Severus Snape’s unrelenting black robes billowed around his tall, slender form as he swept out of the Slytherin common room. He had decided earlier, against his better judgment to have a word with Draco Malfoy before the boy departed for home on the Hogwarts Express. He had felt the step necessary because it appeared to him that the young Slytherin was on the cusp of taking the step for which he had been moulded for the whole of his young life and which, Snape knew, was likely to be the boy’s downfall.

Snape had known Draco’s father since his own school days when Lucius had been a very impressive seventh year head boy against his own nervous, introverted first year self. He, Snape had been easy prey for the charismatic Slytherin. The smooth patter that Lucius had once spouted; the propaganda he had spread from his metaphorical pulpit, supported by his ancient pure bloodedness and old family wealth had seemed so romantic to the down trodden, poor, half blood boy whose life until Hogwarts had been entirely unremarkable.

Snape’s Muggle father had made his witch mother’s life a living hell. Tobias Snape had thought that by marrying a witch, she would—by means of her magic—be able to give him the life of idle luxury he believed he was entitled to. Unfortunately, all his mother had ever been able to give her husband was a son whom he most patently did not want, especially when he realised the boy was possessed of the same un-naturalness as his bitch of a wife.

Eileen Snape had been a good and loving mother who had made it her life’s mission to protect the son she loved from his drunken, violent father. She had succeeded in this mission to her own detriment. She had fought tooth and nail to send Severus to Hogwarts and though she had won that battle, her own life had taken a steep downhill turn and the teenage Snape had never again seen his mother without her sporting numerous injuries.

Lucius Malfoy had continued with Snape’s indoctrination into the Dark Lord’s service and at the age of sixteen, he had proudly received his dark mark. The first task his Lord had allotted to him—and which Snape had accepted with determined ease—was to kill his muggle father.

Now, with his face set in its usual lines of discontent, Snape pulled his 12 inch ebony wand from a deep pocket within his robes and tapped it against each splayed finger of his left hand which he had placed flat against a robust wooden door. This door was situated at the end of the longest, darkest, ancient greystone dungeon corridor and was the entrance to Snape’s private quarters. The door swung open silently on well oiled iron hinges but this silence was immediately nullified by a loud bang as Snape slammed the door viciously after him.

Unfortunately, the cause of his ire—Draco Malfoy—was not near enough to hear. He was afraid that his talk had had little effect on the sixteen year old junior Malfoy. Little caring that it was only a ¼ to 10 in the morning; the potions master poured himself a hefty swig of fine, single malt Scotch whisky: Muggle made and in his opinion, far superior to anything alcoholic that wizards had ever come up with.

Snape smirked. The Dark Lord would not be happy to know Snape embraced anything Muggle made. He did not doubt that the vicious bastard’s ire would manifest itself with an excruciating dose of the Cruciatus Curse being cast upon his person. Or, if he was in a really unforgiving mood—a much more likely scenario—Avada Kedavra would undoubtedly be the consequence.

Glass in hand Snape took a hefty swallow of his drink then leaned a shoulder against the mantelpiece and stared off into space. His less than stellar thoughts continued.

Draco Malfoy was now the age that Snape had been when the Dark Lord had inducted him into the ranks of his Death Eaters. And just like he himself had been twenty years earlier, Draco was very angry. He was determined to right a wrong and he thought that being branded and becoming a servant of the most evil dark wizard of all time; for what no doubt would be a very short life, was the right thing to do.

Snape had had to step very carefully. Draco, like most of the Slytherins thought that his head of house was a faithful servant of the Dark Lord; thought that he was stringing Dumbledore along and that his loyalties belonged unquestionably to the Dark Lord. Snape was lucky that his end of term routine often included a chat with his departing Slytherins. And as he was an old family friend of the Malfoys—or at least he pretended to be—and had known Draco since the day the boy had been born, it was not unusual for him to see the young Slytherin off at the end of term.

The fact that several of his Slytherins were blindingly angry because of recent events had given him the means of making the chat specific to their plans for the holiday. Crabbe and Goyle’s plans did not extend past cornering Harry Potter on the train and pounding him to a bloody pulp. As muscle-bound and dim-witted as they were, Severus had not expected anything different. Sophisticated they were not.

His admonitions to use a little more finesse, he knew had fallen on deaf ears. Possibly because neither of the pair knew what ‘finesse’ meant. But as neither of them were magical or bright enough to interest the Dark Lord overly much, purebloods though they were, Severus had wasted little time on them. The Dark Lord may perhaps take them on for their brawn alone but neither seemed to take it as a given that they had to follow in their equally dim fathers’ footsteps. Of course, they might not be given a choice if Lord Voldemort decided that they were his to do with as he saw fit, regardless of their lack of intellect.

Theodore Nott, another furious Slytherin and son of another Death Eater, was an unknown quantity. He did not wear his heart on his sleeve like Malfoy did and he kept himself very much to himself. Snape knew that even he himself did not make any impression on the boy.

Neither anger nor reasoned argument elicited much in the way of emotion from the surly teen. He was brighter even than Malfoy; perhaps had as much brain power as the truly formidable Hermione Granger. He however did not exert himself, did not try. His grades were not an indication of his intellect.

Nott had always frustrated the hell out of Snape because he kept himself very much to himself, refusing to even be a part of the Slytherin brotherhood. The seventeen year old was a total loner. Snape could not remember ever seeing him hanging around with any of his class mates Snape wondered how much of the boy’s attitude was due to his background.

He came from as old a lineage of pureblood wizards as the Malfoys but without the accompanying wealth. A similar background in fact to the equally old and equally poor pureblood family, the Weasleys. The Weasleys however embraced the light with the same fervour as the Notts embraced evil. Severus had always wondered how much Theodore’s poverty rankled when his rich classmate, Malfoy never missed an opportunity to flaunt his family’s wealth and prestige.

The boy had never kowtowed to Malfoy as most of the Slytherins—even the older ones—did. But he had to be bitter. After all, his own father was as dedicated a Death Eater as Lucius Malfoy. And the boy had shown no outward emotion about the fact that his father was now an inmate of Azkaban along with Lucius Malfoy and the senior Crabbe.

Draco, on the other hand was an open book. He wanted revenge for his father’s incarceration. He was loudly and frequently vocal about his desire to kill Harry Potter. He knew the Dark Lord wanted Potter dead. Draco thought their common goals would be more likely to come to fruition if he took over where his father had left off. And by taking such a drastic step he might even achieve the so far unattainable goal of making his impossible to please father proud of him.

Lucius Malfoy did not deserve a son. He had been tied to the Dark Lord long before Draco had been born. The child had been born to serve the Dark Lord; it had been inculcated into him along with his mother’s milk; the idea of the Malfoy superiority within the wizarding world now totally ingrained. Pure blood rich mother; pure blood rich father. He, Snape could not think of any boy whose head would not be full of the perception of his own superiority, given that history.

Well, perhaps he could think of one boy. Snape, who had until now been sipping his drink, grimaced as his thoughts turned to another young wizard. His eyes narrowed and he threw the remainder of the whisky down his throat in one swallow where it seared a fiery path to his stomach. Reaching for the bottle, he poured another slug before throwing himself into a chair and setting his mind along a path he did not wish to traverse.

Harry Potter: Draco’s nemesis and his antithesis in every way imaginable, except for the fact of them both having pureblood fathers from ancient, wealthy lineages. Malfoy was fair, Potter dark haired. Malfoy was always well groomed and fastidious and very, very vain. Potter, though clean, often looked as if he had been pulled through a hedge backwards and had not a care about how others perceived his looks; the complete antithesis of his father at the same age.

Draco strived for excellence; Potter bumbled through his lessons but ultimately ended up with good grades; he had a sharp intelligence that for some reason best known to himself, he kept well hidden. Snape knew how smart Potter was, even though he had spent every minute he had been in the boy’s company over the last five years denigrating him, hating him, trying to make him look small and stupid, particularly in front of his Slytherins.

Snape knew his behaviour to be reprehensible but he found it almost impossible to ignore the boy because every time he looked at him, he saw James Potter glaring at him, laughing at him. He found it impossible to differentiate the boy from his toe-rag of a father.

The senior Potter had been his, Snape’s nemesis at school where they had both been in the same year. In fact he and James were less than three months apart in age; he Severus was the elder. They had become enemies within ten minutes of their first meeting aboard the train on their way to their first year at Hogwarts.

Though he and James had grown up knowing of the existence of the other, they had never met before the trip that was the beginning of their magical education; an unusual circumstance indeed as they had been the only sons of each of twin siblings: Severus Snape and James Potter had in fact, been first cousins.

Severus quickly cut off this line of thought, forced it deeply and determinedly behind his strongest occlumency shield—the one he rarely lowered, the place within the complicated landscape of his brain where he kept the memories he did not wish to dwell upon. This particular memory though had a nasty habit of worming its persistent way to the fore, somehow managing to find a breach in his most formidable defences. And it had been happening with more and more frequency since the fiasco that had been his attempt to teach the Potter brat occlumency.

More specifically, since the nosey, impulsive little shit had trespassed into one of his most private and degrading memories, a memory that featured his dear cousin James and his equally hateful sidekick, Sirius Black. Severus had not been gentle upon discovering the boy snooping into his pensieved memory. Potter was finely built, and was one of the shorter boys in his year. Unlike his father and unlike Severus, the boy seemed to have missed out on the Potter gene that gifted most of the family with tall, lithe physiques.

Severus shut his eyes as he remembered just how easily he had thrown the boy across his office. He could remember how his hand had tightened around the thin arm with brutal strength, knew that his strong fingers would have left nasty bruises. He heard again the sound of the boy’s body contacting heavily enough with the thick, wooden shelves that one of them had broken. Potter had been terrified. And with good reason. Snapes anger had been totally out of control and the fact that the recipient of his anger had not ended up in the hospital wing was more good luck than good management.

Severus had never, in all his years of teaching and with much evidence to the contrary, physically abused a student. The fact that he had finally succumbed to temptation—and he had been tempted many times over the years—by abusing his only living relation caused him more guilt than he would have thought he could ever dredge up in relation to Harry Potter.

Severus sighed deeply and massaged his temples with cool fingertips. He was not happy that his thoughts seemed to centre more and more often on a boy that he wanted to abhor. But as Harry Potter’s short life became more and more deathly complicated by the year, the potions master found his thoughts resting more and more often on Lily Evans, Potter’s—Harry’s mother and James’ wife. The only woman that he, Severus had ever loved.

Of course, the reason that he told himself he hated the boy so very much was much more complicated than the fact that James lived again in his son; it was also the fact that Lily Evans had chosen his cousin over Severus—the fact that Harry bloody Potter should have been Harry Snape.

&&&&

Thrusting these less than cheering thoughts away behind his shield for the final time, Severus speared a long-fingered, artistically slim hand through his greasy hair and grimaced. His wand hand itched to cast a charm and clean his hair there and then but one of his students may well want him for something in the next hour or so before the train departed. Unlikely but possible and he needed to stay in character.

He would be so glad to be able to wash his hair and keep it clean for the weeks the students were away from Hogwarts. He hated the greasy, lank locks; he felt as unclean as he knew he looked but he also knew that it added to the image of the nasty, sneering, hated Hogwart’s professor, the purported Death Eater; the one all the students wanted to think was evil; the one they all called, ‘Greasy Git.’

He looked like a servant of the Dark Lord and this suited his purposes well. It was not essential that he enjoy his ‘Greasy Git’ persona. Severus had inherited his father’s oily skin and hair. Even as a young child, his hair had needed washing daily. Once he had reached adolescence, he would have had to wash his hair every three to four hours, an impossible situation and one that had led to most of his fellows at school denigrating his appearance at every turn.

Severus’ natural brilliance at potions had enabled him in his sixth year to come up with a potion that had kept his hair and skin oil free for twenty-four hours and Severus had been able to feel as clean as the other students. But by then of course, most people still saw him as the ‘Slimy Slytherin; Severus Snape,’ or, as Potter and Sirius Black liked to call him, ‘Snivellus.”

Severus placed his virtually untouched refill down on the small table beside his chair before conjuring a cup of strong black coffee. A slight headache was blooming behind his left eye and more whisky would only exacerbate it. He buried his miserable school days away behind his occlumency shield and dismissing Harry Potter from his mind, Severus shifted his thoughts back to the very real worry of the Malfoy heir.

The whisky, on top of contributing to his headache, had done nothing to alleviate his worries regarding Draco. Of course, during there earlier meeting he had not been able to come right out and say that he hoped the young Slytherin was not considering doing anything as foolish as beginning an apprenticeship under the tutelage of the Dark Lord. Being Lucius Malfoy’s son, that scenario was certainly on the cards despite the fact that the teenager had only just turned sixteen.

He, Snape did not want to see it happen. Draco was not Lucius. There was a softness in the boy that was totally absent in the father and Snape knew that Draco did not have the faintest concept of the reality that was a gathering of angry, vengeful, bigoted men who answered to a crazed xenophobe who had decided it was his mission in life to rid the wizarding world of all but those he considered worthy; on the whole, purebloods.

He, Snape was one of the few exceptions admitted to the hallowed ranks. Draco would not be able to stomach the sight of his father and other, purist bluebloods slaking their bloodlust on the females of all ages that they did not consider to be good enough to live but were not so fastidious that they were not loathe to rape them before they killed them by unimaginably horrific means.

This was the sort of ritual that Lord Voldemort liked to initiate the new members to his ranks with. But by then it would be too late. Draco would not be able to say, ‘sorry, but this is not as fun as I thought it would be.’ And when the boy would not be able to ‘get it up’ to join in the fun because he would be too busy emptying the contents of his stomach; the Dark Lord would see that as a sign of weakness and Draco would probably feel the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, many times over.

Snape gazed into the black depths of his coffee cup, his obsidian eyes troubled. Somehow, Snape did not think that the sixteen year old Draco would be able to withstand the excruciating rigours of the torture curse as well as a certain fourteen year old Gryffindor had done when he had been the victim of the Dark Lord’s wrath.

There was hopefully one small thing that Snape could grasp as a ray of hope for Draco’s future and that was the fact that the boy had looked thoughtful when Snape had left him. Sullen and angry but thoughtful. His potions professor’s words had not gone in one ear and straight out the other.

Now, Severus rested his head against the back of the chair and shut his eyes. He was exhausted after trying to tip toe around the subject of the pros and cons of becoming a Death Eater at the age of sixteen whilst pretending that he personally had no regrets with regards his own choices but that perhaps he, Draco should wait until his bitterness and fury had worn off a little before he made such a life altering decision. Talk about a quagmire.

But more than likely Severus realised that he had probably been talking just to create a current of air because it was more than likely that Draco would ultimately have no choice in the matter. He would certainly not have the balls to resist the Dark Lord’s wishes; unlike a certain young and brave to the point of the ridiculous, Gryffindor. Harry Potter was even more foolishly reckless than his father had been.

Suddenly, the floo flared to life and Snape’s head snapped forward. Albus Dumbledore was staring at him from within the emerald flames. Snape jumped up and strode forward. “Albus…” “Severus, could you floo to my office immediately. I need you to undertake a task for me.”

&&&&

Harry Potter descended the stone staircase from the boy’s dormitories in Gryffindor tower. Several exuberant first and second years already filled with the spirit of the summer holidays clattered past him knocking him against the wall so that the cage he was carrying clanged against it causing his snowy owl, Hedwig to screech indignantly.

“Watch it,” Harry yelled after them, annoyed.

An indifferent “Sorry Harry,” drifted back up the stairs.

Down in the common room, Harry put Hedwig on a table before flopping bonelessly into one of the worn, squashy armchairs, putting his head back and closing his eyes. He was so tired. He doubted he had slept more than a couple of hours a night since—since; hell, he couldn’t even say it in his own mind.

“Get a grip Potter,” he admonished himself out loud.

“Harry?” Harry’s eyes snapped open. Ginny Weasley was standing next to Hedwig’s cage, one finger extended through the bars so that she could stroke the snowy feathers. Harry hadn’t heard her approach. He studied Ron’s little sister through tired, dark-ringed eyes.

She was dressed in muggle clothes; tight jeans and a little white t-shirt with multi-coloured heart shaped sequins sewn around the V neck. The t-shirt was well washed and the soft faded fabric fit like a glove. Harry found it impossible to stop his eyes focusing on the delicious little mounds of Ginny’s breasts where the soft, white fabric hugged them intimately.

Streaks of red appeared on his cheeks when he realised where he was looking. Ginny Weasley was delicate and petite and those tiny breasts were as perfect as the rest of her. Harry’s eyes lowered even further to the glimpse of white skin and the neat little belly button that flashed into sight above the top of her jeans when she moved.

When she moved to sit on the arm of his chair, Harry snapped out of his contemplation of her delectable female shape. His brow creased as he focused his eyes on the much safer sight of the empty grate in the huge fireplace. God, what was the matter with him? He’d never before looked at Ginny Weasley like a horny teenage boy looks at a pretty girl.

As she was Ron’s little sister, he, Harry had always kind of looked on her in the same light. So why, as a big brother was he now taking note of silky smooth skin and burgeoning breasts. It was even more unexpected because nothing at all, not even pretty girls had interested him in the last week.

Most of the time; most especially when he was asleep, his thoughts were back in the ‘Veil Room’ in the Department of Mysteries, reliving the scene that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. Sirius duelling with Bellatrix LeStrange; Sirius, his face alight, laughing and taunting her; the look of shock when he had been hit by the curse that had sent him falling backwards through the veil. These dreams and retrospections always ended with Harry screaming; inside his head whilst he was awake but more often than not, out loud during the short hours when he actually managed to fall asleep.

After the first time, when he had woken his friends with his anguished cries, he had taken to casting a Silencing charm on himself before shutting his eyes; just in case he managed to sleep.

“You look really tired Harry.” Ginny was studying him with concerned eyes. “You’re not sleeping, are you?” Harry quirked his lips into an approximation of a smile whilst keeping his eyes resolutely on the empty grate.

“I’m fine.” Ginny rolled her eyes.

“‘I’m fine.’ Harry Potter’s stock standard answer even when it is patently obvious that he is not fine.” Harry looked up at her, his expression a little disgruntled.

Ginny looked right back, totally unabashed. The pair of them were oblivious to the stream of people who were traversing the common room, leaving for the last time this term. Ginny didn’t even hear two of the girls from her year calling out to her.

“Since when are you such an expert on me?” Harry asked tightly. He was very aware of Ginny’s denim clad leg touching his own because of her position on the chair arm. He twisted slightly to the side, putting a bit of space between their lower limbs.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Ginny returned quietly. Her leg touching his seemed fairly innocuous seconds later when Ginny stood in front of him and leaned forward. His eyes snapped to her face when she put her small hands on his shoulders and looked into his wide green eyes.

“Don’t lock yourself away Harry. As one of the people who loves you, I am going to do everything I can to stop that from happening.” The next second, her lips were touching his cheek.

Harry sat frozen with shock. But not so frozen that his mind did not register an objection when the contact ended. The skin her lips had touched felt branded but that was nothing to how his lips felt seconds later when Ginny shifted her focus to them with a butterfly light kiss. Something inside Harry’s chest broke free of the restraints he had erected to protect his shattered emotions. He had even gone a long way towards locking Ron and Hermione out and they were the two most important people in his life.

Just as Harry strained towards Ginny’s lips; lips that were wonderfully warm and firm beneath his own, he vaguely registered someone wolf whistle as they rushed past and someone else crow; “Good one Harry, you lucky dog.” Neither of these people distracted Harry or Ginny who were now totally absorbed in each other.

Harry put tentative hands on Ginny’s hips and gently pulled her down onto his lap, all the time keeping contact with those sweet lips. Neither had any desire to end the moment; in fact Harry wished it could go on for ever. This kiss was what it was supposed to be like between a boy and a girl--totally focused on each other, with no ghosts coming between them.

No, a ghost was not the problem this time. The problem this time was Ron. “Oi! What the hell’s going on here?” Harry reluctantly pulled back from Ginny and opened his eyes. His startling green ones gazed into Ginny’s warm brown ones. As Ron stomped over and planted himself in front of them, Ginny framed Harry’s face with her small hands, totally ignoring her irate brother.

“That’s the first step in my crusade to make you start living again Harry,” she said quietly, her breath huffing, feather light on his slightly parted lips. Still ignoring Ron, she pushed herself to her feet, and then to both boys’ surprise, instead of walking away, she leaned towards Harry again and put her lips to his ear. “And the first step in my quest to make you want me as much as I’ve always wanted you,” she whispered.

Then she straightened and rounded on her brother; those small hands that had so tenderly cradled Harry’s face moments ago were now planted on her slender hips. Despite having taken a hurried step backwards, Ron was not cowed and his ears were beginning to glow as he looked from Ginny to Harry. Hermione, who had entered the common room with Ron and who had also seen the kiss, placed a placating hand on Ron’s forearm.

“What was that?” Ron demanded of his sister, moving his pointing index finger between her and Harry.

“That Ronald,” answered a fuming Ginny, “was a kiss. Perhaps if you practised the art a little yourself instead of acting the part of a voyeur, you wouldn’t have to ask the obvious.”

The colour suffusing Ron’s ears now extended across his cheekbones and when Ginny would have stalked off, he grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him. Harry was on his feet in an instant, stepping between the two siblings.

“Let her go, Ron.” Ginny wrenched her arm out of her brother’s grip then pushing Harry aside, she stood on tip toe to yell into Ron’s face.

“Yes Ronald. You are not my keeper, nor have you any right to dictate my actions. If I want to kiss Harry, I will.” She poked a furious finger into his shoulder and Ron sucked in a breath and rubbed the spot. “And for future reference, I plan on kissing Harry a whole lot more in future so if you don’t want to see, then look the other way.”

Finishing this little tirade, she then rounded on Hermione. “For Merlin’s sake Hermione, please start the ball rolling so he’ll get off my back. Because I swear, if you’re waiting for him to hit on you, you’ll be old and grey before he so much as holds your hand. My dear older brother…well, this particular older brother, has never been particularly quick on the uptake.”

Then, just to show Ron who was the boss, Ginny stood on tip toe and planted another kiss on Harry’s surprised but grateful lips before turning on her heel and stalking across to the portrait hole and climbing through.

Three Gryffindors—one bemused; one livid and one embarrassed—watched the angry little red head all the way through the portrait hole. Then Ron rounded on Harry. “Well!” he demanded.

Harry sighed, his tiredness rushing back with a vengeance as his bemusement wore off with Ginny’s departure. Picking up Hedwig’s cage, he said, “Ron you’re my best mate but I’m with Ginny on this one. It really is none of your business.”

When he turned towards the portrait hole he half expected Ron to grab him and continue with the interrogation or else punch his lights out but the only noise that accompanied his retreat was a slight scuffling and a noise that sounded like ‘mmfph’. Looking back, Harry was not totally surprised—but very grateful—to see Hermione taking Ginny’s advice. He grinned as he watched Hermione snog Ron.

And Ron, after several seconds of shocked indecision finally wrapped his long arms around the girl who had been one of his best friends for the last five years and pulled her to him, deepening the kiss that was most definitely long overdue.

“It’s about bloody time,” Harry called back to them. “But your actual timing leaves a lot to be desired. We need to get going or the carriages will leave without us. I don’t fancy running all the way to Hogsmeade station.” Ron and Hermione broke apart reluctantly. Hermione took the lanky redhead’s hand and pulled him towards the portrait hole, scooping up the cage in which her disgruntled cat Crookshanks was confined whilst Ron grabbed his owl’s cage.

When they drew level with Harry, Ron tried to give him a ferocious look but it didn’t come off when he couldn’t quite eradicate the soppy grin from his face. However, he did manage to say, “We’ve still got to sort out the fact that you were snogging my sister, Potter.” Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He turned away and led the way through the portrait hole.

He could hear Hermione admonishing Ron; saying that it was really none of his business if Ginny and Harry wanted to snog each other and anyway shouldn’t he be happy that it was Harry that Ginny was interested in now and not some other boy that Ron didn’t even like—like Michael Corner.

“But that’s part of the problem,” Harry heard Ron whisper.” “Harry’s my best mate and if he and Ginny are now an item, I’ll see them at it all the time because we hang around together. Besides, she’s going through boys like they’re disposable, don’t you think?”

“Oh rubbish,” denied Hermione hotly. “She and Michael Corner were together most of the year. Anyway…” she lowered her voice even further so that Harry had to strain even harder to hear. “I happen to know that Ginny has always liked Harry—more than liked but—typical male—he was oblivious so I told her to forget about him and get on with her life. She’s obviously never really given up on him. And just for the record Ron, I think it’s great. Ginny will be great for Harry.”

Harry sped up, leaving the other two to trail in his wake. So, Ginny had never given up on him. She had tried, which was probably the reason she had eventually been able to talk to him, he supposed, without going all red and doing most un-Ginny like things like sticking her elbow in the butter or spilling her drinks. And he had been oblivious.

But had he? No, not completely. Now that he thought about it, he had always known exactly where she was in a room, no matter what he was doing; had known immediately if she left. He had just always tracked her automatically without even thinking about it.

If he had thought about it at all, he had just assumed he was doing the ‘big brother' thing. He had always felt protective, especially after the ‘Chamber of Secrets'. Now he knew it hadn't just been protectiveness, it had also been possessiveness.

And too, like Ron, he had positively loathed the fact that she was seeing Michael Corner-loathed Michael Corner in fact. He had happily listened to a disgruntled Ron waffling on about the poncey Ravenclaw, had even silently cheered his mate on when they had found Ginny and Michael snogging in one of the secret passageways and Ron had nearly hexed Corner into the middle of next week. Ginny had ranted and railed at Ron (and amazingly, poncey Corner had sidled away and left her to it-the coward) and threatened him with her famous Bat Bogey Hex if he did not shut his big fat mouth and mind his own business.

Thinking back on that scene, Harry remembered Ginny giving him a ferocious glare as well and he had been surprised to see tears spring to her eyes before she flounced away from the two of them. She had been nowhere close to crying whilst she had been berating Ron.

Harry couldn't believe how thick he had been. Ginny had been there right under his nose since second year, seemingly waiting for him to notice her. When his hormones had finally set him on the trail of the fairer sex, he had ignored her to concentrate on Cho Chang. What had that been all about, for God's sake?

Cho was pretty, yeah, but Ginny was just as pretty. What was more, Cho had never really gotten over Cedric. Harry had obsessed over her since he had first played Quidditch against her. With his hormones starting to sit up and take notice, he had thought Cho absolutely perfect. Not only was she pretty but she also liked Quidditch. What more could a young, pubescent wizard want?

Well Ginny fit all those criteria too and she had no ghosts of old boyfriends in her past (she had broken it off with Corner weeks ago.) And she wanted him-had always wanted him apparently. Michael had been an attempt by Ginny to get on with her life when it seemed as if Harry would never think of her as a girl instead of as a sister by proxy.

Harry grinned as he sped up even more, eager to get to the entrance hall where the students usually congregated at the end of term while they waited for the thestral drawn carriages to trundle up to the forecourt. He was eager to meet up with Ginny again and hoped that she would sit with him on the train. They had a lot to talk about. And if he was lucky and they got a couple of minutes privacy, maybe they would be able to do a little more than talk.

As Harry gained the landing at the head of the marble staircase he looked down into the entrance hall trying to see Ginny's vivid red hair amongst the sea of blondes and brunettes. The students were milling around and here and there teachers were chatting and chivvying the young people towards the doors and outside to the carriages.

Harry finally spotted Ginny standing to one side of the massive doorway chatting to Luna Lovegood. Just as he began his descent, he spotted someone else that caused the smile that had taken up residence on his tired face to disappear with the speed of a snitch.

Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost had just come out of the Great Hall accompanied by the Grey Lady, Ravenclaw's resident ghost. They floated across the entrance hall together, saying goodbye to respective students from their houses.

Harry had come to a halt a couple of steps down, his eyes having taking on the haunted look that had been present for the last week until Ginny had ambushed him minutes ago, momentarily making him forget his pain.

"Harry?"

Ron and Hermione stopped beside Harry on the wide staircase. Hermione looked at him with concern and even Ron could see that this wasn't the same Harry who had just voiced his approval of the fact that he and Hermione had finally taken the first big step towards becoming a couple.

"Harry, what's the matter?" Hermione had put a hand on Harry's arm but he shook it off irritably.

"Nothing's the matter," Harry snapped. "I'm fine. Stop molly cobbling me Hermione; I'm not going to break." He pushed past Ron who was now standing one step below Harry and Hermione. Hermione eyes suddenly looked over bright and she was mashing her lower lip with her teeth. Ron glared after Harry and when it looked as if he might say something, Hermione pulled on his arm to stop him.

"Leave it Ron," she said softly. "At least he's releasing some of the emotions he's been bottling up for the last week. He has to get it out of his system." Ron grudgingly acquiesced but he looked no less angry.

Harry joined the throng of people making there way outside. He made no attempt to join Ginny who was still standing where he had first seen her. The sight of Nearly Headless Nick had brought back the crushing disappointment of the previous evening when Harry had searched the castle for the ghost to ask him if Sirius could come back as a spirit. Nick had dashed this last hope of Harry's to smithereens. And Harry had finally faced the truth; he would never see Sirius again. His Godfather was just as out of reach as his mother and father were. And as much as the thought of his mum and dad hurt, the thought of never seeing Sirius again hurt even more because he couldn't remember James and Lily but Sirius had been a major part of his life for the last two years.

Then too, there was the inescapable fact that it was his fault that Sirius was dead and every time he thought about that, his stomach filled with lead and he just wanted to scream, to release the pent up anger and grief and the bubbling guilt that consumed him.

From a great distance he heard Ginny call his name but he ducked his head down and forged a path through the crowd, ignoring the cries of complaint and Hedwig's indignant hooting as her cage banged against people's legs. Harry did not want to see Ginny again-not at the moment. He felt a wave of shame over the fact that he had allowed her to distract him from his guilt, even momentarily. He had no right being happy.

Stepping from the gloom of the entrance hall, the dazzling sunlight gave Harry an excuse for the tears that starred his vision. He could still hear Ginny calling him; her voice was joined by Ron's and Hermione's and they were catching up to him. He set off quickly across the courtyard but had only taken a few steps when another voice called his name-and this one he could not ignore.

"Potter!" Professor McGonagall sounded as stern as Harry had ever heard her. Grimacing, he turned to see her making a bee-line for him, her face looking rather pale and set. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were jogging in her wake and the four of them reached him together. Harry resolutely kept his eyes off his friends, focusing instead on Professor McGonagall.

"Er-yes Professor. Have I done something wrong?" This was the only conclusion Harry could reach. Up close Professor McGonagall looked more than a little grim.

Her expression softened a little-at least her thin mouth relaxed slightly but to say a smile appeared would have been stretching credibility. "No Potter, as far as I am aware you have done nothing wrong. However, the headmaster wishes to see you in his office."

"Now!"

"No Potter. Next term. I just thought I'd mention it now." The grimness was back in force. "Of course now."

"But..."

"No arguments Potter." She turned to the other three. "You three go on ahead." She made a shooing motion with her hand then she turned on her heel and hurried off, leaving Harry to make his own way to Professor Dumbledore's office.

"What the bloody hell's that all about?" asked Ron, looking at Harry.

Harry shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"It'll have to be a quick meeting Harry, otherwise you'll miss the train," said Hermione, practical as always. "As it is, someone is going to have to side-along Apparate with you from outside the gates to get you to Hogsmeade in time."

Harry didn't much like the sound of that. He had heard that Apparition was very uncomfortable. "Yeah. Well I'd better get going then. See you on the train." Harry had continued to avoid Ginny's solemn gaze but when he turned back towards the castle, she touched his arm.

"I'll take Hedwig for you."

Harry looked at her now. Her melted chocolate eyes were probing him. He felt as if Ginny was performing Legilimency on him, trying to find out why his mood had changed so profoundly from when they had kissed in the common room.

"Thanks," mumbled Harry. He handed the cage to Ginny. "I'll see you later." Hedwig gave an admonitory hoot as she watched her master stalk off without her.

Ginny held the cage up to her face and looked into the owls large amber eyes. "Don't worry Hedwig. He'll come back. To both of us-eventually."

Harry jogged across the forecourt, retracing his steps from minutes before. Stepping into the gloom of the entrance hall, he was temporarily blinded and so didn't see the person rushing to get outside. They collided and Harry was nearly knocked onto his backside.

"Watch it Potter!" It was taking his eyes a while to adjust to the gloom but he recognised the voice. It was Theodore Nott, a Slytherin boy in Harry's year; one whose father he knew was a Death Eater. "Those glasses aren't doing you much good, Four Eyes. Ever think of getting them adjusted?"

"Get stuffed, Nott," returned Harry hotly. "In case your brain was addled by the collision, you bumped into me as well and you haven't just come in from the bright sunlight." Nott's lip curled and he deliberately bumped Harry's shoulder again as he passed. Hard. Harry looked after him, rubbing the sore spot. Belatedly, he remembered that Dumbledore was probably waiting for him. He took one step and  his trainer came down on something small and hard. He lifted his foot and peered down. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom now and he could clearly see a small silver pendant and chain.

Harry bent down and picked it up. Holding it up in front of his face, he saw that the pendant was a cute little Hedgehog-or maybe it was a Knarl. To look at, the two animals were indistinguishable. Some girl was going to be really upset to have lost this. It looked to be very expensive. He would give it to Dumbledore and he could find the owner next term. Maybe there would be a magical signature he could discern, or maybe one of the teachers might have seen it around the neck of its owner. Harry clutched the pendant tightly in his fist as he hurriedly crossed the great expanse of marble floor and began to ascend the great staircase, two steps at a time.

A couple of minutes later, Harry reached the huge stone gargoyle that guarded the staircase to the headmaster's office. When he stopped in front of the statue, he looked at it blankly. He didn't know the password! The last time he had entered Dumbledore's office from this corridor, the password had been ‘Fizzing Whizzbee'. The memory of that evening still made Harry's insides boil and the thin white scars etched onto the back of his right hand stung as though they had just been carved there; the words quite clear for all to see: I must not tell lies.

"Fizzing Whizzbee," said Harry, unhopefully but to his amazement the gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside. Harry stepped onto the revolving stone escalator and was carried upwards. Eventually, he stepped off into an antechamber and was surprised to see Dumbledore's office door open. In all the times he had visited the headmaster's office before, this had never been the case.

"Come in, Harry," called Dumbledore. Harry stepped through the doorway and came to a halt just inside the office. The headmaster was not alone. Professor McGonagall must have come up immediately after speaking to Harry because she was standing slightly behind Dumbledore's left shoulder where he was sitting behind his magnificent mahogany desk. She still looked forbidding, her face quite pale and her lips set in a tight line. But it was the sight of the tall, dark figure standing in front of the fireplace that took Harry aback.

His breath caught in his throat and he began to shake with rage. His hands  clenched so tightly that the needle sharp metal quills of the hedgehog/Knarl dug deeply into his palm, breaking the skin. But Harry was too incensed to notice the pain. His eyes were narrowed and filled with deepest loathing as he stared at Severus Snape and Snape's eyes were equally so as he glared down his supercilious nose at Harry.

Harry's hand itched to pull out his wand and the vision of Snape writhing on the floor and screaming in agony as he, Harry held him under the Cruciatus Curse was almost overwhelming. At that moment he didn't care that it was an unforgivable curse and illegal because what Snape had done a week ago was equally unforgivable. The greasy arsehole had to take a large portion of the blame for Sirius' death. He knew that Snape had delayed letting the ‘Order' know that Harry and his friends had disappeared from Hogwarts on a rescue mission-had delayed because he had known Sirius would leave the safety of Grimmauld Place to go and rescue Harry, knowing that his Godson had been lured to the Ministry by Voldemort. Harry had not for one instant believed Dumbledore's version of events.

Dumbledore could not help but be aware of the extreme tension between his potions master and the boy he loved like a grandson because he cleared his throat and shot a warning look at Snape. Snape sneered and looked away from Harry.

"Come and sit down Harry. We have some things to discuss." Through his rage Harry could hear the exhaustion in Dumbledore's voice, so he tried to put his anger behind him but God, it was hard. What was the headmaster playing at? He knew how much Harry detested Snape, especially after recent events, so why would he arrange a meeting with Snape being present? He walked forward, his back stiff with resentment. He sat in the chair Dumbledore indicated he take but remained perched on the very edge.

"Sir, what's going on? I'm going to be late for the train," he said stiffly.

"You will not be returning to London on the train today Harry. I have arranged another means to get you home."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "But why?"

Dumbledore peered sadly over the top of his half-moon spectacles.                "For your safety my boy. We have discerned a great increase in Death Eater activity since the unfortunate events of a week ago. It would seem that Voldemort's desire to get his hands on you has increased exponentially along with his rage since the events at the Ministry and the incarceration of some of his most trusted lieutenants."

Harry's face, already pale due to lack of sleep blanched even further at Dumbledore's news. "So you think Death Eaters may attack the train?" he asked, appalled.

"It is a possibility."

Harry couldn't stay seated a second longer. He jumped up and glared down at the headmaster. "But then everyone else is in danger too. Ron and Hermione...and Ginny. If they don't find me, they'll have fun attacking everyone else and my friends will probably be first on their list."

He ignored Dumbledore's raised hand and his placating "Harry," and continued to rant...

"They're not going to say, ‘oh, ho hum, Potter's not here. Let's go before we frighten the boys and girls too much,' now are they?"

"Mr Potter! That is quite enough!" Professor McGonagall's tone brooked no argument and Harry desisted. He would never have spoken to his transfiguration professor and head of house as he did to the headmaster and he was not about to start now. She intimidated him in a way that Dumbledore never had and at the moment, she made him feel more than a little ashamed of his outburst. He had yelled at the headmaster quite a bit lately and he knew he had to stop. He wanted to stop but his temper just seemed to overwhelm him these days.

"My boy, I understand your very real concerns but you cannot possibly think I would send the students off if they were not fully protected. There is a large contingent of Order members and Aurors on board. No harm will come to anyone."

"But if that's the case, why can't I go on the train as well?"

"Harry, you must allow me to do what I think is best. This plan is a double guarantee that you will arrive at your aunt and uncles with all possible speed and totally safe and sound."

"Oh, great," gritted Harry through clenched teeth. "You must know how much I long to get back with the Dursleys hours before I normally would." A sudden wave of dizziness swept over him and he flopped back down into the chair and dragged in a deep breath. He supposed his present anger combined with lack of food and sleep was causing this reaction. He hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday and then only a mouthful or two at Hermione's insistence.

"Harry, I know how distressing this must be for you believe me but you know now-after recent disclosures-why your safety is paramount."

Harry jumped to his feet again, staggering slightly against the desk. Dumbledore and McGonagall both looked at him with concern and Snape straightened from where he had been leaning against the mantelpiece.

"Do they know-have you told them..." he yelled at the headmaster. He threw his arm out in Snape's direction. "Have you told him about the prophecy?

"As senior members of the Order..."

"I don't give a stuff about the Order! He was a senior member of the Order when he cleared a pathway for Sirius to be killed." Snape blanched at these words but Harry did not see. "And now you've told him the contents of the prophecy and he can skip along to that murdering arsehole he worships and tell him what you've been trying to keep a secret since before I was born. The secret my mum and dad died trying to protect."

Harry was shaking so badly at the end of this tirade that his legs would not support him and he fell back into the chair again.

"That will be quite enough Harry." Dumbledore had not raised his voice but his annoyance was quite plain for everyone present to hear. Power and authority radiated off him in waves.

Snape's black eyes were fixed on Harry and his brow creased as he listened to the harsh sound of the boy's agitated breathing. As he watched, Harry raised a shaking hand and wiped away beads of perspiration from his forehead, rubbing the wet hand on a leg of his jeans. Snape could clearly see the wet patch. Potter did not look well and he was sure it was more than anger causing this extreme reaction.

Dumbledore took advantage of Harry's silence. "Professor Snape will floo with you to Arabella Figg's house and then you will Apparate with him to your aunt and uncles."

Harry goggled at headmaster. "Are you mad? I'm not going anywhere with him. Haven't you been listening to me?"

"You will do as you are told Harry." Dumbledore had raised his voice a little this time but Harry did not care.

He stood up carefully, locking his knees so that he could stay erect. He really was feeling very strange. "You'll have to stun me," he said through bloodless lips.

Harry turned his back on a tired Dumbledore and a profoundly shocked Professor McGonagall. He had no idea where he was going, he just knew he had to get out of there. He tried to walk away but the floor seemed to be heaving under his feet like the deck of a ship being tossed about in a storm and his vision had narrowed down to a dark tunnel. He knocked into the chair he had been sitting in and he grabbed the arm to steady himself.

Harry shut his eyes and shook his head to try and clear it. From a distance he heard another chair scrape across the floor as it was pushed back and then several voices, though he couldn't understand what they were saying.

Harry took one, two, three ungainly steps and then; as if in slow motion he fell to his knees. He did not feel the strong arms come around him because a sudden, overwhelming wave of nausea engulfed him and he started retching violently; the delicate tissue in his throat tearing with the ferocity of the onslaught. At first there was nothing to bring up but then blood bubbled out of his gaping mouth. His belly and intestines felt as though they were in a vice and the pain had him falling on his side and curling his legs up to his belly. He stopped retching long enough to scream his agony before his eyes rolled up into his head and his whole body began to convulse.

&&&&

Severus was across the room in an instant and had grabbed Harry just as his legs gave way. He wrapped his arms around the boy's chest from behind so that he did not crash to the floor. He tuned Dumbledore and McGonagall's anxious questions out as they hovered because it took all his concentration to support Potter. He could see the boy was in a bad way and he swore viciously when he started vomiting blood; it was obvious he was in agony.

Snape was already scooping Harry up in his strong arms when the convulsions started. He held on for dear life as the fine frame quaked in his arms. He had to get him to his lab where all his equipment was. He strode to the fire and stepped in pulling Harry closer to his chest to protect his head and calling desperately, "Floo powder Albus!" Luckily, Dumbledore was keeping up, despite his obvious shock and within seconds, Snape was stepping out of his fireplace and striding across his living room towards his private laboratory.

Dumbledore and an ashen faced Minerva were seconds behind. Snape lowered the still convulsing boy onto a wide marble work bench. "Hold him so he doesn't fall," he ordered and as both Magi did their best to protect Harry, Snape strode to a huge bureau divided into dozens of labelled drawers. Without hesitation, he pulled one open and extracted a small, shrivelled, kidney shaped stone; then without ceremony, he nudged Dumbledore out of the way, prised open Harry's blue lips and forced the bezoar between his teeth.

Immediately, Harry gasped, then collapsed. His breathing had settled into an overly fast and rattly rhythm but it was an obvious effort for the boy to drag in much needed oxygen. He was using all the ancillary muscles in his neck and abdomen to assist those in his chest. Now that Harry was still, Severus bent close to his face and sniffed at his breath. After several seconds, he straightened and strode back to the bureau, his brow furrowed.

Minerva, who had tears in her eyes and was shaking badly, drew her wand and as though she needed something to do, she conjured a pillow and a thin mattress under Harry and a light blanket to cover him. It seemed she could not stand to see the already suffering boy lying on the cold, marble surface-almost as if he was dead. Still not finished with the need to fuss, she removed his glasses with a shaking hand before conjuring a bowl of warm water and a wash cloth and gently wiping the boys sweaty, bloody face.

Dumbledore watched Minerva satisfy her mothering instincts then with a long, heartrending sigh, he turned to Severus who was gathering together a collection of ingredients, his concentration totally on the job in hand.

"Obviously somebody within Hogwarts has gotten to Harry," said Dumbledore, asking a question but stating the obvious at the same time. "Do you know what they have used, Severus?"

"At the moment it is not absolutely clear but I would go so far as to say that someone has tried to concoct a poison using several ingredients highly lethal in their own right." Severus' voice was grim. "Two particular ingredients that I think I can detect on the boy's breath should never be mixed together. An unknown cocktail has been brewed by a person or person's determined to succeed in killing him.

Severus continued opening and closing drawers, placing items in a certain order on another work bench. It was several seconds before he continued to speak. "Our saving grace is that this dunderheaded potioneer has no clue how one ingredient interacts with another and he has chosen poisons that counteract each other and so their efficacy is diminished. Mixed with the proper catalysts, any one of the poisons I think I can detect would have killed Potter within minutes. There is only one student in Hogwarts at the moment with the knowledge and the skill to prepare a potion as lethal as this one should have been.

"I take it that you are sure the talented young potioneer you speak of would not have been responsible for this brew."

"Unless the young lady is under the Imperious Curse I would say without fear of contradiction that Hermione Granger most definitely did not try to kill Harry Potter." Dumbledore nodded as if he was sure all along whom it was that Severus had been speaking of.

Suddenly a terrible scream rent the air and both wizards spun around to see Minerva battling a furiously writhing boy who was trying to throw himself off the bench. Something small and silver in colour flew past Snape's face as he rushed to assist Minerva. He vaguely heard it hit the stone floor

"No...don't do it. Dad, please stop...just run. You can't beat him! " Severus reached Harry just as he would have punched Minerva. He wrestled Harry backwards and was surprised at the strength the boy suddenly possessed when he should have been as weak as a kitten after his recent attacks. Dumbledore stepped in to lend his assistance again and both men looked a little the worse for wear when Harry finally lay motionless.

Dumbledore had collapsed onto a nearby stool and Snape was standing beside the bench upon which Harry lay, his head bowed as he tried to regain his breath. When he heard Minerva gasp, he looked up quickly, sweeping his long hair out of his eyes.

Minerva had started to sponge Harry's face but now she was looking aghast, the flannel now clamped in a clawed hand against her thin chest, a wet patch spreading across her dark green robes. Snape could immediately see what had distracted her from her task.

Blood was leaking out of the inside corner of each of Harry's eyes and the corner of his mouth. Snapes stomach clenched. Grasping his wand, he banished Harry's T-shirt and jeans; leaving him lying in nothing but his boxer shorts.

"What's happening Severus?" asked a shaky voiced Minerva. Harry's torso and legs were marred by big, ugly blue splotches.

"He's bleeding internally," intoned Severus and Dumbledore together. Then Snape continued. "I'll have to ask you both to watch him while I work. If he throws himself off that bench, he may well rupture something and I may not be able to stop the resultant haemorrhage.

"Can't we cast a light Somulus charm on him?" asked Minerva, her voice distressed. "Just to protect him?"

"No!" Snape's voice was adamant. "I don't want magic mixed in with whatever is in his system. There is no telling how they will react together. The bezoar is at least keeping him alive for the moment but I have still to establish exactly what has been used."

Snape had continued with a gentle examination of Harry while he had been speaking. He was lowering Harry's right arm where he had been feeling in his axilla for swollen glands when he noticed the boy's right hand. It looked swollen and the fingers were clenched tight. Snape turned the hand over and prised the fingers open.

It was indeed badly swollen. The skin covering his fingers was stretched tight and the whole was an ugly purple colour. Snape's brow furrowed and he peered at Harry's palm more closely. Two tiny pinpricks no more than three millimetres apart were visible, and blood was smeared across the palm; a droplet of blood still welled from each of the wounds which were badly inflamed.

What on earth could have caused such wounds? Snape thought back over the last fraught 15 minutes since Harry had first become unwell. When he had collapsed onto the floor and begun to retch, only a trickle of bile had appeared before the blood. Potter's stomach had been empty so it was unlikely that he had ingested the poison.

Never having been accused of being slow on the uptake, it only took seconds for Snape to make the connection between Harry's condition, the state his hand was in and the small, silver object that had flown past his face during Harry's latest struggle.

Making sure Minerva and Dumbledore stayed beside the boy in case he started to seize again, Snape strode across the stone floor to where he thought he had heard the object land. After about twenty seconds of searching with his wand tip illuminated so that it would reflect off the metal, he found it-a small silver pendant on a fine chain-in a corner where one of his ingredients cabinets met the wall.

Using a levitation charm he studied the item at eye level and saw that the pendant was a hedgehog (or perhaps a Knarl) and that a couple of the sharp quills appeared to be bloodstained. Guiding it with his wand, Snape levitated the item over to his work bench and dropped it into a shallow glass dish. Dumbledore crossed to his side and looked down his long crooked nose.

"It would appear that this was the means of delivering the poisons into Potter's system," intoned Snape grimly.

Albus looked from the innocent looking piece of jewellery to his potions master. "Which would beg the question, Severus: How did Harry get hold of this?"

Snape rubbed a tired hand through his greasy hair and grimaced in disgust at the feel of it. "That can be the first question we ask the boy if I can identify the poisons used and concoct the necessary antidotes."

Harry's return to awareness happened in stages. The first thing to impinge upon his dulled senses was pain. Pain everywhere. Every muscle in his body seemed to be burning. His head pounded and his throat felt like he had swallowed broken glass. And he was hot, so very hot. Harry wanted to kick the light covering that he could feel draped over him off but he couldn't because his legs were lead weights.

Through the pounding in his head Harry became aware of a scratching noise. It was so insidious, it took him a little while to realise that the noise was not inside his own head but coming from somewhere nearby.

Harry next became aware that he was lying in an extremely comfortable bed. He knew it wasn't his bed in Gryffindor tower for although that was beautiful and comfortable also, this bed was different. Different also from the harder beds in the hospital wing. But why was he in a different bed? Surely if he was in bed, he should be in his dormitory.

Harry fought to open his eyes but it was really difficult; his eyelids were so very heavy. Even his eyelashes hurt. After several abortive attempts, Harry finally managed to force his reluctant eyelids open a crack.

Without moving his head (the effort involved felt as if it would be just as hard as opening his eyes) Harry could see-though blurrily-that the room he was in was made of stone; just like most of the castle, only this stone was Dark, like that in the dungeons. A subtle light suffused the room, emanating from under the architraves where the walls met the ceiling.

The scratching noise had stopped for a moment but now it started anew. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Harry forced himself to turn his head slightly. He tried to focus his eyes and fight the wave of nausea that had engulfed him as a result of that slight movement. Though his vision was blurred, he recognised a familiar figure sitting in a straight backed chair, her hair pulled back into a familiar tight bun; the quill in her hand the source of the scratching.

Harry tried to summon some saliva to moisten his dry mouth and throat but there was none. He tried to say ‘Professor McGonagall' but the noise that he produced was little more than a croak. It was enough however to shock Minerva so badly that quite uncharacteristically she knocked over the bottle of ink on her little writing table.

"Harry! You're finally awake." A surreptitious wave of McGonagall's wand and a muttered "Evanesco" had the spilled ink cleared up so quickly, Harry was not sure it had been spilt in the first place; another wave of her wand had the small table and the things atop it moving to the side. Minerva jumped up with the vigour of a much younger person and was at Harry's side in the blink of an eye. She placed a cool hand on Harry's forehead and he closed his eyes and sighed at the feel of that cool flesh against his burning forehead. He wanted to reach up and hold the hand there but it was too much of an effort to raise his arms.

"May I have some water?" Harry managed to croak but it seared his raw throat and he grimaced.

"Oh, dear." Professor McGonagall sounded flustered but when she continued, her voice had its usual, crisp tone. "You'll have to wait I'm afraid, Harry. I'll have to get Severus. I daren't give you anything without his say so.

"Snape!" said Harry and then, "Oww!" as his throat objected strongly to his loud exclamation. He whispered his next words. "What's Snape got to do with me?"

"Professor Snape, Harry, and he has been looking after you...trying to get you well for three days now." Minerva patted his arm. "Now, lie still while I go and get Severus."

She hurried out of the room and Harry lay there, appalled. What in the hell was going on? What was the matter with him, and if he was sick, (more than probable considering how terrible he felt) why wasn't Madam Pomfrey looking after him in the hospital wing? Why would Snape be looking after him? The thought of Snape touching him made his insides squirm.

Harry tried to move because his back was really starting to kill him but as with moving his arms and legs, he discovered he was not up to the task. He closed his heavy eyelids and tried to remember what had happened to him. But every time it seemed he might be close to latching onto a memory, it just floated away again.

"Well Potter, how are you feeling?" Snape had appeared as silently as one of the Hogwarts' ghosts. Harry tensed inside at the sound of that hated voice. Forcing his reluctant eyelids up again, he stared blearily at the potions master. He was glad he didn't have his glasses on because he preferred looking at the black and white blob rather than the clear version of Severus Snape.

Snape was standing beside the bed and Harry could tell that he had his arms crossed in his usual, supercilious way; both long fingered hands grasping the opposite elbow.

"If you must know, sir, I feel like shit," croaked Harry painfully trying to ignore the cut glass in his throat. "But if you've been looking after me, I'm not surprised. I don't suppose you can kill me too quickly though or it would look a little suspicious. Besides, I'm sure you'd want me to suffer first."

Snape placed his hands on the edge of the mattress and leaned in close to hiss menacingly in Harry's ear. Harry cringed when he felt Snape's warm breath against his ear and his tongue snaked out in a vain attempt to moisten his dry, cracked lips.

"I wouldn't waste my time or compromise my immortal soul any more than it already is by killing you, you insolent little whelp, when all I have to do is wait for your love of heroics to do the job for me.

"But I wonder, just how many of your foolishly, faithful friends you will manage to get killed before that happy day arrives."

The contempt in the potion master's voice was palpable but that was OK because Harry felt exactly the same way about him. But Harry could not help the shiver that snaked its way down his spine at Snape's words. Not being able to think of anything to counter with, other than another mouthful of abuse which he knew it would not be wise to let loose, Harry turned his face away and closed his eyes, hoping Snape would get the message that he was dismissed.

When Snape spoke again, his voice was as cold as it always was when he was addressing Harry and Harry could tell that he had straightened and moved back slightly. "I wish to know how you feel and this time, you will answer with a little more detail and a lot less cheek."

Harry remained stubbornly silent. He longed to say how thirsty he was and ask for a drink but he would not give Snape the pleasure of denying him his request. He knew he was acting like a child by keeping his face averted and his eyes closed but he found the alternative of speaking politely to the man abhorrent. The Greasy Git had shown Harry nothing but contempt since his first day at Hogwarts and for no other reason than the fact that he was James Potter's son.

"Very well Potter, we will do this the hard way."

The next second, Harry felt the sheet being yanked down to the foot of the bed. Harry's fever bright eyes flew open at the same time as he made a futile grab for the sheet. The sudden movement of his aching body had him screwing up his face in distress.

"Oww! You bastard!" gasped Harry through clenched teeth as pain stabbed through what felt like every muscle in his body.

"Mr Potter!" Professor McGonagall had re-entered the room and when Harry was able to open his eyes, through the shimmer of tears caused by the lingering pain he saw the tall, thin, silver-haired figure of Professor Dumbledore dressed in midnight blue robes approaching the bed alongside his transfiguration teacher. Professor McGonagall had obviously summoned the headmaster immediately after getting Snape and she had also obviously heard him cursing Snape.

"Ah, Harry. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you so far along the road to recovery," said the headmaster, who was obviously not going to reprimand Harry for his disrespect towards Snape. "You have been very ill, my boy."

"I am in the process of trying to ascertain Mr Potter's condition now that he is awake but he is being anything but co-operative." Snape's tone was its condescending best and Harry wished he could make that hawk like nose even more gross by planting his fist on it with a great deal of force.

All of a sudden Harry became aware that he was lying in full view of the headmaster, Professor McGonagall and of course Snape and from the feel of the cool air on his hot skin, he knew he had little on in the way of clothing. When covered by the sheet, he had been unaware of his state of dress.

His skin was already a rosy colour because of his fever but with the realisation that Professor McGonagall was seeing him in all his glory, (God, he hoped he had underpants on) the colour in his cheeks blossomed spectacularly, spreading down his neck and creeping across his chest

"Would you mind covering me up, sir?" he asked through gritted teeth, his angry eyes fixed on Snape who was obviously enjoying his discomfort if the mocking sneer on his face was anything to go by.

"If your state of undress is causing you embarrassment Mr Potter; perhaps you should do something about it yourself."

Harry seethed and in those few seconds he elevated Snape to the top of his hate list; even above Voldemort, Bellatrix and Pettigrew. He took several rapid, deep breaths and gritted his teeth before trying to push himself up on his elbows so that he could reach towards his feet and drag the sheet back up. The movement sent pain ripping through every muscle again and he cried out involuntarily and fell back on his pillow. Snape watched him with a clinical air, Dumbledore and Minerva with concern. Perspiration was dotting Harry's brow and upper lip and the rest of his skin was slick with it.

But Harry was nothing if not determined and he was not going to give Snape the pleasure of seeing him as a weakling. Though what in the hell could be wrong with him to be causing this amount of pain he didn't know. He would try another approach. After several more deep breaths to gird his loins he tried to lift one leg so that he could hook the sheet over his foot and lift it up so he could reach it with his hand.

"Oh, for heaven's sake Potter," snapped Professor McGonagall. She refused to stand by and watch the boy put himself through any more torture. "The sight of a teenage boy's bare chest is hardly going to give me palpitations. I think I can withstand your manly charms."

Harry thought that his eyeballs would fry, his face was so hot but suddenly his embarrassment was superseded by shock and his mouth fell open when he realised that Snape was laughing. Harry had never heard Snape laugh before. Indeed, he would have bet his Firebolt that the potions master did not know what levity was.

As distracted as he was by the sound, Harry was still aware that Snape's glee was at his expense and suddenly, uncontrollably, anger and hatred fused. He felt as though he was melting; his very core seemed to become a churning, roiling liquid; thick and bubbling. At the same time something white hot and molten surged along his nerves; like electricity racing along wire after wire. It began to flow outwards and felt as if it was charging every particle of his being.

The room and everything in it receded to the back of his conscious mind. He was not aware of the raw power that surrounded him; the very air seemed to crackle with it. Vaguely he was aware that Snape was no longer laughing. The prat was still standing at the end of the bed and for some reason, Harry could see him with crystal clear clarity, even though he did not have his glasses on. The look on the git's face was priceless-shock tinged with fear.

Harry raised both his arms; the pain seemed to have receded along with the miracle of his perfect sight. Snape took a step back when one of Harry's raised hands pointed directly at his chest; fingers splayed. The other hand was lower, its fingers crooked. The potions master did not see the crumpled sheet at the base of the bed fly directly into Harry's lower hand because he was too busy being thrown with sickening force into the wall behind him and falling unconscious at its base.

Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall saw however and the powerful witch and the even more powerful wizard watched in open mouthed astonishment as the sixteen year old boy who was virtually illuminated by his magic performed two spells simultaneously-a summoning charm and a banishing spell; both of them performed wandless and without a sound passing the young wizard's lips. Silent spell casting was not taught until sixth year and wandless magic was not taught at all. It was a very rare talent that had to be inherent in the witch or wizard and only ever manifested in the most powerful magi.

The whole surreal episode finished just as abruptly as it had started. Both the older magi's shock turned to concern when Harry's arms dropped heavily back to the bed and the magic that charged the air sizzled into nothingness. Harry's harsh cry of pain tailed off when his eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness again.

&&&&

Severus awoke with Albus leaning over him, his good natured face creased with concern.

"Are you all right, my boy?"

Severus blinked, his eyes fixed dazedly on Albus' face. He was lying on his sofa and the reason why came back to him within seconds. He could not hold back the groan of pain that accompanied the hurried movement that brought him upright into a sitting position. He was holding his pounding head in his hands in an effort to stop it exploding like one of Hagrid's overripe pumpkins when he heard the unmistakable sound of a stopper being pulled from a glass vial.

Albus held the potion under his nose and Severus recognised the distinct smell of headache potion immediately. He took the small vial and downed the contents in one swallow, lying back against the arm of the sofa with a sigh, his crooked arm raised to cover his eyes. In less than a minute, the strain eased from around his mouth and he lowered his arm and fixed his eyes on Albus' troubled face.

Feeling at a distinct disadvantage reclining in front of his boss, Severus slowly and carefully raised himself to a sitting position again. When it was obvious the pain in his head had been laid to rest, he pulled his robes tightly around his slender body, the action an attempt to gather the remnants of his dignity. His black eyes snapped back to Dumbledore's  blue ones.

"Potter?" he asked in a voice that contained equal amounts of venom and incredulity.

Dumbledore nodded his head and spoke in a resigned but troubled voice. "A truly astonishing display and not one that I expected to see for several more years, I have to admit."

"Are you telling me that you have foreseen Potter being the possessor of magical skills far advanced of all but a very few exceedingly gifted wizards-yourself and the Dark Lord amongst them?" Severus tried to sound as though he was not scoffing but it was an abysmal effort.

"I have. But I am afraid that Harry's display may have been a little premature coming as it has so very close to his near death. It has taken a great deal out of him and he has relapsed back into unconsciousness."

Severus stared hard at his mentor for several seconds, disbelief plainly etched on his austere face. He pushed himself off the sofa and trying to hide the fact that every one of his muscles throbbed dully, he stalked into his bedroom where Harry bloody Potter was indeed unconscious on his bed again-just as he had been for the last three days.

If Minerva's distress was anything to go by, it was not just the adolescent female population at Hogwarts who were enamoured of the pestilential Gryffindor. She was standing beside his large, comfortable bed with it's carved intricately carved headboard, sponging the boy's face. Her mouth was set, her nostrils pinched and blanched; a sure sign of her agitation.

Severus reached past her and put a long fingered, cool hand on Potter's forehead. He was even hotter now than he had been at any time since the poisoning had occurred. The pulse in his neck was bounding rapidly, clearly visible under the flushed, finely grained skin.

There was barely any evidence of adolescent stubble on the young face, just a fine, smudged line above his upper lip and the slightest darkening of his chin. Despite this evidence of approaching manhood, the boy looked much younger than his nearly sixteen years. However, it was painfully obvious that the appealing boyish features were going to mature handsomely.

 Harry stirred under the combined touch of the two professors but he did not awaken. Snape watched dispassionately for several minutes as the boy became more and more restless. At least this time he was not so deeply comatose as he had been.

"He'll throw himself off the bed at this rate," said an emotional Minerva. "Severus, is there nothing you can give him to quieten him down?"

Severus, who was still greatly peeved that Potter had thrown him across the room so unceremoniously answered her in a calculatedly cold and uncaring voice that he knew would raise the woman's hackles. "It is not wise to deepen his unconscious state. This activity will speed up his metabolism and hopefully purge his system of any remaining toxins a little faster. Though why anyone would want the cheeky little snot conscious is beyond my understanding."

Minerva bristled as he had known she would. He assumed it was because of his tone rather than the content of his assessment because after all, he was the healer.

"He will hurt himself!" she said angrily.

Snape sighed in a very put upon manner before drawing his wand. He pointed the ebony rod above the bed, moved it delicately in a complicated circle and muttered an incantation that Minerva could not make out. The air above the bed shimmered for a moment.

"There, Minerva. A cushioning charm. If he gets too close to the edges of the bed, he cannot fall or harm himself in any way."

Minerva pressed a hand against the invisible barrier. It gave under pressure like a bubble but she could not break through it. "And just how am I supposed to minister to him?"

"I would suggest leaving him be for the moment. He is too restless and he is likely to hurt you with a flailing limb if you get too close." With that said, Severus stalked out of the room, intent on getting himself a sizeable dose of  pain potion to deal with his sore muscles.

Minerva watched him go, her face livid. Dumbledore who had watched their exchange in silence put a soothing arm around her thin shoulders. "He has worked ceaselessly to get Harry to this stage, my love."

"He hates him so much, Albus."

"He only thinks he hates him. He saved his life."

"Only because it was expected. Not because it was his will."

Dumbledore tore his eyes from Harry and looked down his long nose at the woman who had been his companion in more ways than one for the last thirty years. "Do you really think that Severus would allow a child-a student-to die if it were in his power to stop it, Minerva? Even James Potter's son? His own cousin's son?

Minerva breathed in deeply and relaxed against Albus' side. "No, of course not. That cold and indifferent shell does hide a conscience, I know. Still, forgive me for saying so Albus, but I wish Poppy was here."

"Poppy would only have bowed to Severus' superior knowledge-both of poisons and healing as our Harry was so close to death. Our brilliant potions master is not just a pretty face, my love," he said in all seriousness and Minerva chuckled as he had known she would.

&&&&

Severus was not happy. Minerva had been called away. Her sister had need of her assistance as she was unwell. The deputy headmistress had been reluctant to leave Harry to Severus's less than tender ministrations; she respected the potions master for his towering intellect but she had no illusions about the man's distaste for children; Gryffindors were definitely at the top of his most hated list and Harry in particular.

Minerva had, up to now, tended the desperately ill boy diligently. Without Poppy Pomfrey's presence and as the only female left in the castle this summer break, the nursing duties had mainly fallen to Minerva. She had not minded; she had been the natural choice. After all, Harry was one of her Gryffindors and he was a child in need. She did not feel that she should leave her charge. Severus agreed but Dumbledore had other ideas.

"You must go, Minerva."

Minerva flung her hands out towards her charge. "And what of Harry? He needs me."

"Morgana needs you."

"Morgana is a hypochondriac."

"Still and all, my love, she is your sister.

"I think you need a break Minerva. You have hardly left Harry's side since he became ill. The change of scenery will do you good."

And so, much to Severus's displeasure, Minerva had gone. When the potions master would have delegated the nursing duties to the boy's champion, Dumbledore, the blasted old man had insisted that he had important ‘Order" business that needed his immediate attention now that Harry was out of danger.

Severus had limited his hands on care to the absolutely necessary up to now; frequent sips of water, the administering of potions (all of which required the disgruntled man to massage Harry's throat to assist him to swallow) and the casting of the necessary spells to rid Harry's body of waste products.

However, when Minerva and Dumbledore had failed to return within two days and Harry had still to regain consciousness, it became apparent to Severus that the brat needed more personal care. Whilst performing the necessary tasks needed to keep Potter on the path to improved health, Severus' formidable olfactory nerve picked up the unmistakable odour of stale teenage male. It was obvious that the freshening charms he had been casting periodically were no longer enough and that a rigorous sponge bath was necessary.

"I will extract my revenge," Severus grumbled as he assembled the necessary accoutre to give the darling of Gryffindor a bed bath. "This is not part of my duties, old man," he continued in an undertone as he put the tip of his wand into the water in the large bowl and incanted a warming charm. Not to be accused of being thoughtful, however, he barely took the chill off the water and told himself he would not have even done that except for the fact of not wanting the boy to contract pneumonia when his immunity was compromised. All appearances to the contrary, Severus Snape did not want Harry Potter dead.

Harry's restlessness had finally settled down twelve hours after that truly shocking surge of magic, as had his temperature, which was almost back to normal. Therefore Severus did not have to deconstruct the cushioning ward he had made to protect the boy from injury; he had removed it twenty-four hours earlier; Harry's thrashing had eased as his temperature decreased.

The increasingly hot summer weather did not warm the air this far down in the bowels of Hogwarts, so Severus' personal chambers were always quite cool. Minerva had placed a blanket atop the sheet when she had noticed goosebumps covering Harry's skin. Now, when Severus pulled the bedding down to the foot of the bed, and the cool air touched the boy's skin, he whimpered like a new born puppy deprived of its mothers warmth and turning on his side, he wrapped his arms around his too thin chest and drew his knees upwards in an attempt to conserve his body heat.

Whilst Severus had been working against the clock to save the Boy-who-lived, he had been operating on automatic pilot and had only taken note of what he needed to; to aid in his identification of the poisons used and the brewing of the antidotes needed to combat the terrible symptoms that had wracked the boys body and had him so close to death for what seemed an eternity. Now, without Minerva's hovering presence, Severus allowed his sharp gaze to run over the boy's body.

He had always known Harry was small of stature but he was only now seeing exactly how thin he was. Every bony protuberance of his vertebral column was clearly defined and his scapulae were clearly visible as was the rim of his pelvis above the low slung waistband of his boxer shorts. Severus' brow furrowed as he thought back over the time he had known Potter.

It was true that when he had started at Hogwarts, Harry could easily have been mistaken for an eight year old. Ronald Weasley had topped him by at least six inches and a good stone and a half. At the welcoming feast each year, Severus had often observed Potter piling his plate with food and eating like a ravenous beast.

But the boy's appetite was never equal to the task of eating what he served himself as less than half the mountain of food was ever consumed; unlike Ronald Weasley who served himself at least that much and went back for second and often third helpings as well as desert. On thinking back over the years, Severus realised that he rarely saw Harry totally clear his plate. The boy had a very meagre appetite compared to most healthy teenage males.

Despite this apparent disinterest in food however, the boy always looked much healthier when he left school than he did upon his return to Hogwarts after his summer break. Though he seemed to have grown several inches over the course of this last year, he was still one of the shorter boys in the fifth year. But now, without the camouflaging fullness of school robes and the ridiculous baggy jeans and sweatshirt Potter had been wearing on the day of the poisoning, Severus could see-now that he was focused on the boy and not his symptoms-how deplorably thin he was.

And that was not all. The boy's lack of weight was one thing, but the too numerous scars adorning his body were another. From his forays into Potter's memories during those painfully futile occlumency lessons, Severus had finally had to concede that the boy's childhood had been far from ideal-a fact that Albus had been trying to convince him of since Potter's first year when Severus had believed that the little snot was not only the mirror image of his father but was just as arrogant and spoiled as James had been.

But during his incursions into the morass that was Potter's mind, Severus had seen the proof-had seen the bullying at the hands of his aunt and uncle as well as his cousin. The earliest memory he had been shocked to witness was of a tiny, nearly two year old Harry being pushed so hard by his much larger, two year old cousin when Harry had dared touch a brightly wrapped birthday present that the older boy had just received, that he had been catapulted into his aunt, making her stagger backwards and drop the birthday cake she had been carrying to the table. The great lump of an uncle had picked Harry up by one stick thin arm, shaken him like a rag doll whilst bellowing into the terrified child's face before cuffing him soundly around the ears and throwing him bodily into a cupboard under the stairs.

It had not only been the scene that had shocked the potion's master (and Severus Snape had thought himself immune to shock considering the unspeakable acts he had witnessed and sometimes participated in during his tenure as a servant of the Dark Lord) but also the fact that Potter could remember something that had happened at the tender age of barely two.

However, Potter must have been better at occlumency than Severus had thought because the memories of the acts that caused this scaring on his body had been well hidden; no doubt buried deeply as a result of embarrassment and shame. They were memories the boy did not want to relive.

Severus knew about those kinds of childhood memories. He knew of the hopelessness and despair Harry felt knowing that he had been helpless to stop the behaviour of the people who were supposed to protect him but instead reviled and abused him. 

Severus did not have to see the memories to know that most of the marks on the boy's body had been made with a belt. With his mouth set in a thin line, Severus traced a particularly deep gouge that snaked from the boy's rib cage at the back on the left side around to the front and could only have been made with a belt buckle.

Severus gently took hold of Harry's shoulder and tried to push him back onto his back but Harry resisted and wrapped his arms more tightly around himself. Letting out a long, frustrated breath, Severus decided not to push the issue just yet and he began to wash the boy, starting with his back and, in a burst of unfamiliar compassion, he decided to warm the water quite a bit more before applying the wet wash cloth to the boy's skin.

Despite Harry's reluctance to return to full consciousness, the bed bath was quite a tussle and by the time Severus had finished washing and drying the upper half of his body, he was quite ready to apply both hands to Potter's throat and commit an act that would ensure the little horror never needed another wash. But when he thought of the amount of time and effort he had put into saving the boy's life, he gritted his teeth and continued with the task with renewed determination.

Cursing Minerva and Albus, Severus divested Harry of his underpants with a flick of his wand, and wondering how he had ever come to the sorry pass of not only seeing Harry Potter in all his teenage glory but actually having to wash him, he continued on with this most unwelcome task. He was sorely tempted to hex the boy into submission but he was still wary of actually using magic that could alter his physical state, even for only a short time.

The light freshening charms he had eventually allowed Minerva to employ were quite different in that they did not actually alter Potter's physiology; they just agitated the air slightly over the surface of the boys body to freshen him up. The fact that he had insisted on the charms being so light was why he, Severus was now in the unenviable position of washing away the pungent odour of stale teenage male.

Applying himself to the remainder of the task with detached vigour, it was several seconds after he had lifted Potter's left leg up to wash his calf and the back of his thigh that Severus realised what he was seeing. The ablutions ceased but he continued to hold the leg, his black eyes riveted on the red crescent moon shaped mark on the inside of the boy's thigh, exactly three inches above his knee.

The potion's master stood, dripping wash cloth in hand, holding Potter's leg angled off the bed and his obsidian eyes glued to the ½ inch sized birth mark. It wasn't until Harry fought against Severus' hold that he came to himself and lowered the leg back to the bed. When Harry would have turned onto his side again, Severus put a firm hand on his thin shoulder to keep him on his back.

Without conscious thought, he threw the cloth back into the basin of water and continued to stare at the mark that he could still see because he had pulled Potter's right leg to the side. Severus was not staring at the mark because of its shape or colour. He was staring because he had seen the exact same birth mark before in the exact same spot on another leg.

Severus continued to stare bemusedly. Bemusement was a state of mind that rarely overtook Severus Snape. A man of such formidable intellect was rarely anything but in total control.  His sharp, clever eyes saw but his brain could not really comprehend the significance of this discovery at this point. The only thing that his brain had registered was the fact that the mark was exactly identical in shape and position to the mark that he was already familiar with.

When Harry, with an unexpected burst of strength yanked his leg from Severus' admittedly loosened grip and turned on his side, the potions master belatedly  recalled where he was and what he had been doing. With his thoughts whirling, he cast a charm that dried Harry and the damp bedding and another that clothed him in oversized pyjama pants and a misshapen faded green t-shirt that had been retrieved from the boy's trunk earlier.

After pulling the covers back up and detachedly watching the still unconscious boy burrow into the warmth like a much younger child would, he banished the accoutre of the bed bath before taking himself as far away from Harry Potter as he could get whilst still remaining in earshot.

Immediately after he exited the bedroom, Severus stood, irresolute just outside the door, his eyes focused upon nothing, his brow furrowed as if in thought. But as his thoughts were in total chaos, Severus was in the unusual position of being totally baffled.

After a minute of indecisive wavering, he pursed his thin lips and strode to a small, bow legged, cherry wood table that sat against the wall on one side of the fireplace. The table was home to Severus' alcoholic beverages. He snatched up a heavy squat tumbler, slopped a large measure of his favourite single malt whisky into it and downed it in three swallows. He repeated this operation once more before he felt calm enough to gently refill his glass, release his death grip on the bottle and carefully fold himself into his favourite worn, leather chair.

The sudden flooding of his system with strong alcohol did not do anything for his thought processes however and whilst sipping the contents of the third glass, he tried to make some sense of his shocking discovery. But though the next three glasses of whisky were imbibed at a much more acceptable speed, the only conclusion that Severus had hit upon was that Harry Potter had most definitely been born to do his head in.

When Dumbledore stepped gracefully from the fireplace mid afternoon that same day, it was with a great deal of displeasure that he found his potions master in an extremely inebriated state.

"Ah, Albush," slurred the younger man. "Wel...welcome back." He raised his glass in an unsteady salute, slopping half its contents down his already damp shirt.

"C...come! Y...you mush j...join me in a d...drink. H...help me shel...shel...shellibrate." Severus pointed, or tried to point his wand at the glasses arranged on the drinks table. He closed one eye during this delicate manoeuvre in an attempt to improve his equilibrium-to little effect. He managed to levitate one of the heavy tumblers shakily into the air and summon it towards him but it lost its momentum halfway and fell to the stone floor and smashed, sending thick, glass fragments in all directions.

"Shit!" Severus' hand, still clasping his wand fell heavily into his lap. He had managed to maintain a grip on his own tumbler however and he now raised it to his lips and finished off its contents before reaching for the bottle again.

"N...not my besht' work," he hiccoughed.

Albus, fury emanating from him in waves, banished both the glass and the bottle with an angry sweep of his hand. Another sweep and the glass fragments flew back together and the tumbler rejoined its fellows on the drinks table.

"W...wha choo go an' do tha' for?" slurred Severus but by now he was no longer able to hold his head up and it slowly dipped until his chin was resting on his chest and his black hair hung like twin curtains on either side of his slack face.

With a last disgusted look, Albus strode to the bedroom. A powerful wave of relief spread through him at the sight of Harry curled under the covers and sleeping peacefully. He reached down and brushed the black fringe of hair back from the boys forehead, exposing the scar that had dictated the child's life for the last five years. Harry moved his head slightly as if aware of the touch but he did not wake.

"Come back to us again, dear boy."

Reassured that Harry was safe, Albus re-entered the sitting room and looked down on the inebriated man slumped in the chair. The fury he had felt upon his arrival was now tempered with sorrow and exasperation.

What had caused this complex, self-contained man to reduce himself to this drunken heap. Severus Snape never drank to the point of inebriation. He refused to be anything but in total control of himself. To be otherwise could be his death.

Ever since the bitter night that the broken and frightened young man had practically stumbled into the private parlour at the Hog's Head after having sent an owl asking for an audience with him, Albus' initial feelings of reserve and distrust had, that night been tempered by pity, and during the years since, gradually softened and finally disappeared altogether.

His memory of the embittered, lonely child who had been sorted into Slytherin had filled him with sadness and guilt. Sadness because no child of eleven embarking on the grand adventure that was the beginning of their magical education at Hogwarts should have been so embittered and lonely; and guilty because even he had allowed the antics and the personalities of two young Gryffindors to blind him to the young Slytherin's needs.

Severus Snape had been academically superior to all during his student years at Hogwarts, except perhaps for the two Gryffindor troublemakers plus their one responsible friend and a pretty, red-headed witch, also in Gryffindor. The flamboyance of the two troublemakers had eclipsed all of the young Slytherin's achievements except in the field of potions, where he had been, and remained to this day unsurpassed.

It had been many years now that Albus had felt more than respect and liking for the young outcast. He had come to love Severus Snape as if he was a grandson despite his prickly disposition that was, frankly, more often than not down right unpleasant.

There were still a few in the Order who refused to see past the Death Eater, Alastor being the hardest nut to crack and the most vocal. Luckily, most of the people Albus trusted were willing to accept his judgement and Severus Snape amongst their ranks with little in the way of dissension.

Unfortunately, Severus held everyone at arms length, so was not a man that was easy to build a relationship with. He and Minerva were the only two people for whom Severus had gradually lowered his formidable defences. It had taken years but the young man had slowly let Albus into his life and by extension, Minerva.

Albus knew that Severus did not give affection easily but he also knew that his own feelings were reciprocated by the younger man. He looked upon Albus as a mentor and father figure although he did everything in his power to deny any kind of relationship closer than that of boss and employee.

Right now, Albus felt an overwhelming desire to vigorously apply his hand to a part of Severus's anatomy that had never seen the sun. The impulse died as quickly as it was born. The thought had been engendered by pure frustration.

The young man's bitterness and bad choices in his earlier life had been driven in part by a violent, cold-hearted father. Dumbledore had never raised his hand against his own children but then again, they had never pushed his buttons as well or as often as Severus Snape did.

Albus lowered his head and massaged his forehead with the finger tips of one long fingered hand. Then taking a deep breath as though to muster all his patience, he pointed his wand at the empty sofa and transfigured it into a comfortable bed. He then levitated Severus out of the chair and lowered him onto the bed before transfiguring his shirt and trousers into Severus' favourite sleeping attire, a night shirt. As punishment, he coloured it scarlet and added gold trim.

After attending to Harry's needs, Albus conjured his favourite deep, squashy armchair and a small table upon which sat a large steaming teapot and matching, fine china cup and saucer and a small jug of milk. There was also a plate of macaroons and a small bowl of butterscotch, his favourite sweet of the moment. He settled into the chair that he had placed in the bedroom but near the open door, where he had a clear view of both his charges.

8888

A muffled groan from the depths of the conjured bed alerted Albus to the return to consciousness of his potions master. With an evil grin worthy of Fred or George Weasley, he wafted the aromatic steam arising from a platter of bacon and eggs that had been supplied for breakfast by the ever efficient house elves towards the bed.

"Good morning, Severus," he said in jovial tones. The untidy mop of midnight black hair which was all that could be seen of Severus was withdrawn even further under the covers accompanied by another feeble groan. But Albus was having none of that.

"Come, come my boy..." and with a flourish he pulled back the covers. "I have been reliably informed that it is a magnificent day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the bees are..."

"For God sake old man, cease and desist with this inane babble or I will curse you into the middle of next week." The content of the order was strongly worded but the delivery left a lot to be desired. Severus' voice was a croaky husk and the volume was severely muted. "Let me die in peace!"

At this moment, Severus' nose twitched and Albus watched with evil satisfaction as the formally ghostly, white face turned a bilious green

"Oh, Merlin," groaned the suffering figure on the bed. "What is that God awful smell?" And the words were barely uttered before Severus hurriedly leaned over the side of the bed and relinquished the foul contents of his stomach into the bucket that Albus had conjured in readiness.

After several painful minutes, Severus flopped back onto the bed and lay with his arm crooked over his eyes. Albus banished the bucket and its contents. "Better out than in, dear boy."

"I am going to kill you, Old Man." was Severus' husky response.

Albus chuckled before banishing the blankets and re-transfiguring the bed into a sofa. Snape was left reclining, uncomfortably against the high leather arm, his head bent at an uncomfortably acute angle.

"Come," said Albus in a jovial tone that made Severus' wand hand itch and convinced him that he had never once during his tenure as a Death Eater had such a strong urge to perform the Cruciatus Curse.

"There are several vials of your excellent hangover cure in the bathroom. I will allow twenty minutes before you join me for a hearty breakfast."

Feeling that it would be prudent to remove himself from the room before he performed at least one of the Unforgivables, Severus sat up very gingerly and with great precision moved his legs until his bare feet touched the floor. Then, keeping his head stiffly erect, he pushed himself up carefully and began the torturous journey to the bathroom. He heard Dumbledore chuckle as he entered the bedroom which he had to traverse to get to his bathroom. He kept his eyes averted from his bed and the slight figure that had occupied it for the past five days.

8888

When a perfectly groomed Severus returned exactly twenty minutes later, Albus lowered his copy of the Daily Prophet and smiled at the younger man.

"A great improvement. I trust you feel better?"

"I feel adequate," said Severus in a stiff voice. He withdrew his right hand from behind his back. "I cannot say I think much of your sense of humour, Old Man."

Dumbledore smiled benignly as he viewed the scarlet nightshirt Severus was holding up to his face. "You did not object last night. I thought night wear more appropriate for sleep than damp, boozy smelling day wear"

"Last night, I was in no state to object. And you know very well that I was referring to the colour rather than the article of clothing itself."

"But you slept comfortably, did you not? I do not see a problem."

Severus closed his eyes and growled deep in his throat. "As punishments go, I suppose you could have done much worse than sticking me in Gryffindor colours" He threw the offending garment over the arm of the sofa and sat down at the small, cherry wood dining table, reaching for the steaming pot of tea.

"I would appreciate it if you would re-transfigure that offensive garment back into a shirt and trousers before you depart. I do not have an inexhaustible supply of decent clothing." Dumbledore inclined his head before setting a covered plate of bacon, eggs, tomato and mushrooms in front of Severus and helping himself to a slice of toast. Severus' pale complexion took on a greenish hue but his face remained stoic. Without making a fuss, he re-covered the plate of food and moved it aside in favour of a slice of toast that he scraped a token dab of butter onto. The toast was for appearance sake only as he made no attempt to eat it.

Dumbledore did not press the food issue but cut straight to the bone. "You must know, Severus that I can not let yesterdays events go un-investigated. I need to understand what could have possessed you to allow yourself to be reduced to the drunken state that I found you in when you were the only one here to see to Harry's welfare.

The headmaster raised his cup to his lips and watched over the rim as Severus systematically reduced the slice of toast to crumbs. He did not prompt, but waited for the younger man to gather his thoughts.

"I will not make excuses as nothing excuses my negligence. I can only be thankful that Potter came to no harm; thankful that you returned when you did rather than spend the night away from Hogwarts." He paused and filled the silence with activity-wiping his fingers on a napkin and refilling his tea cup.

"I am satisfied that you feel duly chastened, dear boy but you have not told me what led to this monumental lapse in judgement." Dumbledore kept his blue eyes fixed on Severus' blank face.

"I do not believe, even for one instant what I am about to ask but it has to be addressed Severus. Your personal grievances against Harry combined with your displeasure over being left in sole charge of his welfare yesterday were not responsible for your actions, were they?"

Severus' deeply hooded eyes remained fixed on his teacup. He did not look up even as he spoke. "As vile a human being as I am, Albus and no matter my feelings for Harry Potter, I would never deliberately jeopardise a child's life." He finally raised his eyes to Albus' face.

"You know the means I employed to escape taking part in any of the Dark Lord's revels-particularly any involving children-and you know the punishments I suffered until the man finally, grudgingly allowed me to take a back seat when it came to murder and torture."

Severus paused and stared at his mentor with haughty affront. Not even Harry Potter has altered my stance on harming children."

Albus sighed and shook his silver head sadly. "It is a pity your doctrine only encompasses physical harm Severus. Psychological abuse can be equally traumatic."

Severus' lips thinned to a straight line. He could feel his cheeks heating with embarrassed colour. It did not sit well with him that what the headmaster said was true. He finally looked away, staring instead at his slim hands where they were wrapped around his tea-cup.

Albus watched him for several silent seconds, then he sighed again. "You know I love you like a son Severus and you know how greatly it saddens me that you and Harry are so viciously at loggerheads with each other when you are each the others last living relative on the Potter side. I also know that Harry would accept you as a friend-a cousin-in an instant if you would only make the first overtures. He has a great capacity for forgiveness."

Severus pushed his chair back forcefully and strode across the room. He ended up in front of his fireplace, each hand grasping the opposite elbow and gazing unseeingly into the flames that Albus had conjured earlier to ward off the chill of the dungeon chambers.

"He thinks I am responsible for his Godfather's death. Nobody is that forgiving."

"Harry is. You could convince him that your failure to act immediately regarding his warning in Dolores' office was necessary and that you then did all in your power to get Sirius to stay at Grimmauld Place."

Severus shook his head slightly. He was far from convinced that Harry would listen to reason. After all, he, Severus would not if the positions were reversed.

Silence reigned for many minutes, contemplative on both men's parts rather than confrontational. Just as Albus picked up the paper again, thinking to give Severus more time with his thoughts, Severus spoke.

"Albus, when I was twenty years old, I allowed Lily Potter to talk me into doing something that I had great reservations about at the time."

Other than raising his eyebrows Dumbledore did not allow his surprise to show. Why had this revelation come to light now? He wisely remained silent, waiting for the younger man to continue in his own time. Severus's eyes remained riveted on the dancing flames.

"The reasons for my disquiet were many and varied. The main one was fear, fear that the Dark Lord would somehow find out and punish me severely, or perhaps even kill me. The second was that the favour she asked of me involved James and as you already know, my cousin's and my mutual enmity had not faded with age." Here, Severus sighed deeply as though this thought no longer sat well.

He finally dragged his eyes away from the flames and began to pace up and down on the green, black and grey rug. Had he been wearing his robes they would have been billowing impressively as he turned after each lap.

Dumbledore waited patiently.

"My third reservation was theoretical. I did not know whether what Lily asked of me could be done. Even with my background in healing, I had never heard of it being done, certainly not amongst wizards-although it is, I believe, a common practice in Muggle medicine."

