After a long, luxurious shower, halfway through which, he was irritated to find that he did indeed have to make use of the stool Snape had provided, Harry found himself dressed in the new clothes that Professor McGonagall had brought for him.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that he did not look like he was about to head off to Sunday school. Indeed, his elderly (she was definitely elderly, unlike the headmaster who was positively ancient) head of house had done passably well in picking out clothes that he was not overly embarrassed to be seen in. Mind you, if he had survived public scrutiny wearing Dudley's cast offs for most of his life, he could not really complain when he was now neat and tidy and not too out of the loop fashion wise.

The beige cargo pants were stiff with newness but the long sleeved, round necked, T-shirt was extremely comfortable and just the right thickness to negate the cooler air down here in the depths of the dungeon. But even when he went to have lunch in the great hall, Harry did not think he would have to worry about being too hot, as Hogwarts was situated so far north that the temperature in these parts never became stifling.

Everything fitted perfectly and as the only clothes Harry had ever worn that did fit were his school clothes and robes, he felt quite strange. Even the trainers were a perfect fit and more unusually, intact.

Harry had found upon opening his trunk that Dudley's old clothes had disappeared, presumably disposed of. He privately thought that someone had taken a bit too much upon themselves but he could not really deny that if he had put on Dudley's old jeans, he would have needed braces to keep them up as well as a belt and he would have looked like Bozo the clown.

Harry was a long way from being vain but he definitely did not want to look like a total prat if he could avoid it.

After inspecting the contents of his trunk thoroughly, Harry had been surprised to find two more pairs of pants, several t-shirts, both long and short sleeved and a couple of hoodies. There was also plenty of underwear and socks.

Harry knew that this little lot would not have come cheap. He must make sure to speak to Professor McGonagall and find out exactly how much he owed her.

He did not know what would happen when he finally went back to the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would surely want to know where he had gotten the money to buy new clothes. Harry had been trying to keep secret the fact that his father and mother had left him a fortune when they had died. He knew that if Uncle Vernon ever found out, he would not rest until he had gotten his greedy hands on as much of that money as he could get. He would reason that he was owed a significant amount because he had been paying for his, Harry's upbringing since he had been dumped on their doorstep.

Before leaving the bedroom, Harry went to the bedside cabinet and opened the drawer. He pulled out an 11 inch long, tapered length of wood and held it reverently in his hand. His wand. Holly with a phoenix feather core. Harry felt a tingle travel all the way up his arm and suffuse the rest of his body.

How he had missed it.

He had only known he was a wizard for the last five years of his life and had only had his wand for the same length of time. But during that time, it was as if this slender length of wood had become an extension of himself. He felt incomplete without it being somewhere about his person. The furtherest away he was comfortable with it being was on his bedside cabinet whilst he was sleeping. The times when uncle Vernon had confiscated it and all his magical belongings and locked them in the cupboard under the stairs had left him bereft. Naked. Exposed.

After waking from the long period of unconsciousness followed by a period of mental confusion, it had taken Harry a while to even think about his wand. But when his brain had finally begun to work properly, the first thing he had asked about was the whereabouts of his wand. Instead of just telling him that his wand was safe, Professor McGonagall had taken it out of the drawer and put it in his hand. It was as if she knew how much he craved the feel of it in his hand.

That had only happened yesterday evening and Harry could remember the overwhelming feeling of relief. The joy. The tingle that had suffused his being just as had happened seconds ago. He was whole as long as he had his wand. Did all wizards have this overwhelming feeling of oneness with their wands?

Its relationship to a certain other wand was something he did not dwell upon. Sometimes though, he had to wonder if Voldemort had ever discovered that both his and Harry's wand had the same phoenix feather core.

Harry was stumped for a moment as to where to stow his wand; Mad-Eyes admonition of ‘don't put your wand there, boy! What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks!' flashed through his mind. But after a close inspection, he found a long, thin pocket on the outside of the right pant's leg, within easy reach so that he could grab his wand quickly. Even though the clothes were obviously Muggle in design, they had been sold in a wizard wear shop and the wand pocket had been added for convenience.

