths of his dark eyes. "What are you to call me?"

Harry smiled back. A little. "Father." He shifted from one foot to the other. "Sorry, Father."

Father's eyes wrinkled at the corners, the way Harry knew his smile deepened. "Don't be. This situation is strange for both of us, I daresay. Neither of us has had anyone else we cared for so dearly before that we would fear missing them so much in just four hours."

"I'm not afraid," Harry burst out, before he could think.

"No?" Father's lips twisted up briefly at the corners. "I am."

"You?"

"Yes, me. I will miss you while I'm at home correcting abominable essays written by cretins or the worst kind, when I'd far rather be with you, reading one of our stories or playing chess or taking a walk in the orchard together. But those essays must be done." Another twist of those thin lips. "And I fear to start them."

To his chagrin, Harry knew he would rather be here than at Hogwarts, if Father was only going to correct essays and not read with him and all that.

"Like homework," Harry said with a grimace.

"Exactly like." Father opened his arms, and Harry stepped into another hug, this one not as frantic as the last. This time, Harry could breathe. "But I will come get you when I finish, and you will have fun here until I do. I believe Mrs. Weasley has lunch ready for you, too."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Father gave a soft chuckle and scolded lightly, "Mind your manners, child. I'll be back before you know it. Come now," he said, standing up and taking Harry's hand. He led Harry back towards the kitchen and big dining table that could seat most of Slytherin House, probably. In the kitchen sink, pots were washing themselves, and with a sudden spray of water, rinsing themselves, too. He wondered if they had House Elves here, but they must be invisible, if so.

Mrs. Weasley approached them with a plate and a bowl. "Harry dear, sit down right there, there's a boy. Here's tomato soup and sandwiches for lunch. She placed the bowl of creamy red soup and a plate with two ham and cheese sandwiches in front of Harry, then waved her wand to make a spoon and a glass of milk appear. Harry gawked at the display, but then tucked into his meal -- everyone else was already doing so; Ron was almost done with his second sandwich, in fact, just cramming it into his mouth.

"He'll be fine, Severus," Mrs. Weasley said. "Don't worry about a thing."

Father gave her one of his hard looks, like the ones he gave Headmaster Dumbledore sometimes, but she just laughed and waved him away before she turned back to the table.

"Good day," Father said. "Remember your manners as a guest, Harry." And then he was gone, and a hole opened up in Harry's chest a mile wide. Father had promised to come back, though, which was the only reason Harry wasn't chasing after him right now and tearing through the Floo to find him and hold onto him and never let go.

He had promised.

He had promised

As the time to go collect Harry crept closer, Severus checked the time religiously, not wanting to be late. He had promised his son he would be there on time, and he meant to keep that promise no matter what. Therefore, when it was only a quarter hour till he was due to return to the Weasleys, Severus was vexed to find Dumbledore calling him through his floo.

"What do you want?" he said, his tone more clipped than he would have normally employed with his employer, but he had a timetable to keep. "Sir?"

Dumbledore frowned slightly, but said nothing about Severus' tone. Instead, he said, "Severus, my dear boy, I have a situation I need to discuss with you."

"Can it wait, Headmaster? I have somewhere to be, very soon."

"I'm afraid it cannot. It should not take too long. Would you care to floo through to my office? The current password is Fizzing Whizbees."

Severus suppressed a snarl, barely. "Yes, of course. I'll be there straight away."

"Excellent, Severus. Excellent. I'll expect you shortly."

Pressing his lips together, Severus waited till Albus' face disappeared before he grabbed the box of floo powder on his mantle and threw a handful into his fire as he called for the Burrow. "Molly!" he yelled immediately afterwards. "Molly Weasley!"

Though his face was viewing the Weasleys' sitting room, he heard a scattering of sound from another room, including a cry from Harry, he was sure. After a moment, Molly's face was in front of him.

"Severus!" she said, surprised. "Goodness, you startled me. Well, come on through then. Harry's anxious for you."

Severus swallowed his anger and disappointment. "I have a meeting with Albus, presently. Please let Harry know I'll come for him as soon as I can. Tell him I'm sorry--"

"Father!" Harry called, and Severus saw him running into the room, a mixture of relief and joy suffusing his pale face.

"I'll be back in just a few minutes, all right, Harry?" he said quickly. He knew Albus was waiting, and though he wanted to skewer the man for making him break his promise to his son, he couldn't do anything of the sort and keep his job. But he would make it up to the boy; he had to.

"Father, it's time to go home, right? I can come home now?"

"Soon, Harry. I'll be back soon." He turned to Molly. "Molly, would you please . . ."

"Of course," the woman said, and thankfully rose and went to Harry. "Come on, Harry dearie, let's get that picture finished before your father comes to pick you up, all right?"

"But Daddy's right there!" Harry cried again, and lunged for the fireplace. Severus couldn't take the expression on his face, not on top of the guilt he was already feeling. He pulled back, out of the floo, and heard the end of Harry's call of, "No!! Father, wait!!"

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, Severus counted to ten before he took another handful of powder and snapped, "Fizzing Whizbees," even as he cursed Albus Dumbledore in his mind.

---

Molly cursed Severus in her mind, even as she cuddled the poor boy, Harry, to her chest in an attempt to calm him. She had never found a boy less fond of cuddling, though, and after he thrashed about for a moment or two, she let him go, with the admonishment to "stay out of the fireplace."

Even as he stumbled away from her, he obeyed, albeit barely, coming to a halt on his knees inches in front of the hearth stones. He looked so broken and lost, she just didn't know what to say to him. It would have been better for Harry, she thought, if Severus had just gone to his meeting and come afterwards, if a little late, than to put the boy through this. On the other hand, Harry had been watching the timer she had set for him in the kitchen like a hawk, ever since Severus had gone at lunchtime, counting down the time till his return. Who knew, but he might have been more upset if Severus had not shown up on time with no warning.

Then she gathered herself and approached the boy. She was a mother to seven children; surely she could pacify one homesick boy.

"Come now, Harry, come back to the kitchen and we'll finish those drawings," she offered again.

Harry shook his head. His arms were wrapped around his body, as if he were hugging himself.

"How about a nice cakie, sweetheart? Or some cocoa?"

"No, ma'am," he whispered. "Want Father."

"I know you do, Harry dear." She sighed, wanting to soothe his obvious hurt. "But the Headmaster called him in for a meeting just now. There wasn't anything he could do but go. He said he was sorry he had to be later than he planned, but he'll be here as soon as he's able."

"He promised." Harry was barely audible, though Molly was crouching right beside him. "He promised."

"I know," Molly told him, her heart breaking for the boy. For Severus, too, if she could admit it. "And he said he was awful sorry. He looked sorry, to me, in fact. Looked very unhappy. But I'm sure he doesn't want you to be miserable, too. He'd rather you were well and happy, I know it."

But Harry was shaking his head as if he didn't believe her, even as his body rocked slightly, back and forth. Glancing over his shoulder, she caught sight of her two youngest, and beckoned them into the room. "Ginny? Come here a minute. Ronnie, go and bring in that game you were playing earlier. Gobstones, was it? Let's have a game with Harry here."

"Inside, Mum?" Ronnie looked at her, aghast. "You never let us play that inside."

It was true; she hated getting the sticky mess of the stones on her carpet or even on the stone flagging. But it was easy enough to clean up, in truth, just a little swish of the wand. And she knew Harry loved the game. "Just this once. I think Harry would like to stay by the hearth, so he's all ready to go when his father comes for him. All right, Ronnie?"

Her youngest son grinned. "All right, Mum!" He scampered away to get the set of stones, and Ginny crept closer to where Harry was huddled in front of the fireplace.

"You okay, Harry?" the girl asked, and Molly smiled at her, pleased that she asked after him. Ginny was sometimes so boisterous with her brothers that she didn't have a care for anyone else's feelings, just needing to make sure she was heard above the fray.

Harry didn't answer. His mouth was moving, though, but Molly could not hear what he was saying. When Molly leaned a bit closer to him, she heard his harshly whispered words: "Stupid, ugly, horrid, unnatural freak. You're a freak. Unwanted, horrible, nasty, little freak. . . ."

His arms were still hugging himself tightly, as if he had never been hugged by another person, or been given comfort at all in his short life. Molly could not even imagine such a horrible thing. When she touched his shoulder, to offer him some comfort, and perhaps pull him into a hug, he jerked back as if he had been burnt, and his harsh words about himself went up in volume. "Such a stupid, ungrateful, loathsome, nasty freak! Can't touch, no one can touch you, you dirty, little freak."

He continued on in this vein and seemed unwilling to stop, even when Molly told him again and again he wasn't any of those things. It was like he didn't hear her, or didn't want to believe her. Or maybe that he couldn't.

Ginny had drawn back from him, looking as though she wanted to cry. Drawing her daughter into her arms and holding her tight, Molly could completely understand.

----

"What is so all fired important that you had to speak to me now, Headmaster?" Severus asked as he stepped out of the floo, peeved beyond measure.

"Have a seat, Severus," Albus said instead of answering. He gestured to one of the empty ones in front of his desk, and it was only then that Severus realized he was not alone with Dumbledore in the office. "Please."

With an irritated huff of breath, he complied, sinking into a chair and taking in the other two people in the office, a man and a woman . . . both of whom looked familiar. The woman was middle aged and rather stately looking, with short graying hair and thick eyebrows, and the man was tall -- Severus could tell, even while he was sitting -- bald, and black, with a gold earring in one ear. Then it hit him: Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt. The former was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the latter was an Auror of some repute.

Suddenly, Severus was glad he was sitting. There was only one reason these two would be waiting for him in Dumbledore's office. His thoughts immediately went to Harry, and he mourned the fact that he would never get a chance to say goodbye to his son. He turned a panicked gaze on his erstwhile employer, trying desperately to think of what he had done to make Dumbledore decide to ship him off to Azkaban. Had he stepped over the line with one of his students? Had a parent complained about his harsh words or numerous detentions, to make Dumbledore realize he should not have a former Death Eater on staff?

Grasping at some semblance of courage, he drew himself up, assuming a disdainful countenance. He would go quietly, with dignity, but he decided that he must learn the Headmaster's reasoning for doing this now. Had he not been a faithful servant since his return to the Light seven years ago? "Albus," he said, deliberately using a familiar form of address, so as to remind the man on the other side of the desk that they had once been close, close enough for Severus to trust him with his deadliest secrets. "Would you do me the courtesy of telling me why?"

"Why what, my dear boy?" Albus asked, infuriatingly. His bright blue eyes were serious, with ne'er a twinkle, but the Headmaster did not look angry or disappointed. More . . . wary? Did he think Severus would put up a fight? Well, he would, if only for Harry's sake, if there was some chance he could get away and get to the Burrow before being caught . . . but where would such a tactic get him? Nowhere, except a life on the run, subjecting Harry to the same, or, if he were unable to get to Harry first, he would never see his son again, regardless of whether he was in prison.

"Why what?" Severus repeated sharply. "How about, why you deemed it necessary to have me arrested," Severus said sharply, not adding the now, as he would have liked. His life was just falling into place, and Albus knew it, with a new career teaching dunderheaded brats, which he could likely have done without, but more importantly, he was just getting to know his son, and that he could never do without. Not anymore. His voice was thick with emotion as he accused, "I thought we had an understanding."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Severus had the rare pleasure of seeing Albus shocked. The older wizard's mouth actually dropped open. "Severus, I . . ." He also seemed at a loss for words. A double whammy, to be sure. Did he think Severus would not figure out why these two were here? He was insulted, if that were the case.

But Albus was shaking his head, seemingly having recovered his lost composure. His expression had turned rather wry, in fact. "Ms. Bones and Mr. Shacklebolt are not here for you, Severus. Not directly. I am sorry if I gave you that impression."

The moment's relief Severus felt, all the way from head to toes, with the single thought that he was not being locked away from his son reverberating through his heart and mind, over and over, lighting up something akin to joy in his very being . . . that relief vanished utterly in the next second when Dumbledore continued, "No, no, my dear boy. They came to tell me that Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban."

Now it was Severus' turn to be at a loss. Why would Dumbledore be telling him this? It was not as if he could not protect himself from the murderous, back-stabbing Black anymore. He was a far cry from the stumbling, awkward seventeen-year-old the bastard had tormented while at Hogwarts, and Black no longer had an audience to play for, either, what with Potter dead. . . .

Oh, God. No.

It hit him, all at once, and in that instant all of his bones melted. He could not have held himself upright even under the Imperious. He slid down bonelessly in his chair, and noted in some distant portion of his mind that Dumbledore had come around from behind his desk and to his side, almost as quickly as if he had Apparated there.

"Severus." The word echoed as if from across a vast space. "Severus, it's all right. Harry will be protected."

It would not be all right. Black had all but murdered the Potters, although he used the Dark Lord's wand to do it.

Severus' bones appeared as if by magic, and he sat forward in his chair, fists clenched as tightly as his jaw. He snarled, "How can you say that!? That lunatic blew up twelve Muggles, just to get at Pettigrew! He'll stop at nothing to kill my son, just like he tried to six years ago!"

And then Severus gasped, having let that particular kneazle out of the cauldron. He pressed a trembling hand to his face. This was not one of his better days.

"Severus, it's all right," came Dumbledore's calm tones again. The understanding in his voice was nearly Severus' undoing. But he had to keep it together, had to keep up appearances. "Both Ms. Bones and Auror Shacklebolt already know of your adoption of Harry." Underlying that statement was the hint that they did not know that Harry was, in truth, his biological son. Perhaps Albus did not want them to know, for some reason. Perhaps he was letting Severus decide on his own whether to tell them. Yes, Severus thought, Albus might be that subtle. His employer -- still? he wondered -- went on, "Amelia, in fact, was my contact at the Ministry who aided us in getting the paperwork through so quickly."

Gulping down a breath like it was razor wire, Severus could do nothing but nod, his face still covered by his hands. Sirius Black had escaped from the most secure prison in the wizarding world. How was that even possible? And how long would it take for him to come after Harry and finish the job he'd started when Harry was just a babe in Lily's arms?

He had to go to the Burrow. He had to see if Harry was all right. What if Black had discovered where Harry was? Oh, god!

He was already out of his chair and halfway to the fireplace and the floo network when Dumbledore brought him up short. "Severus. Becalm yourself. Black can not have found him already. We must discuss what precautions you and Harry must take now."

Severus stared at the Headmaster incredulously. How could he be expected to carry on a conversation with his son in mortal danger?

"Sit, Severus," Albus said more forcefully, and Severus felt compelled to obey the tone of voice that the Headmaster used with him so infrequently. He collapsed into the chair he had recently vacated. "Running off half-cocked will do neither of you any good," Dumbledore continued, and pushed a tin of sweets at him, whilst giving him an earnest smile. "Lemon sherbet?"

It was all Severus could do not to scream.

---

When Severus finally reached the Weasleys, it was almost three hours later than he had originally promised his son he would be there. Within seconds of coming through the floo, he was kneeling in front of the hearth. Harry was in his arms, sobbing his relief, and Severus, for just a moment, nearly joined him with tears of his own.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he whispered over and over into the boy's fine, dark hair as he patted circles on the boy's back, attempting to soothe the tight muscles of his back and shoulders. "I'm so sorry I was late. I'm so sorry, Harry, please believe me. . . ."

From the look on Molly Weasley's face, and her husband's, as they sat next to each other on the sofa with their hands clasped together for support, the last three hours had been rough on them, too. While cupping Harry's head against his chest, he mouthed words of apology to the two of them, earning a sharp nod from Arthur and a tear-filled sniff from Molly. He would apologize better later. He could not afford to antagonize her at all, as without their cooperation, Harry would not be able to come back here again. Not until Black was captured and Kissed by the Dementors they had waiting for his return to Azkaban.

Rather than rely on their unstinting cooperation, though, Severus had been willing to take Harry and run, just to not be anywhere that Black could get a hold of him. They would go far from Hogwarts, or the Burrow, or even the whole of Britain. They would go somewhere far, far away and be safe.

Merlin knew, though -- as did, apparently, Albus Dumbledore -- that no where would be truly safe from the likes of Sirius Black. No one in the Ministry knew how he had broken out of Azkaban, but that he had done so meant he had the tenacity and drive to find Harry anywhere in the world and finish the Dark Lord's job. Thus, Severus realized, (with Albus' help, of course, after much debate) that he would be better off just making his home and the other places he frequented as impenetrable as possible against that filthy murderer's incursion.