Snape had stopped his pacing and was once again staring into the flames. Dumbledore could not recall the last time he had seen Severus Snape look so worried-and yes-so vulnerable. Something about this memory had suddenly emerged to cause this supremely self contained man a great deal of internal torment. Dumbledore knew that the fact Severus was only now willing to share the memory of a deed performed so long ago, in which the other two participants were now dead meant that he needed help in letting the past go.

Something must have happened whilst Severus was alone with Harry; something that had brought the long suppressed memory forth. What had happened had no doubt been the cause of Severus' supreme lack of judgement in allowing himself to become so inebriated the day before.

The silence had stretched into minutes now and Dumbledore made a gentle enquiry. "What is it you wish to get off your chest, my boy? What was the favour asked of you by Lily?"

Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "James and Lily had been working for you-for the ‘Order of the Phoenix'-practically since they had finished school. James, much as he had been at school, was always in the centre of things. Was, I imagine always one of the first to volunteer for dangerous assignments, along with the even more foolhardy, Sirius Black.

"If I remember correctly, Lily told me you were away on the continent when Black and James followed up on some information they had come across. They did not tell anyone of their plans, not even Lily. But when things went arse about, James was badly injured."

Dumbledore's expression was a mixture of shock and regret. He shook his head. "I never knew," he said softly. "They were always a pair of faulty wands, Sirius more so than James. But blessed as he was with a golden tongue, Sirius could usually overcome any reservations James may have had, particularly if Lily, Remus or I were not around to be the voices of reason..." He tailed off as he remembered the two vibrant, energetic young men who were both now, sadly gone.

After a few seconds of reminiscence, Albus sighed. "Continue with your story, Severus. How did Lily involve you?-with you being, at the time, the enemy."

Twin streaks of colour appeared across Severus's sculpted cheek bones again. He did not like referring back to the days when he had been an arrogant fool who thought he knew it all...the days when he had been granted admission to the Club where he was told he would be superior to all other half bloods and all Muggle born wizards; the Club that would cleanse the world of those so tainted. As one of Lord Voldemort's followers, he was told that power, wealth and privilege would be his. And considering his background of deprivation and near poverty, the lure of these rewards was too much to pass up.

He was accepted amongst the ranks of some of the oldest pure blood, wizarding lines, accepted as an equal, vaunted for his intelligence; especially his expertise at potion-making. Being so young and eager to prove himself, he fell victim to the flattery heaped upon his head by the Dark Lord and his oldest and cleverest lieutenants.

He was encouraged by his master to add healing to his resume as it would be a wonderful adjunct to his potion making and was a skill that would be highly useful in the war effort. Lord Voldemort very much liked the idea of having his own, personal healer. With his background in potions, Severus had found the study of healing easy and had completed his course in two years, rather than the requisite four.

But by the time he had qualified, Severus Snape, servant of the Dark Lord, had discovered that he much preferred healing to the taking of lives or the destruction of the human mind and body by the means of foul, depraved acts and terrible tortures.

It had taken a considerable while but after enduring countless hours of unspeakable punishments, he had finally convinced Lord Voldemort that if he was to produce potions that were untainted and whose efficacy was unparalleled, then his hands must remain un-besmirched by bloodletting, even as he had convinced his master that his soul craved it. Severus' skills in the art of occlumency were severely tested during this period.

Not one meeting went by that the Dark Lord did not try his powerful best to rape the young man's mind in an effort to catch him out. But even with the aid of the tortures that left most men begging for death, that is if their minds were intact enough to do so, Severus survived the horror and degradation. He maintained his sanity and finally convinced the sociopathic megalomaniac who wanted to take over the world that he was trustworthy.

Yes. Severus' body and mind had survived. What had not survived the cruelty were the long held beliefs that had led him into Lord Voldemort's world of pure blood superiority in the first place; the world where one was only worthy of taking his or her place alongside the Dark Lord if he or she was a pure blood or truly exceptional in intellect and power and with something of worth to offer.

It had taken little time for Severus to discover that the Dark Lord's love of cruelty and torture had little to do with ridding the magical world of the taint of Muggle blood. If the man had only been interested in cleansing the wizarding world of inferior beings then he would not have been quite so eager or taken so much pleasure in punishing, or indeed killing his own followers. Usually, the reasons for the punishments had no basis in fact; the Dark Lord just revelled in inflicting pain and engendering fear. He would strike his own followers down with the Killing Curse as soon as look at them if he felt so inclined. He ruled in a climate of fear and intimidation. But once one was subjugated to the man, there was no backing out. The Dark Mark saw to that.

But Severus had eventually found a way to live with himself-barely, to appease his conscience-at least to a small degree. And Lily Potter had been the one to set him on the road to salvation.

‘Severus?' Dumbledore had to prompt him to continue. Severus sighed and launched into his tale again, though reluctantly.

"Lily and I had continued a sporadic correspondence following our days at Hogwarts. At school, we had become good friends, despite all my efforts to push her away. She weathered my unfriendliness and my insults, finally wearing me down with her perseverance. No-one was immune to Lily Evan's charm, least of all me; a dark, brooding, highly unpleasant Slytherin.

"She never approved of-as she called it-my inexplicable zeal regarding anything to do with the Dark Arts." Severus' voice was a monotone. He remembered full well how many times Lily had caught him after he had snuck into the restricted section of the library to look up anything to do with ‘Dark Magic'. It was the one thing they had argued most vociferously about. Well, that and James Potter.

Severus' Stygian, black eyes were focused on the past. "I never did understand why she decided that she wanted to be my friend. All I know is that I am glad that she did because she ultimately saved my life." A slight movement by Dumbledore had Severus snapping back to the here and now. He stared at Albus, his eyes now full of a deep and abiding sorrow.

"I loved her Albus. Passionately." His shoulders rose and fell in a resigned shrug. "But it was James that she loved. To her, I was like a brother, like all the other soles she took under her wing-Black, Lupin, even that mangy rat, Pettigrew."

Severus' voice had dropped to a deadly hiss as he spoke of his fellow Death Eater. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would kill Peter Pettigrew. He would avenge Lily. One day, somehow, he would catch the snivelling little coward away from the protection of his master and he would find a way to kill him that would not incriminate himself or destroy his position as a spy for the Order.

Dumbledore was not entirely surprised by the revelations of Severus's feelings for Lily. It had been Minerva who had originally pointed out to him that the surly but academically brilliant young Slytherin, Severus Snape seemed to be a lot more interested in the vivacious and beautiful young Gryffindor, Lily Evans than he was prepared to let on to the world at large. But with the charismatic James Potter letting all and sundry know that Lily was going to be his, he Albus, along with the rest of the faculty had no doubts whatsoever that the two Gryffindors would end up as a couple. As of course, they had.

"Did Lily ever know of your feelings?"

Severus' scornful expression gave Albus his answer. Truthfully, he had known the answer without asking. There was no way that the taciturn, unapproachable teenager from Slytherin would have ever let Miss Evans glimpse his true feelings. He would have died rather than appear needy in front of her. In fact, Albus was sure that he would have appeared even more disdainful of Lily's efforts to establish a friendship. But Lily had been nothing if not persistent. Her only child had inherited that trait in spades. The harder Severus would have pushed her away, the more determined she would have been not to be pushed.

Severus began pacing again. It was either that or reach for the whisky he had failed to consume the previous day.

"Lily turned up at my flat one evening. It had been pouring with rain all day and she had stood around in the shadows until she was sure that I was alone; that none of my Death Eater associates were visiting. This was not just for her own safety, which of course was paramount as James' survival depended on her successful recruitment of me. But even in her extreme distress, she was determined not to put me in any danger.

"Though time was of the essence she remained calm whilst she told her story and made her request of me. She told me that James was close to death but she was sure that I could save his life.

"In her work as an ‘Unspeakable' she had been studying the properties of the blood of magical humans, trying, without much success, to isolate the magical component. Even so, there would be few wizards around, even today who know as much about wizards blood as Lily did then."

Severus threw himself down on the dining chair he had earlier abandoned and reached for the teapot. He made a noise of annoyance because he could tell by the weight of it that it was empty.

Dumbledore put his hand over Severus' where he had hold of the handle. With his other hand, he pointed his wand at the pot and immediately it filled and steam issued from the spout. Severus grunted a ‘thank you' and poured himself a cup of the aromatic brew. He then filled Albus' cup and when they had both taken a sip and were sitting with their hands wrapped around the warmth of their cups, Severus continued his tale.

"James had lost a massive amount of blood. He did not have enough cells left for blood replenishing potion to latch onto fast enough to enable them to multiply. He was still bleeding and the clotting component of his blood had broken down as well. He was loosing it faster than it could be built up. In any other circumstances, James was a dead man.

"Lily was not going to let that happen, not while she had breath in her body. With time at a premium, she put James into a form of suspended animation by cooling his body to the point where his heart was only beating about ten times a minute. She left Black and Lupin with James and Apparated to my flat. As I said earlier, she waited in the rain-despite her panic and fear, she waited for over an hour watching my window to make sure I was alone.

"She told me that James would certainly die unless I would help. She wanted me to give James some of my blood. To my credit, I did not laugh in her face." Severus closed his eyes and massaged his forehead with his fingertips.

"I just stood there and looked at her as if she were out of her mind. Of course she knew that James and I were first cousins. And of course nobody knew better than she how much we loathed each other. She and James fought more about Lily's friendship with me than they did about anything else.

"She spent a fair amount of her time trying to convince the both of us, separately of course, that we needed to bury our prejudices and remember that we were each others only family and that that was too important not to try and bridge the gap.

"Her own embittered sister's jealousy and hatred and her subsequent estrangement from Lily made her particularly rabid about family ties.

"Anyway..." Severus carefully replaced his cup in it's saucer and drew on his reserves of strength to finish his tale. He felt very exposed emotionally and it was not a feeling he liked, even in front of the man whom he cared about more than anyone in the world. "...suffice to say, Lily ended up begging me; I finally acquiesced because I could ultimately deny her nothing and together we Apparated to James' side.

"After several minutes where Black berated Lily soundly for her monumental lack of judgement in bringing me anywhere near his obviously moribund friend and where Lily threatened to hex him into the middle of next week and told him that he could leave if he was not going to be of any assistance, she conjured a couch for me next to James.

"After I lay down, she wasted no more time on preliminaries. With an outward assurance which I am sure she was not feeling inside, she made a cut in a major vein in both our wrists and then she magically bound our forearms together.

"All the time I was laying there, Black was growling in the background like the mangy dog he sometimes was and Lupin was physically having to hold him back. In the end, Lily didn't have to hex the idiot because Lupin did it instead. Very nicely of course and he made him comfortable whilst he was in his full body bind. Lupin is nothing if not a gentleman.

"Lily fed me ‘blood replenishing potion' and ‘pepper-up potion' all the time the transfusion was in progress. All the same, I became very weak and I was eventually so out of it that I was no longer aware of what was going on around me.

"Anyway, I eventually re-awoke to my surroundings to find that I was no longer attached to Potter. Lupin had been ordered to see to my needs and he helped me into a sitting position and told me that Lily insisted that I drink at least three more phials of ‘blood replenishing potion'.

Lupin then offered me hot, sweet tea and toast-Lily's orders, to give me some energy. He told me that James was now holding his own and that Lily was cautiously optimistic that he would recover.

"Of course, the wretched man had to go and get all personal then and tell me that he would forever be in my debt for saving his best friend's life. He also apologised for Black who was now sitting, alternately staring at his clasped hands and then turning a death glare upon me."

Albus now stood and began to pace about the room, retracing Severus' earlier path. "So, you saved your cousin's life thanks to Lily's knowledge and determination and most of all, her powers of persuasion. I do not think I have ever heard of a wizard giving some of his blood to another to save his life. As you know, a wizard's blood is a distinctly individual and complex compound that contains that wizard's magical blueprint. All who have made a study of it before Lily came along agreed that it would not be a sound practice to undertake-that to adulterate ones magical signature with that of another would lead to unknown consequences.

"They speculated that the two magical signatures would battle each other and that the best case scenario would be that both signatures would succumb and cancel each other out, leaving the wizard bereft of magic; in other words, a squib. The worst case scenario would be the death of the wizard as a result of illness as the two signatures fought for supremacy.

"Lily obviously thought otherwise. It seems she reasoned that two wizards with a close family tie would be in less danger than two who were unrelated. She chose you, Severus because you and James were first cousins.

"Your mother and James' father were twins; twins born of your maternal Grandfather who was an identical twin himself. Your mother Eileen and James' father Adam, though fraternal twins were very much alike and also very close until Eileen met your father."

Severus had turned away from Albus, unwilling to let him see how much his family's history upset him, unwilling to let him see the extent of his hatred for his mother's family.

But somehow the bubbling anger and resentment that usually erupted in him at the mention of the Potter name, did not seem quite as volcanic as it had in the past.

The two wizards sat in silence for several minutes, both of them thinking of James and Lily Potter and the terrible end that they had both ultimately suffered. Severus' gift of life had bought his cousin just over two more years of life. But during that two years, two of the young man's most joyous life events had occurred-his marriage to Lily Evans and the birth of his son.

Despite the tragedy of dying at such a young age, James Potter had experienced more happiness in his twenty-one years of life than Severus Snape had in the whole of his thirty-six.

"I am glad that you have shared this memory with me Severus," said Dumbledore. "Needless to say, young Messrs. Potter, Black and Lupin nor indeed, Miss Evans ever felt it necessary to relate these events to me. I am sure they realised that my wrath would have been formidable. After all, they had encountered it enough times here at Hogwarts.

"I must conclude that the information that James and Sirius followed up that day resulted in nothing more than James' near death as I cannot recall being privy to any earth-shattering revelations being related to me by either James or Sirius at that time."

Dumbledore placed his hand on Severus' shoulder and squeezed. "You did a noble thing, my boy, in circumstances that could do naught but cause you pain. It was a selfless act and one which I am sure was instrumental in setting you on the path to your eventual salvation.

"Do not put me on a pedestal Albus. I little deserve it. My misdeeds far outweigh any good I have done in my lifetime."

Albus shook his silver head. "I disagree my boy but I know from past experience that any discussion we have on this subject will only lead to our butting heads again and again."

With a final squeeze of Severus' shoulder, Albus moved across the room and seated himself at the dining table again. "I am still curious as to what occurred to bring these seventeen year old memories to light."

Severus grasped the edge of the mantelpiece and lowered his head between his outstretched arms, his shiny raven black hair falling in a curtain around his face.

"I still can't believe it," he said in a whisper.

"Believe what, Severus?"

"When I was bathing the boy yesterday, I saw...on his leg..."

At that moment, a loud crash sounded from the bedroom that had both men's heads whipping around. Severus was across the room in a heartbeat, Albus, forgetting his one hundred and fifty odd years was only a second behind him. They both stopped in the doorway and stared in shock at the dazed figure sitting on the floor, rubbing the back of his head where it must have come in contact with the base of the bed.

"Idiot boy," ground out Severus as he darted forward. Crouching in front of the dazed teenager, he pulled his wand out and moved it down the length of Harry's body. Harry looked at him blankly. If he realised who Severus was, he was not reacting in his usual antagonistic way.

"Did you hurt yourself, Potter?" asked Severus as he held his lit wand in front of Harry's eyes and gazed into them.

"I fell," said Harry bemusedly and in a decidedly husky voice.

"A brilliant summation," muttered Severus testily as he put his wand away.

"Hold on." Without further ado, Snape grabbed Harry's arm and placed it around his neck. He then slipped one of his arms around the boy's back and the other under his knees and lifted him, with little effort back onto the bed. When Harry felt the give of the mattress, he groaned.

"No!" As soon as Severus released him, he tried to slide to the edge of the bed again. "I need the loo," he said agitatedly.

"Stay still you foolish child!" Severus took his wand and pushing Harry back against the pillows with one hand, he pointed the wand at Harry's lower abdomen and incanted something under his breath.

"Let me up! I need the bathroom." It was several seconds before Harry realised the discomfort of his full bladder had completely abated and he stopped squirming. With a sigh, he relaxed back into the pillows, his eyes closed.

"Thanks," he muttered embarrassedly. He kept his eyes closed as Dumbledore pulled the blankets up.

"It is good to see you back with us, my boy," said Dumbledore with evident relief. "But you must promise not to try and get out of bed by yourself again Harry. You are very weak."

Harry made a slight nodding movement against the pillow. "I just discovered that."

"Here Potter. Drink this." Harry's eyelids opened reluctantly to find a goblet with a straw in it close to his face. He greedily sucked the cool water into his mouth. After several frantic swallows, Severus pulled the straw from Harry's mouth. Harry made a grab for the goblet but Severus placed it on the bedside cabinet, out of reach.

"More," he begged, his voice sounding a little stronger and his green eyes full of pleading, fixed on his potion master's austere face.

"In about fifteen minutes. You will be sick if you drink too much, too quickly. Harry sighed and slumped back into the pillows, closing his eyes again.

"Do you remember what happened to you, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry did not answer immediately but his forehead creased in thought. His eyes suddenly flew open and he stared between his headmaster and his professor.

"I...No, not really. Um-I remember being in your office...you telling me that I couldn't go home on the Hogwarts Express...that I had to go with Sn-er, Professor Snape. I remember starting to feel really hot and sick. But I can't remember anything else. What was wrong with me? How long have I been here?" He looked around blearily at the granite walls and the furniture. "And where is here?"

"We are in Professor Snape's chambers, Harry." Harry's eyes widened in shock. When he opened his mouth to voice a protest, Dumbledore held up a placating hand. Snape's sneer was fully in place as he took up his usual stance, arms crossed with each hand holding onto the opposite elbow.

"Let me explain, my boy." Harry lips compressed into a thin line but he remained silent. ‘And you might need these.' Dumbledore handed Harry his glasses and he put them on gratefully. He peered around at his surroundings with a bit more interest. Snape's chambers!

"You have been gravely ill, Harry.' Began Dumbledore. ‘We thought that we were going to lose you on more than one occasion. Professor Snape has worked ceaselessly to save your life."

"But what happened to me?" Harry burst out. "And why has he-er Professor Snape been looking after me? Why not Madam Pomfrey?"

"Madam Pomfrey left the school to go and visit her brother in New Zealand early on the morning of the day you should have gone home. And as for Professor Snape-well Harry, it is not well known, but Professor Snape is not just one of the most talented potioneers in the wizarding world today, he is also a healer."

Harry's mouth dropped open and he turned to look at Snape who was now finding something on the ceiling to be of great interest.

"In actual fact, Harry, Professor Snape was much more qualified to care for you in your dire condition than Madam Pomfrey was. Excellent though she is at her job, she is not a healer. She is the matron here, a carer; the equivalent of a nursing sister in the Muggle world, if you will.

"Even if Madam Pomfrey had been here, she would have bowed to Severus' superior knowledge anyway, as she has done so often in the past-in secret of course."

Harry shook his head as if he was finding Dumbledore's revelations too difficult to process.

"But why was I ill?" he asked weakly. "What happened to me?"

"Harry, you were poisoned."

"Poisoned! But I hadn't really eaten anything for days. Certainly nothing at breakfast that day. So if any of the food was off, I couldn't have been poisoned. Did anyone else get sick?"

Snape clucked his tongue in annoyance. "Do not be so obtuse, Potter. You were not poisoned by tainted food, you foolish child. You were deliberately poisoned by someone who expended a great deal of effort to concoct a toxic brew that would bring about your very painful and protracted demise."

Harry stared between the two wizards. "But I didn't eat anything-not for ages.

"Potter, you have been studying potions for the last five years." Snape's voice was its scathing best. "And though your performance in my class borders on incompetent..."

"Severus..." Dumbledore's voice was low with warning.

Snape closed his eyes and there was a tense silence for several seconds. Harry eyes darted between the two warily. He was waiting for the explosion.

However, his mouth fell open once again when Snape directed his glittering gaze at him and spoke in a conciliatory voice, this time his shock so profound, he thought he might be hallucinating.

"I apologise, Potter. But you do need to hear a few home truths.'

Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something again but he backed off when Snape gave him a look that said, "Trust me."

"I think, Potter that you are far more intelligent than you let anyone at this institution know, though I admit the reasons for this subterfuge allude me.

"So, whilst you have been far from the best at potions during your time at this school, I am of the opinion that you could be. You could perform to Miss Granger's level if you so desired.

"And though you may choose to hide your considerable intellect, Mr Potter I know that you are well aware of the fact that as well as being ingested, poisons can be applied topically, they can be injected and they can also be inhaled.

"The poison that very nearly killed you was very poorly made. But that rendered it even more dangerous. It was delivered into your system by means of this." Snape raised his wand and pointed it out the door.

"Accio box and pendant."

Harry heard a door open in the distance and after about ten seconds, a small wooden box flew straight into Snape's hand. Harry pushed himself further upright on very shaky arms, suppressing a hiss of pain as he did so. He felt pretty ordinary all over but if he had been as sick as Professor Dumbledore intimated, then this weakness was to be expected. When he had pushed up on his arms though, pain had lanced through his hands and up his arms. He didn't know what that could be all about.

Snape had taken the lid off the box and now held it where Harry could look down into it. When he reached for the box, Severus paused for a second, clearly conducting an internal debate. A decision obviously reached, he sighed before placing it in Harry's hand. He still had to bite his tongue to stop himself from admonishing the boy to not touch the article within. Dumbledore watched his internal struggle and beamed with approval when he managed to hold his tongue.

After directing a glower in Dumbledore's direction, Severus kept an alert eye on Harry. Despite the fact that he knew Potter to be more intelligent than he had ever given him credit for, the young fool still acted without thinking more often than not. He would not have been the slightest bit surprised if the boy tried to touch the lethal weapon.

Harry however just stared at the hedgehog/knarl that he had picked up in the entrance hall after being summoned to see the headmaster, unaware of the silent communication going on above his head. As he continued to stare at it, he remembered holding it in his hand; remembered how angry he had gotten in Dumbledore's office and how he had clasped his hand tightly around the pendant causing the sharp quills to pierce his palm.

Though he could not remember anything of the ghastly events that had later ensued he did remember how sick he had felt in the office. And apparently things had gotten considerably worse. He had, apparently, nearly died. Again.

A shiver coursed through Harry's whole frame as he held the box out to Snape. Snape put the lid back on and magically sealed it.

"Can I have some more water, please?" Harry needed to wash away the sick taste in his mouth as much as appease his thirst again. Snape handed him the goblet. This time, Harry drank slowly and placed the goblet on the bedside cabinet after only a few mouthfuls.

"Are you all right, my boy?" asked Dumbledore, his affection for Harry obvious in his concerned tone. He reached out and squeezed Harry's shoulder.

Harry kept his eyes downcast, watching the fingers of his right hand spasmodically picking at the pile of the brown blanket that covered his legs. His fingers felt thick and clumsy but he needed the repetitive movement to cover up his embarrassment. Though he was absurdly grateful to know how much the headmaster cared for him, he was just as embarrassed now as he had been when the old wizard had first told him of his affection back in his office on the morning after the ‘Department of Mysteries' debacle.

"So," he said. "I've almost gotten myself killed again and Professor Snape has had to work overtime to save my life. Again." He raised his eyes to his teacher's austere face.

"I'm sorry that you've had to waste your valuable time on a task that would have brought you little joy, Professor."

The thin line of Snape's eyebrows lowered menacingly and when he opened his mouth to voice a retort, Harry interrupted him.

"But I do thank you, Professor." And ignoring the look of surprise on the man's face, he turned to Dumbledore.

"So, Sir. How long have I been here?"

"It is a week since you first became ill, Harry.

Harry dragged his eyes away from both professors and glanced around the room. He rubbed the disturbed pile of the blanket flat. "So, I've taken up Professor Snape's bed..." he looked at Snape again. "...I presume this is your bed, Sir?"

Snape nodded and Harry looked down again.

"I'm sorry to have put you out."

"For Merlin's sake Potter..."

"There is no need to feel guilty about anything Harry," interrupted Dumbledore. None of this is your fault and Professor Snape has been too busy to be worried about the inconvenience of being put out of his bed. Not to mention losing his much vaunted privacy as either myself or Professor McGonagall has spent most of the last week down here as well."

Harry's face contorted and he leaned forward and with his elbows on his bent knees, he grabbed two handfuls of his dirty hair and pulled at it. "Aargh!"

Dumbledore took both Harry's hands in his and gently prised them away from his head. "Harry..."

"Why can't anything ever be normal for me?" Harry ranted, cutting Dumbledore off. "How many students at this school have ever had an evil wizard in their heads, except for Ginny in her first year? And how many have been deliberately poisoned, on school property, no less?" He paused and swallowed the tears that were on the verge of escape. He pulled his hands out of Dumbledore's gentle grasp.

"And how many of them have been responsible for the deaths of four innocent people.

"Diggory was the only innocent, Potter. But even that unfortunate episode was not your fault." said Snape in a voice that was-amazingly-not in the least bit scathing. Nevertheless, Harry was immediately on the defensive.

"Oh, of course you're saying that my mum and dad and Sirius deserved to die."

Severus took a deep breath, clearly reigning in the impulse to jump down the boy's throat. It was very difficult to break the habits of the last five years.

"No Potter, what I am saying is that you were the innocent when your parents died and that they knew what they were doing in attempting to protect you. They did what any loving parent would have done. And Black knew what he was doing when he left Grimmauld place to go to your rescue." Severus paused and it looked as though an internal debate was taking place.

Finally, he said. "And on the subject of Black..."

Harry's expression was instantly wiped clear of pain and only anger showed in his turbulent green eyes, the eyes that Snape could not comfortably look into without visions of Lily filling his head.

"You don't have to tell me how pleased you are that he's dead, Professor." Harry's voice was devoid of any intonation but his eyes still blazed.

"You are entirely wrong, Potter. Black and I hated each other; it would be foolish of me to deny it. But I did not waste any time in contacting Grimmauld place after your rather garbled communication in that foul woman's office.

"I spoke to Black. Amazingly, we did not exchange any harsh words. In fact, for us, we were remarkably civil. Lupin's presence always seemed to have a calming effect on his volatile friend. Even when we were at school, Lupin, along with Lily-when she finally succumbed to your father's charms-was the only one who could keep Black under any sort of control.

"Later, when it was obvious that you and your friends had disappeared, I contacted Grimmauld place again and when it became obvious that Black was determined to go after you, I joined with Lupin in trying to exhort him to stay put. I am sorry we could not prevail but little used though I am to defending myself to you, I have to say that I at no time taunted your godfather about hiding safely in his family home."

"Then!" spat Harry.

"Yes Potter, then. I know it was ill done of me to have taunted him previously but-well, I am afraid to say that some habits die hard."

Harry looked as though he wanted to rant some more but suddenly all the stiffness drained out of him and he slumped back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

"I think it is time that we let this subject go," said Dumbledore, ever the mediator. "Harry I know you are too fair-minded to continue to blame Professor Snape for something that he had no control over. The person ultimately responsible for the terrible events at the end of last term was Voldemort. He has fooled far more experienced wizards than yourself in the past, Harry and no doubt he will do so again. Of course it is normal for you to continue to mourn Sirius but you must not continue to heap blame upon yourself or Professor Snape. Neither of you is to blame and Harry, Sirius would not want you to continue to berate yourself."

Dumbledore grasped Harry's thin shoulder again and squeezed. "And now Severus, I imagine that Harry must be starving. Is he allowed to eat?"

Severus ordered a bowl of thin gruel sweetened with honey and though he had little enthusiasm for food, Harry knew it would be pointless to argue and he ate about two-thirds of it before conceding defeat. He did enjoy the cup of weak tea that he was allowed and he finished that off before lying back and dozing off.

8888

When he next awoke, Snape made Harry eat and drink a little more. When that had had time to settle, he began an examination which left Harry absolutely mortified. He knew Snape had been looking after him whilst he had been ill but now that he was aware of what was going on, he found it almost impossible not to recoil when the man touched him. He answered Snape's questions tersely, telling him that apart from a slight headache and muscle stiffness, the only pain he had was in his hands, and they ached with a deep seated pain that seemed to emanate from his very bones.

Snape's brow had furrowed and he had taken Harry's abnormally warm hands between his own long, cool fingers. Harry's hands were reddened and when Severus had turned them this way and that, Harry had gasped in pain and pulled free.

Severus was pretty sure he knew the cause of the boy's pain. The wild magic he had released days earlier had been amazingly powerful. Potter, as far as Severus knew had never performed wandless magic before and to start off with such a powerful burst had no doubt strained the fine muscles, tendons and nerves. The boys hands were slightly swollen and the redness was indicative of inflammation.

However, he was not going to be the one to tell Potter that he had inadvertently released a blast of magic that had hurled his potions master across the room and into the wall causing him to lose consciousness. He did not want to see the smirk that would probably appear on the boy's face, thank you very much.

Severus pointed his wand towards the open door of the bedroom and muttered something that sounded to Harry like, ‘Accio Stringywart Unguent", and within ten seconds and following the opening and closing of two doors, a small glazed pottery pot with a cork stopper flew into its summoner's hand. Snape handed the pot to Harry, telling him to rub liberal amounts into his fingers and the backs of each hand. Harry automatically took the pot but his stiff, swollen fingers would not work properly and he was unable to grasp it firmly and with an indrawn hiss of pain, he dropped it onto the bedclothes.

Snape watched dispassionately for several seconds as Harry picked it up awkwardly and made an unsuccessful attempt to remove the cork.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake Potter, give it here," and he impatiently grabbed it back and scooped out a good dollop of a mustard yellow, greasy substance that smelled like menthol.

Harry tensed when Snape reached for one of his hands but it was with surprisingly gentle fingers that he massaged the greasy goo into both of Harry's hands.

It felt warm at first and then it cooled, feeling blissful on his inflamed skin. Surprisingly, despite its greasy appearance, the unguent did not leave any residue after several minutes of massage and Harry was relieved to find that he could move his fingers with much more freedom and much less pain almost as soon as the massage was finished.

"Umm, why are my hands so sore, Sir? Much more so than the stiff muscles everywhere else."

Snape just looked at him as if he had just peered into Harry's cauldron after one of his more spectacular potions failures. After a few seconds, he lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug and said, "Just one of those things, Potter. Now, before the pain becomes severe enough to render your hands useless again, rub more of the unguent onto them and do so regularly over the next couple of days."

Severus then continued with his examination and when he had finished, he replaced his wand within his robes and looked into Harry's embarrassed face. "Well, Potter. I do believe you will survive long enough to break more rules and cause more mayhem."

Harry looked at him darkly but Severus ignored the look and continued. "I am constantly amazed at just how resilient you are, Potter. I do not think I have ever come across another sixteen year old body that has withstood as much as yours has." He pointed at the lightening bolt scar on Harry's forehead.

"That you were only left with that scar after the Dark Lord delivered the Killing Curse is something that frankly stuns me anew every time I think about it. It defies everything I have come to know about the Dark Arts and the most powerful Dark Wizard in history. No-one had ever bested him before you came along, Potter."

Harry squirmed under Snapes piercing regard. But his disquiet had as much to do with the lack of malice in the man's expression as it did with the content of his speech. When Harry self-consciously reached up to scratch a spot on his collar bone beneath the neckband of his old baggy t-shirt, Snape ceased his intense scrutiny of Harry's face. With some reluctance, it seemed to Harry, Snape dragged his black eyes away from whatever had so fascinated him with his face and idly gazed around his bedroom. Harry wished he would leave, or better yet, he wished he himself could get out of this bed and go back to Gryffindor Tower.

Snape's eyes suddenly snapped back to Harry. "But you have many more scars adorning your body, don't you Potter," he said quietly. "I think the few fleeting visions I saw of your Muggle relatives during those horrendous Occlumency lessons were just the tip of the iceberg, weren't they?"

Harry cringed to think that his most hated professor had seen so much. He did not want to think exactly how much bare skin he had seen. But somehow, he could not feel quite as sickened as he once would have done. But all the same this was a subject he did not wish to talk about, particularly with Professor Severus Snape, head of Slytherin House and a man known to have quite a close rapport with Draco Malfoy, Harry's nemesis. He squirmed further down in the bed and turned on his side, facing away from Severus.

"I'm tired Professor. I need to go to sleep."

Harry lay tense, waiting for Snape to leave. However, instead of hearing the sound of receding footsteps, Harry felt the covers whipped off him.

"I don't think so, Mr Potter. You were keen to walk to the bathroom earlier; so now that you have partaken of a little food, you may be able to make the journey, with a little assistance."

"I don't need to go to the bathroom," Harry said in a panicked rush.

Snape took hold of Harry's arm and pulled him with surprisingly gentle force into a sitting position.

"Oh, I think you do, Potter. It has been several hours since I last spelled your bladder empty and you have had a fair amount of fluid since then." Harry's face had blazed like the setting sun when Snape referred to his bladder. He resisted Snape, but the bigger, stronger man had him sitting on the edge of the bed before he knew it.

"Come along, Potter. Do try not to re-enforce my opinion that the only good Harry Potter is an unconscious Harry Potter."

Harry wrenched his arm away from Snape's grasp and glared at him balefully. Snape just stood with his arms crossed and smirked at Harry's impotent rage.

With false bravado, but carefully none the less, because if the truth be known, he still felt a little light-headed, Harry pushed himself off the edge of the bed with shaky arms. He didn't dare move away from the bed's solid support however because he knew he would land flat on his face. His legs hardly seemed able to support his weight and God knew, his weight was far from substantial.

Where was that much touted Gryffindor bravery when he needed it? A quick glance to the side showed him that Snape was no longer smirking but he was watching him very carefully.

Harry wiped his forearm across his forehead where droplets of perspiration had suddenly blossomed. He gritted his teeth. He was not going to give Snape the pleasure of seeing just how weak he really was. He would make it to the bathroom or die trying.

Taking a deep breath, Harry forced himself away from the comforting support of the bed and took one step, two steps. He forgot about Snape's presence, so focused was he on putting one shaky leg in front of the other.

The large bed upon which Harry had spent the last week stood on a deep piled brown and burgundy rub that extended past the parameters of the bed by about four feet. Harry managed to traverse the soft, stubbly surface and one foot had encountered the cold stone of the dungeon floor before his knees gave way. Snape caught him before he crumpled to the floor. He set him back on his feet but maintained a firm grip on his arm again.

"You foolish boy. Is it so impossible for you to ask for assistance?"

Harry wiped his forehead again but he made no further attempt to escape his professors steadying grip.

"Why would I ask for assistance Sir, when you've spent the last five years doing everything in your power to make me look like a fool." They were making slow but steady progress across the large bedroom. Harry's legs still felt shaky but Snape's support kept him upright and moving forward.

"Well Potter, how could I have passed up a task that you always made so ridiculously easy." Harry's lips thinned and he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from retorting. In truth it was taking every bit of his strength to finish the journey. Anyway, he knew it was a pointless exercise to bandy words with Snape.

Once in the bathroom, Snape let Harry take hold of the hand basin for support.

"Do you think you will be all right now?" As the toilet was right next to the basin, Harry nodded tersely.

"I took the liberty of removing your toiletries from your trunk, so you will find your toothbrush there. I am sure you will benefit from a non-magical freshening up." Snape left him and pulled the door to but did not shut it completely. "Call me when you are ready to go back to bed," he called through the gap.

Ten minutes later Harry was back in bed. He felt as exhausted as he had done immediately after he had completed the second task of the Triwizard Tournament

"Is there anything I can get you?" asked Snape as he pulled the covers up. Harry shook his head then lay back and closed his eyes. He reached a tired hand up to remove his glasses and fumbled them towards the bedside cabinet. His eyes snapped open when Snape took them and placed them on the cabinet. He turned to leave the room and was almost at the door when Harry spoke.

"Um, Professor..." Snape stopped and looked back, his eyebrows raised in question. "Thank you. For everything you've done to help me."

Harry held his breath waiting for some scathing comment. However, there was none, and he let his breath out when Snape nodded in acknowledgement and continued out of the room.

&&&&

Early that evening, Albus and Minerva both appeared in Severus' chambers. Severus put down the potion's manual he was reading.

"Welcome back Minerva. How was your sister?"

"Faking, as usual," sniffed Minerva and Dumbledore looked over the top of her head at Severus and good-naturedly shook his silver head at his partner's implacable attitude. "But I do not wish to talk about Morgana. How is Harry doing?"

"Mr Potter is improving slowly. He had a small serving of pureed vegetables and a small rice pudding for lunch. I had to encourage him to eat as his appetite has not returned. He is, however, drinking plenty of fluids.

"He is still very weak but I am sure his Gryffindor pride and stubbornness will see him up on his feet without assistance within the next 24 hours."

"Good!" was all Minerva said before she moved with her customary, crisp walk into the bedroom. The two men followed. Harry was curled on his side, sound asleep, his breathing deep and even. As she gazed at the young boy, Minerva marvelled at how much he had come to mean to her in the five years she had been his teacher and head of house. Truth be known, Harry had given her more grey hairs than even his father had done all those years ago. But just as James and his cohorts in crime, Sirius and Remus had done, Harry had unwittingly wormed his way into her heart.

Of course, she would never show by word or deed that she had a favourite student but Harry's tragic history and his continuing encounters with forces that seemed to drain a little more of his spirit every week, had tweaked back to life, the maternal instinct that she had thought had died along with her daughter, 55 years ago. And of course, Albus loved the boy unequivocally. This was partly because Lily and James had been such favourites but he had adored Harry since the day he had been born. Indeed, Lily and James had considered Albus to be a grandfather to Harry and Albus had relished the role.

It had broken his heart to leave the child with the Dursleys all those years ago.

Most of the staff had been on Harry Potter alert before he had even arrived at the school and most had easily come to care for the bright and inquisitive Muggle raised child who had found the world of magic to be...well, magical.

Minerva knew that Harry would turn 16 in three weeks time but she could not help but think that he did not look any older than the children in 3rd or 4th year. The child had lost so much weight! The urge to push his unruly fringe away from his forehead was almost overwhelming but she was afraid of waking him.

She turned around to whisper something to Severus but the words were never uttered. She blinked. Severus Snape, the one teacher who had always been far from enamoured of the ‘Boy Who Lived', was standing with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his robes staring at Harry with an arrested expression on his face.

Minerva was so used to seeing outright dislike, often combined with anger on his severe face whenever he was in the vicinity of Harry, that she was quite taken aback by the neutral expression.

Albus too was viewing his potions master, but with a calculating look in his wise eyes, and when it seemed that Minerva would finally speak, he caught her eye and gave his head a slight shake. Severus seemed oblivious to their silent communication and when Albus addressed him in barely more than a whisper in deference to Harry's peaceful slumber, he started slightly, his cheeks suffusing with a slight flush when he realised both Albus and Minerva were staring at him.

"Severus, perhaps we can leave Harry to Minerva's excellent care for a short while. It has been a considerable time since you have been out of the dungeons. Perhaps we can go for a walk in the grounds. It has been a truly magnificent day."

"And what makes you think I have any desire for sunshine and fresh air?" asked Severus in his usual acerbic tones. But the headmaster was obviously determined for he had taken hold of the younger man's arm and was steering him from his chambers.

"Perhaps you do not desire it my boy, but you could do with some natural light and warmth." Severus scowled but he refrained from further comment and he and Albus negotiated the dungeon corridors in a companionable silence.

The old wizard had not exaggerated. Hogwarts was bathed in the golden glow of the sinking sun. The sky was a brilliant cerulean blue and there was not one cloud to spoil the great expanse of evening sky. The lightest of breezes played with their hair and robes.

They strolled across the courtyard to the sloping lawns and turned their footsteps towards the distant forest and Hagrid's hut.

"So, Headmaster, what did you wish to talk about that Minerva could not hear?" Albus continued walking in silence for several seconds and when he finally spoke he kept his eyes on his booted feet.

"Severus, I am eager to hear the end of the story you were relating to me yesterday...before Harry's abrupt awakening interrupted us."

Severus, who had been grateful for the timely intervention of Potter's return to consciousness before he could relay his fears to Dumbledore, now took a deep breath. The headmaster was like a dog with a bone and Severus knew that he would eventually have the whole story no matter how much he wished he had never started it and how much time he spent prevaricating.

Severus reasoned that if he did not speak of it, then he would be able to forget about his discovery. He had been trying to block it out of his mind since yesterday but every time he looked at the boy he found himself studying him minutely to see if there was any other...

Severus pushed these disturbing thoughts from his mind. The whole scenario was impossible. It could not be possible. He had never heard of it happening before and surely if it had, it would have been documented.

"Perhaps I could refresh your memory, my boy. You said, ‘When I was bathing the boy yesterday, I saw...on his leg...'

"Do you know how profoundly annoying it is that you do not suffer from the normal memory lapses that generally accompany aging?' Severus asked in his most caustic tone.

Dumbledore smiled but he was not to be side tracked. "What did you see on Harry's leg, Severus?"

"It was nothing of import. Just one of the many marks marring the boy's skin.

"I was babbling because of my less than stellar health this morning. But the boy is covered in scars, Albus. I do not think you realise the full extent of the abuse he must have suffered at the hands of his Muggle relations. I myself only saw glimpses of it during our ill-fated Occlumency lessons." Severus latched onto this change of subject like a drowning man holding onto a piece of flotsam.

Albus' usually amiable features took on a look that one did not see too often but when you did, you knew that you were in the company of a formidably powerful and when necessary, dangerous wizard. It was times like this that Severus was glad that he was on the same side as Albus Dumbledore.

"I am now totally cognisant of the Dursley's treatment of Harry, thank you Severus. I am afraid young Harry has been far too secretive about the goings on in his aunt and uncle's home. Of course I knew that he never wanted to return to the Dursleys for the summer break but I always assumed it was because he was so isolated from the wizarding world. Arabella knew he was unhappy but she never saw any sign of physical abuse."

"It would appear that the uncle was always careful about where he plied his fists or the strap," said Severus.

"Yes," Albus agreed darkly. "It would appear so." The old wizard stopped walking and perched his tall frame on a low brick wall that divided the manicured sloping lawns surrounding the castle from the rougher ground and undergrowth that marked the edges of the forest. Hagrid's hut was still a good hundred feet away, almost in the shade of the first of the trees. There was no smoke furling from the chimney.

Severus was forced to stop also but he did not look at his boss; he just continued to stare off into the forest.

"That was a very good attempt at diversion, Severus but in case you have never noticed, I am tenacious. I am also extremely patient."

Severus shut his eyes in exasperation. He raised one long fingered elegant hand and rubbed the small amount of skin that was bared on the back of his neck above the high, stiff collar of his robes.

"Do you know, Old Man, it is times like this that I truly think that the Dark Lord is the much easier master to serve." Severus' voice was its disdainful best. Albus chuckled but otherwise he was content to just sit there, his blue eyes taking in the castle and its grounds, the view that he loved most in the world.

Severus, on the other hand became more and more irate as the early evening silence enfolded them in its peaceful embrace. He had never learned the art of switching off and contemplating his navel like his companion. But of course, the infuriating wizard before him knew that; he knew that he would eventually crack.

But if he could keep his mouth shut, if he could copy Albus Dumbledore's persistence and serenity, then no-one else need ever know of his suspicions. And even Dumbledore could not breach his, Severus' strongest Occlumency shields.

Severus stared off into the distance, his face impassive but his mind in turmoil. Could he do it though? Could he, Severus Snape, the inquisitive man of science that he was, ignore the implications of that small mark on the boy's leg?

Would it be easier for him to decide to investigate further the possibilities that mark represented if the equation did not involve the boy whom he had spent the last five years torturing? For no reason other than the fact that he was the son of his hated cousin. If he delved further, and his investigations confirmed what he suspected, could he put aside his dislike and prejudices and accept the boy?

But of course, the whole thing could very well be moot, because the chances of Harry Potter looking upon him as anything other than his most hated teacher, were negligible at best.

Severus shook his head slightly, exasperated with the turmoil his contradictory thoughts were causing. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Albus. The old wizard was lapping up the last rays of the lowering sun, his eyes closed and his face lifted in rapturous pleasure. Severus scowled.

"You know, my boy, if you stopped debating the pros and cons of confession and just got on with it, you would feel so much better. Confession, as they say, is good for the soul."

"I do not fool myself that any soul that I may have left could ever feel good, Old Man."

"Your soul is shining and whole Severus, make no mistake." Albus was now staring at his young companion, his eyes like lasers. "I can see it. Minerva can see it. Filius, Poppy, Pomona, Remus, Tonks, Molly and Arthur can all see past your acerbic personality and dour expression."

Severus gave a huff of humourless laughter. "They can't see past their own noses. They choose to believe you, Albus because to them, you are omnipotent."

"You imbue me with far more power than I actually have at my command, Severus," said Dumbledore with a bite of steel in his voice, indicating that this train of conversation was over. "Now, why don't you just tell me what profound discovery led you to lose yourself in the bottom of a bottle and forget your charge...forget the boy for whom you pulled out all the stops to save from a particularly painful death."

Severus felt slightly panicky, like a child who knew that all his prevarication was for naught and that the truth was finally going to be wrested from him.

He swung around and stared towards the castle. Even in the gathering, purple twilight, the stones that formed those formidable walls seemed to still radiate a rosy glow. Suddenly, Severus felt the serenity that imbued those very stones begin to leach into his very core. Those walls enclosed the space that was the only place that he had ever felt at home in.

Most of the people who came to Hogwarts enjoyed their time there but they never considered it to be their home. Home away from home perhaps... But the house in which he had been born and in which he had spent a hellish childhood had never been a home to Severus.

But the minute he had set eyes on this magical structure, he had fallen under its spell. And having to go back to the home of his childhood during the holidays had been torture. If it had not been for his mother, he would have run away from his miserable, half Muggle existence. He would have run back to Hogwarts and hidden somewhere in the seeming miles of passageways in the dungeons.

During their horrendous Occlumency lessons, Severus had sensed a similar passion for Hogwarts in Potter. And it was no secret that the boy loathed going back to his Muggle relatives. And after seeing the scaring on the boy's body, it was no wonder. At least he, Severus had had a magical mother who had loved him and who had encouraged his own magical education. As long as they kept their conversations secret from Tobias Snape-and that had usually been easy as the man was more often than not out at the pub or else in a drunken stupor, passed out on the front stoop. He could not calculate the number of times he had helped his mother drag the drunken sot over the threshold, into the narrow, dingy hallway where his mother would cover him with a blanket as he was too heavy to haul up the stairs.

Harry Potter had no family who understood what it was like to be magical. His family bullied and punished him if he even talked about magic-even in the broadest of terms. In Minerva's words, they were the worst kind of Muggles. They did not want to understand.

And now there was the possibility that he and Potter were much more than first cousins once removed.

A decision reached, Severus turned to Albus who was watching him quietly, waiting with complete confidence for him to tell his story.

"I think the blood that I gave to James may have left him with at least some traces of my magical signature." Severus said the words with careful precision, as if saying them out loud would make them unequivocal fact.

Albus' gaze sharpened. "And I take it that it was something to do with Harry that bought these thoughts to the forefront of your mind. I do not imagine you have been in the habit of dwelling upon the episode in question."

"No, I was not thinking of the episode. Indeed, considering my feelings towards James Potter, you can hardly be surprised that I consigned the episode to the furtherest recesses of my mind."

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly but otherwise remained silent.

"I have a birthmark on the inner aspect of my left thigh, just above my knee. It is shaped like a crescent moon. It is very distinctive. My father had the exact same birthmark in exactly the same place. As did his father. It is a Snape trait, not a Potter trait."

Dumbledore's attention was absolute. His bushy white eyebrows were drawn together in a frown but his usually twinkling eyes were piercing as they pinned Severus with twin lasers.

"Potter has the same mark on his left thigh. It is shaped like a crescent moon. Loathe as I am to contemplate the alternative, I do not believe that mark can be a coincidence."

"You think..."

"You yourself said that nothing is really known about the consequences of one wizard sharing his blood with another. It is not a practice we use in the wizarding world.

"We do know blood transfusions are common in the Muggle world. But they do not have the complicated magical component to contend with.

"And as every witch and wizard's magic is highly individual, it was thought the dangers of transferring some of ones magic to another would cause unforeseen damage, either death or at the very least, the loss of ones magic as it was ‘attacked' by the ‘invading power'."

Severus paused to gather his thoughts but Dumbledore took up the narrative.

"But Lily thought otherwise. By using the blood of a close relative, Lily correctly assumed that any danger would be muted. There was certainly nothing to lose anyway. From what you tell me, James would have died without your intervention.

"But you did not just pass on the life giving properties of your blood to your cousin," continued Dumbledore contemplatively. "You passed on some of your magic as well. And as our magic is the most powerful component in our bodies, James took on some of your makeup.

"With his own magic being so powerful; just as powerful as yours in fact, the addition of yours did not manifest in any overt way within James' body. But it must have settled within his very makeup."

The two wizards stared fixedly at each other. Nothing Albus had said shocked Severus. Indeed, over the last twenty-four hours, the younger man had drawn exactly the same conclusions as his magical superior.

But just as he had every other time his thoughts advanced this far, Severus' mind shied away. He tried to suppress his fear by reciting the ingredients and method for concocting Felix Felicis. Anything to sever the thread before the natural culmination of all the relevant facts could be reached.

Dumbledore however had no such reservations. As Severus glared at his mentor and friend, willing him not to give voice to the ludicrous conclusion, the old wizard did just that.

"So, as strange as it may seem-and in the magical world strange is not too infrequent but always fascinating-it would appear that young Harry has two fathers."

"No! It is too fantastic to even contemplate. No-one can have two fathers, Albus. It is not possible." Severus's voice had risen but Albus held up a placating hand.

"In the magical world, we will never finish trawling the depths of what is possible Severus. As a learned man, you know this.

"Having two human, magical fathers is no more fantastic than a human being able to mate with other magical species to produce the first humans with magic in their blood.

"If, as you say Harry has a mark on his leg that is a Snape trait, then there is no other conclusion to be reached. It would appear that you, along with James are Harry's fathers."

"But it's utter rubbish!" burst out Severus. "If-and it is a mighty big ‘if' and one I will not believe until I see proof positive-if Potter has inherited any of my ‘genes' I think the Muggles call them, then it was a total accident and is something he need never know."

Snape was pacing in front of Dumbledore now and he stopped in front of the infuriatingly calm mage who was still perched on the stone wall and threw out his arm towards the castle. "Sweet Merlin, Albus, if the boy ever found out that he is my first cousin once removed he would probably jump off the top of the astronomy tower.

"Our mutual enmity is absolute. You saw him after he woke up. He was horrified that it was me who saved his life, horrified that he was in my bed, in my chambers."

"All I saw was a child reeling from the shock of finding out that someone within this school attempted to and nearly succeeded in killing him. Harry, as I have told you in the past, has a great capacity for forgiveness, Severus. And to find out that he has family, that he has a father who is living, will, after the shock has settled down, thrill him to his very core."

"I cannot believe you can be so wilfully blind!" screeched Snape. He knew he sounded like a fishwife but he was beyond decorum. "THE. BOY. HATES. ME. And he will never accept me. He would feel that he is betraying the memory of James. Not to mention Black.

"You saw the embittered boy who believes that I am responsible for the death of his Godfather."

"You are quite wrong, Severus. I saw a thoughtful young man pondering and reliving a truly tragic event after the circumstances were explained to him from your perspective. Harry is not irrational, Severus. At least, he is not irrational unless it is less than an hour after he has lost the closest thing to a father that he thought he had and he had just been told by one of the few people he trusted and who had treated him abominably throughout the year that he either had to kill Voldemort, or be killed himself."

Severus stared at Dumbledore for many frustrated seconds and then closed his eyes and let his head fall back on his neck so that his face was lifted to the sky. The darkening purple twilight pressed against his eyelids. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

Dumbledore's voice was soft when he next spoke, as if he was afraid of setting Severus off again. "He needs you Severus. He needs someone strong to stand by him, to mentor him and ultimately, I hope, to love him. He is, I believe, after all you have told me, your son and he deserves a chance to be a son. As you deserve a chance to be a father."

Severus looked at the old wizard despairingly. ‘"Your optimism as usual, astounds me, Old Man. I cannot believe that you unequivocally accept as truth the ludicrous set of circumstances that I have related to you. Not everything in life has a fairy tale ending, Albus. There must be another explanation...there has to be."

"Severus you also believe deep down that the facts all add up to your being, in part responsible for the traits that make up the boy, Harry Potter," said Albus patiently. He stood up and turned towards the castle, his long voluminous oyster grey robes sweeping the tops of the blades of grass. "Come. We will do a paternity test and we will prove it one way or the other."

Severus stared at the old wizards straight back as he strode off. He wished at that moment that he could feel hatred for the man but found he could not. Albus might be manipulative, he might be impossible to reason with but Severus knew, he still had his, Severus' best interests at heart. He truly believed that he and Harry Potter could become a family unit. The old fool was deluded.

&&&&

The two wizards had only managed to walk about fifty yards when a cry from behind had them both spinning around. Severus' hand had automatically reached into his robes for his wand but Dumbledore looked as serene as ever. With reason.

Severus relaxed when he saw the giant form of Hagrid emerging from the trees, hurrying to catch up to them. His lengthy strides had him beside them in less than twenty seconds.

"Ah, Hagrid. How are you this fine evening?"

Hagrid beamed at the pair of them. "Ev'nin' Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape."

"Everything peaceful in the forest, Hagrid?" asked Dumbledore pointedly.

"All's well, Sir. Centaurs are keepin' themselves ta themselves since yeh made em release Professor Umbridge."

Snape's lip curled at the mention of the vile woman who had made all there lives hell during the last school year.

"An' of course, they're a lot more friendly now tha' I've moved Grawpy ta the mountains."

"He's happier there, I take it?" asked Dumbledore.

Hagrid's smile became even wider. "He's bloomin' Professor, thanks to yeh. I jus' got back from visitin' him." Dumbledore patted Hagrid in the middle of his upper arm, the most convenient place for him to reach without straining.

"Are you coming up to the castle for dinner, Hagrid?"

"No thanks, Professor. Not tonight. I've got some left over stew that'll only take a mo ta heat up." The smile slipped from his face. "I was jus' wonderin' how Harry is, though? Yeh said he was out of danger otherwise I wouldn' have left ta visit Grawpy."

Dumbledore patted Hagrid's arm again, this time in an effort to placate the half giant. "There, there Hagrid. You can stop worrying. Harry has finally awoken and is doing well. He is very weak, as you can imagine."

Hagrid covered his hairy face with his two massive hands. "Ah, thank God. Tha' boy is gonna be the death o' me."

Hagrid pulled out a red and white spotted handkerchief as big as a picnic blanket and swiped at his moist eyes. Snape surreptitiously rolled his eyes before turning back to look towards the castle. Slowly, he began walking again. The other two automatically kept pace.

"Hagrid, we hope that Harry will be up and about tomorrow. It will be good for him to get out of the dungeons for a while and so unless something untoward happens in the mean time, you should come up to the castle for lunch."

"I'll be there with bells on, Professor." Hagrid continued to keep the two wizards company as they traversed the gentle slope up to the cobbled courtyard.

"Professor.' Hagrid's voice was tense. "Has Harry bin able ta tell yer who did this ta him?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily and shook his silver head regretfully. "I am afraid not, Hagrid. He had no idea what had happened to him and when we told him, he could not understand how he had ingested poison as he had eaten little since the department of mysteries."

"Idiotic child," mumbled Snape and Hagrid shot him a dark look. Then he turned puzzled eyes back to Dumbledore who elaborated.

"Harry being Harry thought that he must have eaten tainted food, Hagrid. Naturally, he did not even consider the possibility that someone had tried to kill him."

Hagrid shook his barbed-wire head. "With everythin' thas happened ta him, ya'd think it would be his first thought." He suddenly looked quite ferocious and his voice rose to a roar as he added.

"When yer catch the mongrel, give him ta me ta deal with."

Dumbledore looked severe as he pinned Hagrid with steely blue eyes. "If we find the culprit, Hagrid, he-or she, will be dealt with in the approved way."

Hagrid dipped his head in acquiescence but he looked no less ferocious.

Dumbledore patted Hagrid on the elbow again. "Well Hagrid, we shall see you tomorrow for luncheon."

"Right yer are Professor." And with a nod, Hagrid took his leave.

"Just one more supplicant worshipping at the altar of the ‘Wonder Wizard of Gryffindor', sneered Severus. But it was a half-hearted effort at best. He seemed to find it difficult to conjure his usual amount of bile and had only said the nasty words because he thought it was expected of him.

Dumbledore chuckled. He and Severus continued across the cobblestones and up the granite steps, finally stepping into the marbled entrance hall that was now bathed in the soft light of the many torches in their wall sconces.

"Perhaps, Severus, your mindset could be altered if you could attempt to see the qualities that Lily contributed to Harry's makeup rather than just seeing his physical resemblance to James.

"I would imagine it must be quite difficult for you to look into those amazing green eyes without seeing the woman you once loved."

Severus' thin lips had compressed into a straight line but he forbore to respond to Dumbledore's gently spoken observation. Instead, he bit out angrily, "If your conclusions are correct, old man, I should be seeing more than Lily or James Potter in the boy. But I fail to see any physical or personality traits that bear any resemblance to myself."

The two wizards had finally stopped in front of Severus' sturdy door after traversing the long maze of dungeon passages. Severus pulled his wand free of his robes but instead of placing his free hand against the thick timber, he directed a challenging glare at the infuriating man standing patiently beside him.

"Oh Severus, now that I have the information you have shared with me, I can clearly see where one trait that Harry possesses and which has always puzzled me greatly has come from."

Severus did not want to ask but his curiosity overrode his stubborn resistance.

"And what, pray tell is that?"

"Neither James nor Lily as far as I am aware ever exhibited the flashpoint temper that Harry has." Dumbledore produced his own wand and pointed it at the heavily protected entrance to his potion master's private chambers.

"I now know where that formidable temper comes from."

The door swung open without any identifying hand being placed upon its surface and the older wizard crossed the threshold into the neat, spartan sitting room, leaving Severus Snape standing with his mouth agape.

&&&&

Severus and Dumbledore found Minerva straightening and refreshing the empty bed and Harry slowly making his way back from the bathroom.

"Ah, good!" said Minerva in her usual crisp tones. "You're both back. Harry has eaten a small amount of dinner..." She gave her young charge a stern look over the top of her glasses. "Not enough, mind you, to keep his owl alive, let alone a young wizard who is recuperating from a very serious illness."

Harry's cheeks had reddened under the gazes of his audience. He allowed Professor McGonagall to chivvy him back into bed where she fussed with the pillows and covers until they were arranged to her satisfaction.

Dumbledore beamed at Harry. "It is still early days, Minerva. I do not doubt that young Harry will have his normal appetite back within short order and from there, will quickly regain his usual energy. "What say you, Harry?"

"Err, I hope so Sir." Harry kept his eyes focused on his hand which was again picking at the pile of the blanket. He was uncomfortably aware of Snapes piercing regard. He was seriously unnerved. He could not understand where the ever present scowl or nasty smirk that usually graced Snape's face whenever Harry was in his presence had disappeared to. It was more than a little spooky.

It surely couldn't be because the man had saved his life. Could it? After all, Snape had saved his life before.

But that act had been performed from a distance; across a Quidditch pitch, in fact. Perhaps getting up close and personal and having to work as hard as the man had apparently done this time was a different proposition. Could you work so tirelessly to save someone and still feel nothing but hatred for that person?

Harry's attitude towards Snape had been just as vitriolic as the potion master's had been towards him. But if he was truthful with himself, he was finding it very difficult to dredge up the hatred towards the man he had declared he would never forgive after Sirius had died.

Sadness and regret flooded his heart at the thought of Sirius and annoyingly, embarrassingly, he felt his eyes and nose prickle with tears. God, please don't let Snape see any sign of tears.

Harry was so focused on his lachrymal discomfort that he had momentarily tuned everything else out. He came back to the here and now to hear Dumbledore say, "...in the Great Hall tomorrow, Harry."

Harry's head snapped up. Dumbledore and McGonagall were smiling at him and Snape was still studying him as if he were a new specimen to add to the stomach churning collection he had on display in his office.

"Err, sorry, Sir. I didn't catch that."

"I was just saying my boy, that I think it would be an excellent idea if you joined the staff who have remained at Hogwarts for the holidays, for lunch in the Great Hall tomorrow. Your professors will be gratified to see you so far down the road to a full recovery. Hagrid in particular has been champing at the bit to see you.

" Professor Snape seems to think that the journey between here and there will not be too taxing for you, indeed, he thinks, and I must say I agree, that the exercise will do you good."

When Harry looked less than happy with the arrangement, Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows rose quizzically. "You do not like the arrangement, Harry?"

"Oh, um...it's not that, Sir. I...I was just wondering if everyone knows what happened to me."

"Ah. If by everyone, you mean the greater wizarding world, then no, my boy, they do not. The only people who know the true reason for your protracted illness are the members of ‘The Order' and your friends, Ronald, Hermione and Ginevra. The rest of the staff just know you have been ill."

Harry looked less than happy. He found himself caught in the black tunnel of Snape's gaze. "There is someone else who knows," said Harry bitterly.

"If you are referring to the Dark Lord, Potter, then you are quite wrong," said Snape, amazingly guessing what Harry was thinking and going into full lecture mode. "I am sure of that because I have seen the Dark Lord several times since your protracted illness, and he has not a clue. The individual responsible for this deed has no idea of the outcome of his or her murderous act, and so, I imagine has deigned to remain silent.

"The staff has been told not to talk about you or your condition and it goes without saying that the members of the Order know to keep their mouths shut. And I have little doubt the same would hold true of the two youngest Weasleys and Miss Granger."

There was a trace of the nasty smirk about Snape's mouth, now and seeing it, Harry realised that he would have been quite happy never to have seen it again. And it only became more pronounced as Snape continued to speak.

"I am sure that if your friends found it too difficult to keep their mouths shut, then Molly Weasley would see to it that they did not open them again for many a long year."

Harry scowled at the smirking man. And here he had been thinking that perhaps the creep was human after all. That would teach him to indulge in flights of fancy.

"My friends wouldn't talk about this to any one outside of the Order, Professor."

"I'm sure I do not know what your friends..."

"Precisely!" stormed Harry. "You don't know my friends outside of your potion's classes. And those classes are only a forum that encourage fear and stress." He wasn't taking any of Snape's crap. Even if the git had saved his life. Again.

"Gentlemen, please." Dumbledore was holding up a placating hand and Harry subsided against the pillows, all of a sudden exhausted.

"Headmaster, I must..." Snape broke off and with a grimace of pain, he grabbed convulsively at his left forearm.

Harry, drowsy as he was, did not immediately realise what had happened. But when Snape swept out of the room without a word to anyone, he tried to throw off his mental torpidity. Something was wrong. He gazed after the departing figure, a frown creasing his brow.

Dumbledore patted Harry's knee through the bed covers and bade him a cursory goodnight before following his potions master. Harry had seen Dumbledore's worried frown. He was pretty sure he knew what was wrong.

He attempted to sit up but Professor McGonagall, looking grim, pressed him back with a firm hand. "You need to sleep, Harry."

Harry tried to peer around her through the open door but when he couldn't see or hear anyone, he looked up at Minerva, his eyes concerned. No matter their seeming inability to not throw insults at each other whenever they were in the same room for more than two minutes, Harry still did not like to think of Snape having to be in the presence of the malevolent force that was Voldemort.

"He's been summoned, hasn't he?"

Minerva reached forward and plucked Harry's glasses off. "You do not need to worry, Potter. Professor Snape is more than adept at his game of subterfuge.

Harry lifted his hand and rubbed his scar. Until this moment, he had only subconsciously been aware that it was prickling. Had been doing so for the last several minutes, in fact.

"He's not very happy," he murmured and McGonagall, who had been straightening the items on the bedside table, looked at him sharply.

"What do you mean, Potter. Have you had a vision?"

Harry shook his head and rubbed his scar harder.

"No. I can just sense his mood. He's not murderously angry for a change but he's not really chuffed either." Harry looked at McGonagall, his green eyes full of misery.

"You'd better tell Professor Snape not to expect to be offered tea and crumpets."

A fleeting smile softened the line of Minerva's mouth but it was gone almost before Harry saw it. Like Snape and the headmaster before her, she patted Harry on the knee, bade him goodnight and swept from the now darkened chamber.

Harry let out a long, shuddering breath. He lay staring at the dark ceiling, his thoughts now centred fully on his hated potions master and the evil wizard who had summoned him. He did not go to sleep until hours later when he heard a door open and close followed by the soft rumble of Dumbledore and Snape's voices.

8888

The next morning, Harry was awoken by Professor Snape who insisted that he get out of bed and join him at the table for breakfast. After staggering to the bathroom where he took care of business, he looked in the mirror above the hand basin. The black untidy hair, the bespectacled brilliant green-eyes and the skinny, pale face with the dark shadow of stubble adorning the jaw belonged to a stranger.

Harry had never seen his face so pale or so drawn. Nor had he ever had such an impressive growth of stubble as he had been employing the shaving spell that Ron had shown him for the last six months. He didn't have time to employ that spell now, so he dashed cold water on his face and attempted to tame his hair by running wet fingers through it. He might just as well have not bothered.

Harry found himself hesitating at the bedroom door leading to the rest of Snape's quarters. He could see his most hated teacher (with the possible exception of the bitch, Umbridge) sitting at a small dining table on the far side of a pleasant, masculine sitting room that was dominated by a huge, rough stone, fireplace. It was flanked on either side by two deep, worn burgundy leather chairs and the third part of the suite, a long, three-seater sofa sat in front of it. Harry could see an attractive tri-coloured rug covering the stone floor within the space separating the furniture and the fireplace.

Snape's back was towards Harry but he could see the man was, as usual, impeccably dressed in crisp, black robes and that his black hair just brushed the high, collar of his white shirt and was neatly groomed and even more amazingly, clean and shining.

Harry attacked his disreputable hair again, trying to flatten it with his hand whilst looking down at his baggy t-shirt and over large pyjama pants with a rueful eye. He wondered if he should change but at that moment, Snape looked around to see him hovering in the doorway.

"Do come along, Potter," he drawled and almost against his will, Harry's bare feet were padding across the cold stone floor.

Snape was making inroads into a plate of bacon, eggs and mushrooms and he was reading the ‘Daily Prophet." Harry stood behind the chair opposite his potions professor and studied the man. He looked his normal, unapproachable self so his meeting with Voldemort must have been fairly uneventful.

When Harry continued to hover, Snape looked up at him exasperatedly. He raised his eyebrows before looking pointedly at the chair Harry was grasping. Harry hurriedly pulled the chair out and sat himself down. As Snape had immediately gone back to his breakfast and the paper, Harry picked up an empty plate and reached for the platter of hot food. He tried to suppress a small hiss of pain as his hands objected; they were nowhere near as sore and stiff as they had been thanks to regular applications of the unguent Snape had given him but they were still not entirely pain free.

He glanced quickly at Snape but the man was thankfully still engrossed in the morning news and the contents of his plate. Harry did not want any extra attention from him if he could avoid it.

But before he could transfer any of the delicious smelling food onto the plate, Snape's drawling voice halted his movements. Obviously, he was not as engrossed as he seemed.

"I do not think so, Potter." Harry looked at him and it was his turn to raise his eyebrows in question. Snape pointed to a covered tureen with his knife.

"You will find your breakfast in there." He picked up an empty bowl and held it out. "And I believe you will find this a more appropriate receptacle."

Harry reluctantly put the plate down and took the bowl. With a final covetous look at the platter of eggs, bacon and mushrooms, he removed the lid from the tureen and eyed the steaming porridge within with little enthusiasm. He thought he saw a smirk on Snape's face before he went back to his own breakfast and the paper.

With some difficulty, Harry transferred some of the steaming porridge into the bowl. When he hefted the milk jug to pour over his porridge however, his hand cramped and the jug crashed back to the table, spilling its contents. Snape, with remarkable reflexes, shoved his chair back and sprang to his feet in time to prevent the white tidal wave spilling onto his robes.

"Potter! What the hell are you doing, you clumsy idiot?" An angry wave of his wand which had appeared out of nowhere cleared up the mess as though it had never happened.

Harry sat as immobile as a statue, too appalled by what he had done to move, his eyes remaining glued to the now immaculate table cloth where the milk tide had spread seconds before. So much for trying to maintain a low profile in front of the man. After all, Snape never needed much excuse to insult James Potter's son.

Harry, who had been expecting Snape to continue to rant, raised his shocked eyes after several heartbeats of silence. The potion master's own obsidian eyes were watching Harry massaging one hand and then the other. Harry opened his mouth to apologise but Snape cut his words off.

"Are your hands still bothering you that much, Potter?"

Harry automatically opened his mouth to say he was fine but with those fathomless eyes boring into him and unpleasant memories of Snape's Legilamency skills, he altered course.

"Yes, Sir. They're better than they were with the salve but they're still painful.

Severus moved closer to Harry. He held out one of his own slim hands.

"Show me."

Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second but then he placed his painful right hand in Snapes.

Snape's hands felt cool against the heat of Harry's reddened skin. He had tensed, expecting more pain but Snape was turning his hand this way and that as he examined first the right and then the left hand with surprising gentleness.

Relaxing under the gentle ministrations, Harry asked, "Why are my hands so sore, Sir? I haven't got pain anywhere else any more.

Snape did not answer but when his wand appeared in his right hand again, Harry instinctually tried to pull away. Snape tightened his grip to prevent escape, but not to the point of causing the boy more pain.

"Stay still. The salve has elicited some improvement but your joints are still inflamed." Whilst speaking, the potions master was gently tracing the fine bones in the back of Harry's hand and fingers with the wand A faint yellow glow had appeared at the wand tip and as it bathed the skin in its sulphurous glow, Harry could actually feel it penetrating to the painful tissue beneath and drawing the worst of the pain away.

The operation took several minutes as Snape moved his wand slowly, patiently over all the joints in Harry's abused extremities. When he finally finished, he wasted no time in relinquishing his grip.

Harry cautiously clenched his hands into loose fists and when they did not object too strenuously, he tightened them. There was still a small amount of discomfort but not enough to prevent normal movement. Harry smiled and looked at Snape who had turned away and was in the process of throwing some floo powder onto the gentle flames licking at several small logs in the fireplace.

"Thanks, Sir. That feels much better."

Snape was too busy speaking to someone within the flames to respond and when he re-seated himself at the table, the moment had passed and so Harry held his tongue. It did not escape his attention however, that Snape had not answered his earlier question about the pain in his hands.

The air above the table suddenly shimmered and the empty milk jug filled and steam issued from the spout of the old, beaten silver teapot. Harry assumed Snape had been talking to the house elves in the kitchen.

Snape resumed his seat and without preamble, he picked up Harry's partially filled bowl and added another ladle full of the still steaming porridge to the meagre contents within. He put it down in front of Harry and moved the sugar bowl and the milk jug within easy reach.

"Eat your porridge, Potter. And if you can manage all of that, you may have a piece of toast."

"Oh goody gumdrops! Thanks Dad." The words were out of Harry's mouth before he realised they had even formed in his brain. He was horrified by his sarcastic rejoinder but his reaction was nothing compared to Snapes.

He had been reaching for the teapot but at Harry's words, he pulled his hand back as if he had been burned and his already pallid complexion had paled even further. Those stygian eyes blazed with an emotion that Harry could not quite place. Whatever it was, it made Harry squirm inwardly and he busied himself with sprinkling sugar and pouring milk, aware the whole time that Snape was still boring a hole in the top of his head with that gaze.

What was that all about?

Eventually, the tension lessened and breakfast proceeded in total silence. When Snape finished his tea, he sat and watched Harry eat all the porridge and half a piece of toast. Harry was determined not to be fazed by the careful scrutiny. He would have loved a cup of tea but was pretty sure his hand would shake too much to be able to pour without his saucer becoming awash.

But Snape was obviously satisfied with Harry's food intake. Or perhaps he was just tired of torturing Harry with his fathomless gaze. Whatever, he now stood and straightened his robes.

"Finish up here Potter and then go and clean up. I daresay a shower will do you good. There is a stool in there should you need it."

Harry flushed with embarrassment at the thought of having to sit down in the middle of his shower. Snape of course knew what he was thinking.

"False bravado may lead you to think you are entirely well again." He placed his hands flat on the table cloth and leaned in close to Harry's face. Harry leaned back a little. "Let me disabuse you of that notion before you eschew the sensible course, Potter. You are far from at your normal strength.

"It will take several weeks for you to regain your strength and whilst that is happening, you will act with due restraint and caution. I will not have all my hard work undone by any displays of Gryffindor histrionics and idiocy. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Sir," Harry hissed through gritted teeth. He fought the urge to tip the remainder of the milk over the git's head.

"When you have finished your ablutions, you will find some new clothes in your trunk."

"Wha..."

Snape held up his hand to cut off Harry's rant. "It surely cannot have escaped even your short sighted notice that you have lost a considerable amount of weight, Potter. All the items of clothing in your trunk were many sizes too big for you even before your illness. They would now look positively ludicrous on you. Much like the disgusting t-shirt and pyjamas pants that adorn your measly hide now.

"This can't be some foolish Muggle trend as none of the other Muggleborns in the school look quite as derelict as you would look in those clothes. Not only are they too big for you, they are good for nothing but the rag bag"

Snape had now straightened and crossed his arms in his usual fashion, each hand tucked into the opposite sleeve, grasping his elbows. Harry's mutinous glare was fixed on the fire but he had sensed Snape taking up this familiar position.

"Professor McGonagall took an imprint of your body and took herself off to ‘Gladrags' in Hogsmead. She has purchased several items of clothing for you."

"Well, thanks for consulting me. It's nice to know that even my casual clothes come under the purview of my teachers, just as every other facet of my life does."

Harry pushed his chair back noisily and stalked off towards the bedroom. "And I better not look like I'm going to Sunday school," he muttered darkly.

"Potter." Harry forced himself to stop but he did not turn around.

"I wish you to come to my lab when you are ready. I need a few drops of your blood for a potion I will be making." At this, Harry did turn around.

"My blood! Why?"

Severus had his lie all worked out. "I wish to ascertain that there is no residue from any of the ingredients that made up the potion that almost killed you."

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.

"Oomph!" Harry's arms automatically wrapped around the limpet who was clinging onto him like a lifeline, but he staggered backwards under the force of the impact and would have fallen if he had not been propelled into Snape, who had entered the hall directly behind him.

It was a close thing but Severus just managed to stop Potter crashing to the floor with the idiot, Granger on top of him. The foolish girl was still hanging on for dear life, sobbing into Potter's neck. Severus set the boy back on his feet but kept a hand against his upper back to stabilize him until he was rid of his burden.

"Miss Granger!..." Hermione lifted a puffy, tear streaked face and Harry was able to push her exuberant hair out of his face and the lock that had ended up in his mouth, he pushed out with his tongue, then picked off with his finger and thumb.

Over her shoulder, Harry could see Ron and the twins advancing a little more sedately, grins splitting their faces in half. The grins slid away like stink sap, however, and their pace slowed at the sound of the potions professor's angry voice.

A red-faced Hermione was loosening her stranglehold as Snape continued his rant. "...Kindly conduct yourself with a little more decorum. Mr. Potter is convalescing and your exuberance, whilst endearing..." Here, he sneered unpleasantly, "...will not aid his recovery when it takes such a physical form. Now kindly extricate yourself from about his person."

Hermione had been attempting to do just that whilst Snape had been lecturing but Harry prevented her removal from ‘about his person' by refusing to loosen his grip.

He was peeved with Snape for attempting to dictate the actions of his friend so he grinned into her red, mortified face then whispered in her ear. "Thanks for the greeting. I missed you too." And, in a most un-Harry like action, he kissed her on the cheek. His cheeks bloomed with colour at his own audacity, but he would willingly swallow a cauldron full of bubotuber pus before he let Snape have the upper hand.

Snape snorted in disgust and stalked off to join his colleagues. All this saccharine sweetness was making him sick to his stomach. He had never understood the almost cosmic connection the three troublesome Gryffindors had with each other. His observations over his years of teaching had shown him that it was rare for more than two individuals to maintain the sort of close bond that Granger, Potter and Weasley had sustained for five years. If there were three within a clique, then there was usually one on the outer.

He knew that it had not always been plain sailing amongst the three. The ‘Know-It-All' had been on the outer when the escapee, Black, had anonymously sent a ‘Firebolt' to Potter during their third year and she had been sensible enough to report the extravagantly expensive gift to Minerva. The broom had been confiscated and subjected to a battery of tests to make sure it was not jinxed or charmed to cause the boy harm when he was in the air. The two Quidditch mad, fast broomstick mad, thirteen year olds had taken exception to their more cautious friend's actions and had not spoken to her until the broom had been returned.

She, of course, had forgiven them.

And Severus recalled another period of distinct frostiness between Weasley and Granger that had something to do with the disappearance of a pet rat that had turned out to be the animagus, Pettigrew.

He also knew that there had been a rocky period for Potter and Weasley at the start of the ‘Tri-Wizard tournament' and had been one of the only ones not to be surprised by that turn of events. It could not be easy for the youngest Weasley boy to be in the shadow of his best friend all the time, much as he had always been in the shadow of his older, talented, (and Severus would deny strenuously ever calling a Weasley talented) brothers. In point of fact (and he would deny this observation to beyond the grave) Severus had a modicum of grudging respect for the red-haired side kick. There were not many males out there who would be able to stand being constantly overlooked because their best friend was the famous Harry Potter.

Still and all, small hiccoughs along the way or not, the golden trio were very close. This overt display of affection was proof that Granger was exceedingly fond of Potter. And his smiling acceptance of her stranglehold hug showed that he felt the same for her. Severus was not entirely sure if there was a romantic attachment but he had never noticed that particular brand of clingy, handholding, whispering ‘sweet nothings in the ear' kind of closeness between Granger and Potter. Nor indeed, Granger and Weasley.

But then again, he did not go out of his way to work out which of his students was romantically involved with another. Teenage love did not interest him in the least. Unless, of course, the couples romantic idiocy affected their concentration in his classroom.

Having reached his colleagues, Severus ignored them for the moment and grabbed up a goblet and filled it with red wine, slugging back half of it in one go. He glared back at the cluster of Gryffindors. Let the fool of a boy collapse under the burden of hero worship.

Ron, Fred and George's grins had re-appeared when Snape had stalked off and they hurried to join Harry and Hermione. Hermione was still sniffling but she had let Harry go.

The Weasley brothers clapped Harry on the back and began clamouring for answers. "Blimey, Harry...when Mum and Dad told us what had happened..." said Ron in a half whisper.

"Yeah, Mate," continued Fred. Talk about a shock!"

"Mind you," added George. "We had to do some fancy translating before we actually knew what had happened because Mum was sobbing so hard, it was impossible to understand her. Dad was only a little more coherent."

Harry grinned happily at his friends, glad as always to be in their company. It had only been a week since he had seen Ron and Hermione but he had not seen the twins since their spectacular ‘Stuff of legends," exit from the school back in May. He wondered whether they had opened their joke shop yet and what their mother thought of their endeavours.

"Well, you lot probably knew much more about what was going on ages before I did," said Harry, addressing their concerns for his welfare first. "I've only been awake since yesterday morning. So I've had a lot to take on board in a very short time."

"Oh, Harry! How can you be so blasé," sniffed Hermione. "You nearly died!"

"Yeah, well..." Harry took a deep breath. "It's not like that's a new experience for me, Hermione."

"But this was different. Someone within the school did this to you."

Hermione looked like she was going to start crying again but Harry's attention was diverted from her when he found himself the recipient of another ferocious hug. He knew who this was because he had become quite dependent on these arms wrapping around him. It was the closest thing to a motherly hug he had ever experienced. That he could remember, at least.

Molly Weasley had forged a determined path between her three much taller sons to get to the boy she had adopted as one of her own. She did not care that she had not been able to do it through legal channels. Harry Potter was as much a Weasley as any of her own children were. And Arthur, bless him, was of a like mind.

Harry patted Mrs Weasley awkwardly on the back before stepping back and smiling at her. "I'm fine, Mrs Weasley. Really."

Molly wiped her eyes with a scrap of lace edged cotton as she looked up into Harry's dear face. She had to raise her eyes a few inches higher now. He had grown a little since she had last seen him but was still much smaller than any of her boys. Her motherly eyes inspected Harry from head to toe and her dismay was evident in her appalled tone.

"Harry, you most definitely are not fine. You are nothing but skin and bone!" She drew herself up determinedly and her sons backed up a step, wariness stealing over their freckled countenances. Their mum was on a mission and woe betide any one who got in her way.

"We'll see about you not coming to ‘the Burrow' for the rest of the holiday. Just see if I don't." And with those ominous words and one final, loving pat to Harry's cheek, she stalked off to confront Albus Dumbledore. Harry's fond gaze followed her. She was one of the only people he knew who was not frightened to give the headmaster a hard time. He hoped desperately that she could prevail but was afraid that Dumbledore had his holiday all mapped out for him. And he was even more afraid that he would still have to spend time at the Dursleys so that his mother's sacrificial protection would remain active.

Harry turned back to his friends. He felt an overwhelming wave of affection for them all. Hermione was being mother again and jumping on some asinine plan that the three red heads were in the process of hatching. Harry grinned. Some things never changed. He was so glad that he was still around to watch his female friend talk verbal circles around the troublesome twins and their easily led younger brother.

She did it so well, almost as if she had taken lessons from the

Weasley matriarch. But still, she had a long way to go before she had Fred and George truly cowed. Maybe not quite so long for Ron, though, thought Harry with a knowing smirk.

There was one, however, who was the equal of Molly and on occasion had one or another of the Weasley men in a state of apprehensive expectancy.

"Where's Ginny?" Harry asked when he could get a word in edgewise.

"I'm here."

Harry spun around. Ginny had just entered the Great Hall. Harry had no idea why she had not been there with the others but he did not care. She was here now; and only now that he was looking at her did he realise that he had been seeking her since the second he had realised that his friends were here.

She looked beautiful. Her long, dark red hair was caught up untidily on top of her head leaving her slim neck and shoulders totally exposed except for the thin straps of her dress. She wore a white sun dress that hugged her petite form to the waist where it was cinched in by a green leather belt and then flared out into a full skirt that fell to about three inches above her knees.

God, Harry thought. She even has pretty knees.

Harry's legs moved of their own volition, his eyes drinking her in. She was like a long, cool drink of water to a man dying of thirst in the desert.

He was standing in front of her in a surprisingly short time. She must have moved too. He knew he was grinning like a loon but Ginny did not seem to mind. She was smiling back, her brown eyes soft as she gazed into his face.

She did not tell him that he looked terrible-and he knew he did, he had looked in the mirror that morning-she just raised a hand and cupped his cheek, her eyes ranging over every inch of his face. Harry stood, soaking in her beauty, the feel of her skin against his.

When she had looked her fill, she gazed into the emerald eyes that she had loved for four years now and asked, "You're OK now?"

Harry nodded and she stood on tip toe and kissed him gently on the lips.

Then she whispered in his ear, "Don't ever frighten me like that again."

And Harry took Ginny's hands in his and leaned forward, bumping his forehead lightly against hers and resting there, content to be this close.

At odd moments since he had awoken from his coma and when his mind was not stressing about the identity of the person who had so very nearly killed him, or the subsequent actions of Professor Snape, Harry had found himself thinking about Ginny Weasley and the kiss they had shared in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Of course, those thoughts had segued to the scene in the Entrance Hall when his memories of Sirius had risen up inside and guilt had swamped him again, convincing him that he had no right to any kind of relationship that would make him happy. And the kiss in the common room had convinced him in a flash that if he could be happy with anyone, he could be happy with Ginny Weasley.

But he had walked away from her. Walked away from the person who had offered to be there for him in a way that Ron and Hermione could not, close as the three of them were.

As much as he loved Ron and Hermione, he knew that just talking about the happenings of that night at the ministry and his own culpability was not enough. After all, all the comforting words they had offered after the horrors of Voldemort's return in that graveyard thirteen months earlier, had not made him forget. Even Hermione's hugs, whilst welcome could not erase the utter terror he had felt that night.

His memories were his own and translating them into words for Hermione and Ron could never really convey the terror, the hopelessness and despair. No words could convey the depth of his guilt for having suggested to Cedric that they both take the cup, thus ensuring the older boy's Death. Or the fact that his blood had helped resurrect Voldemort, or his inability to shut out the vision that had led to his flight to London-the precursor to Sirius leaving headquarters and coming after him.

These were all memories that he wanted to relegate to the furtherest reaches of his mind. He did not want to keep on talking about them. Hermione's idea that reliving the events was cathartic and would eventually lead to acceptance and self-forgiveness, was not a sentiment that he agreed with.

He wanted to forget, not to wallow in misery. And perhaps it was the result of his own near death experience that had made Harry see the light. But he knew now that Sirius would not want him to continue with his self-castigation. Sirius would want him to get on with his life; he would want his godson to be happy.

And somehow, Harry knew that Ginny was just what he needed to make him happy. He knew that she would let him take the lead when it came to unburdening himself. He knew she would be there to listen if he needed an ear but she would not push. And she would be able to make him forget in ways that Hermione and Ron could not. He would be able to lose himself in her arms...in her kisses.

He would not walk away again. As long as she wanted him, he would be hers.

8888

Harry and Ginny both seemed to become aware at the same moment that the voices that had been echoing around the vaulted emptiness of the Great Hall moments-or was it hours ago, had fallen silent.

The only noise in fact, was an intense hissing sound overlaid by what seemed to be scuffling feet.

Harry pulled back from Ginny but maintained a determined grip on her hand. He was not willing to relinquish her entirely just yet, not when he was finally able to hold her again.

Ginny was looking past him and grinning delightedly at something. Harry spun around to see what had her so amused.

Hermione had a determined hold on Ron's arm and was attempting to hold him back. It seemed that he was set on joining Harry and Ginny where they now stood and Hermione did not much like his plan. She was hissing furious admonitions in his ear. The twins were looking a tad nonplussed as their eyes darted from their little sister and a very ‘up-close-and-personal' Harry Potter and their stony-faced little brother who was trying to extricate himself from one very angry Hermione Granger.

"Aha!" exclaimed Fred.

"Our baby sister and ‘The Boy Who Lived' to nearly die again, and again, and again..." said George in a scandalised tone.

"And our Ronniekins is not a happy camper," added Fred. "But Harry's your best mate."

Ron scowled at his brothers before throwing a glare at his sister and best friend. "She's too young to have a steady boyfriend."

"Oh rubbish," hissed Hermione. She's already had a boyfriend for most of the last school year."

"Yeah! But even though he was a prat, at least Michael Corner was just a normal boyfriend." The redness suffusing Ron's ears was migrating downwards; his forehead and cheeks were quickly taking on the same hue.

"No offence Harry, mate, but I don't think you should be thinking about girlfriends while you've obviously got a big target painted on your forehead."

The silence that surrounded Ron's outburst had become charged. Harry's pallor had increased but Ginny's face had taken on much the same colour as her brothers. She wrested her hand from Harry's and marched across to Ron. With all the fury an angry Weasley female could muster, she poked him in the chest with a finger that was as rigid as a cattle prod.

"I think I told you before, Ronald, it is absolutely none of your business whom I decide to have as a boyfriend. You are not my father!" The finger was pulled back and re-applied with fierce precision several times before Ron fell back under the onslaught and rubbed his abused chest. He still looked belligerent but wary defensiveness was also added to the mix of emotions showing on his face. When he glanced across at his silent best friend, guilt had also taken up residence there.