Forty-five minutes after leaving the breakfast table, Harry knocked tentatively on the door he had seen Snape disappear through earlier. He could see the man tending a cauldron on the far side of the room. His concentration was complete as it always was when he worked and it seemed as though he had not heard Harry's knock.

Raising his hand to knock again, he jumped a mile instead when Snape said with a degree of impatience, "Come in Potter."

Harry advanced with some trepidation. Snape's post-breakfast snark did not seem to have dissipated any.

"You took your sweet time," he said.

"Sorry, Sir." The tone totally belied the words and Snape looked up, his eyes narrowed.

Harry quickly lowered his gaze to the cauldron; knowing his apology was far from heartfelt and determined to avoid a broadside from Snape.

Once sighting the cauldron however, Harry forgot all about his and Snape's ongoing verbal battle because the cauldron was smaller than the average sized cauldron. Much smaller. If Snape were to pick it up, he would be able to hold it perfectly in his cupped hand. It also seemed to be made of solid gold.

Harry raised surprised eyes and Snape smirked at him.

"Yes, Potter. It is made of solid gold and I'm sure you must realise, is very valuable.

Harry also noticed that instead of a wooden or glass stirring rod, this one was also made of gold.

The potion within, no more than about a cup of liquid, emitted a silvery, phosphorescent glow. Snape had not ceased his stirring. The flame beneath was very low.

"Why do you need a gold cauldron and rod, Sir"

"The Armillaria reacts badly to all other solids. It is also bioluminescent which is why the potion glows."

"Armillaria?"

"It is a form of fungi, Potter. Quite toxic but as this potion is not going to be imbibed, that is of no consequence."

"And this potion is going to determine whether my system is free of all traces of the poison?"

"It is. Now, as I cannot stop stirring, I need you to take that lancet and puncture the tip of one of your fingers."

Harry picked up the 3 inch long, rounded piece of metal which tapered down to a very sharp point. He twisted it in his fingers. He was not looking forward to this. From what he had been told, he had lost more than enough blood over the last week.

Once again, Snape, the master Legilimens seemed to read his mind. "I do not require a fountain, Potter. Just one drop will suffice. A short, sharp jab will do it.

"But before you do that, you must cleanse your skin with alcohol..." He indicated a brown bottle and a jar of cottonwool balls. "Everything that goes into this potion must be entirely free of contaminants. That includes the microbes that live on your skin and soap residue from your shower."

Harry did as instructed without any comment. After about a minute-Snape told him to wait until the alcohol had completely dried-he pricked his finger with the sharp instrument. The bead of blood that appeared was practically microscopic.

Snape rolled his eyes in exasperation, all the time maintaining a perfect rhythm with his stirring. "Gently squeeze the blood towards your fingertip, Potter but make sure not to touch the puncture."

Harry forced the blood towards the tip of his finger. After about 10 seconds of massage, the bead of blood had blossomed to about the size of a match head.

"Now hold you finger over the cauldron, turn it upside down and allow that drop of blood to fall into the potion."

Harry did as instructed and both wizards watched as the crimson drop began to slowly elongate. However, it stubbornly refused to totally defy gravity and instead hung suspended from Harry's abused finger.

Snape huffed out an exasperated breath, but before he could say anything, Harry ran his thumb along the underside of his finger, forcing more blood towards the tip but being careful not to contaminate the clot. The blink of an eye later, the large drop fell with a miniscule plop into the viscous looking potion and was immediately sucked into the small whirlpool created by the smooth, circular motion of the stirring rod.

A small nod of the head was the only indication Snape gave that he was satisfied. His clever eyes did not stray from the potion and the stirring continued unabated.