Harry's sobs had turned to hitched breaths and hiccups, but Severus did not relinquish his grip on his son, still holding him close, wrapping him in as much safety and warmth as he could, while he could.

"I would never leave you, Harry," he said, now that the boy was probably able to hear him again. "Never. You're my son, forever and ever, and I'm very sorry I was late." He pressed a kiss to the top of the boy's head. "Please believe me, Harry. I will always return for you."

"O-okay," came the stuttered acceptance, along with a hard squeeze from Harry's thin arms which had snaked around Severus' neck where he was clinging for dear life.

Nodding once, Severus stood, still holding his son in his arms. "Molly. Arthur," he said solemnly and inclined his head. "I need to ask you an enormous favor."

Harry clung to his father as they stood up together, and managed to stay in his arms, settled on his father's hip. He was never going to let go. Never. Father would never leave him, he'd said, and Harry meant to hold him to that promise.

"Of course, Severus," Mrs. Weasley said immediately. "Anything you need."

Mr. Weasley, who was a tall man, with red hair like his sons, and whose skin got red when he was upset, even if he didn't yell like Uncle Vernon, put a hand on Mrs. Weasley's arm. "Why don't you let him tell us first, Moll?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded tiredly. "Of course. Just tell us, Severus."

Father hugged Harry a little tighter, and his voice sounded odd when he said, "Sirius Black has escaped."

The result of those words, which Harry didn't even understand, was immediate. Both of the Weasleys opened their eyes real wide, and Mrs. Weasley covered her mouth with her hand, as if she was going to puke and was trying to hold it in. Harry felt kind of bad for her. She had tried to help him calm down when Father told him he couldn't come back, but he had refused her offers of cakies and other puddings, and games and stories and everything.

Finally, though, he had gone to sleep and only woken up when Father came through the Floo at last. Harry thought, probably, he'd only slept because she had spelled him with her wand, 'cause he never would have stopped waiting for Father otherwise. Father never spelled him; only when he was hurt and needed Healing. But she'd been almost as upset as Harry, he thought, and he felt bad for upsetting her.

And now she was upset again, and Harry didn't know why.

"Oh my," said Mr. Weasley. "Did he really," he continued, and it didn't sound like a question. "From Azkaban. Goodness."

"What's Azkaban?" Harry asked.

Father startled and peered at Harry's face, as if he'd forgotten -- though how could he have, with Harry in his arms? -- that Harry was even there.

"Perhaps," Mrs. Weasley said slowly, "we should get you something to eat, Harrikins, in the kitchen, while the grownups talk out here."

Harry paled. "No," he begged. "Father, don't send me 'way. Please?"

After drawing a long breath, Father gave a tiny nod. Harry's stomach unknotted. "Harry will stay in here, Molly. But Harry, you must understand that what we are going to speak of is very . . . troublesome. It concerns a very bad man who hurt a lot of people, both Wizards and Muggles. We might say things that sound frightening this evening, but I do not want for you to be frightened. I will protect you from him, I swear I will."

"I know you will, Father," Harry told him. Of course Father would.

The skin around Father's eyes crinkled, just a smidge, so Harry knew he was smiling on the inside. Father nearly always smiled just on the inside. "Very well." Father sat on a chair near the sofa and settled Harry on his lap. He directed his attention to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley again, but his hand rubbed small circles on Harry's back, which was very soothing. Harry leaned against him and held his father's other hand between his own, feeling comforted by the very sense of touch. The Dursleys had never touched him, except when they hurt him, but Father was nothing like them at all.

Father said, "I've just spent the last three hours with Dumbledore, determining what safety precautions Harry and I must take, to protect him from Black. Hogwarts is, obviously, the safest place for him--" He stopped short when Harry tugged on his hand. "What is it, son?"

Turning his face up to see his father's, Harry hesitated. He was about to break one of the most important rules he had ever learned at the Dursleys: don't ask questions. But he had already broken the "Don't interrupt" rule, and Father hadn't yelled at him, so he thought maybe it would be all right. Besides, Father had told him again and again that he was allowed to ask questions, so he swallowed down his fear and said, "You didn't say what Azkaban is."

Father nodded, with the expression that meant he understood more than just what Harry was saying. He gave Harry a little squeeze to show he wasn't angry. "No, I didn't. But I am glad you reminded me to tell you. Azkaban is a wizarding prison."

"Where they send bad little boys, right?"

Mrs. Weasley barked a laugh that sounded half a sob, and Mr. Weasley looked shocked. But Father just shook his head and said, "No. This prison is for murderers and thieves and Wizards who commit awful crimes. And as I've told you, boys who are bad only get sent to their rooms, or have their brooms taken away for a week."

With a sigh of relief at learning the truth of another of Uncle's lies, Harry smiled softly, remembering his and Draco's adventure in the lake. "Who's Serious Black?"

"Sirius," Father corrected, and Harry heard the difference this time. Maybe. "And he . . . he was a very bad man who helped kill Lily and James."

Harry felt his mouth drop open. "My parents?" he gasped.

For some reason, Father's whole body stilled for just a moment, but then he nodded anyway. "Black betrayed them to the Dark Lord, Harry, and then, when he was confronted with his perfidy, he killed another of their friends, as well as a dozen Muggles. The Aurors caught him and he was sent to Azkaban."

Harry could help but shudder. "And h-he es-escaped?"

"Stop it, Severus!" Mrs. Weasley said sharply. "You're scaring him."

"I'm not scared!" Harry retorted. He was, though, a bit. It wasn't every day you found out a murderer was on the loose. And worse, Sirius Black had betrayed his parents . . . "What's that mean, 'betrayed them'?"

Father sighed. "James and Lily were under a special spell that hid them, and you, too, from anyone who wasn't their friend, and didn't already know where they were living. It's called the Fidelius Charm, and the only way a person can find your home, if you're under it, is if the Secret Keeper tells them your address." A corner of Father's lip twisted up in a vicious sneer, making his face almost ugly. "That idiot, Potter, trusted Black and made him their Secret Keeper."

"And he told the Dark Lord where to find them," Harry whispered. How could someone do that to his friends? he wondered. I wouldn't ever do such a thing to Ron or Draco or even Dudley, and I don't even like him. "He wanted them to die?"

With a nod, Father looked like he was about to go, but Harry realized something else suddenly and blurted, "He wanted me to die!"

Father hugged him closer, more tightly than almost ever before. In a low voice, he said, "Yes, Harry. And I fear he might try again."

"Might come after me, you mean."

"Yes."

"Severus," Mrs. Weasley said. "Do you really think you should be telling the boy all--"

"I will not lie to my son, Molly. He deserves to know the truth, even if it is frightening."

Harry was glad to hear that. He wanted to know, and he knew Father would protect him, so he wasn't scared. Not really. "Are we going to hide, Father? In the Fidel Us?"

"Actually, that's what I wanted to ask the Weasleys about. Hogwarts is very safe because of hundreds of years of warding, including that of the Founders, and at our other home, we are safe because of the Blood Wards. But if you are to still come here for studies and playing, we would need additional warding, to protect you from Black, should he come sniffing around." Father looked over the Weasleys on the sofa, and his expression was almost blank. "I would ask that, if you want Harry to keep coming to your home, that you allow us to put it under the Fidelius."

Mr. Weasley got up from the sofa and paced to the window. He stared out at what Harry knew was the back yard and the field where he and the others had played Quidditch. "I don't know, Severus. That's a pretty hefty charm to put here, when we have family all over the place that we'd have to inform. We love having Harry here, don't get me wrong, but you'll have to give us some time to consider."

"I understand," Father said, and a small line appeared next to his upper lip, which meant he was upset, but wouldn't say anything. He stood, placing Harry on his feet as he did, but Harry grabbed his hand and would not let go. "Thank you for your time this evening. And for caring for Harry today. I appreciate your hospitality. Good night."

As Mr. Weasley's mouth dropped open, Father strode toward the fireplace, his legs so long that Harry had to trot to keep up. Before they reached the hearth, however, Mrs. Weasley said, "Don't be ridiculous, Arthur! Of course we'll go under the charm. Harry needs a place to stay during the day, and we'll do all we can to protect him. Just like we would have for James and Lily!"

"Molly, let's discuss this--"

"There's no need," Mrs. Weasley insisted. "Severus was in the Order, just like we were. We all pledged our lives to the cause ten years ago. Do you think we should just turn a blind eye now? Sirius Black is a murderer, Arthur!"

"I know what he is," Mr. Weasley started, but his wife spoke right over him, "He as good as killed dear Lily and poor James, and he'll kill again. We need to help protect Harry!"

"I know." Mr. Weasley rubbed his hands over his face. "I know. You're right, of course." He looked over at Father. "Of course; we'll do anything to help."

Father had a funny look on his face, as if he were in pain, but not sure just where. But all he did was nod, and give Harry's hand a rather tight squeeze. "You'll need to decide who you want as Secret Keeper, and Albus said he would be available to cast the spell -- if you decided to take it on -- in the next few days, even tomorrow, should you wish it. Let him know when the best time will be. I'll not bring Harry back here until after then, of course."

"Of course!" Mrs. Weasley said agreeably. "I do hope we can have all this straightened out tomorrow."

"That would be best," said Father, and after a few more minutes of saying their good nights and Harry thanking Mrs. Weasley for taking care of him that day, they went back to Hogwarts.

Harry had never been so glad to see his own bed. Before he got in, though, he quickly dressed in night clothes and brushed his teeth, and fed Treacle Tart a little nibble from the biscuits he had in the back of his bottom drawer in the dresser. She purred and leant against him, begging for her chin to be scritched, and he obliged gladly, loving the soft feel of her fur on his fingers. It had been a long, long day, and he was just happy to be back home.

"Are you ready for bed?" Father called from the hallway.

Harry shoved the drawer closed before Father saw his secret stash of food. "Yes, Father!"

"Good." Father came in the room, carrying a book. "Hop in then, and we'll have a story, which I'm sure you'll miss half of when you fall asleep whilst I read."

"I won't!" Harry promised, but Father just lifted an eyebrow that said he didn't believe it. Harry thought maybe this time he was right; he was just so tired. "What story?"

"The Pauper King," Father answered, as Harry clambered into bed and pulled up his bedclothes. Treacle jumped right up after him and started turning circles near his left shoulder.

"I like that one," Harry said.

"I know." Father sat down beside Harry, resting his back against the headboard and started to read while Harry nestled in beside him. Treacle tried once to sprawl over the book, and Father pushed her away, so she started licking her paw instead, giving Father a cold, disdainful look.

Father had just turned the first page when Harry said, "Father? Do you really think he's going to try and kill me?"

Hand stilling on the page, Father closed his eyes briefly and sighed. "It's possible, son. That's why we're going to do everything we can to protect you. I won't let him hurt you."

"But why?" Harry asked. The question had been bothering him since he first heard about Sirius Black. "Why did he turn on my parents, Father? Why did he want us all dead?"

With another, smaller sigh, Father sat up a little straighter and moved so he and Harry could see each other's faces. Father's face was tense looking, and kind of . . . distressed. Like when he had heard about Aunt Petunia burning Harry's hand. "Sirius Black was a good friend of James Potter's. They were friends all through Hogwarts. But Black was never a nice man; never a good man, but an arrogant one who assumed he was better than others because he was richer, more powerful, and always picked on those weaker than he."

Father's mouth got thinner and thinner, until his lips were almost gone, except for that one lip that rose in a near snarl. "He did horrible things, even in school; I never trusted him, and I don't know if your mother ever did. . . . I would doubt it, really. Lily was very clever and kind . . ." Father stopped suddenly. He had been talking very fast, furiously, as if the subject of Sirius Black pained him and he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

Black sounded a bit like Dudley, in fact, and Harry knew from very personal experience how horrible such people could be.

Father went on, "James and Lily were very opposed to the Dark Lord, and I can only assume the Dark Lord offered Black something that he prized more than his friends in order to get their location. Maybe more power, or a way back into his family -- he had been disowned, last I heard. Who knows. The point is, he was in a position to destroy your family, and he took it."

"I hate him," Harry said hoarsely. He had never hated anyone more.

Father snaked an arm around behind his back and hugged him close. "You don't even know him."

"But he tried to get me killed, and anyway, he sounds mean, just like Dudders, picking on the littler kids. He was mean to you, wasn't he, Father? In school."

"He was, Harry." Father let out a harsh gust of breath. "If it were only that, I wouldn't be so absolute in keeping him away from you, but . . . I cannot forgive what he did to your mother."

Harry frowned. "Why would you ever let him come near me?"

"I would not want to, but he might have had legal . . ." Father frowned, then gave a small, cold smile. It almost gave Harry chills to see it. "He wouldn't, in fact," Father said, probably to himself, as he spoke the words so softly, "since James had no right to make him godfather at all . . ."

"Godfather? What?" Harry asked, just as the alarm sounded from the sitting room that meant they had a caller.

Father waved his wand to check the time, and frowned as he rose from Harry's bed. "I'll be right back," he said, but Harry slipped out of bed and followed him down the hall to the fireplace, where Professor Dumbledore's head bobbed alone, ringed in green fire.

"What is it, Albus that could not wait? It's nearly 11!"

"I'm sorry to intrude; I hope I haven't woken you--" the professor started.

Father interrupted, "Just spit it out, already. Harry needs his sleep, as do I."

"Very well, Severus. I hate to say it, but we were right. Sirius Black has been spotted in Hogsmeade."

Severus sucked in a breath. "Where?" he asked in a voice that was half gasp. "When?"

"The Hogshead," Albus said. "Not two hours ago. I have a contact there who--"

"Never mind that now." Severus turned to see Harry crouched against the wall in the hallway, and he beckoned the boy to him. Harry's expression was blank, but his thin shoulders were shaking ever so slightly, and his eyes were wide. Despite what assurances Severus had given him, it was obvious the boy was still afraid. And who would not be? Perhaps he was wrong in being so blunt about Black's history, and that bastard's motives in escaping. Perhaps he should have told the boy a sweet lie to make him feel better.

With a sigh, as Harry came into the circle of his arms, Severus decided, once more, not to do such a thing. Lies were for those without courage, and his son had courage in spades.

"I assume the wards have been adjusted?" In the discussion they'd had before Severus went to pick Harry up from the Weasleys, Albus had promised to make sure Black was specifically precluded from crossing the outer walls or entering through the gate into Hogwarts. Usually, former students were allowed access to the school, unless they had been individually banned.

"They have," the Headmaster said quietly. He hesitated, then added, "I'm afraid there's more. The Ministry has decided, based on the sighting at the Hogshead, to send Dementors to flush Black out."

Severus could not prevent the gasp that left his lips. He hugged Harry more tightly to his chest, as if he could possibly protect his son from those abominations that way. "Dementors, but . . ." They were never allowed away from Azkaban, so far as he knew. "What about the students?"

"The students will be told in the morning about places where they must not stray. The Dementors have been instructed by the Minister, he informed me, to stay by the outer perimeter of the school and not to enter the grounds unless they are summoned."

Shaking his head, Severus murmured, "Fudge is a fool. Since when do such creatures stay away from large populations on one man's say so? If they get too close to the school, they will tear through the student body like paper."

"I am well aware of the danger, Severus," Albus said tiredly. "The Minister is being particularly stubborn about this issue."

For a moment, Severus wondered why that might be, and when a possible answer came to him, his heart froze in his chest. "Do you think he knows about Harry?"

Albus' normal twinkle was gone already, so it was difficult to judge his emotional state, other than stressed and wary. Even so, the minute pause before he spoke was telling, in its own way. "I do not believe so."

"It is possible, however."

"Yes."

Damn. Once the Minister learned about Harry's status as Severus Snape's son -- adopted or natural -- there would be an outcry, no doubt about it. The only question was whether it would be public or not. Further, it was likely the Minister would attempt to take Harry away from him, believing the Boy Who Lived should never be even close to a Death Eater, never mind claim relation to him. That Severus had left the Dark Lord's service almost two years before that monster's demise didn't enter into the equation. It was why they were keeping Harry's whereabouts hush-hush.

"Knows what about me, Father?" a soft voice asked. Harry was resting his head on Severus' shoulder, and his green eyes looked black in the dimmed light of the sitting room.

Severus gave the boy's forehead a quick kiss and tightened his hold on his son. "That you are not with those Dursleys anymore."