"And if I were Harry," added Ginny in a voice tight with disgust, "I would seriously be reconsidering if I wanted you to continue to hold the position of my best friend!"

Fred and George had backed away, well out of range of any fallout from the explosion of temper this very small, scary virago had just unleashed. Hermione had also stepped back from Ron and she had her arms crossed and was looking at him as though she would like to do more than just poke him in the chest.

Ginny spun around to stalk back to Harry but she suddenly stopped dead as her angry gaze alighted on something over his shoulder. The colour in her face darkened further. Harry followed her gaze. All of the adults were watching the scene that had just played out with varying expressions adorning their faces.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling with amusement as was to be expected. When he saw Harry and Ginny looking at him, he raised the goblet he was holding in his hand in a silent toast to them. Harry could only assume that they had all seen his and Ginny's greeting to each other before the confrontation between the siblings.

Professor McGonagall's eyes were not twinkling with amusement but then again, they never did. Her lips, however, were not clenched in a forbidding, straight line. In fact, for her, her expression was quite neutral.

The other teachers present were smiling with varying degrees of amusement-except for Snape. He was looking even more sour than when he had stalked away from Harry, his sneer firmly in place. His look implied that he would very much like to make it illegal for anyone under the age of forty to even think about having a romantic relationship.

Harry did not much care what Snape thought. He wouldn't know a positive emotion if it bit him on the bum anyway. He did, however, care what Molly Weasley thought.

Harry's eyes were wary as they rested on Ginny's mum. Would she echo her youngest son's sentiments and think that Harry was too high risk to be in a relationship with her only daughter?

Molly had her lower lip between her teeth and the hand still holding her handkerchief was clenched at her bosom. Harry could see that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. He was not exactly sure what that meant.

A small hand crept into his and Harry realised that Ginny had re-joined him. She was not looking at him. Instead, she raised her determined little chin defiantly in her mother's direction, daring her to try and object to her choice of boyfriend.

She tugged on Harry's hand and pulled him in the direction of the table set for the young people. Harry saw Molly start on course to intercept them and his stomach gave a nervous little lurch. He did not know what he would do if Mrs. Weasley forbade her daughter from having a relationship with him.

Molly reached them as they reached the table and much to Harry's relief, she swooped on the two of them and clasped them both to her breast. Her words surprised Harry even more than the action.

"I am so happy for you both." She beamed tearily from one face to the other. "I have often thought how lovely it would be if you both got together."

She kissed Ginny and then Harry on their cheeks. Then she cupped Harry's cheek with a loving hand and said in a whisper. "Don't worry about Ron. He's always been very protective of Ginny. He'll come around."

"He'd better!" hissed Ginny through gritted teeth, throwing a venomous glare at Ron. "The prat!"

Harry could only concur. Ron had hurt him with his attitude. But he supposed if their positions were reversed and his sister was going out with a guy who seemed to attract trouble like a magnet attracted metal filings, he would feel much the same way.

But there wasn't anything he could do about it. He knew now that he needed Ginny and he could not let her go. Not even for Ron.

Fred, patted Ron on one of his hunched shoulders. "Looks like you lose, Little Bro," he said cheerily.

"Yeah, get over it Ron," added George. "And try to remember that Harry is supposed to be your best mate." He and Fred left Ron standing with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his worn jeans.

He looked imploringly at Hermione who had her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her lips were set as thinly as Ron had ever seen Professor McGonagall's and her usually warm eyes looked like chips of stone.

"What?" he whined, and then lowering his voice, he said. "I'm just worried, all right. Harry's got a lot of stuff going on. You know that Hermione.

"God, not only is Voldemort after him but now someone within the bloody school itself is targeting him. Ginny could get hurt just by being close to him."

"So could I Ron! But I'm not going to walk away from him. I'll be there as long as Harry needs me. And I will do everything in my power to try and keep him safe. As will Ginny, who by the way is a very mature, nearly fifteen year old who can make her own decisions. She doesn't want a baby-sitter and she most certainly doesn't need one. She can look after herself and Harry will protect her. You know he will keep her safe."

Hermione's eyes softened a little as Ron looked more and more ashamed of himself. She moved closer to him and put her hand on his arm. "I know how upset you were when we heard about what had happened to Harry, Ron. The three of us are a team. Now it seems that our team has expanded to four. Be happy for them. I am.

"And if you continue to be a pain in the butt, you will drive Harry away and your sister will end up hating you."

Hermione squeezed Ron's arm and then left him alone to ponder her words.

8888

Both tables were laden with delicious smelling food by the time Ron walked up behind Harry and Ginny. Everyone was laughing at an anecdote told by George about the time Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had come into their new shop in Diagon Alley and how he and Fred and Lee Jordan had let them browse for twenty minutes and fill their arms with merchandise only to be told when they had eventually deposited their shopping on the counter that "Weasleys Wizard Wheezes did not serve overlarge Slytherins who could only boast one brain cell between the two of them.

Harry was laughing just as hard as the others but he knew exactly when Ron slouched up behind him. He tensed involuntarily and Ginny, whose chair was so close to Harry's that their arms were touching, looked at him enquiringly. She saw Ron hovering out of the corner of her eye and she too stiffened.

Harry didn't think he could take Ron repudiating him.

George's voice trailed of and he and Fred looked at Ron with identical expressions of amused interest. Hermione kept her gaze fixed on her plate but she was as tense as Harry and Ginny.

Ron cleared his throat. He looked down at his trainer shod foot that he was scuffing across the floorboards. "Harry, mate. I'm sorry."

Harry didn't move. He kept his eyes on his plate. Ginny had gripped his hand and was squeezing it hard.

"Ginny's right," continued Ron, his voice now a little louder as he got into his stride. "I'm a prat. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Would you like me to spell it out in words of one syllable?" snapped a clearly unappeased Ginny. It was Harry's turn to squeeze her hand warningly and she huffed out a disgruntled breath but fell silent all the same.

"No. She's right, Harry. She always tells it like it is. And she's usually right."

"Who's she? The cat's mother?" asked Ginny, clearly unable to hold her tongue. But she sounded a little mollified now.

"No. She's the prat's sister," answered Ron, an abashed grin quirking the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, very good, Ron! crowed George. "That comeback is worthy of one of your older, infinitely more intelligent and quick witted, twin brothers."

He and Fred high fived each other. "Don't forget devastatingly handsome," added Fred.

George nodded in agreement. "That goes without saying, Fred. And devastatingly handsome, sadly, is something Ronniekins will never be!"

"But finally it seems, we are rubbing off on our little bro, oh twin of mine," opined Fred. "All is not lost. It would seem that prefect Ronnie isn't going to turn into prefect/head prat, Percy."

"No," added Harry, turning sideways in his chair and looking Ron in the eye. "It would seem that Ronnie is definitely taking what we could call, ‘the Fred and George route.'

Ron grinned and he and Harry eyed each other for several silent seconds. The grin had just started to falter under Harry's piercing green-eyed gaze but then Harry grinned back and for good measure, he elbowed Ron none too gently in the stomach.

"Sit down, Prat," Harry ordered and Ron moved with alacrity to sit down next to Hermione.

He was grateful for the fact that he had Harry and Hermione between himself and his little sister. He was under no illusion that she would forgive him as fast as Harry had done. He would have to get her by herself and beg on bended knee for her forgiveness. She was a hard nut to crack, was Ginny.

Ron could not think what kind of a brain snap had led him to object so strenuously to his best mate and his sister becoming an item. Yeah, he wanted Ginny to be safe but now he could think clearly instead of through a haze of red, he could see that she was in plenty of danger just by being a member of the Weasley family-the Weasley family who were the biggest bunch of blood traitors in wizardom and who were also known to be great friends of Harry Potter.

Yeah, those two facts were enough to get them all killed, now that ‘He Who Must Not Be Named' was back and was no longer lying low.

And hey, thought Ron as he stuffed a whole dinner roll in his mouth as he had missed out on the pumpkin soup, if Ginny had to have a boyfriend, Harry was certainly a better choice than any of the many boys he had often seen giving her the eye or making an excuse to talk to her. Michael Corner had only been the first in what could have been a very long list of possible suitors.

Hell, he had even seen Malfoy eyeing her off once when she had been chatting to Hermione in the doorway of the Great Hall and Malfoy had been sitting at the Slytherin table. When he had seen Ron looking daggers at him, he had sneered in that infuriatingly superior way he always did and gone back to his lunch.

Yep, Harry was definitely the best choice. But good luck to him trying to keep that little red-haired firebrand under control. He looked sideways at Hermione who was filling her plate with roast chicken and vegetables with careful precision. She had studiously refused to meet his eye but Ron could see from his sideways vantage, the slight flush in the smooth skin of her cheek and the slight upward tilt at the corner of her mouth.

Yep. Good luck to Harry. He, Ron had his own firebrand to battle.

8888

Severus ignored the delicious food in front of him in favour of filling up his goblet with the very fine red wine again. He was too on edge to eat. He did not know whether he would ever be able to eat again.

But the wine was very good.

Dumbledore watched his young friend as the conversation waxed and waned around them. And when Severus put the ewer of wine down, the old wizard surreptitiously moved it out of reach.

Severus had seen, however, and he watched with a jaundiced eye from his deceptively languid position in his high backed chair, as the interfering old man put a serving of chicken and a variety of vegetables on the plate in front of him.

When Albus met his eye, Severus raised his goblet and took a long defiant swallow.

"I am not a child who needs to be told to eat, Albus," he said with barely restrained anger.

"Then stop acting like one." Albus leaned in closer and when Severus would have raised the goblet to his lips again, Albus put a light but firm hand on his forearm, forestalling the movement.

"You have a job to do in a very short while, Severus and I imagine that a steady hand will be of infinite assistance." He leaned back in his own chair.

"Please eat, my boy."

Severus did not think that Dumbledore would make a scene in front of the many pairs of eyes in the Hall but he did not want to risk it. The old wizard would get his own way by hook or by crook and Severus would much rather not be the cynosure of all eyes, particularly those of the boy and his friends.

He might have seemed to be entirely too interested in the contents of his goblet but Severus had been monitoring Potter carefully. He had relaxed a little when the Weasley girl had led Potter over to the table and they had both sat down. The boy was still far too pale and he needed to rest after the long walk through the dungeons.

Severus knew the ridiculous scene staged by the two youngest Weasleys for the entertainment of all would have upset Potter, even while he refused to show it. The young fool was entirely too emotional for his own good and though he would put on an indifferent air, falling out with one of his cohorts in crime would seriously affect his emotional well being.

Severus, however, agreed with Ronald Weasley's sentiments about the association of his sister with ‘The Boy Who Lived', but for an entirely different reason. Taking up with young Ginevra was not what Potter needed at this time in his life.

The boy needed to concentrate on surviving. And it seemed as if that task was becoming harder and harder. Potter had enemies everywhere and the task of protecting him whilst maintaining his standing with the Dark Lord was becoming more and more complicated.

Thankfully, he had been left in relative peace to minister to the boy following the poisoning because the Dark Lord was himself, unwell.

Following the happenings at the ministry when the arrogant megalomaniac had possessed Potter in the hopes that Dumbledore would kill the boy, he had not counted on the experience having such a detrimental effect on himself.

But that is just what had happened. Albus had explained it by saying that the boy had been in extremis because of the excruciating pain the Dark Lord's possession was causing and he had prayed for death to overtake him. In that moment the thought of seeing his recently deceased godfather again had suffused his soul with love and the Dark Lord had been unable to remain; he had fled Potter's body in unspeakable agony, having only the wit to collect a trapped Bellatrix before he had disapparated and collapsed back at his current sanctuary.

Severus had been summoned even whilst Dumbledore had been speaking to a distraught Potter in the Head's office. Severus had attended the man he pretended to serve and prescribed potions for the earth shattering pain he was still suffering from, pain that had continued unabated for over a week.

He had sent Severus away after he had supplied a dangerously high number of doses of his strongest pain relief. The Dark Lord had desired that no-one but Bella attend him.

Severus had made sure to express dismay at being so summarily dismissed and had begged to be allowed to stay and minister to his Lord and fully supervise his care and medication. His request was, of course, denied.

No-one second guessed The Dark Lord.

In actuality, Severus was hoping against hope that the creature-Severus could no longer think of him as a man-would succumb to his condition or at the very least, that he would overdose on the potion. Severus had chanced increasing the strength of the already dangerous brew with those hopes in mind but all it had done was make him almost comatose for many hours at a time, only to awaken, still in dire pain and demand another dose from a terrified Bellatrix.

The deranged woman had contacted Severus through the Dark Mark on more than one occasion, sobbing with fear about the prolonged and deep sleeps that her master was experiencing and screeching that Severus do something more.

He had pointed out that it was best for their Lord to sleep through the pain and that it would eventually ease. The time would come when he would awaken to be virtually pain free. And as the man she worshipped wished things to be this way, Bella had been too afraid to do anything else.

So she had sat and stroked his skeletal hands and soothed his fevered brow, never giving a thought to her husband or her brother-in-law who had both been captured by Dumbledore and were now back in Azkaban. The mad woman fulfilled the position of ‘sycophant-in-chief' very nicely indeed.

Severus couldn't stand her.

Last night had been the first time that Severus had been summoned since he had first attended the Dark Lord after his unfortunate encounter with Harry Potter. His pain had now eased to a tolerable level but he needed more potion, though this time weaker as he did not want to sleep his days away any longer as he had plans to make.

As had been planned between himself and Dumbledore, Severus had told his master about the fact that Harry Potter had been hurt before he had left the school. He had, of course, failed to indicate how close the boy had come to death and he had intimated that Potter was under the weather eye of Poppy Pomfrey in the hospital wing and that he had not been consulted regarding the boy's condition, nor his care.

The pretence was always maintained that though Dumbledore trusted Severus, there were certain things the old man kept him apart from; one of those things was the Defence Against the Dark Arts position and the other was anything to do with Harry Potter that did not fall under his purview as a teacher at Hogwarts.

In actual fact, Severus had never coveted the DADA position though he knew he would have made a far better teacher than any of the other fools who had held the position over the years.

Well, perhaps the werewolf had made a tolerable show, he grudgingly conceded.

As he picked up his cutlery to appease the interfering old coot beside him, Severus' eyes strayed back to Potter. The boy was picking unenthusiastically at the small serving of poached chicken and mashed potato and gravy that had appeared already served up before him as per Severus' earlier orders to the elves.

Severus smirked as he took a bite of his own admittedly delicious food. Potter had thrown him a dirty look when his bland meal had appeared. It was obvious, even after being denied bacon and eggs that morning that he had expected to be able to eat a proper lunch. Severus knew, however, that the young fool would not be able to tolerate anything but the bland offerings he was allowed to partake of at the moment.

The Weasley girl was whispering in Potter's ear and the besotted fool was smiling at her adoringly, his meal forgotten though Severus could see he had eaten only about half of it. Watching the pair of them from his vantage point, it slowly dawned on him that he could be watching Lily and James. His gut clenched and he carefully placed his knife and fork down on his plate, his belatedly awakened appetite disappearing again in a flash.

In profile, Harry Potter was even more like James, with his perfect, neat nose and his glasses and that unruly shock of black hair. That there could be any of his own genetic makeup in the boy, seemed to be so far out of the realms of possibility as to be totally ludicrous.

Of course, he himself did have Potter genes but it was very obvious that the courser Snape traits had overshadowed anything that his mother had contributed to his makeup. Except for the darkness and thickness of his hair, perhaps; his father's hair had been sparse and a very nondescript brown. Severus remembered, with a rush of dislike for his paternal parent, that his hair had always appeared stringy and dirty and that his scalp had always shone with the grease coating it.

Forcing these unpleasant memories deep, Severus focused on Ginevra Weasley. She was at this moment laughing into Potter's face, her face alight with happiness. From this distance, she could have been Lily.

But Severus knew the likenesses were superficial. Lily had been about half a head taller than this girl, her figure more shapely. Her hair had not been as dark a red and of course, her eyes had been exactly the same colour and shape as her sons. Ginevra, like her mother and her brother Bill, had brown eyes. All of the other Weasleys had blue eyes.

Severus knew the girl was pretty, more than pretty really; beautiful in a youthful, wholesome way. But in his opinion, she was a pale imitation of Lily. Lily, the girl he had loved. And the girl with whom he had, perhaps-and however ludicrous the idea-contributed, along with James, the building materials that had shaped another human being.

Before he could become lost in introspection, there was the sound of rapid footsteps crossing the flagstones of the entrance hall and a second later, a dishevelled figure rushed through the open doorway and stood, slightly unsteadily, looking around frantically.

Lupin. Severus' face fell into the familiar lines of deep dislike as soon as he recognised the newcomer. He reached for his half empty goblet and downed the contents in one swallow. He needed more wine if he was to put up with the werewolf.

"Remus!" Dumbledore had risen to his feet to greet the newcomer.

Within seconds of Lupin's appearance, another figure appeared at his shoulder, this one much smaller and more breathless, now bent double with her hands on her knees in an attempt to get her breath back. Severus did not need to see the ludicrous turquoise hair to know he was looking at Nymphadora Tonks.

Remus Lupin ignored the call of welcome from Albus Dumbledore. His eyes were scanning the vast hall. There was a smaller, second table at the base of the staff platform and Remus sagged with relief when his eyes fell upon the tousle haired youth who had jumped up and was now rushing towards him.

He moved forwards and clasped Harry to him. He could not help it. When he had returned from his assignment for ‘the Order', he had found Tonks at headquarters and she had told him what had happened to Harry.

Remus had not wanted to go on assignment so soon after Sirius' death. He had wanted to be around for Harry but Dumbledore had said he needed him in the field. Of course, Remus had known that Dumbledore was sending him off to take his mind off the loss of Sirius; as if anything would have been able to accomplish that. Dumbledore had appeased him by saying that they would be keeping a much closer eye on Harry and that he would be fine.

Famous last words, of course.

Harry returned Remus' hug. He had last felt those arms clamped around his body in an effort to stop him following Sirius through the veil. He had heard the anguish in his soft, husky voice as he had tried to calm Harry.

And then Harry had wrenched free and sprinted after Bellatrix and he had not seem Remus since. Now, Harry's guilt and shame rose up and he heard himself apologising to the man who was the last of his father's best friends.

"I'm so sorry, Remus," said Harry, his voice thick with emotion. "It's my fault Sirius is dead. You had not long had him back and I took him away from you again."

Severus watched through hooded eyes as the werewolf held Harry at arms length and shook him gently in admonishment. He listened as Lupin absolved the boy of any wrong doing and assured him that he did not hold Harry responsible. Severus approved of the way Lupin was handling Potter's fragile emotions even though he could not approve of the man himself.

"The ones responsible for the loss of Sirius, Harry are Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange," Severus heard him say. Then he clutched Harry to his chest again and sighed into his hair.

"But I could have lost you too Harry. Dora told me what happened; she told me also that you were recovering nicely . But I had to see for myself."

Harry pulled back and smiled up into the careworn face of his father's last remaining friend. "I'm fine Remus. Really." He lowered his voice a little. "Professor Snape saved my life."

Harry felt Remus jerk where his hands had hold of his shoulders. His head turned toward the top table; his eyes sought Severus. Black eyes bore into brown and when finally Remus inclined his head slightly in thanks, Severus returned the gesture with the merest movement before looking away.

He watched dispassionately where Granger and the Weasley brood stood around Nymphadora, all chatting happily. Lupin and Potter had just joined them when there was another commotion in the entrance hall. All eyes swivelled around and alighted on Hagrid who had just huffed into view, his tablecloth sized red, spotted handkerchief mopping the small amount of skin visible amongst all the black, wiry hair.

"Harry!" The half giant had swooped with remarkable speed and had Harry lifted into a rib cracking hug before anyone could blink.

Severus jumped to his feet. He was damned if he would stand by and watch all his hard work be undone. The boys liver, spleen and kidney's were still rather friable. Granger and Lupin had been overly enthusiastic in there greetings but Hagrid was just plain dangerous.

His deep voice reverberated around the hall. "Hagrid! Release him at once." Have a bit of care man. He has just been at death's door, for Merlin's sake.

His deep voice reverberated around the hall. "Hagrid! Release him at once. Have a bit of care man! He has just been at death's door for God's sake."

Hagrid looked horrified as he lowered a gasping Harry back to the floor. Harry stumbled a little and wrapped his arms around his ribs. Lupin grasped his arm to steady him as Snape swept around the staff table and off the platform, his robes billowing with a magnificent fury that matched the look on their wearer's face. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall followed more sedately and Molly hurried along behind them, her face creased with worry.

"Harry, I'm sorry," moaned Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes overflowing with tears and the handkerchief in his hands being wrung into a spiral so tight, the wrinkles would never be able to be smoothed.

"Harry, speak to me!"

"Hagrid, calm down," ordered Lupin who was still supporting Harry as he bent over his arms in an effort to ease his discomfort. He really felt as if he had at least one cracked rib but he had to reassure his friend. Harry could hear the devastation in his voice.

"I'm OK Hagrid," he gasped. He knew it wasn't enough, he could hear Hagrid's teary moans of anguish but he was hurting too much to stand up straight and show that his claim of being OK was true.

Hagrid had backed up but the others were clamouring around Harry. When it looked as though he would collapse to his knees, Remus put an arm around his back.

Severus' wand appeared in his hand and he summoned a chair. As he reached Harry and pushed Lupin aside, he grasped the chair back and lowered Harry onto it.

Harry's breath was now raspy and perspiration was beaded across his forehead. Severus' face was contorted with rage as he swept his wand over the distressed boy. The look of rage intensified as he continued assessing and all the teens, except Ginny fell back to stand with Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, Minerva and Molly.

Ginny, tears starring her eyes, knelt down next to Harry and put her hand on his knee.

"Miss Weasley, kindly move away!" barked Snape, unceremoniously.

Ginny glared at him but moved to obey until Harry put his hand over hers to keep her in place. "No," he gasped, "I want her to stay."

"What you want is of complete indifference to me, Potter." Snape's voice was implacable. "Now move Miss Weasley. You will be able to fawn when I have once more put this foolish boy back together again."

Ginny threw the nastiest look she could muster at the horrible man but did as she had been ordered. Molly took her in her arms and hugged her. Ginny swiped a hand across her wet cheeks and took a deep breath. She refused to succumb to any more tears. She turned in her mother's arms and watched Snape's every move.

The hall was silent except for Hagrid's noisy sobs, Hermione's sniffles and Harry's raspy breathing. Snape's expression became even angrier as he moved his wand in intricate circles over Harry.

"What's wrong with me?" Harry managed to gasp out, but a deeper pain rolled through him and he could not suppress a moan, though he tried valiantly, not wanting to upset Hagrid anymore than he already was.

"Shut up, Potter. Save your breath," bit out Snape, as he finally stowed his wand. He turned and addressed Dumbledore.

"Albus, the hospital wing is closer than my chambers. Could you levitate him there, please?"

Harry jerked upright. "What! No!..." But any further outburst was cut off when his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

With those amazingly fast reflexes that he hid so well, Dumbledore had his wand in his hand and Harry caught up in his levitation charm before the boy became boneless enough to topple off the chair. Harry floated upwards to the level of the wand that held him aloft.

"I will meet you there as quickly as I can." And Severus swept past the hovering crowd, ignoring the blubbering half-giant completely as he headed for the huge fireplace to floo to his chambers. There would be time enough to deal with the fool later.

Right now, he had potions to retrieve. He did not want to use those already in the hospital wing as they were old stock. He had not had time to re-stock yet as his time had been taken up with the dilemma of Harry Potter. And that dilemma did not look like it was going to end any time soon.

Ten minutes later, Severus swept into the hospital wing and approached the bed Albus had placed the boy in. He stalked past the cluster of worshipful supplicants and was grimly pleased to see that Hagrid was not amongst them. No doubt, he had skulked off to cry into a bucket sized goblet of mead; or more likely, fire whisky. But Hagrid's absence notwithstanding, Severus did not want any of them there and to that end, he spun around to face them.

"Out!" he snarled.

Granger and the Weasley boys jumped to obey but mother and daughter Weasley stood their ground and glared at him. Nymphadora had a hold of Lupin's sleeve and was tugging, but Lupin held firm.

"Now, Severus, we need..."

Snape cut him off with a vehement hiss. "It is what I need that counts, Lupin. And I need to work in peace and quiet. I do not need to be listening to any more weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, whilst I attempt to put that fool of a boy back together again."

Lupin had paled under this onslaught, but his chin came up and he gazed back at Severus with dignity. "Very well. We shall wait outside until you have the time to tell us all how Harry is faring." And he turned and left the room with Tonks still clinging to his arm.

Snape rested his stygian gaze on the Weasley matriarch. She still stood her ground but she shooed her clearly reluctant daughter out after Lupin. Then, with a wave of her wand, she shut the doors, clearly so that the adoring crowd beyond would not be able to hear whatever it was she had to say.

Severus was secretly amused at her bravery in standing up to him but he did not, by even the slightest quirk of his lips, let her see. He cut her off at the pass before she could get into her stride.

"I do not have time for idle chitchat, Madam."

"I won't keep you for but a few seconds, then, Severus. But I feel it is my duty to tell you that you are a truly nasty man. Your contribution to our cause is invaluable, and obviously we are all greatly indebted to you for what you do for "the Order". That debt now extends to your saving Harry's life.

"But I am here to tell you, that unless you can learn to treat people like human beings, it will not matter how many good deeds you perform, you will die a lonely and bitter man. Now go and tend Harry."

And with that, she turned and with a swish of her wand, she swept through the opening doors. They closed behind her with a muted click.

Severus shut his mouth with a snap as soon as he realised that it had fallen open during Molly's tirade. Did the foolish woman not know just how nasty he could truly get?

He stood for wasted seconds glaring at the closed doors through which she had disappeared. The urge to follow her and really put the fear of Salazar Slytherin into her was almost overwhelming.

"Severus..." Albus' worried voice hailed him and he came back to the here and now and the problem Harry Bloody Potter.

In his exuberance, the half-giant had indeed cracked not one but three of Harry's ribs. Severus administered a dose of skelegrow; one of the few healing potions he had not had to use on the boy since this whole business had started.

The ribs were easy enough to deal with but more worrying was the fact that the boy's easily shredded liver was oozing blood again. He had to hold his healing crystal over the swollen, friable organ for fifteen minutes before the blood trickling into the abdominal cavity was staunched.

It took another twenty minutes to spell the blood out of Potter's abdomen, administer a sealing potion that Severus hoped would encapsulate the abused organ until it had time to heal properly, and give a further dose of blood replenisher.

At the end of treatment, the boy was awake and aware but clearly exhausted. It had been painful, despite the pain relief Severus had administered before even starting. Minerva, once again in her role of nurse, had conjured a bowl of warm water and a face cloth. When she would have started to wipe Harry's face, he tried to take the cloth and do it himself but Minerva slapped his hand away, albeit gently, and proceeded.

"I can do it," groused Harry. His belligerence was muted, however, by the weakness of his voice and Minerva ignored him.

Dumbledore and Severus were talking quietly but intensely over near one of the windows. Harry could tell Snape was angry and that Dumbledore was trying to pour water on the fire of the younger man's temper. Snape was looking down into the grounds and Harry knew that from that vantage point, Hagrid's cabin was clearly visible.

Snape's voice had risen a little and Harry clearly heard the words "unthinking" and "totally irresponsible" and "danger to them".

Harry was worried. He pushed himself into a more upright position, ignoring McGonagall's protests and the many twinges of pain. Both wizards turned around to face Harry when he cried out, "Professor Dumbledore, you can't punish Hagrid, Sir! He didn't mean to hurt me. He doesn't know his own strength, is all."

Harry's eyes were beseeching as they tracked Dumbledore's progress back to his bed. Snape stayed at the window, arms crossed and his habitual scowl in place.

Dumbledore patted Harry's knee through the covers and smiled reassuringly. "Harry, I have no intention of punishing Hagrid. Accidents will happen, and I blame myself for today's mishap more than anyone else. It is I who encouraged Severus to let you venture so far away from your sick bed."

"But I'm not sick, anymore." protested Harry. "I just...I just need to regain my strength and normal activity will surely speed that along."

"With care, I am sure that is correct," agreed Dumbledore. "But we did not count on the exuberance of your friends-particularly your biggest friend."

Over near the window, Snape snorted. Dumbledore ignored him. "Do not worry about Hagrid, Harry. I will visit him later to set his mind at rest. I am sure, by then, he will have punished himself quite thoroughly."

"Yes," scathed Snape. "And no doubt he will need a bucket of hangover cure to counteract his punishment."

Dumbledore closed his eyes momentarily, as though his patience was being sorely tried. Then he peered over the top of his half moon spectacles at Severus. "I do believe you have an appointment in the dungeons, Severus. Correct me if I am wrong, but I think you have less than ten minutes to tend your potion."

As Harry watched, what little colour adorning Snape's face drained away completely. To check the headmaster's pronouncement, he pulled a battered silver watch from a hidden pocket in his robes and stared at it. Then with his lips pressed tightly together, he swept towards the fireplace in Madam Pomfrey's office.

"Professor Snape!" Snape squared his shoulders and turned at Potter's summons. He lifted a thin eyebrow in question.

"May I get up now?"

Snape looked as if he might explode. "Do not even think about getting out of that bed. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Perfectly," snarled Harry, bitterly.

In the next instant, his gaoler had disappeared through the office doorway and seconds later, there was a whoosh and a flash of green.

8888

Severus stood over the tiny, gold cauldron, the scarlet, pearlescent brew within bubbling gently around the edge. He had already cleansed his finger with the alcohol and was holding the lancet, ready to jab his finger.

The cheerfully bubbling brew seemed to exhort him to get on with it. It would be quick; the tiny discomfort would be hardly noticeable. And he would not miss the drop of blood that would perhaps change his life for ever.

If things turned out for the worst (Dumbledore would, of course, say it was for the best) did his life really have to change? He could ignore the results. If the boy never knew then Severus could just push the knowledge behind his strongest Occlumency shield forever and forget about it. Life would go on as before.

Potter would heal and he would go back to his relatives to keep his mother's blood protection active. Perhaps Dumbledore would let him spend some time with the Weasleys. The wards at the Burrow had already been strengthened and the property was now under the protection of the "Fidelius Charm".

And he would brew his potions for the school, for the Order and for The Dark Lord. He would get ready for the next school year. He would answer any summons made by his Master, and attend meetings for the Order. In his spare time, he would be underground, spying for Dumbledore and plotting against The Dark Lord.

He would not have time to learn how to be a father. And even if he did have the time, he was not sure he had the inclination, or that he could learn to care for "The Boy Who Lived".

Severus took a deep breath and let his head drop forward onto his chest, his hair swinging forward to hide his face. His thoughts turned to Lily, his one true love. Yes, she had chosen Potter in the end but Severus knew she had been fond of him. If he had not gone looking for glory and recognition and acceptance within the Dark Lord's forces, she may have looked on him in a romantic light. After all, she had detested James for a good many years. She had never detested him, despite his chosen way of life.

Who knew what would have happened if he had not tried to blot out the memory of his miserable childhood by hanging onto a crazed xenophobe's coat tails whilst he created a new World Order, where pure-blood wizards and the privileged few like himself who had much to offer the Cause, would rule supreme; all other magical creatures would be controlled and tagged and would bow down to wizards. And Muggles would be killed or enslaved and Muggle-born witches and wizards would be denied a wand and then killed or enslaved.

Yes, he had embraced the Cause. After all, it was a Muggle who had made his childhood so miserable. It was a Muggle who had been the cause of his mother's misery and ultimately, her early death. And it was Tobias Snape that the Dark Lord had given to Severus as his first kill, the day after he had been branded as belonging to Lord Voldemort.

Severus had been sixteen that July, and eager to prove himself. He had been at Malfoy Manor when he had been branded, and it was there he had been given his assignment.

He had travelled home by train because though he was a Death Eater, he still did not have his Apparition licence, though he knew how to Apparate. His master did not want attention drawn to any of them by the flaunting of petty rules and regulations. After all, Severus was still at school and had a good vantage to keep an eye on the young witches and wizards who had rejected their cause out of hand. He could also keep an eye on Dumbledore to a small degree, much as Lucius had done before him.

Severus had waited for his father to come home that night. He knew that he would be drunk. He planned to taunt him, beat him and degrade him before he killed him. Just as he, loathsome Muggle that he was, had beaten and degraded his wife, Severus' mother.

Severus had waited for hours and in the end, none of it had come to pass. Oh, Tobias Snape had died but Severus had missed the pleasure of performing the task himself. The police had come to the door late that night and informed him that his father had been killed in a pub brawl.

Severus remembered his shock, remembered how the two police had been so solicitous of him he remembered how the young, pretty WPC had made him a cup of tea in the gungy kitchen and enquired of him if he had any relatives he wished them to call.

He had sent them off with assurances that he would be fine-had lied to them about his age, implying that he was eighteen and could look after himself. He had thanked them for their concern.

The Dark Lord had been sympathetic that Severus had not, after all, been able to deal with his unworthy father himself. But there was no shortage of Muggles and it had not been too many weeks later, before the start of his sixth year, in fact, that Severus had killed his first Muggle.

It had sickened him-the torture even more so.

It was only from the perspective of many years hence that Severus had thanked Merlin that he had not, after all, had to kill his father. Patricide was not one of the sins that could be laid at his door.

But there were countless others.

Would Lily be happy to know that her beloved son had the chance to be able to call her old childhood friend, "Father"? Would she think that it was a betrayal of her husband, or would she only think of Harry and what it could mean to him to have a living parent? After all, it had been she who had begged Severus to save James' life by giving him some of his blood. She had studied the properties of magical blood in her work as an "Unspeakable". Surely, she would have known the risk of Severus passing on some of his magical signature to James.

The relationship between himself and James had been the reason she had come to him for assistance, not Black or Lupin. His and James's magic would have had a common denominator because of their familial bond. Lily had known this-she had hoped that the two signatures would overlap and blend, and not have one battling for supremacy over the other.

And she had been right. James had survived and had apparently continued to live a normal life, with his magic seemingly unaffected by the "foreign' signature-because they had been so alike anyway.

Had Lily known when she had found out she was pregnant that Severus's magical signature may have been laid down in her child's makeup-had she known that her son very likely had three parents?

Severus prayed that she had known. If, in fact, it turned out to be true.

8888

Severus did not realise Albus had arrived until he felt the lancet being removed from his numb fingers. All the old wizard said was, "Which finger?" and Severus presented his left hand and held up his index finger.

He kept his eyes averted like a small child as Albus pricked the finger and carefully massaged the blood towards the small wound. But when Albus lifted his hand over the cauldron, he could not help but watch as the crimson drop seemed to fall in slow motion before disappearing below the surface of the scarlet, pearlescent brew.

Albus was stirring carefully with the golden rod and Severus, ignoring his bleeding finger, watched, mesmerized as the crimson mixture slowly turned darker and darker. Albus did not need instructing, he himself was an accomplished Potioneer, though he had never become a Master, and he knew to keep stirring, though nothing else seemed to be happening.

One minute...two...three. Severus held his breath and at four minutes, the potion began, imperceptibly, to lighten again. After another minute, there was no mistaking that the mixture was definitely paler in colour.

They had their answer, but both wizards continued to watch and when, finally, the faintest tinge of pink had disappeared to leave the mixture the pearly colour it had been before the boy's blood had been added that morning, Albus stopped stirring.

Severus could not drag his eyes away from the beautiful, shimmering surface. There could be no question; the potion had gone through the whole of the documented transition without a flaw. If Severus was not Harry's father, the brew would have turned totally black and then, instead of steadily lightening to its original colour, his blood would have caused the black liquid to coagulate.

His and Potter's blood had merged perfectly.

Severus supposed he had expected this result. Despite all his denials, all his protestations and his railing at Albus, he had known, deep down what would happen today. That tell tale mark on the boy's leg-the shape, the size, the colour, the location-the combination of all those factors, added to his history with James, did not add up to a coincidence. He had known that. But he had not wanted to admit it.

It was difficult to get his head around the fact of just how perfectly his blood had blended with Potter's, when neither of them could be in the others company for any period of time without there being disharmony and outright combat.

A far cry from those two, harmonious drops of blood.

Albus was bustling around like somebody's wife, spelling the flames out, disposing of the contents of the cauldron, and washing the golden implements with warm water and a non abrasive cloth. Severus watched him with a detached gaze and when the old wizard had put the valuable equipment away, he lifted Severus' hand and spelled it clean of a surprising amount of dried blood (he had not known he had bled so freely) before taking his elbow and guiding him from the laboratory and back to the sitting room.

Dumbledore guided Severus into a chair. He was as compliant as someone who had been confunded. The black, hooded eyes watched as Dumbledore poured a measure of single malt into two squat tumblers. When he took the glass held out to him, he stared into its amber depths for a minute or so before seeming to come out of his reverie. He looked at Albus with a quirked eyebrow and a smirk.

"I thought I was on rations."

Albus chuckled. "For medicinal purposes, my boy." He held up his own glass in a toast.

"To the new father."

Severus scowled. "Not so bloody new. Thirty-six is too old to embrace fatherhood when it is neither expected, nor wished for."

"Ah, but my boy. You have not become the father of a new infant. You have become the father of a young man. And not just become, I might add; you have been Harry's father since the day of his conception."

"And I am supposed to rejoice in that? Not only is "The Boy Who Lived"-with all his attendant problems-my son, but I didn't have any of the fleeting pleasure that the conception of a baby is supposed to afford." He scowled at the remains of his whisky and then threw it back, the harsh liquid searing his throat and oesophagus.

"Once again, my esteemed cousin beat me." The words were perhaps not quite as bitter as they may once have been.

"Yes, Severus, it was James who experienced that fleeting instant of pleasure. But James is dead, and he only had fifteen months in which to cherish his son. You and Harry have the rest of your lives to build a relationship."

Severus slammed his glass down on the small table beside his chair and bounded to his feet, unable to stay still. He paced backwards and forwards as he had done earlier that day, as one worry after another crowded his mind.

"The rest of our lives! The rest of our lives may be very short lived! The Dark Lord is determined to kill my son at any cost and has obviously got sympathisers within the school willing to help out.

"And if that creature ever detects the slightest inkling of my new knowledge, I will be a dead man." Severus rounded on Dumbledore, a slightly crazed look in his obsidian eyes.

"But not before he forces me to bring my son to him so that he can kill him in front of me." He threw his arms wide and the crazed look intensified.

"Albus! This is madness! I do not know if I can bury this knowledge deeply enough. You will have to "Obliviate" me. It is too dangerous for the boy."

"I do not think we need to go that far, Severus. Obliviate you? Before you can experience the wonders of fatherhood."

"How would you remember the wonders of fatherhood, Old Man?" asked Severus peevishly. But before Albus could answer, Severus continued to rant.

"And fatherhood could perhaps be wondrous if the child was anyone other than "Harry Idiotic-Gryffindor-In-Every-Sense-Of-The-Word Potter!" If it is up to me to be responsible for the infuriating young fool, I may very likely kill him in very short order. That is, if he does not kill himself first during one of his idiotic forays into danger, or the Dark Lord does not get him. Nor indeed, one of his minions."

"Yes, I agree, my boy. You will certainly have your work cut out for you."

Severus snorted. "Well, that's fine. I have scads of spare time. I'm frequently bored out of my brain trying to think up tasks to counter the boredom of my days."

Dumbledore chuckled. Severus' devastatingly acerbic tongue had cut many an unwary communicant to ribbons. The man had a brilliant mind and he did not suffer fools gladly. If he was not interested in what a person had to say, he reduced him or her to a quivering mass with a devastation that was painful to watch. There were few who were game enough to duel the precision instrument that was Severus Snape's tongue.

The poor student body lived in constant fear, of course. Mere adolescents stood absolutely no chance against a man who had a basilisks glare down to a fine art and a vocabulary that was extensive and used with cutting exactitude.

Albus occasionally stepped in to calm a devastated student, especially the first or second years. But in most instances he allowed Severus free rein, as long as it was only his tongue that he used to maintain discipline.

And though Severus' temper was legendary, Albus knew his self control was unyielding. Albus would not tolerate corporal punishment within his school and Severus had never crossed that line.

Most of the students professed their hatred for their Potions Professor but few of them had to make use of the hospital wing as a result of the misuse of potentially dangerous ingredients and even fewer of them failed their OWLs.

Severus maintained that a firm hand and a cutting tongue prepared the students for the realities of the big, bad world. And all but the very rare few, at least had a rudimentary knowledge of basic potions.

The student who had pushed him closest to losing that formidable self control, was of course, Harry. But Harry had always been a special case and the potential for disaster had always been there.

Harry's initial bewilderment at obviously being signalled out for "special" treatment had turned to active dislike and anger. Severus Snape and Harry Potter had always reacted to each other like oil and water. And Albus knew most of the fault lay at Severus' door, as he was the adult.

It was his history with the Marauders and Harry's relationship with and resemblance to his hated cousin that had been the mountain that Severus had found impossible to scale. But despite the "James Factor", Severus had managed to overcome that emotional block enough to pull out all the stops to help keep Lily's beloved son safe.

And now, this embittered, talented and powerful young man had another emotional hurdle to try and overcome. Albus prayed that this amazing development would eventually lead to self-forgiveness and peace for the troubled soul of Severus Snape.

The discovery that one had a son who was also part of the only woman one had ever loved, was a miracle.

A truly, magical miracle, made all the more miraculous because of the seemingly unprecedented occurrence of the child having two fathers; and the knowledge that one of those fathers had never lain with the mother.

8888

Now Albus watched with amused concern as Severus stalked about his sitting room, his robes billowing impressively and giving him the appearance of the bat that the students often likened him to.

Albus decided he had let the boy hyperventilate long enough.

"Severus!" The commanding tone was-despite the lack of volume-enough to halt Severus in his tracks.

"Please sit down."

Severus glared for several seconds but Albus just looked calmly back over the top of his steepled fingertips.

Like a petulant child, he threw himself down with a huff and a flurry of robes and glared at the logs in the fireplace with an intensity that could have sent them up in flames.

Albus decided that the best course of action was to take the bull by the horns. "When are you going to tell Harry about his changed status?" he asked in a calm voice.

Severus' brow creased. "Change of Status?"

Good, thought Albus. No explosion. "Well of course, my dear boy. Harry is no longer an orphan."

Severus stared at his friend and mentor for several charged seconds before he turned back to the fascinating view of stacked logs in the cold grate. A slim, elegant hand crept up to massage his forehead in an attempt to get rid of the throbbing pain that had taken up residence there.

"The boy has managed well enough as an orphan for the last fourteen and a half odd years. I seriously think it would be unwise to change the status quo."

"You do not think Harry has the right to know he has a father?"

"We have discussed this, Albus. It is my opinion that he would rather be an orphan that find out that I am his father. One of his fathers."

"And I have told you that that boy has a great capacity for forgiveness, Severus."

The younger man glared at Dumbledore with gimlet intensity. "I also need to be able to forgive, Dumbledore. Our mutual enmity is a double- edged sword. It is not all down to me."

Albus raised a white eyebrow, his expression edging away from patient indulgence. "That statement, my dear boy is both childish and patently untrue. You are the adult, Severus and you started in on that child as soon as he first set foot in your classroom. He did not know what hit him.

"Asking a Muggle raised child what he would get if you added powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood, or where he could find a Bezoar, or what the difference is between Monkshood and Wolfsbane, was cruel."

Severus' mouth had fallen open in shock.

"It was nothing but pure spite and you know it. You knew it then, but you saw James and you went for his throat.

"No doubt, your Slytherins were highly amused to see you cut the "famous Harry Potter" off at the knees within days of his starting at Hogwarts.

"In point of fact, there was only one person in that first year class who could have answered those fifth year questions. Indeed, she was eager to do so but you totally ignored her because you were not interested to see who knew the answers, you just wanted to ridicule James' son."

When Severus continued to gape at Dumbledore, the old mage elaborated. "I was curious to see how things would pan out when you had Harry under your power for the first time.

"I disillusioned myself and entered the classroom behind the children." He fixed the embarrassed young man before him with a beady eye. "I was disappointed, to say the least.

Severus' hands gripped the arms of his chair with white knuckled ferocity. Patches of red rode high on his cheekbones. "Why did you never say anything?" he hissed, but clearly uninterested in the answer, he continued, "How dare you spy on me in such a fashion. How often has this clandestine behaviour manifested itself, Albus? Or was it just the impulse of the moment?"

"It was entirely a spur of the moment decision, Severus. I was crossing the entrance hall and the first year Gryffindors were trailing down to the dungeons. I saw the apprehension in Harry's little face-he had obviously noticed the death glares you kept shooting at him during meals-and I decided to follow and observe. I had never done it before and I have never done it since." Dumbledore had the grace to look a little ashamed of is actions.

"You are very good, you know." The bitter words were not a compliment. "Perhaps you should do your own spying amongst the ranks of the Dark Lord from now on."

Dumbledore sighed. "However abhorrent my actions that day, your own were worse Severus. You are taking refuge in anger because you know you were at fault. But now you have a chance to make amends."

Severus fumed for several more seconds, but then it was as if all the air had been let out of him and he sagged bonelessly into the depths of the chair and leaned his head back, most unlike his normal, rigid posture. His eyes were closed and his voice immensely weary when he said. "He will never accept me. He will think he is betraying James' memory."

Albus sat in silence for several minutes, his intense, blue eyes fixed on the ceiling and the tips of his long fingers tapping against each other.

Finally, he said, "You could start by telling him about the request his mother made of you and why she asked you, and not Sirius, or Remus."

"And when do you suggest we indulge in this chit chat, Albus? When we are sitting in cosy proximity in front of the gentle flames licking at the aromatic pine logs in the fire...he reading "Quidditch Through the Ages" and me caught up in my latest Potions journal. Or perhaps when we are playing chess and exchanging fond banter across the board, I could throw it in."

"You are a clever, resourceful man, Severus. You will find the opportunity, I am sure. After all, you will have plenty of time. Harry obviously needs more time to recuperate fully, so he will be here with you for however long you deem necessary. After all, you are the healer and I would never presume to tell you your job."

Severus snorted inelegantly. "Of course not. Never been known to happen."

Albus unfolded his long, loose frame from the deep armchair and straightened his flowing, royal purple robes. "Perhaps we should adjourn to the hospital wing and see how our Mr Potter is faring after his latest mishap."

Another snort followed Albus as he disappeared in a flash of green.

8888

Still dusting off his robes, Severus entered the hospital wing. He stood just inside the doorway to Pomfrey's office and looked towards the bed in which he had left his patient. He could only assume that the boy had obeyed him and was still in the bed, as it was impossible to see him through the circle of bodies surrounding it.

Dumbledore had been incorporated into the crush and was standing at the foot of the bed talking to the werewolf. He still had the young aura attached to his arm and she seemed reluctant to release him for even a second. But where she looked radiant, Lupin had a slightly hunted look about him; his stance was determinedly relaxed but his face was tense and drawn, more tired looking than it should be considering the full moon was still a week away. It was as if he had tried but failed to disabuse the young witch of the advisability of setting her romantic heart on a werewolf. Nymphadora Tonks was a determined young woman and it would seem that Remus Lupin was trapped.

The girl was a fool and if the look on his old school nemesis's face was anything to go by, he thought so too.

Molly Weasley was chatting to the Metamorphmagus and as there were no askance looks in Lupin's direction, it would seem the Weasley matriarch had given her stamp of approval to a second romance this day.

The troublesome Weasley twins were conversing and gesticulating with flamboyant gestures to two-thirds of the golden trio; the red-haired third of whom was looking excited but the "Know-It-all" third was looking mutinous and entirely disapproving of whatever hair brained scheme was being hatched.

So, where was the little Weasley Princess? Severus stalked closer until he could see between Granger-who was sitting on the edge of the bed-and Dumbledore.

Ginevra was curled on the top of the covers, her back propped against a pillow-padded headboard and her arm around Potter. His head was resting on her shoulder and her other hand was playing with his unruly mop of hair. Neither of them was talking but they seemed to be communicating in another way.

The boy's eyes were open but they were staring at nothing. He looked exhausted, and even though his face was drawn as the result of lingering pain, Severus was sure, he appeared content. The two of them were isolated on a little island of peace while the madness went on around them. The hovering horde were allowing them their moment of separation. Probably, Molly Weasley had seen that the boy was at the end of his tether...after all she had probably nursed all her children through various illnesses, and so would be aware of the signs, despite the bravado Potter would no doubt have been trying to exhibit.

She probably also knew just how weak the boy was because she was not objecting to her daughter reclining on a bed with the boy she imagined that she was in love with.

At their ages, it could only be imagination. Surely.

But then Severus thought of how long he had loved Lily and how old he had been when he had first realised it. And James and Lily had been married at eighteen, Lily had been pregnant at nineteen and she and James were parents at twenty. They were both dead at twenty-one.

It was his job to make sure the boy-his son-lived much longer than James and lily.

It was Granger who noticed him first. She jumped off the bed. "Professor!"

All heads swivelled around to look at him and he assumed the scowl they all expected to see. It felt familiar on his face. Granger had moved back and the three Weasley males stepped up to make a semi-circle around her. They glared at Severus and he wondered if they really thought to intimidate him. Idiotic young fools.

The adults' expressions ranged from amusement...Albus, tight-lipped disapproval...Molly, tired regret...Lupin (whatever that was about) and false bonhomie...Nymphadora.

Severus ignored them all. His eyes slid to Harry who was extricating himself from Miss Weasley's attentions and trying to sit up, a grimace of pain accompanying the movement. The girl was unfolding her legs decorously and sliding neatly to the edge of the bed where she jumped down and stood next to her brothers. She kept her eyes averted from him but watched Harry with concern.

"I believe it is time for this worshipful congregation to disperse." The teens looked mutinous. "Mr Potter, as I am sure you must all realise, needs to rest."

"He has been resting." snapped the fiery little red-haired wench. Funny-Lily had never had the purportedly explosive temper usually attributed to red-heads. She had been the definition of cool and logical.

"I meant, Miss Weasley, in peace and quiet. Two commodities difficult to come by in a room full of chattering people. Now..." he stepped up to Harry's side. "I bid you all adieu."

Severus reached for the covers but Harry stayed his hand by grasping his hand. Severus looked at the pale, long fingered hand on his sleeve and then raised an eyebrow. "There's something you want, Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Something," he said in a determined voice. "Is my system free of all the poison?"

At the fireplace, Snape delivered one more order before he disappeared. ‘And you still have that essay to finish.' Then in a flash of green, he was gone.

Harry had forced the meal down with a great deal of difficulty. As he had been so angry, he had found it nearly impossible to swallow. Flintoff had stood and watched him with an unblinking solemnity that made him fume even more. This elf was no Dobby. Just like Kreacher, he gave Harry the utter creeps.

When he had finished, he stormed back to the bedroom without a word to the elf. He slammed the door in his wake but he distinctly heard the loud crack of Flintoff's Disapparation through the sturdy timber.

Harry flopped backwards onto the bed and threw a forearm over his eyes. Well, that little scene had certainly put an end to the unspoken truce that seemed to have sprung up between himself and Snape. Hell, the man had been positively polite (for him) over the last couple of days. He had even taken to calling Harry "Mr Potter". Harry couldn't remember if that had happened at all during his time at Hogwarts. He seriously doubted it. True, there was no frivolous chit chat going on and Snape rarely initiated conversation unless it was to tell Harry to do something, but if Harry asked him something, he answered in a civil enough tone.

Snape had set up a small desk in the bedroom for Harry to do his homework. He had said he did not need to be distracted from his own work by the scratching of another quill, nor the random turning of pages of text books. Nor indeed, the rustling of rolls of parchment. Harry couldn't hide his surprise when Snape was able to supply him with the sixth year, Transfiguration textbook, but Snape had raised that overactive eyebrow and told him that as a teacher who might be asked to fill in for another teacher at any time, it was prudent to have all the text books for reference.

Tall, deep bookcases made of some sort of dark timber took up a great deal of wall space in the sitting room and bedroom. There were hundreds of books and Snape had told Harry that he could help himself to any of those he was able to remove from the shelves without magic. That edict had certainly limited his selection. Snape must have spent hours (but when) making his own restricted sections. Only about a third of the books were able to be removed. Still, there were some interesting references amongst them and when not doing homework, or eating, or sleeping, he had found himself reading-quite a bit.

Harry was distressed to find that he still kept dozing off at odd hours. Usually, he lay down on the sofa or on the bed, but once, he knew he had fallen asleep at his desk and he had woken up in the bed several hours later. He had not asked Snape about that, he did not want to dwell on the fact that Snape must not only have levitated him into the bed, but had also removed his shoes and socks and pulled the covers up over him...all without Harry waking.

He wanted to sleep again now, escape this hell for another couple of hours but he was not going to let Snape get on his case again because he hadn't finished the essay. He had no idea when the man would return but he was going to be ready. And so, with a groan, Harry hauled himself upright and dragged himself to the desk.

Snape stayed away for the rest of the day.

To Harry's credit, he did work hard on the re-write. As a starting point, he read Snape's snarky comments, and as well as his fifth year text, he used the NEWT reference he had taken from Snape's shelves. This time around, Harry felt that his writing was much more structured and he had been able to include details he would have missed if he had not read the extra references. He had found several more books that delved more deeply into the thing that Hermione always said was vitally important to learn: The theory behind a spell.

Harry had smiled when he thought of Hermione and how she would rhapsodise over Snape's private library.

Finally, at nine PM, Harry set his quill aside and leaned back, arching his back and hearing joints pop alarmingly. He was very happy with the four foot long composition. Professor McGonagall would be happy too, Harry was sure; probably very surprised as well. Harry had never spent so much time on a single piece of work before. But even more amazingly, he had retained the information and it all made sense. And he knew he would be able to do the spells. He just knew it. So, practice combined with theory equalled success. Just as Hermione had always advocated. Harry had never felt so confident that he would be able to get a spell right on his first try.

Harry's only respite from study and writing after Snape had stormed off through the floo had been toilet breaks and when the house elf, Flintoff had Apparated back to the rooms to supervise Harry's food intake. This had happened two more times after that first appearance and Harry's dislike of the elf had only increased.

During each small meal, Harry had eaten doggedly and the silence between himself and the elf had been fraught with ill feeling. But Harry had been unable to ignore his presence because those spooky amber eyes had never left him for an instant. Harry had not even seen him blink. Not once.

Harry yawned and rubbed his scar. He didn't even realise he was doing it. The lightning bolt was red and angry looking, as was the skin surrounding it. All the time he had been working, he had sat with his elbow on the desk and his hand rubbing and kneading the irritating mark. Now, barely able to keep his eyes open, Harry rolled his parchment into a tight scroll and tied it with a thin length of red ribbon. After placing it carefully in the desk drawer, he staggered across the room and collapsed on top of the covers, asleep before he was fully horizontal.

8888

Severus waved his wand in a gentle arc and the flame beneath the medium sized iron cauldron became the merest flicker. He gave the contents of the cauldron seven slow anticlockwise stirs before drawing the long handled wooden spoon rapidly through the turbid greyish brew and then performing seven clockwise stirs. He then placed a tight fitting lid on the cauldron. The Wolfsbane Potion within would now be kept barely warm for the next forty hours, and would need stirring every eight hours in the same manner as he had just done it.

Severus had been making Wolfsbane Potion every month for three odd years now. Remus Lupin's life had become immeasurably easier since Albus Dumbledore had asked him to teach at Hogwarts in the August of 1993. That August had been the first month that Remus' painful monthly transformations had become, if not exactly pain free, then at least easily bearable.

His recovery period afterwards had been reduced from nearly five days of healing wounds, muscle tremors and exhaustion, to twenty-four to thirty hours. These days, there was little in the way of open wounds to heal, as Remus now kept his senses and no longer had the desire to attack. Being deprived of victims because he had always been confined in strongly warded rooms during the full moon, he had instead, savaged himself. Now Remus slept after transforming, curled up in his wolf form, only waking to the agony of his body changing back to its human form.

Severus was proud of this potion. The brew was his own invention, one he had started working on whilst still a student at Hogwarts and it had taken him several years to perfect. Wolfsbane was very difficult to brew and only the most talented potioneers even attempted it; most thought it was too much trouble. Severus had benefited quite handsomely from the royalties he received as the result of releasing the formula for publication in the most prestigious potions journals.

His discovery that Lupin was a werewolf and his own near death as a result of that discovery during their sixth year at Hogwarts had been the catalyst that had seen Severus begin, in minute detail, the study of werewolves and their habits. His progress had been delayed for long periods of time, especially during the period when he was studying for his Mastery and then his Healer's qualifications. But he had found himself going over his old notes during periods of frustration or boredom with his other studies. The subject was never too far away from the periphery of his thoughts.

Severus had always denied strenuously that the long years of research had anything at all to do with Remus Lupin. If asked, he would always reply in tones dripping with icicles that he would never do anything that would actually benefit the werewolf, as he hated him with every fibre of his being. His own near-death experience at the slathering jaws of a werewolf (Severus told himself that it was not significant that the werewolf that was responsible for his near-Death experience was Remus Lupin) had-after he had finally recovered from the shock-piqued his interest and his desire to save some other poor unfortunate from a fate similar to the one he could well have suffered that night.

As Severus cleaned utensils and scrubbed down the marble work bench, his thoughts dwelled on Remus Lupin. He had been shocked and absolutely incensed when that infuriating old fool he occasionally called friend, had informed him three years previously that Remus would be joining the staff as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Severus remembered with a grimace that he had practically been frothing at the mouth as he had screeched like a fishwife, but Dumbledore had a counter for every argument he had raised. The infuriating old coot had a habit of making Severus feel like a small child throwing a tantrum. But the final straw that had him closer than he had ever been to resigning, had been when the senile old man had told him that he, Severus would be supplying Lupin with the Wolfsbane Potion. He had laughed in the old man's face, but Dumbledore had sat stony faced until Severus' fit of hysterics had subsided.

Of course, all his arguments had been for naught. Dumbledore had prevailed, as Severus had known he would. Severus had found himself eating alongside his old school nemesis, sitting next to him in staff meetings, running into him in the hallways and the castle grounds, and, the thing that stuck in his craw the most, making the Wolfsbane every month.

Severus, who had not seen Lupin since the end of their school days, had discovered that it was practically impossible to rile the gentle, even tempered man, who, amazingly looked upon Severus as an old school acquaintance rather than a bitter enemy. The man was infuriating.

Severus worked at a steady rhythm, now melting wax and sealing the dozens of phials of "mild sleeping draught" he had prepared for the Infirmary stocks. This potion had a long shelf life and was the one Severus always prepared first when it came to restocking. This particular potion, while mild, was most efficacious for the first year students who may be suffering from insomnia due to home sickness.

It was easy and quick to brew and Severus had had no trouble supervising its brewing whilst he had started on the much more finicky and time consuming Wolfsbane.

In the beginning he had grudgingly made the Wolfsbane Potion at Dumbledore's request (read order) but since the end of that disastrous year when Lupin had been part of the Hogwarts faculty, and possibly because of an infinitesimal amount of guilt due to his part in losing Lupin his first decent job, Severus had continued to make the potion for the werewolf. His self justification for an act that could possibly be seen as an act of kindness (Merlin forbid) was because Lupin was a member of the Order, and frequently put himself in danger and that it was in his, Severus's best interests to keep the man as fit and healthy as he could.

And of course, there was now the added complication that the boy whom he had just discovered to be his son, looked upon Lupin as something akin to an uncle.

The boy.

Severus scowled as he scraped the excess wax away from the necks of the phials with a fine blade. He had left Potter...no, he had left Harry alone in his quarters over ten hours ago. He had not dared go back earlier as his foul mood had not abated enough for him to trust himself around other human company, let alone Harry Bloody Potter.

Ten hours seemed to have done the trick though and as he cleaned up after his day of brewing and made a final check on the wolfsbane, Severus could finally admit to himself that he had been totally unreasonable towards the boy. Harry had not had a clue as to what had sparked the vicious outburst, and though he could not condone the temper tantrum that had set spark to tinder, it alone had most certainly not been enough to warrant his own explosion of rage.

Seeing the birthmark which had been the beginning of his descent into this quagmire of unpleasant discoveries, had not prepared Severus for seeing the truth of Albus' assertion: That the boy got his flash point temper from him.

And Severus had seen more than the outward display of temper in the boy earlier that day. He had, for the first time, opened his eyes to see that, though Harry had the overall look of James; the shape of his face, the neat, straight nose and the hair that would not lie flat at the crown, he also had his, Severus' high cheek bones and finely arched eyebrows. The round glasses hid both to a certain extent, but Severus had seen the flush upon those cheekbones and the way those brows had straightened when drawn together in a fierce line when the boy had been in a roaring temper. He was James in repose and when happy, and Severus when in a filthy mood.

Wonderful! It would appear that the worst of the Boy Who Lived was Severus Snape. He snorted in self mockery as he locked and warded the door to the large laboratory attached to his office and classroom. It struck him that no one would be surprised at this discovery if the truth of Harry's parentage ever got out. Of the two cousins, James had been the happy, upbeat one and he, Severus had been the miserable, quick tempered one. Most had never known, nor guessed, that he and James Potter were related. And neither boy had advertised the fact, each keeping the festering, family feud going with their inherent dislike of each other.

In hindsight, of course it was easy for Severus to see that his Potter grandparents had had good reason to object to their daughter marrying Tobias Snape. It was not the fact of the man having been a Muggle as it was the fact of his having been a vicious bastard. Obviously, his grandparents had seen what his mother had been unable to see in the beginning and what she had been unable to admit later on because of pride. And though she never admitted it to him, Severus knew that she deeply regretted the fact that she had defied her parents and left them and her twin brother to be with a man who little deserved her and who had made her life a living hell.

Lily had once told him that Adam Potter, her father-in-law and Severus' uncle, deeply regretted the fact that he and his sister were estranged and that she had died before they could reconcile. Pride and stubbornness ran strongly in the veins of Potter descendents. His mother had had both-and so did he. So too had Adam and James.

Pride and stubbornness had indeed been passed on to Harry, the later in spades.

8888

When Severus stepped gracefully from the fireplace, he found his sitting room in complete darkness. He spelled a wall lamp on and found that the room was exactly as he had left it.

He was not surprised to see it thus because, as ordered, Flintoff had appeared in the lab each time the boy had consumed a meal. The elf had informed him that Harry Potter had grudgingly eaten the food prepared for him and that each time, he had left the table without a word and retired to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Severus could see, under the door that the bedroom was in complete darkness. Convincing himself that he only wanted to use the bathroom before he went to bed himself, and not that he wanted to check on the "Bloody Pest who Lived", Severus entered the room silently.

The wall lamp in the sitting room cast enough light for Severus to see the boneless heap on top of the covers. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. The idiot child had not even removed his glasses, let alone his shoes and socks. Severus did both, noting as he levitated the boy and pulled the covers back, that he slept like the dead.

Severus grimaced. That was not an analogy that he cared for, considering how close the boy had come to death. Then he reminded himself that Harry was still healing and that his body had been through a tremendous upheaval and was still trying to right itself.

Severus stared down and felt something strange and heavy take up residence in his chest. This irritating Gryffindor had been through more than any other student who had ever passed through this school. The fact that he had survived was more good luck than good management. Of course, there was no getting away from the fact that the young fool had knowingly put himself in the path of danger practically too many times to count. But there was also no getting away from the fact that his actions had always been an attempt to protect others. Severus did not think he had ever met such an altruistic person in the whole of his life. The boy would never have been sorted into Slytherin with that mile-wide streak of unselfishness running through him.

Then, of course, there had been that one time that Potter had not been responsible for the danger he had found himself in. The Triwizard Tournament and its unspeakably horrifying outcome; the death of a student, the torture and near death of Harry himself, and the resurrection of the nemesis of the wizarding world. Even when Severus had been at his sneering best, accusing the boy of cheating to get his name into the goblet, he had not really believed it. Severus doubted that even Filius or Minerva, or himself would have been able to break Dumbledore's age charm, let alone a fourteen year old wizard in training. He had just wanted to get at the boy, as usual, and he had been delighted with Karkaroff and Maxime's denouncement of the trumped up little upstart.

It was not until several hours after Potter had returned to Hogwarts with the body of Cedric Diggory that Severus had learned the whole of the sickening details of Potter's ordeal; after he had grovelled his way back into the inner circle and suffered horribly for that honour. Lucius had condescendingly allowed Severus to view his memory of the affair after Severus had, with superb ease, convinced his old friend that he was devastated to have missed the whole.

Not the escape of course, but the torture and ridicule that a practically defenceless, fourteen year old boy had endured at the hands of over twenty powerful, evil, fully grown wizards who would never be finished plumbing the depths of their own depravity. Yes, that was something (or so he had convinced Lucius) that he would have given much to have witnessed.

Lucius had obliged, and sickened though he had been, Severus had stored the memory away in his own memory banks for Dumbledore to peruse. As Dumbledore had expected, Harry had played down his suffering. And the memory did not include Diggory's death, nor the return of the Dark Lord. That had all happened before the Death Eaters were summoned.

Now, even in the muted light, Severus could see Potter's famous scar standing out in stark relief against the redness of the irritated skin around it. It had obviously been bothering the boy. He had lost count of the number of times that he had seen Pott...no... he had seen Harry absently scrubbing at the mark, as if he was trying to erase it.

Even in repose, that young, innocent face was not completely relaxed. There was the odd twitch, and the rapid eye movement was extreme. Sometimes, Severus had even seen the boy rubbing the scar whilst asleep.

Just as he was preparing to leave Harry to his dreams (or nightmares), Harry reached up and scrubbed at the scar viciously. A moan escaped his lips but he remained asleep, as if caught in a vision from which he could not escape. What fresh horrors was he experiencing?

Severus' eyes fixed on the back of the boy's hand. The words, "I must not tell lies", showed up bone white against Harry's normal skin tone. Severus had, of course, seen the scars before, many times. He had never commented on them specifically. He knew how they had gotten there and he was reminded forcefully that you did not have to be a disciple of the Dark Lords to have evil intent.

Severus knew, that if made to talk about his experiences at the hands of the Umbridge troll, Harry would only play down the issue. Dolores Umbridge was a person that Severus knew he would have absolutely no scruples about casting the Cruciatus Curse upon, until she no longer functioned as a human being. Much like Frank and Alice Longbottom. Umbridge did not have quite as far to sink to get to the state of the unfortunate Longbottoms, however; she barely deserved the title "human" in her normal incarnation.

As Severus left Harry to his now, restless sleep, his thoughts turned to the new potions that he needed for the boy-Dreamless Sleep and a salve to ease the discomfort in that scar, if such a thing was possible.

8888

Severus was enjoying his breakfast and perusing the drivel in the Daily Prophet that passed as news. Never let it be said that truth got in the way of a good story. These days, that saying was even more relevant. There was not one journalist at the Prophet who had the integrity or the intestinal fortitude to stand up to their new, political editors. Not one who actually had the balls to get out in the real world and do a bit of digging. The truth was definitely conspicuous by its absence in the wizarding worlds number one newspaper.

Severus slapped the paper down in disgust just as Harry stumbled out of the bedroom in his usual early morning, funk. He gave Harry a pointed stare when he dropped into his chair, banged his elbows on the table and lowered his head into his hands.

Rolling his eyes, Severus said, ‘You have the most appalling table manners, Mr Potter.

There was silence for a moment and then a muffled, ‘Yeah, well...I didn't have the best examples in the world,' issued from behind the bent forearms that hid Harry's face.

Harry cried out and nearly jumped out of his skin when Severus banged a hand down on the table top. The impact was so hard, the dishes rattled alarmingly. Harry stared, wide eyed at the man on the other side of the table.

‘You have an infinitely more accomplished exponent of table etiquette before you now, Mr Potter,' said Severus in a voice that was deadly in its intent. ‘And I tell you now, as long as you eat at my table, there will be no more slovenliness.

‘You will sit up straight without benefit of elbows on the table. You will cut your food into appropriately sized portions to fit into your mouth so that your lips can close, thus preventing you sharing minute particles of semi-masticated food with anyone unfortunate enough to be within range. You will not speak with a full mouth. You will place your knife and fork together when you have eaten your fill. And lastly, you will use your napkin rather than your sleeve to wipe your mouth.'

Harry's eyes had gotten rounder and rounder as this diatribe went on. He wanted to offer up a rebuttal, but knew that he had no grounds. He could hardly object to the strictures Snape had imposed because he knew that his conduct at the table left a lot to be desired.

He had not lied when he had said that he never had any kind of example in his uncle or cousin, both of whom always attempted to shovel as much food into their bulging maws in as short a time as possible. Aunt Petunia had conducted herself with more finesse, but the fact that she would pop sparrow sized portions into her mouth and chew with prune-mouthed precision turned Harry's stomach almost as much as Vernon and Dudley.

Harry didn't think that his manners were quite as bad as the professor implied, but if there was the slightest possibility that he had begun to emulate his uncle and cousin, then he had to stop.

Harry had never really eaten in such an intimate setting as he did down in these rooms with Snape. There was no one to monitor manners at the long house tables here at Hogwarts. Harry supposed that his barometer for what was acceptable there, and what was not, was Hermione. She told Ron off on a regular basis for his lack of manners, but she had never intimated to Harry that his conduct at the table upset her in any way.

And though meal times at the Burrow were not the nauseating spectacles the Dursleys presented, they were usually noisy, boisterous affairs that had as much to do with the sharing of information as they did with eating.

Harry loved eating at the Burrow. The food was always superb and the company equally acceptable. And though good table manners were not the highest priority, Mrs Weasley did try to maintain some semblance of order when her noisy sons became too boisterous or their conduct at the table deteriorated past what was acceptable.

And Harry did know what was acceptable. So what had he been trying to prove? Had he just wanted to goad Snape? After everything the man had done for him, why did he feel the need to assert himself, even to the point of making a total pillock of himself. Snape's opinion of him couldn't be lower if he was at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. Or could it?

Harry had been sitting with his head bowed, too ashamed to maintain eye contact. He could feel Snape's eyes boring into the top of his head. Time to bite the bullet. He took a deep breath and looked up, his hands now in his lap.

‘I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again.'

Severus was surprised. He had expected the boy to at least sulk and he had certainly not expected an apology without some prompting. And the words had not been said in an attempt to wheedle his way out of hearing further admonishments. Severus could tell that the look on his face was sincere. The boy looked totally ashamed of himself, as though the appalling manners had been a skilled performance put on for his benefit.

Severus stood. ‘I do not see a need to belabour the point any more, Mr Potter. I can see that you know what is acceptable and what is not.'

He left the table in a flourish of his robes. Harry was a little shocked by the abrupt departure as Snape usually stuck around to at least watch him drink the three phials of potion that he was still taking three times a day. He usually had a second cup of tea or coffee as well, while Harry ate his meagre breakfast.

Harry sighed and reached for the first phial but an impatient, ‘Potter, if you would kindly favour me with your presence,' from the bedroom saw him scrambling quickly to obey.

He stopped just inside the door. Snape was standing beside the bed and was removing the clear crystal he used as an aid to diagnosing from the wooden box it resided in.

‘I wish to check you over.' Snape pointed to the bed and Harry sighed resignedly and made to lie down. Snape put a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Take your T-shirt off, boy. Do I have to spell everything out?'

Harry's lips set mutinously. He fingered the bottom of the thin shirt but made no effort to lift it over his head. ‘Can't you do it through my shirt?'

Severus stared at the boy and fought down his natural inclination to snap. He thought he knew what was going on. Harry stood there, his face flushed and his stance defensive. The boy did not want to display his bare torso to his discerning eyes again.

Severus seriously doubted that the boy remembered the happenings of that fateful day when he had regained consciousness, only to blast him across the room because he did not want himself, nor Minerva, nor Albus to see his bare chest. And Severus knew why.

Potter had been either deeply asleep or unconscious all the other times that he had performed full examinations. Even in the hospital wing the other day, Potter had not awoken until his pyjama shirt was back on. He was embarrassed to display the numerous scars that criss-crossed his torso. Sensibly, the boy could not really think that Severus had not seen his bare body before now. But of course, this time, he was aware of it.

Severus took a deep breath and when he thought he had mastered his urge to sneer, he spoke in as understanding a voice as he could muster. ‘Mr Potter, you have been in my care now for ten odd days. I am a healer. Do you really think that I have not seen your body in various stages of undress during the whole of that time?'

Harry's face reddened even further and he clutched his shirt more tightly. His eyes darted to the door as though he was about to make a break for it. Severus took another deep breath. He felt as if he was trying to quiet a fractious hippogriff. He did not have a great frame of reference for "patient" or "gentle". He did neither well. But he had to try. They would never advance past this state of open warfare if he could not reel in his natural inclination to jump down the boy's throat every time he did not do exactly as he had been told, immediately he was told.

Harry Potter, was his son. His son! Those two words were not ones he had ever thought he would say. He was convinced he had never wanted to say them. And as much as he had never sought fatherhood, now that it had been thrust upon him, he found himself strangely reluctant to step back and ignore it. The reasons why were varied.

Though he had little idea of how a father should act, he was fairly certain that the negative interactions between a father and his child had to be modulated with at least that many-and almost certainly more-positive interactions.

And after many restless nights and much soul searching, he had convinced himself that if Lily had died rather than see her precious son killed, there was now no doubt in his mind that she would be thrilled to know that her orphaned son-unwanted and mistreated as he was by his aunt and uncle-had a living parent.

Severus had also convinced himself that Lily may have had an inkling of what would happen when he donated his blood to James. He had found himself wondering what would have happened if she and James had survived that Halloween night along with Harry. Would she have investigated? Would she have discovered that Harry had two fathers? And would she have told? He liked to think, yes. Lily had been as honest as the day was long. He was convinced that Lily would want him to acknowledge their son.

And though he had never known James intimately, he did know that he had been a loyal friend and a loving husband who had had an enormously strong sense of honour. He had also heard from Albus, just how ecstatic James had been when his son had been born...and what a devoted and loving father he had been.

Now that Severus knew about his own role in Harry's conception, he found he had another reason to be jealous of James. James had experienced all the joy of discovering that the woman he loved was pregnant with his child, and all the joy of holding a new born son. A brand new being who could be moulded into the person his loving parents wanted him to be.

But Severus did not have that raw clay to work with. The moulding had already been done, but not by the loving parents.

And suddenly, Severus could see just how remarkable the young man before him really was. Since viewing Harry's memories in the pensieve and discovering what his Muggle relatives had done to him over the years, Severus had only recently begun to think of all the boy had had to overcome. After all the contempt and abuse this child had suffered at the hands of his guardians, he had not become embittered. He was not vengeful or vicious.

Unlike what he himself had become as the result of his own deprived childhood. And he had had an advantage that Harry had not. He had had one parent who had loved him and had tried to protect him.

Harry had risen above his circumstances and become a person his dead parents would have been proud of. It was a source of everlasting shame to Severus that his own mother would have been greatly distressed by the terrible choices he had made in his earlier life. But he also knew she would have wept with joy when he had finally converted to the side of the light. It had taken too long, but eventually the lessons his mother had taught him, so long overshadowed by the anger and vengefulness that had taken hold of his soul because of his father's systematic abuse, had finally forced their way to the fore.

After all, he, Severus was part Potter. And he knew that his Potter part was better than his Snape part...because his mother had been a better human being than his father. And not just because she had been a witch.

It was obvious that Harry had a surfeit of the Potter honour and goodness with both James and himself being responsible for his paternity. That, combined with the contribution of the wonderful, kind, nurturing person who had been Lily Evans, made up the boy who was Harry Potter. Harry Potter...his son. His. And Lily's. And James'.

Oh, there was no getting away from the fact that the boy was not a saint. He was an irritating Gryffindor. He was defiant and cheeky, and far too angry, far to often. The adults (Albus, Minerva, Hagrid, Lupin and Molly and Arthur Weasley) who did care for him, indulged him far too much. He had not one iota of common sense when it came to self preservation, but he would die to protect his friends. He had enemies, but unlike James, he was not a bully. Severus had always known that the numerous confrontations over the years between Potter and Draco had always been instigated by Draco with his belief in his own pure blood superiority.

And if Harry had retaliated, it had more often than not been in an attempt to defend or protect his friends.

Harry Potter, had a streak of bravado a mile wide, but he was also vulnerable. He needed protecting...from himself as much as from his enemies. And he needed boundaries. He needed to realise that he was a sixteen year old wizard-in-training before he was the Famous Harry Potter or the Boy Who Lived.

In short, he needed someone who would provide all of those things. And without blowing his own trumpet, Severus knew he was the man for the job. He had always known that, he supposed. And he had always tried to protect Lily's boy, even when he couldn't stop himself hating James' son.

The boy he had come to know since he had been ill had been most of the things he had always known him to be...but he was also much more. Yes, he had been angry, but he had quelled that anger and expressed gratitude for Severus' efforts in saving him and trying to keep him well. He had been genuinely happy to see his friends but had been distressed to think they had been worried about him. Harry himself had been worried when Hagrid was upset after the fool of a half giant had injured him and he was in severe pain...then he had become frantic when he thought Hagrid would be punished.

And Severus now knew that Harry did not court his prodigious fame. He tried to deny it with his every word and action. He was not the arrogant little snot Severus had always proclaimed him to be. In fact, the boy was self deprecating to the point of being ridiculous.

Yes, Harry needed help, he needed guidance, but most of all, he needed protection. Perhaps, he even needed a father.

8888

‘Sir?'

Severus blinked. Merlin, how long had he been standing here, staring at the boy? Fifteen seconds? A minute? Two?

He needed to get this examination over with because the boy...Harry had still not eaten, nor taken his potions. So, he really needed to get the b...Harry to take off his shirt. Oh, he could spell it off, but that action would hardly gain him his ultimate objective.

He sighed again. ‘Mr Potter, I know you have scars on your body. Many more scars than a child of your age-nor indeed any age-should have. I also know how you got those scars.'

‘How could you poss...?'

‘I have seen many of your memories, Mr Potter. Remember?'

‘You didn't see...you only saw Ripper chasing me up the tree. You didn't...' Harry's voice had become a squeak. He did not want it to be true. And yet, he knew it was true; Snape must have seen the scaring. God knew, there was enough of it. But the memories...how could Snape have seen memories that he could not remember shifting through his brain when Snape had used Legilamency on him?

Severus broke in as Harry glared at him. ‘Mr Potter...Harry, please let's just get this over with. You need to eat and you need your potions. We can talk later.'

Harry was goggling at Severus. Had the man who always called him "Potter" with such contempt, just called him Harry? And said, "please"? "Harry" and "please" in the same sentence coming from Snapes mouth was hardly within the realms of possibility. Was it?

"Mr Potter", he had become used to because the "Mister" always sounded so forced, as though Snape used the title unwillingly. Harry assumed Dumbledore had encouraged Snape to try and put things on a friendlier footing between the two of them, as they had to spend so much time in each others company. But "Harry"...that was just too weird.

Shaking his head in bewilderment and resignation, and taking a deep breath, Harry pulled his T-shirt over his head, and then, without meeting Severus' eyes, he lay down and glared at the ceiling, his jaw set.

Stepping up to the bed, Severus worked quickly and efficiently. First of all, he pointed his wand at Harry and removed the two cushioning charms, Harry gasped as the pressure in his abdomen seemed to be drawn outwards...slowly, and then, he imagined he heard a slight pop, and he felt as if he could take a deep breath for what felt like the first time in forever. Forgetting to glare at the ceiling, his wide, green eyes snapped to Severus.

‘What just happened?'

‘I just removed the cushioning charms. As you can feel, the difference is quite significant.' Severus did not meet those green eyes, instead, he concentrated on positioning the crystal over Harry's liver.

‘Now, if you can lie still and quiet, this will be over and done with quickly.'

Instead of returning his gaze to the ceiling, Harry watched Severus as he concentrated on his task. He lay quietly, as ordered, and watched various expressions flit across the sallow face. The man's concentration was absolute and as Harry watched, he thought he could use those black eyes and eyebrows as a barometer for what the man was thinking.

There was the drawing together of the eyebrows; Harry assumed that to be confusion. Then the eyebrows lifted to form perfect arcs above the black eyes that were not, at this moment, empty and cold, nor blazing with fury; they were thoughtful and-though Harry found it hard to believe-concerned. After a couple of minutes of having the crystal moved around his upper abdomen, the eyebrows returned to their normal, straight line and the black eyes seemed to gleam slightly.

Harry took this to be satisfaction as Snape sighed deeply and removed the crystal. Harry noticed that the beautiful piece of faceted glass, which had been clear when placed upon his skin, now seemed to be pulsing from within, with the faintest red glow.

Snape straightened and with an almost indistinct mutter, said, "lumos", and directed the lighted tip of his wand through the crystal. Harry propped himself up on his elbows and watched as the healer moved the lighted tip back and forth and turned the crystal this way and that.

After about thirty seconds, Snape grunted and nodded his head. He then placed the crystal on the white crushed velvet lining of the wooden box from which he had taken it earlier. The red glow had become even fainter.

With his eyes still on the stone, Harry asked, ‘What does the red mean?'

With a movement of his finger, Snape indicated that Harry should lay down again. Harry tensed when Snape started to gently poke and prod him with strangely, warm fingers. His skin seemed to tingle wherever the healer touched him. Was this the result of Snape holding the crystal, or was it his imagination? He did not ask, he just focused on the ceiling again.

‘The red indicates that the blood is flowing unimpeded through your liver and spleen, the two organs I was checking.' He was silent for a moment as he slid one hand under Harry and pressed downwards on his stomach over that hand. Seemingly satisfied, he repeated the procedure on the other side.

Finally, Snape straightened again. Harry's eyes flew to his face. ‘Is everything OK,' he asked in a rush.

Snape gave one definitive nod. ‘It would appear so. I cannot find anything wrong. Your liver has mended nicely and is now functioning to its full capacity. As is your spleen.'

Harry grinned. ‘Great!'

Severus rolled his eyes but was quietly amused when Harry practically launched himself off the bed and wriggled into the T-shirt that had not totally been relinquished earlier. His left arm had still been through the sleeve. Harry may have reluctantly exposed himself to Severus, but he was not going to hang about even semi-naked any longer than he had to.

‘If everything's OK, do I still have to take the potions.'

Severus nodded once, very decisively. ‘You do. You are still slightly anaemic and you could still use the nutritive potion.'

Harry opened his mouth to protest that one, but Severus raised an eyebrow to quell any verbal onslaught. ‘Just until you have gained a little more weight. The nutritive potion, along with a more substantial food intake will see to that quickly, now. But I think we can stop the Pepper-up potion.' Severus smirked slightly. ‘I would rather not have you bouncing off the walls.'

Severus strode from the room following that declaration and a slightly disgruntled Harry followed. With a wave of his wand, Severus banished the contents of the table, except for two phials of potion, then called, ‘Flintoff!'

The creepy house elf appeared and Severus ordered a fresh breakfast for Harry and a fresh pot of tea. Without a word, or a look in Harry's direction, the elf bowed low and disappeared with a crack.

As Severus indicated that Harry seat himself, a modest plate of scrambled eggs and mushrooms appeared, a goblet of pumpkin juice, and a rack of toast, with butter, marmalade and blackberry jam. The beaten silver teapot had also appeared accompanied by two cups and saucers.

‘Take your potions first.'

Harry complied willingly, his focus already on the delicious meal. His eyes shone as he gazed at the bounty in front of him. It had been so long since he had eaten anything other than mush. He looked up at Snape who was pouring a cup of tea.

‘I can eat this, Sir?'

Keeping his eyes focused on his task, Severus said, carefully, ‘Yes, you may eat it...Harry.'

Harry, who had lowered his eyes and was in the process of picking up his knife and fork, paused and jerked his eyes upwards. There it was again! Harry. What the hell was happening. Was this new intimacy something that Dumbledore had ordered Snape to do? Or was it Snape feeling guilty about the way he had roared at Harry and then stormed out for hours on end the day before.

While Snape concentrated on pouring his tea, Harry reluctantly picked up his cutlery and returned his attention to his meal. He began eating, but now the delicious food was not the only thing on his mind. Where was this coming from, and what was he going to do about it? He could hardly turn around and say to the man that he would prefer Snape not use his first name. That would make him sound like a pompous twat. That was something Malfoy would say to someone he would consider a lesser being-someone like Hermione.

There was silence for several minutes as Harry ate and Severus perused a parchment that he had summoned from his desk. Harry kept glancing at Snape as he ate. The man seemed totally relaxed but Harry could not help wondering at the bizarre behaviour that had manifested itself since they had retired to the bedroom for the examination.

Things had started off normally enough that morning, what with the lecture on table manners delivered in the usual, snide, impatient tones. That Snape, he was used to. But this Snape...this Snape was just too unnerving. Harry found himself waiting for the axe to fall.

As Harry put a final forkful of egg into his mouth and placed his knife and fork together on his plate, he eyed Snape again through his overlong fringe. Not concentrating as he reached for the teapot, Harry's fingers made contact with the hot metal pot instead of the handle.

‘Oww!' Harry pulled his hand back so quickly, he knocked the milk jug over. Snape's wand was in his hand and the jug was righted before any liquid was spilled...almost as if the man had been waiting for the accident to happen.

Those obsidian eyes pinned Harry as he sucked on his burnt fingers, horrified that he had managed to nearly spill the milk again. Maintaining eye contact, Snape pointed his wand at the parchment he had been reading so that it re-furled and was banished back to his desk.

‘If you have something to say to me, Mr Potter, perhaps you should just go ahead and say it. Before something major transpires and I find myself having to heal you again.

‘What makes you think...'

Snape raised his eyebrows. ‘Subtlety is hardly your strong point, Potter.'

OK. That was it! Harry felt like he was on a roller-coaster ride. Potter! Mr Potter! Harry! Which one was it?

‘All right. I've got something to say,' he said angrily. ‘I'm a bit confused, Professor Snape. In the bedroom, you called me Harry. And for the last couple of days, except when you've been in a raging temper, you've called me Mr Potter. I've been at Hogwarts for five years now and in all that time all you've ever called me, is "Potter", and that was always delivered with as much contempt as you could muster at any given time. There's something going on, isn't there?'

So, this is it, thought Severus. Time for confession. He couldn't believe it. He was nervous...nervous about how the boy would take it. But how much should he tell him? Tell him the lot, or take Albus' advice and tell it in stages.

Looking at the anger simmering in those amazing green eyes reminded Severus that slow and steady usually won the race. Too much information too soon could have disastrous consequences.

And then there was the thinking that if the boy could not accept that they were cousins, then he did not have to go ahead and tell him of their closer relationship. Yes, it would be best if they could at least be civil to each other on a regular basis before he informed the boy that, along with James, he Severus, was his father.

Severus sighed. He stood and straightened his robes, smoothing crisp black fabric that did not need smoothing. ‘If you have finished your breakfast, I would like you to join me in the sitting room.' When Harry looked wary, Severus added. ‘You're right...Harry. I have something to tell you.'

Severus led the way. He indicated that Harry sit in one of the chairs. He eyed the other chair but then decided that he would rather stand. When he just stared at Harry, unable to decide where to start, the boy jumped to his feet again, clearly agitated.