Of course, once the stubborn clot had dislodged itself from Harry's finger tip, more blood welled up to take its place. He snatched up several of the cottonballs and pressed them against the tiny wound where he held them firmly for the next couple of minutes, all the while keeping his eyes on the swirling potion.

Over the next five minutes, the silvery mixture took on a barely there pinkish tinge which slowly, ever so slowly darkened to carmine. Harry was amazed that just one drop of blood could redden the silvery coloured mixture so much.

Finally, Snape stopped stirring. He allowed every drop of the potion to fall from the gold rod back into the cauldron before removing it and washing it immediately under running water. After drying it with a soft cloth, he put it away in a cabinet which he locked before pocketing the key.

With a tiny movement of his wand, Snape reduced the low flame under the cauldron to just barely a flicker. Then he stepped into what Harry could see was a small store room. Rows of shelves housed various sized phials, glass bottles and jars. There were also many pottery containers, much like the one the salve for his hands was stored in.

With precise movements Snape picked up three different coloured phials from the neat shelves and returned to Harry's side. He held out the tiny bottles. Harry took them but his eyes remained fixed on Snape

"I thought I didn't need any more potions. I don't feel unwell any more."

"Regardless of how you feel, you still need the Blood Replenishing Potion as you are still anaemic, Pepper Up Potion to give you energy and a nutritive potion to try and build you up a little. The small amount of food you are ingesting at the moment is insufficient to meet all your bodies requirements. You will need these supplements twice a day for at least another week."

Harry sighed but obeyed without further question. Snape watched as he cracked the wax seals and downed the potions, all absolutely foul of course. And he hated the strange effect ‘pepper-up' elicited-that of steam seeming to escape his ears. Indeed, as Snape relieved him of the phials he felt that steaming ears was all the horrible tasting potion was good for because all of a sudden, he felt inexplicably tired.

He watched as Snape took the phials to the sink where he filled each with water, and left them to soak. When he turned and strode towards the door, robes, as ever, billowing impressively, it was obvious that he meant for Harry to follow.

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Once back in the sitting room, Snape indicated Harry should sit on the sofa. Harry was glad to obey as his legs were becoming shaky and all of a sudden he felt as if he could very easily doze off. What good was the Pepper Up Potion anyway if he could feel this tired minutes after taking it?

Snape was perusing one of his very well stocked book cases, and once again he seemed to realise exactly what Harry was thinking. He spoke to Harry bet kept on looking at one book title after another.

"Your body still has a great deal of adjusting to do, Potter, and there will be frequent times when fatigue will attack you in overpowering waves." He pulled a thick tome from the shelves and turned to stare at his patient.

"The Pepper Up Potion, whilst seemingly useless when you feel as enervated as you do at the moment, will, in fact, help you to recover from these bouts of fatigue much quicker.

Harry did not see the man point his wand towards the bedroom but he had just enough presence of mind to catch the pillow that came zooming towards him before it hit him full in the face.

"Put your legs up and rest before we go to the Great Hall for some luncheon."

Harry did not argue, and as he swung his legs along the length of the extremely comfortable sofa and placed the pillow behind his head, he saw Snape sit down and open his chosen book. Within seconds, he was asleep.

He did not hear Snape's exasperated cluck of the tongue, nor did he hear the man get up and remove his glasses.

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As Harry rose from the depths of sleep, he could hear the distant murmur of voices. A little further towards the light, he distinguished the voices-both deep and both distinctive as belonging to Professors Dumbledore and Snape. Their discussion was certainly not just to pass the time of day, if the low intense murmur was anything to go by.

Moving his head just slightly, he strained to hear more. The voices seemed to be coming from the direction of the lab.

"...he was exhausted, Albus. That is all. He kept going for longer than I thought he would before succumbing to fatigue."

"You do not think luncheon in the great hall will be too much for him?"

"I am sure all the adulation he will receive will bolster the boy's energy reserves."

Harry's brow furrowed at these words but he did not have time to ponder them as the discussion continued.