Harry's body went completely still. Severus could feel the tension in every muscle of his tiny body, and immediately, he began rubbing circles on Harry's back, trying to soothe him. "Will the Mimster send me back?"

"No. Absolutely not. You're my son. You're staying with me."

In fact, given the current situation, with Black on the loose, he had half a mind to never let Harry out of his arms again, at least, not until that maniacal murderer was captured or killed. Or had his soul sucked out by Dementors.

Harry relaxed minutely. Not enough, though, not by a long shot.

"Will you return to Spinner's End?" Albus asked through the Floo. "I can make sure your classes are covered until this crisis is over."

Giving the idea serious consideration, Severus pursed his lips. Albus' generosity with regard to his classes was unexpected, and Severus could not dismiss the idea out of hand as he might have. "Perhaps. The Blood Wards will certainly keep Black out."

"Assuming he means Harry harm."

Severus' eyes narrowed as he gazed at the wizened Headmaster. "I believe that is a foregone conclusion."

Albus said nothing for a moment, then: "Did you speak to the Weasleys?"

"I did. They will go under Fidelius tomorrow, if you are available." Severus had, frankly, been amazed at the alacrity with which they had agreed to his request. Though the couple had been among the most active members of the Order of the Phoenix during the war, willing to do nearly anything to ensure the Dark Lord's downfall, as well as the most . . . forgiving of Severus' past affiliations, excepting Dumbledore perhaps, he had learned quite a long time ago not to take anything for granted. Obviously, Arthur had wanted to consider the ramifications of such a move more, and he could not blame the man; Severus would have done the same if such a request had been made of him -- not that it ever would. Molly, on the other hand, seemed willing to do absolutely anything to keep Harry safe, even a favor for a former Death Eater, and Severus had been taken aback by the swiftness of her decision.

"Excellent," Albus said. "I shall perform the ritual in the morning."

"Thank you." A soft sound from near his ear alerted him to the fact that Harry had fallen asleep, head still resting on his father's shoulder, his pale, little lips parted just enough to puff warm breaths against his neck. "I will let you know if I decide to go home."

"As soon as possible, please."

"Of course. Good night, Albus."

"Good night, my dear boy. Everything will work out for the best, I'm sure."

Severus could not abide such meaningless platitudes, so he ignored the Headmaster's last words in favor of cutting the Floo connection. A few minutes later, after laying Harry on his bed and tucking him into his quilts, he woke the boy gently so they could do their mind clearing exercises. Though not a perfect solution to Harry's nightmares by any stretch, the Occlumency-like exercises did seem to mitigate the length of time his son was caught up in such terrors, at least, and even kept him from screaming himself hoarse, some nights. Tonight, especially, he did not want to guess what shape Harry's nightmares would take.

Besides, although Severus had very few fond memories of his own childhood, the time spent with his mother on these same exercises before bed each night were chief among those. He hoped Harry would find this experience as peaceful and calming as Severus had when he was a child. Not to mention, he hoped it would strengthen the bond he had with his son. Having not been there for the first six of Harry's years, he never wanted his to doubt again that he was cared for, or that his father was near, ready and willing to aid him.

Despite the exercises, however, Harry woke with nightmares several times during the night. The second nightmare was a new one, of being chased by a big, black dog, all claws and slavering teeth. Severus knew Harry was, in general, frightened of dogs, due to his experiences with one called Ripper, a nasty little beast owned by Dursley's sister, who was another horrid, nasty beast herself. In specific, though, Harry seemed to like Fang, Hagrid's dog, and he had never had a nightmare about any other dog but Ripper as far as Severus knew.

Still, he supposed with everything that had happened today, Harry was likely to manifest more symptoms of his fear than new nightmares, and he soothed Harry through the aftermath of this one as he had any other.

In the morning, both of them were tired and anxious, and Severus decided to take his son home.

XX(Whelp)XX

Harry was uneasy. Though he liked being at Spinner's End, especially seeing Dappin again, Father was acting all weird. When Dappin let him help with dusting -- even letting Harry use the real feather duster, which he quite liked, with its colorful plumes and all -- Father followed them from room to room, carrying a book he pretended to read. And when Harry played out in the garden on his replacement broom (the first one having been eaten by a squid), Father sat on the bench near the back door, watching over the top of his book again. As far as Harry knew, Father didn't usually like being outdoors.

Also, he wouldn't let Harry eat lunch outside, even though he used to, before they moved to Hogwarts. Instead, they sat at the dining table together, with Harry nibbling on a sandwich and casting uneasy glances at his father.

"What is it, Harry?" Father asked at last. He hadn't eaten any of his own lunch, Harry noticed. His sandwich was cut into two pieces, still whole, and he still had eight apple slices on his plate. Harry liked having even numbers of food portions, like two, four and eight, whenever he could.

Harry bit his lip, not sure what Father meant, nor how he was supposed to answer that question. "Sorry, Father?"

"Whatever for?"

"Um. I don't know?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Ummm?"

Father closed his eyes briefly, then looked at Harry with a calmer expression than he'd had before. Harry instantly relaxed a bit. "Let me start again. You seem nervous, Harry. Is anything wrong?" He paused, then in a sharper tone: "Have you seen anyone lurking around, a man with black hair, for instance?"

"You have black hair, Father."

A twitch of his lip was as close to laughing as Father usually got, but this time, he snorted a breath, and his lip twitched quite a lot. "Yes. I do, don't I." He shook his head, lip still twitching. "But have you seen anyone else about?"

"Like the man who murdered my Mum and Dad?"

The lip stilled completely in that moment. The air itself seemed to still, and Harry held his breath, waiting for . . . something.

At last, Father gave one sharp nod and lowered his gaze to his plate. "Yes."

An odd feeling uncurled in Harry's stomach, making him almost ill, but he managed to say, "No, Father. I haven't seen anyone."

"Good."

Harry lifted his glass and took a long drink of milk to soothe his stomach, still watching his father's face, still uneasy.

Father's dark gaze came up again. "Did you have something you wanted to ask me, Harry?"

Though Father had told him many times he was allowed to ask questions, it was still a concept Harry was getting used to, and he was not yet passed the point of being fearful each time he did it. But after a moment's hesitation, he said, "You didn't make any potions today?"

"That doesn't sound like a question," Father said quietly.

"N-no." Harry bit his lip again, then blew out his breath an screwed up his courage. "How come?"

Something in Father's eyes darkened to pinpoints of black fire, and Harry knew an instant of pure terror, until he realized the darkness was not aimed towards him, but at something inside Father himself. "I had something more important to do."

Harry frowned, having not seen Father do much of anything all day except pretend to read while watching him play in the garden. "You did?"

Father nodded, tilting his head a bit to the side, almost like a bird watching a worm. His expression was not like a bird's, predatory, but only curious. "Yes, of course."

"But, you were only watching me play!" Harry tried to explain.

"Yes," Father said simply, and Harry was confused all over again.

He thought for another few moments, taking a bite of peanut butter sandwich to help him work it out. "Do you think he might come here, then?" he asked once he'd swallowed.

"I don't think so," Father said gravely. "But I don't want to take chances, either."

Harry chewed on his lower lip until Father drew it gently out from between his teeth. With a chagrined half-smile, Harry leaned into his hand. "Me neither."

XX(Whelp)XX

The next few days passed fairly quietly. Harry played in the garden, worked on his reading and writing, and occasionally, helped his father out with potions. Father insisted that, if he wanted to help, he had to be very careful with the instruments they used. He could not play with the knives or pestles or cauldrons, but had to be respectful; it was grown up work.

He liked the calm quietness of Father's laboratory, and the voice Father used when talking about his potions, or anything to do with them. Certain ingredients were spoken of in a near reverent whisper. Harry particularly liked the look Father gave him when they completed their first potion together. He had never had someone look proud of him before, and he basked in the wonder of that feeling until bed time.

Even though Father said the wards at the Weasleys' house -- which they called the Burrow -- had been made stronger already, they didn't return to see the Weasleys for several more days. Harry didn't mind. He liked spending time with his father more than going there. Although, he did miss playing with Ronnie and the others. A bit.

When they did finally go to the Burrow, Father did not just leave Harry there while he went to Hogwarts. Instead, he stayed nearby, keeping an eye on Harry, just like he had been doing at Spinner's End. Harry was glad that he didn't leave. He even watched Harry play Quidditch with Ronnie, Ginny and the twins, but he wouldn't play with them, even when the twins begged him to. Harry could have told them that Father didn't like that tone of voice, but he figured they'd learn it on their own.

Ronnie told Harry that his parents had received letters from their older sons who were at Hogwarts: Charlie -- who Harry missed a great deal, even after the brush off after classes started -- and Bill and "widdle Percy," as the twins called him. The letters told them about the Dementors, which Ronnie said were really scary monsters, and the twins said were more like floating zombies what tried to kiss you, and which Mrs. Weasley said not to talk about at all, boys, if you please. Bill wrote about how all the students had been warned to keep an eye out for danger in the form of Sirius Black, but no one had seen any clue that he was actually in the area. None of the older boys seemed worried about anything, in fact, except Percy was upset because his pet rat had gone missing. Unfortunately for him, the Weasleys could not afford to buy him a new one, so he had to do without a familiar for now.

All in all, despite the fact that Father hovered nearby more than Harry had ever seen him do before, they spent a contented, peaceful week or so together, both at Spinner's End, and at the Burrow, reading, making potions, and, in Harry's case, playing Quidditch and getting back to schooling with the other children.

Of course, such peace could not last forever.

The large, black dog lay in the shade of the fence around the small yard, head on his paws, and watched the little dark-haired boy toiling in the tiny herb garden alongside the back wall of the house. The boy had been outside for almost an hour now, and had yet to put down the trowel. Though the boy seemed fit enough, he did not seem happy at his work, frowning slightly and with a tongue poking out between his lips, as if he had to concentrate hard at what he was doing. The large dog had to keep from growling as he watched the boy, for nearer to the door into house, sitting in the damned shade with a tall glass of something cold with ice, and watching to make sure the boy kept working, was the scrawny, hook-nosed bane of Padfoot's existence: Snivellus Snape.

Thank goodness being in his Animagus form kept Padfoot from experiencing extremes of emotion, or he would have been enraged enough to have already bitten through Snivelly's throat and left him to bleed to death in his own backyard. But he knew that, no matter what, James' son didn't need to see any violence of that sort. The boy had already experienced enough trauma in his short life, from seeing his mother killed in front of him and the horror of You-Know-Who trying to kill him, too. He didn't need to have someone -- even a man as terrible as his kidnapper -- ripped to shreds in front of him.

But Padfoot would see Snape in Azkaban for this, at least! Dementor Kissed, too, if he could arrange it. He simply could not understand how Dumbledore could be allowing this . . . this Death Eater anywhere near his godson. It was a travesty! In fact, Padfoot's whole journey to find his Harry had been one unpleasant surprise after another, from the moment he'd heard the awful words from the mouth of Cornelius Fudge, that something was wrong at the house of Harry's guardians, all the way until now, at the house of his oldest enemy. Nothing in this rescue attempt had gone as planned.

Unable to keep from growling low in his throat as he remembered the news from Fudge, that despicable man, Padfoot hurriedly lifted a hindfoot to his ear and scratched a few times before lying back down on the dirt. A week ago, Fudge had come into Sirius' cell, looking pompous and acting like the fucking prick he was. He had obviously wanted to taunt Sirius Black with news about the godson he had not seen in years, and seemed disappointed when he got little reaction from the convict. But Sirius had learned a long time ago in Azkaban how to control his emotions; the prison was a harsh classroom. The human guards were bad enough if a prisoner got worked up; the Dementors were far worse. It was not an exaggeration to say that less than an hour in their presence could make a man wish he had never been born, and one of those creatures could literally eat a man's soul for breakfast. The sound of their approach through the cells -- the rustle of their tattered cloaks over the soft grind of their dessicated bones, and the low cries of tormented inmates they left in their wake -- was a sound Sirius would never forget. He feared that sound above any other thing on earth now. More than looking into the face of You-Know-Who. More than death itself.

If he never heard that sound again before he died, he would die a happy man.

Unless he failed to free his godson from this monster, who was treating him like a slave.

Sirius knew Snape had probably taken Harry from his relatives because he wanted complete control over James' son, wanted to treat Harry like a slave, but he could not discount the possibility that he was acting on the orders of one of the many Death Eaters who had managed to avoid Azkaban. Lucius Malfoy came to mind. He'd been a N.E.W.T. student when Snivellus (and the Marauders) started school, but Sirius remembered Malfoy acting as a guide to young Snivelly, showing him the ropes in Slytherin, such as they were. No doubt, they had conspired from the very beginning to take revenge on the boy who had brought down their Dark Lord, no matter what Sirius had heard at Hogwarts to the contrary.

The memory of what had sent him looking for Harry at Hogwarts brought another faint growl to his throat, and he swiftly stilled it before Snivellus looked up from his book. When Sirius had escaped from Azkaban, right after Fudge's visit, he had first gone to Surrey, traveling as Padfoot so as not to raise suspicion -- who would notice one more stray dog on the roads of Britain? In Surrey, however, he had been unable to find Harry. He had found the house in Little Whinging where Lily's sister and brother-in-law lived, of course. At first, though, he had thought it was the wrong address since he had found no trace of Harry there.

The Dursleys were an odd bunch, he had decided. When he first arrived at their cookie-cutter house, Sirius had just watched them go about their day. The couple staggered around the place almost like Inferi, pasty-faced, dull-eyed and nearly silent. All three sported huge, dark circles under their eyes, as if none of them had slept in ages. Their whale of a child had been lying on the divan, and he whined constantly about food: wanting it, wanting something different, or just being hungry. His eyes were red from his constant crying, and snot streamed in twin rivers out of his nose, which he swiped at over and over with his fat, grimy fingers. When Sirius went in for a closer look, and even sneaked inside the Muggle house, he found a mess he guessed had been months in the making, with dirty clothes, stale food and their containers scattered on furniture, the floor and counters. Harry's uncle stared at the Muggle velly-tision, barely blinking and clutching an empty beer bottle in one massive fist. Petunia's eyes were hardly open as she slumped in a kitchen chair, her blond hair -- which Sirius recalled from long ago being nearly spell-proof with shellac -- now hung in dull, greasy strands.

Sirius had been unable to figure out what exactly happened to them, but he had no doubt that Snivellus had done something to Harry's relatives, tortured them or cursed them somehow in order to get the boy. When he absolutely had to ask them where Harry was, since the boy was not to be found at the local school or anywhere in the house, the Dursleys had been far less riled up by his appearance than Sirius would have imagined. He could recall them, on previous occasions, behaving like loons in the presence of wizarding folk, and James had regaled him with a tale or two of their utter Mugglishness in reference to wizarding culture. Even Lily had once described her sister as "a screechy prude," but the woman Sirius spoke with was anything but, stuttering when she spoke and jumping at every sound or motion. She did, however, say that a "horrid, nasty creep of a man," had taken "the boy" from them and then come back days later to gloat about the fact and to torment her "poor, dear family."

That description fit Snape to a tee, or Sirius' Animagus form was platypus.

Deciding from that meeting that he needed extra help in finding Harry -- and realizing Fudge had been right about there being something weird going on at the Dursleys' place -- Sirius had become Padfoot again and traveled to Hogwarts. He hoped to find out something of Harry's whereabouts from Dumbledore, if the Headmaster had not already tracked Harry down and brought him to the safety of the school.

By the time he reached Hogsmeade, he knew the Ministry was aware of his escape from Azkaban, and he had nearly been caught while in the Three Broomsticks. Ach, even now, he could hardly believe his stupidity in that escapade. Thinking the barroom empty, he had -- only briefly! -- changed into his human form so he could question Rosmerta -- who had always flirted with him when he'd been at Hogwarts -- about what, if anything, she had heard about Harry from the school. Alas, the room had not been empty, and one of the old Order was there, Fletcher, he thought now. Dementors had been called to Hogwarts before the end of the day.

Keeping to his Animagus form, since he could get past the wards that way, just as he had at Azkaban, Sirius had entered the school and learned that Harry was in residence. Or he had been, till recently. But he had been even more shocked to hear that Snivellus not only was employed by the school -- as a Potions Master, no less! -- but that he had custody of Harry and claimed to be Harry's father!