‘What's going on, Professor? There's something wrong, isn't there? Something you can't fix.' Harry's hands were clenched at his side and his face had gone white. ‘Am I going to die?'

Severus was appalled. Trust the foolish child's mind to head off along the worst possible route.

‘Sit down Po...Harry. I promise you this has nothing to do with your health.' Harry looked unconvinced but he sat, albeit on the edge of the chair.

Severus found that he couldn't look at that worried face. He was not at all sure that he wanted to see the changing expressions. So, he began to pace as he launched into the story.

‘As you are aware, when we were forced together during the year in an effort for me to teach and for you to learn Occlumency, I put certain of my memories in Dumbledore's pensieve.' A very quick glance showed him what he expected to see...a very red-faced boy.

‘You might think I wanted to hide that memory from you because of what transpired between your father and myself. And indeed, you would be right to a certain extent.' Harry squirmed and looked down at his feet.

‘That episode, however, was not much different to many other such episodes that I suffered at the hands of James Potter and Sirius Black. Those two Gryffindors seemed to take especial delight in torturing me...'

‘I didn't tell anyone,' broke in Harry agitatedly, and then, ‘well, I did tell Sirius and Lupin what I had seen, but only because I wanted Sirius to tell me why they did it.'

Despite himself, Severus asked, ‘What did Black say?'

‘He said that they were fifteen years old and that they were idiots. He said he wasn't proud of it.'

Severus snorted. He was pretty sure that Black had only said that to appease his godson. He would have liked to ask when Harry had spoken to Black and the werewolf, and why he had bothered. But they were questions for later. He needed to get on before he lost his nerve.

‘Yes, well, I agree. They were idiots. And in point of fact, your father and his friends were sixteen when that incident happened. Their birthdays were at the beginning of the year...as is mine. But I digress. The treatment meted out to me that day, whilst unpleasant, is not the reason I placed the memory in the pensieve. My subsequent actions were the reason I hid the memory.'

‘Sir?' Harry was definitely confused. ‘But you only tried to retaliate.'

‘Yes, I tried. And that day, I didn't succeed. It was my treatment of your mother that I was ashamed of. I called Lily a "Mudblood", and I was absolutely appalled with myself.'

Harry's mouth had fallen open but Severus hurried on. He did not need another interruption.

‘Your mother and I were friends, Harry. As she had been sorted into Gryffindor, and I into Slytherin, I was determined that we would be enemies. But your mother had different ideas. We had a similar intellectual bent and our Potions professor in particular had a penchant for dividing his glass up so that a Slytherin would work with a Gryffindor. Lily attached herself to me and I found that I could not shake her off.

If I was studying in the library, she would come and sit with me. And all the other classes where Gryffindor and Slytherin were combined, Lily would be at my side. Why she continued to try and befriend me, I have no idea, but she eventually succeeded. We were friends long before she decided that James was perhaps worth her notice.

‘But I nearly lost her friendship that day after the Defence O.W.L. I had lashed out in anger and humiliation when all she tried to do was help me. But to be in such an ignominious position and then to have a girl come to my aid was too much for my pride.' Severus was quiet for a few moments as the memory of that day washed over him in waves of humiliation and regret.

Harry was too shocked to comment. He couldn't believe that Snape and his mum had been friends. That she had actually instigated the friendship. Beautiful, bright Lily Evans and the greasy haired, pallid faced, skinny Slytherin, Severus Snape.

‘Anyway,' continued Severus, doggedly. ‘I had a lot of ground to make up, but after the worst week of my life when I thought I had lost her friendship for ever, Lily finally forgave me that terrible day's transgression.' He met Harry's wide eyes. ‘And just for the record, I have never used that foul, derogatory term since that day.'

‘It's a pity you don't ensure that your snakes follow your example then,' cried Harry, his shock bursting from him in a wave of anger. ‘It's Malfoy's favourite word.'

‘I am aware of Mr Malfoy's penchant for that particular sobriquet, but you must know that in my role as a spy for the Order, I have to favour the Slytherins, particularly the children of Death Eaters.' But when Harry would have launched into another tirade, Severus held up his hand. He was getting angry. The boy was making this more difficult than it should be.

‘Mr Malfoy and his inappropriate language are a discussion for another time, Mr Potter. I wish to finish this story before midnight.' Harry slouched back in the roomy chair and crossed his arms. His face was set, but he was silent.

Severus sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘As I was saying, your mother forgave me that day's transgression. She could not, however, reconcile herself to my future choices.' He unconsciously put his right hand in his left sleeve and rubbed the spot where Harry knew the Dark Mark was burned.

‘At the age of sixteen, nearly the age you are now, I made the worst mistake of my life. And one of the worst outcomes of that decision was that I had let Lily down. She was disappointed in me, to say the least.

‘By this time, she was becoming more aware of James and even after they started to go out together, she refused to stop being friends with me, even though he asked her to. I believe I was the biggest bone of contention between James and your mother.

‘Of course, once we left school, we saw little of each other. As both James and Lily were members of the Order of the Phoenix and I was a Death Eater, even without James's other objections to me, and even though I had already come to regret my choices, it was best that we did not see each other as Lily would have had to compromise her convictions if she did not make an attempt to capture me.

‘We did correspond though, after a fashion, and through an intermediary. She never stopped trying to convince me to come under Dumbledore's wing.'

Harry had to wonder where all of this was going. As interesting as it was to hear about his Mum, it was also more than a little disturbing that Snape had been such an important part of her life.

Severus continued his tale and Harry hung on his every word. He told how James and Lily had become engaged, how Lily had come looking for him after James had been mortally wounded and how Lily had begged Severus to give James some of blood.

Severus explained why it was thought that blood could not and should not be transfused form one wizard to another. He explained about James moribund state and that he had lost so much blood, that blood replenishing potion would never have worked as there were not enough blood cells left for it to latch onto.

‘But if that's the case, why did my mum ask you to give my dad blood?' asked Harry, becoming more and more confused. Why not Sirius, or Remus. Or anybody in the Order. Did you have the same blood group?'

‘Magical folk do not have different blood groups, Harry. It is the magical component of our blood that makes us different from one another. No one had ever really studied magical blood to any great extent before, other than to discover that if one wizard gave his blood to another, then the two different magical signatures would battle against each other. The outcome would either be death for the wizard receiving the blood as the new magic overcame his, or at the least, both magical signatures would wipe each other out and the wizard would be left a squib.

‘You mother worked in the Department of Mysteries. She made a study of wizard's blood. She went into it much more deeply than anyone else had ever bothered to do.

‘Your mother deduced that if there was a close enough family connection, then the magical signatures may be alike enough to prevent one battling the other.' Severus paused and took a deep breath. Harry was staring at him in confusion, his eyebrows-so like Severus'-drawn together in a frown.

‘I still don't understand. Was my dad so close to death that she just grabbed the first person she could think of? Was her research wrong?

Severus shook his head. ‘No, her research was spot on.'

‘But how...'

‘James survived, Harry, because he and I were cousins. My mother and James' father were brother and sister. Twins, in fact.'

‘James survived, Harry, because he and I were cousins. My mother and James' father were brother and sister. Twins, in fact.'

Though Severus looked relaxed, with his forearm resting along the mantelpiece, and his black eyes fixed upon Harry, nearly every muscle in his body was so tense, he felt as if they would turn to jelly at any moment. His jaw was so tightly clenched, he had to relax it by degrees as he was afraid he would break several teeth.

A wave of annoyance swept through him. This anxiety was ridiculous. He rarely got into this state, even in front of the Dark Lord. And here he was, preparing to tell this scrap of a boy that they were in fact related, and he was ready to wet himself.

Severus's slightly uneasy gaze turned into a glare. He did not like feeling so out of control.

Harry's only reaction to Snape's incredible declaration, was that his mouth dropped open slightly. He stared back at Severus as though he had never seen him before, but he made no effort to move or speak.

It was too much for Severus. He did not like to be left floundering like a fish out of water. He had made the big sacrifice of baring himself to the little whelp, and he just sat there as though Severus had just told him what time dinner would be served.

He began pacing again, but this time, there was much more aggression in every step. After going backwards and forwards about half a dozen times, he stopped directly in front of Harry and threw his arms wide.

‘You have nothing to say Potter? This news is of no interest to you?'

Snape's aggression seemed to act as a catalyst, and Harry leapt to his feet, causing Severus to fall back a step. A second later, Harry was behind the heavy arm chair and Severus found himself retreating backwards even further as the wildly disbelieving boy pushed the chair at him with a fury that saw it travel at least three feet, causing the rug to concertina into about four deep folds.

‘You bastard! Why would you say something like that?' screamed a livid, red-faced Harry.

Severus only just overcame the urge to dive over the chair and grab the little mongrel by the scruff of the neck and shake him until his teeth rattled. Luckily, it struck him that two murderous Snape descendants in the same room would likely lead to the maiming of at least one of them. In this instance, he had to be the bigger man-in more than just a physical sense.

He would deal with the aggressive outburst at a later time, when he could be sure of not killing the little whelp.

‘I say it because it is tr...'

‘YOU LIAR!'

Deep breathes.

‘You forget Professor,' said Harry in a scathing tone. ‘I saw some of your memories during those shitty, Occlumency lessons...'

One...

‘...and I saw your mum and dad fighting, and you looking scared and miserable, as if it happened all the time...'

Two...

‘If your dad was that big a bully, why wouldn't your mum go to her brother-my grandfather...' Harry pocked himself in the chest, ‘...and ask for help?' ‘Why would she put up with that sh...'

‘POTTER!' Severus bellowed so loudly, that Harry fell back a step. But he was silenced, and the look of trepidation on his face made Severus' Death Eater's heart rejoice. If he had allowed his Death Eater instincts to reign supreme over prudence and the fledgling stirrings of something that he was most definitely unwilling to call affection, the boy would, at the very least, find himself on the business end of his belt, or at the worst, be writhing on the floor under the influence of the Cruciatus Curse. Though the second option was doubtful purely and simply because you had to want to cause someone excruciating agony and though the boy pushed everyone of his buttons, Severus did not really want to see such a sight-ever again, let alone be the one to cast the curse. He knew Harry was no stranger to the Cruciatus Curse and he was glad that he had not been witness to a fourteen year old being put through the torments of hell.

But he did need to set some ground rules. A booted foot pushed the chair back to its original position, this time the scraping of the legs on the stone floor set Harry's teeth on edge, and he had to hurriedly step back couple of paces. But neither wizard dropped his eyes. Sparkling emerald burned into matt onyx.

‘Sit. Down!' The order was uttered in a sibilant whisper and Severus was pleased with how calm his voice sounded when it emerged, especially considering how murderous he had felt seconds before.

Harry stood-Severus could see-nearly as tensely as he himself had three minutes earlier. His hands were balled into white knuckled fists. Severus was not at all sure whether or not he was pleased to see that even in his fury, the boy had not even thought of drawing his wand. Such inaction, in other circumstances could prove deadly. If he waited for his opponent to always go for his or her wand first, the boy didn't stand a chance in a world occupied by the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.

But Harry knew that his temper at its worst was no match for Snapes. Perhaps, with practice and the passing of years there was a slim chance that one day, he could emulate that deadly fury.

But did he really want to end up as nasty and foul tempered as Snape? Harry swallowed and closed his eyes. What a depressing prospect.

God, how he would love to totally defy the git, though. But Gryffindor or not, he just wasn't game to and that fact made him even more furious.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Harry walked around the chair and sank back into its capacious depths, his forearms resting on the chair arms. He stared straight ahead-his line of vision taken up with the black folds of Snape's flowing robes. The fine, summer weight fabric moved as Snape toed the rug back into its original position. His movements were carefully controlled and silence reigned as he lingered over the task of setting the rug perfectly flat.

When he had finished, and before Harry could blink, Snape had covered Harry's hands where they rested on the chair arms with his own, and had leaned forward so that his face was only inches away from Harry's. He tightened his grip on the smaller hands resting beneath his and Harry fought hard not to wince.

His heart in his throat, he tried to shrink backwards, but there was very little give in the chair back. Severus watched the boy's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. It seemed that the fire of righteous anger had been tamped down. That was good. It would appear the boy had some sense of self-preservation.

‘Listen to me, Potter, and listen well. I still have things to relate to you, and if you cannot hold your tongue until I have finished, I will silence you. And if I have to resort to casting a silencing charm, I may be tempted to keep said charm in place for the next twenty four hours.

‘Perhaps if your mouth is incapable of spouting senseless drivel, your brain might have time to assimilate properly the information I am about to impart. And silence too, may enable you to ponder the supreme idiocy of that rancid diatribe you just subjected me to.' Severus moved in even closer, his large hooked nose now only a quarter of an inch from Harry's more neatly proportioned one.

‘Are you willing to comply with this stricture, or shall I cast a silencing charm now?'

Harry blinked once and tried to swallow the horrible constriction in his throat. Snape wouldn't need a silencing charm because Harry couldn't have spoken at that moment if his life had depended on it. He gave the shortest, sharpest nod possible.

Instead of straightening though Snape moved his face so that his mouth was close to Harry's ear. Though his breath where it tickled his ear was warm, Harry shivered.

‘Before I present certain facts to you that will answer any issue you might have, I pose the question, "why would I possibly want to claim James Potter-and by extension, you-as my cousin if it was not the truth?"'

Seemingly satisfied when he heard the boy audibly gulp, Severus nodded in satisfaction before pushing himself upright and taking up his previous stance at the fireplace. He stood staring down at Harry who refused to meet his eyes. His own were focused on the drinks trolley where a bottle of single malt whisky seemed to hold him in its thrall.

‘First of all, Mr Potter, this has not been an easy admission for me to make. I could have allowed you to go the rest of your life without knowing that we are, in fact, related.

The hand on the chair arm that clenched into a fist asked the question that Harry had been forbidden to voice. Why the hell tell me now then, you snarky bastard?

Severus' lips thinned, as though he had just used Occlumency and seen what Harry was thinking. ‘There are several reasons why I decided to end your blissful state of ignorance. Up to now, our interactions have been anything but harmonious, as I am sure you will agree. But despite the fact that your resemblance to your f...to James influenced my treatment of you, I could never forget my...my friendship with your mother and therefore, whilst openly denigrating you in front of your peers, I did everything that I could to try and keep you safe.

‘Your penchant for finding trouble, I might add, made that a task a battalion of Aurors would have had trouble ensuring.'

Harry shot a basilisk's glare at Snape but then returned his gaze to the fascinating whisky bottle.

Severus continued doggedly. ‘James and I knew of each other long before we started at Hogwarts. His and my mutual dislike was bred from the fact that each of us was determined to remain true to our own parent. They became estranged when my mother met-and for whatever inexplicable reason-fell in love with Tobias Snape.' The last two words were virtually spat, and Harry, surprised, cast a another quick look at Snape, who, at that second, was staring at the empty grate, and so missed it.

‘It seems that though not the most attractive man in Muggledom, my father apparently had the gift of the gab and charm to burn...' A soft snort from Harry had Severus narrowing his eyes, and after several charged seconds during which Harry nervously wondered if Snape's wand would appear, his voice, when he continued, was silky with menace.

‘Yes, Potter, unfortunately for you, charm is not an inherited trait. And for future reference, my strictures of a few minutes ago will now encompass any noise issuing from either your mouth or nose!' Harry, whose colour was just returning to normal, paled again.

‘As I was saying, my mother took her swain...' this word was said with such contempt that Harry was left in absolutely no doubt that Snape really did detest his father, ‘...home to meet her parents and brother. I believe, at this time, the twins were not quite eighteen years old.

‘Though my mother had fallen hard for Tobias, the rest of the Potters were not quite so enamoured. My mother, whilst reasonably attractive, was certainly not anything out of the common way, but she must have had that indefinable aura of having come from a privileged background, or I am sure that my father would have probably just used her and then discarded her as he did many a foolish woman-both before and after he was married.

Severus closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and index finger. ‘My father was an inveterate womaniser, when he was younger-though he eventually eschewed women, deciding that he got more satisfaction from alcohol. Unfortunately, my mother, a very talented witch I might add, was too besotted to see the truth of what Tobias Snape really was at that stage of their relationship.

‘Her mother tried in the beginning, to make her see sense with gentle persuasion, but her father and twin brother had, apparently, loathed Tobias on sight. My grandfather forbade the continuation of the relationship and Adam Potter fought with his sister viciously. They both told her that " the Muggle" was only after her for her wealth and she retaliated by accusing them of being, "Muggle haters".

‘At this stage, my mother had not told Tobias that she was a witch, as it is forbidden to do so under the strictures of the International Statute of Secrecy, until it is certain that the relationship will lead to marriage. However, my father could see, after visiting the Potter Home, that my mother came from considerable wealth, and so, I imagine, the charm factor would have been stepped up a notch or two and Eileen fell even more deeply in love.

‘But things went from bad to worse with the Potters. My mother was miserable, but defiant. My grandmother-your great grandmother was also miserable and apparently tried to get her husband to be more reasonable.' Severus had begun pacing again, seemingly too agitated to continue to appear unaffected by the story he was telling. ‘But, my grandfather and my uncle could see only too clearly that Tobias Snape was a money grubbing leech. And though there was no mistreatment of my mother at this stage of their relationship, my father obviously did not come across as a man equally as besotted with his fiancée as she was with him.

‘Eventually it appears that Tobias did not like the way the wind was blowing-after all, his only ally was Eileen's mother, and even her half-hearted approval was only because she did not want to lose her daughter. In truth, she disliked my father almost as intensely as her husband and son did.

‘It was obvious to all but Eileen that Tobias only continued seeing my mother because of what he hoped to get out of the relationship. He was not going to give the possibility of living a life of luxury up easily.' Here, Severus' eyes narrowed with hatred. ‘So, he got my mother pregnant and they eloped and got married. My mother was eighteen at that stage, so she could legally marry in the Muggle world.

‘Obviously, my father thought that if their marriage was a fait accompli, then his new in-laws would accept him into the fold.' Severus snorted with mirthless laughter. ‘Imagine his shock when the opposite happened. Eileen's father disowned her.'

‘Just like that!' Harry couldn't help himself. It erupted out of him in an indignant burst of protest. And realising what he had done, he clapped a hand over his mouth in the manner of a much younger child, and stared beseechingly at Severus.

Severus found himself caught on the horns of a dilemma. His wand was in his hand; it had been an automatic reaction at the sound of the boy's voice. He had warned him, had he not? He had told him to hold his tongue. But this outburst was not argumentative or scathing. This outburst was indignation on behalf of a woman Harry had never known, a woman who would have been his great aunt had she lived. Harry Potter, the honourable Gryffindor was angry over what he saw as the unfair treatment of a young woman by her family. Severus relaxed his stance and returned his wand to its hiding place within his robes.

Harry sagged bonelessly, but he remained on alert. He kept his gaze on the place where the wand had disappeared with no small amount of trepidation. He was not entirely sure that Severus would not change his mind and cast the charm anyway. After all, when did the man ever not do what he had promised to do?

Severus continued as though the interruption had not happened. ‘Now that I am older-and I would hope, considerably wiser-I can look at the treatment of my mother by her family in a more...shall we say, understanding light.' Severus voice was thoughtful, his gaze far away. He had not resumed his pacing, but was standing with his hands thrust into the deep pockets of his robe.

Harry wriggled forward so that he was sitting on the edge of the chair. His hands were clasped between his knees and his eyes were fixed on Severus, waiting for him to speak again.

‘My grandmother, even in her distressed state did everything she could think of to get my poor besotted mother to see the unsuitability of a marriage to my father. Her father and brother however, were considerably more vocal in their disapproval. Adam told his sister that if she married "that Muggle", he would never speak to her again. He kept his word.

‘When my parents turned up already married, my father wasted no time in informing the Potters that their daughter was pregnant.

‘But Tobias had overplayed his hand.

‘Up to now, my mother's family had been very careful not to use magic around my father. But, now, Adam Potter, lost control and blasted my father across the room and then informed his parents that if they accepted my father into the family, then he would leave and never come back. Obviously, his father had no intention of losing his son. He had already lost his daughter despite his best efforts.' Severus fell silent. His stance was rigid as he stared into the empty grate. He stayed that way for at least half a minute and then, coming back to the moment, he threw himself into the other chair and stared across at a horrified Harry.

Harry licked his lips. ‘My grandfather was a Muggle hater?' he asked in a horrified whisper.

Severus shook his head. ‘No. Your grandfather did not hate Muggles. Neither did his father. They just hated Tobias Snape. For some reason, Adam, along with his father could see everything that my mother was incapable of seeing. They could see the greed and the shallowness and the cruelty that lurked just below the surface. And Adam was angry that his sister had not listened to him...had not heeded his warnings.

"The siblings had always been very close. And apparently, Adam had always been very protective of his twin sister and she, in turn had always looked to him.

‘But to disown her,' whispered Harry. She was their daughter and sister...and she was pregnant.' He was disgusted. ‘Wh...what happened?'

‘My mother had her own share of Potter pride. After witnessing her brother curse her husband, she cast a rather impressive "Bursting Boil" hex at him and then she stormed out vowing to never see them again. She screamed that she needed no-one but her new husband. Tobias, who had just had the shock of his life in discovering that there was something very strange about the Potter family could do naught but follow his wife, particularly as Adam, despite his discomfort, helped him along with a levitation charm.

‘I am sure his despair at seeing his visions of a life of luxury being wiped away before his eyes came much later. His shock at learning that there actually was such a thing as magic and that his wife was a witch superseded all else.

‘My mother refused to see her father and brother ever again. She did however meet up with her mother on occasion. I apparently even met my grandmother before she died, but I was too young to remember. Both women when they could, met up without either husband being aware. My grandmother gave my mother sorely needed money. Galleons exchanged for Muggle money. That money made my mother's life bearable for a while.'

Severus now sat with his elbows on the chair arms and his steepled fingers tapping together in front of his mouth. His black eyes were unfocused and obviously looking into the past. Harry watched him with a mixture of apprehension and sympathy for several minutes. He honestly did not know what to think.

The story had begun in an attempt to prove to Harry that Snape and James Potter were cousins. Which meant that they were cousins. He was actually related to Severus Snape.

And Snape had always known. And so had James. They must have been close in age because they had started at Hogwarts together. And yet, they had loathed each other. And Lily had been close to Snape before she had ever liked his dad. And Snape had saved his dad's life. Harry's thoughts whirled, as if caught up in a tornado. And they were just as chaotic.

Silence reigned as each wizard dealt with his own thoughts. Severus returned to the moment first. He saw Harry staring at the swirls of colour on the rug, his elbows resting on his knees and his clasped hands dangling between his knees. He could not see the boy's face, but he had a perfect view of that inky black, untidy hair, so very like James'. But it was also like his own in colour. The trademark Potter black. Severus had missed out on the trademark untidiness. However, the reason he kept his hair so long, was because if he kept it shorter, it did have a tendency to want to do its own thing.

Rubbing his face, Severus pushed himself from the depths of the armchair. Merlin, he could do with a slug of whisky, but it was only eleven in the morning and it was probably not a wise move for the boy to see him drinking so early. So, with alcohol not being an option, he called, ‘Flintoff!'

Harry had been aware of Snape moving but he remained focused on the rug until the sound of his voice calling for that creepy house elf and the "crack" of its noisy apparation into the dungeon room shocked him into focusing on what was now going on around him.

Snape ordered coffee for two and hot scones with jam and cream. Harry was surprised. He had never seen Snape eating anything sweet before. He even had marmalade on his toast and it was quite a bitter variety.

Snape strode to the dining table where the refreshments appeared almost immediately the elf had departed. ‘Come along, Mr Potter. I think we could do with a diversion, don't you.'

Harry was quite happy to bask in the relative calm and he followed and sat down in the chair that seemed to have been designated his since he had been eating his meals with Snape. The coffee was a milky brew and was quite delicious. Harry wasn't really hungry, but he took one of the fluffy scones and added a spoonful of strawberry jam and a small amount of cream. He watched in amazement as Snape piled liberal amounts of both on his own scone and ate with evident relish.

When he broke a second scone in half, he looked up at Harry who had only just finished his first half and really did not want any more. ‘You're weight gain will be a very protracted affair if you continue to eat so frugally, Mr Potter,' Snape said before taking another bite of the rich confection. He showed Harry just how weight gain could be accomplished (the man himself did not appear to have any surplus fat though his robes were quite capable of hiding a multitude of sins) by polishing off the second scone in very short order.

Severus sighed blissfully when he had finished the last morsel. Harry couldn't help himself. ‘I've never seen you eat anything sweet before, Professor,' he said and then he swallowed nervously when Snape's eyes snapped upwards from where he had been wiping his fingers with a napkin.

‘I indulge myself every now and then, and Devonshire teas, I must admit, are a weakness of mine.' He refilled his coffee cup and seemingly replete, he leaned back and sipped his drink. Professor Dumbledore and I have at least them in common. He can keep the rest of his confections.

Harry looked down at the remains of his own mangled scone. He had been picking crumbs off the edges and they littered the plate. Harry grimaced and pushed the mess away. He studiously avoided Snape's gaze as he wiped his fingers. ‘Um...Professor, can I ask you something?'

‘You may.' Severus had been wondering whether the boy would want elaboration.

‘How did you know all of the details of what you just told me? I mean...well, it seems strange that your mum would have told you so much detail. It must have hurt her to talk about it.'

‘She didn't really talk much about it at all. Just snippets here and there.' For a few seconds, Severus felt anew the overwhelming grief he had experienced when his mother had told him that she was dying. He had been home for the Christmas break, the year before he took the Dark Mark. Her death had been the catalyst that had pushed him fully into the Dark Lord's clutches.

‘Not long before I turned fifteen, my mother knew that she was dying. One of the things she had managed to take from the Potter home when she left for good was a small pensieve. Nothing so impressive as Professor Dumbledore's but it did the job. She had also managed to hide it successfully from my father all those years, as she had her wand-and mine, when she bought it. Otherwise, he would have destroyed them in a drunken rage.

‘But I digress. Knowing that she was dying, my mother allowed me access to her memories. She wanted me to know it all. And so, I relived her misery.' Severus was looking into the past again and his voice, which had been quite matter of fact, now turned bitter again when he added, ‘And every day of that summer break, I lived with her regret. She wanted me to approach James-to mend the broken fences. I am sure she had made up her mind to approach Adam herself when I went back to school. I imagine she did not want me with her in case things got ugly.'

Severus was quiet for more than a minute, he kept his eyes downcast, looking into his cup as though it held the secrets of the universe. Harry was sure he was battling to keep his emotions under control. When he resumed speaking, his voice had a slightly hoarse quality to it. ‘She died within a week of my returning to school, before she could approach her brother, if indeed that is what she had planned to do.

‘I myself had planned to approach James, but like her I had delayed. When I came back to school after her funeral, any feelings of reconciliation I may have been harbouring had been buried with her.

‘We perhaps may have succeeded in burying our ugly past-James was certainly approachable. He offered his condolences.' Another deep breath. ‘But I would have none of it. Bitterness and hatred had taken over my soul now that my mother was dead. I suppose deep down I blamed the Potters for her early demise...for all the suffering she had put up with because she had made the mistake of falling in love with my father.'

Harry's eyes were wide with sympathy and regret-bright with unshed tears-tears for what could have been. Severus looked at him and through his own miserable introspection, he found he could still be exasperated with the child before him. It was no wonder he could not learn Occlumency. Every emotion was there, on his face. He was an open book. How was he supposed to wipe them from his mind when they were right there for all the world to see.

Severus had now harnessed his own emotions, thrust them into the dark crevasse at the back of his mind where he kept them encased in ice. And now he pinned Harry with a very intense stare.

"In answer to your silent question from earlier, Mr Potter...the first reason I have decided to tell you of our relationship is because you are my last, living relative, and having seen you so close to death, it could hardly escape my notice that if you had indeed succumbed to the effects of that terrible poison, I would have no-one left. My last chance-after too many years of idiocy-to do what my mother wished me to do, all those years ago. Mend fences.

‘I did not do it with my cousin...' Harry held his breath. Was he serious? Did Snape really want this, or was he setting Harry up for a fall?

‘...I would like to do it with his son. I would also like to do it with Lily's son. She was one of the only true friends I have ever had. She asked me to help James when no-one else could. I am positive she would be pleased that I have finally told you that we are related. She would be pleased that you know you have a family member in the wizarding world.

‘And I am positive that both she and James would be happy to know that you have someone you can rely on. An adult who can help protect you from the Dark Lord and his servants...within Hogwarts and out.'

Harry swallowed. From everything he knew of his mother, she would certainly want him, her son, to have a relation that he could rely on. But what of his dad? Had he grown up enough before he died to put the needs of his son above his old prejudices against Severus Snape? After Snape had saved his life-something Harry was a little surprised to realise, he had done for both the father and the son-would James Potter have tried to bridge the gap that had kept the two cousins enemies their whole lives, if Snape had not been a servant of the Dark Lords'?

And could he himself get over five years of cruelty and prejudice? Snape had no longer been a Death Eater when he, Harry had started at Hogwarts. He had been working for Dumbledore for a long time. And yet, he had started in on Harry minutes into there first lesson.

Snape had known that Harry was his cousin. For all those years, he had known. But that had not stopped him from deriding Harry at every turn, banishing his potions in his classroom when his work was no worse than the majority of the students, and considerably better than quite a few of them. It had not stopped him from handing out detentions for fictional infringements of the rules...Harry squirmed and scratched the back of his neck...well, not all of them were fictional. He had to concede that...

Severus could practically read the thoughts that were flashing past behind those bright green eyes. And every one of them was valid. He had been an arse to the boy. And he had quietly enjoyed most of it. Sometimes when looking into those hate filled eyes, he had felt a twinge of guilt. Had told himself that this was Lily's boy. And he might have even let up on him for a while after some of these incursions into the realms of guilt. But then he would see James looking at him and his role of tormentor would start all over again.

But he had still protected the boy. Yes, that had mostly been for Lily...but always, in the back of his mind had been the fact that Harry Potter was his last living relative.

But, he could not honestly say if he would have confessed to being the boy's cousin if that small cup full of Paternity potion had not assimilated his blood.

Harry raised his eyes from where he had been watching his middle finger worrying at a hangnail on his thumb. A couple of minutes had ticked slowly by in complete silence. ‘Can I, Professor?' he asked in little more than a whisper.

Severus' brow creased. The question seemed to be disconnected to anything that had gone before. Or had he gone skipping off into introspection again and forgotten what had been said. Most unlike himself. But then, he had been thinking of Lily.

‘Can you what?'

‘Rely on you.'

Black eyes stared into tormented green. As was to be expected, all of Harry's emotions were there for Severus to see. Distress, sadness, distrust, a little bit of fear...and hope. Yes, there was something definitely akin to hope lurking behind all of the other feelings. An internal battle was raging, that was obvious for the world to see. Severus could see the boy's deepest instincts of distrust battling his very real desire to be able to say that he had family other than the loathsome Muggles he was forced to go back to every year. The tormented question, is Severus Snape the Death Eater and spy better or worse than the Dursleys? was written clearly across his face.

‘If you will accept me, Mr Potter, I give you my word that you will always be able to rely on me.' Severus said with all the sincerity he could muster.

The hope shining through the murk created by Harry's negative emotions seemed to blaze for a second before diminishing back to the slight glimmer of a star from a distant galaxy.

‘And even if you do not wish to recognise me as family-and unfortunately, very few in the wizarding world will be able to know of our relationship for quite a long while to come-then I will still do all in my power to keep you safe.'

It was as though Harry could not look away from the austere face that, at that moment was free of smirks and sneers, dislike and disgust. He studied the man sitting opposite him-the man who had saved his life on more than one occasion-and the distant glimmer at the back of his eyes seemed to glow brighter, almost against its will, and despite the clamouring of his deepest, most pessimistic instincts. A family, other than the Dursleys!

He had often dreamed of it as a child; dreamed that someone would come and rescue him from his cupboard, from his life of drudgery and deprivation. But of course, it had never happened. And the little boy had continued to live with his despair.

And then Hagrid had arrived to tell him he was a wizard and to prepare him for Hogwarts. And for a long time, he had thought he was living in a dream. But it was real. And Harry was finally happy; he had friends. Friends who really cared for him. And adults didn't shun him because his relatives dressed him like a hobo and made out that he was a delinquent, and other kids didn't avoid him because Dudley would beat them up if they talked to him.

Most people in the wizarding world looked up to him; but he didn't want that either. He wanted to be a normal kid. And though he had friends that he loved, he did not have a real family. And normal people had families. Normal people's parents were not murdered in cold blood whilst trying to protect their son. And normal people were not the ultimate target of a crazed, murderous maniac.

Normal people also did not have homicidal peers within their school who were after their blood. Nor did they have teachers who hated them just because they were a certain person's son.

Harry's dislike of Snape had been a learned behaviour. He had not gone to his first potions class determined to dislike the man. And even after that first lesson when Snape had ridiculed him in front of half the first years in the school, he had, deep down thought that perhaps he might have deserved the treatment meted out to him.

He had not known the answers. Ron had not known the answers and he had been bought up a wizard. The only one whom he had thought did know the answers was Hermione. But Harry had never taken a survey after that lesson. Perhaps most of the class had known the answers and Snape had had a right to ridicule him. But then again, why just him? And why blame him, totally unfairly, for the first of Neville's disasters in Potions classes, just because he had been nearby.

No, there was no getting away from the fact that Snape had been a total bastard to him right from the off. Even knowing that Harry was his cousin. Perhaps because Harry was his cousin, as well as James' son. How did you get over that sort of treatment?

By burying it deep and focusing on the positives...on the fact that no matter what happened in the future, he had a family member in the wizarding world. He had someone who had always been looking out for him and had promised to continue with his task even if Harry shunned him.

Harry grinned, just a slight quirking of the corner of his mouth that took Severus by surprise. It was one of those instances when the boy's resemblance to himself was pronounced. He raised an eyebrow in question.

‘We'll still fight like cat and dog, won't we?"

Severus stared for a moment and then his own lip quirked infinitesimally. ‘Indubitably.'

‘And you'll still treat me like I'm a bad smell in class?'

Severus paused, but then said, ‘Unavoidable, I am afraid. But I can promise not to overstep the bounds.'

Harry had expected it, but he could not help the little flutter of disappointment that he felt. To cover the moment, he said flippantly, ‘You mean you won't deliberately smash my potion when I hand it in.'

Severus did not do remorseful well and he was not prepared to start now. So, he just inclined his head slightly to indicate that he would at least ponder the matter.

Harry worried at the hangnail for a time, aware that Snape was watching him. Usually, that unblinking, impenetrable stare made Harry feel as if he had ants crawling all over him. Not today though. Today, he knew the man was trying to smooth a path to a better understanding between the two of them. And so, though still not as relaxed as he would be in the company of Dumbledore or Remus or Mr and Mrs Weasley none of whom had ever turned on him, Harry was far from his usual edgy self.

‘Umm...what do I call you?' he asked, his voice slightly anxious, as if afraid that he might have overstepped some invisible line.

Severus was taken aback. He had not really considered this from the boy's point of view. He was having a hard enough time himself trying to decide what to call-what was he? His cousin? His son?-Potter, Mr Potter or Harry. Potter and Mr Potter depended solely on his mood. Harry-well Harry just did not come easily.

And then there was the problem of what the boy would call him if and when he decided to confess that they two were in fact, more than cousins. Best not to allow too much intimacy with the boy calling him Severus when it may well have to change when the new relationship came to light.

Severus sighed, suddenly tired of the whole thing. He felt as emotionally drained as he had done the day the Dark Lord had returned. And equally as unsure of what the future would hold.

‘I think it best that we stick to Professor Snape for the time being. If we get used to something else in private, you may slip up when we are surrounded by a hallway or classroom full of Slytherins.'

With that out of the way and doing his best to ignore the flash of disappointment in the boy's eyes, Severus made a performance of looking at his watch. With his usual brisk movements, he rose to his feet. It would not do to let the boy see that he was emotionally exhausted after all the reminiscences and revelations of the morning.

‘I have work to do Mr Potter. Perhaps you could occupy yourself with some more homework? Which reminds me, I would like to peruse yesterday's efforts at some time. You did finish didn't you?'

‘Yes, Sir,' bit out Harry, disappointed in spite of the fact that he had been expecting just such a response to the question of what they would call each other. He grimaced. Not a good way to be trying to forge a new relationship, Harry. Way to go!

Severus looked at the boy closely, deciding after a few seconds that if it was cheek, he would let it slide. He was letting a lot of things slide today.

‘I will be in my laboratory if you need me,' He strode towards the small laboratory within these rooms rather than to the floo or towards the door to the corridor beyond.

‘Sir!' Severus had just pushed the door open when the boy spoke again.

‘Yes, Potter?' he answered with ill-concealed impatience.

Harry swallowed, but forged onwards. ‘I wouldn't mind if you decided to call me "Harry". In private, that is.' And with those words, he disappeared into the bedroom.

Severus watched Harry disappear and stood staring at the spot where he had been. When he finally entered his own work room, he was clearing his throat of the partial obstruction that had lodged there.

Harry threw down his quill. He hadn't been writing, not for the last twenty minutes anyway. He'd been leaning back in his chair and brushing the feather end backwards and forwards across his chin, his gaze distant and his thoughts now firmly fixed on his Potions professor and the amazing revelations of an hour and a half ago.

Immediately upon entering the bedroom, he had started writing letters-to Ron, Hermione and Ginny. He had started the letters with the intention of telling them everything Snape had told him. But immediately after he had written the salutation to Ron, he had stopped. How did you tell your best mate that the teacher he loathed above anyone else was more than just their hated Potions professor, he was also Harry's cousin.

And as horrified as Ron would be with that information, he would be even more appalled to find out that Harry was not entirely revolted by the idea of having Severus Snape as a cousin. The thing was, Ron would be totally nonplussed with Harry's change of attitude. Perhaps with good reason.

They had both been targeted in Potions classes (as had all of the Gryffindors at some time or another) and they had both learned to hate Snape together. In point of fact, Snape had always reserved his most vicious treatment for Harry and Ron's hatred of Snape had mostly been on Harry's behalf. Yep, he would most definitely find it very difficult to come to terms with Harry's change of attitude.

Ron had never really understood Harry's great desire for a family-well, family other than the Dursleys anyway, and so Ron would hardly think it was worth doing somersaults over the fact that Harry had discovered a hitherto unknown cousin, and especially a cousin in the guise of the Greasy Git, Severus Snape.

No, Ron would certainly not think that was any cause for celebration.

So, after a long hesitation and much soul searching, Harry had written his letter to Ron-and then Hermione and Ginny and had told them everything that had been happening since he had last seen them here at Hogwarts-which in actual fact was not a whole lot when the whole "Snape is my cousin" thing was left out. He decided to take some more time and consider carefully the best approach to take. Face to face with them was probably the best.

As a result of the dearth of news he had to impart, his letter to Ginny, whilst probably not the most romantic missive in the world-as Harry was new to this whole business of having a girlfriend-was at least a little longer and more personal than those he wrote to the other two.

As Harry had sealed the scroll of parchment to Ginny closed, he wondered if there was anywhere that offered lessons on how to be a decent boyfriend, as he didn't really have a clue.

Since finishing the letters though, Harry had not been able to concentrate enough to get on with any homework. Snape's revelations just kept on going around and around inside his head. He did believe Snape; no-one could make up a story like that-and as he had pointed out to Harry early on, why would he even want to, considering his feelings for James?

Harry decided he was going stir crazy. He needed to get out of this dungeon for a while-get some fresh air. He hadn't seen the outdoors since he had crossed the Entrance Hall to get to the Great Hall four days ago, and he had not been in the fresh air since the day he should have caught the Hogwarts Express home.

He had just decided to go and ask Snape if he could maybe spend some time outside, when the door opened with quite a subdued swish-unusual-since it was Snape, of course, who opened it, and it was rare indeed for him to do anything without a flourish.

Harry watched with no small amount of trepidation as Snape's sharp eyes swept across the desk. Of course, he saw nothing more than three, small, furled rolls of parchment and an open text book. There was no evidence of any ink on the pristine parchment slightly to the side of the open Charms text. Harry sat up straight, trying desperately to think up some excuse for his lack of industry. But when Snape looked down his nose and raised that expressive eyebrow-the eyebrow, that on occasions conveyed more than any verbal barrage could-Harry knew any excuse would be a waste of air. Therefore he just sat and waited for the axe to fall.

It didn't.

All Snape said-though in a voice rife with disapproval-was, ‘Luncheon has been served,' before spinning about with the flourish that had been missing when he opened the door, and left it open for Harry to follow.

Harry lowered himself into his chair and looked over the platter of cold chicken and ham, the bowl of salad ingredients and the tray of bread rolls. Snape was already helping himself, so Harry followed his example, pleased to find that he actually felt hungry for the first time in a very long time.

The meal was delicious for all its simplicity, and Harry wondered why more buffet type setups were not the norm during the school year. Snape finished off with coffee and Harry with a large glass of milk.

Harry was trying to decide how to tackle Snape about a trip outside, contemplating one approach and then discarding it for another. Severus could see the internal debate going on behind the boy's almost transparent face. Without actually casting "Legilimens", he could not tell what had the boy-Severus sighed deeply; he had to get used to calling him Harry- stressed out. He was, perhaps, trying to think up some valid excuse for not having made any inroads into his charms homework.

Harry was feeling nervous about making the simple request as he was not sure that Snape would not say "no" just to piss him off. He could feel the old resentment starting to well up inside. OK, so Snape was his teacher, and his healer, and as had been divulged today, his cousin-his older cousin. But Harry could not help feeling peeved that he had to ask Snape's permission to do anything, which, now that he was completely healthy seemed unreasonable.

It was the summer holidays, for Merlin's sake. Even if he was at the Dursley's, he would at least be able to get fresh air when he wanted to. Since the exploding pudding incident before his second year, his uncle and aunt had not attempted to lock him inside again. Oh, yeah, he still had heaps of work to do, but most of it was outside, and that suited him just fine.

Severus continued to watch the internal battle, but when Harry had nearly gnawed his lip through, he decided it was time to step in. ‘If you have something you need to say, I suggest you just get on with it before you draw blood.'

Harry swallowed. ‘Um, I'm sorry I didn't start any homework, but I'm starting to suffer from Cabin Fever...' At Snape's raised eyebrow, Harry waved his hand and said, ‘Muggle thing. It means having been locked inside for too long...' Harry rushed on, determined to get everything out before he was shot down in flames.

‘Anyway I'd like to spend some time outside, if that's OK. If you really insist on me doing some work today, I can do it outside in the fresh air.' All of this was said very fast indeed, and for future reference, I do know of the Muggle saying, "cabin fever", being half Muggle as I am sure you recall.

Harry felt stupid. He was so used to explaining Muggle things to Ron.

‘I suppose that your request is reasonable,' said Severus in a contemplative tone. ‘But how do you know it's not pouring with rain?'

Harry's face fell comically and Severus had to fight to hold in a smirk.

‘I don...is it?'

With a sigh, Severus placed his coffee mug down and pulled out his wand. He pointed it at a small mirror on the wall next to the door leading to the rest of the dungeons that Harry had always wondered about. He couldn't believe it was there for Snape to check his appearance just before he departed his rooms. Snape didn't seem the type to preen in front of a mirror, and if he did, then it wasn't working.

‘Metorio,' Severus incanted, and the mirror surface began to shimmer. A few short seconds later, the reflection of the wall and part of the ceiling Harry could see from his position at the table coalesced into a brilliant, bright cerulean blue which was interspersed with fluffy puffs of clouds floating above the tops of trees that moved infinitesimally in what was obviously, the slightest of breezes.

Harry grinned. ‘Brilliant.' Severus just refrained from rolling his eyes. The boy was easily excited. ‘So, can I go outside?'

‘"May" I go outside?'

Harry did roll his eyes. ‘Yeah, what you said.'

Severus did not look amused. ‘Your smart mouth is hardly conducive to a positive outcome, Po...' Severus bowed his head. ‘...Harry.

Harry blinked. So, he was going to try. He felt absurdly pleased. He had told Snape to call him Harry if he wanted to. He must want to...well, at least want to try. Surely the fact that he had told Harry about their relationship must point to his wanting them to be closer.

Still, Harry supposed Snape had to get used to things being different just as much as he did after five years of "Potter".

‘Sorry,' Harry said. ‘I didn't mean to dish up a mouth full of cheek.'

Severus pinned him with those fathomless eyes. ‘Some habits are very difficult to break.'

Harry's brow furrowed. He didn't think he liked that statement. ‘I don't always dish up a mouth full of cheek, you know?'

The eyebrow did some more callisthenics. ‘You think not?'

‘Yeah, I think not!' Harry responded hotly. ‘If I do it more than I should around you, it's only in response to the way you've treated me over the years.'

‘Am I treating you badly now?'

Harry couldn't let it go so easily. ‘Not badly, as such. But you are trying to run my life.'

‘You have been ill, you foolish child. I am doing what needs to be done to get you well and keep you that way.'

‘But I am well. You said it yourself. Everything's fine now except I'm a bit anaemic still.' Harry stood up and started pacing back and forth, much like Severus had done earlier in the day but without the impressive movement of voluminous robes to give that dramatic effect.

‘I shouldn't have to ask permission just to go outside and get a bit of fresh air. I should be able to write to my friends without feeling guilty for not doing the homework you told me to start on.'

Snape banged his hand down on the table. ‘The homework has to be done,' he bit out angrily.

‘I know! But it's the second week of the holiday's and I haven't had a holiday yet. Unless you think me being in a coma constitutes a holiday.'

Severus too stood and stalked across the room. His destination was the drinks table. Blast the boy to hell and back. Today had been more than he could reasonably be expected to take without some kind of bolster. He poured a large measure of single malt and swigged half of it down. The boy was literally driving him to drink.

‘Your being in a coma might not have been a holiday for you,' said Severus before throwing the rest of the whisky down his throat. ‘But it certainly was for me.'

Harry couldn't help it. Those words really hurt. But he would roast in hell before he let the bastard know that. ‘May I go outside?' he asked through gritted teeth, his throat hurting as he tried to swallow the scream of hurt and rage that was lodged there.

‘After this performance?' sneered Severus.

Harry stalked past Snape who was looking into his tumbler trying to decide whether he needed more fortification. He disappeared into the bedroom where he snatched up the three scrolls of parchment. He was getting out of here even if he had to floo the headmaster to ask permission. He walked stiffly back into the sitting room.

‘If I'm outside, I'm out of your hair. Surely that consideration must override your desire to thwart me.'

Severus wanted to flail the little snot to within an inch of his life. Yes, he definitely needed more fortification. ‘You expect me to give you permission to leave these rooms after the way you have been behaving?' he said with supreme disdain.

‘I don't need your bloody permission,' yelled Harry. ‘You're not my father!'

Severus' head snapped up from where he was concentrating on the task of pouring more whisky. The bottle slipped from his fingers and crashed onto the wooden surface of the table. The tumblers were scattered and two of them fell to the stone floor and smashed into tiny pieces.

Harry stared, appalled at the damage. Then his eyes lifted and he stepped back till his back came up against the wall. Snape was even whiter than usual. His lips were hardly distinguishable in that white mask...the only things that were alive were those coal black eyes which glittered with some emotion that Harry couldn't fathom.

With a supreme effort, Severus got himself under some semblance of control. Turning his head back to the devastation before him and taking deep controlled breaths, he righted the bottle. A wave of his wand dispensed with the spilled liquid and a Reparo saw the fragments of glass fly back together and the two tumblers were levitated back onto the table. Severus daren't look at the boy again for fear of what he would do to him.

‘You had best get out of my sight,' he said in deadly tones, ‘before I do something for which we will both be sorry.'

Harry didn't have to be told twice. He bolted for the door.

‘Potter! If your wish is to get lost in these dungeons, just keep on heading out that door.'

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion.

‘You may not have a clear memory-indeed, I have always found that to be the case-but your last foray through the dungeon corridors was undertaken in my company. And as you were far from well at the time, I cannot imagine that you have memorized the route.'

Harry spread his arms wide and then let them slap back to his sides. He was wary of infuriating the man any further but why didn't he just get to the point. ‘Well, how...'

Severus pointed his wand at the logs in the grate and they burst into flame. ‘You will floo to the Great Hall and then it is just a short walk to the front door.

‘As I imagine that you are going down to see Hagrid, be sure you do not allow him to damage any more of your internal organs, nor indeed, break any ribs.

‘And as I presume you wish your owl to deliver those letters...' Snape nodded curtly at the rolls of parchment clasped tightly in Harry's hand, ‘...you will summon her to you. I forbid you to go anywhere above the ground floor in the castle. And you will venture no further than Hagrid's hut. Do I make myself clear, Potter?' The last was delivered in a voice that suggested Snape was talking to someone who was mentally subnormal.

Harry fumed in impotent silence. ‘Yes, Sir.' He wasn't game to say more as Snape was just as likely to stop him from going. He stalked to the fireplace and reached for the floo powder.

Snape grabbed Harry's forearm before he could pick up any of the glittering, green powder. Harry had had it. He tried to twist his arm from the implacable hold, but Snape just tightened his grip-painfully.

‘Do not even think about disobeying me, Potter. You will not like the consequences.' He loosened his hold enough for Harry to be able to pull free. With cheeks burning with embarrassment and fury, Harry grabbed the powder, and threw it into the flames. He yelled, "Great Hall", louder than he needed to in an effort to dispel some of the anger that was making him feel like he would explode.

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As soon as the boy had spun away in the green flames, Severus allowed his rigid stance to relax. He sank into a chair and his head to fell back so that he was staring at the ceiling.

What in the hell had happened? They had been getting along reasonably well. He had even managed to refrain from chastising the boy for not making any inroads into his Charms homework. He had allowed that the mornings revelations had more than likely occupied the boy's mind to the exclusion of all else. Well, all else but letters to the buffoon, the know-it-all and the girlfriend.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He knew he was being unnecessarily harsh. Ronald Weasley was no more a buffoon than many another child in the school-most of them Gryffindors, admittedly. And Granger-well, she was a know-it-all, but then again, she did know it all. Well most of it, anyway. And the girlfriend? Well, it would be interesting to see where that went. Ginevra Weasley was much more easily tolerated than most of her brothers. Bill and Charlie Weasley were the best of the boys, though Severus did concede that that opinion might be a matter of hindsight. They had both turned out well though and were useful members of the Order of the Phoenix. In fact, Bill had proved remarkably easy to get along with.

As far as I can get on with anyone.

Potter was definitely not going to suffer for a lack of people who cared for him-in the wizarding world at least. And it was obvious that the boy in turn, cared deeply for his friends and all the Weasley family.

Harry could have done worse than the petite redhead as a girlfriend. She was bright and attractive and she was the youngest child and only daughter of the family who had practically adopted Potter. She could be the one to make him pull in his head because it seemed that he, Severus was not very likely to succeed on that front.

Severus supposed that at nearly sixteen, Potter's hormonal activity was at its peak and the mating cry would be loud and strong. It was not surprising therefore, that he was, at last, attached. Severus had never noted that the boy was enamoured with any other female, though he had quite a few female friends. Several of his colleagues had taken to betting on whether Potter or Weasley would end up with Granger. Most had backed Potter. But Severus had never thought that would be the case. Potter seemed to spend a fair proportion of his time being the mediator between Weasley and Granger and their constant bickering. This constant bickering was, in Severus' opinion a good indicator that those two would end up the couple-if the girl did not have the sense to look further afield for someone more worthy of her intellect.

But whether Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger ended up together was immaterial. Potter was as close as a brother to the pair of them, and with the rest of the Weasleys also there to offer support and affection, Severus wondered why he was trying so hard to build up any kind of a relationship with the boy.

After the agony of telling him of their relationship, and the not unexpected tantrum early on, Severus had been surprised at how easily and quickly Harry had accepted everything. He had hoped that perhaps they would be able to rub along together with a modicum of harmony. He had even thought that it might be possible after all, for him to divulge the closer relationship that they shared without Harry going off the deep end.

But it would appear that any thoughts of further confession would have to be put on hold, after all. Oh, he had not had any intention of divulging this more shocking news immediately on the heels of the other. But he had hoped to get it out of the way soon.

It did not seem as if this would be the case. Perhaps he should just leave the boy to the Weasleys and their cloying brand of affection. With Arthur Weasley on hand, and the older boys Bill and Charlie, Potter hardly needed a father, did he?

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Harry sat on the cobblestones at the base of the wall that surrounded the courtyard. His head was resting on his bent knees and he was gazing off into the distance. He had been out of the dungeon for nearly four hours and in that time he had become reacquainted with Hedwig and sent her off with his letters and then he had spent several hours with Hagrid.

Immediately upon being expelled rather forcefully from the massive fireplace in the Great Hall, Harry had sprung to his feet and bolted from the castle. Once outside, he had walked around the castle until he was standing at the base of the Owlery.

When Harry had called for his beautiful snowy owl, she had soared from the tower within seconds. She had landed on his shoulder and nipped his ear in affectionate greeting. Master and owl had spent about half an hour together before Harry had sent her off with his letters.

Hagrid had immediately burst into tears upon finding Harry on his front doorstep. When Fang had tried to launch himself at Harry Hagrid had hauled him back, but the tears had kept falling. It had taken Harry over half an hour to calm his friend down and in the end, he had told Hagrid that he would kill for a cuppa, and one of his rock cakes. This had distracted Hagrid as Harry had known it would because the half giant wasn't happy unless he was shoving food down Harry's throat.

‘Yer need fattnin' up,' was his constant refrain and by the time the kettle had boiled, Hagrid was back to his normal, cheerful self, though Harry noticed that the half-giant didn't touch him in any way. This was an unusual circumstance as Hagrid was a very tactile person and it just wasn't natural for him not to hug or, at the very least, clap Harry on the back.

In an effort to spare Hagrid's feelings, Harry had even managed to feed his rock cake to Fang whilst Hagrid's attention was diverted. Harry's delicate digestive tract was not up to any of Hagrid's cooking at the moment. Even when he was well, the rock cakes took a lot of nerve to tackle.

After the teapot had been drained and Harry had refused more rock cakes, he had watched as Hagrid tended an injured hippogriff that was tethered behind the pumpkin patch. It had apparently been in a fight with another male and had sustained several very nasty bites and kicks. It was amazing that such a huge man could be so very gentle. But when overwhelmed by emotion as he had been when he had injured Harry, he could forget how very strong he was.

The time had passed far too quickly and when Hagrid had had to go off into the forest to check on a pregnant thestral who was, quite amazingly, expecting twins, Harry had said goodbye. According to Hagrid, a twin pregnancy was a very rare phenomenon amongst thestrals. Harry would have loved to go into the forest with him but with Snape's admonitions still loud in his ears, he had resisted the temptation.

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‘Enjoying the sunshine Harry. Professor Dumbledore was walking across the cobblestones, his long shadow creeping over Harry where he still sat leaning against the wall. Harry scrambled to his feet.

‘Professor, I...'

Dumbledore held up his hand. ‘My dear boy. I am not here to admonish you.' He perched himself on the wall and indicated Harry should join him. Not having quite such long legs as the headmaster, Harry hoisted himself up. He wasn't sure he believed that Dumbledore wasn't there to admonish him, though what he could have done wrong he had no idea. Unless...Dumbledore must have been to see Snape otherwise how would he know he was out here. Harry stared at the front door of the castle, unable to look his headmaster in the eye.

‘You have some letters? Good I'm glad your friends are writing to you.'

Harry looked down at the rolls of parchment clamped in his slightly sweaty hand. He had forgotten he was holding them. ‘Yes,' he answered, now turning to look at Dumbledore. ‘Hedwig had them up in the owlery. I was wondering why they weren't delivered directly to me.'

‘Ah. That, my boy is somewhat of a mystery.' Harry's brow furrowed and Dumbledore chuckled. ‘For reasons that no-one knows, post owls cannot seem to navigate the labyrinthine passages of the dungeons.'

‘But owls must have an amazing sense of direction,' argued Harry. ‘They can find anyone, anywhere.'

‘Perfectly true Harry. They are amazing creatures. Perfectly ordinary birds out in the wide world, though a particularly interesting species. But as soon as they are owned by a magical person, they seem to bond and part of that person's magic latches onto them. Not only are they very handy delivering letters to all and sundry, they are also extremely loyal to there owner. But, of course, as with all species, we humans included, some are more intelligent than others.'

Harry listened, fascinated. Nobody had ever explained how post owls did what they did. ‘Hedwig's really intelligent,' he boasted proudly. ‘She once went of her own volition, to Hermione when she was holidaying in France because she was worried that I wouldn't get any birthday presents. Hermione said she just turned up.'

Dumbledore patted Harry's knee. ‘Yes, Harry, I agree. Hedwig is a truly magnificent and exceedingly intelligent bird. ‘But as far as negotiating the dungeon corridors goes, even she would be defeated. We presume it must have happened back in the days of the founders, because as far back as anyone can remember-and that includes the very old and venerable Hogwart's ghosts -it has not been possible for post owls to descend further into the dungeons than Professor Snape's office.

‘It appears that some sort of charm was cast, for no bird is able to fly down there. It is as though they come up against an invisible barrier if any do try-and I am not just talking about owls, Harry, but other birds that may accidentally fly into the castle when the doors are open-and they meet this barrier and turn round and leave.'

Harry shook his head. ‘Weird.'

‘I do not think it so weird. I think perhaps an animal lover might have done just such a thing. Perhaps after finding some dead birds that could not find their way back out of the dungeons. It is dark and dank as you know and it is not a normal habitat for our feathered friends. Helga Hufflepuff was known to be an animal lover. I like to think it was she who cast the charm to protect all birds. She was especially accomplished in Charms.'

Harry grinned at Dumbledore. ‘Is it written down somewhere that you have to learn everything there is to know about the castle when you become headmaster,' he asked in all seriousness.

Dumbledore chuckled again. ‘No Harry. It is not a prerequisite of the job. But Hogwarts has always fascinated me and I do not find it a chore to look into her history. But what I have just told you is purely conjecture and unverifiable, but in my humble opinion, Helga Hufflepuff was the most likely person to have cast such a charm.'

The very old and the very young wizard sat in companionable silence for several minutes, both gazing at the truly magnificent structure before them, and both feeling her pull. Harry had loved Hogwarts from the moment he had set eyes upon her. Before really, for though he had never admitted it to anyone, he had read "Hogwarts a History", as soon as he had gotten back to the Dursleys with his textbooks after Hagrid had taken him to Diagon Alley. As soon as he had opened the book, he had fallen under Hogwart's spell.

He hadn't ever admitted it to Hermione because she seemed to get great delight out of telling him and Ron all she knew, and Ron would just think he was a "dork" if he knew that Harry had spent several days (in between doing chores) lying on his bed and reading a school reference book.

When Dumbledore spoke again, Harry jumped, so immersed was he in his own thoughts.

‘So, Harry, Professor Snape has finally revealed your familial connection?'

Harry's head spun around to face Dumbledore. ‘Did you know, Professor? Did you know Sn...Professor Snape and my dad were cousins?'

‘Yes, Harry, I knew. And before you accuse me of keeping you in the dark, my boy, I will just point out that it was not my story to tell. It was up to Severus to tell you...or not.'

‘But that hardly makes it fair,' burst out Harry, unable to subdue his anger. ‘it was his story to tell because he knew it. I was the one left in the dark, but I was part of the story. I should have been told as it concerned me.'

Dumbledore sighed. ‘Oh, Harry. Do you think you would have been better off knowing before now? I am sure I do not have to tell you that Professor Snape's early life was far from ideal and unfortunately, he made a lot of wrong choices. Bitterness and vindictiveness fed his soul for a long time. It is doubtful that he would have made more of an effort to treat you fairly before now.

‘And, in fact, if you had known from the beginning, that harsh treatment would have affected you in a very different way. Not knowing of your relationship allowed you to fight back as far as you could; you did not allow it to get you down unduly. Knowing...well I am afraid that knowing may have hurt you to a great extent and you would not have been able to get past the hurt enough to hold your own.'

Harry pondered these words but he could still not help feeling bitter. Snape had deliberately picked a fight, and for the most ridiculous reason. What did it matter that he had said, "can I" instead of ‘may I"? He knew the difference but he had been speaking, not writing an essay, for God sake.

‘I have to wonder why Sn...Professor Snape bothered to tell me at all. He's not happy about it. He says that my nearly dying made him realize that he would have no family left. But he doesn't seem to want a family.

‘He just can't get over his hatred of my dad, even though he said my dad seemed to be ready to let things go. But his mum had just died and he seems to have blamed my dad's father for that rather than his own father.' Harry sounded sad and defeated. ‘And I just don't think he'll be able to get around that...ever.'

Dumbledore put a long arm around Harry's hunched shoulders in a hug. ‘Harry, it is not going to be easy. It is not going to happen over night. But I do believe that Severus wants to change. I do believe he would acknowledge you if he were able. You, my boy, are going to have to be the patient one, because patience is not one of Severus' virtues.

‘You are nearly sixteen and have an infinite capacity for love because it is the one thing that you were deprived of in your childhood.' Harry squirmed uncomfortably at these words, as he had every time Dumbledore had alluded to them in the past.

‘Severus is thirty-six and has lived with his bitterness and disillusionment for the majority of that time. It will not be easy for him to change. You must believe that he wants to though.'

Harry sighed. He wanted to believe, he really did. But it just seemed that his mere presence set the grouchy git off. ‘Professor Dumbledore, maybe if I stay in Gryffindor tower for a while, give Professor Snape back his privacy. I'm better now. I don't need constant monitoring. Maybe if he has some distance, he'll be able to better tolerate me. You know the saying; "Absence makes the Heart grow Fonder".'

Bur Dumbledore was already shaking his silvery head. ‘I'm afraid I cannot allow that Harry. I would much prefer you to be with an adult...'

‘But Professor McGonagall could...'

‘No, she couldn't Harry. Professor McGonagall is away from the castle at the moment nursing her sick sister and whilst she makes fleeting visits, she is only here for short periods of time.'

Harry's shoulders drooped. He really didn't want to go back to Snape's dungeon rooms.' ‘But it's not fair on Professor Snape. I'm keeping him out of his bed. He won't let me sleep on the couch. Even though he transfigures it into a bed for himself.

‘Ah,' said Dumbledore, standing up and arching the kinks out of his back. ‘Severus and I have seen to that problem. Come along, my boy. We should be getting back. And there is a surprise waiting for you.'

Surprise or no, Harry's disinclination to return to the dungeon was obvious as he lagged behind Dumbledore. They entered the castle and were crossing the flagstone floor of the entrance hall when Argus Filch stepped out of a doorway under the marble staircase. The ever present, Mrs Norris was at his feet.

Filch stopped when he saw Harry and the expression on the caretaker's face darkened. He was one of the ugliest men Harry had ever seen and that was saying something as he had lived with Uncle Vernon for most of his life and he had always had the title before Harry met Filch.

He had a constantly dripping, red bulbous nose and his unshaven, sunken cheeks were covered in broken veins. His rheumy eyes were so pale as to be almost colourless, except for the whites, which were usually red. At the moment, they were narrowed with dislike and malice.

His ears were very large-not protuberant but huge. He wore false teeth that were far too big for his mouth and the top ones kept falling down when he talked and if he was angry, which he was most of the time, he nearly lost them entirely when he raged.

Even though it was a warm, summers day, the man wore an old threadbare corduroy jacket and he had a tartan scarf wrapped around his skinny neck.

Harry looked away. Severus Snape was not the only person within Hogwarts to hate Harry. Filch hated him also and Harry was pretty sure that was because this horrible, sadistic man was in collusion with Snape when it came to ferreting out wrongdoers amongst the students. Neither needed proof of any misdeed to give the poor unfortunate student some sort of odious punishment that rarely fitted the crime. That was considering a crime had been committed in the first place and was not just a figment of either man's imagination.

Harry had never been able to figure out why Dumbledore-a man known for his benevolence and fair mindedness when it came to dealing with the young witches and wizards in his charge-kept Filch on when his idea of a suitable punishment for the most minor infringement, would not have seemed out of place during the Spanish Inquisition.

Filch hadn't yet seen Dumbledore but the headmaster now stepped back into view. The nasty expression reserved for Harry became obsequiously servile when he caught sight of the headmaster.

‘Argus. Back so early from your holiday?'

Filch gave a curt nod. ‘Aye, Sir. The weather on the coast was shockin'. Wet and bleedin' cold, and Mrs. Norris hated it. Also, the soddin' neighbours bought a dog and the ruddy thing didn't stop barkin'. Mrs Norris was in a real state the whole time.'

‘Unfortunate,' commiserated Dumbledore. ‘But I was under the impression that you were quite isolated, that your holiday shack was quite a way away from the nearest neighbour.'

‘Well it is. About half a mile, but that blasted dog was loud. Like that mongrel of Hagrid's.' Harry scowled. He'd take Fang over Mrs Norris any day of the week.'

‘Now, now Argus. Hagrid has his pet and you have yours. One is in the castle and the other at the far end of the grounds,' placated Dumbledore. Filch bared those horrible teeth in a rictus of disapproval before turning on his heel to leave.

‘Oh, just one thing, Argus. Mr Potter will be a guest at the castle at different times during the summer break.'

Filch's shoulders stiffened but he just nodded to Dumbledore and ignored Harry completely before stomping off.

‘Mr Filch didn't look too happy about me being here,' said Harry. Dumbledore chuckled as they crossed the Great Hall.

‘Ah, poor Argus. He's not at all fond of children, I'm afraid.'

‘Then what's he doing working in a school?' burst out Harry angrily. And then when he realised that he might have sounded a bit rude, he added, ‘Umm, not that it's any of my business, Sir.'

Dumbledore looked down his long, crooked nose at Harry. ‘Mr Filch is a special case, Harry. His bark is far worse than his bite.'

‘But all those shackles and chains he's got in his office. He'd hang any of us up by our thumbs without blinking. He's a sadist!'

‘Mr Filch has to get my permission before he can apply any form of physical punishment, Harry. And I would never give my permission, as I am sure you must know.'

‘But where does he get these medieval ideas of punishment from? Are the kind of things he wants to do to students legal in the wizarding world? Any person in the Muggle world would be arrested for just having some of that stuff in their possession.'

Dumbledore took up a pinch of floo powder. There was already a fire burning in the grate. ‘No, Harry, it is not legal in the wizarding world to torture children.'

Harry wasn't sure about that though. He didn't think children could be overly protected by the powers that be in the wizarding world. Fudge would have been quite happy to have been able to throw him into Azkaban if he had been found guilty of flouting the decree for the restriction of underage wizardry when he had produced a patronus to get rid of dementors last summer. It seemed that the ministry could do what they liked with little regard to the laws already laid down. And it would not have mattered that he had only just turned fifteen at the time of the incident.

Harry had been helpless. Fudge and his cronies had even tried to trick Dumbledore into being late for the hearing. Without Dumbledore, Harry knew he would probably be in Azkaban right now. And if he had not been sentenced to Azkaban, then he would have been expelled from Hogwarts.

Another problem with wizarding justice in Harry opinion was that no matter the crime, all "wrongdoers" ended up in Azkaban. He, might have ended up in the same prison as murderers and torturers for a case of underage magic. It was ridiculous.

Dumbledore threw floo powder onto the flames and Harry stepped into the flames and cried, ‘Professor Snape's rooms.'

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Severus heard the roar of the floo from his laboratory. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to face the boy again.

Dumbledore had firecalled him and asked to come through minutes after Harry had left. Severus had been glad of someone to talk to and he had unloaded on his old friend for over an hour.

After he had related the revelations of the morning and Harry's reaction to them, Dumbledore had been greatly heartened, telling Severus that he had been sure of just such an outcome as Harry had an overpowering need to be like everyone else-to be accepted for who he was and to have a family who cared for him. The old man had pinned Severus with those penetrating eyes when he had said the last.

Severus had not met that gaze but had gone on to relate the later incidence of discord between himself and Harry whilst gazing into the fireplace. The headmaster's sage advice had been more utterances along the lines of practising patience and tolerance.

He is the teen, Severus. You are the adult. You have had your time of being an angst ridden adolescent. Now, it is Harry's turn. We cannot change the stage of life he is going through, we can only try to make it easier for him and try to be modify his bad moods by applying reasoned argument with patience and the understanding of people who have already been through those trying times.

Remembering also that the child has been in the spotlight since entering our world and before that he might well have been invisible-certainly inconsequential to the family who brought him up. He has more reason for bouts of teenage angst than anyone else that I know.

You have been there, Severus and made many wrong choices when you were there. Help Harry make the right choices. His life is only going to become more and more difficult and he needs adults in his life who can help him through. And adults in his life who care about what may happen to him.

You do care, don't you Severus?

Of course, Severus hadn't answered the last. Did he care? Care for Harry Potter? Care for his son? All he knew for certain was that he no longer hated the boy. And all he knew for certain was that he would do all in his power to protect him and to help prepare him for the finale that Dumbledore was convinced was the boy's destiny.

Though how in the hell the child was supposed to be the downfall of evil personified a second time, Severus did not know. The first time had been truly miraculous-a fifteen month old baby, for God sake. A fifteen month old baby whose mother had died rather than let him be killed in front of her. A frantic mother who must have known that her son would be killed as soon as she was out of the way.

But she had not even considered living while her baby died. She had to have known that her husband was already dead. She could not have known that her son would survive. Lily Potter would not have wanted to live with both her husband and her son dead. Her choice had been a simple one because the one thing Lily Evans did not lack, was courage.

And it was that courage and her overpowering love for her son-their son, his and James' and Lily's son-that had saved his life.

For a long time, Severus had been angry and bitter that the beautiful and vibrant Lily Evans had sacrificed herself for a baby who had not had a chance at life; who did not know what he would be missing out on.

Now, in retrospect, Severus could see that Lily had really had no choice. Apparently, a mother's love could not be measured by any means known to man, nor indeed, wizard kind.

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Severus entered the sitting room as Harry was straightening up after spilling out of the floo. How could someone who flew with such finesse and looked as at home in the air as a bird, not be able to step from a floo without landing on all fours?

Harry spotted Snape as he scrambled to his feet. He turned aside and tried to brush the soot off himself. Dumbledore stepped out of the fire with his customary grace and Harry hoped that he would be able to do that one day because he knew that he would get tired of the alternative very quickly.

Harry suddenly remembered that Dumbledore had said there was a surprise waiting for him. He surreptitiously looked around but he could see nothing out of the ordinary.

Severus knew it was up to him to break the stalemate between himself and Harry and Dumbledore looking pointedly at him over the top of his glasses reinforced that knowledge. Harry was looking anywhere but at him and Severus noticed the crumpled up rolls of parchment still clutched in his hand.

‘You did not send your letters?' When Harry looked at him in confusion, Severus indicated the letters with a nod of his head. ‘If you could not find your own owl, you could have used a school owl, you know.'

‘These are letters from my friends. Hedwig had them in the owlery because she couldn't get down here to deliver them. Professor Dumbledore explained why.'

‘Ah.' Severus nodded once. ‘I had not thought about mail coming for you. If I had, I would have checked the owlery. I'm sorry.'

Harry was surprised. Snape apologising? He had not thought that would happen and though it wasn't an apology directly related to their earlier altercation, Harry wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

‘That's OK. I didn't really think about mail either. Anyway, Hedwig might not have let you have them.'

‘The birds know when someone is acting on their owner's behalf, Harry,' said Dumbledore. ‘It is part of their innate attachment to their master or mistress.'

‘Oh,' said Harry, and then gathering up his pride, he blurted, ‘I'm sorry about the fight we had earlier. I'll try not to antagonise you.'

Severus crossed his arms, pulling his robes more tightly about himself. ‘I too am sorry Harry. I shall endeavour not to correct you every time you open your mouth.'

Harry grinned. ‘Does that mean that every time I open my mouth, I say something wrong?

Dumbledore chuckled and Severus could not restrain his own lips twitching in amusement. ‘Not every time, no. just most of the time. But with the passing of years, the tendency may pass.'

Harry's grin widened. ‘Hagrid sends his best, by the way and wishes me to point out to you that I am hale and hearty after our visit.' The eyebrow rose as though its owner knew he was being mocked but there was no answering sally because Dumbledore clapped his hands together to get both their attention.

‘I think it is time that we show Harry his new accommodations, Severus.'

Harry looked from one to the other, confused. Professor Dumbledore had told him he had to stay with Snape for the time being. If they had found somewhere else for him to stay within the castle, why couldn't it be Gryffindor tower?

Maybe Snape was prepared to move to other accommodations above the ground whilst he was in charge of Harry's welfare. Harry had to admit that a window or two wouldn't go astray. As comfortable as these rooms were, Harry missed being able to see the outdoors.

‘But you sa...' But Dumbledore had raised his wand and pointed it at the wall on the far side of the dining area-the same wall where the door to Snape's lab was situated. Dumbledore seemed to be drawing in mid air but not a word escaped his lips. Harry watched, amazed as another door appeared at the other end of the wall.

Snape looked at Harry as Dumbledore lowered his wand. ‘Your new bedroom, Harry.' He indicated that Harry proceed him and Dumbledore. Harry didn't need a second invitation. He skirted around the dining suite and after a slight hesitation, he put his hand on the door knob, and turned it.

The room was nowhere near the size of the one he had been sleeping in but it was at least half as big again as his room at the Dursleys. He gazed around at the light coloured timber furniture. It all matched. There was a single bed, a bedside dresser with three deep drawers, a tallboy with another five drawers, a wardrobe and a desk and chair. The walls were unadorned except for another mirror that was a little larger than the one near the "front" door.

The quilt was the same as the ones in Gryffindor tower but the bed wasn't a four poster and there were no curtains surrounding it. He didn't need curtains though, because he could shut the door to ensure his privacy.

Harry's trunk was already at the foot of the bed and when he opened the wardrobe door, his robes and school shirts and trousers were already hanging and his other things were neatly put away in the drawers. There was another door between the wardrobe and the tallboy and when Harry opened it, he found a small bathroom equipped with shower, hand basin and toilet.

Harry took it all in; he sat on the chair and then bounced lightly on the bed. He looked in the mirror but all it showed was his reflection. He would have to ask if it was enchanted like the one in the sitting room. He looked through the drawers in the desk and found parchment and quills. His school books were lined up neatly on a shelf attached to the wall above the desk.

Harry sat on the bed again and clasped his hands between his knees, staring at the floor. His feet were resting on a burgundy and gold rug. The room was brilliant. If Ron ever saw it-if he ever got over his hatred of Snape enough the set foot down here and if he was ever allowed into Snape's private domain-he would be so jealous.

But as Harry sat and looked at the floor, it was not the room he thought about, it was what it represented. Acceptance and permanence. Snape was really making an effort. He must want Harry to look on him as family. And as far as permanence went-well, you didn't create a room out of nothing and then fill it with handsome furniture and Gryffindor colours if you didn't want your guest to use it.

Guest. Was he just a guest, or did Snape mean for this to be Harry's room during the holidays-his home? Did this mean that he didn't have to go back to the Dursleys again. Surely all of this hadn't been done just for the short term. He and Snape could have gone on as before if his days here were numbered. Harry knew that it could be undone again just as quickly with magic, but why make it in the first place if he was only here for a few more days.

Snape and Dumbledore had left him to explore by himself. They had been talking quietly in the other room whilst Harry looked around. But when Harry heard the floo activate and Dumbledore leave for his office, Harry rose to his feet and walked back into the dining room.

Snape was sitting at the table drinking a cup of tea. Harry sat down opposite him and reached for a cup. There was another half full cup that had been left. Dumbledore must have left in a hurry.

As Harry concentrated on pouring his tea, he could feel Snape's eyes probing him. He placed his hands around his cup and looked up. ‘The room is brilliant. Thank you, Sir.'

Severus inclined his head. ‘I want you to consider these rooms your home, Harry.' Harry swallowed. He didn't know what to say but Snape continued.

‘I am sure you realise that this will not be the easiest transition for me. I am used to solitude. And I am sure you must realise that our living in such close proximity will not be a picnic. You know my temperament, and I know yours isn't always sweetness and light, either.

‘We will have to work at it. Both of us. But I am willing to try if you want to make your home with me.'

Harry swallowed again and looked down at his hands clasped around his cup. His grasp was tight and the cup was hot but he needed some kind of anchor. He made a huge effort to stop tears welling up in his eyes. Why was he always so emotional these days. Snape would think he was a girl.

Harry cleared his throat and prising his hands off the cup where they had become all sweaty, he took the handle and took a sip of tea. He then looked at Snape. There was no change in his expression, no miraculous softening at the thought of having a young charge on a permanent basis, nothing close to love shining in his eyes.

But Harry hadn't expected to see anything like that. The fact of the room being created for him and Snape even making the offer in the first place was enough. It couldn't just be Dumbledore's idea that Snape was unwillingly going along with because Snape wasn't sitting here with a face like thunder and a mood to match. It was he putting the proposition to him, not Dumbledore. Anyway, Harry was positive that if Dumbledore had ordered this and Snape was totally against it, he would have just quit his job.

Although, on second thought, maybe not. Voldemort needed him here as a spy, didn't he?

‘I'm willing to try. The thought of a place that I can really call home is nice. And you will have your solitude for most of the year. It's only the summer holidays when I need a home. I always stay at Hogwarts for Christmas and Easter.'

Harry's eyes clouded a little and he looked down again. ‘Well...except for last Christmas with the vision of Mr Weasley being attacked by Nagini.' He swallowed when he thought of where he had stayed last Christmas and with whom. After a few seconds, he looked up again, determined to not let anything spoil the moment. ‘So, does this mean I don't have to go back to the Dursleys anymore?

At that moment, the floo flared again and Dumbledore stepped onto the rug. Severus and Harry both looked at him and Harry felt a fist close around his heart. Dumbledore was looking particularly grim.

‘I am afraid not Harry,' said Dumbledore. He sounded weary, but also determined. Severus stood and faced Albus.

‘What has happened?'

Severus spoke, but Dumbledore looked at Harry as he explained. ‘It seems that the wards at your aunt and uncles home are weakening and Voldemort seems to be getting a fix on where your summer residence is. Death Eaters are converging on Surrey, though they do not appear to know whereabouts in Surrey.'

Severus spun about and looked at Harry. He was sitting as though turned to stone.

‘I am sorry Harry. I knew you would have to spend some time at your aunts, but I had thought we would have a little more time.'

‘Who gave you this information, Dumbledore. Is he sure of his facts.'

‘Alastor, and yes, Severus. Alastor, as you know, is careful to the point of paranoia.'

‘But Sir, how can I be safer anywhere than here.'

Dumbledore sat down opposite Harry and leaned on his forearms. ‘Yes, my boy, you are safe here. But it is essential that we keep the blood protection active for as long as possible because that helps to keep you safe wherever you are. If the blood protection breaks down, you will not, for example be able to go to Hogsmeade.'

Harry opened his mouth to say that he would forego Hogsmeade if it meant he didn't have to face his aunt and uncle and cousin again. But even as he thought it, he knew it couldn't be.

‘They aren't safe either if the protection breaks down, are they?' Dumbledore pierced him with those blue eyes. Harry could see sadness there, but he could also see approval. ‘So, I have to go back to Privet Drive.'

‘I'm afraid so, Harry.'

Harry sighed and bowed his head. ‘When?'

‘Alastor and Tonks are on their way to speak to your aunt and uncle as we speak. They will be told that you will arrive this evening.'

Harry seemed to deflate in front of the two adults. He wouldn't even get to spend one night in his new bed. Severus felt an unfamiliar indignant anger well up inside him for Harry Potter. He had finally made the supreme sacrifice and everything had to be put on hold because his son had to go back to his abusive aunt and uncle. Now who would have thought Severus Snape would ever come out batting for "The Boy Who Lived"? He rounded on Dumbledore.

‘These formidable wards may protect Harry from the Dark Lord and his minions, Albus, but they will not protect him from harm by the Dursleys themselves.' Severus flung his arm out and pointed at Harry. ‘You saw the scars on his body.'

Harry gaped at him. Just because Snape had seen everything did not mean he had any right to tell the headmaster.

‘You had no right to talk about me to other people,' he yelled. How embarrassing was it that Snape and Dumbledore both knew he was too weak to stand up to Uncle Vernon. ‘How many others know about poor, pathetic Harry Potter being beaten up by his Muggle uncle?'

‘I had every right you idio...'

‘Harry, Harry,' interrupted Dumbledore. ‘No-one other than Severus, Professor McGonagall and myself know, I assure you...'

Harry raised his arms to shoulder height and slapped his hands down against his pants legs, making a loud thwack. ‘Oh, great! Professor McGonagall knows too. This just gets better and better.'

‘POTTER!' Harry snapped his head back towards Snape who took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. Once under control, he opened his mouth to continue speaking but Dumbledore beat him to it again.

‘Harry, Professor Snape did not need to tell Professor McGonagall nor myself anything of the old injuries you received at your uncle's hands. We saw the scars for ourselves, as both of us nursed you at one time or another.'

Harry felt his face redden and he swallowed. Great. He had jumped in, boots and all once again. He ran an agitated hand through his hair, messing it up even further. ‘All the scars are really old anyway,' he mumbled. ‘Uncle Vernon hasn't done anything to me since before I started at Hogwarts.'

Harry didn't know why he was lying. It wasn't as if he was trying to protect Uncle Vernon, nor indeed, Aunt Petunia, who had never once tried to stop her husband from beating up on him. It was more that he didn't want Snape or Dumbledore thinking that he was weak.

Dumbledore raised his bushy eyebrows and looked at Harry over the top of his spectacles. ‘Now I know that that is a lie, my boy. The worst of the scaring on your body that was not caused by a witch or wizard, is no more than four years old.'

Harry shook his head but instead of voicing outright denial, he said, ‘How could you know that?'

‘You were unconscious at the time, Harry, but I was in the hospital wing after you had saved the Philosopher's Stone and I assisted Madam Pomfrey in dressing you in pyjamas. Apart from the famous scar on your forehead, there was little more than what could be considered to be scarring from normal childhood injuries adorning your body at that time.

‘But what I saw just recently could not, by any stretch of the imagination be called normal scaring from childhood mishaps. Harry, why have you not ever told any of the adults entrusted with your care that you were being abused by your uncle and aunt.'

‘People knew that I hated going back there,' bellowed Harry. ‘I even told Fudge after he found me when I ran away in the summer before third year that I didn't want to go back.' He snorted. ‘That old goat said that he was sure we really cared for each other deep down. Yeah, it's so deep down I'd have to be inside a bathysphere to find it.'

‘Harry, I do not think it appropriate to call the Minister for Magic an "old goat",' chastised Dumbledore.

Harry ignored this. ‘I never went home for Christmas. I never got a Christmas present or even a letter from them other than to tell me to stay at school for the holidays because they didn't want me home.' He turned to Snape and continued to rant. ‘I know you heard Malfoy taunting me about not going home for Christmas in first year. He did it right in potions class at the top of his smarmy voice, but of course you ignored the little turd.

‘But if it had been me taunting him for anything, let alone something as insulting and embarrassing as not having a decent family who cared enough to want me at home for the Christmas Holidays, then I would have had fifty points taken from Gryffindor and a months worth of detentions.'

Snape, for once, was at a loss for words. He remembered the incident. He had not, as Harry said, chastised Draco, but he could remember that he had not thought the boy's comments at all amusing and he had wondered why the spoiled and pampered Golden Boy was not going home to the bosom of his doting family for the holidays.

Harry had turned back to Dumbledore. ‘You must have known how much I hated it at the Dursleys, Sir. You've had Mrs Figg spying for you all along. She must have told you things.'

Dumbledore looked stricken and Harry felt a fleeting guilt. He hadn't wanted to lay all of this on Dumbledore. But it was he who had bought the subject up.

‘Yes, Arabella told me things, Harry. She said that you often seemed very sad, and that you didn't seem to have any friends. She told me that your cousin and his friends spent the better part of every day bullying you.

‘She told me that when you were about three, she thought you were having trouble with your eyes and that when she suggested to your aunt that your eyes might need testing, it didn't happen. It did not happen, in fact, until you went to school and the issue was forced. When you got your glasses, they were broken within a week by your cousin.

‘She also told me that your family rarely took you on outings with them, and that she babysat you quite often, and also that she often did not see you outside for days at a time.'

Dumbledore sighed deeply and shook his head. ‘But she never told me that she thought you might be being physically abused. You never told anyone, Harry. Not Arabella, not your teachers at your Muggle school, and none of your friends or teachers once you came here.'

Harry threw himself into one of the deep armchairs, slouching as only a teenage boy can slouch. ‘It wouldn't have mattered,' he muttered, his chin buried in his chest. ‘You would have sent me back anyway. I have to go back there until I come of age, don't I, regardless of how my aunt and uncle treat me?'

‘You're right, Harry. It saddens me greatly, but as your mother died to keep you alive, I am loathe to waste her sacrifice by not taking advantage of your aunt's relationship to you. Poor aunt that she undoubtedly is.

‘With Tom Riddle active again, it is even more imperative that we employ every means at our disposal to help keep you safe until you come of age.'

‘But he won't be safe, will he, Albus?' interjected Snape. Harry looked up at him, surprised. He couldn't get used to Snape sticking up for him. ‘A fat lot of good it will do us to keep the boy safe from the Dark Lord and his ilk if his own uncle maims or kills him in the meantime.

‘And I have to wonder...' he continued angrily, before Albus could open his mouth, ‘...just how much use these wards are if Harry can be attacked and nearly killed here in the school. Lily's sacrifice is quite limited, Albus, and I am not sure if the pros outweigh the cons.'

‘Nothing is perfect, Severus, but the wards are a help. And it seems we need all the help we can get. The person who attacked Harry here is obviously not in league with Voldemort-not yet, at any rate.

‘Quirrell was in league with Voldemort!' yelled Severus, imitating Harry by flinging his arms out and then slapping his hands against his robe draped thighs. ‘How much more in league can you get than being possessed by him? Barty Crouch Junior was in league with Voldemort!'

‘Quirrell was not operating under his own volition and Voldemort was less than human. I think that is why the events of Harry's first year progressed as far as they did, Severus. It is a set of circumstances that will not occur again as Voldemort has now been resurrected. And, if you remember, my boy, Quirrell was unable to kill Harry. That was due to the blood protection.

‘As far as Barty Junior went, he was not actually planning on harming Harry himself.'

‘Y-e-s,' responded Severus with barely controlled impatience. ‘But Harry very nearly died anyway as a result of the effort expended to hold Quirrell off until you arrived to save the day. And Barty Junior may not have been wielding the wand, but he did arrange the transportation to the place of Harry's planned demise.

Severus now turned a thunderous face towards Harry. It seemed he still had some steam to let off. ‘Of course, in the instance of Quirrell, nothing would have happened at all if three foolish, disobedient and highly immature Gryffindors had not stuck their noses in where they were told to keep them out of, and if they had not left their dormitory after curfew, as was-and still is-their want.'

‘We tried to get Professor McGonagall to take notice of us!' bellowed Harry,' springing upright in the chair, his fists clenched on the arms. The injustice of these accusations always rankled. ‘But it's the same here as in the Muggle world; if it's a kid trying to make a point, then no-one wants to listen.'

‘And of course you could not have come to me?'