"The potion is coming along nicely I see." That was the headmaster. Snapes reply was more than a little terse.

"Yes, yes. Three more hours on a very low heat. Then we shall know the worst."

"The worst, Severus?"

"Yes, Dumbledore, the bloody worst!"

There was the sound of angry footsteps crossing behind the couch and then the clink of glass on glass. Then the sound of much calmer footsteps followed the first.

"Severus, I do not think you need that," Dumbledore's voice was calm but there was a chiding note, none the less.

"Well thank you for your opinion, Albus but I bloody well do think I need it," ground out an irate Snape. If both men had not been attempting to keep their voices down, this comeback would most likely have been spoken at a much higher volume. There was a short silence followed by a chocked gasp and then the sound of something being put down forcefully onto a wooden surface.

"But in deference to your concern for my liver, I will restrict myself to one."

"A rather large one, my boy."

"Don't push it, old man." A long pause as footsteps clacked back and forth in agitated bursts.

Harry wished he could open his eyes.

"Damn! I wish I had never seen that bloody mark." Snapes voice had risen slightly but was still softer than normal. A difficult feat to pull off, that-a quiet yell.

Another pause. Harry could just imagine Dumbledore waiting patiently for Snape to calm down. Much like he had waited for Harry to calm down on more than one occasion.

Harry was totally confused. He presumed the potion referred to was the one he had contributed blood to. But why was Snape expecting the worst? And why was he so agitated? Was there something about his condition they were not telling him?

Well, that would just be par for the course wouldn't it. Keep him in the dark. Again. What else was new.

And what ‘bloody mark' was the snarky git referring to.

"I would have thought that you would be starting to come to terms with things, Severus."

"Well you thought wrong. If things go against me, it will be a toss up as to whether I hex the boy to oblivion or kill myself."

"Severus..." Dumbledore's voice was tinged with exasperation. "You are looking at this conundrum from only one point of view. You are only thinking of James."

"How can I not think of James! I just have to look at the brat and I see James."

"If you opened your eyes and looked closer, you would see Lily. Those eyes might have been transplanted from the mother to the son."

Another pause during which Harry became almost dizzy with his whirling thoughts.

"I can't look at his eyes, Albus." The words were sulky and anguished at the same time. "It hurts too much."

Harry's eyes flew open. That was it. He couldn't feign sleep any longer. This conversation was just too surreal. And too disturbing. That last statement-it almost sounded as if Snape...as ...if Snape had a thing for his mum.

Harry didn't even think to pretend that he was only just coming out the fog of sleep. He was too agitated. He sat bolt upright in one fluid movement.

Snape started a little but the ever calm Dumbledore merely turned and smiled at a red-faced, clearly agitated Harry.

"Potter! How long have you been awake?" barked Snape.

Harry was going to retort, "Long enough to hear that you are still keeping things from me, and long enough to discover you had a thing for my mum!" But the look on Snape's face was reminiscent of the look that had adorned it during the ‘post pensieve' horror.

Harry swallowed and thought better of serving up a mouth full of cheek at the present time. A bit of strategy was called for. After all, if Snape was as angry as he looked, his temper would quickly reach ignition point if Harry started demanding answers straight away.

He made a belated attempt to look sleepy and befuddled. He rubbed his eyes then made the habitual attempt to flatten his untidy hair. "Um, I just now woke. Your voices woke me."

Snape's eyes narrowed and it was obvious that he was going to tear strips off Harry. But Dumbledore did what he did best and calmed the waters... laying a hand on Snape's arm and twinkling brightly at Harry.

Snape divided a sneer between the two of them before he strode into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Dumbledore crossed to the sofa and sat down next to Harry.

"Feeling refreshed, my boy?"

"Er...yes, Sir. Thanks." Harry was feeling around on the small table next to the sofa for his glasses. He could not find them.

"Sir, can you see my glasses?"

After only a couple of seconds, Dumbledore located them on the mantelpiece. He got up with alacrity and handed them to Harry.