Sirius had nearly killed Argus Filch, the bastard, for saying as much. But Filch hadn't known Sirius was there. The caretaker had been going about his nasty business, with his nasty Miss Norris, and almost sing-songing what he would do when he got "that li'l urchin of Snape's" back in his claws, no matter what curse that foul Snape had laid on him, and that he "should've done th'whelp in like 'e deserv'd," when he'd first gotten his hands on him, but he wouldn't make a mistake like that again, oh no. . . .

It had been too much for Sirius to bear without killing the man, and he had almost fled the school entirely, not wanting to hear anything more about what horrors might have been visited upon his Harry, by Filch or Snivellus or anyone else. Instead, he had collapsed in a corner of the Entry Hall hidden in shadows to lick his wounds like any other dog. But then he had spied a couple of Gryffindors -- Weasleys by the look of their hair -- coming out of the Great Hall and talking quietly together. When he had caught the word, "Harry," whispered from the younger one's lips, he had trailed behind the boys, all the way to Gryffindor Tower, staying hidden and yet listening to their conversation, just like the Auror he had once trained to be, with James, so many years ago now.

Obviously thinking they were alone while they walked, the two boys discussed Sirius' godson and how safe Harry was, "from his murdering godfather," now that the Weasley house was protected by Dumbledore. They only hoped the "murderous traitor of those poor Potters" would be caught by the holidays, as they were looking forward to seeing Harry over Christmas break, assuming he would visit with the Weasleys, even if the boy was living with "his father" all the time now. The older one -- Bill, Padfoot remembered from years ago -- even said he hoped "Professor Snape" would return for second term, as he was the best Potions teacher they'd had yet at Hogwarts, even if he was a bit brusque.

"Brusque!" the younger boy, likely a Fourth Year, echoed with a laugh. "That's putting it mild."

Bill smirked. "He's a whiz at Potions, though." The smirk turning into a lopsided smile, he added, "But I figure you can forgive a man a bit of brusque, when it's obvious how much he loves Harry."

The younger boy had shrugged but nodded, and the two of them had climbed through the portrait, leaving Sirius shaking with anger in the corridor behind them.

How dare Dumbledore let that sniveling snake get his greasy hands on Harry! Sirius fumed. James must be rolling in his grave!

It had not taken much more sneaking about Hogwarts to learn that Snape was living in the same place as where he'd grown up, which was coincidentally in the same town that Lily was from, before they'd each started at Hogwarts. And Sirius knew exactly where that was!

Shortly before her parents had been murdered by You-Know-Who, Lily and James had been walking together in her parents' neighborhood during the holidays, and she had pointed out to James the playground where she had met "young Severus," as she called him, also mentioning how odd things had turned out for the two of them, once they'd been sorted into different Houses. She had even told James about the house Snivellus had lived in! As if she had been there! As if James would care one tiny bit!

Of course, unable to hide his jealousy, James had told Sirius all about this conversation, and Sirius had naturally assured him that he nothing to worry about from Lily -- she knew what a horrible snake Snape was, and it was obvious she adored James. For his best friend's sake, and to pay Snivellus back for all he had done to Lily (and James) over the years, but especially for James' unwarranted envy of that slimy git, Sirius had paid a visit to Snivellus' house.

Almost ten years ago now, Sirius had stood on the cobble stoned street and stared at this same tired, tiny 2-up, 2-down on Spinner's End, the back yard garden of which he was now lurking in as Padfoot. Ten years ago, Sirius had been filled with righteous vengeance on behalf of his best friend's fiancée against that hateful wanker. With a few well placed spells, and never having to enter the house, Sirius had broken every window, mirror and odd piece of glass in Snivellus' house, then filled the front sitting room with Thestral dung. In was the least that slimy snake deserved for making James doubt Lily's intentions.

And now, watching as Snivellus guarded Harry and treated the poor little boy like a slave, Sirius wished he had gone with his gut and set Fiendfyre loose inside this place ten years ago. But he would destroy Snivellus tonight, oh yes, just as the Slytherin snake was set on destroying James' son. It was obvious Harry was being starved -- he was little more than skin and bones, and no larger than an average four-year-old, when he was seven! And, from the way he was working without stopping, without complaints, it was just as obvious that he was used to chores like this: weeding, planting beds, mulching and the like. House elf work.

The longer he watched, the harder it was to stay still and not rescue his godson right now. But Padfoot was nothing if not patient. Azkaban had taught him that.

Suddenly, the snake came to his feet. Padfoot lay perfectly still, not wanting to draw his attention, but ready to intervene if Snivellus dared to put a hand on his godson. He would rip the ugly git's throat out if he came any closer to the boy.

"Harry," the greasy-haired man called, and the boy looked over at Snivellus, coming to his feet immediately with the trowel gripped tight in his little hand, as if he had been trained to obey every word, as soon as his captor said it. "Come along now. It's time for lunch."

"Yes, Father," Harry said with a nod, and without pause, trotted over to Snivellus.

Unable to keep from growling at the name Harry used for the greasy git, Padfoot kept the sound as soft as he could, but it was almost too much for him. How had the evil bastard convinced Harry to call him that? What else had he forced Harry to do since he had kidnapped him from the Dursleys?

Padfoot tensed as Snivellus reached out a hand, but he only touched the top of Harry's head to guide him into the house, and did not strike him as Padfoot thought he would. Lucky bastard, Padfoot thought. He would have leaped for the beast's throat if he'd hurt Harry in front of him, Harry's sensibilities be damned.

As the two went up the couple steps to the backdoor and inside the house, Padfoot settled on his haunches in the dirt with a light sigh. He could hardly wait till tonight. He would get his godson out of this slimy git's clutches, and Harry would be safe once more, with him.

And Snivellus would not be able to come after Harry again. This time, Sirius would take him down as he should have done, ten years ago. This time, Sirius would not leave him alive.

That evening, Harry ate his dinner quickly, so he could have extra reading time. Father said if he was ready for bed early enough, he could have two stories at bedtime, instead of just one, and then Father would let him read aloud, too, to show how much he was learning with Mrs. Weasley, or, as she liked to be called by him, Aunt Molly. Father said it was okay to call Aunt Molly that, if she said to, even if she wasn't really his aunt, and Harry didn't mind, anyway, because the woman who was really his aunt, Aunt Petunia, had never wanted him to call her anything but "Ma'am," and had been real angry if he called her anything else.

The one time he had really messed up, after he had fallen out of the tree while trying to prune it and hurt his arm, then called her "Mum" when he cried for help, he had been hit over and over with a long-handled spade from the shed, then shoved into the potting shed for a week with no food or water. It had been easy to count the days in the shed, because sunlight peeked through a loose board in the roof, so he knew when a new day started. It had been awful hot in there, and he'd had to drink water from the light rain that had fallen the second night, collected in a metal can he'd dumped out which had been full of roofing nails. But he'd gone without food the whole time. Late in the week, he had eyed the spiders who made the shed a home a few times, thinking if his punishment went on too long, he could at least put something in his belly. Fortunately, Aunt Petunia had let him out of the shed and given him a slice of stale bread before he had to decide whether to eat the spiders alive, like the song about the woman who ate them to catch the fly inside her, or to kill them first instead.

Sometimes, when it rained really hard outside, his arm still hurt where he'd jarred it, in the fall from the tree.

Tonight, though, he wasn't going to think about Aunt Petunia anymore. He was going to read to his Father, so Father could see that he wasn't as stupid as the Dursleys said.

From a little blue and white book, with a blond boy sitting down for tea on the cover, Harry read the second verse of his selection, "'Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr, / A rih-deck-luss--"

"Ridiculous," Father corrected quietly.

"Rih-dick-you-luss kitten with silky fur. / And little black Pinkle grew and grew / Till he got as big as the big Tattoo. / And all that he did, he did with her. / "Two friends to-, um, to- together," says Pinkle Purr,'" Harry continued, glad he knew most of these words by sight, and the ones he did not, he could "sound out" like Mrs. Weasley taught him.

The boy on the cover was called Christopher Robin, and Father had several books about him and his friends. Some of the poems and pictures in this book were about the boy's silly, old bear named Pooh, whose name Harry giggled over until Father gave him a cross look. But there were other poems, too, like this one. "Pinkle Purr" was about a cat, and Harry liked cats, since Treacle Tart was kind of like one, except even smarter and special-er. Harry knew Treacle enjoyed reading along with him, like now. She was sitting in his lap and batting her paws at the pages when Harry tried to turn them. They were all reading together on Harry's bed, with Harry in Father's lap, while Father leaned his back against the headboard.

When he had given Harry the book several weeks ago, Father had told him that Now We Are Six was one of his own books from when he was a boy. Now it was Harry's favorite, even more favorite than the book Professor McGonagall had given him, because just last week, Father had needed to read this poem to Harry, but this week, Harry could read it to Father. He nearly burst with pride when he reached the end of the poem's last line and Father kissed the top of his head and murmured, "Wonderful job, Harry."

Harry grinned up at his father, and when Father squeezed him in a tight hug, Harry hugged him back. Father even smiled, too; Harry could feel his thin lips moving against his hair.

"Time for bed, child." Father eased Harry off his lap and stood, before pulling the bedclothes up to cover Harry's legs and chest. Treacle turned around twice and settled down again, and Father kissed Harry's forehead, right next to his scar.

"I can read to you tomorrow, too, Father."

"I know you can." Father brushed the fringe off Harry's forehead, and Harry closed his eyes briefly, relishing the gentle touch of Father's affection. He'd never known anyone like Father before. Before Father had taken him from the Dursleys, no one had even touched him in kindness. No one had smiled at like Father did. No one had cared.

Father sat on the edge of the bed, and they spent the next few minutes on the relaxation and mind-clearing exercises to help keep Harry's nightmares away. The bad dreams had gradually been easing up. He didn't wake Father every night anymore, though when he did, it was awful. Finally, Harry covered his mouth, yawing wide enough to make his jaw creak.

Father stood. "Good night, Harry."

"G'night, Father."

"Sleep well."

"You too, Father." Harry bit his lip for an instant, then said, "I love you."

The skin around Father's eyes crinkled in that way he had of smiling inside, even as his eyes darkened with emotion. His fingers brushed over Harry's fringe once again. "I love you, too, son."

Grinning now, Harry settled into his pillows, having never felt happier in his life.

Father Nox'd the overhead light to turn it off, leaving only the small rainbow ball aglow beside Harry's bed to illuminate the darkness. The ball cast tinted shadows on the nearest wall, and Harry watched as the light cycled through its colors, until his eyes were too heavy to remain open any longer.

HPSSHPSS

After whispering a wandless Alohomora, Sirius Black flowed into Padfoot-form and nosed the back door open. The kitchen beyond the door was dark. Padfoot had heard reference made to a House Elf earlier -- he might have thought Snivellus was referring to Harry, except that the git used the name Dappin -- so he kept his ears pricked for any sound of anyone in the area.

Nothing.

No alarm had sounded, either, when he entered the house, as far as he could tell. But then, Padfoot had entered Hogwarts without any problems, too. He very much doubted Snivellus' home would be more safeguarded than the old school, which had generations of Headmasters and other professors adding to the wards each year.

Padfoot followed the scent of his godson through the small kitchen, the dining room, part of a sitting room lined with books, and then up a set of narrow stairs. His heart pounded. Harry would be safe soon.

At the top of the stairs, Padfoot hesitated. Should he deal with Snape first, or should he just take Harry and go? Unable to keep his fear and anger over the situation silent any longer, Padfoot let a low, rumbling growl emerge from his throat, even as he thought about ripping into the throat of his worst enemy, the man who had stolen James' son. He stopped growling as soon as he became aware of it, and stood absolutely still for several long minutes, listening to every creak in the old, run-down house in case he had disturbed anyone's sleep. Part of him, though, wanted to rush into the greasy git's room, which was just ahead of him, and tear everything in it -- including the bastard himself -- into shreds.

Only his desire to see Harry safe, before anything else, finally decided him. He followed the boy's scent into a bedroom a few paces away. He was momentarily startled to find the boy in an actual bedroom, instead of a cage of some sort, since he would put nothing past Snivellus' desire for revenge against his own enemy's son. But in a tall, comfortable looking bed, the boy slept peacefully. A ball of light near his head went through a series of colors like a rainbow, and gave some light to the dark room. The light also cast long shadows on the boy's thin face. His long lashes were like ink smudges against his pale cheeks, and he gripped his bed quilt in two tiny fists.

He's so teensy, Padfoot thought again. Neither James nor Lily had been particularly large adults, but they had certainly been above average for height. Harry was far too small for his age. He'd noticed outside, when Harry had been working, how skinny his arms and legs were; like sticks. It was like he'd been starved for years.

He pushed thoughts like that from his mind -- he would consider them later, and in great detail, but for now he had a job to do. Padfoot reared on his back legs, to put his front paws by Harry's hands, to get a better look at him before changing back into his man-form. No sooner did he do so than a white flash of fur launched itself at his face, with claws and hisses and teeth. A swipe of a paw full of needle-like claws caught him across the nose, eliciting a sharp yelp of pain before he could stop himself, and in the next the white and gray hell-cat was going for his eyes.

As fast as thought, Padfoot became Sirius and grabbed up the boy, who was starting to wake. The kneazle bit and scratched and yowled, and Sirius was bleeding in a dozen places before he had Harry secure in his arms. The yowling itself could have woken the dead, even without Sirius' cursing, so it was not surprising when Harry's blinked open and he murmured, "Wha'? Daddy? Wazgoin' on?"

"Shh, Harry," Sirius pleaded as he batted the kneazle away from his face with his free hand. This was all going badly, and he couldn't think what to do, how to calm the boy, or anything.

And Harry didn't seem to want to shh, and instead started wriggling in Sirius' arms, making him have to grip the boy tighter. "Da!" he called. "Daddy!"

Thundering footsteps had already sounded from across the hall, but at the boy's cry, the door slammed open to show Snivellus Snape, wand in hand. "Harry!" he yelled, and his expression changed from one of worry to one of rage in an instant when he saw who was in Harry's bedroom.

With that look of rage, everything clicked into place. Sirius grinned at Snivellus, baring his teeth, and as the greasy git opened his mouth to cast some vicious curse at the two of them, Sirius spun on his heel and Disapparated, his godson hugged close to his chest.

Harry was safe now, with Sirius. They were both safe and happy and free.

Treacle Tart, clinging to the hem of the smelly, dirty cloth that covered the Enemy, was righteously miffed. With the Enemy and Her Boy, she spun over and over and over until she was sure she would be sick, or perhaps die. But then, suddenly, the spinning was over as if it had never been. They were in a dark, gloomy place with strange smells -- and the scent of rat! -- and crates and boxes and a big bed nearby.

Her Boy was upset. She hated for him to be upset, and when Her Boy was upset, she was always quick to action, doing first and apologizing later. Thus, as soon as she had her balance, Treacle Tart lashed out at the Enemy again, clawing the delicate skin near his eyes so that he would let go of Her Boy to protect himself.

The Enemy did drop Her Boy, but only because he batted her away again, this time harder than before, hard enough to knock her into a wall. Hard enough to hurt.

--HPSSHPSS--

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw his white-furred Treacle Tart fly through the air and slap into a wall, where she lay still. "No!" he cried. He tried getting his legs under him, but his stomach was lousy with churning and his head hurt like Uncle Vernon had taken a belt to it. He stumbled and fell to his knees, then scrambled toward his kneazle kit. "Tree! Tree!"

"Harry," said a man's voice, the man who had taken him from his Father, and Harry scurried even faster to get away.

He reached Treacle Tart just as the man tried to grab him again. "Leave Tree alone!" Harry wrenched his arm out of the man's grip, and half turned to glare at him while using his body to protect Treacle from further attack. His throat felt thick, like it was full of syrup, and he could hardly breathe for fear of what this man would do to him. Was this the man everyone said killed Harry's parents? He swallowed hard, swallowing his fear, then backed up a few more inches, till his hand touched Treacle's fur. She nosed the palm of his hand, so he knew she was alive, if hurt. And the man had not killed him yet. "Where are we? Where's my Father? What'd you do to him?"

The man crouched right in front of him. He smelled awful, as if he hadn't washed in a long, long time, as if his own uncle had chained him in the backyard. The man's scraggly beard and the hair on his head were both matted with grime, tangled in knots and nasty looking. His clothes were stained and torn, and his eyes . . . his eyes were the bluest blue Harry had ever seen, but they were wild. Crazy eyes, like a madman.

"Your father died a long time ago, Harry. That man was not your father."

"Yes. He is."