‘Yeah, right,' sneered Harry in a masterful imitation of Severus, if he only but knew it. ‘And you're renowned for taking notice of anything a Gryffindor has to say, in class or out of it.' Severus eyes narrowed menacingly but Harry ploughed on bravely. ‘Besides, apart from your Gryffindor prejudice in general and your Harry Potter prejudice in particular, we wouldn't have come to you because we thought you were the one trying to steal the stone.'

By the end of this diatribe, Harry's cheeks were red with embarrassment as he remembered his, Ron and Hermione's wrong assumption from four years previously.

Severus' face had paled slightly and he was gaping at Harry, increasing the boy's embarrassment tenfold. It appeared that Snape did not realise that Harry and his friends had thought it was he trying to steal the stone.

Snape looked ready to tear strips off Harry and had opened his mouth to lambaste him when Dumbledore interrupted again, his voice slightly raised. ‘Severus, Harry, please. This is very old history and has nothing at all to do with our present dilemma-namely, how to protect Harry from his relatives.'

‘Why is it a dilemma? The solution seems obvious to me.' said Severus as Harry slumped back in his seat again. He started picking at another hangnail, subsumed by the misery that was the result of his eminent departure from the magical world for who knew how long. He shut out the conversation because he knew all decisions would be made totally regardless of him.

8888

Harry was roused from his introspection and sent to get his belongings together. He had not listened to any of the plans that were being made around him. He sloped into his bedroom and sank down onto his bed. But after a second, he threw himself lengthways on the scarlet cover, his head on the pillow.

He might not be able to sleep in his new bed for however long-no, his luxury, sagging wire base and stained, three inch thick mattress that Aunt Petunia had found at a car-boot sale would be his lot-but he could at least get a feel for it and have that memory to tide him over.

He tried to look on the bright side. For the first time, he was going to his relatives knowing that they were not the only family that he had in the world. That was a nice thought, even if his new found family member was Severus Snape. No matter how bad things got at the Dursleys, Harry had someone else he could turn to. Severus Snape was not going to allow a wizard-especially a wizard who was his cousin-be mistreated by a great ugly Muggle like Vernon Dursley.

In actual fact, Harry was more than just unhappy about going back to the Dursley's this year; he was-much to his discomfiture-scared. After Harry had blown up his uncle's sister during the summer after his second year, Vernon Dursley had undergone an alarming transformation. If Harry had not run away after the unwitting incident, his uncle may well have started the physical abuse then.

Always bad tempered and nasty to Harry and occasionally, a bit too free and easy with his hands, Vernon Dursley had, after Harry had arrived back at Privet Drive the summer after his third year, set the standard for all his future dealings with his nephew; he had flailed him to within an inch of his life as soon as Harry had entered the house.

He had informed Harry, who was close to unconscious from the pain of his injuries at the time, that he was no longer going to be soft; he was going to deal with Harry and his un-naturalness as he saw fit and he was not going to be scared off with threats of a murderous godfather.

Harry felt that if he had not left the Dursley's early that summer to stay at the Burrow and attend the Quidditch World Cup, then he might well have not survived the summer. Uncle Vernon had not been careless either; he had made sure he had not left any visible evidence of his abuse. It had been a tricky business at the Burrow, organising things so that Ron never caught a glimpse of his abused body.

Yes, things had been bad enough that summer, but last summer, after the Dementor attack and in the four days before the Advance Guard had come and taken him away, Harry had once again been beaten to within an inch of his life. Uncle Vernon's anger had been even more formidable because his precious son had been attacked by hostile creatures from the magical world.

Harry knew he had suffered broken ribs along with all the cuts and welts and bruises and swellings from Vernon's fists and his belt, but he had not said anything to anybody. He knew everyone had been frightened by and worried about his temper during the school year. When he had arrived at Grimmauld Place for the first time, his temper had not just been about Voldemort's return, nor the Dementor attack and the Ministry's unreasonable reaction and his possible expulsion from Hogwarts, it had also been about the pain he had been in.

It had taken a long time for his injuries to heal and with his return to health, he had pushed the Dursleys and his uncle's mistreatment to the back of his mind. After all, the hassles he had encountered this past year within the wizarding world had been quite enough to keep him occupied.

With the pain in his scar and his visions getting worse all the time, and then the horror of Mr Weasley's attack and his feelings of responsibility for that attack, and his worries about his very sanity, the Muggle world had seemed a long way away.

He had had to contend with Umbridge's torture sessions, Snape's Occlumency lessons, his discovery of his father's bullying ways, and finally, the vision that had led him on the wild goose chase that had ended in Sirius' death. Uncle Vernon and his fists and belt, if he had thought about them at all, had seemed laughably insignificant in the horror that was his world. Especially after being told about the prophecy and his ultimate fate.

He knew now, that it was not Uncle Vernon who would kill him, it was Voldemort. Uncle Vernon would just soften him up for the final confrontation.

Harry sat up and rubbed his scar. As it had since the Department of Mysteries, it was prickling. He had become so used to this sensation, he scarcely noticed it anymore. For the last little while though, it had been thrumming more painfully. He could no longer enter Voldemort's mind, but he could sense his mood and Harry thought he seemed agitated about something.

Harry was sure Voldemort had been angry ever since he had been unable to possess Harry in the atrium of the Ministry, but he could feel something else overlaying the anger. The anger was all too real, but it was muted, smothered by something else. He worried about that. Worried about what would happen once that anger was not being smothered.

8888

As Harry kicked open his trunk and stared into its capacious depths, he realised that it had never been empty like this before. When he was at Privet Drive, he never emptied the trunk because, apart from the odd textbook, he did not need any of his wizarding stuff in the Muggle world.

Harry felt a slight thrill grip him. And for once it was not a thrill of fear, it was a thrill of wonder. He had not thought of it before, but he actually had someplace that he could leave the bulk of his things-a place that was the closest thing to a real home he had ever known. He would come back here when he was allowed to leave the Dursleys and all his things would be exactly where they were now. If he had ever left any of his wizarding things at the Dursleys-old textbooks for example-then they would have been disposed of whilst he was away at Hogwarts.

He didn't need anything even half as big as his trunk to lug the few clothes he would need and he was just wondering if he could stuff everything into his school bag when Snape entered.

‘I thought this might be handy.' He was holding a black leather holdall up and Harry couldn't help himself; he gaped. Snape rolled his eyes and Harry shut his mouth with an audible snap.

‘I can borrow that?'

‘Yes, Harry. You may borrow this.'

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes, but he grinned and took the holdall. ‘Thanks. I was just wondering whether I could stuff everything into my school bag.' And so saying he began to stuff his clothes into the roomy holdall.

Severus watched for several agonising seconds before pouncing. He grabbed the holdall and upended it, tipping Harry's clothes back onto the bed.

‘For the love of Merlin, Potter, now I know why you always manage to look as though you just crawled out of a ragbag. I suppose folding is a process that has completely passed you by?'

Harry grabbed at the pair of jeans that Severus had picked up. ‘I know how to fold,' he bit out. ‘I just don't usually bother.'

‘Clearly,' drawled Severus. He turned to leave. ‘By the way, Professor Dumbledore said he would send your owl to Privet Drive. Now, hurry up. I want to leave in ten minutes.'

Harry finished packing, a little more neatly-in deference to Snape's fussiness-and was back in the sitting room within five minutes. Snape was just exiting the bedroom he could once again call his own, and once again, Harry gaped.

Snape's hair was pulled back and fastened at the nape of his neck with what looked like a thin leather thong. He was fussing with the neck of a thin, long-sleeved black jumper. It had a polo collar and Snape was fastening the top button. He also wore grey trousers and black lace up shoes and he carried a black leather jacket in the crook of his arm and he looked decidedly disgruntled.

‘Shut your mouth, Potter. The stunned mullet look doesn't suit you.'

‘But the Muggle look suits you, Sir,' said Harry, and he was surprised to discover that he was telling the truth. Severus Snape looked quite dapper. ‘You should wear Muggle clothes more often.'

Snape looked disdainful. ‘I am a wizard, Potter. I am most comfortable in wizard robes. I wore Muggle clothes exclusively for the first eleven years of my life and then after that whenever I was in my father's home until my mother died.

‘As those clothes were always purchased from the cheapest and nastiest second hand shops, I looked nearly as disreputable as you did in the clothes provided by your Muggle relatives. My mother, at least tried to ensure that the clothes she could afford to buy at least fitted me.'

Harry looked down at the new clothes that Professor McGonagall had bought for him from Glad Rags. It amazed him that he had gotten used to them so quickly but he had just had a horrible thought.

‘My uncle and aunt aren't going to be too happy to see me dressed in decent clothes,' he said worriedly. Then he shrugged. ‘Oh well, just one more thing for them to be unhappy about, I suppose.'

Snape beckoned Harry over to the fireplace. He pointed his wand at the grate and muttered, Incendio. Flames sprang up immediately.

‘So,' said Harry, ‘you're coming with me to the Dursleys.'

Severus threw the floo powder into the flames and they roared higher and turned emerald green. ‘I am. I will go through to Arabella's first to make sure everything is safe. I will firecall you to let you know it is safe to follow. Understood?'

Harry nodded. ‘Yes, Sir.'

‘Do you have your wand?' Harry nodded and patted the side of his pant leg.'

‘I want you to put it in your sleeve for easy access until we are safely inside your aunt and uncle's home. And once there, you will keep it on you at all times and within easy reach when you are in bed. Is that clear.'

Harry swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, but he nodded again. Snape studied him through narrowed eyes, and then, as though satisfied with what he had seen, he nodded curtly and stepped into the flames.

8888

The soft light of evening was bathing Privet Drive as Harry and Severus walked along. Snape didn't talk once after they left Mrs. Figg's; he was too busy looking all around-including upwards-to indulge in conversation. Harry couldn't help it, he was nervous. Snape looked very relaxed, and the few people out and about-mainly kids enjoying the last of the day before their parents called them inside-hardly spared them a glance.

Harry recognised one of the neighbours who was out watering her garden and when he nodded a greeting to her, she peered at him short-sightedly through the gathering gloom, and when she appeared to recognise him, she raised her chin a notch and turned her back to them. Harry's lips thinned but he was too used to this attitude to be unduly upset about it.

Snape stopped when they reached number four and looked about him. His eyes came to rest on a tree across the road and Harry followed his gaze. He could see nothing but the tree but Severus inclined his head before starting up the driveway.

Harry supposed there was an invisible someone over there keeping a weather eye out for Death Eaters. At the moment he was more worried about what was in the house than the thought of Death Eater's finding the house.

Snape was knocking on the door when Harry slouched up behind him. He could hear his uncles heavy footsteps as he galumphed down the hallway.

And so it begins, thought Harry.

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Vernon Dursley pulled his front door open and glared ferociously at the two wizards on his front porch. Severus stared back unfazed by the blazing anger in the man's small eyes. He had been prepared for the sight of the large man he had seen in Harry's memories, but Vernon Dursley was even more massive than he had been expecting.

It would have been ridiculously easy for this behemoth of a man to inflict the injuries that had resulted in the scarring he had found on Harry's body. What would have been difficult was the effort it would have taken to hold himself back before he went too far. Harry, small and thin as he was, would not have stood a chance.

Vernon pointed a sausage like finger in Severus' face. ‘You are not welcome here,' he said angrily. ‘I accept that we have to take Potter in for a while, but we do not have to invite you in to our home.'

‘You are either very brave or very stupid, Mr Dursley,' said Snape in a silky, soft voice that Harry recognised as his most dangerous. ‘I would bet on the latter.' Vernon's face went puce, the colour that it most favoured, and when Severus stepped up and forced Vernon back a step, his face went even darker and the vein in his left temple swelled alarmingly.

Severus just kept on moving forward, forcing a blustering Vernon backwards down the hall. Harry stepped into the house and shut the door behind him. He looked around. Everything was exactly the same as it had been when he had left last summer. With a sigh, he dropped the holdall on the bottom step and moved towards the living room.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were standing close together in front of the fireplace that Mr Weasley had blasted apart two years previously. This evening, the room was not covered in bits of plaster and dust. It was in its usual pristine condition, hoovered and dusted to within an inch of its life.

Petunia dragged her eyes away from the adult wizard who was the third such freak to invade her home today. She settled her gaze on Harry and her pale blue eyes narrowed. Her lips were locked so tightly together, it looked as if it would take a surgeon with a scalpel to separate them again.

‘Hello, Aunt Petunia.'

‘Why did you have to come back here,' she hissed at him in hate filled tones. Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. He hadn't really expected anything else.

The Dursleys had probably thought they would escape Harry's presence this year and now he had turned up like a bad penny. Their visions of a Harry free holiday had been dashed to smithereens. God, he wished he was back at Hogwarts. How long would he have to put up with this?

It was difficult for Severus to hide his surprise at the sight of Lily's older sister. Lily Evans had been a beautiful, vibrant girl who radiated happiness and an infectious joie de vive. This woman before him could never have been anything close to her sister in either looks or personality. The sourness of her looks was very definitely echoed in her personality.

Petunia Dursley was every bit as unpleasant as her husband. Severus had thought to see at least a little positive feeling for Harry. After all, he was her sister's orphaned child. But the hatred he could feel emanating from her was alarming. He would have thought it totally unnatural for a woman to harbour that much ill feeling for a child who had been dependent on her goodwill since he was fifteen months old.

Severus mentally shuddered when he thought of what the baby Harry must have put up with at the hands of his mother substitute. He had to wonder how neglected the baby had been in terms of his personal care. He would not even have been toilet trained when James and Lily had been killed. Had this horrible woman looked after the second baby in her care, properly? Perhaps Petunia had grudgingly met Harry's needs whilst withholding any and all affection. Whether she had ever cared for Lily's son was doubtful from what Severus had seen of Harry's early memories, but it was more than obvious that she loathed him now.

Severus was more than a little surprised at how these thoughts of a helpless, neglected and perhaps physically abused baby boy with bright green eyes and baby fine, messy black hair, disconcerted him. And when he thought of just how much Lily would have adored her son, and how distressed she would be to know of his subsequent ill-treatment, disgust for the woman in front of him clouded his brain with a red haze. His wand hand twitched, and to prevent himself hexing her and her husband into the middle of next week, he dug his nails into the palm of his hand.

Vernon Dursley glared at his nephew. ‘How long are you here for, Boy? We thought we wouldn't have to put up with you this year. We were told you were sick, which was why you didn't arrive at the end of term.

‘You had better not have bought any freak diseases home here that our son might catch, Potter, or believe you me, you'll be sorry.'

‘I believe Harry is already sorry that he had to come back here, Dursley,' bit out Severus. He stood with his arms crossed and his wand clearly visible as it dangled from between two fingers. Harry wasn't fooled by the casual stance. He knew Snape would be primed and ready for action in a split second.

‘Do you imagine anything other than necessity would have made us send Harry back here?' Severus advanced on the two Dursleys, both of whom backed up a couple of steps until they were brought up short by the mantelpiece.

At that moment, the front door opened. Because he was still standing in the doorway to the living room, Harry heard the soft snick of the lock. He dragged his eyes away from the delicious sight of his great, bullying uncle cowering before a very intimidating wizard, to look over his shoulder.

Dudley was shutting the front door softly. This in itself was unusual, as Dudley was normally incapable of shutting a door without slamming it. The blonde boy stopped dead when he saw his cousin. Amazingly, instead of the sly smirk Harry expected to see blooming on Dudley's face upon catching sight of him, he went brick red instead and thrust his hands into his pockets and looked down at his trainers.

Harry goggled at Dudley. He couldn't believe the transformation the year had wrought. Dudley was still overweight, but he could no longer be called grossly obese. He was still big, yeah, but as he was also tall, his excess weight would no longer draw looks of amazed horror. It was now possible to discern a neck under the double chins and he would no longer wobble like a bowl of jelly when he moved.

Realising that he must look like a moron, Harry shut his mouth with a snap. Then unable to help himself, he grinned. ‘Hey, Dud. Looking good.'

Dudley looked up and shrugged self deprecatingly, an answering, somewhat embarrassed grin lifting the corners of his mouth. Hearing a strange voice coming from the living room enticed Dudley forward and when he came up beside Harry and saw a stranger bailing up his father and mother, it was his turn for his mouth to drop open.

‘Whose that?' he whispered in a high pitched, scared voice to Harry.

‘That's my cousin,' smirked Harry and he grinned widely at Dudley's look of disbelief. When Dudley opened his mouth to deny that Harry had a cousin other than himself, Harry put his finger to his lips, indicating he was listening to the adults.

‘...And yes, Dursley, Harry was ill-so ill he nearly died.' Severus leaned even further into the now trembling Muggle, so that his large nose was only an inch or two away from Vernon's. ‘But, it wasn't a disease that brought him low. No...someone tried to take up where you left off last summer.'

Vernon's face was now the colour of beetroot and Harry became a little worried that his uncle may be on the verge of a stroke. After all, he was hardly a pin-up boy for the NHS. Petunia, too, must have been thinking along the same lines, because, either bravely or foolishly, she shoved Severus back and inserted her skinny frame between her husband and his tormentor.

‘You leave him alone!' she hissed. She pointed a shaking finger towards the front door. ‘And you can just get out of our house. You've delivered the boy. You've re-activated this supposed protection. So you can just leave.'

Harry was actually holding his breath, waiting for Severus to hex his aunt. Vernon had wrapped a beefy hand around her upper arm and had pulled her back against him. Dudley let out a pathetic little squeak of fear from his position beside Harry and a frantic look replaced the anger on Petunia's face when she realised that her son was in the house. She had been so focused on Snape that she had not realised it before now.

‘Diddy! Diddy Darling, come here to Mummy,' and she made frantic beckoning motions with one bony hand. Harry thought it would have made more sense to tell Diddy Darling to run for his life. It's what he would have told his son to do if he was being held at bay by a very angry wizard. Get the hell out of Dodge while you've got the chance.

Severus too, had turned when he realised there was another person in the room. His eyes widened when he caught sight of the other teenage boy. He was nothing like Harry. Very fair compared to very dark, pale blue eyes compared to emerald green and significantly overweight compared to far too thin.

Dudley, for once showing a modicum of sense, ignored his mother and backed up against the wall, his eyes saucer like and another soft whimper escaping him.

Severus turned back to the mismatched couple before him. Amazingly, he had not hexed Petunia and as the seconds ticked by, Harry relaxed slightly. Harry could see the side of Severus' face and his trademark sneer had taken up residence. And as scary as that sneer was, it was safer than being on the business end of a wand being wielded by Severus Snape.

The sneer was replaced by a blank facade and Severus turned away from the couple. Vernon and Petunia had just started to deflate into an attitude of semi-relaxation, but they tensed up again when, instead of leaving as Petunia had ordered, Severus lowered himself languidly into an armchair. He crossed his long, slim legs and placed the tips of his fingers together, very precisely.

The Dursley's stared at him, appalled, and Severus smiled evilly. Harry didn't know about the Dursleys, but he sure as hell was scared.

‘I think not, Mrs Dursley. Did you really think that I would just go and leave Harry to your husband's tender ministrations.'

Vernon sputtered. ‘I don't know what you're implying, Sir.'

Severus' eyebrow had another workout. ‘I'm not implying anything Dursley. I'm accusing.'

Vernon's mouth worked like a dying fish. ‘Accuse? Accuse me of what exactly?'

Severus shook his head in apparent disbelief. ‘I really have to wonder just how stupid you are Dursley. I have just finished telling you that your nephew nearly died. Unlike yourself, my colleagues and myself did everything in our power to save the boy's life. We nursed him.'

Severus smirked as he watched the fat Muggle draw a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipe his forehead. He continued remorselessly. ‘Nursing a very sick person means attending to his or her every need whilst they are unable to do it for themselves.

‘The patient has to be bathed at some stage. Bathing requires the patient to be in a state of undress.' Severus' eyes narrowed and he was maliciously pleased to see Dursley swallow convulsively.

‘I'm sure you can guess what we found in quite significant numbers and varying levels of severity. ‘You can guess, can't you Dursley?'

‘I...I don't know what you're talking about.'

Severus slammed both feet down on the carpet and leaned forward aggressively. All four members of his audience jumped at the sudden movement. Snape ignored the boys and kept the adults pinned with his gimlet glare.

‘Scars, Dursley. Lots of scars. Some of them very nasty.'

Vernon had paled and looked on the verge of collapse.

‘Not so brave when you're being confronted by a grown up, are you Dursley? I imagine, like all bullies, your victim has to be small and helpless. Did you start in on him when he first came to you?

‘How often did you pick him up by his skinny little arm and throw him into the cupboard under the stairs?' He turned his glare on Petunia. ‘Did you ever pick him up and comfort him when he cried for his parents?

‘Did either of you ever stop your much bigger son from beating up on his smaller cousin?' There was another small whimper from Dudley, but Snape ignored him.

That basilisk's glare turned Vernon to stone...seemingly. ‘Did you ever tell your sadist of a sister to mind her own business and to leave Harry's upbringing in your own vicious, uncaring hands, or were you too busy laughing along with her when her mongrel of a dog chased a helpless child up a tree.'

‘That's enough!' Petunia had stepped forward. She was shaking with rage and her arms were crossed with her fists clenched under each armpit. ‘How dare you accuse us. None of this is true.' She pointed a shaking finger at Harry who had slumped down the wall and was sitting on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees and his fisted hands wrapped around hanks of hair.

If Snape thought that any of this was going to change anything, he was sadly mistaken. God, he was so dead when Snape left.

‘If you believe anything that comes out of that boy's mouth, then you're a fool. He's a nasty little liar. He's always been a nasty little liar. If he has scars on his body, it's because he's incurably clumsy.

Severus laughed; it was not a pleasant sound. ‘Clearly, Madam, you have never seen your nephew fly a broom.'

Petunia gasped, Vernon's colour became even more dangerously florid and Dudley stared at Harry in open-mouthed wonder from where he too was sitting on the floor.

‘How dare you!' hissed Petunia. ‘How dare you mention any of that unnaturalness in our home. ‘I will not have it, do you hear me?'

Severus stood and glared down his hooked nose at Petunia. He had to admit that she had more backbone than her fat husband. He had thought she would stand behind the lump of lard and let him protect her. Clearly, she ran the show and if the worst of Harry's injuries had been inflicted by Vernon, Severus wouldn't have been surprised if that was because this vile, embittered woman had ordered him to do his worst.

‘And just so you know, Mrs Dursley, Harry didn't relate one single instance of abuse from either of you...' he turned and glared at Dudley who shrunk further into himself. ‘...nor indeed your son. I found these memories buried deep in Harry's mind. He did not expose them willingly. He does not advertise the fact that his family abhors him and abuses him. Not many abused children do, you know. They are ashamed and cannot escape the conviction that they are the ones at fault.'

Harry could no longer stand to listen anymore. Snape could talk until he was blue in the face. His aunt and uncle were never going to admit that they were at fault. He scrambled to his feet and raced from the room.

Severus whipped around. ‘Potter! Come back here!' But Harry didn't come back. They all heard him hurrying up the stairs, and then the sound of a door slamming above them.

Dudley, infected by Harry's desire to flee, had also regained his feet, though nowhere near as gracefully as Harry. When Severus yelled for Harry to come back, Dudley cast him a look of trepidation and then he too, fled.

8888

Harry looked in disgust at the bare, stained mattress that covered the rickety wire base, and was his bed here at Privet Drive. Aunt Petunia had been given warning that he was coming, but she had not even bothered to make up his bed.

Obviously, a job for him later on. In the meantime, he flung himself down on the bed and glared at the ceiling. What in the hell did Snape think he was doing? If he thought the Dursleys were going to treat him like a regular person after the little scene downstairs, then it was obvious he hadn't learned as much as he thought he had about these Muggles from the memories he had wrested from Harry's subconscious.

Harry's brow furrowed as he focused on the Daddy-Long-Legs that had made a home in a corner of the room. He could remember the incident with Aunt Marge and Ripper; he knew Snape had dredged that one up. He remembered telling Snape about it when he had asked. He also remembered how he had seethed with anger and resentment because he was sure Snape had been laughing at him.

But, he could not recall the other incident Snape had spoken off; the one where Snape had said Uncle Vernon had grabbed him by his skinny little arm and hurled him into his cupboard under the stairs. It had sounded like Snape had been talking of a very young child.

If he, Harry couldn't even remember the incident, then how had Snape found it? And why hadn't he taunted Harry with it at the time? Had that been a bit too much for cousin Severus to throw back at him? Harry found that hard to believe when so many of the other memories Snape had prised out of his subconscious had been painful in the extreme.

How many other instances of happenings he could not recall but were there, just buried very deeply, had Snape found? It seemed strange to think that his mind could be brim full of everything that had ever happened in his life, even if he couldn't remember it.

That was why, he supposed, he could recall whenever Dementors were near, his father's scared but determined voice yelling for his mother to "Take Harry and go", and then his mother screaming to kill her but spare her baby, the high, cold voice of Voldemort and then the flash of green light. He could remember that horrible night, even though he had buried it so deeply, it only manifested under the influence of the Dementors.

He wished that the things he did recall were happy moments he had shared with his mother and father, instead of the evening they had lost their lives trying to protect him. Yeah, that would be so much better than memories of the miserable existence he had endured with the Dursleys.

Harry blinked. He had been staring at the spider, unblinking for so long, his eyes had begun to water. He pushed his glasses up and ground the heel of his hands against his closed lids. He left them pressed there and lost himself in the red and black patterns that were imprinted on his retinas.

Of course, the moisture in his eyes was entirely due to irritation and had nothing at all to do with tears.

The soft knock on his door had Harry scrubbing frantically at his cheeks to remove all remnants of any moisture that had escaped his eyes. He put his hands behind his head and tried to look nonchalant as he called out, ‘come in.'

He had been expecting his caller to be Snape coming to say goodbye, so his eyes widened in surprise when Dudley sidled into the room.

Harry sprung upright. He didn't think it was a good idea to remain lying flat with Dudley in the immediate vicinity. Dudley had, on more than one occasion, jumped on him when he was helpless and already suffering the after effects of being on the receiving end of Dudley's fists.

Of course, he was not in the least afraid of his cousin any longer, and though there was still a great disparity in their relative sizes, Harry knew Dudley would have a hard time beating him up now.

‘What do you want, Dudley?'

Dudley, his hands thrust deeply into his pockets, scuffed at the carpet with a trainer clad toe. He kept his gaze on his foot, seemingly unable to look Harry in the eye.

‘I-ah...' he cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Umm-I just wanted to-ah-thank you.' The last two words were a mere whisper and Harry could see that Dudley's forehead had gone brick red.

Harry looked puzzled and because he thought it was safe, he sat sideways on the bed again, one leg on the mattress, bent at the knee. ‘Thank me for what?' You haven't seen me since last summer.'

Dudley did look up now. He stepped further into the room. Harry tensed the tiniest bit but then relaxed again. Really, the chances of Dudley trying anything whilst Snape was still in the house were infinitesimal.

‘But that's what I want to thank you for. Last summer. What you did.'

Harry thought he knew where this was going, but he thought he would ask anyway. ‘What did I do?'

‘You saved my life from those Dementiwhatsits.'

The two boys stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, and then Harry said carefully, ‘When I dragged your sorry carcass home after the Demntiwhatsit nearly had it's way with you, you told your mum and dad that I had been responsible for the state you were in.'

Dudley reddened and looked down at his feet again. ‘I know I did, and I'm sorry. With Mum fussing over me and Dad ranting and raving and me feeling so sick, I didn't really know what had happened.'

‘So you blamed me because that's what you do best.' Dudley looked so pathetic, Harry couldn't keep on tormenting him.

‘Don't worry about it. I know exactly how the Dementors make you feel, believe me.' And then amazingly, Harry grinned. ‘Guess what's the best cure for that horrible, drained, sick feeling?'

‘What?' asked Dudley, moving across and sitting on the end of Harry's bed. It gave a loud creak and he jumped up again, looking askance at the flimsy, metal base.

Harry waved a hand. ‘Sit down. It's stronger than it looks. Dudley lowered himself tentatively. He was near the bottom of the bed, Harry near the top. Harry continued with what he had been saying.

‘The best thing to make you feel better after you've been too close to a Dementor, is chocolate.

Dudley's brow furrowed. ‘Chocolate? You're having me on.' Harry laughed and shook his head.

‘I promise I'm not having you on.'

Dudley stared hard at Harry. ‘But...but chocolate can't help you if they...you know...if they get close enough to...you know...do what you said they do.'

Harry's grin faded. ‘No. Nothing can help you if they suck out your soul. You're just an empty shell until you finally die.'

Dudley had gone very pale and he looked down at his hands which were clasped in his lap. Harry just stared out the window, memories of the night the Dementors almost got Sirius's soul-the night Prongs first rode again.

Sirius had escaped the Dementors and lived for another two years. Two miserable years hiding from the Ministry. Not much of a life, but still, it was life, Harry supposed. The ache of Sirius' loss was still there, but it had faded a little.

He had someone else now. Someone else who seemed to care what happened to him. But the transition from loathing to caring (perhaps concerned would be a better word) was still a phenomena that Harry had trouble coming to terms with. And when he thought about what Sirius's reaction would be to Snape taking over his, Harry's welfare if he were still alive... Well, it didn't bear thinking about.

Harry snapped back to the present when he realised Dudley was speaking again. ‘...with all that stuff that you lot can do, with all that...' here, Dudley's voice dropped to a whisper. ‘...magic, the best thing you can come up with to make you feel better after an encounter with a Dementor, is chocolate?'

Harry laughed. ‘But Dud, surely you realise, chocolate is magic. The most delicious magic in the world.'

Dudley grinned back. ‘I suppose you're right there. But I haven't had any since I went back to Smeltings.'

Harry's mouth dropped open again. ‘What! None!'

‘None. After those-Dementors...' he raised his eyebrows in question, to make sure he had the right word. Harry nodded. ‘...after what nearly happened, I decided that I really did need to do something about my weight.'

Dudley's face had gone brick red, but he continued doggedly. ‘If I had been thinner and fitter, I might have been able to get away. Or at the very least, I might have recovered quicker afterwards. I was sick for two days.'

Harry had known this. He had heard Dudley vomiting periodically while he had been sequestered in his bedroom. Dudley's room was right next door and the walls at number four weren't the thickest.

Harry set him right on one thing, ‘It wouldn't have mattered if you were Sebastian Coe, Dud. No one can run fast enough to get away from Dementors.'

‘Yeah, well...' Dudley stood and walked to the window. He undid the latch and opened it, then he turned and sat on the sill. ‘Afterwards, I was so sick and miserable, it got me thinking. Being able to eat more than anyone else in the vicinity is not something that most people find appealing. In fact, other than my own family, and Piers and Malcolm and the gang who just thought my being a pig was funny, everyone else was disgusted by it.'

Harry couldn't argue. Dudley had been a pig.

‘Anyway, Mum had absolutely no idea about what really makes a good diet. Grapefruit quarters and grated celery and cottage cheese aren't enough to keep me alive. So after I went back to school, I went and saw the school nurse and between the two of us, we worked out what was best for me and she made sure I got special meals from the kitchen.

‘Mum thought I was sick when I got home. She was going to write to Mrs Coventry, the school nurse and give her a blast. We ended up having a huge row when I told her I was happy to have lost so much weight.' Dudley stood and held his arms out so that Harry could see his torso properly. The T-shirt he had on was way too big. ‘I've lost forty pounds.'

‘That's fantastic, Dudley.' It felt strange to be having a civil conversation with Dudley...even stranger to be complimenting him. But there had been a major change in Dudley since the last time Harry had seen him. He could not remember a time when his cousin had sought him out to talk, let alone to talk civilly.

But Harry realised that his time here at Privet Drive would pass a lot more pleasantly if he and Dudley were on speaking terms. It would be interesting to see what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia thought about the altered state of affairs. Harry was sure they would not approve.

‘So, how did you talk your Mum around to providing you with decent, low-fat food?'

‘I made her take me shopping and bought all the foods I can eat. And I told her that if she wouldn't cook it in a healthy way, I wouldn't eat it'

‘That would have gone down well.'

‘She saw my way eventually because she couldn't stand to see me not eating at all.' Dad thinks I'm mad that I won't eat fatty roasts and bacon and eggs anymore. And seem as he wants to keep on eating like that, Mum has to cook separate meals for both of us. I told her I would get my own meals, but she wont have it. She thinks it would make her a bad mother if she made me cook for myself.'

‘She never had any qualms about making me do the cooking,' said Harry bitterly.

‘Yeah...well. I know now that she has been terrible to you ever since you came to us. She and Dad both. They could have been arrested for the way they've treated you over the years.' Dudley looked down at his knees. He was sitting on the window sill again. He flicked his fingernail backwards and forward across an old, faded stain on his jeans. ‘And I've been an absolute shit to you as well, and I'm sorry.' He looked up at Harry again and Harry could see true regret etched on his face. It had to be real because Dudley was a lousy actor.

‘I really am sorry, Harry. You're my only cousin. We should have been close. But I just took my cue from Mum and Dad.'

Harry was sitting back against the wall now. He was staring straight ahead, unable to look at Dudley. Bitterness was welling up inside him again. He wanted to believe that Dudley was truly remorseful-no, he did think it-but God, it was hard to let go of the horrible memories.

‘Do you know what I saw?'

Harry snapped back to the here and now. He looked at Dudley. ‘What?'

‘When the Dementor was near, do you know what I saw?'

Harry's eyebrows knitted together, ‘What?'

‘You said that Dementors make you relive your worst memories. My worst memory was you coming to live with us. It was me going hysterical and having a major tanti because Mum couldn't spend every second with me. It was me hitting and pinching and biting you and pulling your hair and poking your eyes and taking anything you might have gotten your hands on off of you-including food.'

Harry just stared. Dudley looked anguished, as if the memories made him feel physically ill, even now, when there wasn't a Dementor in sight.

"What kind of a person does that make me, huh? What kind of a person's worst memories are how upset he was when his cousin came to live in the house where he had always gotten everything he wanted as soon as he bellowed for it? A spoiled little shite, that's who.

‘A spoiled little shie who was allowed to treat his smaller cousin any way he liked without once being told off. A spoiled little shite who thought it was funny when his Mum or Dad hit his cousin and threw him into the cupboard under the stairs.'

Harry's face was set in a frozen mask but Dudley had tears rolling down his cheeks. He was making no effort to stem the flow.

‘What kind of people are we, Harry? What kind of people are the Dursleys? There was silence for about fifteen uncomfortable seconds. Dudley sniffed and Harry saw him swipe the sleeve of his shirt across his face.

‘Did you tell your Mum or Dad any of this?' asked Harry, but he was pretty sure what the answer would be.

He was right. Dudley shook his head. "They're totally blind when it comes to you, Harry. My mother hates the memory of her sister so much, she's transferred every negative emotion to you.'

‘You think?' said a very sarcastic Harry.

‘She would deny that I had ever done anything bad to you.' Dudley's voice lowered to a whisper. ‘Sometimes I think that she's not quite right in the head. The more she and Dad indulged me, the more they neglected you. What kind of people allow one kid to continue to eat until he's as big as a house while the other kid in their care is close to starving. What kind of people give one kid everything for his birthday or Christmas while the other one never, ever gets a gift from them.

‘I just never thought about any of it until after the Dementor attack.'

Harry snorted mirthlessly. ‘Hooray for the Dementors.'

The corner of Dudley's mouth quirked upward, but he too looked as though he was a long way from laughter. ‘Yeah.'

Harry stared at a particularly large stain on the grotty mattress while Dudley stared at the floor. They stayed in those attitudes for several minutes, neither feeling like breaking the silence. Harry was absently kneading his scar.

Finally, Dudley pushed himself to his feet. ‘Well, I suppose I'd better go.' He walked across to the door but paused with his hand on the knob. "Um...is that bloke-that wizard-downstairs really your cousin?'

Harry looked up, his eyes bleak. ‘Yeah, he is. But I only found out a few days ago.'

‘Why?'

‘Because, like you and your Mum and dad, Dud, Severus hated me with a passion. He treated me just as badly as your parents have always treated me,' Harry paused, looking slightly chagrined. ‘Although he never hit me,' he added quickly.

Dudley had gone red, but he held Harry's gaze. ‘I don't hate you anymore, Harry.'

Harry held the gaze for a few charged seconds. Then he took a deep breath and gave a short, sharp nod of acceptance. ‘Let's see where we go from here, Dudley. It'll be nice to not have to watch my back as far as you're concerned at least.' He swung his legs to the side and began to stand. But before he could gain his feet, he gave a cry of pain and fell back onto the bed, his hands covering his face.

Harry cried out a second time and turned on his side, drawing his knees up. He dug his fingertips hard into his scar and tried very hard to hold back the nausea that had suddenly welled up.

Dudley stood with his hand still on the doorknob, his expression aghast as he goggled at his distressed cousin where he writhed on the bed.

‘Harry! Harry, what's wrong?...'

‘Get...get Professor Snape,' Harry breathed, and then, unable to hold it back any longer, he leaned over the side of the bed and vomited.

That was the signal that broke Dudley from his horrified paralysis. He wrenched the door open and dashed onto the landing, yelling in a panicked voice for the adults. He had just gained the head of the stairs when Severus came bounding up them, taking three steps at a time.

He pushed Dudley aside, not really aware that he was there and disappeared into Harry's room. Dudley stared after him, whey-faced and frightened. Harry had looked terrible. He had been fine one minute and then the next, he had been screaming in pain and vomiting.

He heard someone else ascending the stairs and turned to see his parents.

‘Harry's sick,' he said hopelessly. Dudley had not really expected to see sympathy on either parent's face, but he had not thought he would see such vindictive scorn either.

When Petunia stepped onto the landing, she moved to put her arm around Dudley. ‘Diddy darling. Are you all right?'

Dudley squirmed away from his mother's suffocating hold. ‘Mum, I'm fine. It's Harry who needs help at the moment.' And he turned away from them and moved back into Harry's room where he stood as inconspicuously as possible just to the side of the door.

Petunia looked as if she had been slapped. Vernon huffed up behind her. The stairs were becoming more of a trial for Vernon, who seemed to have found at least a portion of the weight his son had lost. They followed Dudley and stood outside the door. Petunia looked as though she was going to be sick when the smell of vomit hit her.

Severus did not know what to do for Harry. His own pain, which was building to a crescendo, was taking away his ability to think properly. His first order of business before he could answer the urgent summons from the Dark Lord was to get help. There was no way he could leave the boy, as debilitated as he was at the moment in the same home as these Muggle horrors.

So, isolating his pain behind his strongest occlumency shield, Severus pointed his wand towards the front of the house. Vernon roared and Petunia screeched in fear. They both ducked, terrified that this disgusting wizard was finally going to do what he had failed to do downstairs-use that wand on them.

Dudley flattened himself against the wall when a brilliant white light erupted from the end of Severus' wand. It streamed through the doorway and was so bright, there were spots before Dudley's eyes.

Harry was retching again and Severus knew he would never be able to get a pain relief potion down his throat. Harry screamed and Severus hissed as the pain momentarily peaked and escaped his shield. The Dark Lord was angrier than Severus had known him to be since his return.

Taking deep breaths, he increased the strength of his shield. He managed to cut off the pain receptors that transferred the actual burning sensation to his brain. He no longer assimilated the pain, but his abused arm was shaking and a muscle in his jaw was jerking in time with the peaks and valleys of the burning of his Dark Mark-the burning that he had buried deeply.

Severus knew that Harry's inexplicable connection to his nemesis was causing him worse pain than what he, Severus had suffered before erecting his shield.

‘What's wrong with him?' yelled Dudley. ‘You're a wizard. Help him!'

A distant corner of Severus' mind registered the fact that their was genuine concern in Harry's childhood tormentor's voice. But he was already raising his wand in his shaking hand. It was the only thing he could think to do to ease the boy's suffering.

Dudley yelled in shock as Severus' red, stunning spell hit Harry and for the first time since he had first clawed at his scar, Harry lay quiescent, still with his knees pulled up to his stomach. His lax hands had fallen away from his face and Severus could see scratch marks on and around the livid scar that was so taut, it looked as though it could split open at any moment.

Severus gently straightened Harry's limbs and then, looking down at his unconscious son's face and remembering how much he had liked his new bed, he angrily pointed his wand at the atrocity Harry was lying on and muttering an angry spell, he transfigured it into a replica of the bed Dumbledore had produced for him at Hogwarts.

Dudley watched in wonder as Severus pulled Harry's trainers off and threw them on the floor before transfiguring his clothes into pyjamas. He pulled a tissue from a box on a ratty, veneer bedside cabinet and placed it on the mattress where it was transfigured into a bottom sheet, another wave of his wand transfigured a second tissue it into a scarlet covered duvet that wafted over the unconscious boy and a third tissue placed upon the pillow, became a pillowcase.

Petunia and Vernon watched the proceedings also but they were both too furious that magic was being performed under their roof to appreciate what was actually being done.

When Severus had made Harry as comfortable as possible, he reached into the pocket of his trousers. All three of the Dursleys watched as he pulled out what looked like a tiny little briefcase. He placed it on the cabinet and pointing his wand, he muttered Engorgio, and the case grew to normal proportions.

When it was opened, the Dursleys saw several rows of small bottles. Severus pulled one out and transfiguring another tissue into a wad of cotton wool which he soaked with a yellow liquid from the bottle, he dabbed at the scratches on Harry's face. They began to fade before the amazed (and in Petunia and Vernon's cases angry) Muggle's faces.

Finally, with Harry attended to, Severus pointed his wand at himself and his Muggle clothing became wizard's robes-specifically Death Eater robes. He was ready to Apparate to the Dark Lord's side.

But where in the hell was Nymphadora? She should have been right outside.

In an effort to stop the spasm in his arm, Severus wrapped his right hand around the hideous tattoo and squeezed. The heat radiating from it seemed to scorch his palm. He imagined he could hear the skin sizzling. He wished someone would stun him but he did not have the liberty of succumbing to unconsciousness.

Finally, the Dursley's front door was thrown open so that it crashed against the wall. Petunia cried out, upset, no doubt, that her wall may have been dented. She wouldn't be too thrilled that another wizard had just entered her home either.

‘Up here, Nymphadora. And for Merlin's sake, hurry. He is becoming impatient.'

‘What is this? A convention?' bellowed a purple-faced Vernon.

‘Shut up Dursley. I am not in the mood to listen to your blustering.' Severus heard racing footsteps ascending the stairs and then a crash, followed by a muted curse.

Severus rolled his eyes. Nymphadora had tripped. How typical.

But the young Aura dashed into the room, ready for battle seconds later; Petunia and Vernon scurried out of her way when she appeared at the top of the stairs.

‘I WILL NOT HAVE THIS!' bellowed Vernon, obviously not taking Severus' admonition seriously. ‘This is not a halfway house for wizards.'

Severus pointed his wand at Vernon and when he next opened his mouth, no sound came out. When Petunia opened her mouth to scream, Severus moved the tip of his wand to point at her throat and she shut her mouth with a snap.

‘Sorry,' puffed Tonks. I was checking the end of the street. There was a disturbance but it was just a bunch of...'

‘I have no time for your excuses, Nymphadora. I should have been gone five minutes ago. Harry is stunned. Do not revive him until you see his scar is no longer livid. If, when you do revive him, he is in pain, give him this...' Severus held up a purple phial. ‘The whole lot.

‘If I am not back by tomorrow morning, contact Dumbledore...if he does not contact you first. Do not leave Harry alone with them.' Severus jerked his head towards the silent Dursley adults.

And without further ado, he Disapparated away with a soft pop.

Severus's Apparition was like a freefall, as it always was when he followed the Dark Mark's summons. Neither he, nor any of the other Death Eaters ever had any idea as to where they would end up, and as Apparition was such a precision form of travel once one was accomplished in the skill, it was more than a little nerve-wracking to travel under another's mental guidance.

At least with side-along Apparition, if you were the passenger, there was a physical anchor and you knew that your "guide" would get you to where he was going.

Of course, no-one would ever imagine that the Dark Lord was not one hundred percent sure of where he wanted his loyal followers to end up. The evil sociopath could, at any time decide to torture any, or all of them by directing their headlong rush through the ether to-say, the middle of a fiery conflagration that had been magically set alight and could not be dowsed by either magical or Muggle means, and where anti-Apparition wards had been put in place. Once having materialised within the flames, death was the only outcome.

The Dark Lord had used this form of punishment just recently on a Death Eater with whom he had been seriously displeased. No one had ever found out how Jacques Fontaine had displeased his master.

This, in fact, was a favourite punishment of the Dark Lords, one that he found highly effective. Since his rebirth, The Dark Lord had scaled new heights of corruption and brutality. It was as though he was punishing everyone of his followers for the continued existence and freedom of Harry Potter. No matter that he did not have a legion of followers and that he could little afford to "off" any of those who were truly loyal to him.

He could not work with only an army of ‘Imperioused' slaves because, as good as the Dark Lord was, he could not mentally control hundreds of individuals by himself. Hence his need for loyal Lieutenants.

His ‘Pure Blood' creed was not lent much weight when the psychopath killed off his own followers with impunity. For such a magical genius, the man could be remarkably obtuse at times.

Finally, Severus rematerialized, his feet slightly apart and his heavy Death Eater robes and cloak swirling around his legs. He raised his eyebrows in surprise when a quick inspection of his surroundings showed that he had been summoned directly into a small, tidy kitchen-one that he was not familiar with.

The Dark Lord had taken to using the homes of his faithful for meetings, but this place was a little different from the norm. For starters, it was very small; an ordinary house that obviously belonged to a family who were not particularly well off. A quick glance out of the small window over the sink showed a pocket handkerchief sized, overgrown backyard. Severus was sure that the property was in the suburbs somewhere.

There was no way this home could accommodate a full contingent of Death Eaters, so Severus was confused as to the painful urgency of the summons. Usually such intensity was an indicator of the Dark Lord's fury and when his ire was raised, murder and mayhem were more often than not the order of the day, and the man liked all his faithful to attend these revels. Only total devastation and destruction improved Lord Voldemort's moods.

Of course, since he had tried to possess Harry at the Ministry, the Monster had not been up to anything at all-anything but copious doses of headache potion. Today was the first day, as far as Severus knew, that the Dark Lord had left his rooms within the Lestrange mansion.

Severus had known he was not being summoned by Bellatrix, who had been nursing her Lord since the "Harry incident" and whose touch upon the Dark Mark was much less traumatic than that of the Dark Lord, even when he was in a good mood.

These thoughts had flashed through Severus's mind in rapid sequence and were brought to an abrupt end by the sound of a high pitched, arctic voice.

"We are in here Severus. You have kept me waiting and I am eager to hear your excuses."

Severus's legs were carrying him through the doorway into a neat sitting room before the voice had stopped speaking. He was raising his strongest Occlumency shields around all memories of his interactions with Harry when he entered the room but the sight he came upon shocked him so much, his construction faltered and he nearly made the mistake of looking into Lord Voldemort's gloating, red eyes before he dropped to his knees and made a supreme effort to throw up those walls of steel again. Looking at the filthy toes-the Dark Lord eschewed shoes-Severus was able to layer the lies he and Dumbledore had constructed between the two of them in front of his mental walls of steel. Severus set his lips in a tight line and pretended to kiss the dust covered hem of Voldemort's robes.

The man could enter another's mind with the speed of a striking cobra. Most wizards-even those who fancied themselves talented Occlumens-were ill-equipped to stave off the Dark Lord's less than subtle mind invasion. As far as Severus knew, only himself and Dumbledore could erect a layering system of shielding strong enough, but also subtle enough to fool the man.

But now, Severus had to be even more meticulous, or his life would be forfeited and he would not be around to build any kind of relationship with a certain young wizard...

"I am waiting, Severus," said Voldemort in that hideous sibilant hiss that passed as a human voice these days.

"My Lord," said Severus in the deferential tones he reserved only for his conversations with his enslaver. He tried to keep the horror of what he had glimpsed before he had dropped to his knees out of his voice. Mild curiosity was all he would allow to show. "I was in the hospital wing in the company of Dumbledore, Pomfrey and McGonagall..."

‘The hospital wing, Severus. Is a staff member ill? Are your healing and potion brewing skills in demand, my clever Slytherin?"

"Yes, my Lord," answered Severus. "But it is not a staff member who is ill."

"Rise."

Severus regained his feet easily and looked Voldemort in the eye, subduing the disgust that those mutant features always aroused in him.

"Who is it taking up your time at this time of the year, Severus?"

Severus imbued his voice with the hatred that had always come so easily to him. Today, it required an effort. ‘Harry Potter, my Lord."

If that snake-like face had sported eyebrows, they would have risen. As it was, the high, pallid forehead just creased. "Harry Potter? My Harry Potter?"

No, you bastard, my Harry Potter!

"Yes, my Lord. It seems someone expended a great deal of energy making an attempt to kill the Wizarding World's saviour." Severus's voice was so cold and so filled with contempt, he was surprised not to see icicles forming and dropping to splinter on the floor.

Voldemort made to stand. Nagini, the hideous snake the Dark Lord kept close at all times and was now draped along the arms and back of the chair, raised her massive head when her master moved. She tasted the air with her tongue and Voldemort took the time to stroke her head. He had been sitting in the only piece of new furniture in the shabby room-a comfortable armchair upholstered in Slytherin green linen.

Bellatrix who had been standing beside the chair, jumped to attention and reached out to take her master's elbow to assist him. Voldemort allowed her brief contact whilst he gained his feet but then he removed his arm from her greedy, grasping fingers with exaggerated patience.

So, he is still a little weak. Good.

Severus had only had limited contact with Bella since Voldemort had released her from prison. Azkaban had not done her any favours. The rapturous expression on her insane face faltered for a second but then shone as brightly as ever as she watched the object of her blind devotion pace around Severus.

The two men were the same height and though Severus had not one ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones, it was obvious, even through his fine robes, that Lord Voldemort was nothing more than a skin covered skeleton.

About a dozen pairs of eyes stared at the two wizards, but the only ones that did not show fear were Bella's and Nagini's.

"And why am I only just now hearing of Harry Potter's prolonged stay at Hogwarts, Severus? I have seen you on more than one occasion since school broke up for the summer."

Severus stared into those fierce, eyes. Not a hint of fear did he allow to show. Instead, he pulled out his wand. Bellatrix reacted as he had known she would, and had her own wand pointed at his heart in the blink of an eye. Nagini hissed and flicked her tongue. Voldemort, however, did not even flinch.

Ignoring Bella's aggressive stance, Severus cast a silencing charm within which he enclosed himself, Voldemort and Bellatrix. He knew it was more than his life was worth to allow any of the other people present-including the seven Death Eaters-to hear that their master had been laid low...had shown the slightest weakness, let alone that Harry Potter had given him a headache to beat all headaches, and that it had lasted for over two weeks.

"As your healer, it was my considered opinion, my Lord, that you did not need the worry of Potter's possible demise when your strength was at a low ebb."

"And you truly think that that was a decision for you to make Severus?" hissed Voldemort in a very dangerous voice.

Severus held his ground. It would not do to show weakness now. "You encouraged me to become a healer, My Lord, so that you and your faithful would have one with the necessary knowledge to attend to yourself and those of your servants who needed such services.

"With that in mind, I had indeed thought that it would be my opinion that counted. The pain that kept you low for so long was not an ordinary headache and I had some fears that you could, perhaps, have succumbed to a brain haemorrhage. The pressure in your brain was lethal and no ordinary man would have survived what you have.

"I, as your personal healer, was not willing to risk your life with extraneous information which I knew would upset you, especially when there was naught you could do.

"I understand if it is your wish to punish me, my Lord, but only know that I had your wellbeing at the forefront of my mind the whole time. In my opinion, the knowledge that Potter was ill could wait. The facts could not be changed and I was monitoring Potter's condition carefully...though the old fool of a headmaster would not allow me to take control of the boy's care."

The whole time Severus had been talking, Voldemort continued to pace around him. Severus stood straight and proud and when the creature was in front of him, Severus did not try to avoid his gaze.

There was silence for more than a minute after Severus's last statement. Finally, the Dark Lord stopped in front of his servant. Red eyes bore into black. Severus felt the rough invasion as the powerful Legilimens raped his senses. Finally, after an agonising minute-Voldemort was a powerful Legilimens but he lacked finesse-he withdrew. Severus stumbled backwards a pace but he maintained eye contact. He could already feel the beginnings of the inevitable headache that the mental probing of the Dark Lord always elicited.

Severus cringed mentally. What had just happened to him was what he had subjected Harry to every time they had had an Occlumency lesson. The difference was that Harry had not a shred of Legilimency skill to offset the mental rape. Oh, certainly, he, Severus had not used a tenth of the force that Voldemort had used on him, but if he had-and in his anger at having the boy foisted upon him by Albus, he could very easily have lost control-the boy's brain would have been turned to mush.

What had Harry suffered each night after their lessons?

Severus had not felt real guilt since the time of Lily and James's deaths. But now, the unwelcome heaviness in his chest seemed to be welling up far too often and it was always in response to thoughts of his past treatment of ‘The Boy Who Lived.' He shook himself out of his musings. It did not do to lose one's focus when standing in front of Voldemort.

"You have a very smooth tongue my slippery Slytherin." It could have been a denunciation, but Severus saw the slight upward tilt of the thin lips. But it was too soon to relax.

Severus bowed his head respectfully. " I have a long road before me before I can even begin to compete with you, my Lord."

Voldemort laughed, but it was not a noise that engendered happiness in others. Rather, if a person was wise, he or she should be prepared for the worst.

"Ah, Severus, it is so refreshing to be able to exchange words with one as intelligent as yourself."

Bellatrix shot Severus a filthy look. The man she worshipped...her passion...her heart, never spoke to her in that approving tone. Severus Snape should have been punished-and severely-for keeping secrets from their master. She had tried to speak to her Lord about how untrustworthy she felt that Snape was, but her Lord had told her to mind her tongue...he would not hear anything against Snape.

The Dark Lord appreciated the younger man for his brains. As far as Bella was concerned, those brains made it more likely that Severus Snape was able to betray her master and then weave a spell with his intelligent conversation that would set any doubts her Lord had to rest. She had seen it happen many times. Her Lord would question Snape, and then Snape would speak and everything would be explained away and made to sound so feasible.

The Dark Lord's unswerving trust of Severus Snape was the only thing that Bella disagreed with her Lord about. She would go back to Azkaban for another 12 years if Severus Snape was as loyal to Lord Voldemort and the Rising Order as he purported to be.

Oh, how she longed to see Severus Snape tortured.

Bellatrix shelved her seething thoughts as she realised that her master was still speaking.

"I imagine you are wondering where exactly we are, my Severus," Voldemort was saying in a coolly disinterested voice, "and what our two young friends are doing here?" Whatever the ‘two young friends' were doing here, Severus knew from the tone of the Dark Lord's voice that things did not bode well for them.

He turned his head to the side to look into the pale and terrified faces of Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. Draco looked at him with pleading eyes but Nott, after the flicker of a glance, stared resolutely ahead.

Severus's voice was coldly indifferent when he replied, "I confess my Lord, that the presence of two of my sixth year Slytherins does have me intrigued."

He allowed his black eyes to leave the terror stricken teens to travel around the room. Narcissa Malfoy was sitting ramrod straight looking as regal and disdainful as ever, even though she was sitting in a worn, mustard yellow armchair that would never have graced even the kitchens of Malfoy Manor for the use of the house elves. Her long, white-blonde hair streamed down the back of her turquoise robes and her white, graceful hands were folded one on top of the other in her lap. She stared straight ahead and did not acknowledge Severus in any way.

In the matching armchair on the other side of the fireplace was a small woman with mouse coloured, greying hair that was falling down out of a sparse bun. Her eyes, large and sapphire blue were surrounded by long lashes and she may once have been pretty, but worry had made her old before her time. Her robes were as shabby as the furniture and she had not moved her terrified gaze from Theodore Nott's face since Severus had begun to look around.

Severus assumed that she was Nott's mother, and as she still had an apron on over her robes, he thought that this must be their home. His assumption was proven when he glimpsed a wizard photograph on the mantelpiece in which Theodore Nott stood proudly beside his father, the man's arm slung over the boy's shoulders. Severus knew the Notts were far from affluent and the shabbiness of the furniture fitted these circumstances.

The Dark Lord's promise of prestige and riches had not materialized for the Notts.

The seven Death Eaters were strewn about the room like living gargoyles in their heavy robes and cloaks. Their eyes were flint hard and their faces carved into lines of greed and cruelty. It was Severus's opinion that after any time in the service of the Dark Lord-if the individual had not come to regret his decision to join the rising Order-all the Death Eaters started to look alike... mercilessness and brutality left a indelible mark.

Three of the largest men were flanking the quailing boys, one stood beside each woman respectively, one stood near a doorway leading into a hallway and the last near the doorway leading into the kitchen. It was as though they were expecting someone to make a break for it, even though it was obvious that both boys and Mrs Nott were all incapable of independent movement and Narcissa Malfoy would never lower herself to attempt anything so plebeian as making a run for it.

"So, Severus, how exactly is Harry Potter faring at this time? Is he going to recover?" Severus saw Nott's jaw tense as he turned back to the Dark Lord.

"It was very touch and go for several days, my Lord. A very nasty poison was brewed by someone who thought he, or perhaps she, was competent."

Nott shot another swift glance at Severus. His cheeks had reddened and against his existing pallor, he looked as if someone had daubed him with copious amounts of rouge.

"The only thing that saved Potter's life was that the potioneer thought he would double his chances and he mixed two brews that should not have been mixed. They worked against each other, weakening the effects of both.

"Still, the boy would have died if Dumbledore had not had the foresight to demand my assistance. Pomfrey and the healer from St Mungos were not up to the task."

"So Potter's continued existence is thanks to you, Severus."

Severus nodded. "It is, my Lord. As I said, it was touch and go for a while, and I did begin to worry that the boy's moribund condition might even be beyond my abilities to rectify."

"You worked overtime to keep that brat alive when you knew our master wanted him dead above anything," screeched an indignant Bellatrix.

Severus sent a bored look her way. Voldemort was moving around the room, seemingly indifferent to Severus's tale and Bella's interruption. He picked up an ornament from the mantelpiece and studied it, turning it over and over in his long, spindly fingers.

"I am as aware as you are, my dear Bellatrix, that our master wants the brat dead. But I am also aware that he wants him dead by no other hand but his own." Severus voice was full of contempt. "Perhaps if you absorbed more of important conversations than just the parts that herald death and destruction, then you would know precisely what was going on."

Bella flew at Severus with a maniacal screech and her fingers were curved into claws, the talons painted crimson. Severus instantly erected a shield charm to prevent his face being clawed, but another spell flew past his shoulder and it hit Bellatrix in the chest and sent her flying backwards into the wall.

Lord Voldemort strolled over and stood over his fallen lieutenant. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Bella, Bella, Bella. Azkaban did not improve your temperament, my dear." Lord Voldemort sounded as bored as he had appeared moments before. "Did I ask you to step in and question Severus's loyalties?

"And as you are adept in the use of a wand, would it not be more fitting to use that instrument rather than act like a Muggle prostitute and try to claw your adversaries eyes out?

"Perhaps you need a reminder of just what a wand can do, Bella. Crucio!" The piercing scream of agony seemed to slice through everyone's brain like a garrotte. Even Narcissa flinched at the sound of her sister's agony.

Voldemort had only flicked his wand at Bella and immediately lifted the curse. Bella lay slumped against the wall, her breast heaving with the rapid, agitated breaths that even a tiny taste of the Cruciatus Curse caused. She looked at her master, not with reproach, but with love blazing in her mad eyes.

She scrambled onto her knees and wrapped herself around the Dark Lord's legs, sobbing into his robes, as if the man had bestowed a great favour on her rather than having just subjected her to torture. Severus was surprised at Bella's enthusiastic response, because he knew that every movement would be agonising, even after such a tiny dose of the excruciating pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Bella's muscles would feel like every fibre had been tied into knots; the muscles being bound like this always followed the exquisite agony of thousands of white hot knives piercing and slashing every centimetre of skin, muscle and organ tissue.

Bellatrix had so wanted he, Severus to be the one who was tortured, but their fickle boss had turned around and punished her instead. But being as insane as she was, Severus knew she would not question her master's decision. If the Dark Lord had seen fit to punish her, then Severus knew she would think that she must have deserved it.

Severus's lip lifted in a sneer as he watched Voldemort put his hand on Bella's head as if offering her a benediction. He turned away when the freak pulled Bella to her feet and clasped those ‘pale as a dead fish's belly' hands around her face and gazed into her swimming eyes. Severus had an insane desire to make the gesture that was so popular amongst the students-that of pretending to stick his finger down his throat to make himself gag. It happened a lot behind his back at school; he might not have eyes in the back of his head like Moody, but he did have ears and the accompanying noise was quite distinctive.

Severus was not entirely sure how close physically Bella and the object of her devotion were-certainly if Bella had her way, they would be very close indeed-but Severus always wondered exactly what Rudolphus thought of his wife's extreme worship of the Dark Lord.

How fortuitous it was that Rudolphus was in Azkaban and unable to see the antics of his insane wife. Rudolphus was certainly no oil painting but compared to the ‘snake's underbelly' who was the object of Bella's desire now, Rudolphus was the equivalent of Michelangelo's, ‘David'.

Severus's gaze came to rest on the two boys. Nott was still staring ahead at nothing, his hands thrust deeply into his pockets. Severus caught Draco's eye and the terrified boy stared back at him, close to tears and with desperation present in every tense muscle of his body. Gone was every trace of the arrogant, pure-blood Slytherin, and in his place was a terrified child on the verge of losing control of his bodily functions.

Due to years of conditioning, Severus did not start outwardly when Voldemort appeared at his side again. He was aware of his increased heart rate however.

"Who would you say are the most proficient students at potions within the school, Severus?" Voldemort asked.

The question seemed to be irrelevant but Severus's gaze sharpened on the two boys and his hear sank. Within seconds, he had made the connection. Malfoy or Nott, or both had concocted the potion that had poisoned Harry. Along with his dismay-because he knew the likely outcome for these boys-Severus felt an overwhelming fury. One, or both of these children of Death Eaters' had nearly killed Harry Potter...nearly killed his son.

When he spoke though, there was not a trace of anger or dismay in his voice. He sounded coolly disinterested. "There are three students whom I would say have a degree of talent."

"And these students are...?"

Severus gestured towards the two boys. "Mr Malfoy and Mr Nott are two of the three. Neither has the ability of the Mudblood Granger, however."

When Severus saw the red eyes narrow, he looked straight into them. "I can only imagine that the Mudblood has a very recent wizarding heredity that has not been documented. There is no other explanation for her talent."

Severus adhered strictly to the ‘pureblood superiority' creed when in Lord Voldemort's (the Half Blood's) presence. The madman could not admit, even with all the evidence to the contrary-Tom Riddle and he, Severus included-that any, other than purebloods could really have superior magical talent.

Lord Voldemort took several deep breaths to calm himself down. ‘Well Severus, as Mr Nott is one of the three most talented potioneers within Hogwarts, it will come as no surprise to you to learn that it was he who was responsible for the near demise of Harry Potter."

Severus allowed his eyes to travel coldly over Nott again. The boy was truly terrified but there was not a hint of contrition in his demeanour.

"Now, as much as I admire Mr Nott's determination to see the end of Harry Potter and his desire to revenge his father, our young Slytherin did not take my wishes into consideration before he put his flawed plan into action.

"Luckily, Severus, you were there to save the day, as it were." The Dark Lord now had his wand in hand and was circling the two shaking boys.

Nott's mother was sobbing quietly, her face buried in her hands. The burly Death eater poked her in the shoulder and the woman made a valiant effort to stifle her sobs.

"If you don't mind me asking, my Lord, how did you find out about Mr Nott's over-zealousness."

"Ah, yes. How indeed? Mr Nott, unfortunately put his trust in the wrong person when he boasted of the fact that he had killed Harry Potter." Nott was now looking at his feet but Severus could see his very red forehead.

Voldemort placed the tip of his wand under the boy's chin and forced him to look up. Then he lowered his snake-like face so that it was level with the boy's. Severus saw Nott's Adam's Apple bob up and down.

"You did not realise that your Great Uncle Armitage would deem it necessary to report your actions to me, did you Theodore?"

When Nott did not answer, Voldemort put the tip of his wand against the boy's cheek and twisted it back and forth. The movement was just a prompt for Nott to answer. His Adam's Apple bobbed again and he shook his head.

"Did you not know, Theodore, that it is my wish that Harry Potter dies by no other hand but mine?"

Nott did not need a prompt this time. He swallowed again; the effort looked painful. Severus imagined that the boy's mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert. "I...I didn't think. I was so angry with Potter." He looked up into the Dark Lord's eyes. Perhaps he saw something other than pitilessness because he continued.

"It was his fault that my Dad was sent to Azkaban." Nott's voice was raspy with fear and lack of use.

No, it was your stupid father's fault because he and his accomplices in crime were too idiotic to defeat a handful of teenagers.

"Why do you think your father is still in Azkaban, Theodore?" Those snake eyes moved to Draco before returning to Nott. "Why do you imagine that ten of my most senior Death Eater's are still in Azkaban? Do you imagine that I could not have any or all of them out of there in the blink of an eye."

Voldemort turned his eyes on Draco again. "Well, Mr Malfoy. Perhaps you can answer the question?"

Draco swallowed to try and ease the dryness in his throat. "You...you're punishing them."

"Indeed!" said Voldemort and he moved away from the boys and began pacing around the room again. Both boy's relaxed fractionally.

"They are being punished. They failed to accomplish the simple task I set them and so they need to learn a lesson."

And who punished you, you madman when you failed to accomplish the task of killing Harry when you transported him to that graveyard. The greatest wizard ever, according to you, and you failed to kill a fourteen year old boy.

"Those who do not follow my instructions to the letter need to be punished Theodore. If you had succeeded in killing Harry Potter, my aim to rule supreme over the wizarding world would have suffered a considerable set back. It is essential to my plan to be all powerful that it be I who kills Harry Potter."

Nott watched the random movements of the Dark Lord as though mesmerized. The only sounds in the room were Voldemort's almost silent footfalls and Mrs Nott's sobs.

Severus found himself tensing. He knew what was going to happen and he could do naught to stop it. Everyone was waiting for the denouement. Everyone in the room jumped when Voldemort spun about to face the boy's and spoke again.

"You, Mr Malfoy are here at my invitation, as is your mother so that you will realise that when I set a task, I expect it to be carried out to my satisfaction."

Voldemort stopped in front of Draco. "Push up your left sleeve and hold out your arm, Mr Malfoy."

Draco looked as if he was about to faint, but he did as he was told. He was shaking so much, the Dark Lord had to grasp the arm to steady it. Without hesitation, Voldemort placed the tip of his wand on the pale flesh of Draco's inner arm. A slight sizzling sound could be heard but it was drowned out almost immediately by the boy's anguished wail.

Draco sagged to his knees but Voldemort held his arm taut and held the wand there for about thirty seconds. The smell of burnt flesh filled the room. When the Dark Lord removed his wand, Draco was barely conscious and he slumped fully to the floor when the Dark Lord released his arm.

He stared down at the boy dispassionately. Severus felt sick. He remembered his own branding as if it was yesterday. It was not as bad as the Cruciatus Curse, but it was no picnic either. Narcissa stared at her son, her face even paler than normal, and her lips set in a rigid line.

"Enervate!" Voldemort pointed his wand at Draco and the boy's pale eyes fluttered open. The pain hit him straight away and he groaned and clasped his arm to his chest as he staggered to his feet.

"You will have to grow a little more backbone than that, Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter suffered the Cruciatus Curse with more fortitude than you have shown tonight. Being branded with my mark is an honour. You should have born it with stoicism."

"I'm sorry, my Lord,' gasped out Draco. I will try to do better."

"No, you will not try. You will succeed."

Draco nodded quickly but Severus could see the involuntary swallowing that showed he was not far from vomiting.

Voldemort forgot about his new recruit as he turned to Theodore Nott again. "And now for your punishment, Mr Nott." He raised his wand and Nott fell back several paces, his face slack. The three Death Eaters stumbled away quickly, unwilling to be in the range of fire.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Mrs Nott's high pitched scream was cut off as though she had been struck dumb.

It took Severus's senses a few seconds to catch up with what had actually happened. He blinked. Theodore Nott was still standing, his mouth open in a silent scream and his hands spread over his chest in a futile effort to stop the killing curse.

He was staring, horror struck at his mother, as was everyone else in the room. Mrs Nott was slumped sideways in her chair, her eyes staring and her mouth open in the scream that had been cut off.

She was dead.

"Your punishment, Mr Nott."

8888

Nymphadora Tonks replaced the cup in it's saucer after she had finished the admittedly delicious tea that Petunia Dursley had prepared for her. Tonks had kept the pot warm magically and had just indulged in her third cup.

It had been three hours since Severus had left and the Dursleys had gone to bed about two hours ago. The boy, Dudley had wanted to stay with Harry but Tonks had encouraged him to go to bed also. He had done so reluctantly.

Tonks listened to the rumbling snores that were coming from the bedroom on the left, closest to the stairs. Vernon Dursley was making a shocking racket and Tonks could not understand how anyone else in the house-or the houses next door for that matter-could sleep through the horrible cacophony.

Tonks yawned and then stood up. Harry had not moved a muscle since she had been there. But then, of course, he was not in a normal sleep, was he? She moved to his bedside and as she had done several times over the last couple of hours, she pushed Harry's fringe back and looked at his scar.

The lightning bolt had been livid when she had first arrived in the room; it had stood out, upraised and taut against the pallor of the rest of Harry's face.

There had been little change over the three hours, perhaps it had become slightly less livid and taut up to when she had last looked, forty minutes ago.

But now when she looked, Tonks could see a definite difference. The jagged scar had settled down to it's regular appearance, a white lightning bolt mark that felt like any other old scar-a tough ridge of tissue. Harry no longer felt hot either. It should be safe to revive him now, just as Snape had ordered.

Tonks pointed her wand at her young friend and whispered, "Enervate."

Harry's eyelids fluttered, and Tonks found herself coveting those long black eyelashes. Why was it always the boys who had the most gorgeous eyes. Harry had the gorgeous eyes to go with those lush lashes.

Ginny Weasley had really scored a goal when she had hooked Harry Potter. She put her head to the side and watched fondly as the young boy blinked the sleep and confusion out of his eyes.

Then again, Harry had scored a goal when he had hooked Ginny Weasley. She was a babe.

Harry pushed himself backwards and winced. He felt really stiff and sore. What the hell had happened?

"Hey Sleepyhead," said Tonks with a grin.

Harry blinked again and reached for his glasses. "Tonks?"

"Welcome back, Harry. How does your scar feel?"

Harry touched his scar and everything came flooding back to him. He was at the Dursley's. Professor Snape had bought him and he had given Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon a hard time.

And Dudley. He and Dudley had been getting on. The dementors had caused Dudley to have a change of heart about Harry. He and Dudley had been talking in his room.

Harry looked around. Yeah, this was his room all right. There was the rickety old desk and chair that he had to prop up on one corner with a pile of books because one of the legs was missing. There was the grotty old veneer chest of drawers next to the bed.

But the bed was not the bed he had slept on since he had been using Dudley's second bedroom. This was his new bed; the one in the new room in Snape's quarters. What was it doing here?

"How did this bed get here?" he asked Tonks, who just looked confused, and a little worried.

"Sorry? Wasn't it already here?"

"No, it was in Snape's quar..." Tonks was looking at him as if he was mad. "Never mind," he finished lamely. He rubbed his scar again.

"My scar hurt really badly. Voldemort was totally pis-er really angry."

"Just say like it is Harry. You don't need to stand on ceremony with me. The evil bugger was totally pissed off."

Harry's face had reddened but he grinned. "Yeah, he really was. I take it you're babysitting me because Snape was summoned."

"You've got it in one. But before he went, he stunned you because you were in so much pain. He wouldn't leave you alone with the Muggles."

Harry slumped back against the headboard. He was really worried about Snape but he wasn't about to tell Tonks that. She'd think he was mad. As far as everyone knew, he and Snape hated each other. It would take far too much time and effort to explain everything that had been revealed over the last few days. Hell, he was still trying to come to terms with the fact that his dad and Snape were cousins and therefore he and Snape were cousins also.

"He doesn't want all his hard work fixing me up to be undone again. My uncle can be a bit rough," he said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Tonks looked appalled but refrained from commenting. They sat quietly for several seconds until finally, Tonks crossed to the desk and tapped Petunia's best teapot with her wand. Harry saw steam come out of the spout.

"Let's have a cuppa. You must be parched." Harry latched onto the change of subject and nodded. The ubiquitous cup of tea. What would they do without it?

He started to pick at the fabric of his pyjama pants; he frowned. Where had the pyjama's come from? The same place as the bed presumably. Snape must have done all this.

But why? The other bed was usable, after all-not particularly comfortable but better than the sofa or the floor. It seemed that Snape was really taking his responsibility for Harry seriously.

Harry had tried not to let it mean too much but he couldn't help the little leap in his stomach when he thought that perhaps he finally did have a relative who was at least a little concerned for him; a relative who might actually be a little upset if anything was to happen to Harry.

Snape had certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty when it came to this latest episode with the poison. He had not only saved Harry's life again, he had actually nursed him and gotten him back to almost full fitness. He had put up with Harry in his rooms; he had even given up his bed for Harry.

If anything happened to Snape while he was in the company of Voldemort, Harry didn't know what he would do.

Please, let him be all right. If the pain in his, Harry's scar had nearly cleaved his head in two, then Voldemort was really, really pissed and that did not bode well for anyone who was near him.

Tonks had summoned another cup from the kitchen and now she passed Harry a cup of Petunia's delicious brew. She had had to fill the Potter again as well as heat it, but it was still Petunia's brew.

Tonks was lounging back in her chair (obviously conjured) with her feet up on the bed. She was blowing on her tea to cool it a bit. "After you have this Harry, I think you should lie down and try to get some proper sleep."

"I won't be able to sleep until I know Snape is all right."

"Severus will be fine. He's been doing this for a long time, Harry. You don't have to feel responsible for everyone just because He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named has made you his prime target because he failed to kill you fifteen years ago."

Harry didn't look at Tonks. He sipped his tea to hide his relief. Tonks didn't know the contents of the Prophecy. Thank God. It seemed that when Dumbledore had said that the Order knew, he had meant senior members of the Order. Probably, McGonagall, Moody Snape and maybe Lupin.

He hadn't told anyone the contents until after the Ministry fiasco, or else Sirius would have known and Harry was sure Sirius would have told him.

After Harry had finished his tea, he made a trip to the bathroom. When he came back, Tonks was opening the window. A beautiful Snowy Owl hopped onto the sill.

"Hedwig!" Harry cried and Hedwig launched herself across the room to land on Harry's shoulder, where she gently nipped at his ear and then ran a lock of his hair through her beak.

Much to Harry's embarrassment, he felt tears well up. He buried his face against Hedwig's snowy breast. He had missed her terribly, but he had only seen her that afternoon. It was so good that she was here, at Privet Drive to keep him company. She would keep him grounded until Snape returned.

Tonks was great fun, he really liked her but he could not talk to her about Snape.

Harry made a valiant effort to pull himself together. He walked over to the desk where he coaxed Hedwig onto his arm and then onto the desk. Dumbledore had kept his promise and had sent his owl, but Harry didn't have her cage. Ginny still had the cage, so Hedwig would just have to sleep on the desk.

Harry was just lamenting the fact that he didn't have any owl treats when he noticed the red ribbon tied to Hedwig's leg. A little Hessian bag hung from the ribbon and when Harry detached it, he found a small amount of owl treats.

Harry grinned, Dumbledore thought of everything, and so, it appeared, did Tonks. The Metamorphmagus had taken one of Petunia's empty cups to the bathroom and half filled it with water.

Hedwig hooted softly and buried her beak in the cup. It was a very thirsty trip between Hogwarts and Surrey.

Tonks now chivvied Harry back into bed, where, much to his embarrassment, she tucked him in. "Snape expects me to look after you properly Harry, and you need your sleep. It's not that long since you were on Death's door, after all. Severus Snape is unpleasant even when he's trying to be pleasant, so I don't really want to cross him when he's pissed of."

Harry nodded his understanding and he turned over to face the wall.

"I'll just be resting in the chair, so if you want anything, just call out."

"Thanks, Tonks," said Harry, but then he whispered to the wall, "but I'm a big boy now."

Harry knew he wouldn't sleep. He was too worried about Snape. Though maybe everything was all right now because his scar wasn't hurting that much anymore. Just the usual prickling and he had become so used to that, he wasn't always aware of it.

Still, he would stay awake until Snape came back. Surely Snape was coming back, if only just to let him know he was all right.

What was the deal anyway. Was someone going to be with him for as long as he was at the Dursleys. Snape had never said. But surely if he had gotten Tonks to baby sit him, that meant he didn't want him to be left alone with the Dursleys. Or maybe that was because he had been unconscious and would not have been able to protect himself at all if Uncle Vernon decided he would take up where he left off last year after the dementors had attacked Dudley.

Harry yawned.

This bed really was very comfortable. Too comfortable. He didn't want to go to sleep. He had to stay awake until Snape got back, or sent word.

Uncle Vernon was snoring again. His rhythm had faltered a bit when Hedwig had arrived and Harry had been so happy, he had cried out. How lucky was it that Tonks had been here, because if Vernon Dursley's sleep had been disturbed by Harry in the normal course of events, Harry would have probably woken up in the morning with fresh bruises.

This bed really was great. Just as comfortable as his bed in Gryffindor Tower, in fact. Nearly as comfortable as Snape's bed. Now that was some bed. It was like sleeping in the midst of a fairy tale with those cool carvings all over it.

Though sleeping in the midst of a fairy tale didn't do much for Snape's disposition, did it? The Greasy Git was unpleasant on a day to day basis at school. But hang on, he wasn't a greasy git anymore. His hair was clean wasn't it? And he wasn't as nasty these days. He could talk to Harry in a reasonable tone.

Who'd a thought?

Severus Snape and Harry Potter had been in the same rooms for ages and they hadn't killed each other. But that could change, couldn't it?

Snape didn't sound too happy at the moment, did he?

What the hell was wrong now? He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? Or maybe Snape was just sick of him staying in his rooms, in his bed.

"Thank you Nymphadora, but allow me to know whether I need to rest or not. You may go."

Nymphadora. Was Tonks staying in Snape's rooms too? Was he kicking her out. Would Snape kick Harry out too?

He didn't want to go. He liked it here.

"Please don't kick me out."

"Potter."

"No. Please, I don't want to go. I like it here!"

"Potter...Harry, wake up."

"No, leave me alone. I can stay down here. Snape said I could stay."

Harry tried to shake the hand off. "Please, let me stay..."

The hand shook harder and Harry's eyes flew open.

It was still dark but he could see a figure standing over him. He cried out and began lashing out at the person with clenched fists. A battle raged silently for several seconds, except for grunts and some heavy breathing. Harry panicked when his wrists were caught between two strong hands and his arms forced up above his head.

He began to buck and had just opened his mouth to scream when a hand covered it, stifling the noise. His wrists were being held in one strong hand. He struggled even harder.

"Harry!" whispered an urgent voice in his ear. "Harry settle down! You're safe. It's all right, it's me. It's Severus."

Severus. Snape was back. He was OK.

All of the fight went out of Harry and he deflated like an old tyre. The hand over his mouth relaxed and the grip on his wrists was released. A second later, the light came on.

Snape was half lying on the bed looking a little worse for wear. He looked at Harry who stared back, blinking owlishly in the dim light.

Snape sat up and pushed his hair out of his face. Harry scrambled to a sitting position also. He reached for his glasses.

Snape was fingering a swelling below his right eye tentatively. He looked ruefully. "I trust you are fully awake now?'"

Harry looked appalled. "Did I do that? God, I'm sorry. I must have been dreaming. I thought someone was attacking me."

"I was trying to wake you up, you idiot child. You were thrashing around."

"I didn't think I would sleep. I was waiting for you." Harry lowered his head and his next words were a whisper. "I was worried."

Silence greeted this statement and after a few tense moments, Harry looked up. Snape was staring at him with an expression on his face Harry hadn't seen before. It looked like a mixture of exasperation and concern.

"You don't have to worry about me Harry. I've been doing this for a long time."

Harry was horrified when his eyes filled with tears and he lowered his head to try and hide the fact. "But he was so angry," he whispered in a choked voice that made the effort of hiding his distress pointless. He buried his face in his hand and allowed his misery to wash over him.

Everything that had happened in the last few weeks welled up and overflowed. His body shuddered with sobs and he couldn't stop them, even though he knew Snape was sitting right there.

Memories flooded his mind, though they had never really been that far away. The horror of his vision of Sirius being tortured, Umbridge's near use of the Cruciatus Curse on him, his headlong rush to the Ministry resulting in Sirius' Death, Voldemort's possession of him.

And then the attempt on his own life and the revelations that had followed his recovery. His misery was just so great that he wanted to scream, to rail at the world. Why had he been born? Surely no one should be born to live with the horror he had to live with on a day to day basis.

Why hadn't he been killed with his parents? Then he wouldn't have known any of this. His life would have been those short fifteen months when he knew he would have been happy with James and Lily. His parents had been so young, but he knew they had loved him.

And then they were gone and he had not even had memories of them. The Dursleys had deprived him of even that. And now, the memories he did have were inextricably interwoven with the reality of Voldemort and he didn't think he could stand it any more. His life was one big howl of misery.

Harry didn't know how long he cried; he didn't care. He forgot that he had a witness until he felt a gentle hand on the back of his head. He gasped and jerked his head off his knees. His glasses slipped down from the top of his head where he had pushed them.

Harry stared at Snape, the tears still overflowing. Snape reached forward and took the tear streaked glasses off his wet face. His hand was still resting on Harry head. Harry screwed his face up again and tried to move away from the hand.

But Severus wouldn't let go. Instead, he exerted a small amount of pressure and pulled Harry towards him. Harry resisted for a few seconds, and then with another howl of anguish, he buried his face in Snape's robes and allowed his desolation to overflow.

Severus sat awkwardly on the side of the bed and did his best to comfort his son. He wasn't sure he did any good because comfort was not part of Severus Snape, Death Eater's repertoire.

Harry had been at the Dursleys for six days now. And though he despised every minute he was in his aunt and uncle's home, it was certainly not the worst time he had ever had.

This time, it was not he who was going around the twist, it was Vernon and Petunia. They absolutely loathed being related to a wizard, just as they loathed the wizard himself. They detested having to give Harry living space, but they would have been overjoyed if things could have gone back to the way they used to be.

Just Vernon, Petunia, Dudley and, if it had to be, Harry. That at least would have been bearable. They were used to that. They wanted nothing more than to live in a world where they could pretend that they were like every one of their neighbours-those neighbours who knew, as did the whole world, that there was no such thing as magic!

They had always been able to keep up the pretence of their little world being as normal as everyone elses by making it known that Harry was a dangerous delinquent, and as a result, no-one in their oh, so respectable neighbourhood had wanted anything to do with the boy. They had all steered well clear of that strange Harry Potter.

People had actually admired the Dursleys for having the courage to take in their nephew and at least try to teach him some values, rather than put him in an institution. For goodness sake, they had a young son of their own who could have been negatively influenced by his rebellious cousin. But the couple at Number Four had continued to try and tame their wayward nephew.

Yes, the Dursleys were wonderful, compassionate people.

The owners of Number Four had lived in this fantasy world quite easily by keeping the boy totally subjugated. It was only when those bursts of that unnaturalness happened that their cosy little world was threatened. And when they had occurred, they had punished him, made life even more unpleasant for the little freak; they had restricted his food and his freedom. And they had set him to work so that he had no time to indulge his unnatural talents.

Of course, brighter or kinder people might have realised that if Harry was happy and content, those wild outbursts might just not have happened. Unfortunately, no-one had ever accused either Petunia or Vernon of being overly intelligent or kind.

But life had been tolerable for the Dursleys, despite the burden of having to bring up Petunia's sister's son. They had had control until that pestilential school had started its efforts to contact the boy. That was when their comfortable, suburban existence had gone to hell in a hand basket.

The neighbours could not have helped but notice the invasion of owls that Privet Drive had been subjected to that July, five years ago. For heaven's sake, most of neighbours had spent weeks either scrubbing their windows and brickwork to remove the bird droppings or having professional cleaners in to do it for them. Several had even had their rooves professionally cleaned.

But no discussions over garden fences had ever taken place about the fact that the majority of the owls had roosted on or very near to Number Four. Nor had anyone ever thought it relevant that the day the Dursleys and their nephew had left for a short holiday, the owls had disappeared.

Perhaps no-one noticed, as the other residents of Privet Drive, much like the Dursleys, were really only interested in their own humdrum lives. As long as they were not affected by the happenings throughout the rest of the world, they were content. Of course, a good scandal was always worthy of comment but the Dursleys and their wayward nephew did not come under the category of salacious news, especially as the boy had never affected any of them personally with his lawless ways.

If there had been any "twitchers" in the area, they might have been interested in the fact that no owls had ever been seen in Privet Drive before the summer invasion of 1991, but since that time, especially in the summer, owls of all sizes and colours would occasionally be sighted flying around Number Four. There was even a huge, white one that was seen rather more frequently than any of the others. But as the residents of Privet Drive and it's environs were too busy earning and spending money to be interested in birds of any sort, this phenomenon just passed them by.

Of course, the owls had just been the beginning of the Dursley's misery. But fleeing to the luxury accommodations of ‘the Hut on the Rock' hadn't done them any good that summer, five years ago; the freaks had still won the day and Potter had headed off to the freak school to learn more unnaturalness.

The Dursleys had their explanation for Harry's absence all thought out though, just in case anyone thought to ask. They were going to say that all their efforts had been for naught and they had eventually had no other recourse but to send the wayward child to a fine institution for delinquent children.

The best, in fact. St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

Now everyone felt sorry for the Dursleys. They had tried. No-one could say they hadn't tried. For heaven sake, they were still trying. They still brought the boy home for the summer holidays.

Not that the neighbourhood had been particularly thrilled with this development. After all, the boy was an adolescent now. He could cause a lot more trouble now that he was grown than he had as a small, skinny child.

But the neighbours hadn't seen Harry Potter so far this summer. And that was a very good thing, particularly where the Creightons at Number ten were concerned. The couple were older than the Dursleys, and they had a granddaughter who was sixteen years old. Last summer she had stayed with her grandparents for a couple of weeks while her parents went on a cruise.

One day, to their horror, they had found Alyssa talking to the Potter boy over the front fence and even after they had warned her about his delinquent propensities and told her to keep away from him, she had ignored them and continued to fraternise with him whenever she had seen him out and about. She had told them that there was nothing wrong with him and that she thought he was cute! She had also informed them that the only delinquent in the Dursley family was their pig of a son, Dudley.

Yes, the rest of Privet Drive might have been happy that the Potter boy was not in evidence, but the Potter boy himself was far from thrilled. Even though the weather was far from perfect-who ever heard of such cold mists being a regular occurrence in the middle of July-Harry would have liked to get out for a decent walk. He had been cooped up for far too long.

But Snape had forbidden him to set foot out of the house. Certainly out the front of the house. He had finally conceded that Harry could go into the back garden, as long as his current bodyguard was out there with him.