Harry frowned as he put them on. "I didn't put them up there. I don't even remember taking them off."

Dumbledore chuckled in that infuriating way he had. "I suppose Professor Snape was worried that you would hurt yourself and so he removed them for you."

Harry raised his eyebrows and looked at Dumbledore incredulously. "Snape! Worry about me?..."

"Professor Snape, Harry.

"Come on, Sir. Even you must know how much the man hates me."

"Harry, I am sure you cannot have forgotten the effort Professor Snape has put into saving your life over the last week."

No, of course Harry had not forgotten. But whenever he dwelled on the incongruous actions of the teacher who had always hated him with a passion, Harry could only come to the conclusion that he had put in so much effort because Dumbledore had ordered him to do so.

Plus, Snape knew about the prophecy. So maybe he was leaving him to Voldemort's tender mercies. That way, he could say he had worked above and beyond the call of duty to save poor Potter and wasn't it just such a shame that all his hard work had been negated by the most evil wizard of all time. Ho Hum!

Dumbledore watched the emotions cross Harry's expressive face. It was no wonder the boy had not been able to master Occlumency. Every thought he had played across his face in unnerving detail.

I assure you Harry, that Professor Snape was quite as upset as Professor McGonagall and myself when you collapsed so spectacularly in my office. It was he who caught you before you hit your head on the floor. It was he who carried you through the floo to his laboratory. And it was he who discovered the poison used on you. He directed both myself and Professor McGonagall in your care and it was he who treated every one of your symptoms.

"And believe me Harry, they were innumerable."

Harry's face had reddened under the gentle chastisement. He had heard an abridged version of these events before but it seemed that there had been much more frantic activity involved in his care than he had thought.

Or perhaps he just did not want to think about it. Thinking about Snape's actions left him very confused. It just did not gel with how the man had treated him since the day he had first set foot inside Hogwarts.

But there was the time in his first year when Snape had saved him from Quirrell hexing his broom during his first Quidditch match.

Harry had also been told that the reason Snape had elected to referee the match against Hufflepuff in his first year, was so he could be closer to Harry should any other such occurrence take place.

Then in an around about sort of way, Harry supposed Snape might have thought that he, Ron and Hermione might have needed saving from Sirius in the Shrieking Shack during their third year. Of course then, there had been the added bonus of being the one to capture Sirius Black, notorious Azkaban escapee and mass murderer.

And he supposed Snape had ran interference for him by giving Umbridge fake Veritaserum when she had tried to question him about Dumbledore and Sirius' whereabouts when the ugly old toad had tried to take over the school on behalf of the ministry. It didn't matter that he had not drunk the adulterated tea-Snape could not have known that.

And unbeknownst to Harry at the time, Snape had acted upon Harry's garbled message in Umbridge's office and contacted Sirius at Grimmauld place. He had, apparently, even joined Remus in trying to entreat Sirius to stay put.

Why on earth did Snape always try and keep him safe when he went out of his way to torture him in class and whenever else he could?

Dumbledore patting his knee and standing up brought Harry back to the present. "Don't try and analyse every little thing, Harry. Things will eventually make sense.

"Now, I must go, my boy. I will see you in half an hour in the Great Hall."

"Professor Dumbledore?" Dumbledore had taken several strides towards the door but Harry's voice halted him in his tracks and he turned around.

"Yes, Harry."

"Um-Sir, I was just wondering if the potion was finished yet? Do you know whether all the poison is out of my system?"

"Ah, said Dumbledore. "The potion."

He paused for several seconds and Harry was sure he was thinking back over what he and Snape had said. Finally, he answered, "The potion has to simmer for another few hours I am afraid."

And with a smile, he left Snape's quarters.

Harry stared after him and gave his head a disbelieving shake. As usual, Dumbledore was skirting around the truth. Oh, sure, the potion did have to simmer for another three hours or there about-Snape had said so when he thought Harry was still asleep. But there was more to this potion than determining whether Harry's system was free of poison, he was sure of it.