"No, he's not. He kidnapped you--"

"He didn't!" Harry yelled in his face. "He rescued me, when the Dursleys were going to kill me." He swallowed thickly and lifted his chin. "Are you gonna kill me, too?"

"No!" The madman staggered backwards as if Harry had hit him. "No, Harry. I'm your godfather."

"Sirius Black." Harry spat the name. Father had told him what Black had done, how he had betrayed Harry's parents. Black had told the Dark Lord where James and Lily were, so he could kill them, and try to kill Harry, too. His eyes stung, and he blinked back any tears before they could fall. "You killed my Mum and Dad."

The man shook his head and moved forward like he might try and touch Harry again. "No. No, I didn't. It was Wormtail, Peter Pettigrew--"

"YOU KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!" Harry shrieked.

"No, no, please Harry, please, I didn't, you have to belie--"

"YOU KILLED THEM! YOU KILLED THEM! IT'S YOUR FAULT THEY'RE DEAD!"

The mad stumbled away from Harry like he was drunk. Like Harry had punched him in the gut. It felt good, so Harry screamed some more, "THEY TRUSTED YOU AND YOU KILLED THEM AND Then--" When his throat gave out, Harry went on, yelling in scratchy tones and almost sobbing at the same time. He had never given voice to this particular anguish before, and now he could, to the one person he hated more than anyone in the whole world. "And then the Dursleys starved me and chained me in the yard, and they beat me and broke my ankle, and they hurt me, and my Father came and he saved me. He - he adopted me, and he LOVES me, and WHERE. IS. MY. DADDY!?"

Harry then started bawling for real, for a long time, with a kneazle in his lap. The madman looked on, mouth hanging open.

--HPSSHPSS--

Severus stared at the place where his son had been a moment ago. He still held his wand in his hand, and for a brief instant, he considered the possibility of tracking an Apparation. He knew it was impossible, but then, so was the idea of SIRIUS BLACK in his house!

In the next instant, Severus had wordlessly summoned a glass wall sconce into his hand for the express purpose of throwing it at the hearth to shatter in a million pieces while he shrieked incoherently for his son. His heart was shattering. How in the world had this happened? How had that monster come inside their home and taken Harry? And where could he have gone?

Albus. Albus must know something.

Severus spun in place and grabbed a handful of floo powder to dash in the hearth. Green flames sparkled around the slivers of glass from the sconce as Severus yelled, "ALBUS DUMBLEDORE! Wake up this moment! Albus, wake up!" He could not rage about his son being missing, not over the Floo system, which might be monitored by the Ministry, not to mention Lucius Malfoy or his minions. Thus, when Albus appeared in his view seconds later, he said only, "What we worried about has come to pass. That . . . that foul beast has taken . . ." Here he faltered, not wanting to say "the boy," as Harry's execrable relatives had called him, nor could he call his son anything like, "the package," or "the item," even if it would hide his identity; it was too drab, too inconsequential. His son meant more than that! Still, he had hesitated only a heartbeat before Dumbledore rescued him from that one decision.

"Move aside," Albus said, and in the next moment he was standing beside Severus in Harry's bedroom, looking at the rucked up bedclothes and the shattered sconce. "What happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Severus snarled. His much vaunted self-control was all but gone. He was taking sharp, short breaths, as if his heart was being squeezed inside his chest. He put his fists in his hair and pulled, unable to simply think. He made himself recite the events, however, knowing he had to pull himself together, for Harry's sake. "I woke to Harry's screams. I thought it to be a nightmare, but when I came in here, Black had grabbed him and had my son's arms pinned, and he Disapparated before I could get a spell off. What am I going to do? I'm going to kill that bastard! Where has he taken my son!?"

"Severus, dear boy," the Headmaster soothed, his hands folded together in front of him, "calm down, please. And breathe. You won't do Harry any good if you collapse for not breathing, you know--"

"Of course I know that," Severus snapped, unequipped to deal with a soothing Albus, when he had never required soothing before. Not even facing the Dark Lord had made him this frantic, this upset. He paced back and forth in front of the Headmaster, aware that he was babbling, yet unable to stop. "Where could Black have taken him? Where would he go with Harry? I have to get him back. He'll be so frightened; I told him he was safe here, that he'd nothing to fear, that I'd always protect him. Merlin, he'll think I lied to him, and I promised never to lie to him; Merlin, my son, now he'll never know--"

"Severus!" Dumbledore shouted this time, to get his attention. His blue eyes flashed like lightning as he grabbed Severus by both arms for good measure and gave him a sturdy shake. "Calm yourself! You won't do your son any good this way."

Severus nodded dumbly. His fists clenched again, and in a whisper, he asked, "What will I do?"

"Find him."

"Find him."

"Of course. I can imagine only one or two places that Black might have Apparated to without a wand, assuming, of course, he still does not have a wand. We shall go there and retrieve your son."

Severus stared. Of course. He had called on Albus, hoping for just this, but . . . he had not truly dared to hope. "You know where he is?"

"Perhaps." Dumbledore looked him up and down. "Get dressed, Severus," he said gently, "and I shall see what I can find."

--HPSSHPSS--

Mouth hanging open, Sirius Black watched Harry sob himself out. He had no idea what to do. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The boy was supposed to be happy to be rescued, not bawling his eyes out. Not crying for James, who was dead and had been dead for six long and impossibly hard years.

"Stop that now," Sirius said. He sat on the edge of his childhood bed in the home of his ancestors, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. His room was still festooned with red and gold hangings and banners and rugs, as it had been when he was at Hogwarts and one of the Marauders. That was so very long ago now, though sometimes it seemed like yesterday. He wrung his hands together and leaned forward toward the boy, who was crouching in the corner. "Stop crying, Harry." Please.

The boy had his hands over his face. He was scrunched up into about the smallest boy-shaped ball Sirius had ever seen. The fuzzy white she-devil of a kneazle rubbed against Harry's leg, consoling him, giving him the comfort that Sirius wanted to give him. "Want . . . sob my . . . sob Daddy!"

"Harry," Sirius tried to tell him, ever so gently. "Your Daddy died when you were a baby."

"No, he didn't! He's at . . . sob my home . . . now! I . . . sob . . . I wanna go home!"

"This is your home now." Even as he said it, he knew it could not be so. Not yet. The Aurors would know to look for him here, not to mention the Dementors, and he should be well away before the Minister or Dumbledore came looking. But it had been the only place he could think of in that moment of panic, the only place he knew he could Apparate to without splinching either himself or the pup.

But Harry didn't want his comfort. "No! Want my Sev'rus! Want my Daddy!"

Sirius growled. He couldn't help it. He had to nip this one in the bud, right now. It galled him that the boy believed that liar. "That greasy, grimy, nasty, Death Eating git is NOT your FATHER! Get that out of your thick head right now, boy! He kidnapped you--"

"YOU kidnapped me!"

"--and he was treating you like a House Elf. He hated your father, worse than anything."

"You killed them!" the boy shouted. "He told me you killed them!"

That stopped Sirius cold. He could only shake his head, even though there was a nugget of truth to Harry's words. He knew it, and James would have known it, too. The words came out hoarse when he admitted, "I suggested Peter be their Secret Keeper. Peter told You Know Who where they were. Where you all were. But I didn't. I wasn't Secret Keeper."

"You're lying," Harry said, but this time he didn't scream, at least.

"I'm not."

Harry scrubbed dirty, snotty hands over his face. "I'm not either, you know. Severus Snape is my Dad. We're blood adopted."

And if that wasn't a kick in the teeth, nothing else was. Technically, according to Wizard Law, a blood adoption would make Harry Snivellus' son. Except for one little thing: Snape didn't have the right to adopt Harry, so long as Sirius was alive. Sirius had not given his permission. So he told the kid, "Doesn't matter. I didn't give him permission to adopt you, so it wasn't legal. You are my godson, and James was, and always will be, your father. Now that I'm here, you'll stay with me."

Harry stared at him with wide eyes, shaking his head. "No, no, Sev'rus is my Dad. Sev'rus is my Dad!"

"Not once I get his arse thrown in Azkaban for kidnapping, he won't be." Sirius rose from the bed and grabbed one of Harry's arms. He twisted the boy around to meet his eyes. Harry had to know something before he opened the door to the hallway and the stairway to the first floor. Walburga had only been dead a year or so, but he could imagine what sorts of hellish games she'd play on invaders to her home. "You've got to be quiet once we're out this door, or you'll wake my mother. I guarantee none of us will like that. All right?"

Harry nodded, looking frightened, but Sirius didn't let up his grip at all. Just as well, as the moment he opened the door, the boy opened his mouth and drew in a breath like he would scream. Sirius clapped a hand over his mouth, hitched Harry up onto his hip, and whispered harshly into his wee ear, "Don't you make a sound, boy. We need to get out of here, fast. I'll tie you up if I have to." He hated saying that to James' son, but he'd have time to apologize later. James would understand.

"Do you understand me?" Sirius whispered in a near-snarl, and waited till the boy nodded beneath his hand, his green eyes impossibly wide. A faint tremor ran through Harry's small limbs, and even before he smelled it, Sirius knew the boy had lost control of his bladder. The warm liquid soaked both of them from the knees down. "Merlin, James," he hissed.

The boy's face reddened beneath Sirius' hand; he was obviously embarrassed. His tiny nostrils were flaring, as if he couldn't breathe quite right. But Sirius just wanted to get them out of there, maybe with a few provisions first so they wouldn't have to steal anything to eat right away. So he hitched Harry a bit higher on his hip, tightened his grip so the boy couldn't wriggle away, and eased the two of them down the stairwell to the first floor. From there, he knew it was just a hop, skip and jump to the kitchen and then out the backdoor. They could get away before the Aurors came, before anyone knew they'd been there; it just had to be fast.

The boy held perfectly still in the Black man's arms. He didn't want to be tied up or hit or anything. He'd already made the man threaten to do it, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the man was angry enough to follow through. Mean people hit, and adults hit, and he had been hit enough in his life to know that this Black man hit, too. That he could be as mean as Dudders.

While carrying the boy, the Black man took the stairs quietly -- he'd said they had to be quiet -- and his hand was heavy on the boy's mouth, so heavy the boy could hardly breathe. But he didn't need to breathe, so much, if the man didn't want him to. He'd proved it in the bathtub when She had hurt him before. Mostly, mean people didn't kill you, except this man had killed his parents. Or had he? He'd said he didn't, but was he lying?

In his head, the boy kept calling over and over, Please, Daddy; please, come help me. Daddy! Come help me, Daddy. PLEASE COME!

At the bottom of the stairs lay a long, dark hallway filled with dust and cobwebs, bigger than anything the boy had ever cleaned at the Dursleys'. The dust flew into his eyes as the Black man moved, stinging them and making them water. The two of them crept down a few more stairs into a large room with a table, and the Black man righted the boy and sat him firmly on a hard chair.

"Stay put, now," the man breathed in his ear, then pointed a long-nailed finger in his face. "I'm just going to get us some supplies."

The boy rubbed the dust from his eyes, then stared at the man who had gone to the cabinets on the walls of this . . . kitchen. The man opened each one and left them hanging open if they were empty, which most of them were. "Wanna go back to Sev'rus," he said quietly. "My Daddy."

"He's not your bloody Daddy, boy," the man snarled. "I told you, he didn't have permission to adopt you."

If that was true, would he have to go back to the Dursleys? He couldn't, not now. Not ever. They would kill him this time; he knew it. Uncle hated him so much. He had to make the man see, and even though he wasn't ever supposed to tell, he had to tell the Black man now. He slid forward to the edge of the chair, not daring to leave it, like he'd been told. "But he rescued me," he insisted. "They were mean and hurt me, and Sev'rus rescued me."

"Shush about him," the Black man said, rummaging through the cupboards nearest the floor now.

"They kept me in the cupboard, you know," he said.

"Unh-huh." It was like he wasn't listening, not really, just grabbing a sack from one cupboard and then heading back to the other cabinets to stuff things in.

The boy needed him to listen. "And they never fed me, not at the table. They just threw scraps on the floor afterwards, if the chores was done, and I'd been a good do-- a good boy," he stuttered over his near mistake. He wasn't a dog; he wasn't. No matter what He said, no matter what They tried to make him do or eat or say about himself. "Didn't eat the dog food like they wanted, even when they chained me to the shed. See?" he asked, lifting his chin and pointing to the scar on his neck that had not faded altogether, even with the special salves Sev'rus rubbed into the skin that smelled of mint, or sometimes jasmine. "Had to wear a collar when Uncle chained me up. Hurt, 'cause it was too tight. The metal cut in my neck and hurt a lot. Left awful scabs."

Finally the man was listening. He had stopped rummaging and was staring at the boy, gray eyes wide. "Those bastards chained you?"

"In the back yard," the boy agreed. "And Ma'am," he swallowed down the automatic fear he had of saying her name aloud and continued, while holding up his hands to show the man the scarred flesh on the backs of them and on his forearms, "Aunt P-p-petunia, I mean, she burnted me sometimes, with hot grease if the bacon got burnted, and she put my hands on the cooker when something got dropped on their floor. It hurt bad, too, and She didn’t care, and neither did He."

"He?"

"U-u-uncle V-vernon," the boy whispered, as if telling a secret, feeling like he was choking. His vision swam, as if Uncle was choking him like the freak he was, but he went on, "He hates the freak. Calls him names, hits him and calls him . . ." He gulped a breath and pressed his hands into his eye sockets to hold his head together as he hunched over his stomach so no one could punch him or kick him there, and even if he couldn't recall his real name just now, he had to make the Black man understand. "Me, I mean. He called me a freak and useless and worthless and a gutless whelp who shoulda been put down with his foul, stinking parents. He kicked me and hit me with his belt and the stick he got from the Smellings school. He's the one what chained me in the backyard after he caught me . . . he caught me--"

"Doing what?" the Black man's voice was tight.

The boy squeezed his eyes tighter shut, ashamed. "Going through the bin, looking for food. Was hungry. Did all my chores, whitewashed the shed and pruned and swept and weeded all the beds, but Dudders messed up the patio again with his boots, and so He said th'whelp'd get nothing to eat." The boy looked up at the Black man again, and saw tears in the man's eyes, and wondered at it, even as he felt them streaming down his own cheeks. But no one was hitting him now, and maybe the man was listening. So he went on, telling the man about other things the Dursleys had done, but that he'd told no one: about the foul blue drink Ma'am had given him that burned his throat for days and made even his vomit hurt; about the weeks spent in the cupboard, with no more than a damp towel to suck on for sustenance, and his stomach stopped growling after a while, and he couldn't move anymore; about being beaten by Dudley and his gang until he puked all over himself on the first day of school, so the other kids called him "The Smelly Kid," from then on; about many other instances of hurt and wanting and need.

When he stopped speaking, it wasn't because he had run out of things to say; far from it. But the Black man had tears streaming down his cheeks, and was mumbling, "Harry, oh, Harry, I'm so sorry . . ." and the boy -- Harry -- wondered if the man had been telling the truth, not just about Sev'rus not really being his father without being given permission, but about not killing Harry's parents. Would someone so sorry about what happened afterwards have caused it to begin with?

"That's why I have to stay with Sev'rus, see?" Harry said finally. "'Cause they say I'm the whelp, and stupid. Worthless. They hate me and they'll kill me, and, and, and . . . I don't wanna die." He swallowed around his own tears. "But Sev'rus saved me when I was gonna, and he fixed me up and he hugs me and reads to me, and calls me his son. You can't . . . you can't make me go back to them. You have to let me stay with Sev'rus. Please."

"No, Merlin, I don't . . ." Mr. Black looked like he was searching for words, but did not get a chance to say them before a blinding light erupted in the room.

The boy covered his head with his hands and ducked under the chair.

HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSS

In the Shrieking Shack, Albus Dumbledore turned the knob on an upstairs bedroom after having checked it for magical energy. The door eased open quietly, and Dumbledore's shoulders slumped in relief when no attack came from within. But Severus Snape knew there would be no attack. He knew Black wasn't here, and knew Harry wasn't either. But Dumbledore had made them come all the same.

The Headmaster had suggested this stop first, before any others, and Snape had balked. Badly. He wanted nothing to do with the Shrieking Shack, not after what had happened to him there, little more than ten years ago. Still, when the Headmaster insisted that Black might have been able to get there with Harry, in a wandless Apparation, Snape finally agreed to check it out with him. Even though Dumbledore took the front in their search -- and would thus bear the brunt of any ambush from within the house -- Severus could do little more than count his breaths to keep himself calm, and hope they would leave this terrible place -- where Black had nearly gotten him killed by a werewolf -- soon.