Harry had argued the point; had said that he didn't need a body guard every second of the day and he was sick and tired of trying to ditch his ‘tail' so that he could go to the loo without an audience! As was to be expected, Snape had blown a gasket and told him that if he continued to act like a two year old, he would put a Silencing Charm on him and put him in a Full Body Bind until it was time to go back to Hogwarts.

Harry had been tempted to ask who had made Snape supreme ruler of the universe, but had thought better of it, considering the man looked like he had just taken a potions class made up entirely of Neville Longbottoms and each and every one of the Nevilles had melted his cauldron.

*

Harry had been tiptoeing around Snape since he had awoken the first morning after arriving at his aunt and uncle's home. He had awoken curled up under the new Gryffindor duvet, as comfortable and warm as he had ever been back in Snape's room in the dungeons at Hogwarts.

He had never really been comfortable in Dudley's second bedroom before. It was not only the fact that he was never really comfortable in this house, but also the fact that his miserable bed was the cause of him waking up most mornings with a sore back.

That morning, he had lain quietly for many minutes, his mind processing all of the events of the previous twelve hours. He had recalled his reunion with Hedwig under the owlery at Hogwarts after their ten or eleven day separation, and then how she had been sent to him here in Surrey by Dumbledore. A quick, blurry glance across the room had shown Harry that Hedwig was not on the desk. She had probably gone out to hunt in the early morning because even though Snowy Owls were diurnal, Hedwig still preferred to sleep the main part of the day away.

Harry had thought back to his reunion with a very contrite Hagrid and then his talk with Professor Dumbledore and their return to the dungeons. He had remembered his delighted surprise when he had been shown his new room in Snape's quarters and then his disappointment when he had been told he had to go back to the Dursleys.

And after his arrival here, things had veered into the realms of fantasy with the appearance of a radically changed Dudley. The last time Harry had seen his cousin, he had been practically incoherent, nauseated, sweating profusely and was the colour of putty. Harry knew he must have looked exactly like that after his own run ins with the dementors. He definitely knew he had felt faint and nauseated.

Six days ago, Harry had lain under his warm duvet and he had finally allowed his thoughts to settle on the event he had deliberately pushed to the back of his mind...specifically, the happenings of the very early hours of the morning. He remembered the crippling pain he had experienced in his scar and the vague recollection of a worried Snape appearing in his room and attempting to help him.

Harry's face had reddened as his thoughts had dwelled on Tonks and how she had fussed over him when she had revived him, apparently hours later. That hadn't been too bad-he liked Tonks-but then Snape had come back from his meeting with Voldemort and Harry had lost it completely after waking from a nightmare, and he had punched Snape in the face.

Amazingly, this contretemps had not bought the wrath of Snape down on his head. That would probably have been better than what had actually happened. He had broken down and bawled like a baby...he had practically become hysterical.

And Snape...instead of sneering his disgust and berating Harry for the weakling he was...instead of mocking the fact that he was not living up to his Gryffindor expectations, Hogwart's dreaded potions master had actually comforted Harry. Comforted him in much the same way a father might comfort a distressed son.

Snape!

Looking back, Harry realised how surreal the whole episode had been, but at the time, he had actually welcomed the soothing touch. Instead of trying to chivvy Harry out of his misery with terse instructions to pull himself together, Snape had instead allowed him to sob into his shoulder. He had tentatively rubbed soothing circles on Harry's back and the couple of times Harry had tried to pull back, Snape had stilled his efforts by the simple expedient of keeping his hand on the back of Harry's head and exerting a small amount of pressure.

Harry had exhausted himself; he had not been able to stop the tears. All of the nightmare events from throughout the whole of his crap life had suddenly coalesced into a huge leaden ball that had lodged in his throat. The only way he had been able to ease the pressure had been with the release of tears and for the first time in his memory, he had succumbed to his misery.

The Dursleys had never stood for the infant Harry and his slightly older self to cry. He would be punished and locked in the cupboard under the stairs until they could bear to look at him again when he had cried.

Harry didn't know how long he had wept for his mother and father after he had first arrived at the Dursleys...and he couldn't remember how old he had been when he had decided that he wasn't going to cry any more. Many times he had come close, but he had not given in until that early morning, six days ago.

It had nearly happened when Mrs Weasley had hugged him in the hospital wing after the horror events in the graveyard a year ago, but he had swallowed it down. In the back of his mind, despite his tiredness and his pain and his misery, was the fact that Ron had been standing right there and would have seen him. Harry didn't want Ron being embarrassed by any overt displays of emotion, and he certainly didn't want his best mate feeling sorry for him. So, he had forced all the misery down and had taken the rest of his dreamless sleep potion instead.

And so, what had he done that night, six days ago? He had finally broken down. That time, he would have been pleased for Ron to witness his embarrassment, but not being given a choice, it had been cousin Severus who had seen his mortifying display

And amazingly, cousin Severus had not sneered or ridiculed or laughed. Instead, he had comforted, and Harry, supremely uncomfortable in Snape's arms, had finally surrendered to the comfort offered and eventually cried himself out. Unconsciously, he had relaxed against the man who had just returned from an assignation with the evil wizard who wanted Harry dead above anything else.

He had relaxed against the man who had hated him since the second he had set foot inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had relaxed against the Head of Slytherin house, the training ground for young Death Eaters in waiting, specifically, Draco Malfoy, his, Harry's most vocal schoolyard enemy and seemingly, Snape's favourite pupil.

But he had also relaxed against the Order of the Phoenix's spy in Voldemort's ranks and he had relaxed against his cousin. He had relaxed so much, he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew it had been morning and he had been warm and comfortable under his duvet and Snape had been nowhere in sight.

All of these memories had run through Harry's turgid brain within seconds of his waking that first morning. He had been relieved to find his room empty of Snape's presence, but perversely, he had also felt let down.

Harry had dived out of bed as soon as this extraordinary notion had morphed into thought. God, there was definitely something wrong with him that he could have come over all gooey just because someone who had always treated him like an arse, had done an about face and had been nice to him.

Harry had scrambled into yesterday's cargo pants and, with his thoughts in turmoil, he had delved into his trunk for a jumper. As he had pulled Mrs Weasley's latest Christmas present over his head and shoved his glasses onto his nose, he had wondered where Snape was. If he felt as appalled and embarrassed as Harry did, he would have hightailed it back to Hogwarts just as quickly as he could.

Descending the stairs, Harry had wondered who Snape had left on duty and whether they were in the house or outside. Apparently, he needed protecting from his relatives just as much as he needed protecting from Voldemort. Though presumably, the relatives were the greater danger at the moment because his having returned to live under Aunt Petunia's roof had reinforced the protection that his mother's sacrifice had activated fifteen years ago.

It was such a pity that his mother's death had not activated some sort of latent feelings of affection in Aunt Petunia for her sister, and hence her sister's son. It saddened Harry more to think that his mother had probably known how much Petunia had hated her than it upset him to know that that hatred had transferred to him.

It had still been fairly early when Harry had woken that morning and he had planned to follow his usual habits when he was at Privet Drive and start breakfast. But when he had pushed the door to the kitchen open, he had stopped dead just inside the room and his jaw had hit the floor.

Harry had thought he had entered the twilight zone. Snape had been sitting at the kitchen table in his Muggle attire, sipping a cup of coffee and reading the ‘Daily Telegraph', Uncle Vernon's preferred newspaper. The gentle sizzle and pop of cooking bacon combined with the sound of disapproving sniffs had Harry spinning on the spot to find Aunt Petunia looking as sour as day old milk left out in the sun, standing over the cooker.

Harry had not had to cook breakfast that morning, nor indeed any morning since his arrival. Other than to eat, Harry's presence in the kitchen had been forbidden. Snape's orders.

In fact, Harry had not had to lift a finger around the house or in the garden. For the first time in living memory, he was allowed to be the last person out of bed in the morning.

Uncle Vernon had left for work after hastily gulping down a cup of coffee every weekday morning, casting askance glares at whichever witch or wizard was taking up room at his kitchen table. If he had felt guilty about leaving his wife in the company of freaks, it did not move him enough to come home early to offer her his support. He had rung from work on the first and second afternoons to inform Petunia that he had to work overtime.

But when the phone had rung on day three of Harry's incarceration, Harry had heard his aunt screeching like a banshee that if he did not get his fat arse home for dinner, he would be more than sorry. Petunia was ready to tear her hair out-or perhaps to kill someone. The looks she kept on shooting at Harry made him the likely target.

Petunia's summer was not turning out to be the idle time she had grown used to. She was used to having what amounted to a slave in her home, and now, she was the slave! Her husband had turned out to be a blasted coward when their home had been invaded by adult wizards and her son...her beautiful Diddy-the boy she had worshipped since the day he had been born-had turned against her. He was actually interacting with Potter. They talked together, played games together and watched television together.

She had come out of Dudley's bedroom one morning and had been shocked to hear Harry explaining the rules of "Quidditch" to her son. Petunia had a vague memory of Lily explaining the same rules to their mother and father when she had first started at that freak school. The memory had made her blood boil-indeed, it seemed that her blood had been boiling for days now-and she had stormed into the bedroom with the intention of ordering Dudley out.

She had panicked when she had found her son sitting on that new bed holding a strange looking broom in his hands. Harry had stood up quickly, but Dudley, after casting a quick glance at his livid mother, had returned his attention to the Firebolt.

‘Put it down, Diddy!' Aunt Petunia had screeched. You don't know what might happen.'

Dudley had looked at his mother sadly and Harry had been amazed anew at the change in his cousin.

‘Nothing will happen Mum. Harry flies this. Apparently he's a really good flyer. He plays in his house's team at school.'

Petunia had shot Harry such a look of hatred, he had actually recoiled a step. ‘Mum!' Dudley had said through clenched teeth, but Petunia had ignored him to concentrate on her nephew.

‘This is all your fault, you little freak,' she had spat. ‘What have you done to him?' Dudley had tried to take his mother's arm to try and pull her away but Petunia's rage had been all consuming. She had continued to berate a stony-faced Harry until Kingsley Shacklebolt had entered the room and Petunia had screamed-a combination of fright and absolute fury.

That had been the first time that Kingsley had been on guard duty and though Harry had been happy to see him, Petunia had been on the verge of hysterical tears. It had been bad enough that witches and wizards had been appearing at all times of the day and night, but to now have a wizard who was so very...black, standing blatantly in her house was just too much to bear.

Kingsley had greeted Petunia politely in his very deep voice but she had glared and pushed past him, trying to pull Dudley out of the room with her. Dudley had rolled his eyes behind his mother's back but had gone with her just to try and calm her down.

Harry had thrown himself down on his bed with his hands behind his head and had told Kingsley that if he wasn't allowed out of here soon, he would end up in St Mungos as a ward buddy of Gilderoy Lockharts. Kingsley had looked sympathetic but had not offered any hope of an early release.

Instead, he had produced a wizard chess set and they had played several games before Kingsley had told Harry that Severus had suggested he get some homework done, and that he would be checking it when he next dropped by.

It had been Harry's turn to be absolutely livid. Where was this all coming from? It was total crap! Why was Snape suddenly so concerned about Harry's schoolwork? It had started back in the dungeons of course. Perhaps it was just that Snape wanted to keep Harry's nose to the grindstone because what Snape did best was drive Harry demented. Yeah, that was definitely the most likely scenario.

8888

Harry, Dudley and Tonks were in Dudley's room on this wet and cold Saturday. Harry was lying crosswise on Dudley's bed, with his legs hanging over the side and his head resting at an awkward angle against the wall pushing his chin onto his chest. He looked supremely uncomfortable. His hands were folded on his concave stomach and he was thoroughly bored. Dudley and Tonks were playing "Worms" on the PlayStation and even though Harry's eyes were following the action his brain seemed to be mired in quicksand.

He was so sick of being stuck indoors. But even if he had been allowed to roam about Little Whinging as he had done in the past, (when the chores were done) he really would have needed his head read to be out and about on a day like today.

It seemed that summer had passed Britain by.

Harry rubbed viciously at his scar, knocking his glasses askew so that the nosepiece dug painfully into the side of his nose. He straightened them with a slightly shaking hand. He was still feeling a bit out of it because Snape had given him such a strong dose of pain relief potion last night. Lord Voldemort had been on the rampage again.

Even with the potion, Harry had had nightmares about fires-dozens of fires-about which men in hideous hooded cloaks had cavorted and which had interwoven with the fire in his scar. The potion had not entirely eliminated the pain and it had stopped him from being able to drag himself out of the dream. His scar had still seared but Snape had also supplied a salve which he had instructed Harry rub into the lightning bolt-shaped ridge of tissue. It had acted like a local anaesthetic, but much like the potion, it had only muted the pain-he had felt it even through the fog of his drugged sleep.

Hestia Jones had been his babysitter last night and unlike Tonks, this member of the Order had decided that a young man needed his privacy and she had conjured her comfortable chair out on the landing with a little table and lantern. She had several editions of ‘Witch Weekly' for perusal as well as a puzzle book to keep her occupied.

Hestia had been there when Harry had clapped his hand over his scar and groaned aloud. They had been partaking of dinner, seated at the table with Dudley, the increasingly sour-faced Petunia and an inebriated Vernon.

Petunia had cooked dinner; in fact, she had been a slave to the kitchen since Severus Snape had invaded her world. The sinister looking wizard had made it perfectly plain that first evening that whilst Harry had to stay at Privet Drive, she, Petunia would be expected to provide meals for Harry and his guards, as well as her own family.

Petunia had not submitted easily to this edict. She had raged at Severus that it would be a Dark day in hell before she catered to the likes of them. Severus had pointed out that that could easily be arranged if the Dark Lord continued in his rise to power. He had also informed the apoplectic woman that she could have a dose of what Harry had had to do for practically every meal since he had been tall enough to reach the cook top.

Severus had looked so menacing when he had said this, Petunia had shut up, but she reserved her most vitriolic glares for the potions master-a fact that Severus was completely indifferent to because when it came right down to it, Petunia Dursley's vitriolic glares were not in a league with his own.

Vernon had decided that if he had to come home to a houseful of freaks, he would blur the reality of this unhappy situation by consuming his own weight in lager and brandy whenever he got the chance. Dudley had looked as miserable as Harry at the dinner table that evening, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that the antics of his parents were causing him a great deal of dismay and embarrassment.

When Harry had staggered from the table, when the pain had struck, Hestia had produced her wand and cast her "dove" Patronus and sent it urgently on it's way to summon Snape. Of course, all the Muggles had seen was another burst of blinding white light, the same as the one produced by that Snape character on the first night. The lines around Petunia's mouth which were beginning to resemble the Grand Canyon, had become deeper as she had pursed her lips even more. Her mouth now looked like what Harry referred to as "Aunt Petunia's cat's bum mouth".

Hestia had never questioned her orders. For some reason or other, Severus Snape seemed to be in charge of young Harry's welfare whilst he was at his aunt and uncle's home. Dumbledore had reiterated the orders and Hestia did as she was told, without question. And so, it was Snape she summoned, not Dumbledore.

Though Petunia had seen a few spells cast in her home since this terrible ordeal had begun, no-one had been quite so blatant about using magic as that horrible man with the long black hair who was always dressed like an undertaker-the one who had taken it upon himself to dictate terms in her home. He seemed to have taken it upon himself to thrust upon the Dursleys, the fact that Harry was indeed a wizard, and that he would be able to use his own wand with impunity when he reached his majority in the wizarding world. The horrible man had made that sound like a threat.

After the Patronus had been cast, Petunia had thrown her napkin down in disgust and begun to noisily stack dishes under Hestia's disapproving eye. Up to now, the witch had not had much interaction with Petunia Dursley and so she had been appalled when the woman had not shown one iota of concern when her nephew had obviously been in pain. Petunia had stalked into the kitchen with her load, as indifferent to Hestia's disapproval as she was to Harry's distress.

Vernon had not even been aware of what had happened, so deeply was he in his cups, but Dudley had followed his cousin into the living room where he had perched on the arm of a chair and watched Harry worriedly. Harry had collapsed onto the sofa where he had grabbed a cushion and pressed it over his face to stifle his moans.

This attack had been the second since the one on the night he had first arrived back at Privet Drive. None had been as devastating as that first one, but they were quite enough to be going on with.

Five minutes after Harry had staggered from the table, he was still curled up on the sofa trying to stem the nausea that was threatening to overflow. He had wondered where Snape was? He had never taken this long to come after he had been summoned by Harry's guard. Harry had wished he would come. He had wanted him there immediately! Snape would set things right.

Harry's pain had intensified and he had clamped the cushion more firmly over his face. Through the red haze of his pain, he had realised that Snape must also be suffering. Surely, he was being summoned. But even so, the last time, Snape had still come to him before Apparating to his boss's side. He had been here within a couple of minutes of his Dark Mark starting to burn. Was something different that night?

Then, from behind the cushion, Harry had heard an unmistakable crack, a split second before Aunt Petunia's scream had rent the air. Harry had pulled the cushion away and stared at Dobby the house elf through streaming eyes. He remembered what had followed, though the last part before he had been put to bed had been very hazy...

8888

‘D...Dobby! What are you doing here?'

‘Isn't it bad enough that I have witches and wizards invading my home all hours of the day and night,' screeched an hysterical Petunia, ‘without filthy creatures like that popping into existence on my living room carpet.'

Dobby's ears drooped a little as his big, sad eyes moved from the very angry human female to the wizard who had set him free and whom he adored. ‘Harry Potter, sir. I is coming with a message from Professor Snape, sir,' squeaked the little elf, looking around warily at the Muggles. He had, of course seen them before and he wasn't sure if they knew he was responsible for the exploding pudding or not.

Harry mashed his scar with his fingertips, unable to respond straight away. He swallowed and took deep breaths through his nose.

‘Dobby, what di...'but it was no good. Harry could no longer hold it back and he leaned over the side of the couch and emptied his stomach on the carpet. Petunia screamed again but she fell silent as quickly as she had started when Dobby leapt forward and banished the vomitus and produced a bucket into which Harry finished heaving.

When he had finished, he lay back against the sofa arm and groaned. Hestia picked up one of the table napkins and transfigured into a damp, cool wash cloth. She draped it over Harry's sweaty, pale brow and he sighed gratefully and pushed it down hard, over his hot, painful scar.

Dobby, his expression tragic as he gazed at his hero, took off the tower of hats that he always wore and which Hermione had knitted. Beneath the bottom-most one was another hat, resting upside down like a purple bird's nest on Dobby's large head. The little elf lifted this down carefully and plucked a tiny vial and an even tinier glass pot out of it's depths where they had been carefully swaddled.

‘Harry Potter, sir. Professor Snape is sending me to give you these, sir. Professor Snape is saying that Harry Potter is to take all the potion and rub the salve into his scar, sir.'

Harry sat back up and reached for the containers that Dobby was holding out. Dobby, Hestia and Dudley watched with worried frowns as Harry broke the wax seal with shaking hands and downed the potion. Petunia stood with her arms crossed over her bony chest, her extreme distaste of Dobby still apparent on her face. She was completely indifferent to her nephews plight. Vernon had missed the whole of the events since Harry had staggered from the table because he had fallen asleep with his many chins resting on his chest.

Harry expected to bring the foul stuff back up straight away, but as soon as it reached his stomach, his nausea subsided.

His scar was another matter. Though the headache that always accompanied these severe bouts of scar pain had eased to almost nothing, his scar still seared pitilessly. Opening the little pot Harry found just enough salve to rub into his scar. The pain was muted immediately. The salve felt icy cold against the heat generated by the pain and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned back against the couch back and closed his eyes.

‘Thanks, Dobby.' said Harry and he struggled to open his eyes again when he found that he had trouble articulating. His mouth just wouldn't form the words properly. He wanted to ask if Snape was all right but all that came out was a garbled sound. Everything in the room was weaving in and out of focus and with a groan he allowed his eyes to flutter shut again.

‘Harry Potter, sir,' said Dobby, and his voice sounded far away to Harry. ‘Harry Potter sir, Professor Snape is also saying that you is to go straight to bed.'

Harry tried to say "fine" but nothing came out and he waved his hand in the air to let Dobby know he had understood. But his hand flopped down onto his stomach and it was obvious to all that Harry wasn't going anywhere.

8888

Harry's introspection came to an end when Tonks let out a whoop of victory.

‘There you go Dudders. Beat that my fine young friend, she said with a triumphant crow. She threw the control onto the bed and reached over and patted Harry's knee. ‘Feel up to the challenge, Harry?' she grinned. ‘Keeping in mind that I have beaten Dudders three games in a row.'

‘Twice,' contradicted Dudley, but he was grinning. ‘You're really good Tonks. I can't believe that you've never played before.'

‘PlayStations are a rare commodity in the wizarding world, Dudley, and my Muggle grandparents have enough trouble with their video machine. Pa's favourite sport is golf and Nanna does needlework. "Worms" would be a little beyond their ken, I'm afraid.'

Dudley rolled his eyes when his mother shrieked up the stairs for him. He lumbered to his feet and left, looking as if he was heading to his execution.

‘She could cut glass with that voice,' muttered Tonks.

She plonked herself down on the bed next to Harry. He hadn't moved since Tonks had challenged him. She rolled halfway onto her stomach and reached up and pinched Harry's cheek, shaking his head backwards and forwards gently with a pincerful of his abused flesh. ‘You're very quiet, young Harry.'

Harry pulled his face out of the grip and levered himself into a more upright position. He grinned half-heartedly at his bodyguard. As much as he liked Tonks, Harry was getting sick and tired of having someone constantly near at hand. He felt like a prize specimen in a zoo that always had someone peering at him. The potion hangover wasn't improving his state of mind either.

Severus had enhanced the potency of his painkilling potion and the salve for Harry's scar. It was a fine balance between what was going to be efficacious and what was going to be too dangerous. The addictive propensities of both the potion and the salve were a problem and Severus was far from happy with the potency. But with judicious care, Harry could use both-but no more than once every second day. Thankfully, the attacks had not occurred anymore frequently than this, but Snape knew things were probably going to get worse now that the Dark Lord was back to full health. Now that his rebirth had been accepted by the ministry and he no longer had to lie low, he was eager to accelerate his reign of terror.

Severus was worried about Harry. The boy was depressed about being back in his aunt and uncle's home anyway, and it was Severus's opinion that this blasted connection between Harry and the Dark Lord was more potent when the boy's emotional state was so, for want of a better word, "needy".

‘Sorry Tonks,' Harry said, not sounding particularly sorry at all. ‘I'm not really in the mood for "Worms".'

Tonks studied the young boy closely. He looked totally miserable. The poor kid just never got a break. Hestia had relayed the events of the previous evening to Tonks when she had arrived for her shift.

‘I think I know what's the matter with you,' she said, her head tilted to one side.

Harry raised his eyebrows in question.

‘You're missing a certain pretty little redhead, aren't you? And maybe Ron and Hermione as well.'

Harry looked away, his eyes following the figures flitting backwards and forwards on the screen waiting to be properly activated again. Tonks was right. He was missing Ginny and his two best friends. It had only been about two weeks since he had discovered that Ginny still harboured feelings for him and that he reciprocated those feelings. And for half that time, he had been unconscious!

This whole situation of having a girlfriend-of being half of a couple-was kind of surreal because he had only seen said girl once since the day he had been poisoned. But that meeting had been unreal! One look at Ginny had made him realise just how much he did feel for her. It had been like he was seeing her for the first time. Seeing her, not Ron's little sister or the youngest Weasley child-but Ginny...pretty, clever, feisty, and ever loyal Ginny. She had always been loyal to him even when he had been fantasising about Cho...all the time he had been too thick-headed to see what was right under his nose.

Now, she kept on popping into his head when he least expected it, but that was fine because usually what was going on in his head left a lot to be desired. He did feel a little guilty though, because usually when he couldn't stand being in his own head anymore, his thoughts had always reached out to his best friends, Ron and Hermione.

They were still there of course, and always would be. He needed them...he needed their friendship and company and he needed their advice and support. He knew Hermione wouldn't mind Ginny's inclusion within their circle-she and Ginny got on really well and Hermione would probably see it as evening up the odds with another girl in the ranks-but he wasn't entirely sure how Ron would react to his little sister being around all the time.

And she would be around. Harry was determined on that. He didn't want Ginny to just be his girlfriend when he decided he felt the need of her company for a few minutes or when he felt like a snog-which he had to admit, could be fairly frequently. Even though the experience was new to him and virtually untried, Harry had discovered that he really liked snogging. Well...snogging Ginny anyway. The one time he had snogged Cho, it had not been enjoyable. Confusing, yes...mortifying, yes...enjoyable, no.

Also, after the happenings at the ministry, Harry had become aware that Ginny was a very handy person to have around in a crisis. It had been very wrong of him to assume that she would be a liability if he allowed her, to accompany himself, Ron and Hermione on their rescue mission.

Harry snorted silently. Hell, he hadn't even wanted Ron and Hermione to accompany him. He had not wanted to put anyone in danger. So what had he done-put his friends and six members of the Order in danger and gotten most of them injured and one of them killed!

Harry shut his eyes as the pain of Sirius's Death washed over him anew. Harry supposed that his up and down emotions with regard to Sirius's Death could be compared to a swimmer in the sea. He was quite resigned being three-quarters immersed in the water while being fully aware that it was wet, but every now and then, a big wave would crash in and totally cover him before rolling away again; he was always aware that Sirius was dead, but every now and then, it hit him anew and totally immersed him in his grief again.

The figures continued to flicker on the TV screen and Harry's thoughts continued to flicker also. Ginny, Ron and Hermione were definitely there just as Tonks had said, but there was another figure that was encroaching on the territory always inhabited by his friends...a figure whom he had always before tried to force to the back of his mind.

Truth to tell, his torpid brain just would not stop conjuring thoughts of Snape. He had not seen him since his scar had burned last night and there was no getting away from the fact that he was worried.

As soon as Tonks had arrived this morning, he had confronted her. Had she seen Snape? She hadn't seen, nor heard from him. She had not even gone to headquarters because she knew she was on duty looking after him today and she had come straight here from home.

Harry had squirmed when Tonks had said that, annoyed and frustrated in equal measures. It made him feel like a three year old, for God sake. Like someone who is totally incapable of looking after himself. Obviously, that was how Snape saw him. He was going to turn 16 in just over two weeks time and it was like he was going backwards, not getting older.

Dumbledore had always known the contents of the prophecy and he had quietly gone about protecting Harry, enhancing his mother's sacrifice to produce the powerful wards that were supposed to keep him safe from Voldemort's henchmen who had been out for his blood since he, Harry had destroyed their boss.

It seemed that most of them had believed that Voldemort was dead, but the fact remained that these Death Eaters had been almost as brutal as their boss. In fact, after the apparent demise of the Dark Lord, these men had been the wizarding world's most dangerous inhabitants. They would certainly not have baulked at snuffing out the life of a baby boy. What made that thought even more abhorrent was the fact that many of these men had had babies of their own around the same age as Harry.

But of course, the events at the end of Harry's fourth year had pretty much made his safety paramount. They had no more time. Voldemort was already showing the world that he was back and he was as big a danger now as he had been back before Harry was born.

He Harry was the one who was the last hope. Voldemort had made his own worst enemy. Every time Harry thought of it, he wanted to laugh hysterically at the ludicrous notion that Harry Potter could even bring his wand to bear before Voldemort blasted him into the middle of next week, and he wanted to vomit because he was so bloody scared. He didn't want to die. Not at sixteen, or seventeen, or even twenty-seven.

He wanted a life. He wanted to graduate Hogwarts. He wanted to get a job like most kids did after they finished school. He wanted to get married one day and maybe have kids. He didn't want the rest of his life to be lived under the suffocating threat of an early demise at the hands of Tom Bloody Riddle.

He knew that he needed the protection of the members of the Order because wards or not, Voldemort was also an extremely powerful wizard and no-one really knew exactly what he had up his sleeve in regards to Harry.

Although he had said in that graveyard that even he couldn't touch Harry at his aunt's house because of the ancient protection activated by his mother's sacrifice, perhaps he had been working to find a solution since his rebirth. Snape might be a spy, but Harry was sure Voldemort would keep certain things close to his chest until he was able to put them into effect.

If Dumbledore didn't think it was possible, why would he have had guards keeping watch all last summer? The guard had been increased this summer, but apparently that was to protect him from the Dursleys as well. Snape, it seemed was in charge of the logistics of this monumental operation to keep "the Boy Who Lived", living. Within Dumbledore's formidable wards.

Sometimes, he felt like making a run for it to the park in Magnolia Road, just to see how many Death Eaters appeared. But as soon as the thought materialised, he wanted to kick himself because it was an indication of just how reckless he could be. Even if it was in his own head and he would never really be that stupid. Well, Snape definitely thought he could be that stupid. He was always making disparaging remarks about Harry's intelligence.

Harry wondered if that would change now that Harry knew that he and Snape were cousins. Would Snape make an effort to pull his head in a bit. Or would he still insult Harry at every turn.

Harry shut his eyes. Snape hadn't insulted him the other night. He had come back from what could only have been a horror evening with his boss's-the Evil Boss's-company and he had found a cowering, snivelling Harry. The sneers hadn't materialised (at least not that Harry had seen) and the insults hadn't been given voice.

And Harry had not been able to get the scene out of his mind since.

Harry blinked his eyes open when he felt Tonks lean up against him again. She cupped her hand over his opposite cheek and pulled his face around, moving closer so that they were practically nose to nose.

‘Earth to Harry,' she said with a grin. ‘Where were you? I've been trying to get your attention for ages.'

‘Perhaps if you climbed right into his lap, Miss Tonks, you might have a bit more success!'

Tonks and Harry both shot off the bed so fast, their limbs became entangled. Tonks grabbed Harry's jumper to try to save herself, but she ended up on the floor at Severus's feet with Harry on top of her.

Harry was back on his feet so quickly, if Severus had blinked at the wrong time, he would have missed the almost balletic moment. However, he didn't miss how Harry's face turned almost purple with embarrassment, nor his agitated movements to try and straighten his glasses and flatten his impossible Potter hair.

Severus turned back to watch Tonks clamber to her feet with much less finesse than his son. She didn't go quite as red as Harry but she was still mortified. She straightened the ridiculously short tartan, Muggle skirt that she had chosen to wear today. A different coloured tartan waistcoat over a black high necked ribbed jumper, black tights and hideously ugly lace up shoes finished the ensemble. Her hair was red with black highlights.

Knowing that she had been coming to keep an impressionable 16 year old boy company, the outfit was quite unsuitable.

‘We were just playing the PlayStation,' stammered Harry, his high colour not having receded one jot. Tonks nodded her agreement.

‘You were certainly playing something, Potter. I am not sure a station comes into the equation though.'

‘No...that...' Harry waved his hand at the television screen. ‘..that's a PlayStation. We...we were just sitting on the bed.'

‘You were recumbent Potter. Recumbent is not sitting.' Harry sputtered incoherently.

‘Go to your own room. I will be there in a moment. When I have dealt with Ms Tonks.' The last was said in a very sinister tone indeed.

‘Look,' said Harry a little desperately. He looked at Tonks who was looking more than a little apprehensive. ‘We...'

Severus pointed out the door. ‘Now!'

Harry didn't want to leave Tonks to face the music alone, but Snape was obviously not in the mood for more prevarication. He shot a regretful look at Tonks and left the room. When he entered his own room, he slammed the door-hard-to convey his annoyance.

He threw himself onto his bed but just as quickly, jumped up again. It wouldn't do for Snape to see him recumbent again, after all. He began to pace backwards and forwards so that Hedwig, who was asleep on the desk with her head tucked under her wing, opened one amber eye and glared at him balefully. Harry ignored her.

It was five minutes before Snape joined him and Harry had worked himself up into a fine snit. He attacked straight away. ‘What did you do to her?'

Snape raised that supercilious eyebrow, but Harry was too incensed to heed the warning. This was just so typical. He had been in that room just keeping Dudley and Tonks company while they played "Worms". He had been too worried to even think about playing. And what had he been worried about?

This pompous git, here! That's what he had been worried about. Harry knew Snape had been summoned last night, but had he come and let Harry know that he was OK afterwards? No! That hadn't been an important enough consideration, had it?

‘Mind your tongue, Potter...'

‘No,' stormed Harry. ‘You had no right to go off at Tonks. We weren't doing anything wrong.'

‘Do you consider lying on a bed with a young woman when you are alone together, appropriate behaviour, Potter? Because I am here to tell you, it is not.'

Harry gaped at him. ‘It's 1996!' he yelled. ‘Not Victorian England.'

‘That's enough. There are certain standards that I insist you adhere to and being alone with a young woman, in a bedroom is not acceptable behaviour.'

‘We weren't doing anything,' bit out Harry, throwing his arms out. ‘And what are you anyway, the morality police?'

‘You're overstepping the mark, Potter,' said Snape, leaning forward with a very ugly look on his face. I have told you what I expect in the future. You will comply with my wishes.'

‘Screw your wishes!' Harry turned on his heel and strode to the door. No-one had the ability to infuriate him in such a short time as this man did.

‘Don't walk out that doorway Potter, or the Dark Lord will be the least of your worries.'

Harry spun back around. "Oh, you mean like he was the least of my worries last night? Was he the least of your worries last night Snape? I wouldn't know, you see, because you never bothered to contact me. I was in agony and chundering all over the place, but you just sent your little messenger in your stead. Not that that was a problem really. I like Dobby.

‘And he likes me too. He doesn't accuse me of being amoral! He wouldn't accuse Tonks of being a loose woman! That is what you accused her of, isn't it? Corrupting the morals of a minor!'

Severus stood, unable to move as Typhoon Harry raged around him. Severus would have had to stun him to get him to stop. It was like a boil that was long overdue for lancing, and now that it had been, the torrent of invective was never ending. This was the anger. The despair had found release the other night.

‘Well Professor Snape. Can I tell you what I was doing while Tonks was corrupting my morals! I was lying there, suffering a hangover from your bloody potion, which, by the way kept me asleep so that I could suffer the vision of your boss and your mates attacking and burning down a whole village and murdering the inhabitants by the most gruesome means imaginable.

‘And when I finally did manage to wake, what did I do? I sat and worried about you...about whether you were with that lot last night. About whether you had been involved, about whether that madman was torturing you to within an inch of your life.

Severus still remained silent, his face almost waxen, but he unconsciously shook his head.

‘Maybe I wouldn't have had to worry if you had come, either before or after your party...if you had come to let me know you were all right, Cousin Severus!

‘But hey, family members are a bloody nuisance, aren't they? I can honestly say that I have never had one-since I was a baby, anyway-who gives a stuff about me oR MY PATHETIC WORRIES!' By the end of this tirade, Harry was red faced again and he was yelling. He stood for several seconds staring at the target of his rancour and the red drained quickly from his face to leave it almost as waxen as Severus's.

The look on Harry's face would once have been fodder for Severus's biting tongue, but he had never felt less like berating the boy. He had definitely needed to vent-had needed to get all that bile out of his system. There was something much deeper there than just the fact that Severus had not turned up last night.

Nor, he was sure, did it have anything to do with Tonks and the bedroom situation, which in retrospect, had been truly ridiculous. It had started off with his sardonic comment and then the guilty faces and the panic had set in and things had escalated from there.

Severus focused again when he heard Harry groan and before he could do anything to prevent it, the boy had bolted from the room.

‘Harry! Come back here. We have to talk.'

Severus heard him thundering down the stairs and he groaned. This boy was going to be the death of him, one way or the other. Oh, for the good old days when he could just hate Harry because he was James's son but also secretly protect him because he was Lily's son.

If it wasn't for Theodore Nott, Severus would still be none the wiser about this new connection he had with the boy. But even he, Severus couldn't have come up with the punishment the Dark Lord had meted out on the boy. It had been cruel and inhuman and Mrs Nott had been totally innocent of any crime.

Nott was almost in a catatonic state. He had still been staring at his mother's body in utter disbelief when that maniac had grabbed the boy's arm and branded him just as he had Draco, a few minutes earlier. It had been too much too soon and the boy had passed out. Voldemort had left him slumped on the floor.

Severus shook his head and sighed. He would have to go and find the boy. Things had been improving between the two of them. Open warfare had been suspended, at least it had been before today. Neither one was totally comfortable in the others company, but it was getting better. Severus knew he had to talk to the boy about last night. He had had not idea that Harry would worry about him. Nor had he thought that the potion would be so unsuitable.

The thought that Harry had actually dreamed of the revel and had not been able to fight his way out of it was a worry. He had more work to do obviously and somehow, he had to find a way to be around to observe the effects.

Petunia Dursley's high pitched screech floated up the stairs and Severus, who had just taken a step to follow Harry, stopped short when he heard Harry's agitated cry. The stairs took too long. Severus turned on the spot and Disapparated, appearing a split second later in the kitchen.

He turned around to face the still screeching woman who had a hold of Harry by the arm. He was struggling to get away but the woman seemed to have the strength of the deranged.

Severus pulled his wand, but not fast enough. Petunia continued to scream while pushing Harry back to an arms length away whilst holding onto a fist full of jumper and, putting the full weight of her body behind the blow, she swung her arm back and smashed her hand against Harry's cheek.

Harry tumbled sideways and landed on the floor, hitting his head on the cooker as he went down, at the same time as Severus roared ‘impedimenta,' blasting Petunia backwards and then, with deadly intent, ‘incarcerous,' watching with narrow eyed satisfaction as thin ropes shot out of his wand and snaked around Petunia, binding her firmly. When she continued to screech like a banshee, spitting out swear words that would have made a wharfie proud, Severus pointed his wand again and hissed, ‘silencio!'

Severus knelt next to Harry who was conscious but a bit dazed. His glasses had flown off. The side of his face where the blow had connected was very red and a great lump, covered by his hair was already blooming on the side of his head.

Without conscious thought, Severus gathered Harry into his arms and carried him through to the living room where he placed him on the sofa. Harry groaned as the bump pressed against a cushion. He opened his eyes and blinked myopically at Severus's face.

‘Lumos!' Severus lit his wand and moved the tip from one of Harry's eyes to the other, checking his pupils.

‘I'm all right,' said Harry, turning his head away.

‘No dizziness?' Harry shook his head. ‘Follow my finger...' and Harry did so as Severus moved the finger across his line of vision.

‘I told you, I'm all right,' repeated a frustrated Harry. ‘Can you see my glasses?'

‘Accio, glasses.' The glasses flew from where they had lodged under the refrigerator and Severus checked them before handing them to Harry, who hastily put them on. Severus stood up from where he was sitting on the edge of the sofa.

‘Stay here,' he ordered in a dangerous voice that defied disobedience.

He strode back into the kitchen and advanced on Petunia who was still spitting out invective, even though she couldn't be heard and struggling hopelessly against her bonds. Severus grabbed a handful of the ropes at the front and pulled the wide eyed woman up so that their faces were level.

Petunia stopped mouthing and her eyes widened as she looked into the pitiless face of the enraged wizard.

‘You are lucky that I am in a good mood, Petunia, because you wouldn't like to know what I would do to you for a lesser crime than the one you have just committed.' Petunia's eyes widened even further.

‘Would you like me to grab your son by the scruff of the neck and slam him halfway across the room?' Petunia shook her head frantically.

Severus put his face even closer to the woman and his hissed words were delivered quietly. ‘I give you fair warning now, Madam, if you ever touch my son again, I will make both you and your husband wish that you had never been born.'

A quiet footfall behind him had Severus spinning around, his hand still bunched in the ropes around Petunia. Harry was standing in the entrance to the living room. He was staring at Severus through shocked green eyes, his face pale except for the red hand print.

Severus stood frozen for a split second and then his anger found a new target. ‘I thought I told you to stay on the sofa,' he bit out through clenched teeth.'

Harry ignored him. ‘What do you mean by, "my son"?' he asked in a flat voice. ‘Why would you say something like that?'

Severus was at a loss. He became aware that he was still holding Petunia, so he dragged her across the room and thrust her onto a dining room chair. He pointed his wand at her bonds and they fell away. Petunia opened her mouth in what was obviously a moan and she rubbed her arms to try and get the circulation back.

Harry and Severus ignored her. They continued to stare at each other. Harry had a genuinely perplexed look on his face.

Severus closed his eyes and rubbed the fingertips of his right hand over his forehead as if he had a headache brewing. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Harry had not moved.

‘We need to talk,' said Severus and he swept passed Harry and headed for the stairs. Harry turned and watched him for several seconds and then he followed.

When Harry reached his bedroom, he stopped and stood uncertainly in the doorway. Snape was standing at the window and staring out onto the mist- shrouded garden and street. He was leaning on his hands, the fingers of which were wrapped tightly around the edge of the sill. Harry could see the tension in the man's shoulders and the whiteness of his knuckles.

"Come in and shut the door," ordered Snape without turning around. Harry had made no noise, so he assumed Snape could see his reflection in the window.

Harry did as he was told. Snape didn't sound angry per se but there was something distinctly off about him, that was for sure. Of course, his newly discovered cousin had probably been building up a full head of steam so that he could lay into Harry as punishment for his earlier rant.

But then Harry realised that Snape didn't need time to build up a full head of steam. He was always ready to blow at any given moment. Especially if Harry was the intended target.

Harry continued to watch Snape's rigidly held body warily. He thought back to the scene in the kitchen. Snape hadn't blown up at him then, had he? No, he had gone for Aunt Petunia-Aunt Petunia whom Harry was sure had finally gone off the deep end. He had never seen her so...so close to the edge before. She had always called on Vernon to deal out the physical punishment.

She would scream and rant and rave at him, but Harry had never before known her to be so physically vicious. Oh, she would occasionally try to give him a half-hearted clip in the ear which he always easily ducked, but today-well, today she had been scary.

She had scared him today like Snape had scared him last term when he had caught Harry snooping into the pensieve. Petunia had looked quite as demented as Snape had done on that occasion. Of the two, Harry knew that Snape had had every right to look demented. He had been livid. And he had had every right to be livid. What Harry had done that day had been a totally unforgivable violation of Snape's privacy.

His crime against Petunia had been much less momentous. His aunt had been set to murder him because he had sullied her newly washed (and already dry) floor. After his rant at Snape, Harry had raced down the stairs, through the kitchen and out into the back garden. He had moved through too quickly for Petunia to be able to berate him. Fuming she had stood at the kitchen window and watched her accursed nephew.

Harry had walked a couple of angry circuits of the longer than normal lawn (He had not mowed it this summer and therefore, no-one else had mown it). On the third circuit, he had managed to calm himself down.

It had been less than two minutes after racing outside that Harry had re-entered the kitchen to go back upstairs and speak calmly to Snape. He had walked straight into Aunt Petunia who had initially grabbed him roughly by the hair. Reflexively, he had jerked his head out of fingers that felt as strong as if they had stiffened with rigor mortis. There was probably a bald spot on the top of his head where Merlin knew how many hairs had parted company with his scalp.

Harry had had no chance to shy away. Petunia had immediately grabbed him by his arms and started to shake him back and forth, screaming directly into his face that she would teach him to ‘tramp dirt onto her clean floor'. Spittle had flecked his cheeks and glasses. Her grip had tightened on Harry's arms and when one hand had slipped slightly, she had ended up pinching the tender skin just above his elbow. Harry had gritted his teeth against the pain but Petunia had increased the vicious pincer like grip so that Harry had cried out.

Just before Petunia had sent him flying across the kitchen, Harry had caught the movement of Snape Apparating into the room. He had been knocked nearly senseless, but he had been aware of Snape scooping him up as if he weighed no more than a three year old. And after Snape had checked him for a concussion, Harry had seen the same murderous look on his face as he had seen after the pensieve incident.

It was all Harry had been able to do not to flinch away, but after biting out the order to stay put on the couch, Snape had gone after the bound and silenced Petunia whom he had left trussed like a Christmas turkey on the very clean kitchen floor.

Harry of course had not stayed put. He had been a little worried about what Snape would do to his aunt. He did not like his aunt, but Harry did not want Snape to get into trouble for cursing a Muggle...even if she did deserve some form of punishment. Petunia had not been hurt, but Harry had heard what Snape had said to her.

Now Harry stood and stared at Snape's rigid back and clenched hands. There was something very strange going on. Snape didn't usually look ill at ease, but he most definitely did now. He had looked a little like this a week ago when he had dropped the bombshell that had shocked Harry as much as Hagrid's bombshell of five years previously had.

Five years ago, Harry had found out he was a wizard. A week ago, he had found out that the Dursleys were not his only living relatives. He had found out that he also had a relative who was a wizard. He was still trying to fully assimilate how he felt about this fact. After all, he and Snape had a lot of very bad history to overcome. But he was trying.

Harry thought that he might have felt better about the fact that his dad and Snape had been cousins if they had have gotten on together. But Snape himself admitted that they had hated each other and every anecdote Harry had ever heard about the teenage James Potter and Severus Snape told of the same hatred. He himself had suffered Snape's hatred for no other reason than the fact that he was James's son.

But he was also Lily's son and Snape had liked Lily. They had been good friends. So why, when Snape looked at Harry, did he only see James and not Lily. Lily, whose exact same eyes he was supposed to have. The hatred he felt for James, his cousin, obviously transcended any affection Snape might have had for Lily.

So, why was Snape so uptight now. Surely the man could have nothing too Earth shattering to relate this time.

Snape had been at a Death Eater meeting last night. Perhaps the tension was nothing more than exhaustion. Perhaps Harry's own slightly befuddled brain-the result of the strong potion Snape had sent for him last night-was making a mountain out of a mole hill. Maybe he hadn't heard correctly down in the kitchen. Maybe Snape hadn't said, ‘if you touch my son again'...

Harry couldn't stand the suspense any longer. "Professor..."

Severus turned around at the same time that Harry spoke. He strode across the room to the new bed and then back again. Harry swallowed and fell back a pace. He was no longer game to challenge the man and he watched Snape pacing back and forth like a caged tiger with a respectable amount of fear for his black mood.

His face looked more austere and his eyes were as cold as Harry had ever seen them. Harry felt a chill run down his spine. Lately, he had gotten used to Snape's demeanour being, if not exactly overflowing with bonhomie, then certainly more tolerant. Now the man looked as though he would like to put Harry in detention for the rest of his life.

Harry was confused. What had he done for Merlin's sake? Perhaps he had only dragged Harry up here to dole out a punishment for Harry's rudeness earlier, or for the fact of him and Tonks having been recumbent on a bed together. What a load of bull that was!

Snape ceased his relentless prowling when he was in front of the window again. He turned to face the room and his face was now in shadow. Harry didn't need to see his expression though, to know that Snape didn't want to be here. The tone of his voice indicated all too clearly that he didn't want to share the reason why he had called Harry his son.

Despite his wariness of Snape's apparent ill-temper, Harry was eager to hear the reason for the crazy statement.

"What I am about to tell you Potter will come as a shock..." Harry noted the renewed use of ‘Potter' rather than, ‘Mr Potter' or the less common, ‘Harry'.

"Indeed, I only found out myself what I am about to share with you, by accident a couple of days ago."

Harry swallowed. What in the hell was he going to be told? Snape had assured him that he was almost completely recovered from the poisoning. He had tested his blood and told Harry that all of the poison was out of his system.

"You have already had the shock of finding out about our common blood." Snape paused, as though searching for the right words to continue his explanation. "The reason for the anomaly that I am about to divulge to you is because of our common blood."

Harry realised that he was standing as tensely as Snape had been when staring out of the window. His fists were clenched and his breathing had become rapid and shallow. So, this wasn't about Harry's earlier outburst. Foolish hope he supposed. That ‘my son' had obviously not been a bluster by Snape to impress upon Aunt Petunia that he, Severus Snape was not going to stand for her mistreating the ‘Boy Who Lived' while he was there to do something about it.

‘My son'! There was no reason that Harry could conceive of for Snape to have said those words. It couldn't have been a slip of the tongue. Severus Snape didn't make ‘slips of the tongue'. And Severus Snape would never think of Harry Potter, son of James Potter in a filial light, no matter that their relationship had largely improved over the last couple of weeks.

Or maybe there was a reason. Could Snape-now that he had told Harry about the fact of their beings cousins-be starting to feel a sense of responsibility for him, because he was the only person Harry had in the wizarding world who was related to him. And the fact that he was old enough to be Harry's father.

But as soon as this thought had materialised, Harry dismissed it. Why not just say, ‘my cousin' then? It was not beyond the realms of possibility to feel responsible for a much younger cousin, was it.

"Potter!" Harry jumped a foot in the air. His speculations had been getting wilder and wilder and he was becoming more and more panicked-to the degree that he had tuned Snape out for a few seconds.

"I have not decided to share this confidence with you because I felt the need to exercise my vocal chords, nor, Merlin forbid, because I enjoy passing the time of day with you." Harry's face darkened mutinously, and for a second, Snape saw himself in the boy. For some reason, at this particular time, this visual proof of his paternity made every nerve in his body jangle.

He did not want to share this information with Potter. To do so would just complicate everything. He, Severus could hide the fact of his newly discovered paternity behind his unbreachable shields. The Dark Lord himself had never been able to penetrate to the very depths of Severus's consciousness.

But his son would never be an Occlumens. The boy was incapable of subtlety and mental subterfuge. Every thought was practically written across his face in bold letters. Even the most inexpert Legilimens in the employ of the Dark Lord would be able to discover Harry's relationship to one Severus Snape, the Dark Lord's most trusted advisor, within seconds.

They would both be in danger. The boy as much as himself. Severus might be an amazingly accomplished Occlumens but he could not throw off the Imperious Curse. That was something Harry could do that he could not.

If the Dark Lord ever found out about Severus's relationship with Potter, he could Imperious Severus and order him to take his son away from Hogwarts during one of the holiday breaks, (a perfectly ordinary and expected occurrence for a father to want to take his son on a break) and then once they were away from the safety of Hogwarts with it's protective wards, Severus could be directed to take the boy straight to his murderous enemy. Then he would be forced to watch the torture and eventual murder of the boy, before he was killed himself.

But what choice did he have now. That stupid slip of the tongue to the Muggle bitch had been heard by the boy. And even if he, Severus could think of an adequate excuse for having made the idiotic declaration, he knew Potter would never let it rest. It would niggle away at him for evermore-or until he had an adequate explanation. He knew the lengths and depths the foolhardy Gryffindor would go to to uncover a mystery.

Severus pulled himself out of this reverie with difficulty when Harry moved back a pace or two to lean against the desk, his arms and ankles crossed. He still looked mutinous. And, Severus admitted, he probably had cause. He had called the boy to attention only to immediately lose himself in his own catatonic stupor.

Severus took a deep breath and without further preamble, he launched into the story, determined this time, no matter how abhorrent the task, to stay on track.

"You of course remember why your mother decided that I would be the best candidate to give your gravely injured father some blood, rather than her asking James's best friends? Black and Lupin would have been willing to give their own lives to save their friend."

"Whereas you had to practically be hog-tied to save your last living relative in the world." Harry was still really annoyed and his ire outweighed his sense of self preservation.

Severus's eyes narrowed. "It would not be wise to push me any further, Potter. I have not forgotten what I promised to do last time I insisted you keep your own council. And you saw what I did to your aunt, did you not?"

"Yeah," sneered Harry, foolishly Gryffindor to the core. "I saw. I also heard what you said to her."

"And is that not why I convened this little parlay, you idiot child," hissed Snape in his most menacing voice, advancing on Harry and thrusting his face forward so that they were nose to nose. "Now shut up, or I will hex you."

"Harry..."

Snape and Harry both spun towards the door. A very nervous Dudley was standing at the door. His frightened eyes skittered from Severus's livid face to Harry's pale one.

"Leave, Mr Dursley," said Snape with forced calm.

"Not...not until I know Harry's all right," responded a clearly terrified Dudley. The fact that he was still there , standing up to Severus, was an indication of just how far he had travelled down the road of repentance towards his cousin.

"Your belated concern for your cousin is commendable , Mr Dursley, but it is unnecessary at the moment. He is in no danger from me. Now your mother is another ..."

"I'm fine Dudley," interrupted Harry. Dudley didn't need to be told quite so bluntly just how far his mother had gone around the twist. "Go and make your mum a cup of tea. She was in the kitchen a few minutes ago."

Dudley looked from one wizard to the other for a few seconds more and then he turned and left them together. Snape stepped back from Harry and looked down at him as if he was only really seeing him for the first time.

"What?" said Harry nonplussed.

"You really are more like Lily than anyone, aren't you?" Severus said, half questioning, half pensive.

Harry just looked at him, confused.

"That's the sort of thing your mother would have done. No matter how much her horrible sister hurt her-and I saw your mother in tears more than once over some nastiness of Petunia's-Lily could never stoop to her level. She always made excuses for her."

"I'm not making excuses for her," said Harry tightly. "I can't stand her."

"And yet, you sent her son to make sure she was all right."

Harry looked away from those penetrating black eyes. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "Why stoop to her level."

Severus stared for a few seconds more, causing Harry's face to turn brick red. Then he sighed and turned away. He moved back to the window and gazed back out onto the street. It was easier than looking into those green, green eyes.

The mist had not lifted at all. Severus's voice was a monotone when next he spoke.

"The blood that I gave James did everything that your mother hoped it would. It increased his cell count enough for the Blood Replenishing Potion to be able to do it's work. Your mother later informed me via a letter that James's recovery had been swift and that he was back to normal within days.

"However, from the moment I shared my blood with my cousin, something happened. There was something different about James. I do not know whether your mother knew. She may have surmised that it could happen, but I have to conclude that she and James died before she got up the nerve to test you."

Harry was thoroughly confused. "Test me? What are you talking about? You said there was something different about my Dad. Why would my mum want to test me."

"Probably because she was too afraid to broach the subject with James."

Harry threw out his arms and then let them fall so that his hands slapped against his thighs. "Professor, I don't know what you're talking about."

Taking a deep breath, Severus turned back to Harry. "You're mother's assumption that my blood would not overpower James to either kill him or destroy his magical powers because we had a very close familial tie, was correct.

"James recovered and went about his life with no detectable difference to his makeup. But there was a difference, Harry. My magical signature had not overpowered James's. It had attached itself to his magic. There was no discernable difference in him because our magical powers were of a similar strength and our signatures were obviously so similar, there was no change."

Harry's brows were furrowed in confusion. What in the name of Merlin was the man trying to tell him? His dad's blood had been altered a bit, but not enough to affect his powers. And why would his mother have wanted to test him?"

"Sooo," said Harry slowly, "my dad's blood group changed after you gave him your blood, therefore..."

Severus shook his head impatiently. "You are thinking like a Muggle, Potter. I explained to you that magical humans do not have blood groups per se. Our magic is the thing that distinguishes us, one from the other."

"So what does that mean exactly," cried Harry in total exasperation.

"It means, Harry," said Severus in a carefully controlled voice, " your blood is a combination of your mother's, James's...and ...my own."

Harry stared. The silence stretched as Severus stared back. When there was no comment forthcoming, Severus spoke again.

"Do you comprehend what this means..."

"How do you know?" asked Harry, causing Severus to break off. Severus lifted that hyperactive eyebrow.

"How do you know that you are responsible for part of my magical signature?"

Severus took a deep breath. "The potion I made using your blood was not to find out whether your system was clear of poison. It was a test to see whether I had contributed to your makeup."

"But I don't understand why you would even think to do a test like that. What discovery did you make that led you down that path?" The words were quietly spoken-too quietly-but Harry was feeling increasingly like he was drowning...that his chest was going to cave in with the pressure of his growing confusion and distress. If Snape was saying what Harry thought he was saying...

"You have a birthmark on the inside of your left thigh, three inches above your knee. It is red and it is shaped like a crescent moon." Harry's face had paled.

"I have the exact same birthmark in exactly the same place."

Harry was starting to feel sick now. "That could just be coincidence," he said wildly. "Lot's of people have birthmarks. My dad probably had it seem as you were cousins. I got it from him."

"No, Harry. The birthmark is not a Potter trait. It is a Snape trait. My father had that same birthmark also."

Harry licked his lips and shook his head. "No!" he said. "This is total bull." I'm not going to listen to any more." He stalked towards the door, his slight body so rigid, his steps looked mechanical.

Severus drew out his wand and pointed it at the door which banged shut. Harry jumped slightly but then he grabbed the knob and tried to wrest it open. Of course, it was locked.

He leaned his head against the wooden surface. "Open the door."

"Not until I have finished."

Harry spun around; his face was suffused with furious colour but his lips were white and pinched and he spoke in a voice that shook. "Open the bloody door!"

"You will hear the rest of this, Potter."

Harry would have laughed if he had not been so incensed. This scene reminded him of the one that had taken place in Dumbledore's office a few weeks ago.

"I'm not interested in hearing anything else you've got to say, Snape." Harry took out his own wand but before he could point it at the door, Snape acted.

"Accio, Harry's wand!" and the eleven inches of holly with it's core of phoenix feather flew from his hand and snapped into Snape's outstretched one.

Then Snape sent the straight backed chair skittering across the room to where Harry was standing. Before Harry was able to act upon the series of charms that Snape was orchestrating, Snape had levitated him slightly and deposited him none to gently onto the hard chair.

Harry immediately tried to stand up but found that he could not. His bum was stuck to the seat! And before he could open his mouth to scream abuse at his jailer, he felt a most unpleasant sensation in his mouth and lips. His tongue seemed to have stuck to the roof of his mouth and he couldn't open his lips. Harry tried so hard to speak, he started to choke. This development put a halt to his frenzied efforts to lever his butt off the chair.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin..." ground out Snape and he strode angrily to the boy. He pointed his wand at Harry's throat and instantly, Harry could breath properly again. He lifted a magenta face to Snape and there could be no mistaking just how livid he was.

Harry didn't think he had ever been so enraged. His eyes were streaming tears, a result of his recent respiratory distress, and dragging his glasses off with little regard for their delicacy, he scrubbed roughly at his eyes and cheeks. He thought through his anger, and totally inconsequentially that it was just as well he didn't have a blocked nose or he wouldn't be able to breath at all.

Snape had hexed him! The shit had actually used two hexes against him-and if you counted the fact that he had taken Harry's wand...

As he could do nothing else, Harry mustered every ounce of hatred he felt at this moment for the man whom he had hoped might end up being someone he could, if things continued to advance as they had seemed to be, be proud to call family. But now, he directed the old hatred into his own version of a fulminating glare. He knew it didn't hold a candle to Snape's own brand of poisonous stares. The man was more than just a master at potions. He had elevated the art of intimidation and insult to legend status. Harry did not think that even Voldemort could be as consistently malicious as Severus Snape.

But he, Harry had to be improving in the nastiness stakes, didn't he? After all, he and Snape were related. With an internal groan, Harry leaned forward as far as his stuck butt would allow him to and closed his eyes. He felt like he had a lump the size of Surrey in his throat and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, pressing his fingers hard into them as he tried to hold back his anguish. God, he was related to him.

They were cousins; Harry believed that...he had even gotten used to it. But what else were they? What had Snape's recitation meant? Surely not what he, Harry thought it meant. It couldn't mean that! He started breathing deeply in an effort to stave off the welling nausea that was threatening to overwhelm him.

Harry stayed bent double until he was sure he wasn't going to throw up. He eased himself upright, but he kept his eyes closed. Like a small child, he felt that if he couldn't see the cause of his current distress, then it would go away. Unfortunately, he could hear the loud clacking of booted feet on the floorboards. Harry lifted his eyelids to half mast.

Snape was pacing backwards and forwards again, his robes swirling dramatically at each turn. He was holding both his and Harry's wands in a tightly clenched fist. Red wand sparks were issuing from both wands with a hissing and sizzling noise reminiscent of the noise a lighted sparkler made-it was an indication of Snape's own agitation.

Harry didn't want to look at him; he leaned his head right back so that it rested against the wooden door and he studied the ceiling rather than the blurry activity in front of him. Somehow, he had lost his glasses so everything was thankfully blurred. Snape was easier to cope with when he was blurred.

He focused on the corner of the room near the head of his bed. He knew that a largish spider had taken up residence there several days ago and now he stared at where he knew the spider sat in the middle of a neat web. Harry concentrated on the shadows in that corner while Snape tried to wear a track into the floorboards. Absently, he wondered if the spider had its eight eyes fixed on him or the infuriated wizard pacing backwards and forwards in front of him.

Abruptly Severus spun on his heel and advanced the couple of steps that brought him face to face with Harry. Only Harry kept his eyes resolutely on the spider which he could still see off to the side of the curtain of black hair.

Severus growled deep in his throat and, with his patience almost exhausted, he grabbed Harry's chin between his thumb and forefinger and wrenched it downwards. Harry's eyes opened wide at the sudden and forced movement and he could no longer avoid looking at Snape's ugly visage. Thank God that face was still blurred.

"Are you ready to listen to me now, you absolutely infuriating child?" Severus hissed.

Harry wanted to scream ‘no, I never want to hear another word out of your mouth', but of course he couldn't. Instead of a verbal disclaimer though he demonstrated his disinterest by closing his eyes again.

That was like a red rag to a bull to Severus who was already battling a severe headache and a bad case of the Bloody-Boy-Who-Lived-itis!

He put his mouth very close to Harry's ear and said in .his most menacing tone, "Unless you want me to curse your eyelids open-and believe me, I know an excellent spell-you had better open your eyes and look at me now."

Harry's eyes flew open. He had learned over the years to take Snape at his word. "A wise decision, Potter. Because though I really do know a spell that will prevent you from closing your eyelids, it takes about a week to wear off. You have to have drops in your eyes about twenty-four times a day because your eyeballs dry out. You can't even shut your eyes when you sleep and they still have to be moistened during these hours, so you have to be woken hourly.

"It is actually a form of exquisite torture. Victims are not given the privilege of having drops instilled and so their eyeballs begin to shrivel up due to lack of moisture and they eventually go blind. It is also excruciatingly painful.

Severus watched as Harry blinked rapidly just to make sure that he could. Severus wanted to shut his own eyes as a wave of unexpected pain engulfed his heart. It would be a cold day in hell before he could do anything specifically to those green eyes. If he could always avoid looking into those eyes-Lily's eyes-then he, Severus would find disciplining Potter one hell of a lot easier.

The last five years of Potter baiting and torture had been relatively easy because it was a rare occasion indeed that he had ever looked directly into those eyes. He had always tried to berate from a distance and if he had ever been up close, he always tried to look at the messy Potter hair rather than Lily's eyes.

Of course, those misguided Occlumency lessons had needed eye contact. That was one of the reasons Severus had been so livid with Dumbledore and why he had made the boy's life a worse hell than normal.

Severus stood up straight again. It was unnerving seeing Lily's eyes glaring out of James's face. And if he cared to look deeply enough-which he most certainly did not-he could see shades of himself in the lowered eyebrows and the more chiselled lines of the boy's cheeks and mutinous jaw. He had never ever thought before all of this had started that the brat's face was actually much finer than James's had been. More like his own in fact. Oh, God! The slight resemblance did not make any of this appalling experience any easier.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and he did momentarily shut his eyes against the pain that was attempting to turn his brain to jelly. He needed a bit of distance so he walked back to the window where he turned and perched on the edge of the sill. The wands were still fisted in the one hand and were now pointing at a spot on the floor, halfway between Snape and Harry. they had stopped spitting sparks which showed that Snape had made a concerted effort to contain his anger. He kept his head as still as he could and when he spoke, he stared at the floor, and not at the mutinous boy.

"It seems that the only way I am going to finish this tedious explanation is to keep you immobile and silent. I am sick to death of your histrionics, Potter. This situation is as abhorrent to me as it is to you, I assure you.

Harry now kept his eyes trained on Snape. His face had become taut with tension and Severus saw him swallow convulsively.

"I know you are not unintelligent Potter and that you have understood the implication of the facts that I have already told you. Because of my act of compassion all those years ago, I inadvertently transferred some of my magical signature to James. As a result of this, and as unbelievable as it seems, you have inherited traits from your mother, James and myself." Harry was shaking his head slowly back and forth in refutation.

"In essence," Snape said, ignoring Harry's movement of denial, "what this means is that you have three parents..." Harry shook his head more forcefully.

"...Unluckily for you and for me, the potion I brewed using your blood as a base ten odd days ago, assimilated my blood smoothly. No further proof is needed.

"If I was not responsible for part of your paternity, the potion would have congealed foully when my blood was added. It did not.

Severus watched as dispassionately as he could (and he was surprised to discover that it was not totally dispassionate) the rise and fall of the boy's thin chest as it expanded and contracted with each agitated breath. He could hear the noisy inhalation of air through nostrils that were white with shock and anger-as were his lips. Harry's whole body was quivering with suppressed rage.

Then, as Severus watched, Harry inhaled deeply and released the air slowly. He had leaned his head back as though trying to relieve the tension in his neck. He sat in that position for at least thirty seconds, breathing slowly and calmly, before he lowered his head again and stared straight at Severus.

Severus gazed back through half closed lids. Belatedly, he realised that Harry didn't have his glasses on and automatically he scanned the floor, looking for them. He sighted them resting behind the front desk leg closest to Harry and he raised his wand hand to summon them. He had forgotten that he was holding both wands and he separated Harry's from his own before incanting the charm that had the glasses flying into his hand.

Unexpectedly and annoyingly disconcerted by Harry's empty gaze, Severus fiddled with the glasses. He opened and closed the ear pieces and for the first time he realised that Harry's glasses were a very similar design to those once worn by James. Fine wire frames and round lenses. The design undoubtedly suited Harry as they had James and the co-incidence of the similarity was quite amazing.

Severus was sure that Harry's glasses would have been the cheapest on offer, and if the boy had been given a choice of design it would surely have been the optometrist who gave it to him-within the cheapest price range of course. Petunia Dursley would have just shoved the cheapest frame on her nephews face with no regard as to whether they suited him or not.

Of course James had never been restrained by price and so, Severus imagined that he had liked the design, because they had suited him.

Severus felt the flimsiness of the frames between his fingers and he supposed that he should talk the boy into getting a pair of glasses made of a more substantial material than these were. He probably should have his eyes tested again by a qualified wizarding optometrist as well.

Severus suddenly came back to himself. Now that Harry had calmed his breathing, the room was very quiet; Severus couldn't even hear any noise from beyond the door. Twin streaks of ochre bloomed along his cheekbones when he realised that Harry's gaze had remained locked on him during his long introspection.

Drawing his dignity around him like the folds of his robes, Severus straightened away from the windowsill and advanced on Harry who was still watching him with vague detachment.

Without a word, Severus held the glasses out to Harry. Harry blinked and looked down slowly at the proffered article. Severus was sure that from the blank look that the boy had not even registered that he had picked the glasses up from the floor.

After the briefest of hesitations during which Severus was sure that Harry was debating whether to refuse to take the glasses, if just because he did not want anything at all from Severus Snape.

Severus was relieved when sense won over idiocy and inclination and he watched as Harry put the glasses on with slow unsure movements. It did not seem that any more animation entered the green eyes now that they were shielded behind the familiar lenses.

Still stuck to the chair, Harry jerked, just a little, when Severus pointed his wand at Harry's face. Severus could see from the slight creasing of his brow and the tensing of his body that Harry was feeling the unpleasant tingling as the hex was lifted, giving him full function of his mouth again. When it wore off, he relaxed again, slumping slightly on the chair. He then stared into the distance again.

Severus frowned slightly. Harry was still staring straight ahead and with a slight shock Severus realised that the boy had been staring at him earlier because he, Severus had been sitting in his direct line of vision.

‘Potter!" Other than a blink, when he had spoken sharply, Harry showed no other reaction to Severus's command for attention. Severus put his face directly in front of Harry's again and the boy lost his distance focus and slowly honed in on the nearer object; Severus's irritated visage.

Other than a single blink though, there was no other reaction. "Harry! Can you hear me?" No reaction other than a blink.

Severus clicked his fingers right in Harry's face. Blink.

The bloody boy had switched himself off. He had buried himself somewhere inside his own head away from a truth that was obviously too unpalatable for him to accept.

Severus pointed his wand again, and again, the slight tensing in the boy's shoulders told him that Harry had registered the lifting of the jinx that had him adhered to the chair. He did not immediately spring to his feet as he would have done ten minutes earlier. Harry remained seated and staring ahead.

Severus realised that he was more than a little out of his league here; he could deal with physical problems, not the mental variety.

He squatted down in front of Harry so that he was in his direct eye-line. Severus was very aware that he was not good at this kind of thing. He was used to a cheeky, defiant, angry Harry Potter, not this needy specimen. Ministering to a needy Potter was starting to become a habit, and Severus had never been a great exponent of the art of doling out tea and sympathy.

His mother had been the only other...

Severus slammed the door on these painful memories. It would appear that another relative now needed him. Just as much as his mother had done all those years ago-or probably more. Harry was still a child.

He had not meant to end up with his arms wrapped around an hysterical Potter six days ago. He had, minutes earlier been fighting off a panicked attack and after the total emotional breakdown, it had seemed expedient to wrap his arms around the boy to try and calm.

The tears had lasted a long time. By the time they had shuddered to a halt, Harry had exhausted himself to the edge of sleep. When Severus had tried to ease him away, Harry had unconsciously clung tighter. Severus had been sure that embrace had been unconscious because he could not conceive of the boy willingly clinging to Severus Snape, even though their cousinly relationship had been brought to light the day before.

Severus had held on until the thin body in his arms had relaxed into a deep sleep and then he had eased him back onto his pillows and pulled the covers up. Then he had made himself comfortable in the chair Nymphadora had conjured and watched his son as he slept.

That experience had in no way prepared him for dealing with the nearly catatonic boy in front of him. Hysterical tears suddenly seemed easy, he had coped with them once. This unemotional, unresponsive lump left him baffled, and not a little peeved.

"Potter!" Severus slapped Harry gently on each cheek but other than the expected blink, there was nothing else. He slapped slightly harder several times. Same result.

Severus wanted to grab Harry and shake him until his teeth rattled, but he subdued the temptation. He was not getting any response at all. With a last exasperated look at the damn nuisance of a boy, Severus stood and pointed his wand towards the window. His beautiful doe Patronus erupted from the end of his wand. She stood and gazed soulfully into his eyes for a few seconds and then she turned and bounded through the closed window, leaving no trace that she had been there.

Severus levitated Harry from the chair and directed him towards the unmade bed, lowering him gently. Harry had barely reacted to moving through the air unsupported, but seconds after the mattress gave under his weight, he blinked before turning on his side, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around his torso, as if cold.

Severus removed Harry's glasses, and his trainers before pulling the covers up. As he put the glasses on the small chest of drawers beside the bed, the front doorbell rang. Severus cast a last look at Harry before exiting the room and descending the stairs.

Dudley had opened the door and when he saw the person on the other side, he stumbled back a step or two. Severus had gained the first landing and he stared at the clearly frightened boy in surprise.

"Hello, Dudley. I imagine you remember me," said the kind voice of the man Severus had earlier summoned.

Severus descended the last three stairs and ignoring the boy who had plastered himself against the wall, he pulled the door all the way open and looked out at the slightly shabbily dressed, but good natured, bespectacled face of Arthur Weasley.

"Ah, Severus," he said genially, stepping over the threshold and shutting out the chilling mist. Tiny droplets of water adorned the shoulders of his travelling cloak, his hair and glasses.

"Thank you for coming, Arthur," said Severus, watching as Arthur took his glasses off and dried them with a charm. Severus secretly had a lot of time for Arthur Weasley. Appearances to the contrary, the man was more than a capable wizard and though most of his children had driven Severus to distraction, particularly the twin terrors, they were all undeniably capable wizards...and witch, of course.

Severus didn't go out of his way to develop a relationship with Arthur, just as he didn't with any of the Order members, except Minerva and Dumbledore. But of all the others, Arthur and Kingsley Shacklebolt and Bill Weasley were the ones he could tolerate the most.

Severus focused on the seemingly paralysed Dudley for a moment and Arthur explained. "I'm afraid young Mr Dursley did not have the most pleasant of experiences when last the Weasley's visited. He ran amok of Fred and George."

Severus nodded once and then forgetting Dudley and his hang-ups, he turned and began to ascend the stairs again. Arthur smiled reassuringly at Dudley and followed the taciturn Professor Snape.

"So, what can I do for you," asked Arthur as he followed Severus into Harry's room. Immediately he saw Harry, still curled into a ball, he moved hurriedly towards the bed, sensing immediately that there was something wrong. He put a fond hand on Harry's hair and looked at his pale, composed face. Harry's eyes were still open and he was staring at the wall. He did not acknowledge Arthur at all.

"Harry. Harry my boy, how are you?" When there was no response, Arthur straightened and turned to Severus. "What's the matter with him. Please Merlin, he hasn't had a relapse."

Severus shook his head. "No, he hasn't had a relapse. I related some news to Mr Potter that I am afraid he did not take too kindly to."

Arthurs red eyebrows met at the top of his nose. "What news precisely, could do this?"

"I am afraid I can't tell you that, Arthur, but I do need your help."

"Can't or won't?"

"Won't." Severus met Arthurs glower with a cool look.

Arthur looked deeply into Severus's eyes and then sighed. He sat on the side of the bed and stroked Harry's untidy black hair affectionately. "I hope you have done nothing to hurt this boy Severus. My family are all extremely fond of him. And in case you have forgotten, there are two very volatile witches that I have to answer to, and if..."

"That is why I asked for your help," interrupted Severus. Harry and Ginevra seem to have embarked on a relationship that, for all their youth, seemed very intense when they last saw each other at Hogwarts."

"Yes, Molly told me. And yes, they are young, but I couldn't be happier for the two of them."

"I am glad you approve, Arthur, because I would like you to go and get Ginevra, and bring her here. She might be able to get through to Harry."

Arthur Weasley stared at Hogwart's infamous Potions Master; the man whom all his children seemed to abhor. He ceased his affectionate stroking of Harry's midnight black hair, so very different to the trademark Weasley red locks. Still, hair colour notwithstanding, this young boy had wormed his way into his and Molly's hearts from the first moment they had met him. And he knew it was the same with all of their children...except Percy of course.

Arthur's insides clenched as he thought of his third son, and he quickly steered away from those turbulent waters. He gazed down at Harry again. The boy had not moved once, and though his eyes were open, he was staring at the same spot on the wall.

Molly had first seen Harry when the small, thin, wide-eyed boy had asked her so very politely to be shown how to get onto platform nine and three-quarters on the first of September, nearly five years ago.

His no-nonsense but oh, so soft hearted wife had later told him about having met the ‘Boy-Who-Lived' (she had uttered this title with a disapproving sniff), who was, after all, just a poor little orphan boy whose family had not even bothered to see him onto the train. He had been left to fend for himself in a totally unfamiliar environment, and he had stolen Molly's soft heart. And with Ginny twittering on about Harry Potter as well, Arthur had known instinctively that they would be seeing a lot more of the ‘Boy-Who-Lived."

Ron's letters that first year had been full of ‘Harry', and the twins even mentioned him more than once or twice. And when the letter had come from Ron telling them that Harry wasn't even going home for Christmas, Molly had immediately informed him that Harry would be coming to them for the holiday.

Who was he to ever disagree with the formidable Molly? But of course, that plan had not worked out that year. He and Molly and Ginny had unexpectedly been invited to the dragon reserve in Romania and as it had been so long since they had seen Charlie, they had gone. Their four school age sons had stayed at Hogwarts for the holiday and Molly had comforted herself with the knowledge that the boys were together for Christmas and Harry had their company.

He himself had not met Harry properly until the following summer after the twins and Ron had rescued him from his abusive relatives. And like Molly, he had immediately taken to the boy. From that time onwards, one of Molly's life's missions had been to feed Harry up-and she was still doing that whenever she got the chance.

Of course, they had both despaired over the fact that Harry and Ron, along with Hermione, seemed to attract trouble as easily as metal filings were attracted to a magnet: their unofficial mission to save the Philosopher's Stone (he and Molly had nearly died when they had been summoned to Hogwarts to visit Ron in the hospital wing. They had also seen the unconscious Harry, and Molly had wept on and off for days), the flying car incident (if Molly could have sent him a howler for charming the car in the first place, she would have), the Chamber of Secrets when Harry had saved Ginny's life and nearly forfeited his own (again), and the worries of the boy's third year when they had thought Sirius had been a murderer.

Then of course there had been the worry of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and Harry's forced participation, culminating in the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and marking the beginning of Harry's real problems.

There had been the set-up by the ministry last summer when the Dementors had been sent to Little Whinging to attack Harry. Arthur still burned with fury whenever he thought about this heinous act of Delores Umbridge's and the fact that if Remus had not taught Harry how to produce a Patronus (and that Harry had actually mastered the notoriously difficult charm at such a young age, a feat Arthur had never before heard of), he would have had his soul sucked out.

And that foul woman (he had always loathed her, and Arthur prided himself on being a person who loathed very few) had walked straight back into her job at the Ministry when she should have been languishing in Azkaban for the equivalent of attempted murder!

Arthur sighed inwardly. He didn't really want to dwell on the terrible happenings of the last school year, nor Harry's prominent role in them. The fact that he himself would have died if not for Harry, and that two of his children could so easily have been killed by Death Eaters because they refused to leave their friend, still made him shudder. As did the fact that Sirius had died and Harry had come face to face with Lord Voldemort again.

And then there was this last murder plot that would have succeeded without the intervention of the man standing before him, waiting for his response-the man who purportedly loathed Harry but had, for some inexplicable reason, been responsible for his wellbeing even after Harry had recovered. This was a conundrum, and Molly in particular was determined to find out why. She had asked Dumbledore if Harry could come to them after his stay at the Dursleys, but he had brushed her off-politely, of course. Molly had practically needed sedating.

Arthur's job when Molly got so het up was to calm the storm. He had not told her that he too was very curious as to why this rather irregular partnership had continued after Harry had recovered from the attempt on his life-perhaps he would be able to assuage both Molly's and his own curiosity now that Severus had seen fit to ask for his daughter' assistance.

But if nothing else, Ginny's anxiety over Harry's welfare would be eased if she could see him. Arthur might have pushed to be allowed to fetch Ron as well, but he could see what a state Harry was in and so, he refrained.

Arthur sighed again. "Of course I'll bring Ginny. I will do what it takes to help Harry." He turned back to Harry, running his fingers through the untidy hair again.

"I'll be back soon, Harry. I'll bring Ginny for a visit. Would you like that?" Harry blinked but there was no other response. Arthur stood up.

"Perhaps Severus, you will think again about confiding in me the cause of Harry's collapse. We are, after all, on the same side and Harry is very dear to my whole family. Anything to do with him is of concern to us."

Severus had crossed his arms during this speech. He was a little taller than Arthur and he looked down his no-nonsense nose at the pleasant-faced, even tempered wizard. "But not necessarily your business," he said haughtily.

"Harry makes most everything to do with himself, Ron's business-and Hermione's. I imagine Ginny will now be a confidant also."

"Your point being, Weasley."

"My point, Severus, is that whatever this business is about, Harry is involved as much as you and he is not very good at keeping secrets from his friends." Then with a significant look, Arthur turned on the spot and Disapparated.

Severus stared at the spot for a moment and then turned his thoughtful gaze to his son.

8888

It was nearly thirty minutes later that Arthur popped back into existence in the Dursley's back garden. He had been flustered before he had left the Burrow because Molly had decided to give him the third degree about why he needed to take their daughter to ‘that horrible family's home' and ‘what exactly is wrong with that poor boy now'. But now he was even more stressed because Side-along Apparition-even for those who were expert in the art-was a strain.

As it was still daylight, and as this was a Muggle neighbourhood, Arthur had not Apparated into the front garden for fear of being seen. He released his grip on his daughter and Ginny stepped away from her father on somewhat rubbery legs. She put out a hand and grasped his forearm.

"Are you all right, love?" Ginny nodded and after a few seconds, she let go, pulling her long, thick hair together at the nape of her neck with one hand because it was in quite a tangle as a result of their journey. If she had realised that Apparition was nearly as cyclonic as Portkey travel, she would have secured her hair in a plait.

"I'm fine, but I definitely prefer brooms. I don't like Apparition at all. No wonder lots of people don't bother."

Arthur chuckled and put his hand on Ginny's back, guiding her towards the back door. "Lots of people don't bother because they never master the art. Apparition isn't easy, my love, but it is a very handy skill to have. Much quicker than brooms, so it is particularly useful for long distance travel."

Ginny did a quick scan of the back garden before focusing on the plumb line perfection of the window dotted brick façade that was the rear of number four, Privet Drive. Her young face was set in lines of dislike, but all she said to her father was, "Are any of these windows Harry's?"

She did not register Arthur's answer though because she had just caught sight of the sour faced woman she had seen a couple of weeks ago at King's Cross Station. She was glaring malevolently at them through a large window on the ground floor of the house. Ginny instinctively moved closer to her father.

Out of politeness, Arthur knocked on the door. He would give them fifteen seconds to answer and then he would just walk in. Even though he knew Severus was not the most patient man in the world, and he had been longer than he had expected to be, it went against the grain to enter a home where he knew he was not welcome. But in this case there was no choice.

Ginny looked up at her father's set face. He too had seen Petunia, who was now talking to someone over her shoulder, though she had leaned forward to press her face closer to the window, and by twisting her head to the side, she could still give Ginny and himself the beady eye.

Arthur was sure that these Dursleys weren't indicative of the majority of Muggles. Surely the majority were decent folk. Hermione's mother and father were extremely amenable, after all, and the Muggles he and Molly dealt with in Ottery St Catchpole were decent, friendly, hardworking people. It was very unfortunate indeed that Harry had had to grow up with these unloving and unlovable people.

When his self-imposed time limit expired, Arthur grasped the door handle, but it was wrenched out of his hand as the door was pulled forcefully open. The great blood-red, full moon face of Vernon Dursley was glaring out at them, glistening with perspiration even though the day was still very cool. Ginny grasped Arthur's arm and Arthur took a step to the side so that he was half shielding his daughter.

"I have had it with you lot!' roared a clearly inebriated Vernon. "Thinking that you can en...enter my home when...whenever the bloody mood takes you." He hiccoughed and swayed in a non-existent breeze, looking like he was going to topple forward.

"Get off my pr...property, you freak!..."

"Mr Dursley..."

"And take your little slut with you..."

Arthur pulled his wand from beneath his shabby travelling cloak and Vernon was propelled backwards so fast, it was as though he had been blasted by a banishing spell. But Arthur had not used his wand.

"Dad..."

"Stay here Ginny," instructed Arthur in a tight voice as he crossed the threshold to where there was a great deal of screaming and scuffling going on. Petunia Dursley was standing in the archway leading into the tiny laundry screaming at Severus Snape who had the very robust and rotund form of Vernon Dursley dangling from a point close to the ceiling.

"Silence her Arthur!" said Severus, and though he did not raise his voice, its deep, resonant tones carried over the shrill screaming coming from the furiously angry woman. Petunia, though too afraid to attack her husbands persecutor, was obviously too incensed to think better of annoying the man who had earlier silenced and bound her with a spell.

Much against his inclination, Arthur raised his wand in Petunia's direction. He did not have to use it however, because Petunia fell silent immediately, just as if she had been hexed. She refused to be silenced against her will again, even for Vernon, who was too drunk to have allowed discretion to be the better part of valour.

Petunia had been kicking up a stink in defence of her husband as a matter of course, but she was so angry with him herself for having been out drinking since before midday, she secretly rejoiced in his predicament now. Let him suffer as she had suffered earlier, when he hadn't been there to protect her.

Arthur saw the frightened face of Dudley over his mother's shoulder and he knew Ginny was also witnessing this scene. "Severus, I think that might be enough."

Vernon was kicking and spluttering and twisting as though at the end of an invisible rope, but as he was not turning blue, nor was his tongue protruding, Arthur knew he was not choking. Still...

"Do you not think that Mr Dursley might have learned his lesson Severus?" asked Arthur in a reasonable tone.

"Do you think so, Arthur? It is your daughter that he called that abhorrent name, after all."

"Yes," responded Arthur, "and if I ever hear any such insult from his foul lips again, he will have to deal with me!"

Severus nodded and the next moment, Vernon had plummeted to the floor, with an almighty crash, denting the chest freezer when he slammed against it. Now, with the obese Muggle spread eagled on the floor in the tiny laundry, there was little room to move. Severus stepped over the prostrate form of the temporarily incoherent man, back into the kitchen.

With a look of loathing directed at Severus, Petunia scurried backwards, very wary now of the black robed wizard-wary now that she knew that he was not averse to using magic against them. It didn't seem to occur to her to go to her husbands assistance.

Arthur stepped back to the outside door and grasping Ginny by the elbow, he pulled her with him and they squeezed past Dursley and into the pristine kitchen.

"What are they doing here?" asked Petunia, indicating Arthur and Ginny with an angry gesture of her head. "That man single-handedly destroyed my living room two years ago. And..." she added dramatically, "he nearly killed my Dudley. He's not welcome here."

Severus raised his eyebrows and looked at Arthur questioningly.

Arthur had reddened spectacularly, just as Severus had seen his youngest son do on more than one occasion. The father of seven cleared his throat, aware that his daughter was looking as curious as Severus. "We...that is to say Fred, George, Ron and myself came to fetch Harry to stay with us before the World Cup. We came by Floo-I had this house connected temporarily, just for the afternoon, you understand-but unknown to me, the fireplace was boarded up; blocked by an eclectic fire."

Arthur cleared his throat again. "We were all stuck in the floo and my only recourse was to blast the blockage apart." Ginny was biting her lip in an attempt not to laugh at the ludicrous picture that had just been painted, and amazingly, Arthur thought he saw Severus's lips twitch too.

"Err...well, you know Fred and George...always joking...they err...they dropped some of their trick sweets on the floor, and Dud...err, Dudley ate one..."All eyes turned to Dudley, who was even redder than Arthur. Petunia rushed to his side and tried to put her arms around her son, but he shrugged her off.

"I'm OK Mum," he said impatiently. He couldn't have looked more embarrassed if he had been seen naked, but he looked both wizards in the eye. "He didn't try and kill me. He tried to fix me up. I was a greedy pig and I got what I deserved. I know the charm, or whatever it was, would have worn off, but everything just got out of hand."

"That's very good of you to say so, Dudley," said a clearly surprised Arthur. "But I do assure you, my sons had no right to produce those sweets and they were duly chastised by both myself and their mother."

"They should have been whipped," hissed Petunia. "My boy could have choked to death."

"I'm sorry, Mrs Dursleys, but we do not whip our children. I am sure you don't whip your son for his misdeeds either."

"No, I don't because my Dudley does nothing that deserves a whipping."

"But you are not entirely averse to handing out a good whipping, you and your fat lump of a husband, are you Petunia?" drawled Severus.

Petunia lifted her chin defiantly, making her long neck look even longer.

"You won't make me feel guilty. We never wanted that boy and he did everything he could to make our life a misery. He took clothes off our son's back and food out of his mouth.

"Mum!"

"It's just as well your son was deprived of some food, otherwise he probably would have long since burst his seams," said a furious Ginny and she glared at Petunia with intense dislike.

"Ginny!" exclaimed Arthur, shocked. "Apologise now."

Now it was Ginny's turn to go red, but Severus noted that the girl coloured a lot more attractively than Ronald or their father. "She doesn't deserve an apology after what she's put Harry through for most of his life," she muttered belligerently, and privately, Severus agreed. Severus thought that if Harry and his little red-haired amour stayed together for the long haul, and after loves first romantic flush had faded, the Potters, as they would probably be by then, would no doubt have a very volatile relationship, considering both their tempers.