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Snape swept out of his room twenty minutes later. Harry had been sitting, stewing ever since the headmaster had left. Now, he levelled a look of dislike and frustration at Snape.

Snape returned the dislike part ten fold before stalking to the door and pulling it open.

"Come along Potter. Let us get this over and done with. I have more important things to do with my time than socialise." Snape held the door open. Once in the dark corridor beyond, Harry stopped, preventing Snape from exiting.

"I'm sure I can find the Great Hall by myself, Sir. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

Snapes lip curled. "You think not. Have you ever been to my quarters before, Potter?"

"No. But I presume they're near your office."

"Well, you presume wrong. My office is near my classroom and during my leisure time, I prefer being as far away from annoying brats as I can get."

"You would be lost in less than a minute, I assure you." Snape stepped into the corridor, forcing Harry back a couple of paces. The door shut with a solid thunk and Harry distinctly saw the stout timber shimmer as if in a heat haze. He presumed the wards had re-adjusted themselves after they had exited.

Snape stalked off, making no allowances for Harry's less than stellar health or his shorter legs. Harry had to half walk, half skip to keep up.

Snape spoke without altering his stride, his head turned to the side, directing the words over his shoulder. "Then there is the distinct possibility that you will need assistance before we get to the entrance hall. It is a long way and you are still weak, as we ascertained this morning."

"Well I will need assistance if you keep walking as if you want to break the record for the four minute mile," Harry puffed angrily, eventually managing to catch up "Slow down, can't you?"

"Manners Potter. Please slow down, Sir," Snape looked down at him and smirked.

Harry gritted his teeth. "Please, Sir. Would you mind slowing down?"

There was no reply but the pace did become easier. Harry saw very quickly that Snape had not been exaggerating. There were so many twists and turns along the route they walked and Harry had absolutely no idea where he was. He just knew that they were very deep in the bowels of the castle because they were walking against a slight uphill gradient. The air was slightly dank and once, when Harry put his hand against the stone wall, it felt damp.

Harry had never seen these corridors before. And now that he thought about it, he was sure that this area was not on the Marauders Map either. In fact, though he had seen Snape in his office and his classroom many times on the map, he could not recall ever having seen him anywhere else in the dungeons. The map obviously did not extend this far down.

It took ten minutes before they turned into a slightly wider corridor. Harry was now trailing Snape.

The stones here were lighter in colour and the air was not quite as oppressive. After a minute and another turn, Harry recognised where they were. They had finally arrived at Snapes office and the attached potions classroom.

In another couple of minutes they would reach the Entrance Hall. And it was just as well, as Harry was exhausted. Now that he knew where he was, he slowed his pace even further in an effort to catch his breath. He hated this weakness that could overcome him after the smallest amount of activity. It totally sucked.

Snape did not immediately realise that Harry was no longer dogging his footsteps and when he discovered that the boy was no longer right behind him, he halted and turned.

Harry was a good thirty feet back but he was passing beneath one of the torches in its wall sconce and by its flickering flame, Severus could see the sweat coating his face when the flame lit it. The boy looked to be on his last legs.

Harry put a shaking hand to his chest and felt the frantic pace of his heart. It felt as though it would jump out of his chest at any minute; each beat reverberated up into his throat. Struggling to pull in enough oxygen, Harry looked up and saw Snape watching him. His footsteps faltered and he stumbled a little.

There was no help for it. If he did not rest, he would collapse. Stumbling sideways, he put his hand against the wall to steady himself. It was not enough. He leaned back heavily and put his hands on his shaking knees and hung his head.

He hated that Snape was seeing him at his weakest. Ridiculous, he knew as he was sure Snape had seen everything there was to see over the last week. This was different though, as he was now totally cognisant and could feel the man's eyes watching his every move.