Albus turned to him and shook his head. "Alas, he is not here."

The words soothed some of Severus' anxiety, but it was not till they were back out under the stars that he could take a full breath without feeling like his chest was in a vise. He hated this shack, and everything it stood for.

But, above all, he needed to find Harry . . .

"What is it, my boy?" Albus said quietly.

Severus stared off into the distance, southwest, if he had to put a direction on it, and shook his head, but could still hear the chant in his head. Please, Daddy; please, come help me. "I feel . . ."

"Yes?"

Daddy! Come help me, Daddy. PLEASE COME! "Harry's calling for me."

"I imagine he is," the Headmaster said, his tone soft. "Can you hear him?"

Please, Daddy; please, come help me. Severus nodded, and his throat tightened. "He needs me. He's scared."

"We'll find him. I swear this to you."

Severus darted a look at the old wizard. Dumbledore never swore anything. He knew what it was to give someone your oath. But, of course, he had not said they would find Harry alive. Always leaving a . . . Daddy! Come help me, Daddy. PLEASE! "He's calling me," Severus repeated. He pointed to the southwest. "From there."

"The Three Broomsticks?"

"Merlin, Albus, no. From far away. England . . . London, perhaps . . ."

"London, you say?"

"It could be. I don't know." Daddy! Come help me, Daddy. "It just seems far away, and Harry isn't saying anything specific, just that he needs me, needs my help . . ."

"Come, Severus." Albus latched onto his arm. "I believe I know where they are." The Headmaster lit his wand with a Lumos that burned into Severus retinas it was so bright, and he almost considered batting the wand away, but then he felt the old man turn, and turned with him, so they could Apparate together.

The next moment, they were landing in a large, dark room, with Albus' wand lighting everything around them. From all around the room came the howl from a dog, the screeching hiss of a kneazle and then the cry of a young boy, yelling, "Daddy!"

Severus dashed toward his son, heedless of everything else. The boy was in the process of hiding under a chair. The foul odor of urine clung to him -- he must have been petrified, was Severus' only thought -- and he scooped his son into his arms. "Harry! Oh, thank Merlin, are you alright?"

"'M'okay, Daddy, where did the Black man go?"

Clutching the boy tight to his chest, and covering Harry's small body with his own arms and robes, so he could not be hurt again, even by friendly wand fire, Severus spun in place quickly, seeing only a great black dog locked in combat with Treacle Tart, Harry's little kneazle, while Dumbledore looked on, seemingly confused. The kneazle spat and clawed and hissed and yowled and the dog could not get close enough to her to do anything but yelp as she swiped claws across his nose.

A sudden thought occurred to Severus. The dog -- who looked a bit too like a grim -- was Black. "He's an Animagus, Albus! Stun him!"

Albus did.

Treacle Tart gave the large dog one last swat with her exposed claws, hissed a final time in the beast's direction, and stalked over to Harry and Severus, tail held high. Once again, she had saved his son.

Severus sat heavily on the chair, hugging Harry close and not paying any mind to the smell. "Gods, are you alright? Are you hurt? Did he hurt you, son?" he asked the boy, seeing both tears and snot running over his lips and chin.

Harry was breathing hard, but said, "No, no, I'm okay, sir."

Severus' eyes narrowed in confusion. "Sir? You know better than that."

"But, sir?" Harry said, and new tears tumbled from his bright green eyes. "I'm not . . . he said I'm not your son no more. He said 'cause he din't give pre'mission for you to 'dopt me."

"Oh, Harry . . ." Severus hugged his son all the tighter, and smoothed a hand over the back of the poor boy's head, murmuring soft, soothing things, even as he glared at the pile of black fur on the floor. How could that man have said such a thing to his Harry, his sweet, loving son? But then, this was what came of not telling the boy the truth right away. Softly, he continued, "Black didn't have to give permission. He couldn't. James was never your father. You were always mine. I'm sorry I didn't tell you when I found out a few weeks ago, but I thought you had quite enough to be going on with already."

The tears faltered and died, and Harry gave him a quizzical look. "I'm not 'dopted? Not even Blood 'dopted?"

"No, no, son, you are, always will be, and always have been mine. I didn't know, myself, before we did the ceremony, because your Mum set a charm on you that changed the way you looked, though only a tiny bit, and she never told me the truth, nor James, who she married after she was pregnant." He stopped, knowing this was too much detail for this time, and for this child at his age. Although, one thing was explained, apparently. "Because we did the blood ceremony, though, we have an even closer bond than most fathers and sons. The bond helped me find you today, because I could hear you calling for me, as your father. You are my son, Harry. Always. Never let anyone tell you differently."

Harry nodded and clutched him in a hug with his skinny little arms, just as tightly as Severus was, as if neither of them could let the other go. "Love you, Daddy," the boy whispered into his chest.

"Love you, too, Harry," Severus whispered back.

On the floor in front of them, the great black dog transformed back into a man with black hair and pure blue, haunted eyes. He was still stunned, but fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he watched Harry and his father.

Sudden screaming erupted from the hallway, and Albus charged out through the kitchen doorway, wand raised. Drawing his own wand whilst still clutching Harry, Severus caught several words: "Mudblood . . . blood traitors! . . . You think . . . defiling the Noble--" before it cut off sharply.

As the old wizard returned, Severus stood, Harry tight in his arms. The boy had fallen into an exhausted sleep. Never again. He would never let Harry out of his sight again. Severus cupped the back of his son's head, which was resting on his shoulder, and raised an eyebrow to ask what the commotion had been about.

"Portrait," Dumbledore explained.

Figures, even the portraits were ornery in Grimmauld Place. With a nod, Severus moved closer to Dumbledore and spoke softly enough that their prisoner could not hear. "You should take him to Azkaban right away, Albus! You can add kidnapping to the list of charges against him. Maybe this time the Ministry will do what it should have in the first place and give him the Kiss!"

The Headmaster frowned. "I would like to find out how he escaped first. Wouldn't you?"

"No!" Severus fired back, but then considered further. If Black had escaped once, he could do it again, unless they knew how to thwart him. "Very well," he said after a moment. "I happen to have several doses of Veritaserum with me."

The Headmaster's eyes widened behind his spectacles. "Whatever for?"

"I believe in always being prepared."

"I daresay."

Harry stirred in Severus' arms. His forehead was etched with worry lines. A stab of remorse went through Severus. His son was too young for worry to be so pervasive in his life.

Albus went on quietly, "I will administer the potion, if you want to take Harry home."

He should do so; he knew Harry needed to be back in familiar surroundings as soon as possible. But he also needed to know that Black was not going to be able to hurt him again. Severus wanted to be sure that Black would be put away for good, that he could not escape to threaten them again. To do so, he needed to see it with his own eyes. He could not rely on Albus' assertions alone, not this time.

"I will remain for the questioning," he murmured. After hitching Harry onto his hip with one arm, he removed a small vial from the inner pocket of the robe he had hastily thrown over his shoulders when they left his home a couple of hours ago. He handed the vial over to Albus and retreated to stand in the room's shadows, behind Black. Once there, he cast a flash of green light into the fireplace -- also out of Black's line of sight -- as if he and Harry had gone through the Floo. This way, Black could not unleash any of his vitriol on Harry. Or Severus.

Dumbledore cast ropes around Black's body before releasing him from the stunning spell which had knocked him over earlier. The older wizard's expression was hard, and his lack of geniality was notable. "Open your mouth, Mr. Black."

"Headmaster," the convict said in a scratchy voice, addressing Albus as if he were in the man's employ, or worse, still a student! "Please. I didn't kill them. I wasn't the Secret Keeper!"

Albus halted, the dropper of Veritaserum in one hand. He did not look at Severus, but he must have known was he was thinking. Even so, Severus pushed out his thoughts to the powerful Legilimens: Black will say anything to get away, to make you favor him again. Albus nodded slightly, and coldly said, "That is not at issue now. Although, if you will agree to questioning under Veritaserum, you might answer to those charges, as well."

"Yes! Of course. Anything, please." Black's voice was clogged with tears. "I'm so sorry. I am. Didn't know what I was doing; I'd never hurt Harry. Didn't mean to. I didn't, not ever, but he's all I have left of James," the man blubbered, his shoulders shaking. He sniffled over and over, as if trying not to break down sobbing.

Severus was unmoved.

Apparently, so was Albus. "Open your mouth," he said again. This time, Black complied. The Headmaster dripped three drops of the potion on Black's tongue, then recapped the bottle. It would take about 30 seconds for the effects to take hold.

"First," Albus said when the requisite time had passed, "I will ask you several questions to ascertain whether the potion is working. What is your name?"

"Sirius Orion Black," Black answered in the odd monotone people under the effects of Veritaserum used. But Black was wily; he could fake being caught under the potion's power, if he had will enough to do it and yet maintain his own ego.

"What is your mother's name?"

"Walburga Black-Black." Though he spoke with the same monotone, Black's words were followed by a high pitched giggle. "Daughter of Black and married a Black, black as her little black heart."

Albus looked a little worried. Severus could understand. If Black was too crazed to answer under the serum, this would do no good at all.

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Not any more. No, no more. Poor Regulus went away." Black looked up suddenly, and his voice was stronger. "I did have one, until that monster killed him."

Severus wasn't sure which monster was meant, but he'd bet on the Dark Lord. For Severus' own part, he had not seen the youngest Black since the late seventies. It was put about by the Death Eaters that Regulus, who was the youngest among them, had fallen from the Dark Lord's favor, or worse, had left his service . . . Rather, that he tried to, and been killed by the Dark Lord for the personal affront. But Severus had never known how -- or if -- Regulus had actually died.

"Tell me the sun is green," said Dumbledore.

"The sun is . . . gu . . . gre . . . great to see again."

"Excellent. Let us begin. How did you escape from Azkaban?"

Black let out another giggle. "The Grim did it! I went along for the ride."

Severus scowled. Obviously the bastard was trying to play the serum, trying to get out of answering truthfully. He should have expected nothing less from the scoundrel.

Dumbledore, too, looked put off. "The Grim is your unregistered Animagus form, correct?"

Black shuddered and then said, "Yes."

"How did you get off the island?"

"I swam."

"How did you get past the prison guards?"

Nice euphemism for Dementors, Severus thought, but he was very interested in the answer.

"The Grim. The Dem . . . they . . . they don't notice so much without feelings. Don't notice animals . . . as a Grim, a duh . . . a dog, I didn't have the right feelings to feed them. Not so tasty as a puppy!" Black laughed loudly. "Paid me no mind if I sat still when they passed. Coulda nipped their heels."

Albus looked up and away, tapping a finger to his chin as if thinking, but his gaze met Severus' in truth. If what Black said was reliable, any Animagus could enter or exit the prison at will. And Severus knew several Animagi -- unregistered, of course -- who should never been allowed to know this information, if for no other reason than if they were ever caught and prosecuted for their crimes, imprisonment at Azkaban would not be effective punishment.

The Headmaster had continued the questioning, and Black was saying, "… heard a report about those Dursleys. James always hated 'em, 'specially after he met 'em. I knew Harry was there," he said in an odd sing-song voice, "so I worried for the bairn. Had to escape to find him, to check up and find him, make sure he was okay. James would've wanted me to make sure he was okay. He would've wanted me to. Looked all around, smelled them all, stinking as they were, and when I couldn't find my little Harry there, I went to good ol' Hoggy warts to see what I could see. Heard that ol' Sni . . . sniv . . . Snapey had him, and I knew where the gre . . . greas . . . nast . . . where Snape was living. So I went to res . . . rescue Harry. He's muh muh my . . . I mean, he's James' suh, suh . . . he's James' . . . Argh!" Black thumped his head on the floor, coughing and wheezing after trying to so hard to get some words out, and obviously distraught at not being able to repeat his old lies about himself or James, in relation to Harry.

Severus could have cheered. But what he heard next chilled him to the bone.

"Albus," Black pleaded. "I told the boy, I told Harry, and I'll tell you now, I never meant to hurt him. I just wanted him safe. I was never Secret Keeper for James and Lily, I swear it. Peter was. He's the one who told Voldemo--"

"You lie!" Severus snapped. Forgetting he was meant to remain hidden, he surged forward so he could see the face of his lover's betrayer. "You killed Lily. Admit it!"

Black's expression shifted from surprised to rage in an instant. "How can I? It's your Veritaserum, isn't it?"

Nearly spitting with fury, Severus hissed, "Witnesses saw you attack--"

"They saw what Peter wanted them to see. He exploded the street. He cut off his own damn finger to leave it behind for others to find. Then he . . . he ran away, ran down the drain like a little rat, escaped like the vermin he was."

"That's impossible," Severus whispered, aware that Harry was waking because of his agitation. He smoothed a hand across the back of the boy's head and shoulder blades to calm him. "You're mad."

"Of course, of course! I'm mad as a corpse! Like to see you do better after six years in Azkabenny! You wouldn't last a . . . not a da . . . Damn!"

Severus sneered. "You know better than to lie under Veritaserum. Or maybe you don't. You've always been so arrogant, just like your best friend. You're a bully, Black, you and your trio of rule-breaking pack mates. Not one of you ever did anything that wasn't to your own benefit. You got what you deserved in Azkaban, for trying to kill me via your pet Werewolf if nothing else. Go on, tell me you didn't!"

Black couldn't do it. Not that he didn't try. But the serum was stronger than Black's will, not that Severus was surprised. Coughing and wheezing his way through attempted disavowals of all mischief and maliciousness, Black blubbered on piteously. Severus had no pity in him for the worst tormentor of his school days.

After a minute or two, when the serum was almost at the end of its usefulness, Black protested in the thick drone of those still under its effects, a sure sign he was fighting it no longer, "But you know it's true now, don't you? About me? I wasn't the Secret Keeper. It was Peter, I swear it was."

To Severus' horror, Dumbledore's expression had softened as he gazed at the bound man by their feet. "I do believe you, my dear boy, and I shall do what I can--"

"Albus!" Severus took another step toward the Headmaster. "It's madness! He's crazed and truly believes his lies, but lies are all they are."

"No, no, I didn't, I didn't kill them, you have to believe me, you slimy, sneaking Slytherin snivelly Snape!" Black was off again, sing-songing nonsense, and the serum had evidently lost its power over him as the monotone was completely gone. And his vitriol was back in full swing.

Severus ignored him.

"I'm not accepting all of what he said, certainly," started Dumbledore.

"But what? You're willing to believe enough to give him false hope? He belongs in Azkaban. He kidnapped my son!"

At that moment, Harry blinked open tired, green eyes. "Daddy?"

"Harry, it's all right. I'm here," said Severus.

"Harry, my boy, it's good to see you safe," Dumbledore told him at the same time, while Black chimed in from the floor with a, "Harry! Forgive me!"

Harry froze in that instant, as if he knew a single movement would spell his death. His lips only moved a fraction as he darted a look to Severus' eyes and whispered, "Daddy, is the Black man gonna hurt me again?"

"No, no, never, Harry. I won't let him touch you again. Did he hurt you badly? What did he do to you?"

"Nothing! I did nothing to him. I'd never hurt my godson!"

"He isn't yours, you completely idiotic cur! If you had more than one brain cell in your head you'd realize that."

"I still wouldn't hurt him," Black protested. "I'd never . . . even if he's not . . . not even if . . . Albus! You must know! You know me! I held him in my arms when he was just a baby. I changed his diapers. I'd never ever hurt him."

Albus turned to Severus. "Perhaps it would be best to take Harry home now."

Severus wanted to protest, but he knew it would do him no good. Albus already knew his assumptions and fears about Black with regards to Harry, and he would make whatever decisions he wanted, whether or not for Harry's sake. He drew a deep breath, knowing, too, that Albus was right about needing to take Harry away from here. "Very well. Just . . . please don't release him, Albus, if nothing else I say can sway you. I can't worry about him more this night, and neither can Harry."

"I understand. Take Harry to Hogwarts if you prefer. You can Floo to my office from here."

Severus agreed, and stepped to the fireplace. Harry's Kneazle kit darted over to them and he lifted it by the nape to give to Harry to hold. Instead of casting the spell of green light, he took up Floo powder in his right hand. Before he threw the powder down, he told Harry to hold his breath, and the three of them whirled their way to Hogwarts.