But right now the girl definitely needed to calm down and that seemed to be her father's take on the issue as well-even if she was sticking up for her boyfriend-and as much as he agreed with her about her thoughts on Petunia Dursley, Ginevra Weasley had to learn that she could not speak to adults like that.

"It is not for you to make judgements, young lady," Arthur was admonishing. Severus was under the impression that Arthur didn't often admonish his little girl, but to give him his due, he was making an effort. "Now apologise..."

"I do not need an apology from your rude, disrespectful daughter because I wouldn't expect anything approaching manners from her anyway and any apology would be entirely insincere. But I wouldn't expect anything else from one of you lot. Look at Potter..."

"Why you..." Ginny had taken a step forward, her brown eyes flashing dangerously and Arthur had to hold onto her shoulders to stop her attacking the unpleasant, sour faced woman.

A groan, a metallic bang, two small thumps and another groan from the laundry had them all focusing on Vernon who had recovered enough from his ‘hanging' to attempt to regain his feet. Ginny forgot her anger with Petunia when she found herself staring at the twin globes of Vernon Dursley's massive buttocks, over which his olive green trousers were stretched to seam bursting point. He'd managed to get himself onto his hands and knees but he didn't seem to know what to do from this point onwards. One flabby cheek and jowl were resting on the front of the washing machine.

Ginny put her hand over her mouth to try and stifle her giggles. Petunia threw her a filthy look and then it transferred to her husband who was making a total arse of himself in front of these FREAKS!

"Dudley!" she hissed. "Help your father up and take him up to bed. I'm going shopping" And with one last scathing look that encompassed the entire company, including, for some reason, her son, Petunia flounced into the hallway where she pulled her coat and bag from a hook and exited the house ahead of a window shaking slam of the front door.

Severus ignored Dudley as the boy scurried past to assist his lummox of a father. It was at least ten minutes since he had left Harry alone in his room. Harry... who hadn't moved or responded other than to blink when Severus had spoken to him. He had remained curled on his side, his eyes open, looking at the blank expanse of peach coloured wall.

Whilst waiting for Arthur's return, Severus had kept his uneasiness buried deep and he had spoken to the boy in what he hoped had been a patient and conciliatory tone of voice. He had started by apologising for his strong-arm tactics and he had thought-hoped really-that this might elicit some reaction...but no.

After he had laid himself bare for a good ten minutes-where were Arthur and the girl anyway?-he had given up. What was the use in debasing himself further when he was not even sure if Harry could hear him?

So Severus had just sat and stared at Harry's back-he stared at the thick, untidy Potter hair and the hunched, skinny shoulders. He might have been looking at the back of James's head; the way Harry's hair stuck up at the crown was identical to how James's had. Merlin knew, he had seen it often enough, bobbing along in front of him in one or other of the Hogwarts' corridors in their student days. Severus had always tried to make a point of being behind Potter and Black in the corridors, that way he had been able to avoid a surprise attack.

There was no escaping the overall resemblance between James and his son, besides the thick black hair they had the same neat nose, as well as general face shape; but now that Severus knew better, there was more to Harry than he had ever bothered to see before all this business had come to light. Severus found that if he leaned forward a couple of inches in his chair, he could see the curve of higher and slightly more chiselled cheekbones and the arch of a finer eyebrow. These features were definitely his own. James had had a plumper face and thicker, straighter eyebrows. And Lily's contribution had of course been those mesmeric eyes; Harry's were exactly the same colour, shape and size. He had also inherited his mother's very determined chin. Perhaps the boy's small stature was compliments of his mother, because he was six feet tall and James had been close enough to that height also. Of course, Harry's small stature might also have something to do with having been half-starved for most of his formative years; but Severus did not think he would be much taller than five foot, six or seven.

Severus was not sure how long he sat there staring at the back of his son's head. But whether it was ten minutes or half an hour, it was enough time for him to realise that he had been the one entirely at fault since the pair of them had entered this bedroom. He was the one whose job it had been to deliver the news of this new and even more significant relationship with something approaching empathy. He was the adult! The boy had already been left reeling by the news that they were cousins for Merlin's sake, and that had been less than a week ago.

Severus only had to look at the way he had reacted when he had first discovered the birthmark to gauge what a shock the news would have been to Harry. He had lost himself in the bottom of a bottle of whisky and had then wallowed in misery for the next day or so until he had completed the Paternity Potion. He had practically had a tantrum in front of Dumbledore. He, Severus Snape had acted like a belligerent child with his ranting and raving and in between venting, he had tried to bury his head in the sand. And he had had Dumbledore's support and encouragement.

And then, after being presented with proof positive of his role in Harry Potter's genetic makeup, he had treated the boy as if his very existence was an abhorrence. Much as he had treated him since that day, five years ago, when he had first clapped eyes on the small, skinny James clone who had, of course, been sorted into Gryffindor.

Today, he had delivered the news of his and Harry's closer relationship as dispassionately, as coldly and as cruelly as he had treated Harry when he had presented himself for that first Occlumency lesson. And even after being made privy to some of Harry's earliest and most distressing memories, and knowing what the teen must be going through because of the connection with the Dark Lord, Severus had made no attempt to try and actually teach the boy a decent method of Occlusion. He had just kept on thrusting forward like a bull in a china shop-and he had probably left the same sort of devastation in his wake.

Dumbledore had told him about Harry's connection with the Dark Lord and how it had advanced so far that he had seen the attack on Arthur Weasley; a distressing occurrence certainly but also the reason that Arthur had survived. It had quickly became apparent that Harry had thought that he had been possessed and that it had been he who had attacked Arthur. He could only imagine how terrifying it must have been for a not even sixteen years old boy to witness the evil Lord Voldemort was capable of. But had he been sympathetic? No, he had been as cold and disparaging as he had always been when dealing with Potter.

He should have spent the whole of that first lesson, and however long it took, instructing the boy on how to Occlude instead of attacking and virtually raping his mind when he had had no idea of how to protect himself. He had known Harry suffered during those lessons, just as he had known that he slept poorly and suffered severe headaches because of the connection. The Legilimency could only have exacerbated the severity of those headaches. He, Severus had had Lord Voldemort in his mind after all, and had suffered severe headaches afterwards as the man had absolutely no finesse. Lord Voldemort was not interested in being gentle, not even with his own followers.

Just as he had not been interested in making it easy for Harry! And he was an accomplished Legilimens who was quite capable of probing another's mind without the painful side-effects. He had just not bothered because he had been forced into close company with Harry Bloody Potter by Albus Bloody Dumbledore, and as he could not do anything to Dumbledore, he had taken his displeasure out on James Potter's son.

And here today, even after the revelation of their cousinly relationship had wrought a change in the boy over the last week, he, Severus had made no effort to relay this more significant news with anything approaching understanding. He had been the bull in the china shop again. He had let his own unresolved feelings of the situation to show through clearly. He had become impatient and instead of taking time to calm down, he had hexed the boy in the most unforgivable way. Albus would have his balls when he found out, and he would be sure to find out. And he would have every right to castrate him.

In fact, Severus was surprised that those amazingly sensitive instruments of Dumbledore's had not registered that Harry was under attack here at Privet Drive. Because that is exactly what had happened. He had attacked his son.

Oh, sure, the Gluteus Adhaero and the Lingua Adhaero hexes had been relatively innocuous-but he had also threatened Harry with the torture of the Oculus Virga curse.

What in hell had he been thinking?

Well, the bare facts of the matter were that he had not been thinking of anything other than his own discomfiture and abhorrence of the task ahead. He had treated Harry as if he had done something wrong-as if he was being brought to task for some misdemeanour. And Harry of course had reacted accordingly.

Every line of Severus's body had screamed aggression and his very tone of voice had been resentful, cold and angry. So how had he expected Harry to accept the facts with anything approaching equanimity. It had been Severus Snape, the servant of the Dark Lord who had been at work today, not Severus Snape, the man Albus Dumbledore put so much faith in. In retrospect, he knew that he should have asked Dumbledore to be with him when he made the revelation to Harry, because his own method might have caused irreversible damage.

It had been the raised voices-the high pitched, unmistakable shriek of Petunia Dursley and the deeper rumble of the voice of her behemoth of a husband-that had dragged Severus from the unpleasant contemplation of his monumental mistakes. He had Apparated into another nasty scene that had been resolved with Petunia storming out of the house and Arthur assisting Dudley who, whilst being of a fairly robust build himself, was nonetheless having trouble hoisting the nearly dead weight of his father off the floor. Arthur employed a Levitation charm and asked Dudley to lead the way to his parent's bedroom.

"Don't go into Harry's room, Mr Dursley," ordered Severus as the strange procession left the kitchen. Dudley cast a nervous look over his shoulder at Severus, and after nodding once, he scurried after Arthur.

If Ginevra Weasley was nervous about being alone with Professor Snape, she did not let on. When he turned to her, she raised her determined little chin and tried to look suitably brave. Severus was impressed despite himself; there was not a quiver to be seen.

"I imagine that your father has told you why I require your assistance, Miss Weasley," he said in his best and most intimidating Professorial voice.

"He told me that Harry isn't well and that you thought he would benefit from my company," she responded, her brown eyes fixed on him unflinchingly.

"That is the bare outline, yes," agreed Severus, but he wished that Arthur had been a little more up front with his daughter. Now it was left to him to explain more fully.

"What's wrong with him? You said that the poison was all out of his system. Or are the injuries he sustained from Hagrid causing him problems?"

"Miss Weasley, I concede that your presence may be able to do what I have failed to do myself, but at this time, I would prefer that questions remain at a minimum. You may set your mind at rest however. Harry's current problems are not physical." Severus paused, not sure how to continue, and hating himself for appearing anything less than in control.

"Harry has...well, he has shut himself off. I cannot reach him, nor could your father. He is not unconscious, but he will not speak, nor indeed respond in any way other than to blink."

Ginny now blinked and her eyebrows drew together above her pert little nose. Suddenly she looked quite fierce-just like a mother bear hell-bent on protecting her cub. "What did you do to him?" she asked angrily, so intent on ascertaining what had happened to Harry, she had quite overlooked whom she was berating. He raised his mobile eyebrow in a gesture that students knew did not bode well for their peace of mind. But before he could put the little minx in her place, her father, who had re-appeared in time to hear his daughter's rudeness, stepped in.

"Ginny! Apologise to Professor Snape now!" said Arthur angrily. "What's gotten into you, young lady?"

"But Dad, he's done..."

"If by him you mean Professor Snape, then you use his title and name. And I brought you here to help Harry, not to carry out an interrogation of Professor Snape. Now apologise immediately."

Still looking mutinous, Ginny glared at her father. then with a visible effort, she calmed herself enough to glance at Severus and say coldly, "I'm sorry, sir."

"I accept your apology this time Miss Weasley because we have wasted enough time. Now, if you will come with me..."

"Severus..." Arthur put a hand up in a ‘stop' gesture. "Severus, don't you think that it might be better if we allow Ginny to see Harry by herself. I imagine if Harry is going to respond, he is more likely to do it if there are no adults in the room...and Ginny will be much less self-conscious if she does not have her teacher and her father hovering over her whilst she is talking to her boyfriend."

Severus did not like it, but he had to concede that Arthur might have a point. Harry might respond to Ginevra's presence alone, but he doubted it. She needed to speak to him. And she would probably be too embarrassed to say much with him and her father in the room.

"Very well. Miss Weasley, Harry's room is the second door on the left along the landing. We will wait here." Ginny followed the route that her father had taken earlier and ascended the stairs quickly and lightly. She was desperate to see Harry...desperate to find out what was wrong with him?

She had been so excited when her father had turned up out of the blue and told her that he was taking her to see Harry. Of course, departure had been delayed by first her mother and then Ron, who had wanted to know why he couldn't go and see Harry too, as he was his best friend.

Arthur had stopped the argument and informed Ron that Professor Snape had requested Ginny's presence. Ron had had a few choice words to say about their git of a Potions Master that had Arthur admonishing him, much as he had just done Ginny down in the kitchen. It would seem that their father had a good deal of respect for Severus Snape.

As Ginny hurried along the landing, she almost collided with Dudley Dursley as he came out of what she took to be his parents room. This was confirmed when a loud, grunting snore emanated from the room. A quick glance past Dudley showed a large mound of bedclothes moving up and down in time with the horrible noise coming from beneath them.

"Are you a friend of Harry's," asked Dudley. He sounded decent enough, but Ginny had heard about the horrible things that this boy had done to Harry over the years.

Her voice was very cool when she replied. "I'm Harry's girlfriend. And you're his bullying cousin."

Dudley reddened. "I know I was a bully and that my parents were less than ideal guardians. But I've changed, even if they haven't." Dudley looked down at his trainers and thrust his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans. "Since Harry saved me from the Dementor, I've changed." He looked up at Ginny again.

"Harry's forgiven me. We've been getting on really well since he came home."

Ginny studied the large boy in front of her. Dudley wasn't as overweight as she would have thought from everything she had heard from her brothers. He was large, yes, but Ginny thought he must have lost some weight. The two cousins looked nothing alike, but then, what she had heard about Lily Potter and what she had seen of her sister, Petunia, there was no resemblance there either.

"Well, I'm glad someone in this house has some sense. Pity you didn't find it years ago though, Dudley. Harry is a very loyal friend." She walked past him towards the next room.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Dudley, nodding his head towards the door that stood ajar. "They were having a huge argument when I went in there earlier."

Ginny spun back to face Dudley. Her red-gold eyebrows drew together again. "Harry and Professor Snape?" she asked, though she knew who Dudley was talking about. He nodded.

"What were they arguing about?" Dudley shrugged his massive shoulders.

"Snape was saying something about not being pushed any further and Harry said something about having heard what Snape had said to my mum."

"What did Snape say to your mum?" asked Ginny.

Dudley shrugged again and Ginny was irritated by his lack of any real information. "I don't know, but Snape told Harry to shut up or he would hex him."

"Snape threatened to hex Harry!" repeated Ginny, appalled, but not hugely surprised. The thing that she was hugely surprised about was how Professor Dumbledore had left Harry in the charge of a man who hated him with a vengeance.

"Harry didn't seem worried though," added Dudley. "Snape told me to get lost but I didn't want to leave Harry with him. But Harry said he was all right, so I left to make my mum a cup of tea because she's been a bit upset with all the wizards and witches coming and going. Well, you saw what she was like yourself." Dudley looked embarrassed by the antics of his parents.

Ginny nodded distractedly. "I've got to go, Dudley." And she entered the room that Snape had told her was Harry's.

Dudley sighed and entered his own room, the door of which was opposite that of his parent's room. He wanted to check on Harry too, but he was too nervous to go against that scary black-robed wizard.

"Dudley!" Dudley hadn't even made it to his bed where he had planned to lie down when the pretty girl appeared in his doorway, looking around frantically. "He's not here either."

"What..."

"Harry's gone..." and Ginny rushed out as quickly as she had come in. He heard her clattering down the stairs and he followed immediately.

"Professor Snape!" Severus and Arthur had heard the scared voice and the frantic footsteps and were already in the hallway when Ginny jumped down the last three stairs. Arthur grabbed her by the arms to halt her headlong flight.

"Ginny! What's wrong?"

"He's not there! Professor Snape, Harry's not in his room!"

Something cold and leaden settled in Severus's stomach, and if it was possible, his face became even paler than it normally was. He pushed past father and daughter and started up the stairs, pushing Dudley roughly aside where he was standing on the first landing. His long legs took the stairs three at a time and he was in Harry's room less than ten seconds after Ginny's nearly hysterical announcement.

It was indeed empty. After a frantic scan of the room that was totally unnecessary because it was so small, Severus registered more than the empty bed. With a tension releasing sigh, he saw that the boy had had the presence of mind to put his trainers and glasses on and that he had taken his wand. The acid that had begun to churn in his gut settled a little. So, he was not unprotected...wherever he was.

Severus was sure that Harry was not in the house. He could sense his absence. But to be on the safe side he threw open the bathroom door and the door to the spare bedroom, scanning their interiors quickly. Nothing. When Severus descended the stairs again; the two children were standing in the kitchen looking out the back window. Ginny turned to him, her small face pinched with worry.

"Dad's checking the garden shed and the garage," she said in a small voice.

Severus did not respond. Knowing that it was a waste of time he strode into the sitting room and crossed to the front window, pulling the netting aside and looking along the road in both directions as far as he could see. Panic was now taking a strong hold of him and as Severus was not ordinarily one to panic, he did not immediately recognise the emotion.

"He's not out the back Severus, nor is he in the shed or the garage" Arthur had reappeared, his face also pale and set. Severus was not surprised. Harry would have had to pass them to get out the back, unless he had gone out the front door and through the garage. He looked past Arthur at the two teenagers, both of who were white-faced and scared. He strode forward and grabbed a handful of Dudley's windcheater, pulling him upward so that they were nose to nose. "Is there anywhere in this house that Potter could hide?" he hissed.

Dudley swallowed, terrified, as Arthur put a hand around Severus's steely wrist. "Severus, we are all worried. There is no need for this." he said gently and Severus released the handful of fabric, turning away before he could take his displeasure out on anyone else. He ran a less than steady hand across his mouth and chin

"I...I looked in the cupboard," stammered Dudley and Severus spun back and glared at him.

"What?"

Dudley pointed through the door into the hallway. "The cupboard under the stairs. It...it used to be Harry's room. Mum and Dad only moved him into the bedroom upstairs when the letter came from that school."

Dudley cringed when he felt the shocked gazes of the Weasley's and Snape on him. They were all pale and worried but Snape looked as if he could commit murder at any moment. He strode to the cupboard-Dudley was amazed that even those black robes seemed angry-and wrenched it open.

"Lumos!" By the light of his wand, Severus studied the small confines of the cupboard that appeared to be nothing more now than a storage area for cleaning equipment and sundry stacked boxes. Behind the boxes, pushed up against the wall was a small, stained mattress.

Severus could feel himself shaking with fury. He had glimpsed Harry being confined in a small space once when he had skimmed through some childhood memories, but he had assumed that the small boy was being punished and had thought nothing more of it. Now Severus straightened and shut the door with forced calm. He turned back to Dudley who seemed to diminish in size as Severus glared at him.

"Your parents kept Harry in this cupboard until he was eleven years old?" he asked with deadly calm.

Dudley's Adam's Apple bobbed up and down. He nodded mechanically. "They...they moved him when they saw that letter was addressed to ‘The Cupboard Under the Stairs'.

Ginny was looking just as infuriated as Severus felt but Arthur just looked sad. It was he who took charge as he saw that his fellow Order member seemed at a loss as to what to do next.

"Severus, we need to check out the neighbourhood." Severus nodded glad to be told how to proceed and he moved towards the front door.

"Severus! I do not think it is wise to be seen out and about in a Muggle neighbourhood in wizard's robes. And I also think we need to effect a slight alteration to your looks. Seeing as you are well known to..." he glanced at Dudley and with a lowered voice he proceeded carefully. "...to certain factions and your looks are quite distinctive..."

Severus felt a fool. His brain was definitely not working at it's full capacity. "Of course you're right Arthur. Thank you for pointing out what I should have realised myself. He looked down at his flowing robes and then back up at Arthur. "Perhaps it would be easier if I attend to your robes and you to mine. You can also transform my appearance."

Arthur inclined his head and pointed his wand at Severus's robes which seemed to fade in and out of focus for a moment before coalescing into a pair of faded denim jeans and a turtleneck charcoal-grey cable jumper. Severus did not even bother to check out his clothing. He stood erect as Arthur pointed his wand at Severus's face and whispered an incantation.

Severus's hair seemed to retract into his scalp and fade from midnight black to grey-streaked brown with a side parting and a floppy fringe which he had to push out of his eyes which had turned grey. His face became shorter and plumper, he could feel his nose shrinking and his lips becoming fuller. Arthur lowered his wand and directed it at Severus's long pale hands where his fingers shortened and thickened. Simultaneously, Severus felt heat radiating outwards from his body and looking at his hands, he saw that his pale skin had taken on a ruddy hue. He knew his new face would now have the same complexion. Arthur was very thorough. Of course, Severus could only see his hands but he had no intention of checking out his appearance in a mirror.

Ginny looked at the stranger standing in front of them with almost the same feeling of awe that was reflected in Dudley's slack-jawed face. But it was not the transfigured Professor Snape that held her in awe; it was the fact that she had never before realised just how accomplished a wizard her father was. Obviously Professor Snape thought so too, because it had been his suggestion that Arthur transfigure him. Ginny felt her heart swell with pride. Wait until she told Ron and the twins. She was sure that they all thought that their father was just a mediocre wizard.

With Ginny's thoughts divided between her worry for Harry and pride at her father's wand work, she saw but did not really register the new model Professor Snape transfigure her father's robes into a pair of old brown cord pants, a cream coloured polo shirt and a beige zip-up jacket with twin brown stripes down each arm. He also now had a pair of brown suede shoes on in place of his black boots.

"Dudley, I would appreciate it if you would come with us. You can point out places that Harry frequents." Dudley's eyes widened but he nodded his acquiescence. As Severus reached the front door again, Arthur spoke again.

"I think we should contact Albus, Severus. We may need assistance and I for one would like Albus's direction."

Severus was becoming seriously irate at all the hold-ups. "Just get on with it Weasley. I'll meet you out the front, and he pulled the door open and walked out into the mist that had become even thicker since Arthur and Ginny had arrived.

Arthur raised his wand again. "Expecto Patronum!" The large and sinuous weasel streaked from Arthur's wand and failing to find anything to protect it's master from, it tumbled over in the air and looked at Arthur through his little shoe-button eyes. Arthur stared back intently. After five seconds, the creature-just a blinding white light to Dudley-tumbled joyfully again and shot out through the open front door. Arthur immediately conjured another Patronus and repeated the same process. Ginny looked at her father questioningly.

"I've also sent a message to Bill. We need all the help we can get and I know he can leave work at a moment's notice.

Arthur strode after his Patroni and Dudley and Ginny ran to catch up. Holding the door open for Dudley to rush through, Arthur pushed it partway closed again before Ginny could exit. "Ginny, I want you to stay here." Ginny immediately opened her mouth to argue, but Arthur held up one hand and put the other on his daughter's shoulder, lowering his face to her level. "I need you here to explain more fully to Professor Dumbledore and Bill when they arrive. We also need you here in case Harry comes back. It wouldn't do for him to come home and only find his aunt and uncle here, would it?"

Ginny still looked mutinous but she saw the sense of what her father had said. She nodded her head and Arthur smiled, pleased to have escaped an argument. He kissed the top of her head. "Good girl. We'll be back as quickly as we can."

When the door banged shut behind Arthur, all Ginny could hear was a carriage clock's tinkling tick tock and the rumbling snores of Vernon Dursley. She walked back towards the kitchen but stopped when she came abreast of the cupboard door that Professor Snape had opened earlier. When he had shut it, the latch hadn't caught. Ginny pulled it open again.

She did not have the luxury of performing a Lumos, but she looked around and found a light switch near the lounge door and she flicked it on. The hallway had been very dark because of the grey mist enveloping the outside world but the electric light dispelled the gloom and shone partway into the open cavity of the cupboard.

Ginny stood to the side and stared into the crowded little space. Harry had called this place his bedroom for nearly ten years of his life. She couldn't imagine it. If the door was closed, the only air that got into the place was through a small vent in the door and that could be closed off. Ginny also noticed that there was a lock on the outside of the door, but not the inside; they had obviously locked little Harry in.

Ginny brushed tears from her eyes and getting down on her hands and knees, she crawled into the space, pushing a tray containing cleaning agents and rags to the side, and squeezing between two towers of boxes. When she was fully in the cupboard, she twisted around onto her bottom and sat with crossed legs, staring out into the lighted hall. If the door was shut and that vent closed, the only light that would penetrate this space would be a strip at the bottom of the door.

Ginny sat in the small space and cried for the little boy who had had such a tragic life...the little boy who had grown into a wonderful young man whom she had adored now for five years. Her little girl worship had turned into love over the last couple of years. And Harry had finally, thankfully noticed her as more than just his best friend's sister. She couldn't lose him now, she just couldn't.

What had happened to Harry? And was it Professor Snape's fault? But Professor Snape had seemed nearly sick with worry, that was obvious. And that was so strange, considering his history with Harry.

Ginny didn't know how long she sat there in the semi-dark, but the front door being thrown open shocked her back to her surroundings. She sat still and prepared for action, her wand pointing towards the open door and every nerve ending on red alert.

"Dad!" called a familiar voice and Ginny slumped with relief.

"Bill! I'm coming."

"Ginny? Where..." Bill Weasley's words were cut off when he saw his little sister crawling out of...a cupboard? He rushed forward and grasped Ginny under the arms and hauled her to her feet. "What in the name of Merlin..."

"Oh, Bill!" Ginny threw herself into Bill's arms and he hugged her to him.

"Gin, what's going on? Dad's Patronus said Harry's missing."

Ginny nodded and gulped. Bill led her into the lounge where he pulled her onto the couch next to him and listened as she explained all that had happened since their father had come to collect her from the Burrow.

8888

At the same time as two damp, deeply worried Muggle-dressed wizards and their teenage companion re-entered number four Privet Drive to find the leader of the Order of the Phoenix and Bill Weasley comforting his sister, a slightly built young wizard wearing a hooded jacket pulled low over his forehead stepped down from a triple decker, purple monstrosity of a bus. As soon as he had stepped onto the grass verge, the bus disappeared with a loud bang and the boy thanked the Gods that he was no longer on board.

Feeling in his pocket, the boy fished out a pair of round, wire-framed glasses and put them on, his vision sharpening for the first time since he had put his glasses away, seconds before he had summoned the Knight Bus.

Harry Potter stared back down the road in the direction the Knight Bus had come from before dropping him off. There was nothing to see but the narrow gravel road lined with sad looking trees drooping under the weight of the enveloping mist.

Harry had no idea what county he was even in. He had not asked and the conductor had not communicated in any way. Harry had been pleased to see that Stan Shunpike was not the conductor tonight and when he had stated his destination, this conductor had just handed over his ticket and had then thrown himself down into a seat directly behind the driver and buried his nose in a dog-eared paperback book with a very raunchy cover. He had elicited no curiosity towards the kid who seemed determined to keep his face hidden. It weren't any of his business after all. The few passengers on board were too worried about trying to keep the contents of their stomachs in place and they too ignored the young wizard.

Now Harry turned and looked down the road towards his destination. His heart was pounding hard as he walked along the verge towards a sign that he could see half hidden by a drooping branch of a large oak tree. Over the slight rise in the road and in one of the inexplicable gaps in the mist he could see one thatched and several shingled rooves. They looked very picturesque seen through the trees and with the gravel road snaking towards them.

Harry stopped in front of the sign and pushed the wet branch aside. He stared almost mesmerized at the letters burned neatly into the old fashioned wooden sign. He had heard the words said many times, but he had never seen them written anywhere. The sound of the name was musical to his ears, but the written words looked magical.

Harry traced the blackened letters with his hand whilst mouthing the words silently.

Godric's Hollow.

Albus Dumbledore watched his Potions Master stride up and down the carpeted floor in the Dursleys sitting room, more distressed than he had ever seen the man before. Severus was, in fact, more distressed than he had been when he had realised that the Dark Lord had targeted the Potters and subsequently killed Lily and James all those years ago.

If Severus but knew it, he was acting just like any other father who was worried because his child was not where he was supposed to be. And as worried as Albus was himself, because Harry had been missing now for six hours, he was quietly pleased to see this frantic and furious man wearing a track in the Dursley's quite plebeian carpet.

"When I get my hands on him," growled Severus, "he will think my punishments for his more infantile misdemeanours at Hogwarts were the height of leniency. He will be lucky if he ever gets the slime from disembowelled frogs and flobberworms out from under his fingernails again, because he will be performing these unpleasant tasks from now until..."

"That's the anger talking, Severus," advised Arthur. "The worry will be uppermost in your mind again soon enough.

"Worry! I'm just worried that I won't be able to restrain myself when I get hold of him, Weasley."

"Wait until you're a father..." Severus stopped pacing long enough to shoot a basilisk's glare at the father of seven.

"The voice of experience, Weasley?" sneered Severus, wishing he could throw in the fact that apparently, he was a father. That was why they were in this mess.

Arthur smiled, but it did little to erase the worry lines making his face look a good ten years older. "I could have twenty children, Severus and I would still be reluctant to say I am experienced. They all present you with different problems and they all require a different approach. I consider Harry as one of my own..." He didn't notice how Severus stiffened just before he spun away and paced to the window again, pulling the netting aside to peer out into the darkness. "...and I have to say, even with some of the twins' more spectacularly disastrous antics, Harry and Ron have caused me more grey hairs over the last five years than Fred and George have in their lifetime.

"And then," Arthur continued to prattle, after an encouraging nod from Dumbledore, "when I thought my reproducing days were over, my darling Molly informs me that we were expecting again, and eight months down the track, she presented me with my biggest challenge since the birth of Bill."

Severus was still staring out the window and Arthur wasn't even sure that his fellow Order member was even listening. Still, he knew, as did Dumbledore, that his voice was filling the strained silence and it was helping to defuse the explosive tension in the room.

"A girl! We couldn't believe it. The first girl to be born to a Weasley for seven generations. And with her advent into what was basically an all male household, I was presented with a whole new set of problems..."

"Ah, Ginevra...and Dudley; tea...wonderful!" Dumbledore cried, taking pity on Arthur and pleased at the timely arrival of the refreshments that he was sure no-one really wanted. The ritual did help to fill in time though. He moved with alacrity to take the heavy tea-tray that Dudley had carried into the room and set it down on the coffee table. Ginny was carrying a plate of biscuits and the milk jug, both of which she placed near the tray.

"Come, Severus, you need to relax a little. Come and have a cup of tea. I'll be mother, shall I?"

Severus continued to stare out into the night. "I do not want a cup of tea," he responded through obviously clenched teeth. Albus ignored him and poured some of the burgundy liquid into a cup and added a small amount of milk, the way he knew Severus preferred it.

"Sit down Professor Snape, or I will tie you to a chair." Severus turned around and scowled darkly at the sodding old git. Who did he think he was talking to?"

"And as one of your students is here, I don't imagine that is something you would wish her to see." Dumbledore threw a wink at Ginny as he handed Arthur a cup of tea. Ginny hunched in the dining chair she had commandeered, panicking a little as her headmaster drew her into the spotlight. She had been trying to keep a low profile, hoping to avoid an argument with her father. She was frightened that he was going to send her home, and she needed to be here to find out first hand what was happening in the search for Harry. So far, she had avoided being sent home because Bill and their father had been too busy and preoccupied to take her back to the Burrow, and this house wasn't connected to the floo network. Of course, Ginny was on tenterhooks waiting for her mother to contact her father, wanting to know why they weren't yet home-and when she did...well, Ginny wasn't going without a fight.

She watched from her low position in her chair as her headmaster continued with his self-appointed task of pouring the tea. Dumbledore was aware, as he poured a third cup, that Severus had grudgingly left the window and thrown himself down in one of the lounge chairs.

"Where the bloody hell are they?" he growled before taking a sip of the drink he did not want."

"The children, Severus," admonished Dumbledore. "And you know our fellow Order members know what they are doing." Severus took another deep gulp of his tea to prevent himself swearing some more at his boss-bloody old coot! How could he be so calm? Dumbledore knew as well as Severus just what trouble Harry could get into on his travels between the Quidditch Pitch and Gryffindor tower! Right now, he was out in the wide world somewhere-and in a less than cognitive state, so God knew what the little fool was up to. Severus was ready to tear his hair out, and he could actually feel it changing from black to grey.

With his frustration and anger mounting by the second, Severus flung himself out of the chair again-ignoring the tea that slopped over the side of his cup-and strode to his vantage point by the window. Dumbledore and Arthur looked at each other, as did Ginny and Dudley.

Dudley too had tried to stay out of everyone's way since he had re-entered the house after the fruitless search the two wizards had conducted with his help.. He had taken them to the places that he knew Harry sometimes hung about in, which, when he thought about it, were pathetically few. He and Piers and Malcolm had made sure that.

Dudley had led his magical companions along the High Street where Harry had often walked, though that was all he had ever done, because he had never had any money to spend in the shops. Dudley was uncomfortably aware that he had always had plenty of money, as had his mates, and they had often seen Harry and taunted him as they filled their faces with pastries and take away fish and chips, or hamburgers. He had been too ashamed to say anything to his current companions, but he was uncomfortably aware that Professor Snape at least might have suspected just how much Dudley and his friends had mercilessly bullied Harry. Yeah, Dudley was sure, because of the way the man glared at him sometimes, that Professor Snape definitely knew how badly Harry had been treated over the years that he had lived with the Dursleys.

After about fifteen minutes spent walking along the High street, Professor Snape had stepped into a narrow alleyway. He had taken out his wand while Mr Weasley had planted himself at the entrance to the alley in case someone decided they wanted to go in. Looking past Mr Weasley, Dudley had seen when Professor Snape rested his wand on the palm of his hand and said quietly, ‘Point Me, Harry Potter'. The wand had not moved and Professor Snape had looked furious and frustrated at the same time. He had stormed out of the alleyway and stalked off along the pavement, Mr Weasley and Dudley hurrying to catch up.

They had left the shopping precinct, and headed back in the general direction of Privet drive. Dudley had never known Harry to venture past the shops, and so, they had spent the next hour or so walking the local streets; streets Dudley knew Harry often prowled. Professor Snape had hardly opened his mouth all the time they had been searching; it was like he had been too afraid of what he might say. Even with Mr Weasley there, Dudley had still felt nervous around the man-the man whom Harry had only just discovered had been his father's cousin. Why that knowledge had only just come to light, Dudley didn't know-and Harry wasn't telling.

They had eventually ended up in the park in Magnolia Road that Dudley and his mates had vandalised more than once. It took no effort to see that Harry wasn't there, so Dudley had finally brought his companions back to the house. They had come via Magnolia Crescent, and when they had reached the mouth of the alleyway where he and Harry had been attacked last summer, he had stopped, forcing the two wizards to stop also.

Not once had Dudley ventured into the alleyway since the night of the attack; it still gave him a bone-deep cold, clammy feeling just being this close to where he had nearly had his soul sucked out. But now, he bravely spoke up and told the two wizards that this was where the Dementor attack had taken place last summer. Professor Snape and Mr Weasley had looked around, appalled. It was the first time that anyone from the wizarding world-except for Mrs Figg and she didn't really count because she wasn't really a witch-had seen the ‘scene of the crime'. Looking into the alley and shuddering convulsively, Dudley had privately thought that if that pathetic Ministry had come here last summer, they would have been able to tell that something horrible had happened on this spot, and then Harry would not have had to go through what he apparently had.

After Harry had seen the change in Dudley a week ago, and had accepted his inadequate apology for all the years of abuse, Harry had told him about the terrible trouble he had been in last summer for using magic to fight off the Dementors-he had told him how he had nearly been expelled from his school and had nearly had his wand snapped in half. Apparently, the Ministry of Magic had not believed that there had been any Dementors in Little Whinging; they believed that Harry had used magic in front of a Muggle-him-to show off or something, and in doing so, he had broken a couple of really important laws. Dudley had wished that he could have been there to help-he would have told the truth-but even if he had known what was happening to his cousin at the time, he knew his mum and dad would have forbade him from venturing into the Magical World.

After seeing where the Dementor attack had taken place, Professor Snape's mood had become even fouler and once back at the house, Dudley had made himself scarce. While they had been out, other wizards had arrived-some of them people Dudley had never met before, all desperately worried about Harry, and all waiting for orders as to what to do to try and find him.

There was a younger, really good looking, red-haired man, whom Dudley thought must be Ginny's brother because he had his arm around her and her head was resting on his shoulder where they sat together on the couch. An ancient old man with waist-length silver hair and beard stood in front of the fireplace talking earnestly to a hideously ugly man with wispy, sandy coloured hair, half a nose and what had to be a magical eye; the thing was too vividly blue to be real and his other eye was dark and beady anyway-but the fact that it whizzed around in his head at a hundred miles an hour was proof-positive. A couple of the people Dudley had already met while they guarded Harry were also present at one time or another over the coming hours. Tonks, however, was not one of them.

A soon as they had walked in the door, Professor Snape had taken one look at the freaky looking guy with the false eye, and his mood had become even blacker. Dudley would not have thought that possible...the man was positively scary now. He did not envy Harry having him as a relative. With this thought, Dudley had huffed a silent little laugh. Could Professor Snape really be any worse than all three of the Dursleys?

If Harry had to discover a previously unknown relative, why couldn't he have been decent? He didn't need another nasty relative.

The ancient wizard-Professor Dumbledore as it had turned out-had quickly stamped his quiet authority on the gathering, and it was he who issued orders, sending people off in different directions to explore various avenues of possibility. Whilst the remaining adults had talked quietly to each other, and Professor Snape had periodically stalked up and down like a caged tiger, Ginny had grabbed Dudley's sleeve and had pulled him into the kitchen where they had made the first of several pots of tea.

Dudley was thankful that his father was still sleeping off his drunken stupor and that his mum had still not come home from wherever she had disappeared to. In actual fact, Dudley was slightly worried about her as well. She never stayed out this late without letting him or his dad know. He supposed he should be thankful that she wasn't here. She would have only been shrieking the place down, or glowering darkly at the assembled wizards. One thing was certain, she wouldn't have been concerned that her nephew was missing.

As Dudley collected the cups after this last round of refreshments, Professor Snape had suddenly sworn and rushed from his position by the window, nearly sending Dudley flying, and actually knocking one of his mother's best cups to the floor where the dregs soaked into the carpet.

Dudley was oblivious to the mess because the noise of the front door being flung open roughly and crashing into the wall took up all his attention. Professor Snape had obviously seen a new arrival through the window and now he, followed by Dumbledore, Mr Weasley and Ginny, crowded into the entrance hall. Dudley peered over Ginny's shoulder and saw Bill staggering over the threshold with a short, bandy-legged, unkempt man with gingery matted hair from whom a powerful smell of alcohol, tobacco and sweat was emanating.

Severus stepped forward and grabbed a handful of grimy robes and pulled the nasty specimen of humanity away from Bill. Mundungus Fletcher yelped as Snape hustled him past the crowd back into the sitting-room. He hadn't waited to be told what Mundungus was there for; if Bill had bought him back to Privet Drive, it must have something to do with Harry. "I found this little slime ball in the Leaky Cauldron," explained Bill with a revolted grimace as he got a whiff of his own robes where the sneak thief had been draped over him. He pulled out his wand and cast a freshening charm upon himself.

"He was one of the few Order members who didn't come when you summoned them, Professor," Bill explained to Dumbledore. Then he turned back to Severus who had thrust Mundungus down into a chair and was standing guard over him, as Mundungus was showing every sign of trying to bolt, though he was making a poor job of it in his drunken state.

"I thought he might be of some use...thought he might have seen or heard something as he's often in the wrong place at the right time. I think he might know something, but he's pretty piss-er drunk as you can see." Bill shot an apologetic look at his father who had raised his eyebrow in Ginny's direction. He had forgotten his little sister's presence in the excitement of the moment.

Severus grabbed a handful of Mundungus's grubby robes again and pulled him half out of the chair. Mundungus objected, albeit incoherently, and scrabbled at the clenched fist at his throat. "What do you know, you slimy little worm..."

"Severus, that is quite enough," admonished Dumbledore and Severus pushed the man roughly back into the chair where his head slumped onto his chest. Dumbledore turned back to Bill. "What did Mundungus say that made you think he might know something, William?"

"Well, when I found him, he was pretty out of it, as you can see. I cast a sobriety charm on him, but of course, they're nowhere near as effective as the potion..."

"Get on with it Weasley!" snapped Severus. "It's been six hours. I don't want to wait another six while you give us a lecture on charms versus potions." Severus knew he wasn't being fair to Bill, but he was functioning on his last nerve and that was shredding rapidly.

Bill shot a look of annoyance at Severus and seemed to be about to snap back, but his father's grip on his shoulder stayed the impulse.

"William..." Dumbledore drew Bill's attention back to him.

"He babbled something about the Knight Bus, and he said that when I asked him if he had seen or heard anything about Harry. After rambling for a good five minutes and after much prompting, he said something about a skinny kid getting on the bus." Severus and Dumbledore looked at each other and Severus felt his heartbeat reverberating in his throat. "When I asked him if it had been Harry, he said, ‘Harry who'?

"As it's pretty obvious that Harry isn't anywhere around here, I didn't think I could ignore Dung, even though he's so drunk, he could hardly form his words. Too many people have cast a ‘Point Me' charm in this area and not come up with anything. Harry had to have gotten away pretty quickly. He didn't fly, because his broom is still here, and he can't Apparate."

"A very astute deduction, William. And one I am ashamed not to have made before now, knowing, as I do just how resourceful our young Harry is."

"How does he even know about the Knight Bus?" asked Severus, whose every instinct was screaming at him to exit the house immediately and hail the Wizarding conveyance.

"Harry accidentally hailed the bus three summers ago when Sirius escaped Azkaban. There had been a major ‘blow up' between Harry and his relatives, specifically involving Vernon Dursley's sister, Margery, and Harry had run away..." This little titbit did nothing to improve Severus's mood; the little fool had run away before. Of course he had! Severus now remembered that everyone, including the Ministry-had been running around like chooks with their heads cut off trying to find Harry because they were afraid that Black would get to him first.

"And last year, Remus and Tonks escorted the children back to Hogwarts after they spent Christmas at Grimmauld place," continued Dumbledore. He looked at Bill over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"I presume you brought Mundungus back here because you were worried that he might talk to the wrong people?"

Bill nodded. "It's no secret that Dung's a member of the Order. He didn't even know who I was when I sat down next to him. I could have been anyone and he would have talked to me. He might have just retained enough of a memory of the conversation we had if any of the wrong people decided to quiz him. You know he doesn't care what he says if someone's buying him drinks."

Dumbledore looked regretful and more than a little disgusted as he gazed at Mundungus, who was now drooling down the front of his robes, adding to the mix of unknown and noxious substances already breeding there. "You have done well, William. I think it would be wise to do a bit of memory modification on our Mr Fletcher." The headmaster took Severus's place in front of the now semi-conscious man. Severus had resumed pacing, obviously champing at the bit to do something positive. Everyone, except Severus, watched Dumbledore point his wand directly at Mundungus's face. Dung let out a drunken snore to rival Vernon Dursley's effort from hours ago.

"Obliviate!" said Dumbledore sharply, and a stream of orange light left his wand and seemed to penetrate Dung's forehead. The Order's most disreputable and dishonest member immediately arched his back so that he almost formed a bow, with his butt on the edge of the chair and the top of his head flat against the backrest. Ginny and Dudley stood with their eyes open wide in shock. Even Bill looked a little worried. Mundungus looked as if he was having a seizure; his face had gone purple.

Dumbledore however looked supremely unconcerned but it wasn't until Dung let out an explosive, grunting snore that the younger folk relaxed. Dung flopped back into the chair and resumed the rhythm of his previous snores.

Dumbledore calmly stowed his wand again. "One has to be a little more precise if one is attempting to Obliviate a person well into his cups."

"How can you be sure you removed the right memories?" asked Bill, hugely impressed and genuinely curious.

"I know Mundungus well, William. I know his mind..."

"And there wasn't a great deal there to get in the way of the specifics," ground out Severus acerbically. "Albus, can we please get a move on. Anything could be happening to that bloody boy while we stand here and discuss the contents of that mangy drunk's mind."

"Severus..."

"No, I'm going to hail the Knight Bus and find out whether it was Potter who got on that bus and where it took him!"

Severus stalked across the room but was halted at the door by a booming "Severus!" which bought him up short. He visibly tried to relax, rolling his shoulders and allowing his head to fall back on his neck so that he was looking at the ceiling.

Dumbledore turned to Bill. "William, you do know where Mundungus lives, do you not?" At Bill's affirmative nod, Dumbledore continued. "I would appreciate it if you could take him and put him safely to bed. Then, as I am sure your mother will be stressing as to why Ginevra has not been returned home before now..."

Ginny looked frantic. "Professor Dumbledore," she cried. "Sir...please, can't I stay. I want to see Harry when he gets back." Ginny's voice was pleading but though Dumbledore was regretful, he would not be swayed. Add to that, the fact that Arthur endorsed the decision, and Ginny was all but home.

"Thanks, Dad!" she said bitterly, wanting to berate her headmaster as well, but too frightened to do so.

"I am sorry Ginevra," Dumbledore continued. "but conscience will not allow me to leave you in this house when it's owners are renowned for their dislike of anything and anyone magical. I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you whilst we are away."

Ginny still tried though. "I could come with you..."

"No!" Arthur and Severus had spoken together. Ginny scowled at them all before spinning around, her long mane of red hair flaring out like a scarlet fan. Bill quirked an eyebrow and watched his sister as she flounced from the room.

"Beware of angry, redheaded females," he said sotto voce, as he hefted Mundungus out of the chair and pulled his arm around his neck. "I'll be back in five, Gin," he called out.

"Explain to your mother, Bill," said Arthur, his voice tired. He rubbed the back of his neck, knowing that what he was going to endure when he got back to the Burrow would be worse than a trial before a full sitting of the Wizengamot.

"Don't worry Dad. I'll calm her down. I'll calm both of them down."

"If we need you, William, we will let you know," said Dumbledore. Bill nodded, gripped Dung more firmly, wrinkling his nose at the stench as he did so, and spinning on the spot, he Disapparated.

Dumbledore now put a hand on Dudley's shoulder and Severus audibly ground his teeth together. "You will be fine here Dudley. Your father should be recovered from his earlier indisposition soon, and I am sure that your mother will shortly be home."

Dudley had never before heard, ‘roaring drunk', referred to as an indisposition, but the old man looked like he was at least a thousand years old, so Dudley assumed he spoke in that old fashioned way all the time. For instance, he never shortened anyone's name.

‘Now, if all the domestic problems have been taken care of, perhaps we can leave. You might not be worried Albus..."

"Severus, you are so wrong," interrupted Dumbledore, moving past his Potions Master and opening the front door. It was well and truly dark now, so the old wizard, garbed as he was in plum-coloured robes, did not bother with a disguise or Disillusionment. He turned and looked back at Severus from where he stood on the front porch, his bright eyes minus their usual twinkle. "Please do not presume to tell me what I am feeling. It is just that I have never found that descending into panic ever helped when it came to trying to solve a problem."

Severus found himself suitably rebuked and though he was still frustrated at the slow pace they were being forced to take, he did feel slightly discomfited at his thoughtless inference that Dumbledore did not care. No-one knew better than he just how much the ancient headmaster did care for Harry. He cared so much, he had been willing to try to push the idea of a father/son relationship between two people who had never been able to stand the sight of each other...all because he knew just how much Harry would love a family of his own.

Severus gritted his teeth, and from where he stood within the open doorway; he stared, unseeing, at the blank facades of the houses in this Muggle street, and even through his introspection, he found himself offended by their hideous sameness. It seemed that his old friend was not omniscient after all. If well enough had been left alone-if Dumbledore had not pushed and Severus had followed his original instincts-which had been to ignore the evidence-they would not now be looking for ‘The Boy Who Lived'.

Dumbledore's voice brought Severus back to his surroundings, and he finally stepped from the house slamming the door behind him. "I do not know where Harry is at the moment," Dumbledore said, "but I am fairly sure he has not been accosted by anyone who wishes to do him harm."

‘How can you possibly know that?" asked Severus, his testiness quick to resurface.

Dumbledore stepped onto the lawn and like Severus, he scrutinised the houses on the far side of the road, but without the other man's obvious disdain. All of the windows facing the street had their curtains drawn, blocking out the misty, cold night. He spoke with absolute conviction. "Because I am sure that if Voldemort had something as exciting as the capture of Harry Potter to celebrate, he would want to do it with his most loyal and important henchmen."

Satisfied that they were not being overlooked, Dumbledore turned back to his companions. "I think it would be best if we Apparated to a more isolated area before we hail the bus. I only wish to question the driver and conductor, not travel on the bus, and that might take a little time. An observant Muggle may see something if the bus is stationary for a time.

"Perhaps if you both hold onto my arms, we will be sure to end up in the same place. Severus rolled his eyes but did as he was bid, and with both Severus and Arthur holding on, Dumbledore and his passengers spun on the spot and disappeared with a small pop.

The only creature to witness this odd phenomenon was a Jack Russell terrier which had started yapping in the typical high pitched, hysterical way of small dogs.

8888

Harry entered the little, village of Godric's Hollow under his invisibility cloak. An hour before, he had plonked himself down on the damp grass verge, leaning against one of the supports of the Godric's Hollow sign. As he had traced the letters spelling out the name of the village where James and Lily Potter had lived and died and where he himself had been born, the cloud engulfing Harry's brain seemed to lift. The sudden knowledge of where he actually was had made him light headed and that was when he had lowered himself untidily to the ground.

Harry had been insensitive to the cold wetness penetrating his clothes, or the rough-hewn timber support prickling his back with splinters. The last fully coherent memory he had was of Snape...Snape in his room at the Dursley's, explaining the unthinkable and casting hexes to immobilise and silence Harry to make him listen.

Everything after that was a blur. He could vaguely remember Mr Weasley talking to him...talking about Ginny coming to see him. God, he wished Ginny was here right now. Maybe she would be able to make sense of everything that had happened today...was it still the same day? Harry couldn't be sure but he thought that it was.

He had a vague recollection of less than gentle hands slapping his cheeks, and another of much gentler hands combing through his hair. He could not remember getting up or leaving the house, and he certainly could not remember hailing the Knight Bus. He couldn't really remember anything-except through a haze-until he had started to trace the burnt letters on the sign spelling out Godric's Hollow. And now, here he was, sitting in the wet grass, on the uncomfortably cold ground in a thick mist, and he was freezing.

Harry stood and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering convulsively. What in the hell had happened to summer? He remembered that it had been cold in Little Whinging. But this...it was like the middle of winter here. Wherever here was. Certainly, it was Godric's Hollow, but where exactly was Godric's Hollow? How many miles...hundreds of miles was he away from Little Whinging?

Knowing that his thoughts were just going around and around in circles and that he had to move or he would freeze to death, Harry pulled his invisibility cloak out from under his hoody where it was stuffed into the waistband of his jeans. As he threw it over his head, he pondered how it happened to be on him. He couldn't remember getting it out of the bag Snape had lent him. He had taken it with him when he had left Hogwarts because he took his cloak everywhere.

Now, under the cloak-which offered a little bit of protection from the unnatural cold-Harry had looked towards the village again and then turned his footsteps in that direction. He was here, and so he would take advantage of that fact before he thought about getting back to Little Whinging and the trouble that he knew he would be in.

Harry was no longer able to make out any rooves in the distance because the mist had thickened to the point where his cloak was almost superfluous. Once he had crested the rise though, he could just make out three patches of wavering yellow light ahead of him in the distance.

He was passing a house now-he could see the darker shape on his left and there was also a very narrow sliver of light through a window where two drapes had not been pulled together properly. After five minutes, during which time he did not see a single person, Harry came upon the place where he had seen the patches of light. Now that he was near enough, he could see that there were another three glowing pools of yellow-six in total-that had earlier been hidden by some houses. They were street lights and on a normal evening, they would light up what looked to be a town square. The street lamps did nothing but cast a sickening sulphurous glow...they did not really illuminate the area. Harry could barely see an arms length in front of him. How was he ever going to find the cemetery, let alone his parents' graves?

For that was what he had come for. He had left his aunt and uncle's house and caught the Knight Bus and had it bring him here so that he could find proof of James and Lily's existence. This was where he had been born. Here, in Godric's Hollow. And James Potter was his father. Everyone told him just how much he looked like James...except for his eyes, he had his mother's eyes. He had seen photos. He did look like James and he did have his mother's eyes. So what exactly had he inherited from Severus Snape, if indeed the incredulous things Snape had said to him today were true.

Harry's lips set in a thin line as he moved further into the sickly yellow curtain of moisture; he thought there was the darker outline of something in the middle and his feet carried him in that direction as his conscious mind tried to wrap itself around the revelations that had been tossed at him at Privet Drive.

Surely they couldn't be true? Apart from anything else no-one could have two fathers. It was biologically impossible, even Harry knew that. And wizards were human beings, so surely all the rules pertaining to non-magical humans applied to wizards as well, certainly when it came to physiology. Witches and wizard's hearts and lungs worked the same as Muggles' did, the ate and digested their food the same, everything was the same, including sex and reproduction. And though Harry still often knew himself woefully ignorant in the ways of wizards (he knew he still thought like a Muggle a lot of the time), he had never heard anything that led him to believe that there was any difference between Muggles and Magical folk when it came to what went on between the sexes. He had kissed Ginny hadn't he? And she had certainly not complained that he was doing anything wrong. And kissing was the precursor to...well, to other stuff.

So surely human physiology superseded magic when it came to reproduction? Human physiology was the thing wizards and Muggles had in common. They were all made the same, and they all worked the same. Wizards just had that one anomaly that Muggles did not. But, according to Snape, the magical element was the thing that differentiated magical blood, not blood groups.

His mother had worked in the Department of Mysteries; she had studied the properties of magical blood. She had known of the dangers, known that blood donation was not acceptable practice. But she had taken the study further, little realising that one day that study would determine the life or death of the man that she loved.

Her mortally wounded fiancé's life had been in the balance and with nothing to lose, she had put her theory into action. She had taken a chance that the blood of Severus and James-the offspring of each of twin siblings--would have been similar enough not to cause the disastrous consequences that had previously been documented when one wizard donated blood to another, consequences that made the practice unacceptable, and therefore relegated to the status of ancient history.

And she had been right, according to Snape. Though the cousins had hated each other, their magical signatures must have been almost identical. And with nothing to lose because James would most certainly have died without the unorthodox intervention, Lily had begged for Severus's co-operation. And for Lily, Severus had complied; he had given some of his blood and James had not only received the life sustaining qualities of that blood, he had received some of his cousins magical signature as well.

And instead of that foreign magic battling James's and either destroying his magic or even killing him, his body had accepted the signature because it was nearly identical to his own. The two signatures had not destroyed each other or destroyed the vessel in which they were contained; they had combined, and James Potter had lived the rest of his life not realising that his magic had changed subtly-not realising that a little bit of Severus Snape had settled in every cell in his body. Every cell.

8888

As Harry's thoughts whirled in sickening circles, his footsteps had carried him through the mist and he now found himself staring up at a statue that had been the darker shape he had just been able to make out in the gloom. Funny, from a distance the outline had looked tall and narrow. Now that he was closer, Harry could see that it was shorter than he had thought and irregular in shape.

And as he stared, the mist began to lift a little and Harry could see that the statue was of three people...a man, a woman and a baby resting in the woman's arms. And then his mouth dropped open when he realised who the statue represented. James Potter, messy haired and bespectacled, stood proudly behind his pretty, long haired wife, his arm around her shoulders. And in her arms was a happy, messy haired baby...a happy baby with a blemish free forehead.

Harry didn't know how long he stood and gazed up at the image of his mother and father, or how many times he dashed the frozen tears from his cheeks. This was other people's vision of them-people who had no connection to Harry. And this stone representation was almost identical to everything he had ever seen of his parents. And knowing that strangers had known the James and Lily that he had already seen in various settings was a comfort...it was solid stone fact.

Harry stared his fill of the statue before reluctantly turning away and immediately encountering thick mist again. When he had taken about ten steps, he turned and looked back. The statue had been engulfed by the damp chill once again and was completely invisible. Harry shivered under his dad's cloak and he gathered it more closely around him, taking comfort in the water smooth sleekness of the fabric that did not feel thick enough to keep out the chill, but somehow it made a slight difference.

Harry's footsteps carried him forward but he had no idea where he was going. When he extracted his hand from under the cloak and held it out in front of him, he could just make it out, a mere six inches in front of his face-so he was, to all intents and purposes, blind as well as invisible. Still, it felt right that he keep walking...and so he did, surely and steadily, a strange happenstance considering the conditions, and considering that Harry did not know where he was going. It was his instincts leading him forward. When he came to a kissing gate, it was as if he already knew it was there. He passed through and within a minute, he found himself wending his way between graves; he could just make out age weathered headstones through the gloom. He wandered for ten minutes without knowing where he was going but trusting in the instincts that had brought him to this graveyard.

And then, feet ahead of him the mist thinned and Harry knew that he had found his parents' final resting place. It was as if he glided the last few feet; he wasn't conscious of his feet moving. The white marble headstone seemed to glow with an unearthly light. There were no streetlamps here, nor did any moonlight penetrate the mist. But Harry could read the gold-lettered inscription carved into the marble. Without thinking he pulled the cloak off as he knelt down beside the ethereally glowing stone and as he had done with the Godric's Hollow sign earlier, he traced the letters with his finger.

It read: James Potter.

Born: 27th March 1960

Died: 31st October 1981

Lily Potter.

Born: 30th January 1960

Died: 31st October 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death.

Harry's brow furrowed. ‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death.' What exactly did that mean? Was Death an enemy? Professor Dumbledore didn't think so. He always said there were worse things than Death. Voldemort though, thought Death was the enemy. Hadn't he said to Dumbledore that there was ‘nothing worse than Death'? On the whole, at the moment, Harry had to agree with the headmaster; as confused and depressed as he was, and with nothing to look forward to in the future but a showdown with Voldemort which would surely result in his, Harry's death, regardless of the fallacy that he supposedly had ‘power that the Dark Lord knows not', Harry wished that he was with his parents...with Lily and James, under this earth.

Frightened of his own thoughts, Harry dragged his eyes away from the epitaph, and facing the grave itself, he sat back on his heels. The silence was soothing and Harry remained in that position, with his hands on his jean clad thighs, just staring at the grave, as though hoping that it would split asunder and give him back his mother and father. After a few minutes-or it could have been half an hour-Harry realised that the fear had left him and he was more at peace than he had been for a very long time. He revelled in the feeling of comfort that seemed to envelop him. This was the nearest he had been to his parents since that Halloween night nearly sixteen years ago when Voldemort had torn his family asunder...taken from him the two things that he could never replace...the two things he would give everything he possessed, including his magic, to have back.

Harry leaned forward, oblivious to the pain that lanced through him from his cramped legs. He rested his hands on the sod covering his parents' remains and found it strangely warm against his chilled hands. He stayed like that, his fingers splayed for he did not know how long. Though his hands were finally warm, his legs continued to throb in protest to his fixed position on the cold earth beside the warm grave, but he was oblivious to the discomfort. His heart was full and that sensation negated all others for a very short while.

For the inevitable questions rose up from the depths of his consciousness...the most pressing of which was, had his mother-the expert on blood and it's magical properties-had she known that her husband's magic had been laced with traces of his cousin's magic? Had she known that she, James and Severus Snape had contributed to her son's DNA-that in essence, her baby boy had two fathers? And if she had, had she told James?

She certainly hadn't told Severus Snape that he was in essence, a father.

Before Harry knew it, tears were coursing down his face again. He dropped his head onto his chest and dug his fingernails into the grass and the soft moist, loamy soil beneath. He fought not to give way to his anguish by releasing the animalistic roar of pain and fury that threatened to overwhelm him.

He dragged up two handfuls of the sod and threw it with all his might...but the clods of earth and grass landed uselessly on the ground beyond the grave. Hiccoughing and dragging in harsh breaths, and with mucous running from his nose, mixing with the tears, Harry tried to stand. His legs were dead and he crumpled across the grave. So he lay there with his face pressed into the muddy wounds he had made with his hands and allowed himself the comfort of harsh sobs and tears, his body's moisture leaching into the grass and soil blanket that covered the remains of two of his parents.

God, where was the justice in the world. When was his life going to stop being a complete and utter bastardisation of what the life of a normal teenager was meant to be like? Why couldn't he be like every other adolescent boy who sneaked out to get wasted with his mates, or who snogged his girlfriend at every opportunity he could get, and more if he could manage it? Why couldn't he be a selfish little turd who thought of no-one but himself? Was the only reason he had been born to fulfil Trelawney's prophecy? Why was he everyone's puppet who had to do as ordered for his own safety and so that he could reach his potential and hopefully do away with the Dark Lord at some time in the future. Did anyone but Ron and Hermione and Ginny and the Weasleys care for him as anything other than a weapon? Did anyone else ultimately care whether he lived or died, just so long as he got the job done?

Harry dug his fingers into the mud again and buried his face further into the grass to muffle his sobs, but what he wanted to do was scream out loud until his throat was raw. If his freakishness extended to him having two fathers, WHY WAS THE ONE WHO LOVED HIM DEAD?

8888

Harry did not hear or see the wizard who Apparated into the graveyard, and Remus Lupin thought that he was alone until he had walked past several graves on his way to Lily and James's. Over the years he had occasionally visited the grave, taking small comfort in being this close to his old friends. But since Sirius's death, this was the first opportunity he had had to visit, and he needed the nearness of his best friends more than ever now that his last living friend had been snatched away so cruelly, much like he had been snatched away nearly fifteen years ago for something that he had not done. He could not visit Sirius's grave but he liked to think that Lily, James and Sirius were together now.

It was not the most ideal time to be visiting; the late hour and the mist and cold was depressing, but less than twenty-four hours after finding out that someone had nearly succeeded in killing Harry, and rushing to Hogwarts to see him, Remus had been forced to return to his assignment, and so he had not had the time to visit and talk to Lily and James about his worry for Harry's safety.

He had been determined to visit as soon as he could; he needed to be close to his friends, if only for a few minutes. He knew the way to the grave unerringly, despite the mist. The horrible conditions and the late hour made it unlikely that anyone else would be abroad, and so, when Remus heard muffled sobs, he halted in his tracks, every sense on alert, and he silently drew his wand. With his better than human hearing he knew that the overwrought person was at the graveside of Lily and James, and he crept forward cautiously.

The mist smothered any noise he might have made but when Remus got close enough to where he knew the grave to be, his footsteps stopped dead anyway. He had stepped into an area of thinner mist that was marginally warmer than the surrounding curtain of moisture and was lit by a strange, pearly glow that seemed to be emanating from the marble headstone. But it wasn't the changed weather and light conditions that had Remus rooted to the spot with his face drained of every vestige of colour.

A heartbroken young man was prostrate over the grave, and though his face was hidden, the shock of messy black hair was unmistakable.

James!

"Harry!" The sobs did not stop abruptly, even though the intrusion of another noise amidst his own heartbreak must have been a mighty shock to Harry. His distress had been so great, his sobs so soul consuming, he was not able to stop his tears easily. In the back of his mind there was just enough consciousness not wrapped tightly in depressions hold, for him to feel embarrassed about someone finding him crying hysterically.

They had found him. Throat tearing, heart broken sorrow tapered off reluctantly to cracked and hiccoughing sobs. Hands upon his shoulders tried to pull Harry upright but he struggled wildly to free himself from the hands. He dug his hands into the soil as if he would be able to hold himself in place.

The hands grabbed again. "Harry! for God's sake, what's happened? How did you get here?"

Remus! It was Remus, one of his dad's best friends. And then Harry wanted to laugh hysterically. And one of his dad's worst enemies. Harry lifted his face and swiped at his muddy nose with his muddy hand. When he tasted dirt, he realised stupidly what a sight he must look, but he couldn't bring himself to much care. He spat out some dirt and tried to draw in a calm, even breath. More hiccoughs ensued and this time when Remus tried to draw him upright, he no longer resisted.

When Remus saw the tears and mucous and mud covered face and hands and the filthy clothes, he actually thought he heard his heart breaking. He certainly felt it jolt in his chest. "Oh, Harry," he rasped and he pulled the pathetic boy tight to his chest, uncaring of the filth that was transferred to his own robes and travelling cloak.

As the strong, sinewy arms tightened around him, Harry succumbed again to his anguish. He had a fleeting vision of another pair of arms holding him a few nights ago and the anguish intensified again. If Remus had not been holding him so tightly, Harry's knees would have buckled. He wrapped his hands in Remus's robes and sobbed on his friend's shoulder. And Remus, who needed some explanations, bit his tongue and comforted the boy whom he had come to love as much as he had loved James and Sirius.

By the time Harry's sobs had diminished to just the odd hiccough, he had the headache from hell, stinging, swollen eyes and a very sore, raw throat. He released his death grip on Remus's cloak and wriggled his shoulders a little to let Remus know that he could loosen his hold...that he was all right now. He would have rubbed his eyes but thought better of it when he saw his hands. Remus seemed to intuit his problem and after checking that Harry wasn't going to fall over, he stepped back a little and wielded his wand to rid Harry of every vestige of dirt, mucous and tears.

Harry offered a weak smile in thanks and automatically reached up to adjust his glasses, only to realise that the reason he couldn't see Remus properly was not because his eyes were swollen half shut, but because he didn't have his glasses on. "Umm, Remus..."

"Accio, Harry's glasses," said Remus, pointing his wand at the grave. They were totally caked in muck but a quick ‘scurgify', had them sparkling like new, and with a smile, Remus fitted them in position.

Thanks Remus," croaked Harry, who, now that he was calmer, suddenly felt that erstwhile embarrassment overtaking him. Sometime in the future-perhaps not too far in the future-he had to do a man's job and try to kill Voldemort, so Harry did not think that he should be giving in to tears. He was worried that others would perceive him as weak.

Remus's voice was laced with worry when he spoke, but there was also an underlying degree of anger. "I'm thankful that I was here for you Harry, but I have to admit, my insides freeze when I think of what may have happened. What are you doing here, alone, hundreds of miles away from your aunt and uncle's home, and away from the people who are supposed to be guarding you?

Harry swallowed. Since he had become aware that Remus had found him, he had been dreading this. He couldn't tell anyone-no, not even Remus-what Snape had told him. Somewhere at the back of his conscious mind, he knew that there was more than one reason as to why he shouldn't speak of the revelations that had devastated him so, but the only one he was concerned about at the moment was the pity and perhaps the distaste he would see in his old Professor's eyes.

"Errr...I...I needed to see my mum and dad's grave. I never have you see and...and well I...I just needed to..." Harry trailed off hopelessly, knowing that Remus would want more.

Remus cocked his head to the side. He knew Harry was hiding something. Something monumental. The boy was too open, he couldn't occlude if his life depended on it.

"Does Professor Snape, know where you are?" and Remus shook his head in irritation at his own words. "What am I asking?" he mumbled to himself. "Of course Severus doesn't know. As if anyone would have let Harry Potter go off by himself when he is top of Voldemort's death list.

"Remus, I'm sorry..." Harry broke off. A creeping cold and clammy feeling was making goosebumps erupt all over his body and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It seemed to invade his lungs so that his breath caught on a shuddering gasp. For a second, Remus thought that Harry was succumbing to tears again, but then the change in the atmosphere registered with him as well.

The light that had seemed to emanate from the marble headstone was suddenly extinguished and the lighter atmosphere that had surrounded James and Lily's grave suddenly became the pea soup that enveloped the rest of the cemetery.

Dementors! And by the feel of it, a lot of them.

Harry stumbled and Remus pulled him in close to his own shivering body. But the truth was, Remus was feeling the effects of the foul creatures himself. And sad. God, he was so sad. He was back in the ‘Veil Room' in the Department of Mysteries and watching from the other side of the amphitheatre as he saw Sirius hit with the curse that sent him falling backwards through that hideous veil. And then he was trying to hold Harry back as the little idiot tried to launch himself after his Godfather. All the times he had nearly lost Harry in the last few years came back to him with their accompanying feelings of dread and fear.

Remus could here Harry quickened breaths beside him as he tried to drag air into lungs that seemed to have frozen solid. He knew how Harry felt because he was feeling exactly the same. Remus held his wand out in front of him in a shaking hand. "Come on Harry. We need that brilliant Patronus of yours," he urged. "Show them ‘Prongs'. Expecto Patronum!"

Remus's wand emitted a spurt of silver vapour and he looked at it with fearful bemusement. It had been a long time since he had not been able to produce a Corporeal Patronus on his first try. "Expecto Patronum!"

The fact that he could feel Harry's small frame quaking with the cold, and hear his harsh attempts to draw much needed oxygen into his deprived lungs, did not help his own efforts to produce a Patronus. Harry was making no attempt to raise his wand-Remus wasn't even sure if he had his wand, as he had not seen it-and that was not like the fearless young Gryffindor.

"H...Harry," he gasped, but his arm had slackened it's hold and he could feel Harry dragging on his robes as he slid down his side to plop on the ground. Remus staggered as Harry flopped bonelessly against his legs. He could hear them now-foul, rattling breaths that sounded like a thousand death rattles rolled into one. Remus wanted to vomit; nobody could bear this much anguish and remain sane. When he tried to hold his wand out again, his hand wavered so much, the wand fell from his nerveless fingers.

His knees buckled and he fell beside Harry. The cold was intensifying, if that was possible and with his last ounce of strength, Remus covered Harry with his own body and covered his own head with his arms. He felt dreadful, scabby flesh grasping his wrists, pulling his arms away from his head. The rattles filled his ears as he felt other hands (Merlin, they were strong), rolling him away from the small body he was trying to protect. Remus's eyes rolled up in his head; putrid, rotting breath was filling his nostrils and his muscles spasmed as he made a futile attempt to cover Harry again.

This couldn't be happening...he wouldn't even be able to fall into the welcoming arms of death, if Dementors got his soul. He would be an empty shell, and then when his shell did finally succumb to death, there would be nothing to cross to the other side-there would be no eternity for him.

Or for Harry! Dear God, Harry was only a child. He didn't deserve this.

Harry!

That foul, rotting breath filled his lungs as a huge maw covered Remus's mouth and nose. He began to convulse but there was still enough consciousness in him for him to feel Harry convulsing too, where he lay in contact with Remus. Harry!

Suddenly, the air was clear, thick and moist, yes, but no longer foul. Remus's eyes flickered, and as his hand crept across the tiny distance to Harry, he thought he saw the pure, shockingly bright forms of a phoenix, a magnificent doe and a weasel streaking through the mist, away from his and Harry's supine forms.

Remus wanted to turn to Harry...wanted to pull him into his arms, but before he could move that far, dark figures were kneeling beside him and Harry. Remus found his voice and cried out in denial, battling the gentle hands that were trying to still him. He thought the Dementors were back and he thrashed even more violently, too shocked to wonder why the little strength he still possessed was not being leached away if Dementors were near.

He had to get to Harry. "Harry," he croaked and struggled all the more against the hands trying to calm him.

"Remus! Calm down, my boy. Harry is safe."

Dumbledore!

Remus's eyes flew wide, the fear still there, as evidenced by the contracted pupils and the large amount of white visible. Albus Dumbledore's worried features swam in and out of focus, obvious despite the abundant facial hair. Over the old man's shoulder, the equally worried features of Arthur Weasley wavered. Remus heard the words ‘chocolate' and ‘no' from the far end of a long tunnel, before his eyes rolled up in his head and he knew no more.

When Severus and his two companions Apparated into the graveyard in Godric's Hollow, he was totally disorientated for several seconds. They had appeared in what was a total whiteout, so thick was the mist.

And then the bone deep, unnatural chill penetrated Severus's Muggle attire and he shuddered at the same time as every nerve-ending went on alert. Dementors! And though he automatically poised himself for battle, he could feel despair creeping through his whole body, like a physical entity instead of a state of mind, and his wand hand shook as if it was palsied. He, Arthur and Albus were standing together, back to back, their wands at the ready. Severus automatically pressed close to Albus, and he felt Arthur do the same because somehow, within this disorienting fog, the figure of Albus Dumbledore seemed to act like a beacon...a small area of warmth and comfort in the freezing mist. Unlike himself and Arthur, Dumbledore was not trembling with the cold. He alone seemed unaffected.

And then Severus heard them. That terrifying, vibrating, grotesque rattle that froze one's very core and made the hairs all over one's body stand on end. Oh, God, if Harry was here, as Dumbledore had surmised...were they too late?

No! They couldn't be too late. Harry could produce a Patronus after all. A magnificent Patronus! The only Patronus Severus knew of that was actually brighter than that brilliant stag, was Albus's phoenix.

And then the Dementors were gliding towards them...at least two dozen of them, and though the sight of that seething mass of stinking carrion had Severus's skin drenched in cold, clammy perspiration, he found the thought of Harry's stag gave him control over his wand hand.

"Together, I think," said Dumbledore calmly, and three raised voices incanted the words that caused a blindingly bright phoenix to appear, accompanied by a beautiful, daintily stepping doe and a sinuous weasel that flipped over it's tail as though it was there to play.

But when the phoenix shot forwards into the midst of the putrid, gliding mass, the doe and the weasel streaked after the magical, avian apparition, eager to do their share. The creatures from the underworld scattered and swooped off and Severus was surprised to see that the path the Patronuses had taken seemed to be more easily visible.

He took off, after them, his wand still aloft in case more tried to descend upon them. Nothing frightened Severus more than the thought of the Dementors kiss but fear for Harry gave him the impetus to run forwards. Severus estimated that they had been here for nearly a minute and he was terrifyingly aware that if Harry was here and had not been able to produce his own Patronus in the midst of such overwhelming odds, then it could be too late.

A terror different to that the Dementors had caused gripped Severus's very soul. They could not have taken his son! He had only just found out he had a son; surely he was not going to lose him before they had established any sort of relationship. A real relationship! Not the bitter, antagonistic sparring matches that had filled up practically every moment of the time that he and Harry had found themselves in close proximity over the last five years.

And now in his abject terror for the boy, Severus freely admitted that most of the ill feeling had been instigated by him. Albus had been right. He had set out to humiliate the small, confused child who had been trying so hard to fit into the strange, new world he had found himself in. He had set out to humiliate James Potter's son...his own cousins child. A child whose parents had been murdered, and who would have been murdered himself but for the sacrifice of his mother.

And to his even deeper shame, Severus admitted that not only had he hated the boy because he was the dead spit of James, which had made it very easy to hate him, he had also blamed Harry for Lily's death. If she had only stood aside, she needn't have died. That murdering psychopath would have spared her. He had promised Severus he would spare her.

It was only now, in this graveyard, where Harry could well have started on the journey to join his mother and father (for the Dementors kiss hastened death), that Severus knew why Lily had refused to stand aside to save her own life. She had been protecting her infant son. And as hopeless a task as that may have seemed, she had had to try. Severus could now feel her need; if he was only allowed the opportunity, he would sacrifice himself to save his child. If he only had that chance!

He had been a father for less than two weeks...he had known he was a father for less than two weeks, and somehow during that time, he had, despite all indications to the contrary, developed a sense of parental responsibility.

Severus was aware of the rapid footsteps of the other two directly behind him and as they ran, they cast more Patronuses because the Dementors kept on coming...and Severus's fear reached fever pitch. The area through which they raced was recognisable to Severus now, thanks to the incandescent light spread by the Patronuses; he knew exactly where James and Lily's grave was situated. He had visited it often enough over the years.

And then Severus's heart seemed to stutter to a halt and he did not understand how he remained on his feet. It may have had something to do with Albus grasping his upper arm when he staggered. Though their last Patronuses had disappeared after the last of the fleeing Dementors, Albus had immediately brought another phoenix forth because the light was brighter than a Lumos. And that light had fallen upon a truly horrifying sight. A pair of boots and the bottom of a pair of trousers were the only things that could be seen beyond a heaving mass of at least ten Dementors.

Severus had enough time to see that the legs and feet were jerking spasmodically before the phoenix flashed into the fray. After barely a second, Albus cast another. He heard Arthur's voice bellowing the incantation as well but Severus just stood, his breathing so harsh, he felt as if his lungs and throat were filled with cut glass. He did not understand how his lungs were still working because he knew that his heart was just a dead, leaden lump in the centre of his chest.

Albus and Arthur rushed forward, jostling Severus who nearly fell again. And then he saw something else that should have been the catalyst that turned his brain and muscles to jelly, but instead, it gave a further jolt to his adrenal glands and strength returned to his muscles, and his brain cleared. He shot forwards and nearly stood on the large male body that lay beside a pathetic rag doll spread eagled on the damp grass.

Oh, Jesus, God, Merlin...please, please, please don't let them have taken him! Severus threw himself down beside the limp body and began chafing frozen cheeks, but there was no response. Wake up, Harry! Wake up!

The prostrate man who had a hold of Harry's hand was struggling against Albus and Arthur's ministrations and Severus heard a croaked "Harry," which delivered a kick to his midsection.

Lupin! What the hell was Lupin doing here? And why had he succumbed? Severus knew Lupin cast a strong Patronus. Had he found Harry like this and been too concerned to be able to protect himself? Or had they both succumbed together?

These thoughts whirled in Severus's mind, making him light headed and unable to do anything truly constructive to deal with Harry. It was like his brain had turned to nothing more substantial than the eerie miasma that surrounded their little island of light and activity. He raised frantic eyes to Albus.

"Albus," he croaked. "Help him!" Albus did not pause to question Severus's lack of practicality, even though it was a very unusual state of affairs indeed for Severus Snape to find himself so utterly useless in the face of an emergency. It was as though every ounce of his intelligence had been leached away by the Dementors, rather than his soul.

All Albus had to do was turn on his knees to face Harry. He would have attended to the child first if he had been cognizant of the fact that Severus was not functioning up to par, because he had seen immediately that Harry was already unconscious while Remus had been struggling. Albus had naturally assumed that Severus was ascertaining his son's condition. But no...

The black eyes that usually only showed anger, disdain, irritation or boredom were now sunken and glittering with feverish distress and the pale face stretched tight across high cheekbones glowed like a wax work in the brilliant light cast by Albus's Phoenix.

Amazingly, after the last of the Dementors had been chased off, Albus's last phoenix, instead of vanishing, had returned, and was flying in a circle around the small huddle of humans. Arthur was still compos enough to appreciate the marvel of that-Severus however did not even seem to realise the Patronus was there, providing light for them and protecting them from any further incursions by the fetid, rotting, corpse-like creatures.

Albus's own heart gave a tiny jolt as he looked upon the young boy lying like a discarded toy, but he plied his wand immediately and ran it in intricate movements over the thin, barely moving chest. After about fifteen seconds, an insubstantial, shimmering mist seemed to radiate upwards from the prone body. It rose into the air about a foot and seemed to hover there like a cloud, rather than dissipating into the warm air surrounding them. The mist continued to radiate upwards from Harry's body to join the cloud above, until it had thickened to the point where it began to take on a barely there golden hue. By the time the last tendril of mist had risen to fuse with the cloud, it glowed with deep, golden light.

Dumbledore looked at the mass with satisfaction and then let out the breath that he had been holding. Severus had shut his eyes and dipped his head, the stress of the last couple of minutes leaving him limp with exhaustion.

Albus waved his wand over the golden cloud and it did finally dissipate. "He is whole Severus. His unconscious state has no doubt been brought about by the stress and the cold." Waving his wand over Harry again, he cast a warming charm that enveloped the boy like a protective cocoon.

"What was that mist, Albus?" asked Arthur from where he still knelt beside Remus. He had already cast a warming charm upon his fellow Order member.

"It was Harry's aura." The imprint of his soul," said Albus matter-of-factly. Arthur did not comment any further on the amazing phenomenon he had just witnessed, but once again Albus Dumbledore had demonstrated his prodigious powers. Arthur had never heard of an aura being brought forth to become a physical entity before and he was positive that no other wizard would have been able to perform such magic. Arthur was in awe of the man and he thanked the powers that be that the side of the light had Albus Dumbledore on their side.

Albus now stood and looked down at the two unconscious figures, the age lines upon his face etched deeper by fatigue and worry. "We need to remove ourselves from here in short order. As the Dementors are unquestionably under Voldemort's control now, I do not imagine it will be too long before he learns of their mass congregation here in Godric's Hollow and he will not have to even ponder who might have been abroad in this graveyard.

"Arthur, as the Burrow is the most convenient place for us to Apparate to with our two charges, would you be so kind as to send word to Molly to expect us within the next few minutes." Arthur raised his wand to conjure his Patronus and send it forth with a message to his wife. Albus turned back to Severus who was still kneeling beside Harry, his eyes fixed on the pale, still face of his son.

"Come Severus. It is best that we leave Harry unconscious until we have gotten him away from here. It will also be less stressful for him during the Apparition. He has not Apparated before and you remember how long it takes to become even remotely accepting of the sensation. He has had enough to contend with for one evening, I am sure."

Severus did not react for quite a few seconds to Albus's words, but when he did, it was to lean forwards and carefully pluck Harry glasses from his face. Folding them carefully, he then waved his wand over them, shrinking them to the size of a galleon so that he could insert them easily into the tight pocket of the jeans he still wore. Finally, he sighed deeply and pushed himself to his feet.

With a flick of his wand and a non-verbal incantation, Harry was levitated into the air and into Severus's arms. He was shocked anew at how insubstantial the nearly sixteen year old boy felt in his arms. Something had to be done about Harry's weight, specifically, the lack thereof.

Arthur had levitated Remus also and cast a lightening charm upon him to make him easier to transport. He had thought of rousing him but decided against it because Remus would be too shaky to Apparate himself and if he was anything less than totally in control, it would make side-along Apparition more difficult for Arthur.

"I shall join you at the Burrow," said Dumbledore and he watched Arthur and a worryingly compliant Severus as they both spun on the spot and Disapparated with the louder than usual ‘pops' that accompanied side-along Apparition.

Now Dumbledore turned and trudged the few feet to James and Lily's grave, his phoenix accompanying him, keeping the worst of the mist at bay. The marble headstone with it's gold lettering, denoting the resting place of the young couple he had been so fond, of shone in the bright light, and Albus gazed at it with profound sadness. Twenty-one. They had both only been twenty-one when evil incarnate had snuffed out their lives so that he could get to their baby boy and commit the murder he had set out to commit.

And hatred rose in Albus like lava erupting from a volcano. James and Lily had not deserved to die. No-one deserved to die at the hands of Tom Riddle and his mutilated soul. No-one! Not the very young, or the very old. Not Muggles or Muggleborn witches and wizards. Not half bloods or pure bloods who had the audacity to defy him. And not other magical creatures that even ‘good' wizards held in contempt at times.

Dumbledore saw the gouge marks in the sod covering the grave and he had a vivid mental image of Harry's anguish and the reason for it. And though it saddened him that the child had felt the need to reach out to his dead parents-to ascertain that they had once been alive, he was also glad because it meant that Harry was thinking about his newly discovered beginnings, and hopefully, taking the first step towards acceptance.

Albus raised his wand and smoothed the earthen blanket again. He went down on one knee and placed his own long fingered hand where Harry had lain his smaller ones. "He will be safe until he is ready, Lily and James. And now he has someone else who will learn to care for him as much as you both did." Albus patted the sod. "This new relationship will take nothing away from your relationship with him. You may both rest more peacefully now. He will be well looked after."

And as Albus stood, he saw the shimmering pool that was Harry's invisibility cloak lying near the headstone. He picked it up and stroked the watery, smoothness of the fabric. Then he left the Potter's grave and moved silently, and with a heavy heart across the two rows of graves that separated James and Lily Potter from Dumbledore's own mother and sister.

His phoenix Patronus kept him company until he Disapparated silently from the little graveyard, and then it disappeared.

8888

Severus Apparated into the Weasley's backyard...specifically into the fenced vegetable garden. He actually landed on some young lettuces, crushing them past saving under his booted feet, a fact that did not improve his frame of mind. He hoisted a very floppy Harry more securely into his arms before stepping into one of the furrows between the neat rows of vegetables and striding towards the little picket gate.

The gate was low enough for Severus to raise his leg high and step over, and he advanced on the house, where Arthur, complete with his own burden (and having landed in a more suitable place), was already entering the house.

Severus could hear the excited babble of voices from within and he was still several yards from the back door when Bill appeared in the aperture with a pale faced Ron behind one shoulder and an even paler Ginevra pushing against her oldest brothers arm so that she could get past him

The two youngest Weasley children stopped dead when they saw their potions professor just steps from the house, but Bill strode forward to meet him. "Here, let me take him," said Bill and Severus was about to deliver a scathing comment along the lines of, ‘I am not in my dotage yet, Weasley', but thought better of it at the last second. He could do with a few minutes to compose himself before Molly Weasley started with her inevitable fussing.

He dumped Harry into Bills' waiting arms, perhaps with a little less care than he had intended, but Bill did not seem to notice anything amiss and Severus watched the young man turn and stride towards the house. Ron grabbed his brothers arm and held on, his troubled blue eyes fixed on Harry's face, but Ginevra actually grabbed Harry's hand where it lay motionless upon his chest.

Severus turned away as Bill's voice rang out irritably, telling his siblings to "move out of the bloody way and let me at least get him into the house", before they all disappeared indoors, and he moved away from the ramshackle house where he knew his son would shortly be coddled to within an inch of his life. Severus thought it would be prudent to give the boy some breathing space before he himself descended upon him. He had to make an effort to reign in what he knew would be his first reaction upon confronting a conscious Harry-anger.

He kept moving away from the house, passing a dilapidated old shed and a large chicken coop. All of the birds were inside their comfortable roosting boxes and he heard drowsy clucking noises from within. Continuing to walk, Severus expected to reach a boundary fence, but when he finally stopped, there was still no sign of a property delineation. He was sure that he was still on the Weasley property because he knew that there would be wards in place. Firstly, against an attack by the Dark Lord and his followers as the Weasleys were known blood traitors and they were also known to be close to Harry Potter. Secondly, there was quite a significant Muggle population in the nearby village of Ottery St Catchpole and the Burrow and it's environs would be warded against Muggles straying onto the land.

The Weasley's property was very large indeed and Severus could only conclude that it had been passed down to Arthur, and though that made the Weasleys rich in land assets, they were not particularly solvent. If the land was a Weasley family heritage, Arthur would not be able to sell any portion of it off, no matter how cash poor he was as long as there were Weasleys to leave it to.

Severus felt a slight twinge of jealousy. Arthur Weasley might be a lowly Ministry employee, but he was rich in ways that Severus never would be. He was married to the woman he loved, he had a family that he doted on, and he lived in and owned a beautiful part of England.

Oh, certainly, he, Severus had a high paying professorship at Europe's most prestigious wizarding school, he was one of the foremost potions masters in Europe and he had developed several potions over the years that he had patented and for which he still received royalties. He had also published several texts relating to potions and potion making. These books had been published under pseudonyms because he had been afraid that they would not be published at all if they were associated with Severus Snape, Death Eater. He had also wanted to keep his successes apart from his necessarily ongoing association with the Dark Lord. So, yes, he, Severus Snape was certainly financially solvent-in fact, he was quite well off. He even had a legacy from his own father. A near-derelict, ugly, brick, mill-workers cottage in Manchester. He could not forget his Muggle legacy.

And now he could add a family to his own list of achievements. Except he and Harry weren't a family, were they? And if things between them remained as strained and hostile as they were at the moment, they were never likely to be a family. So Arthur Weasley was definitely much richer than Severus would ever be.

Severus took a deep breath of the cold, crisp air. Here in Devon, the night was clear, except for patches of mist that floated wraith-like inches above the ground, some tendrils seeming to wrap themselves around his feet and lower legs.

Severus looked towards the distant hills above which the ink black sky was dotted with glittering stars and a waxing, gibbous moon was suspended between two hilly peaks, it's light reflecting across the surface of a small lake. A narrow rickety looking dock projected out into the water and Severus directed his footsteps towards it. His boots thudded loudly when he stepped onto the wooden planks and it only took half a dozen steps for him to reach the end. He gazed down into the water, tiny pinpricks of light reflecting in the black depths of his eyes, reflections of the moon's reflection upon the water.