Severus' immediate reaction was to jump to the boy's aid. He realised that his foul temper had led him to treat Potter just as he would have done before the events of the last week.

Then again, before the events of the last week, the Gryffindor would have had no difficulty in keeping up with him. This was definitely going to be a protracted convalescence.

As he moved towards the boy, his healer's training had him scanning the sweating, shaking and gasping teen to ascertain exactly what potions would most benefit his patient.

Of course, a good first step would be not to push Potter beyond his present capacity. He realised that he was taking this nightmare situation he found himself in out on the boy. And even he could see that if there was an innocent in this whole sorry mess, it was Potter.

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Severus had never allowed himself to contemplate fatherhood. His attitude towards his students was steeped in the fact of his not liking children, as much as it was in the inescapable conclusion that only one in one hundred students could be said to have a definite talent for potions.

He could not get his head around the fact that the subject did not hold the same allure for others as it had always done for him. He found it exceedingly difficult to have patience with the mediocre and absolutely impossible not to hex the truly lamentable to oblivion. And as the vast majority of the potions students he had come across during his fifteen years of teaching fell somewhere between mediocre and lamentable, he had rarely ever felt an affinity with a student, let alone true liking.

Apart from his students, he had never really had anything to do with children, of any age. He got to know his Slytherins better than most but truthfully, he had never really actually liked any of them.

Draco Malfoy was the only kid he had known since babyhood as he, Severus had been Lucius' protégé and had therefore been in the older man's company a lot.

Draco's privileged upbringing had been so far removed from his own as to be almost like a fairy tale compared to the grim reality of growing up in Spinners End, the child of a down trodden, abused mother and a violent, drunken father.

Still, it had been impossible to be around a very young Draco without feeling a certain affection for him. Severus had always been secretly amazed when Draco had always been suitably delighted when his ‘Unca Sevus' had turned up. The child had been bright and attractive but he had also been irredeemably spoilt by the time he was one and a half.

But by the time Draco had turned three, Severus and Lucius had stopped socialising; Severus had become Dumbledore's man not long after the deaths of Lily and James.

The grown up Draco was even more spoilt than his infant self had been and very much of the opinion that he and his family were practically royalty and therefore were deserving of lesser being's fawning and respect. Opinions most definitely shared by his mother and father.

However, despite these less than attractive traits, Severus could not completely dislike the boy; even his potion making skills were above the average, he could always concoct a perfect potion whilst following the written instructions, though he lacked originality and spontaneity.

Severus had felt an obligation to try and save Draco from a fate worse than Death-that of becoming a follower of Lord Voldemort. Lucius was no doubt totally miserable in Azkaban-who wouldn't be? But he was better off there than being in the Dark Lord's presence, as his punishment for the failure of the mission to obtain the prophecy would be dire.

Draco recruitment into the Death Eater ranks could well be the first step in that punishment. Severus dreaded to think what tasks the Dark Lord would insist Draco undertake. No doubt any assigned task would be virtually impossible for much older and experienced Death Eaters to perform and therefore Draco's failure and ultimate punishment would also be Lucius' punishment. Draco was expendable. Severus knew the Dark Lord would enjoy killing Draco.

But he would enjoy capturing and killing Harry Potter even more.

If it turned out that he, Severus had indeed contributed to the boy's gene pool, would he be able to turn his back and walk away from a son-a son who was at the top of Voldemort's hit list. A son who was also James' son.

But a son whom he also shared with Lily.

All these thoughts had been whirling around and around Severus' brain since he had watched Harry's drop of blood being incorporated into the

paternity potion. His mood had become more and more dire as the hour of truth crept closer and closer.

Could he be a father? Could he shelve all his previous antagonism towards Harry Potter? He could not imagine that seeing a positive result after he added his own blood to the potion would be enough to negate five years of extreme dislike, antagonism and aggression.

How was a bond between a father and son created anyway? Surely it was not just a contribution of genetic material. Surely a desire to create a child with the woman you love would be the main ingredient. And then that must be followed up with proximity and stability.