After a change of night clothes and a quick cleaning spell, Harry was so tired Severus put him straight to bed, and Severus sat in the chair by his bedside, watching him sleep.

--HPSSHPSSHPSS--

Unsurprisingly, when Harry woke, it was with nightmares. Severus soothed him, rocking him in his arms and whispering that everything was all right, that he was safe from harm and from Black and the Dursleys and everyone. The nightmares were almost the worst they'd ever been, and Severus had to stop Harry from biting into his hand again, but the boy kept moaning, "Sorry; didn't mean to tell, didn't mean to tell, please, I'm sorry, I'll be good . . ."

All Severus could do was remind him where he was, and with whom, and make sure Harry didn't hurt himself, and tell his son he could tell his Daddy anything. Anything at all.

Harry finally drifted off again, but Severus kept him in his lap, resting his cheek atop the boy's halo of soft, black hair, continually whispering to him that he was safe and home.

Later in the morning, when Harry woke for good, Severus pushed him to talk about his nightmare a little, to expel the poison, as it were, and to tell him what Black had done to him as well.

"I had to make him listen," Harry said. "He kept not listening, Daddy."

Severus noted, once more, that Harry had not stopped calling him Daddy since the night before. Not that he minded -- he preferred it to "Father," actually, since that was what he had needed to call his own father. Or else. But he also realized that Harry had only called him "Daddy" when he was frightened or waking from a nightmare. Thus, he was still scared and probably would be, for quite a while, from this newest trauma.

"That has long been a fault of his," Severus acknowledged. They were sitting together on the chair they often used for story time, since Severus figured Harry would be most comfortable there, and Harry seemed to want to be in constant physical contact with him. He cupped Harry's cheek. "What did you tell him?"

Harry looked away, his whole body trembling. "What I'm not s'posed to. What they tol' me not to."

"The Dursleys?"

Harry nodded, still refusing to look at him. He appeared braced for a blow. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to tell him, but he wouldn't listen. I couldn't let him send me back there, back to them. They'd kill me for sure this time, I bet."

Horrified that Harry might think he would ever have to go back to those people, Severus instantly said, "No, Harry. Never. They'll never have another chance to touch you. Nor will Black." He kissed Harry's forehead. "I'm not angry with you. Not at all." He swallowed hard, hating to say this, but he would, for Harry's sake. "I'm pleased you told . . . someone what they did to you, even if it was Black."

"Really, Daddy?"

"Yes, Harry. I want to feel safe enough to tell me anything, any time you need to. Remember how our rules here are different from theirs? You must forget their rule about not telling when you're hurt or scared, or when you remember something bad that happened to you. My rule is to share things like that. Remember?"

Harry nodded and relaxed into his arms. His eyes closed briefly. Then, after biting his lip for a moment, he said, "He's sorry, Daddy. I think he's real sorry. And I . . . I don't think he hurt my Mum and James."

For a brief instant, Severus believed it. He could just see Potter and Black, thinking they were so clever to make Pettigrew the Secret Keeper, picking the one man of their foursome whom no one would suspect could trusted with the whereabouts of the Potters and Harry. He recalled, too, the swiftness with which Black was incarcerated, without benefit of a trial and only the forefinger of Pettigrew as evidence the fourth Marauder was dead.

At the time, Black's treatment was the only ray of sunshine in the agonizing horror of the darkest place in which Severus had ever been, with his only love dead, at least partially due to his own actions. He wanted someone to blame. As did everyone in the Wizard community. They had called for blood, and went after Black with a sanguinary fury.

But the moment passed. Severus could never trust Black with Harry, could never trust him to be near his son. He would ward Spinner's End, and ward everywhere else he could against scrying and against Black in every form he could imagine: Grim, human, invisible, everything. He would--

He was interrupted by the voice of Dumbledore, coming from his fireplace.

Naturally.

After he had invited the elderly wizard into his home, and served him tea -- Oh, the irony! -- he pressed Dumbledore for news.

"I have been able to secure Sirius Black at St. Mungo's," Dumbledore said, in far to calm a voice.

"What?!" Severus snarled, then immediately lowered his voice so as not to frighten Harry more; he had wanted Harry to stay in his room whilst he spoke to the Headmaster, but Harry did not want to leave his side, and in fact was still sitting in his lap. He could not blame the boy for clinging to him. "He's not at Azkaban? He did kidnap Harry, recall."

Dumbledore's mouth turned down. "His placement is pending a trial, my boy. He will have a chance, this time, to defend himself -- if he is able -- perhaps with the help of my pensieve in addition to Veritaserum." Dumbledore raised his hand to stave off another of Severus' rants. "I understand your fears, Severus. And, too, I understand the ill will you bear for Sirius, but--"

"He bears even more for me," Severus interrupted, but Dumbledore did not stop speaking, just raised his eyebrows in silent admonishment.

"But he has already spent six years in Azkaban for a crime he may not have committed, an imprisonment which I, for one, pressed for greatly amongst my fellows at the Wizengamot. Please allow an old man to rectify his mistakes."

That took the bite out of Severus' retort. Dumbledore admitting a mistake happened with the frequency of Halley's Comet passing earth. Still, he had a few arguments left. He put a protective arm around Harry's waist, but Harry was already tense. "I don't want him near my son."

"Now, do not be too hasty, my boy."

"Hasty? Are you attempting a joke, Albus? I tell you, I am not in the mood for levity."

"Not at all. I simply think that perhaps Harry should have some say in whether he wants to see his godfather."

"Black is not Harry's godfather!"

"That may not be the truth. Please understand--"

"There is nothing to understand," Severus hissed. "James had no right to assign Black to that role."

"But he did," Albus said, folding his hands together on his lap. There were high points of color on his cheeks, a rarity all its own. He nodded toward Harry. "Though he is your son, Harry was born into an existing marriage. Technically--"

"Technically," Severus snorted, gripping Harry tighter to himself, and Harry clung to him, in turn.

"Technically," Albus repeated, "at the time, Harry was Lily and James' son, until you stepped forward and claimed paternity. Thus, at the time, James had the right to make Sirius Black Harry's godfather. Despite the fact that you have custody now, and have every right to it, at the time of Harry's birth, James had the legal right to be called Harry's father and to name who he wished as godfather."

"By whose laws?"

"The Wizengamot, I'm afraid. The Wizarding Paternity Statute of 1837. Since Lily was legally married to--"

"Enough," Severus interrupted. "Enough. I understand." He knew Harry did not, but he would explain it to his son as best he could, if he could ever get past the sinking feeling in his chest.

"It has not been an issue previously, of course, because Sirius has been incarcerated ever since the Potters died. But now that he will likely be freed -- or at least will have the chance to prove his innocence -- he does have certain rights."

Turning his face away, Severus covered his eyes and much of his expression with his hair, one of his favored methods of hiding when he did not want anyone to know what he was thinking. Harry could see him, of course, but he had vowed some time ago never to hide from his son. The boy's green eyes were troubled, wary. Severus took a breath. "Very well."

"You will allow him to see Harry?"

Still holding his son's gaze, he said, "No. I will allow Harry to decide."

"You will allow him to see Harry?"

Still holding his son's gaze, he said, "No. I will allow Harry to decide.

"But there is no way, short of Merlin, that I will require he make the decision now," he said softly. "Do not fear, Harry, I will not force you to do anything."

As the boy relaxed slightly into Severus' arms, he knew it had been the right thing to say. Both he and Harry had spent their childhood -- and he, much of his adulthood -- being forced to do one thing or another, on threat of beatings, torture or abandonment. In Severus' case, it was hard to know which of those was worst. Though many young children required the threat of punishment to obey, Harry did not. The boy already knew to his bones that disobedience for the least thing meant pain, but Severus wanted his son to learn to spread his wings and take chances, to learn that not everything meant as a suggestion was an order, and that he could do what he wanted . . . within acceptable bounds, of course.

He and Dumbledore spoke for a while longer, discussing when exactly Severus would return to work and how much he had to do to return his classroom to rights. Harry was exhausted, no doubt about it, mostly due to his nightmares and the tension of the last week of wondering when or where Black might show his ugly mug. The boy continued to cling to his "Daddy" even as he eased into sleep.

Severus was Daddy now.

That felt good.

A year ago, he would have sneered at the very idea. He would have railed against the possibility that a child would call him Father, never mind Daddy. He had given up all hope of such an occurrence, in fact, when the only love of his life gave birth, ten months after marrying James Potter.

And now he had Harry. A still-stick-thin boy who looked far younger than his seven years. A clingy little thing, with luminous green eyes, wary eyes. Hopeful eyes. A boy who trusted him, for no reason he could see, except that he had shown the boy kindness instead of cruelty. Warmth instead of cold disdain. Love, instead of antipathy.

He loved his son.

The thought hit him so profoundly it was almost frightening. And yet, a pervasive sense of peace swelled up to spread through Severus Snape, filling him and overflowing his heart, his lungs, everywhere inside, until he realized he was hugging Harry so close to his chest he could barely breathe.

He felt he could never let Harry go again.

Finally, Dumbledore took his leave, no closer to getting his way in the matter of Black than before. A victory, perhaps. A pyrrhic one, in that case, given what had happened to give Severus enough ammunition to thwart Albus' plans. But he would take what he could get. When offered only crumbs, he would not refuse them and starve whilst bemoaning the lack of a full loaf.

Severus had been sitting for many hours. Not long after Dumbledore left, he stood to work out a kink in his leg, with Harry still in his arms. He had thought, from Harry's slack mouth and the relaxation of his body, that they boy was asleep, but as soon as Severus stood, his eyes flicked open. Severus started to put him down, but Harry clutched at him still, so he just held Harry close. Harry settled on his hip, his little arms wrapped around his father's shoulder and neck. Eventually Severus would be more firm and insist Harry stand on his own, but if being held helped relax him for now, he would do whatever he could to mute Harry's anxiety.

"Daddy?" Harry whispered. He'd barely spoken above that level since he had been rescued.

"Yes, Harry?" Severus replied gently. He did everything gently the last two days.

Half of the boy's mouth turned up, but the smile did not seem real. The skin around his eyes tightened instead. "Are we going back to Spinner's End?"

Severus wanted to quell Harry's obvious fear about returning to the place from where he had been kidnapped. At the same time, he didn't want the fear to fester into a phobia. He watched his son's expression carefully as he said, "Not today, no. Perhaps we'll go tomorrow and collect our things before returning to school."

The immediate tension in Harry's limbs was unmistakable. Voice still soft, Severus continued, "You realize that the hospital Mr. Black is in, it's like a prison? He is unable to go anywhere on his own, except around the confines of his room." It should be a stinking cell, his inner voice cried. He quite agreed. "Not here, certainly, and not Spinner's End. He will not be able to get to you again, unless you wish to see him at some later time."

"I . . . I know."

What the head knew was not always believed by the heart, Severus mused. "We'll wait until tomorrow before going back, all right?"

Harry nodded quickly, apparently unnerved by the idea of returning to the place where he had been taken, when once he had been so comfortable there. He did not meet his father's eyes. "Will we sleep there, Daddy?"

"No. We don't need to stay away from the castle any more. I will return to teaching after tomorrow, and you will continue your lessons with Mrs. Weasley."

As if he had forgotten his lessons entirely, Harry's mouth opened with surprise. "Can't you teach me?"

Severus shook his head. "I have Potions classes to teach."

"I can learn Potions, too, Daddy. You said I could!"

"Of course you can," Severus agreed. "When you are old enough to attend Hogwarts, you will be in one of my classes--"

"But potions--"

Severus gave his head a sharp shake and Harry mashed his lips together. "But, if you had not interrupted me," he said quietly as Harry colored, "I would also have said that I will teach you some potions before you attend Hogwarts, too, like we did just last week. Ones which are safe and will be helpful for our household. Some that are even fun. However, loath as I am to admit it, Potions is not the only subject you need to know." He peered into Harry's eyes. "Mrs. Weasley has explained as much to you, hasn't she? That you need to learn to read and write and do your numbers, too?"

"Yes, Daddy, but . . ." Harry's mouth closed so quickly Severus could hear the click of his baby teeth. He had an inkling of what Harry wanted, but he thought it would be better for the boy if he were to speak his needs aloud, something he had never been allowed to do before.

"What is it, Harry?" he asked. "What do you want?"

Lips pressed together, Harry shook his head side to side, as if afraid he would let the words out otherwise. Fear rode in his eyes; fear he would be punished, fear he would be shunned or abandoned. Fear of hearing, "No," as he had always heard whenever he asked for something, before he had been taken from those loathsome Dursleys.

"Tell me, Harry. Please?"

With a hard gulp, Harry bleated out the words. "I want to stay with you. I don't want to go to Wheezys. Please, Daddy, let me stay with you. I'll be good, I promise. Please."

"Harry . . ." With that single word, as if he knew what was to follow, Severus saw his son's hope die and his face go blank, accepting the inevitable.

But Severus lived to foil expectations. Dumbledore would just have to deal with it or find a new Potions Professor. Harry needed him more. "Harry, yes. You can stay with me during my classes for a while at least. I . . . I don't care for the idea of being away from you either."

For the first time since this ordeal had begun, Harry offered him a honest -- though still tentative -- smile.

--WHELP II--

Harry wasn't exactly sure what "hectic" meant, but was pretty sure "really busy" was close. The next few days were "hectic in the extreme," according to Daddy. He had visits from Professor Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, and some people from the Ministry and the Department of Magical Children's Services. The latter made Harry really uncomfortable with their questions, about the Dursleys and Mr. Black and what Daddy was like and how he treated Harry, asking about what he ate and what he wore and when and where he went to sleep. But Daddy told him he had to answer truthfully. He was pretty sure, from the looks they gave each other, that those people didn't actually want to hear the truth.

When he told Daddy his thoughts later, Daddy said he was probably right. And then he bought Harry an ice cream sundae at a place called Fortescue's, for being good and telling them the truth anyway.

All the Slytherins seemed to want Daddy's time, too. In the morning, in the evening, and even when they were eating breakfast or occasional lunches together alone in their rooms (they had to eat dinner and most lunches in the Great Hall every day.)

For instance, one time during lunch, while Harry was busy pushing carrot sticks to the side of his plate in favor of his chips, Daddy talked with some of his "Firsties," which was what he called the youngest Slytherins. It sounded like one of the boys at the door was homesick.

Daddy was firm about him needing to stay in school, but his voice was softer than when he spoke to the older kids. "Listen to me, Mister Flint. I know this is a difficult time for you. You've never been away from home before and you miss your family. But you can make many good friends here, and you need to get used to going to your classes; skiving will not be tolerated any longer. If you have a stomachache in the future, you will need to come and take one of my special anti-stomachache potions. Is that clear?"

Eyes wide, Marcus nodded whilst braced between two of his friends. He had wiped away his tears and was pressing his lips together tightly as if Daddy would try to dose him with that potion right now, and Harry could understand. He had taken one of Daddy's special potions when his tummy was hurting. They were yucky. He never wanted to take one again.

His father continued, "You will learn Magic here such that you could not learn anywhere else. You like magic, don't you? I hear you're a fair flyer, too. Maybe in a year or two you can try out for Quidditch."

The boy nodded again.

"Good. I want you to think about that, think about all the magic you'll learn at Hogwarts, and about flying on your broomstick, every time you think about being homesick or lying about in bed all day. Can you do that?"

The boy gave another quick nod, and before Harry could gape at him too long -- for not being properly polite -- he added a "Yes, sir."

"Excellent. You will write a letter to your parents tonight, letting them know what new things you've learnt this week, and give it to me so I can post it for you." Daddy patted Marcus on the shoulder. "You'll be fine in a week or two. Everyone is a bit rattled the first time they're away from home."

Marcus and the other two boys thanked Harry's father before they left, and Daddy came back to the table to finish lunch. He shook his head, and his long, dark hair hid half of his face. "Firsties."

Harry finished swallowing a mouthful of pumpkin juice. "Why d'you call them that, Daddy?"

"It's their first year, son. First year, Firsties."

"Oh." Harry poked his fork at a carrot stick again, not sure if he wanted to eat it or not.

"Eat up, Harry," Daddy said, making the decision for him. As he obeyed, his father wiped his mouth and stood from the table. "I've several potions I need to work on. Will you be all right--"

"Can I come in and watch? Please, Daddy?"

It was the same every day. Father said he had potions to work on, and Harry asked to stay with him and watch. Every day, Daddy said yes, and most days, he even let Harry help.

"Of course, my little Potions Master." Daddy gave him the wrinkle-eyed look that was one of his widest smiles. "What shall we work on today?"

Harry didn't know the names of all the potions, but he had memorized a fair few. "Amortentia?"

Eyes widening with surprise, Daddy said, "I think not. Not today, at any rate. How about Pepper Up?"

Sounded good to Harry.

--WHELP II--

The next day, after one of Daddy's classes, he was followed into his office by Rose Parkinson. ". . . my first NEWT year," she was saying, "I was hoping to have a terrific base in Potions, Professor Snape. I had heard you got your Mastery, and at such a young age, too! My parents were, of course, thrilled to hear it, too, though my father doubted anyone could really master such a topic in so short a time . . ."

Father's tone was icy when he replied, "I'm sure they were thrilled, Miss Parkinson. I certainly hope you can live up to their excitement. It has been my experience that students with the greatest potential will succeed when the tools to do the work are available, and Potions is hard work, no getting around it. The rest often will not, no matter the circumstances."

Rose's face reddened and she mumbled something about being chock full of potential before leaving Daddy's office.

Harry looked up from the small desk and chair he had been provided with, in the area behind his father's bigger desk. "She's the one I found the snake with, Daddy, remember?"

Daddy looked almost taken aback, as if he had forgotten all about the asp he and Tree had found. Harry had not seen that snake again, even though Daddy took him outside after classes each afternoon, so he could play before dinner. But he had found other snakes. One even came out of a hole near the back of Daddy's office. He liked talking to them and finding out even more about the castle. The snakes had been so many places!

But then Daddy nodded slowly, his face blank, and said, "I do, Harry. Hush now, for a bit, while I correct some essays, and then we'll go outside," he said. But he stared at the doorway through which Rose had gone for a minute, before coming back to his desk and sitting down.

Harry bent his head over his penmanship again. He smiled to himself as he traced his name over and over on the thin piece of parchment. The parchment was smoother under his fingers than plain paper, but harder to write on. Daddy had helped him learn how to get most of the drippy ink off the quill before trying to write, and taught him how best to hold the quill to have good control over his letters. Harry's writing was much less blotchy now, and his letters and numbers were far straighter, too. Aunt Molly, if he ever had to go back to her again, would be pleased.

But Harry didn't want to go to the Weasleys again. He liked them all right, and he kind of missed playing with Ron, but he liked learning from his father more, with his big words and kindly near-smiles and the blinking green and silver stars he magicked onto the top of Harry's papers when he did a good job with his writing or sums. Harry liked sitting in Daddy's office while Daddy taught his classes next door and listening to him lecture. He was as close to his father as he could be. And when Daddy returned to his office with his own papers to grade or lessons to prepare, Harry was quiet as a mouse so Daddy could concentrate. He knew how to be quiet and out of the way. It was of the things he did best.

Not that Daddy was anything like the Dursleys; he wouldn't hurt Harry if Harry wasn't quiet. Not at all. But his father seemed to really appreciate it when he had uninterrupted time to study and work. He didn't have that stressed look in his eyes when Harry gave him time each day before asking for anything. Besides, Harry was used to never asking for anything anyway. He also knew when quiet and out of the way were the best things to do, and he did those very well. During Daddy's classes, for instance, Harry could hear his low, smooth voice in the next room quite well, and sometimes, when it got too muted in there, Harry could tiptoe to the door and peek out to make sure his father was still there.

Harry wouldn't do anything that might keep him from being able to stay near Daddy all the time, like he wanted. He certainly didn't want Mr. Black to take him away again, and he never ever wanted to be taken back to the Dursleys. As long as he was with Daddy, he was all right. Everything was all right.

At night, though . . . the nights were very bad.

Harry had a hard time falling asleep because he knew Daddy would leave him alone then, and he did not want to be alone. Alone was when the bad man came and stole him away. Alone at night was when the dreams came, about Uncle Vernon catching him eating biscuits that were meant for Dudders, or being out of the cupboard after hours. Alone was frightening.

Having Treacle Tart in his bed helped some, but not much, since she was so small. She couldn't stop the bad man, just slow him down. She couldn't keep the dreams away like Daddy could.

So rather than fall asleep, Harry tried his best to stay awake, since as long as he was awake, Daddy would stay by his side. It was hard to stay awake, though, when he was so very tired. When he did eventually fall asleep, he always woke again soon after, startled by a noise or movement or something, and when he found his Daddy gone, he always crawled into his clothes cupboard to hide. No kidnappers would never find him there.

Treacle always climbed in afterwards, and the two of them huddled close together, wary as could be, hiding from dreams and bad men, until Daddy found them in the morning.

The third night after this happened, Daddy did not take Harry to his room, but to his own room instead. After Harry's teeth were brushed and he was in his nightclothes, Daddy said, "How about you try sleeping in here with me? That way you needn't worry I'm gone, or that you'll be taken away."

Harry nodded solemnly, and then smiled a little more when Daddy took out his wand and waved it around. In a trice, his big bed divided into two smaller ones, both with sheets and blankets. The bed farthest from the door had a green coverlet with little golden snitches on it, being chased by brooms. Harry looked up at his father, who nodded. "That one will be yours, all right?"

"Yes, Dad," Harry said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He tucked Harry in, and sat with him until Harry fell asleep that night, knowing his father would always be with him.

--WHELP II EPILOGUE--

Six Months Later:

On the steps leading up to the main entrance of Hogwarts, Severus Snape stood braced against the chilly March wind and watched his son at play on the lawn. Hagrid's great hound was chasing Harry, and the boy's kneazle -- now full grown -- was chasing both of them. Harry's shrieks of laughter carried to the steps, and Severus was warmed by the sound of it. A few times over the last several months, he had not been sure he would ever see Harry playing and laughing like other children.

Every so often, Harry glanced up the hill, ostensibly to wave at his father or to make a silly face, on the off chance he could get Severus to laugh or wave in return. In truth, Severus knew that his son was simply making sure his father was still there. It was the single biggest issue they had dealt with over the winter. Due to the angling of both Harry and himself, Severus had barely been out of sight or hearing range of his son since the boy's kidnapping six months ago. Neither of them wanted to lose that sense of contact.

Severus waved back, careful to use the hand not holding a much abused letter.

A minute later, a rush of red-haired children raced past Severus to join Harry in outdoor play. Far more sedately, Molly Weasley joined Severus on the bottom step. In comparison to his plain black cloak and robes, her outer robe was bright yellow, making her looking rather like a plucked canary. She pulled it more tightly around herself, to ward off the cold, then clasped her gloved hands together at her waist.

"Good morning, Severus."

"It's half past one," he replied curtly.

She smiled, well used to his chilly greetings. "Of course. Time does fly, after all."

"Only on winged clocks," he murmured, but she had a point. The winter had truly flown by, what with schooling Harry on top of his other classes, and taking care of his son, especially his beautiful, yet still fragile, trust. It was a wobbly thing, easily bumped and bruised, but thus far still intact. Severus aimed to keep it that way.

"March is blowing in like a lion, indeed," Molly continued, hitching up her robe again.

Severus had heard enough. "Spare me your old wise woman mantras. If you have something constructive to say, by all means, spit it out. Please."

A spark of something lit Molly's eyes, but Severus did not think it was anger. Not really. "How has Harry been this week?" she asked finally.

It was the question he had expected, yet he still didn't know how to answer. This week was the first one since last fall where Severus was actively encouraging Harry to do things independently. Though still "incarcerated" at St. Mungo's, Sirius Black had all but ruined Harry's sense of security at Hogwarts or Spinner's End, and the boy had worried for all this time that he would be taken again, and worst of all, taken back to the Dursleys. Today was the first time Harry had voluntarily gone down the hill to play instead of staying within grabbing distance of his father.

"He keeps one eye on me at all times."

Molly nodded. "Soon enough he'll look away. I know it's been taxing. . . ."

Severus made a sound that, from anyone else, might have been called a snort. "You have no idea."

Molly corrected him immediately. "I have seven children, Severus. Seven. I rarely get to use the loo alone, never mind have time to read or create potions. If one of my lot doesn't need me, it's a fair bet one or more of the other six does. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I wasn't surrounded at all times--"

"Maybe that works for you," Severus snapped, "but I am a solitary man. I lead a solitary life--"

"Not anymore." Her gaze was on the children and, as if on cue, four heads of red hair and one of black turned towards them, and all the children waved.

All the fight washed out of Severus. Molly was right. "No. Not anymore."

"Do you wish it were different?"

Instead of snapping at her again, Severus thought back over the last half year or so, from when he had rescued Harry from the Dursleys to when he'd discovered (for the second time) that his son was a Parselmouth, to seeing him fly on his broom, to the incident with the Squid. To more recent events, like Harry's first Christmas, to the thousand times he might have wanted a bit of privacy or more sleep or less noise, but knew that Harry needed him more. To Harry's questions about Sirius Black, (some of which he had referred to Dumbledore, unable to answer with anything less than the bile-laced vitriol Black deserved) and what it would mean to them, now that Black had been exonerated, cleared of any wrongdoing in the deaths of Lily and James Potter.

Harry was a very curious child, Severus was learning, though only recently had he begun asking questions, something he had never been allowed at the Dursleys. He was also very bright. He learned quickly from listening to Severus talk, and now that he was reading at above his grade level, he seemed to get immense enjoyment from books. When given half a chance, Harry could be affectionate as well, occasionally touching his father's hand or leaning into a hug, and his smile could light up the room.

No. Severus would not trade his experiences with his son for one minute of a solitary life. Never.

Molly must have read that determination in his expression because she merely smiled and continued to watch their children in some intricately concocted game of tag. Then something -- or someone -- caught her eye.

"Why is that hateful man spying on our children?" She pointed, and Severus followed the direction of her finger to find Argus Filch standing less than fifty yards away.

"Ah." Severus let the fire of just retribution warm his belly. "We have taken measures --" a Fidelity Potion "-- to insure he will protect my son and never harm him in any way."

And when, in another six months, the potion wore off, they would reassess its needfulness. Harry was still uncomfortable around the dirty, despicable man, but now that he knew magic protected him, at least he was no longer petrified by the squib.

"And are these measures working?"

"Yesterday, Filch practically flung himself at Fang rather than let the dog knock Harry down." Severus smiled at the memory. "Yes. I believe they are."

A few minutes later, Molly broke the silence again. Harry never talked so constantly; another thing he liked about the boy -- he knew when to be quiet. "I heard --" no doubt from her nosy children "--that you are having Lucius Malfoy's son here for Easter."

She had not made it a question, so Severus decided not to answer. Alas, she realized her error and added a minute later, "Won't having two boys be a bit of a handful? If having just one makes it hard to be alone . . ."

She was, not particularly skillfully, angling for him to bring Harry to the Burrow again, and to perhaps leave him there for a day, or even an afternoon, for his education or her peace of mind or something. She could not understand why neither Harry nor he wished to do that, and had pestered him about it all winter. He had turned her offer down each time.

Still, recalling the last time Draco had spent a week with them -- over the Christmas holidays -- and the subsequent mopping up, both figurative and literal, he and the rest of the staff had needed to do, he nodded grimly. "But Harry seems to enjoy it." And he hoped to encourage Harry to sleep in his own bedroom, with Draco, this time.

Molly laughed softly. "You'll find you do more and more of that as they grow older."

"What, have friends over?"

"That, too. But just in general, doing things your children fancy, which you mightn't want to undertake yourself."

It was true already, Severus mused. From letting Harry have a kneazle to buying him a new broom after the squid ate his first one, to having Draco Malfoy sleep under his roof, to eating fudge sundaes, there were many things he did only because he knew Harry would like them.

"What's that?" she asked a few minutes later, pointing to the letter crushed in his hand.

"A letter."

"Oh? Who from?"

"Someone with a modicum of proper manners."

Molly smiled knowingly. "I heard you'd received something from Sirius Black recently."

"Not that it is any of your business," he snarled, crushing the letter even more in a clenched fist, "but this is not from Black."

"Ah. I thought maybe it was, because of the way you're squishing it so."

Caught out, Severus relaxed his hold. The sender was nearly as vexing as Black, but it would do no good to tell her any--

"Is it from Remus Lupin then? I understand he is back in the area."

There was little Severus detested more than a gossip, and Molly Weasley was one of the worst. But she had helped him with Harry as much as she could, and he was grateful enough for that to not strangle her in the open in front of her children. But she "understood" or "heard" too bloody much! And she would keep pecking at him until he gave in, he knew it. "Yes," he told her at last. Through gritted teeth, he continued, "He wishes to see Harry."

"And you don't want him to."

"Obviously not!"

She gave him a piercing gaze, and if Severus had not been positive she wasn't, he would have sworn she was attempting wordless Legilimency on him. But even her "understands" and "heards" would not have sussed out Severus' objection . . . unless Albus had been more free with others' secrets recently than he had been ten years ago, when Lupin had almost killed Severus, with Black's help, on a full moon. Only he, Albus, James Potter and his Marauders and a select few of Lupin's family knew that he was a werewolf, and though Severus would have loved to shout the information from the highest tower at Hogwarts, he was constrained by the promise he had made to Albus.

"Because he and Black were friends?" Molly guessed.

"Indeed." It was certainly a factor of the whole.

"It's your right, of course. Even if Black is a free man--"

"He's still at St. Mungo's!" And would be for the foreseeable future, unless he started behaving much more sanely. Azkaban had been bad for him, no matter how good he was at avoiding the Dementors.

"I meant free from Azkaban, and from his guilt in the matter of Lily and James. Even so, Harry is your son, and you can decide who he sees."

"Yes. I know."

Like everyone else in England, it seemed, Molly and the rest of the Weasleys had learned that Severus was Harry's biological father when Black had insisted on a paternity test before he would give up his rights to visit Harry and have a say in his education. The news had spread like Fiendfyre, and all sorts of tawdry stories had been written in The Prophet about Severus and his relationship with Lily, none of which he let Harry see.

But that Harry was now officially his son was perhaps the sole benefit of the whole mess, from Black's escape to his commitment to St. Mungo's. Even the Ministry knew now. Cornelius Fudge could not put his hands on Harry, and neither could Black, even if he was still legally Harry's godfather. He could not force Severus to bring Harry to see him.

Severus had promised that, if Harry wanted, he would let the boy see Black. So far, Harry had not shown the slightest inclination to do so, which suited Severus just fine.

But now, this letter from Lupin. He wondered what the werewolf wanted, in truth. What was he playing at, to suddenly emerge from the woodwork after six years of conspicuous absence? What was his angle?

It vexed Severus that he could not tell, from the letter, what Lupin really wanted. He doubted very much it was merely about renewing his relationship with Lily's son -- at least he had done the courtesy of not claiming Harry to be Potter's son. Yes, it was vexing, and Severus had several cutting remarks to send back by way of reply, starting with, "You mangy cur . . ."

He sighed.

"You told Harry he could decide whether to see Black or not." Molly's words, so close upon the heels of his thoughts, made him twitch.

"So I did."

"Has he asked to?"

"Would you ask to go see your kidnapper? A man who terrorized you and stole you from your home?"

Twin blotches of pink appeared on Molly's cheeks. "Has he?"

"If he had, I would have taken him to see that mangy mutt."

A tiny smile played on her lips. "You wouldn't have tried to talk him out of it? Suggested, perhaps, he put off such a trip for a week or a year?"

She knew him too well. It was exactly what he planned to do if Harry asked. "The subject has not come up."

"Lucky for you."

He raised an eyebrow in her direction. Harry was traumatized by that man so badly he has spent the last six months clinging to me like a limpet. I daresay 'luck' has naught to do with it."

Chastised, Molly's coloring darkened. "No, of course not."

"I will do whatever it takes to make Harry happy, to make sure he is cared for and to keep him from being hurt again. I will protect him and make sure nothing comes between us again. Ever."

Red-faced and panting from exertion, Harry chose that moment to come running up to him. He threw his arms around his father and buried his wind-chilled face in Severus' warm robes. With hands under Harry's armpits, Severus swiftly lifted him into the air, then pulled him in for a hug as Harry grinned. "Did you see me, Dad? Did you see me jump over Fang when he was starting to get up?"

"Of course, my little Seeker. You've got some good muscles there; maybe you should go for Beater?"

Harry laughed and shook his head. Beaming as Severus kissed his brow quickly, he squirmed until Severus set him down so he could go running off to his friends again.

Harry was his world. He was everything to him. The world be damned if anyone dared mess with them again.