Severus had not had the benefit of having either of those ingredients in his own childhood and had therefore never had a bond with his father. As a very young boy, he had wanted a bond but experience had shown him the benefit of staying away from his father.

Potter, of course had never had the opportunity to build on the strong bond that Severus was sure had existed between James and his son. Any bond would be so much easier to create with an infant as the child would have no preconceptions. He, Severus had no idea how he would even attempt to create a bond with a world weary sixteen year old boy who most definitely disliked him just as much as he disliked the boy.

Did he even want to try?

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As Severus stood over the clearly exhausted boy, a wave of guilt washed over him. If he had not been wallowing in his own feelings of being hard done by, he would have realised Potter was not ready for the long walk from his chambers to the Great Hall.

It would have been easy enough for them to floo to his office and then they would have only had the short walk that the students walked about three times a week to get from the Great Hall to the potions classroom.

Severus realised that he had been using the walk as some twisted form of punishment for Potter. Punishment for a crime he did not even know he had committed.

Luckily, his scruples had not totally deserted him and he had on hand several potions that would help to bolster the boy's energy levels again. He took out his wand to run a quick diagnostic to make sure no major damage had been caused by his little game of one-upmanship.

Harry flinched when he spotted the wand.

"Relax, Potter. I'm just checking if any damage has been done."

Severus conjured a stool out of thin air and forced Harry down onto it. His breathing had eased fractionally but his skin was still slick with perspiration, his fringe sticking to his forehead, exposing part of the famous scar. It looked very inflamed.

After ascertaining that the boy would survive and that his extreme distress was due to his still being anaemic after the major haemorrhaging that had occurred due to the poisoning, Severus forced some more Blood Replenishing and Pepper Up Potion down his throat. It was obvious he would have to increase the frequency as well as the strength of the blood replenisher.

And of course, not force the boy on any more hikes until he was further down the road to recovery. After all, he had only awoken yesterday morning.

Five minutes after taking the potions, Harry's respirations and heart rate had almost returned to normal and his colour had settled down.

"Feeling better?"

Harry nodded. Then after a few seconds he said grudgingly, "Thanks."

Severus brought his wand into play again and cast a freshening charm. A wonderful coolness played over Harry and he sighed with relief, running a hand through his now dry mop of hair and exposing the scar for a second.

Severus frowned and when the fringe fell back into place, he reached forward and pushed it aside again. The scar still looked red and angry. Harry jerked his head to the side and Severus' arm fell.

"Is your scar bothering you, Potter?"

"Not really," answered Harry evasively and he stood up, feeling at too much of a disadvantage sitting with Snape hovering over him.

"What does that mean, ‘not really'?"

"It means I'm not in agony. It's doing what it always does. It prickles. OK. Almost constantly."

Snape's brow was furrowed and Harry squirmed under his piercing regard.

"Look, I'm used to it. This is pretty much what it's been like since...since he came back. I haven't had any major attacks or visions since he possessed me at the Ministry. It hurt a bit more last night when you were summoned, but then it went back to just prickling."

Snape's gaze sharpened. The brat was too observant. He thought he had escaped notice when he had been summoned last night. It had been the first time since the Ministry affair.

"Look, Sir. Can we not talk about my scar? Aren't we supposed to be in the Great Hall? Professor Dumbledore will send out a search party in a minute."

Not trusting himself to speak, Severus just nodded curtly and they resumed their journey. The slower pace had them reaching the Great Hall three minutes later.

Stopping in the open doorway, Harry saw that there were quite a few more people there than he had expected. He thought that there were only about half a dozen teachers still at the school at the moment.

There were two distinct clusters of people and Harry had just come to the startling realisation of exactly who was present when there was a loud gasp followed by a squealed ‘Harry!'.

He only had about four seconds to prepare himself for the impact of a bushy-haired female throwing herself into his arms.