Idly, he thought that he would have to start on Lupin's potion in about four days. Perhaps the fact that the full moon was only a week away may have been the reason that Lupin had succumbed to the effect of the Dementors tonight. Though it seemed unlikely. Severus knew the man's health deteriorated the closer it got to the time of his transformation, but that state of affairs was not usually apparent a full week beforehand.

Severus shuddered as he remembered Lupin's convulsive movements when his, Dumbledore's and Arthur's Patronuses had illuminated the horrific scene in the graveyard at Godric's Hollow. He crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed at the raised goosebumps through his woollen jumper as the vision of an unconscious Harry rose to the forefront of his mind again-a Harry who had looked like a discarded doll that had been flung upon the ground by a petulant child.

Utterly still. His face frozen when Severus had touched it with his shaking hands. And Severus remembered the dreadful fear that had gripped him when he had thought Harry had been subjected to the Dementor's kiss...when he had thought that all that was left of his son was an empty husk.

His son.

How many times in the stress of the evening had that possessive thought crossed his mind? Severus's jaw clenched so tightly, he heard a soggy-sounding clunk as the hinged joints protested their mistreatment and pain shot through his jaw into his middle-ear. He inhaled deeply and relaxed his jaw, clenching his fists instead. He threw his head back and stared, unseeing, at the night sky, breathing deeply again and willing the whole of his body to relax.

Memories of his dealings with Harry earlier that day filled him with guilt, and guilt was not an emotion that sat well with Severus. In fact, he had only ever felt guilt as acute as this once before in his life...when he had learned that the Dark Lord had interpreted the words Sybil Trelawney had prophesied to Albus as referring to James and Lily Potter and their infant son.

There had only been two baby boys born in the second half of July that year-Neville Longbottom and Harry-and the Dark Lord, who could so cold-bloodedly consider killing a baby...a wizard baby, had decided, with no more than five seconds consideration, that Harry was the boy referred to in the prophecy. Of course, the day before, it had been the Longbottom boy. What were the chances of another boy being born with only twenty-four hours of the month left?

Severus remembered his shock, when his master had informed him that Lily Potter had apparently given birth to a baby boy. He could clearly remember his utter devastation at the news, and then his terror when his master had told him, with maniacal relish, that the Potter's spawn was the one...the one whom, if allowed to survive, would be a danger to him. James Potter and Lily were much bigger thorns in his side than Frank and Alice Longbottom had ever been, though they had also fitted the wording of the prophecy. But it had been obvious as soon as Harry Potter had been born, just before midnight on the thirty-first of July that he was the one who could one day vanquish the Dark Lord.

Severus would never have let anything pass his lips about what he had heard that cold, wet, March evening in the Hog's Head, if he had had even an inkling that Lily was pregnant. He had kept his distance from her since the night Lily had begged him to help James and he had heard little of them since. He had not wanted to know anything. He had assumed that they had married, but other than hearing how James had more than once derailed the Dark Lord's plans, he had preferred not to hear anything at all about the Potters. If Severus had known that Lily was pregnant, regardless of when she was due-babies could be born early or late-he would never have related those fateful words to the Dark Lord.

He could call the Dark Lord all the names under the sun and consider him less than human because he had quite happily planned the death of a wizard baby. But what about himself? It had been he, Severus Snape who had related the information he had heard that night in the Hog's Head to his master, knowing that the Dark Lord would consider nothing less than finishing the prophesied infant off. He had known that!

True, if he had not been in the company of another Death Eater that night, he would not have related the words that he had heard. But Reginald Kingston had been a newly branded Death Eater, arrogant and overzealous, and the Dark Lord had made a habit in those days of making his more senior followers take the fresh batch under their wings for a few weeks, teach them the ropes and show them what a good Death Eater did for his master. Severus had hated these baby-sitting duties.

So Reginald Kingston had been with Severus that fateful night when they had seen Albus Dumbledore enter the Hog's Head and converse with the equally old, but decidedly less dapper barman for a few minutes before heading upstairs to a private parlour.

Kingston had been so excited, had been convinced that Dumbledore should be followed and eavesdropped upon. Severus had tried to discourage him but to no avail. After ten minutes of painful hyperactivity, the young man had jumped up and headed for the stairs that Dumbledore had earlier ascended. Severus had followed, to drag the fool away by the scruff of his neck.

It had not been difficult to hear Sybil Trelawney's words. Her voice had been deep and guttural and it had carried easily through the stout wooden door. And the two Death Eaters had heard the first half of the Prophecy before the barman had caught them and slung them out into the night. The boy, excited and eager to please his new master, had Disapparated straight to his camp. Severus had had no recourse but to follow.

Severus had not had time to Obliviate the boy before they were summoned forth into his presence. The boy had been less than eloquent in his excitement and their master had silenced him with a flick of his wand, having little patience for inane babble. He had called upon Severus to relate the news and Severus had had no choice. He had told everything he had heard because he knew that Reginald Kingston would be sure to inform their master if Severus left anything out of the telling. And then they had watched and waited to see who was going to give birth to a baby boy at the end of July.

Severus now raised his head again to look at the sky, his face a mask of anguish. It was all his fault. All of it. James and Lily's deaths and Harry's incomprehensible survival of the Killing Curse. It was because of him that these foretold events had come to pass. And with James being foolish enough to appoint the snivelling coward and traitor, Peter Pettigrew as their Secret keeper, the task had been a ridiculously easy one. The Dark Lord had wanted to carry it out by himself. He had insisted that it be he who destroyed his nemesis.

Killing babies had not exactly been a new pastime for Lord Voldemort and his henchmen. And though Severus had witnessed the slaughter of many Muggle infants, he had never actually killed one himself. In fact, he had been sickened by the wanton slaughter of the truly innocent. Of course, Severus had covered up his reluctance to participate in the blood-sports that his fellow Death Eaters revelled in by explaining that having blood on his hands adversely affected his potion making.

It had taken a long time-a long, dark time filled with horrific sessions of torture and humiliation until the Dark Lord had been convinced that it was to his benefit to exclude Severus from any more blood-letting. But of course, someone as cruel as Lord Voldemort could not conceive that one of his hand-picked henchmen would not enjoy the sports that he arranged for the entertainment of his dedicated followers. And it had been an important weapon in Severus's arsenal that he was such a superb Occlumens and actor. The arrogance of the Dark Lord would not allow him to even contemplate that the most intelligent of his followers could be superior to him in any way. His mistake.

But despite his growing abhorrence of the Dark Lord and his tactics, learning that the child who had been targeted as a result of the prophecy was the son of the woman he had always loved, had made him fearful enough to finally give him the motivation to betray the man he called master, and send him to Albus Dumbledore for help.

Severus winced anew when he remembered how scathing Albus had been that wild evening upon the Scottish highlands because he, in his panic had only communicated his worry for Lily's safety. He had not meant to make James and the infant incidentals when he had asked for help, but Dumbledore had interpreted his panicked ravings that way. His old headmaster had shamed him greatly that night, and that was the catalyst that had pushed Severus into Albus Dumbledore's camp.

He had honestly not meant to leave James and the infant out when he had begged Albus for help in keeping Lily protected. After all, James and his son were his only living relatives and though he knew full well he had never gone out of his way to foster any kind of relationship with James-even when his cousin had expressed sympathy when Severus's mother had died-he had saved James's life...at Lily's behest, yes, but he had still done it. He had not been keen to see it snuffed out by the Dark Lord, especially when that act would also put Lily in the Dark Lord's direct path.

Yes, Dumbledore had given him the final push, but it had been a long time since, that Severus had found the Dark Lord's love of cruelty had a lot more to do with a love of sadism than it did with trying to purify the wizarding race. And contrary to all appearances, Severus did not derive pleasure from other's physical suffering. Oh, yes, he could be cruel and cutting with his students, but he restricted himself to verbal lashings, not physical.

If one of the students was ever ill and required more expertise than Poppy had at her disposal-as excellent as she was at her job-Severus dropped everything to attend the sick child, albeit with bad grace, unless the child was a Slytherin. Even Harry had benefited from his healing skills after one of his more spectacular Quidditch disasters. Of course, the little smart alec had caught the snitch before he ploughed himself into the pitch at about twenty miles an hour. It would have been sixty miles an hour if Albus had not cast another ‘Arresto Momentum' to save the Golden Child's foolish Gryffindor hide again. The boy did not have a ‘self preservation bone' in his whole body.

Severus clenched his jaw again and when another vicious twinge of pain spear through his lower face and ear, he forced himself to relax. He had allowed his thoughts to veer wildly off track and he had fallen into the old habit of denigrating Harry. That was a habit he definitely had to cure himself of if there was any hope at all of him developing any kind of rapport with the boy...with his son.

Severus now turned back and looked towards the house. He could see light shining from several of the windows and every now and then, a shadow passed across the large downstairs window where the curtains were drawn to shut out the night. His son was in there, and if he had finally awoken, he would probably be dreading Severus's appearance.

His son. There it was again. The two words he had been trying to ignore for nearly two weeks. But tonight, fear and worry had brought them to the forth as nothing else had done to date. When he had first seen the birthmark on Harry's leg, he had practically drowned himself in a bottle of whisky, and even when the potion had provided him with irrevocable proof that his magical signature had contributed to Harry Potter's makeup, Severus had gone out of his way to continue to treat the boy with contempt and dislike.

Oh, sure, he had thought the words ‘my son' many times since the discovery. The two words had been like a tender tooth. He had to keep on probing it with his tongue to see if the pain was going to be worse or if it was going to be a bit better. He had baulked at the knowledge for a long time and even when he had made an effort, he still had not been entirely able to forget all that had previously passed between them-he had continued to take one step forward and two steps back, vacillating between acceptance of Lily's son as his own, or abhorrence of the fact that James was also the boy's father.

Of course, Harry had been totally confused by his blowing hot and cold, but he had not known the entire story until this afternoon. Harry had naturally thought Severus was having a hard time knowing that Harry finally knew of the cousinly connection. And now when Severus thought of the boy's violent reaction upon hearing that he was as much Harry's father as James was, he cringed.

But why wouldn't Harry's reaction have been so negative? He, Severus, had made absolutely no effort to break the news gently or with any kind of empathy. No, not even with the memory of his own recent reaction to the discovery. He had treated the shocked, disbelieving boy just as he had always done in one of his classes-unfairly and with resentment overflowing. As if this had all been the boy's fault. In actual fact, of course, Harry was the innocent in all of this. And of course, Severus had known this, but baiting the boy had become so ingrained, he was finding it exceedingly difficult to stop.

But seeing Harry just disappear somewhere inside his own head today had really put the wind up Severus. A compliant, silent Harry Potter was an unknown quantity. Severus was used to the temper-the narrowed eyes and the high colour on the chiselled cheekbones, and the cheeky mouth that denoted the mile wide streak of Gryffindor foolishness that enabled the boy to stand up to him...him, Severus Snape, the man who could cow seventh year students with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. But those telling signs were all markers of the volatility of Harry's temper. True, the boy usually kept it under control, but explosions were inevitable, especially when it seemed-according to Albus, anyway-that he had inherited that temper from Severus himself.

And if the nearly catatonic Harry had not already had him worried, then his disappearance had had him positively terrified. Harry knew that he was number one on the Dark Lord's hit list. In fact, the bastard had renewed his efforts to find and capture Harry after the boy had lain him up, practically insensible and in agonising pain for more than two weeks after the episode at the Ministry. Severus had never seen Albus quite so distraught when he had finally related what exactly had happened that night in the Ministry Atrium-how the boy had been possessed by pure evil. The old man had thought Harry was going to die that night.

Had Harry disappeared today, uncaring of the safety measures that had been put in place for his own safety, or had he not realised what he was doing when he had gotten up from that bed and walked out of number four Privet Drive? Severus needed to find that out before he launched into an attack.

Severus had not realised that he was walking until the clunk of his heels on the boards of the dock awoke him from his reverie. He looked up again at the house, only to find himself staring into the tired, lined face of Albus Dumbledore. Severus had stopped dead upon catching sight of the headmaster, but then his feet started moving the short distance to the start of the dock where Dumbledore was standing.

How had the old bugger known he was way out here? Omniscient as always?

"The weather here in Devon is much more conducive to contemplation than it was in Godric's Hollow," observed Dumbledore, his eyes fixed on his young friend's face.

"I think that the weather was the least of our worries in that graveyard, Old Man," groused Severus, coming alongside Albus, who fell into step with him. They strolled in silence but when they came level with the vegetable garden, Albus spoke again.

"Harry is awake." Severus stopped and looked at him.

"You've been to the house already."

"Yes, my boy. How do you think I knew you had gone off to contemplate your navel?" Severus scowled. "There is nothing to be ashamed of Severus. I know what a shock it was for you to see Harry in the kind of condition we found him in. He is your son, after all. And I know you are trying to decide just how far you should go when you chastise him, but I beg that you try to reign your temper in and ascertain exactly what happened."

Severus completely forgot his own thoughts from a few minutes ago on this exact same subject.

"What is there to ascertain, Albus. I already know what a disobedient, thoughtless little fool he is!"

Dumbledore sighed and that made Severus even more angry. "Do you think that any other child but Harry sodding Potter with his Gryffindor impulsiveness would have reacted by doing exactly what he had been told not to do for the last week, if he had just found out that he was, in fact, not an orphan."

Severus knew that his argument was totally flawed, because it would be almost impossible for Harry to have looked at him as a father when they had been such bitter enemies for five years and when he was still trying to come to terms with their being cousins. His fleeing to Godric's Hollow told Severus that the boy felt he would be betraying James's memory if he even thought about accepting Severus as a father.

Harry had only really discovered James-or at least his memory-in the last five years and now, it would seem to him that he was being told to forget about him because Severus Snape, cousin and enemy, was here to take over the role that James had only had for fifteen months. But the horrific scene at the graveyard wavered into existence again, feeding Severus's righteous indignation, regardless of why Harry had felt a trip to Godric's Hollow necessary.

"Our efforts have all been for naught. He was very nearly killed for God's sake!"

"Severus, do not go in there angry," said Dumbledore wearily. "He is still far from well even though Molly has laden both his and Remus's systems with far more chocolate than can possibly continue to be therapeutic. Arthur and I have had our fair share as well. I am sure she summoned every skerrick of chocolate from every corner of the Burrow. Perhaps you should have your dose before you start berating Harry."

"I do not need chocolate!" growled Severus, Dementors and James ghost whirling around inside his head.

"Really? You are immune to the effects of Dementors, then?" Severus's scowl became darker. "You will at least have a mug of Molly's excellent hot chocolate, Severus. I am afraid that I insist upon it."

"I am sure the fact of you being my boss within Hogwarts and within the Order hardly gives you the right to tell me what I should eat and drink! I am not a child, Albus."

"Then stop acting like one and indulge me. For a man of such prodigious intelligence, you can be markedly thick-headed and stubborn at times. And though I know your desire to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts is our little subterfuge, there is no getting away from the fact that you are expert in the subject and therefore you must know that chocolate is the best thing to counteract the effects of Dementors."

By the time Albus Dumbledore had finished admonishing his Potions Professor, they had reached the back door of the Burrow. Dumbledore led the way inside and Severus, his mask of irritability firmly in place, stepped into the shabby, crowded living room where five heads of vivid red-hair glowed like beacons in the lamp light, making the head of greying, light brown hair and the head of exceedingly messy black hair seem very out of place.

His own black hair and Albus's white, brought the total number of heads in that small room up to nine, and along with the attached bodies, there was not a great deal of room to move.

Severus's eyes fell immediately upon Harry who was propped on the sofa still looking tired and wan, but seemingly happy to be in the bosom of his pseudo-family, especially as his girlfriend and best friend were very close by indeed. Ginevra sat on the arm of the sofa behind Harry's head and was running her fingers through that messy hair, whilst Ronald was sitting at his friend's feet, talking nineteen to the dozen. Harry was lying back, eyes half closed, quite content to submit to the tender ministrations of his girlfriend and happy to let Ronald prattle on.

The noise of the door opening had all eyes turning towards himself and Albus. As soon as Molly saw him, she jumped up from where she had been sitting in the adult huddle around Lupin and hurried into the kitchen. Harry's eyes opened fully and when he saw Severus, he paled even further and hoisted himself upright on very shaky arms.

Severus couldn't help it. The anger that he had tried to whip up outside, faded in the face of Harry's obvious wariness. Severus saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as he tried to swallow the lump that must have taken up residence in his throat on catching sight of him. Ginevra glared furiously, more worried about Harry's peace of mind than she was about Professor Snape's wrath. Severus was quietly amused. She was like a female lion protecting her young.

Severus delved into his jean's pocket and pulled out Harry's glasses. He tapped them with his wand, transforming them back to their original size. He stepped forward and held them out to Harry, who looked at them wide eyed for several seconds, as if expecting them to transform into a cobra ready to strike. But then he raised a shaky hand to take them. He slid them onto his nose and then looked down at his lap, where he began to pluck at the pile of the multi-coloured crocheted rug that Molly had tucked around him. He muttered a resentful sounding ‘thank you', but he would not look at Severus again, now that he would be able to see him clearly.

All of those present were interested in the exchange between Severus and Harry, but Molly entering the living room again with a steaming mug of hot chocolate which she thrust into Severus's hand before he could protest, had all eyes focusing solely on him. Severus still did not want any chocolate-he felt perfectly well-but when the rich, velvety aroma stimulated his olfactory nerve, he closed his eyes and seemingly against his will, raised the cup to his lips. He sipped with relish despite his claims of not needing the healing affects of the simple but delicious remedy. It seemed that Molly Weasley's culinary skills even extended to turning a mug of hot chocolate into a gourmet's dream. Severus had to wonder what her potion making skills had been like when she was at school.

His three students stared wide-eyed. Apparently, the sight of their most hated teacher doing something as frivolous as drinking a cup of rich, creamy hot chocolate, was too surreal for words. Severus kept his eyes on Harry over the top of his mug and though Harry had stared at him along with the youngest Weasley siblings as he savoured his drink, he lowered his eyes back down to his lap quickly. His fingers had continued their palsied activity even whilst he had been watching Severus.

Severus finished the final dregs of his drink and then he seemed to be weighing the empty weight of the mug in his hand, tapping the bottom of it against his open palm. His concentrated gaze must have unnerved Harry, because the boy lifted his pale face again to stare back.

"You and I have some things to discuss, Mr Potter," Severus said. ‘But I think tomorrow morning will be early enough." He allowed his black eyes to travel to a silently fuming Ginny.

"And pleasant though I am sure your ministrations are, Miss Weasley, I think that what Mr Potter actually needs is a good night's sleep."

Ginny jumped to her feet, her temper exploding from her with all the force of a Stunning Spell. Severus was quite surprised she had managed to keep herself in check for so long. "You can't tell me what to do here, Professor Snape," she said loudly.

Before Severus could tell her to mind her tongue and point out that it was his word that was law when it came to what was good for Harry and what was superfluous to needs, Arthur and Molly had both rushed forward-Molly to

grasp her daughter's shoulders firmly to turn her about and steer her from the room, and Arthur, to help Harry off the couch, where he had pushed himself into a sitting position and where he had taken over his girlfriend's job of shooting death glares at Severus.

"I think you can go to your room, Miss if you are incapable of treating Professor Snape appropriately!" admonished Molly as she frog-marched the small virago from the room.

Severus thought he heard a muttered, "I was treating him appropriately."

"Don't you dare start in on her," bit out Harry and Severus raised his eyebrows at the boy's tone. "You can yell at me all you like. I'm used to it after all. But you leave Ginny alone!"

"Come along, Harry," urged Arthur. "I think Professor Snape is right. You could do with a good night's sleep."

"I'll go with him Dad," volunteered Ron, and he stepped forward to take Harry's arm.

Harry pulled his arm away, only to stagger backwards a couple of steps, nearly ending up back on the sofa when it caught the back of his legs. "I'm OK," bit out Harry.

"Yeah, mate, I know," placated Ron. "But you know we're right at the top of the stairs, and you have been dancing with Dementors again. So humour me, huh."

Harry seemed to droop, and he had no more objections when Ron took his arm again and steered him towards the stairs.

"Goodnight boys," said Dumbledore, who had remained firmly in the background during the tense proceedings and Lupin and Bill both added their own goodnights.

Severus put his mug down on a small table and had turned towards his fellow Order members who remained in the room when Severus's forearm seared with pain. As he involuntarily grabbed the Dark Mark, there was a crash from the stairwell and Ron's frantic cries. "Dad! Professor Snape! Help!"

Severus's feet were moving towards the stairs before Ron's yells even started. There was not enough room for five adult men to fit into the stair well but Severus was bounding up the stairs when he heard Harry's weak voice.

"I'm all right, Ron." Harry was pushing himself upright and Ron was assisting him to his feet. Harry hissed in another pained breath and his hand rubbed at his scar as the pain peaking in Severus's forearm was apparently peaking in Harry's scar as well. Ginevra and her mother were standing above the boys on the stairs, the noise of Harry's collapse and Ron's cries having brought them running from Ginny's room.

Harry however only had eyes for Severus. Tonight, the pain that both Harry and Severus were experiencing was much more muted than the last time Severus had been summoned. Harry was not writhing around in unbearable agony, though he was obviously uncomfortable.

"Are you all right?" Severus asked, and his hand tightened over his Dark Mark.

Harry nodded. "He's not too angry this time."

Severus looked relieved. "Go to bed." He looked up at Molly. "Have you any Dreamless Sleep Potion in the house?" he asked. Molly shook her head and Severus clicked his tongue with irritation. "Pain relieving potion then?"

Molly nodded this time. "Good. Give him a double dose," Severus ordered.

"A double dose?" asked Molly, alarmed.

"If it is a brew from the apothecary, then a double dose is quite safe, I assure you. I want him to sleep."

"Stop talking about me as if I'm not here," yelled Harry. "I don't want to go to sleep."

"Indulge me, Harry. For once, do as you are asked. I will see you tomorrow morning." He turned to descend the stairs.

"Don't go!" Harry's voice was a dry rasp. "Please don't go." Severus stared at the boy and found that he really wanted to do as he asked, not least because he would be happy if he never saw the Dark Lord again.

Dumbledore managed to get his skinny frame past Severus on the stairs. He gently grasped Harry's other arm. "Harry my boy..."

"No!" yelled Harry, wrenching his arm out of Dumbledore's grasp. He looked at his old headmaster imploringly. "Tell him not to go. He has to do what you say. If you tell him to stay, he will."

"Harry, Severus must do as he sees fit. I do not order him to go."

"But you don't order him not to go either, do you?"

"Harry..." said Severus and Albus together.

"Fine! yelled Harry. "Fine. Just go then. Say hi to Voldemort for me." And with a burst of energy, that wouldn't have seemed possible five minutes ago, he ripped himself from Ron's hand and pushed his way past Ginny and her mother towards the upper reaches of the house."

Ginny threw a final glare at Severus and Dumbledore before she followed Harry. She was a little more decisive than Ron, who just stood looking awkward, scratching the side of his reddened neck.

Severus's face was set in rigid lines as he gazed after the furious teen who had just had the audacity to hurl a mouthful of abuse at him, and then, miracle of miracles, leave with his hide intact. But truthfully, the last thing Severus felt like was abusing Harry at this point in time. The boy's mood was already balanced on a knife edge and even he could see that one more negative approach from himself would irrevocably damage any hope of the two of them coming to some kind of understanding.

A door above them slammed with some force and Severus had unconsciously placed his booted foot on the next stair upwards when Albus put a hand on his shoulder. He looked at the old man. It was meant to be a cold ‘let go of me', look, but instead it was a pathetic ‘tell me what to do now, Albus', look. Something had happened to him back in that bloody graveyard in Godric's Hollow. He wasn't sure what, but all he knew was that it gave him no pleasure at all to know that Harry Potter was upset. And he just did not know what to do about it. Once upon a time, he might have danced a jig to know that something he had done, or was going to do would upset the Boy Who Lived so much.

"Leave him for now, Severus. Nothing can be resolved at the moment. And I know you. You will answer the summons, no matter what, and trying to placate Harry will only make him more furious when you have no intention of not doing as he has asked.

"And things will be the worse for you when you arrive late." Severus shut his eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck, surprised anew by the fact that his hair did not cover the bare skin. He knew all eyes were on him, but for once he did not have a snarl or a cutting word to say to his audience. He knew they were all dying to know just what had happened to bring about this concern for Harry's welfare in him. That was something he and Albus and Harry would have to discuss at a later date, if it came to pass that he and Harry could get past this stalemate.

"Harry will be here in the morning, Severus. You will have all the time in the world to talk then." Severus looked into the wise old face and was aware that once again, Albus was demonstrating, unfailingly, that wisdom really did come with age.

He gave a curt nod and then turned and hurried down the stairs. He would have to transfigure his robes, but he would do that outside. The Weasley's did not need to see his Death Eater robes, after all. Before he reached the door however, Arthur blocked his path. Severus glared at him.

"Perhaps I should transfigure you back to the original version, Severus, as it was I who made you this way. You don't need for there to be anything amiss when you meet with, ‘He Who Must Not Be Named'. My Finite will be most effective." He raised his wand and said firmly, "Finite Incantatem!"

Severus experienced the very unpleasant sensation that he was melting and reforming. It was the same feeling experienced when Polyjuice Potion wore off. Any human transfiguration, even just a change in looks, was uncomfortable in the extreme.

"You can deal with your clothes," added Arthur and Severus gave a curt nod of thanks. He had known by the lack of reaction when he had first entered the room looking like a perfect stranger that all those present had been warned-probably by Bill Weasley-that his looks had been transfigured. Arthur's looks had returned to normal whilst Severus had been outside, but his clothes were still what Severus had transfigured them into.

He looked back towards the stairs where everyone was still standing as they had been thirty seconds ago. Ronald Weasley's mouth was hanging open as it was want to do when he found something hard to comprehend...which was more often than not. Why he was shocked now, Severus did not understand, unless it was because he had never before seen Professor Snape in Muggle attire. Yes, that must be it.

"Albus, make sure Harry takes the potions!" Severus demanded before exiting the house. He set his lips grimly. Two phials would be a large dose, but at least he knew that it would dull the present level of pain Harry was feeling in his scar, and it would put him into a deep sleep. Unless the Dark Lord demonstrated the level of anger he had done a week ago, Harry should sleep through the night without being awoken by the pain or a return of the horrors that had occurred in the graveyard at Godric's Hollow. Nor indeed any of the other horrors the boy had been a witness to or been involved in over the last year and which Severus knew were on his mind constantly.

Outside, Severus ran towards the property boundary. Just before he Disapparated, he moved his wand over his Muggle attire in a complicated movement that transfigured them into his black robe and hooded travelling cloak. One must always dress appropriately when one was in the presence of the Dark Lord, no matter what one may have been doing, or where one may have been at the time of the summons. Severus snarled his hatred and irritation and then, shutting down all negative emotions for the Dark Lord and his heinous crimes and the myriad happenings that had so recently turned his life upside down, he disappeared.

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Ginny stood just inside the door of Ron's tiny bedroom and watched worriedly as Harry stalked up and down the room between the beds. It was a distance of no more than four frantic footsteps because there was a dresser under the window and a rickety old wardrobe against the opposite wall. In fact, there was barely sufficient room for those pieces of furniture plus Ron's bed and the camp bed Harry always slept on when he was at the Burrow, let alone the addition of people. Therefore, Harry's ‘caged lion' tread was not affording him the satisfaction that it should have done because he could not get any momentum up before he had to stop and retrace his steps.

Ginny's looked even more worried when Harry, at the window end of the room, seemed to see something out in the dark yard. He had stopped pacing to lean on the dresser and peer out. He stood there, completely silent for about ten seconds, and then he released a roar of rage while scrubbing furiously at his forehead. He threw himself onto Ron's bed, where he sat with his elbows on his knees and abandoning his scar, his hands gripped and pulled his untidy hair.

Ginny couldn't stand it a moment longer. She knelt down in front of Harry and grabbed his wrists as tightly as she could, trying to get him to stop inflicting pain on himself. "Harry, stop it!" she said frantically but if he heard her, he ignored her.

"Harry, please," she croaked in a voice thick with tears and as she could not loosen his grip on his hair, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. "You're frightening me," she sobbed against his skin.

Harry didn't seem to be aware of her for several seconds, but finally, the feel of warm moisture on the bare skin of his neck and shoulder seemed to bring him out of the private place he had retreated to. He was suddenly conscious of the small, quaking body clamped tightly around him and he released the grip on his hair, realising belatedly that his scalp was really, really sore. He manoeuvred his hands away from his head and wrapped his arms around Ginny's waist, opening his knees so that he could pull her closer to him, even though she remained kneeling on the floor.

"Shush...Gin, it's all right," he whispered in her ear, sorry that he had upset her so much. He had not really been aware that she had followed him up here when he had stormed off, and he wasn't even sure that he wanted company, so mixed up did he feel. But he didn't want Ginny to be upset either.

Why was his life such a humungous pile of bat droppings?

Ginny moved her knees closer to the bed to try and balance herself better. She sniffled and seemed to suddenly become aware that she was blubbering all over Harry's neck. Embarrassed, she tried to pull away, but Harry suddenly decided that he liked her exactly where she was. While she was in his arms, he had something else to concentrate on other than the headache that was starting as a result of the constant pulsing of pain in his scar and the anger and confusion that he was feeling because of Snape. Ginny's petite form fitted against him perfectly and whilst he tightened one arm to pin her to him, chest to chest, he lifted his other hand to tilt her head back. He tried to kiss her on the lips, but Ginny turned her head and buried her face in his shoulder, sniffling again.

"Don't," she whispered, mortified beyond belief. "I'm a mess."

"I don't care," said Harry emphatically, and he directed her face back with a finger against her jaw, and proceeded to kiss her wet, swollen eyes, the tip of her nose and then her mouth. Ginny didn't fight anymore. She was just glad Harry had stopped trying to pull his hair out of his head, and wear a track in the floor, and if she could be a distraction from whatever it was between Harry and Professor Snape, then she was glad.

Harry couldn't understand why kissing Ginny after she had been crying was not the unpleasant experience kissing a teary Cho had been. Perhaps it was because Ginny was kissing him, not Cedric Diggory. Perhaps it was because Ginny had been crying for him, not Cedric. And perhaps it was because Ginny wanted to be with him, and not Cedric.

And God, she smelled so good. She smelled of flowers and summer grass, and Harry could picture the freedom of the outdoors, with pale blue skies and gentle breezes that set the long grass moving in waves and the flowers bobbing their bright heads on the ends of long stems. Harry thought that the delicate scents suited Ginny perfectly.

Cho had worn a perfume that was much heavier and Harry had always found it quite cloying...on the few occasions he had gotten close enough for it to envelop his senses. He had been willing to overlook the overload on his olfactory nerve in favour of what he had, at the time, thought of as ‘other compensations'.

Most of the wonderful scent enveloping his senses now, was caught up in the magnificent curtain of dark red hair that he had fisted in one hand while he peppered little kisses across the angle of Ginny's chin to her earlobe. He kissed the soft, velvety flesh, there and his teeth clinked against a tiny little earring that he had never noticed before.

Harry pulled back but just far enough for him to focus on Ginny's ear. A slight smile curved his lips as he ran his thumb over the tiny, emerald green, lightening bolt. Ginny watched him closely as his eyes travelled to the one in her other ear.

"How long have you had these?" Harry asked softly, pulling back a bit further to look into her liquid chocolate eyes.

Ginny's cheeks had reddened a little and she could only meet his eyes for a few seconds before she looked down, leaning her forehead against his and fiddling with the hanging end of the cord threaded through the hood of his jacket. "Mum and Dad bought them for me after you rescued me from the Chamber of Secrets, " she said very softly.

Harry pulled his head back and looked at her in surprise. "They did?"

Ginny nodded. "Dad said they were a gift because they were so relieved that I didn't...well, you know...that I didn't die down there and had miraculously been returned to them. and they picked those so I would never forget what you had done for me."

Now it was Harry's turn to look embarrassed but when he tried to look away, Ginny put her hands on his cheeks and held his face still. "You did save me Harry. There's no getting away from that fact." And she kissed him on the lips again. "Thank you, by the way," she whispered and then kissed him again. Harry happily succumbed and he tightened his arms around her. They were so caught up in each other for the next minute or so, they did not hear the door being pushed open.

A discreet cough was what had both teens jumping apart so violently, they bumped noses painfully and Harry's glasses were knocked askew. Ginny fell backwards onto her bottom and she scooted around to stare up at the intruder. Harry had sprang to his feet and he too stared, red-faced at Professor Dumbledore. Ginny grabbed hold of Harry's wrist-his hands were tightly clenched at his sides-and she hauled herself upwards. When Harry realised she was beside him again, he placed a protective arm around her waist and pulled her tightly to his side.

Harry's embarrassment was subsiding, leaving his face white and set with anger. "Did you want something, sir?" he asked in his coldest voice. "Or do you have a message from my father. I know he would want to deliver any message himself, but of course, the Dark Lord must take precedence."

Ginny's head had whipped around to stare at Harry, her eyes wide with confusion. Dumbledore looked regretful and sad, but Harry hardened his heart. "I knew you wouldn't stop him," he spat. "So, as you can't have anything to say that I want to hear, excuse us...but we were rather busy."

"I am sorry, children, but..."

"We are NOT children!" bellowed Harry, taking a step towards Dumbledore. "I stopped being a child when I was fifteen months old, Professor. When my parents were murdered and you handed me over to a family of sadists. You say it was to keep me safe, but I think it was to start the toughening up process. I was fifteen months old!"

"Harry..."

"Tell me, Professor Dumbledore, how did you keep a close enough check on me to know that my uncle didn't beat me so badly that he damaged me beyond repair...or even killed me? Mrs Figg couldn't see what was going on inside the house. If Uncle Vernon had done me in, who would have done my job then?"

"Harry, please listen to..."

"And to think," continued Harry, raising his voice to override the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. "All the time I had a loving f..."

"THAT WILL DO!" Dumbledore's uncharacteristically raised voice stopped Harry in his tracks. Harry glared for a moment longer and then he seemed to wilt. He swallowed and all of a sudden he felt totally ashamed of himself. Not even three weeks ago, he had berated the headmaster in a very similar fashion. He had wanted to attack the old man, but knowing that was not on, he had set out to destroy his office instead. And now, he had nearly launched into a rant that would have been heard in the lower levels of the house, and a secret that a man's continued health and safety was probably reliant upon, would have been made public.

Oh, God!

Harry turned horrified eyes to Ginny. She was looking at him as if she barely knew him. And she had heard him talk about ‘his father'.

"Gin..." he started hopelessly.

"I think I'd better leave you and Professor Dumbledore to talk together." She said softly and tugging her hand free, she moved to leave.

"Gin, I'm sorry."

Ginny stopped and turned back. She gazed at Harry's anguished face for just a second and then she threw her arms around his neck, and ignoring Professor Dumbledore's presence, she kissed him soundly on the lips. "I love you," she whispered, for his ears alone. And then a little louder, "I'll see you in the morning."

Harry watched his girlfriend as she crossed the four feet of space to the door, in front of which Dumbledore still stood.

"Goodnight Professor," said Ginny, not meeting his bright blue eyes because she was not only embarrassed to have witnessed his and Harry's argument, she was, belatedly, embarrassed by Harry's and her passionate display.

"Ginevra." Dumbledore put a wizened hand on the young girl's shoulder. "I would consider it an immense favour if you would kindly keep everything you have just heard in this room, to yourself. There are certain things, that, if they were to get out and were to fall upon the wrong ears, as it were, would be exceedingly dangerous, not only for Harry, but for Professor Snape as well."

Ginny now looked up at an unusually serious headmaster, not a twinkle to be seen. "I understand, sir," she said. "I won't say a word to anyone."

Dumbledore squeezed her shoulder gently. "Good girl." He opened the door, which he had shut earlier to try and contain Harry's angry outburst and ushered her out.

When they were alone, Harry could not look Dumbledore in the face. He whipped off his glasses and threw himself back on Ron's bed, throwing a forearm over his eyes and leaving his glasses dangling from slack fingers which hung over the side of the bed. He heard Dumbledore move closer to the bed.

"I suppose you've got the potion that Snape wants me to take," he said in a wooden voice. He heard a rustling of fabric and then the gentle clinking of glass on glass.

"Scoot over Harry. This old body has had far too much excitement for one day. I need to sit down."

Feeling even more guilty, Harry moved closer to the wall and he felt the mattress sag when Dumbledore sat down. Harry was positive that he heard several joints creaking and his horror increased. He had seen his old professor do such incredible things, he never really thought seriously about him being so very old. He had never seen anything, and probably never would again, like that wizard's duel between the old man and Voldemort in the atrium at the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore had moved like a twenty year old.

But then Harry remembered just how bombed Dumbledore had looked once the two of them were back in the head's office and he, Harry had destroyed the office. There had been terrible regret there, yes, but there had also been utter exhaustion. Dumbledore looked just as exhausted tonight, and though Harry had not seen what had happened in the graveyard, he could imagine, and formidable powers or not, casting multiple Patronuses, as must have happened considering the number of Dementors that had been there before he had passed out, took an awful lot out of a wizard. Even Albus Dumbledore.

And that made Harry's guilt overflow. Once again, he was the one responsible for causing others distress. Even though it had not been a conscious decision for him to disappear and go to the resting place of his dead parents, he had still done it. As a result, Remus had almost succumbed to the overwhelming numbers of Dementors, and Professor Dumbledore, looked about fifty years older than his already formidable age because he, along with Mr Weasley and Snape, had had to save both him and Remus.

Harry lay there, hiding from those all knowing eyes, too ashamed to show his face again. He wanted to say he was sorry, but residual anger kept on getting in the way. Was he ever going to be able to control his foul temper?

He felt the bed shift again as Professor Dumbledore bent forwards. Harry peaked out from under his crooked elbow and he saw the old man pick something up from the floor. Then he leaned across to the little table beside Ron's bed and Harry saw the glint of his own glasses in the candle light as those long fingers put them down carefully...he hadn't even realised he had dropped them.

Dumbledore began to speak in a soft, understanding voice. "Harry I know that you have had a very trying day..."

"I've had a very trying life, Professor," said Harry, his anger flaring again. There was silence for many uncomfortable seconds.

"Yes, you have. And you can have no idea how much that fact distresses me." Harry didn't say anything. He remembered Dumbledore's words back in that wrecked office. The old man had told him that he cared for him, that he cared for him more than he had cared for any other student who had ever passed through the school. And despite his anger at the time, that declaration had affected him powerfully. And he had realised that he cared for the old Professor as well. He had always felt a strange closeness, even before he had ever spoken to the headmaster. He had never really been able to explain it. All he knew was that the first time he had seen Professor Dumbledore's image on the chocolate frog card, a powerful emotion had filled his chest, making breathing at the time difficult. And then when he had caught sight of the powerful presence, sitting at the staff table in the Great Hall, he had felt almost as if he had come home. Professor Dumbledore was like an anchor...his presence kept him stabilized.

Harry still felt like that. But he now knew that Dumbledore was not omniscient. He knew the old man had made mistakes. But somehow, that just made him more human. But that thought did not make Harry any less annoyed right now. He listened as the soothing voice spoke, and though he told himself he understood, resentment still simmered.

"I have told you this before, Harry, but I never knew that your uncle and aunt were mistreating you so abominably. You must believe me. I knew that you were safe from any wizards who might have wished to harm you, but I could never have imagined that you were in a fair degree of danger within the walls of your relative's home.

"Oh, occasionally, my sensors would give little hiccoughs, and I would make sure that Arabella checked up on you more frequently. She saw you in your front garden, and out and about with your aunt and cousin, going to and from school and to the park. She saw you being bullied in the street by your cousin. She saw you, seemingly healthy and well-if very small and thin.

"And then, when you came to Hogwarts, I could watch you myself, and for the first time in nearly ten years, I felt relaxed about your welfare. With the assistance of Professor McGonagall and your father..."

Harry sat bolt upright on the bed. He glared at Dumbledore, the look no less furious for the lack of his glasses. "DON"T CALL HIM THAT!" he bellowed, and then, as if remembering just how thin the walls within the Burrow really were, he lowered his voice, and hissed through gritted teeth, his face only inches away from Dumbledore's. "He is not my father. James Potter is my father!"

Dumbledore put a placatory hand on Harry's shoulder, but Harry shrugged it off and scooted down to the end of the bed where he gained his feet and began pacing again.

"Harry, the revelation you heard earlier today does not make James any less you father. And nor would Severus ever try to make you remember James any differently."

"Hah," scoffed Harry. "As if he could! As if he would even care enough to try." He stopped in front of Dumbledore and threw his arms wide. "You act as if this is a wonderful thing, Professor, as if it's the answer to all my problems. So tell me, how is the discovery that a man who hates me with a passion, no matter how hard he has been trying to act otherwise since I found out about the other small matter of he and I also being cousins...how exactly is this going to make my life better?

"Or his, for that matter. He doesn't want this either. He said the whole thing was abhorrent to him."

"This was just as much a shock to Severus as it was to you Harry. He has no idea how to act like a father," placated Dumbledore.

"Has any man any idea how to act like a father when he first becomes one?" asked Harry reasonably. "I'm sure that if Snape found out he was...say...Draco Malfoy's father, he would make a credible effort at it."

"Well, Harry, we must agree to disagree on this point. Most men start out as fathers to new born infants, not teenage boys who are already on the cusp of manhood and with their personalities already set in place."

"Yeah, and we all know just how much Snape hates my personality...and my looks...hell, he hates everything about me." Harry's brow furrowed and he looked off into the distance, scrubbing absently at his scar. Then he huffed out a small, bitter laugh.

"Well, at least I know now why the sorting hat thought about putting me in Slytherin."

Dumbledore nodded his head once in acknowledgement of that statement. "Perhaps you could share that little anecdote with Severus."

Harry's eyes snapped back to Dumbledore. He was angry again. "Haven't you been listening Professor. I don't want to share anything with him. He doesn't want to hear anything from me. None of this...this discovery changes anything. He saved my life, yeah, but he was just doing his job."

"Harry, if you could have seen how upset Severus was when you were missing..."

"Yeah, I'm sure he was. He lost ‘the Boy Who Lived' on his shift. I made him look bad."

"Harry..."

"I don't want to talk about it any more Professor." He pressed his fingertips into his scar...hard. "He showed what he thought of me tonight, when he ignored my request not to go to Voldemort."

"Harry that is totally unreasonable. A child does not have the right to dictate his father's life."

"If he was interested in being a father, he wouldn't continue to put himself in danger," countered Harry, and he knew that he was being totally unreasonable. But he didn't care. "I told you, I don't want to talk anymore." He snatched up the two little purple phials and in his agitation, he unconsciously made a gesture with his hand and the two, wax sealed corks popped out and flew across the room. Harry had not even realised what he had done, but Dumbledore noted the whole episode. He sighed and stood up, watching as Harry downed the contents of both phials.

"I just want to go to sleep and forget this whole day ever happened," he said bitterly. He sat down heavily on Ron's bed again, feeling the potion begin to take effect within seconds. Dumbledore took the containers from Harry's slackening fingers and banished them. He guided Harry back against the pillow, levitating the slender body slightly and pulling the covers down. When Harry felt the pillow under his head, he tried to struggle upright again. He propped himself on an elbow. "I know," he said. "You could Obliviate both of us. Make everything go back to normal."

Dumbledore's sad face darkened and his eyes became steely. "That is totally out of the question, Harry." Harry missed the anger however. He had fallen back against the pillows. His eyelids were fluttering and he was fighting to stop them closing entirely.

"This is Ron'sh bed," he slurred.

"I am sure Ronald will not mind swapping tonight, Harry," but before he finished speaking, Harry's eyes drifted closed and his breathing deepened. Severus had been right. The double dose, while seemingly excessive, had just put Harry into a deep sleep. Dumbledore transfigured Harry's jeans and jacket into a pair of pyjamas and then pulled the covers up to his chin. He tenderly pushed the messy fringe aside and looked at Harry's scar. It was livid against the redness all the rubbing had caused. A gentle finger traced the lightening bolt and the old man remembered vividly the bloody wound that had marred the forehead of the otherwise perfect baby boy, on that terrible night when James and Lily had died, and he had left the child on the doorstep of ‘the worst sort of Muggles imaginable'.

He would never forgive himself for that, no matter how often he convinced himself that it had been necessary to keep Harry Potter safe.

8888

Something had lightened Harry's state of consciousness, and he wasn't sure what. With a little grunting snore, he turned his head so that he was lying on his other cheek. Within seconds, his breathing had deepened again.

There it was again. Harry swam closer to full consciousness this time, scrubbing his nose back on forth on the pillow because something was tickling it. Before he could settle back down, it happened again, and he raised his hand to brush whatever it was away. His fingers slapped against flesh, and then he heard a giggle and his eyes flew open.

Lying on his stomach as he was, most of his blurry vision was obscured by a shiny curtain of dark red. And then the scent of summer grass and flowers permeated his senses as his nose was tickled again and another stifled giggle sounded.

With the speed of the seeker, Harry grabbed at the pale hand before it could move away. Ginny squeaked in fright and then giggled again. She had been using a lock of her own hair as a feather to tickle first Harry's ear and then his nose. Harry grinned before flipping onto his back and pulling Ginny across his chest where she collapsed, laughing delightedly. It was less than five seconds before Harry realised that flipping onto his back had not been his most sensible move and not being able to flip back, he raised his knees and pulled hard at the covers so that they came away from the end of the bed to bare his lower legs, but enable him to drape them loosely over his lap.

Ginny pushed herself up and viewed his handy work. Then she turned and looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow. "Err, Gin...I think you'd better move," he croaked, his face and neck so red, he looked like he might spontaneously combust at any moment.

"Oh, Harry..."

"Gin, please!"

Ginny pushed herself upright and turned her back on her boyfriend but remained sitting on the side of the bed, her hands folded demurely in her lap. Harry couldn't see, but a small smile was playing about her lips.

Harry squirmed, willing his recalcitrant flesh to behave itself. But his full bladder probably put paid to any immediate diminution of his condition. Ginny had to go. "What are you doing in here, Gin? And where's Ron?"

"Mum sent Ron up to see if you were awake, but I ambushed him and told him I would check. And he slept in the twins room."

Harry was distracted from his uncomfortable embarrassment. "Why?"

"Mum thought you needed total peace and quiet."

"Oh. Well, thanks for waking me...what time is it by the way?"

"A quarter to ten. Mum let us sleep in."

"Right...well...err, that was the nicest awakening I have ever experienced, but I, err...need to..." The red returned with a vengeance. Ginny turned side on to face Harry.

"Harry," she said with amusement. "I do have six brothers, you know."

Harry's eyes snapped to her face again, his brow furrowed in question. "What!"

"I do know about the male anatomy and how it works."

"Not mine, you don't," he parried, mortified.

Ginny smiled and leaned forward, kissing him on his open mouth. Then she moved her lips to his ear and after giving him a quick nip on his fleshy lobe, she whispered. "Give me time."

And then she jumped up and moved to the door. She turned and grinned at him. "See you downstairs for breakfast. Your bag is on the camp bed, by the way. Mum said Professor Dumbledore sent it last night."

Harry stared after her, bemused and embarrassed, but the grin that was unfurling on his lips indicated that he was probably not going to be bemused or embarrassed around Miss Ginny Weasley for very much longer-not if she had anything to say about it.

Harry was aware that Mrs Weasley had his breakfast ready, but a good fifteen minutes had elapsed before he appeared in the kitchen. His shower had taken longer than normal. He arrived in the kitchen trying to flatten his wet hair and he dropped into a chair next to Ron who was stuffing half a sausage into his mouth.

"Mo'in'" mumbled Ron, looking like a squirrel hording nuts for the winter and sounding like a warthog foraging for grubs in the rotting matter of a decaying log.

"Good morning, Harry dear. Did you sleep well?" Mrs Weasley, placed a loaded plate in front of him and clucked over his sodden locks which had dripped onto the neck of his tee-shirt and soaked it through. She pulled her wand from the pocket of her floral apron and cast a drying charm. Harry could feel his hair standing up and he tried not to show his exasperation. Mrs Weasley was just being a mother, and he did appreciate her concern. But the reason he left it so wet was that it tended to not be quite so untidy when it was left to drip dry.

"You young boys...an extra minute is all it takes to actually rub your hair dry," said Mrs Weasley exasperatedly, bustling over to the sink and spelling the dishes to wash themselves.

"Ginny, when you and the boy's have finished, could you please put the plates in the sink. I'm off to hang out the washing."

"Yes, Mum."

Harry glanced across the table at Ginny-he had avoided looking at her thus far-to find her staring straight at him. She grinned when she saw she had garnered his attention. Harry wasn't sure whether the grin was in reference to his earlier embarrassment and how long it had taken him to arrive in the kitchen, or whether it was because of her mother's fussing over his wet hair. He wasn't sure he wanted to know and he quickly lowered his eyes to the heaping mound of food in front of him. Still, he was very aware of the swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about Ginny's appearance in Ron's bedroom that morning. He was very glad that the table wasn't glass.

He hastily shovelled a forkful of baked beans into his mouth and chewed mechanically, washing it down with a swig of pumpkin juice before turning to Ron.

"Where are your Dad, Bill and Remus,?" he asked, desperate to get his mind off Ginny.

"Dad and Bill have already left for work, and Remus had to go and see Professor Dumbledore. He said he'd be back later to see you though."

Harry nodded and tried to concentrate on his food for a while, but realised his efforts to ignore Ginny were futile. He knew if he looked up, he would find her eyes on him. Her provocative words from earlier kept replaying, over and over in his mind and they were conjuring up all sorts of interesting scenarios. But he had to stop thinking like that. There was nothing he could do...yet, and he was only going to drive himself mad. Desperate, he spoke to Ron again.

"Why didn't you sleep in your own room last night," he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Ron pointed the blade of his knife towards the back door. "Mum's idea. She said my snoring might annoy you."

"Your snoring annoys me, Ron, and I don't sleep in the same room with you," said Ginny, in her best, ‘annoying little sister' voice. "I pity any woman who marries you. She'll have to cast a silencing charm every night,"

"Sod, off," said Ron without heat, reaching for another piece of toast and heaping it with blackberry jam.

"It's just as well Hermione is so very accomplished with silencing charms," Ron lunged across the table before she had finished speaking, his chair crashing backwards onto the flagstone floor.

But Ginny was quicker. She shot to her feet and was standing behind her chair in the blink of an eye, laughing at her brother's ire. Harry watched the exchange with amusement, popping a bit of egg into his mouth. Ginny always seemed to get the better of Ron, and considering she was half his size, that made her quite a formidable little powerhouse.

When Ron ran around the table, Ginny darted in the opposite direction, giggling breathlessly, and ended up holding onto the back of Harry's chair, using Harry as a shield as Ron retraced his previous route to intercept her.

There might have been a flash of temper there for Ron when he had first dived at Ginny, but now he had an evil grin on his face, determined as he was to teach his sister that talking about Hermione in that all knowing way, was strictly off limits.

"I'll teach you to mouth off about subjects that are no concern of yours, smart mouth," he said advancing slowly. Ginny threw her arms around Harry's shoulders from behind.

"Oh, help me, sir knight. Save me from the vicious mountain troll..."

"'I'll give you ‘vicious mountain troll', little sister mine..." and Ron was primed to launch himself around Harry when he stopped dead and the colour drained out of his face.

Ginny and Harry's laughter died away as they stared at Ron. He was looking over their heads. Ginny straightened and spun around, and Harry twisted in his chair.

Professor Snape was standing just inside the scullery door, his obsidian eyes fixed unblinkingly on the three boisterous teens. This morning, he was back in his black robes, but he had his hands hidden under the folds of his travelling cloak which draped down in front of him. The weather actually seemed to reflect the season today, making the cape superfluous, at least here in southern England. Seemingly not wherever it was that Snape had just come from. Harry's suddenly hard eyes noted that the man looked none the worse for wear, so the Death Eater meeting must have not gotten out of hand.

Severus saw the immediate change in Harry's demeanour and he clenched his teeth together. Outwardly, there was no change in his set face, except for an imperceptible nerve jumping in his jaw. This was not going to be easy, nor indeed pleasant. But he was determined that this necessary talk between himself and Harry was not going to descend into chaos. To that end, he started as he meant to go on. Making any scathing comments or being unpleasant in any way towards his friends would not go down well with Harry, and so, Severus ignored the set faces of all and said in a neutral voice, "good morning." He focused first on Ron and then on Ginevra. "Your mother told me to come in."

Ginny nodded once, then turned to look at Harry who was staring down at his plate, scraping the tines of his fork through the remains of his scrambled egg and baked beans. "We'll leave you alone to talk to Professor Snape, Harry," she said, though it was obvious that she was extremely reluctant to leave him alone to cope with their hated Potions Professor.

"That will not be necessary, Miss Weasley. Mr Potter and myself will be the ones leaving."

Harry looked up at that, but it was Ginny who spoke up first. "But he's only just gotten here Professor. You aren't going to send him back to those horrible relatives of his, are you?"

Ron goggled at his sister, sure she had taken leave of her senses. He stepped forward and pulled on her sleeve. "Leave it Ginny," he said, and then he looked at Harry apologetically. "Sorry mate. We might see you later, yeah." And regardless of Severus's earlier words about them not having to leave, he dragged Ginny forcefully from the room.

There was silence for several seconds and then Harry said, "I don't want to go anywhere with you," and Severus bit the inside of his cheek again to stop his automatic retort.

Don't rise to the bait.

"I know you don't. But we have much to discuss, and I would prefer not to have an audience."

"I suppose what I want is immaterial," spat Harry, pushing the boundaries as far as he could.

Severus took a deep breath. "You know we have to have this talk, Harry..."

Harry pushed his chair back violently, so that it almost tipped backwards to join Ron's which was still on it's side on the floor. "Fine. Lets get this over with. Then you can go back to ignoring me until school starts back, and then you can start abusing me again" He stalked towards Severus, meaning to exit the house via the back door.

Severus held out his hand to stop Harry's angry forward momentum. "We will be using the floo. I would feel more comfortable having this talk in my quarters at Hogwarts. Harry looked at him from beneath lowered eyebrows, but Severus forestalled any argument by moving into the living room. Harry stood his ground for several seconds, but then with a sigh of resignation, he followed.

"The headmaster has organised a direct floo connection between the Burrow and my quarters, just for today." Severus indicated that Harry precede him. He lifted the bowl that the Weasleys kept their floo powder in, down from the mantelpiece. But instead of offering it to Harry to take a pinch, he thrust the whole bowl into Harry's hand before withdrawing a grey leather pouch from within the folds of his robes and loosening the drawstring. Then, to Harry's amazement, he tipped the glittering green contents of the bag into the near empty bowl before thrusting the bag back from whence it had come. He took possession of the bowl again and indicated that Harry take a pinch.

Harry couldn't believe it. Severus Snape had actually been thoughtful enough to replenish the Weasley's floo powder supply. Harry had learned that the magical dust was pretty expensive but it was also a necessary item in wizarding households. Everyone knew that the Weasley's weren't exactly well off.

Who would have thought Snape would even think to do such a thing? Certainly not Harry.

Severus pointed his wand at the grate and muttered, "Incendio!"

Harry sprinkled the floo powder on the flames and watched as they turned green and he could no longer feel the intense heat against his face. Then taking a deep breath, he stepped into the magically enlarged fireplace and called out his destination.

The horrible spinning sensation made him just as dizzy as ever, and by the time he was spat onto Snape's tri-coloured rug onto his hands and knees, he thought he might be sick. It appeared that the longer journey via the floo network disagreed with him even more than the short ones. He had never travelled by floo as far as he had today and his full stomach was letting him know it did not appreciate the experience. He could remember feeling slightly nauseated when he and Snape had travelled to Surrey from Hogwarts a week ago.

Severus nearly tripped over Harry's hunched form when he stepped from the flames a moment later with a gracefulness Harry would never be able to imitate. Rolling his eyes, Severus grasped Harry by the elbow, dragging him upright and thrusting him into a chair.

"How in the name of all that is magical can you seemingly fly through the air with barely a need for a broom, and yet you cannot find your feet after twenty seconds spinning through the floo network." Harry ignored him, but then Severus noted his unusual pallor. He clucked his tongue and pointed his wand towards his lab. "Accio, anti-nausea potion."

A clear phial with a mustard coloured potion within zoomed into Severus, hand and he uncorked it and held it out for Harry to take. Harry just shrunk back into the depths of the chair. "If I take any of your foul concoctions, I will be sick," he groaned.

"Drink!" It was an order. Gathering his Gryffindor courage, Harry upended the phial and swallowed the contents, preparing to gag and vomit. His eyes widened. The potion tasted of nothing-if he was blindfolded, he would have thought he was drinking water-and as soon as the liquid reached his stomach, the nausea began to subside.

Severus watched him carefully. "Better?"

Harry nodded and handed the phial back. Severus banished it back to the lab. "Why can't you make all your potions as palatable as that one?" asked Harry, determined to be in a thoroughly bad humour. Severus looked at him pityingly.

"That is a question I would expect from the likes of Longbottom," he said.

Harry seethed over the slur on his friend. "Or perhaps the likes of Crabbe and Goyle who manage to turn every potion into solid matter, even with Malfoy's help and without you hovering over them like death waiting to pounce."

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"You know they're worse than Neville, by a long shot," reiterated Harry.

"They do not melt a cauldron every other lesson."

"Neither would Neville if you just left him alone. And their cauldrons don't melt because they're reinforced with the concrete they manage to produce during every potions lesson."

" I have not bought you here to discuss the dunderheads I have to put up with in my classes, Harry, nor indeed am I willing to discuss my teaching methods."

"Or lack thereof," muttered Harry and Severus had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself launching into the sort of cold and cutting verbal tirade that he had strictly reserved for his dealings with Harry Potter over the last five years. Instead, he took himself out of temptations way by crossing to the dining alcove.

Harry ignored him, glaring at the remains of the green flames that had nearly died down to nothing inside the grate. But his head whipped around when Severus called, "Flintoff!"

The foul elf arrived with a crack and bowed obsequiously low to Severus. Harry shuddered, he couldn't help it. This elf gave him the utter creeps. "You is summoning Flintoff, Master Snape?"

"Please arrange for Devonshire teas for two, with milk coffee rather than tea." The elf bowed again, but before he Disapparated, he turned those protuberant amber eyes towards Harry and stared at him unblinkingly for several seconds.

"If you have to summon a house elf to your rooms, does it have to be that one? He gives me the creeps," said Harry, fully aware that he would be bringing Hermione's ire down on his head for daring to express such negative sentiments towards a lowly house elf.

"I'll keep that in mind should you decide to grace these rooms with your presence after today."

Harry stared at him, but then looked back towards the now empty grate. Why would he want to come back to these rooms? He wouldn't be here now if he hadn't been ordered to come. Snape was nothing more than his most hated teacher...well, equal first with the Umbridge bitch.

A moment later, the dining table groaned under the weight of enough scones to feed the entire Hogwarts' faculty. Harry remembered Snape's penchant for scones and jam and cream. The man was already seated and pouring coffee into two cups.

"Would you please join me over here, Harry?"

"I just had breakfast," Harry informed Severus, making no move to get out of the deep armchair that seemed to have swallowed him, so low was he sitting.

"Then come and keep me company. We need to talk, and I would prefer not to be directing my conversation across the room."

Harry clucked his tongue, much as Severus had done earlier, but he levered himself out of the chair and sloped across the room to drop into the chair opposite Severus. He watched as Severus spread jam and then added a generous dollop of cream onto a large, fluffy scone. The man's penchant for the calorific treat was totally incongruous and Harry filed away the information to tell Ron and Ginny when he saw them later.

Silence reigned until Severus had polished off a whole scone and drunk half a cup of coffee. Harry took a sip of his own milky brew, remembering how delicious it had been the last time he had had it.

"You should have a scone," encouraged Severus, wiping his fingers on a napkin.

"I told you, I just had breakfast. Mrs Weasley let me sleep in."

"I am glad. But you barely ate any food if that heaped plate I saw when I arrived at the Burrow was what remained of your meal.. I doubt you had half a dozen mouthfuls."

"My diet is no longer your concern, Professor Snape. I am no longer ill and therefore, I am no longer your patient."

Severus was in the process of preparing another scone for consumption, but he stopped at Harry's words and gently laid his spoon down. "But you are my son."

Harry dropped his cup back into it's saucer with a dangerously loud clink. His lips were set and white. ‘Don't drag that up. It's irrelevant! An accidental discovery."

"But it was discovered none-the-less, Harry..."

"And stop calling me Harry! It's bullshit! You no more think of me as Harry as you think of James as your best friend. I'm Potter, remember. Or if you're in a particularly good mood, Mr Potter.

"I would like your permission to call you Harry."

Harry shoved his chair back and sprang to his feet. He banged his hands down on the table-knocking over his cup and spilling the remains of his coffee in the process-and leaned forward across the table. Severus gazed at the furious visage, suddenly remembering Albus's words from a couple of weeks or so ago. Harry definitely got his temper from Severus, and at this moment he saw quite clearly the resemblance between himself and the boy. As Harry had left childhood behind, and hormones had stripped the facial chubbiness of childhood away, Harry's facial structure had become more Severus than James. Anger made the resemblance even more striking.

Oh, to the casual observer, Harry was still the spitting image of James-the hair, the nose and the poor eyesight necessitating the wearing of glasses. If Severus himself had not known the truth, he would not have noticed the similarities between himself and Harry. Of course, he, Severus had his own share of Potter genes. The black hair, the tall build, the long fingers and feet. Even his black eyes were from his Potter side. His Potter grandfather had had black eyes-he had seen photographs. James had inherited his hazel eye colour from his mother.

Harry had missed out on the height entirely. He was much smaller, more Lily's build, and of course, those eyes were most definitely Lily's. A very striking combination, the jet black hair and the almond shaped, emerald eyes. Harry was even more good looking than James had been, but unlike James, he had no clue about how pleasing his looks were. He was, in fact, totally oblivious. Thank Merlin, the only Snape trait Harry seemed to have inherited was the birthmark that had brought this whole thing to light.

"You don't really want to call me Harry. you wouldn't even be pretending if it wasn't for Dumbledore, I bet. He's told you to try to build a relationship with me because it will be good for me to have someone...to have a family that cares for me.

"But we both know that you care for me just about as much as Aunt Petunia does. Well, you don't have to pretend. I know you hate me. And a birthmark isn't going to change that, Professor.

"I've coped without adult love since I was fifteen months old. I don't need a father. Particularly one who finds the whole idea of having me as a son, abhorrent. I'll stick with the memory of James Potter, thanks. He loved me enough to die for me. For me and my mum." Harry's voice had begun to crack during this speech, but he ignored this evidence of just how emotional he had become, and continued to talk in an increasingly thick voice.

"He might have been a bully at school, along with Sirius, but he ended up being a good man." But now tears began to well in his eyes as well as block his throat, and horrified beyond belief, Harry spun away from the table and walked back towards the living area on stiff legs. He stood in front of the fireplace and glared at the empty grate.

The closest he had been to his parents that he could remember was kneeling beside their grave. The grave of two, twenty-one year olds who had left behind a son who had had to rely on other people to tell him how wonderful they were, or in the case of Severus Snape, to tell him what an absolute shit his father had been.

Severus left Harry to get himself under control. Truth to tell, he was shocked at just how much Harry's angry, emotional words had pierced his armour plated heart. Because of recent events, he had been thinking of James more often than not, and pondering their twin roles as paternal parents to Harry; wondering what his cousin would be making of the whole thing if he knew. But Harry's words were making him think of the young man James had been and everything he had lost when his life had been snatched from him in a split second, bathed as he would have been in the hideous green light of the Killing Curse.

Severus started slightly when he realised Harry was speaking again. He didn't much like what was being said though.

"Tell me, Professor, did you celebrate when you found out James was dead, or were you too busy mourning the loss of Voldemort?"

The boy was determined to wound as much as he could...as much as he, Severus had tried to wound yesterday, in fact.

No, that was not strictly true. He had not deliberately set out to wound. He had just been incapable of telling Harry the facts that were now their lives, without wounding. He did not do subtlety well. And worse was his ability to do compassion!

But so far today, he had managed to keep his fury in check. And yes, he was furious at the way Harry was talking to him, baiting him, willing him to lose his temper so that he, Harry could say, ‘see, I know what you're really like. I know that you really do find this whole thing as abhorrent as you said you did yesterday'.

Now he would see just how in control he could stay and how carefully he could chose his words.

Harry really didn't expect an answer. In fact, he was surprised that he hadn't been told to get out and never darken these dungeon rooms again, like he had been expelled from Snape's office after the pensieve incident. So he was surprised enough to turn back and face Severus when the man finally spoke. Harry had dispensed with all evidence of those stupid tears while his back was turned, so Snape wouldn't be able to laugh at him for being like an over-emotional girl or anything.

Harry watched warily as Snape joined him in the living area. He sunk into one of the chairs and steepled his fingers together, looking at Harry over the top of them.

Before I answer your question, I would like to ask permission once again for me to be allowed to call you ‘Harry'." He held up his hand to silence the words that seemed to want to bubble out of Harry's mouth. "It has not been easy for me to break the habits of the last five years, but amazingly, I now find myself thinking of you in terms of ‘Harry', rather than ‘Potter', or ‘Mr Potter'.

Harry looked at him suspiciously, putting every effort into turning the look into a glare and falling somewhat short of the mark in Severus's opinion. "I am not just saying this because I think it is what you would like to hear. Indeed, you cannot be more surprised at this turn of events than I am myself."

"So when you found out that I had disappeared right out from under you nose yesterday, you just thought to yourself, ‘oh dear, I wonder where Harry has gone'?"

"No, I would not insult your intelligence with such a blatant lie. I cursed that ‘Potter brat' to the heavens and back. And if you make me angry in the future-if there is a future for you and I-no doubt I will revert to kind. But the fact of me thinking of you in general terms as ‘Harry' is something that I would never have thought to contemplate, let alone do.

"And before you give me an unequivocal ‘no', I will just say, please do not cut off your nose just to spite your face."

Harry threw himself down in the other chair, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on his knees. He did not answer yea or nay to Snape's carefully worded request. He was not entirely sure the man really meant what he said, but he really didn't want to cut his nose off to spite his face. Silence seemed the best option.

Severus could see that he was not going to get a quick answer from Harry. He supposed he was being optimistic in the extreme to have expected the angry young man in front of him to just lay everything that had happened between them aside, and act like yesterday had never happened. The thing that really rankled though, was that before yesterday, he and Harry had reached a certain accord. They had reached the point where they could be in the same room without going for each others throats every other minute. There was still wariness there, on Harry's part, but he had seemed to come to terms with the fact of their being cousins and seemed to understand and believe that he, Severus did have his best interests at heart and would protect him to the best of his ability.

On his part, Severus had found that the boy was not the obnoxious little snot of a Gryffindor he had always thought him to be...well, not all the time anyway. Delving into Harry's memories, memories that had been given up unwillingly, had not really been enough to show him the reality of the horror that had been his childhood-the foul people who had been charged with his care and had ignored their responsibilities in favour of having a small slave and punching bag. Sadists, both of them-if they had been magical, Severus did not doubt that Vernon and Petunia Dursley would very much have agreed with the Dark Lord's doctrine. They had not a care for anyone except themselves and their son. But it seemed that the son might just be worth saving.

And Severus knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Harry would insist upon maintaining a relationship with Dudley Dursley as long as Dudley wanted that to happen. That sort of attitude was something that Severus found difficult to come to terms with in the boy. He did have an incredible capacity for love and forgiveness as Albus had once told him.

Lily had been like that, but Harry took that altruism to a whole new level. Much like Albus actually. It was inconceivable to Severus how someone could be so determined to ultimately see the good in everyone. But that was the thing that might make the boy be able to, if not totally forgive, then certainly overlook the misdemeanours of his most hated teacher...the man who had, by a totally unimaginable quirk of fate, helped design the blueprint that was Harry James Potter.

The silence had gone on for a while. Harry had now thrown himself back in the chair and was glaring at the box of floo powder as if he wanted to jump up and transport himself out of here. Severus took a deep breath.

"So, in answer to your question; "no, I did not celebrate when I found out that James was dead, and not only because Lily had died along with him, if that is what you were planning to say next." For Harry looked as if he had a comment to make. He subsided, however, after Severus's addendum.

"I don't really know how I felt, to tell you the truth, but joyful was certainly not it. Shocked. Sorry. Nostalgic: because James was my cousin and in our own way, albeit negative, you have to say he was a large part of my life during my school years. Bewildered and bitter: because I suddenly realised that apart from an infant, I was the last of the Potter line, but as far away from being a Potter as you could get. Guilty: because I had never carried out my mother's dying wish to bury the hatchet on the past twenty four odd years of dissension and bitterness. There was also real grief for Lily, and anger because she could have been spared if she had not tried to save you."

"If you think this is making me feel any better, then you're totally nuts," stated Harry bitterly.

"I am trying to be honest."

"And hurtful."

"It is not my intent to hurt you, Harry. You asked me a question. I am answering it. I have never pretended to be anything than what I am, and what I am, is not a very nice person. In my grief, I thought I was perfectly reasonable to be angry and bitter because Lily had chosen to forfeit her life knowing as she must have done, that her child would die seconds after her. When a wizard as powerful and evil as the Dark Lord marks you for death, you die. Your mother had no way of knowing that her sacrifice would save your life and rip him from his body and virtually destroy him for many a long year to come.

Harry swallowed, the horror of that night that he had relived often under the effects of the Dementors, flashed through his mind again, bathed as it had been in the hideous green flash of the Killing Curse. Snape's thoughts on that night were making him see the whole thing from another perspective. He tried to rationalise his mother's actions.

"She knew the prophecy," he said. "That's why my Mum and dad went into hiding, why they employed the Fidelius Charm..." Harry took a deep breath, his face set. "And put their trust in that weak, treacherous shit, Pettigrew."

"Harry, your mother could not possibly have thought that you would survive a confrontation with the Dark Lord when you were fifteen months old, regardless of the prophecy. She could not have known that if you by some miracle did survive, then the Dark Lord would mark you as his equal. She did not have time to reason these things out."

"Look, I get that you're unhappy that my mum died to save me, OK. How do you think I feel to know that she could have lived. But have you ever stopped to think how she would have felt knowing that her husband and son were dead and she survived?" Harry was getting angry again.

"I know how she would have felt. She would have pined away. She would probably have died anyway, months, or perhaps years later." They were both silent for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. When Severus spoke again, he looked directly at Harry.

"I was the same age as James and Lily when they died, Harry. I was young and selfish and I had been around evil for far too long. I was only thinking of myself and was totally incapable of projecting myself into the shoes of a parent.

"James died trying to protect his wife and child, the two people he loved most in the world. Your mother died trying to protect you, and knowing that her husband was already dead. Your father would have died anyway; that was one of the things the Dark Lord went their to do. But I could never understand your mother's actions." Harry looked away, his face set.

"But now I think I do understand Harry." Harry's head spun back and he stared at Severus.

"I never thought about having children. There was only one woman I ever had the sort of feelings for that might conceivably lead to children..."

"My mum?"

Severus paused for a minute but then nodded once. ‘Yes. Your mother never made me believe that she could ever love me as anything more than a very good friend, but I admit I was bitter when she chose James. But even their relationship and subsequent engagement and marriage didn't kill my love. I just buried it deeply and continued along the dark path I had chosen at the age of sixteen.

"I could not refuse her when she asked me to help James. And also, in the back of my mind was the memory of my mother asking me to make peace with James.

"But I could have had no idea of the consequence that sharing my blood with James would bring about. Not even with my background in healing. Truthfully, I could not believe it when your mother sent me word that James had survived and was back to normal. I had not been able to deny Lily's request, but I was sure her theory was wrong, and I was sure that James would die."

"You hoped, you mean." Harry couldn't stop himself from saying.

Severus's eyes narrowed a little, but he controlled his anger with an effort. Harry still felt the need to mouth off, it seemed. Severus rubbed his forehead, aware that a headache was beginning to flare

Just be patient a little longer.

"No, strangely enough, I did not hope that James would die. I had given up the hope of ever winning your mother for myself. I was bitter, yes, but also resigned. I wanted her to be happy. And James made her happy.

"I am not sorry that I saved James's life. I am glad Lily was happy with her husband and son. I have had longer to process these facts, Harry, and not a night has gone past since the paternity potion proved that you are as much my son as you are James and Lily's that I have not dreamed of your mother. The Lily I knew would be thankful to know that her son had someone living, that he can call family, no matter how belatedly that discovery has been made.

"I do not believe that she would have been happy about you being put in the care of her sister and her walrus of a husband. I also know that she would have been greatly distressed with my own treatment of you over the last five years, but that is in the past, and it cannot be changed now. I can only hope that you will be willing to try to make this relationship work-and as much as you might try to deny it, there is a relationship, Harry.

"I do not know what has changed over the last couple of weeks, but I am willing to try to be a father to you."

Those striking green eyes Harry had inherited from his beautiful mother seemed to shine like polished emeralds. Severus knew it was a sheen of tears making them appear so. "Because you think my mother would want that?" he said in a tight voice.

"That, and because I want it. I hope that you will want to take the chance of allowing me to be a father to you."

The silence in the dungeon rooms seemed to go on for ever. Harry stared at the man who had spent the last five years making his life a living hell. Of course, he had also saved Harry's life on more than one occasion, but Harry was sure that had not been a personal choice. That had, no doubt, been an order from on high. Harry was sure that Snape would not have lifted a finger to protect him if the headmaster had not asked him to help to keep Harry safe. So how was he, Harry, now supposed to put all of that behind him and accept that the man was now willing to try to act like a father. A father for Merlin's sake!

The whole thing was just so totally inconceivable. Harry could not get his head around it, no matter how hard he tried, and every time the thought wafted across his conscious mind-something he fought against happening-he thought his brain would explode and his innards would twist themselves into knots. How could a person have three parents? To his mundane Muggle-raised mind, it was impossible. Harry wondered if he had been brought up a wizard-if most of his life had not been spent as a Muggle-whether this whole situation would be any more believable. Were there any other witches or wizards out there who could lay claim to having three parents?

Harry very much doubted it. Until the age of eleven, he had truly thought that he deserved the title of ‘freak' that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia used to yell or hiss at him many times a day. It seemed that it had taken him until he had started at primary school to realise that ‘freak' was not his real name. He had always thought ‘Harry' had been his nick name, so infrequently did he hear it, until his teachers had called him Harry whenever they spoke to him.

And when Harry had finally been old enough to learn the meaning of ‘freak'...well, he had had to agree with his aunt and uncle. He was one, wasn't he? What normal person did the weird things he had done on almost a daily basis? In terms of magic, most of them had been pretty mundane: like summoning a toy a short distance when he was little, or improving some of Dudley's more revolting cast-off clothes just by running his hands over them; the same when Aunt Petunia had practically scalped him and his hair had grown back overnight. But other things had been much more spectacular: like accidentally turning his teachers hair blue and that time he had Apparated onto the school roof, and worst of all for him and eliciting one of his worst punishments ever, when he had made the glass in the snake enclosure at the zoo disappear and the boa constrictor had escaped.

As much as he had hated the punishment and had even been frightened for his life, Harry had privately agreed that he needed to be locked in the cupboard under the stairs for that particular misdemeanour. Maybe he hadn't deserved to be beaten to within an inch of his life though, for something he had no control over. Luckily it had been the school holidays, because Harry had not been able to move, nor show himself in public until his injuries had healed...and that had been about four days.

That was another of the freakish things that was connected with him. Harry healed far too quickly, considering some of the injuries he had sustained at the hands of his uncle. If he had a particularly spectacular bruise that should have taken about a week to fade, it was often gone the next morning. He was sure that he had suffered a broken arm once when he was about four-his upper arm was bent at a funny angle and it had been agonisingly painful-but after crying all night and keeping his small hand clasped around the injury, trying to support it, it was straight and pain-free the next morning. All manner of swellings, sprains, contusions and, he suspected, other broken bones had seemingly healed after he had ran his hands over them.

Not so magical injuries though...he had not gotten over the poisoning easily.

But of course, his ignorance of his origins did not excuse the adults in his life at the time for what they had done to him, just because he had been a perfectly normal wizard child. Despite their denials, they had known that he was a wizard. And as much as they had hated that fact, they had known that the things he did accidentally were normal for him...Aunt Petunia definitely had; she had grown up with her little sister no doubt doing similar things to what Harry did unknowingly.

How stupid did you have to be to think you could beat part of someone's makeup out of them?

But now, if Uncle Vernon ever found out about this situation with Snape, then he would actually have cause to call Harry a freak. God, other wizards would probably call him a freak if this ever came to light. But it wasn't going to come to light. Why would it? It wasn't as if James Potter wasn't his dad. He wouldn't have to lie to anyone about that. Even if, by some miracle, he and Snape could reach an understanding, Harry couldn't imagine any circumstance where he would actually start to think of the man as a father. No-one would ever find out.

And then last night flashed through Harry's mind and he closed his eyes in horror. He had yelled at Professor Dumbledore...he had actually said something like ‘do you have a message from my father'? and ‘I know he would want to deliver it himself, but the Dark Lord must take precedence'. He had actually said those things in front of Ginny. Of course Dumbledore had asked her not to say anything and Harry was positive that Ginny would keep the secret, but her mind must be teeming with questions.

God, what was he going to do about that?

The continuing silence suddenly pressed down on Harry and he glanced back over at Snape. He was still staring at Harry over the top of his steepled fingers, so Harry figured he hadn't drifted off into his own thoughts for too long. The man wasn't renowned for his patience after all. Harry wondered what Snape was really thinking. You couldn't tell anything from looking into the depths of those black, black pools. Snape was totally inscrutable. Harry wished that if he had to have some of Snape's traits, why couldn't it have been the ability to hide every thought behind a blank façade. Why couldn't he have inherited Snape's brilliance at Occlumency and Legilimency? Why did he have to be so open? If he had been a natural like Snape, then Sirius wouldn't have died.

Yeah, and if you had at least practised, maybe you might have learned just enough to block out that murdering scum-bag from drawing you to the Department of Mysteries.

Apart from Lupin, Harry had considered Sirius to be the last link to his parents. Sirius had been their choice to be the one to be responsible for Harry if anything ever happened to them. But he had lost three people the night that Voldemort had decided to kill him along with his parents. Sirius had tried to avenge them, and he had been lost too.

And even if it had been allowed that a werewolf could be responsible for a child, Harry now knew that Dumbledore would have still made him live with the Dursleys...for the blood protection.

What would have happened if this bizarre relationship between him and Snape had come to light either before, or just after his parents had died? What would Dumbledore have done then? Because of course, there was no blood connection between Lily and Snape. Would Dumbledore have still wanted Harry to go to the Dursleys? And would Snape have wanted him?

Harry scooted forwards till he was sitting on the edge of his seat, his back hunched, his elbows resting on his thighs and his eyes focused on his hands as he picked at a hangnail. Severus ground his teeth together but made every effort to keep his face expressionless. That was a habit he would have to try to cure the boy of.

After a minute of this torturous behaviour, Harry seemed to realise how irritating his action was and he clenched one fist and wrapped the other hand tightly around it. It was clear to Severus that he was trying to get up the nerve to say something.

Severus wanted to bite out an order just to spit it out, but he knew that any overt displays of impatience would set everything back...perhaps for ever. "Harry, it is obvious that you have something to say." Harry raised haunted green eyes to him. "Please, if you have a question just..."

"If you had known about this when my mum and dad were killed, would you have taken me?" The words were said in a rush and Severus sat very still, hardly daring to breath. Of all the things he had expected to be asked, this most certainly wasn't one of them. How to answer...

He prevaricated. "Harry, how can I possibly answer that. I did not know..."

"Try," ordered Harry in a terse voice.

The silence stretched as the two raven-haired wizards stared at each other. It was Severus who looked away first. He sighed.

"I cannot say unequivocally what I would have done, Harry, but knowing the person I was then, I would have to say, no, I doubt I would have taken you." Severus saw Harry's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. Then he threw himself back in the chair again so that all Severus could see was his unruly hair and his forehead.

"Right," Harry said, drawing out the word bitterly.

"No, Harry, it is not right. But I am being absolutely honest with you." Now it was Severus's turn to lean forward in his chair, his attitude mirroring Harry's except that his long fingered hands were still.

"I was twenty-one years old and I was not a nice person. I was also in a state of shock after finding out about your...about James and Lily and like most, I was also in a total state of disbelief.

"It is hard to describe to you the total chaos our world was in that night. The joy being displayed by all wizards but followers of the Dark Lord. The absolute wonder being expressed about a fifteen month old infant who had both survived the killing curse and done away with the most evil wizard our world had ever known.

"And there was I, having to pretend a fury I did not feel because my Lord..." the word sounded like an expletive, "was gone. And to keep up my cover, I had to meet secretly with various of my compatriots as they tried in their blind fury to track you down. I had to pretend to be searching for you also when I was not answering to my other master.

"Those sorts of searches went on for months...it was during that time that the Longbottoms were attacked. It is no secret that Bellatrix was rabid in her determination to find you, and she thought that as the Longbottoms had just become new parents themselves, then they might have taken you in. Dumbledore did not even tell me what he had done with you, Harry. And to my present shame, I never enquired about your wellbeing. All I knew was that you were safe from retribution from the remaining devotees of the Dark Lord."

Harry had remained slumped in the chair throughout the whole of this speech. He knew he shouldn't have asked the question. He had known what Snape's answer would be. So why did he feel so depressed? Apparently being lumbered with a fifteen month old toddler was as abhorrent as being lumbered with a sixteen year old teen.

Snape seemed to sense something of his thoughts, though what he said didn't make Harry feel any better. "Thinking of all that went on then, Harry, I am glad I did not know about you and the fact that I was your father. I was not in the right place to take responsibility for an infant. I was very young..."

"My mum and dad were the same age as you. They took to being parents OK."

Snape gritted his teeth again, but he tried to speak as matter-of-factly as possible. "Yes, they did. But the difference there, Harry, is that they chose to be parents. I have had this knowledge thrust upon me, much as you have. I have hardly had enough time to get used to it myself."

Harry sprang from the chair, as if he could no longer bear to remain still. "You didn't seem to be very used to it the other day. You hate the idea that you're a dad..." He paced back and forth for a few seconds, but then he turned around and looked at Severus calculatedly. Severus tensed slightly, wondering what gem the boy was going to slam him about the ears with this time.

"Though I have to wonder whether it's being a father so much as being my father. Now if you had just found out that Malfoy was your son, I bet the idea wouldn't be quite so repugnant."

Severus now rose from his chair. God, he wished he could resort to a snort of whisky to get him through this. Harry was not making it easy and Severus didn't know how much longer he could hold out without losing it. He walked stiffly towards the table where he poured himself another cup of coffee in lieu of the preferred whisky. After taking several sips of the still hot brew, he felt calm enough to respond to Harry's latest broadside.

"As much as being a father has been a shock to my senses, and one that I grant you I did not respond to well, I can assure you it would give me absolutely no pleasure to find out that I had anything to do with siring Draco. Whereas I always assumed that you were a spoiled, arrogant little toe rag, I know for a fact that Draco is one.

"You still favour him above everyone else, though, including the rest of the Slytherins in my year."

"I have appearances to keep up, Harry, you must know that."

"Crabbe and Goyle's father's are Death Eaters too, so is Theodore Notts. You don't pander to them like you do Malfoy."

Severus's hand had jerked as he raised his cup to his lips at the mention of Harry's would be assassin. Coffee slopped down the front of his robes and with a hiss of annoyance, he put his cup down and pulled out his wand. He kept his back to Harry whilst he cleaned his robes, in case the boy saw anything revealing in his face. His voice was carefully bland when he replied.

"The seniors Nott, Crabbe and Goyle do not have the seniority that Lucius Malfoy has within the ranks of the Dark Lord. I do not toady to them, they toady to me. Lucius is older and has always been a favourite of the Dark Lord's, as was his father and uncles before him."

"And as will be his snivelling coward of a son, no doubt," ground out Harry.

Severus took a deep breath, remembering how Draco had forcibly been branded. Nott too, but his feelings of fury over Nott's ill conceived attempt to kill Harry had not lessened enough for him to feel any sympathy towards the taciturn boy, despite witnessing the horror of seeing his mother killed by the ruthless animal that he had decided to emulate.

"We are here to discuss us, Harry, not my Slytherins and your less than friendly feelings towards them."

"My less than friendly feelings," he sputtered, outraged. "You know that any fight I have gotten into with the Slytherins has been instigated by Malfoy, backed up by his goons, of course. He wouldn't know a fair fight if it bit him on the bum." And though Severus did not doubt his assertions, this was not a topic he wished to get into.

Harry had thrust his hands into his pockets and his chin was thrust forward in a very pugnacious attitude. He was kicking the base of the brickwork surrounding the fireplace with a trainer clad foot, over and over...seemingly mindlessly.

Severus decided that it was time to take control of the conversation again. He turned the dining chair around so that it faced the sitting room, lowering himself into it and crossing his arms. When he spoke his words were measured and he knew Harry was listening because the kicking eventually subsided and he finally just stood, gazing into the empty grate.

"If I could go back and change what happened yesterday, the unfeeling way that I finally broke this news to you and the totally inappropriate way that I treated you during the telling, I would. It was not my most shining hour and I cannot express my remorse fully enough.

"When you disappeared right from under my nose and the noses of the Order member who was keeping watch outside, I was furious for all of about thirty seconds, and then, I started to worry." Severus cocked his head to one side in question. "How did you get past Diggle, by the way?"

Harry looked across to him, but then he quickly returned his gaze to the grate. Severus saw that his cheeks had reddened. "I suppose I used my invisibility cloak."

"You suppose?" said Severus with a raised eyebrow.

"It's all really vague. It wasn't a conscious decision to leave."

"And yet, you were compos enough to get your invisibility cloak from your trunk." Harry shrugged.

"I don't remember getting it. I don't remember walking out of the house or walking far enough away to hail the Knight Bus without the guard seeing it arrive. The first conscious thought I had was realising that I was at Godric's Hollow." Harry looked back at Severus; he had leaned forward on his seat, his forearms resting on his thighs again and his hands clasped between his knees. Black eyes bore into wide green ones.

Harry felt a slight pressure behind his eyes and for a second he was not sure what the discomfort meant. Then with a shock he realised that Snape was probing. He had not recognised the sensation immediately, because he had never felt this particular brand of Legilimency before. That is to say, gentle Legilimency.

All the same, he reacted as if his mind was being raped again. He wrenched his head to the side and with a snarl of fury, he kicked the brickwork again-hard. "What do you think you're doing?" he roared.

Severus shut his eyes and dropped his head, berating himself for being all kinds of a fool. What had he been thinking? He listened as Harry stalked up and down like a caged animal.

"You said you wanted to talk!" Harry's voice was still raised. He was utterly livid. "You didn't say anything about using Legilimency on me!"

"I am truly sorry, Harry," Severus said softly, a contrast to Harry's angry tirade. "That was totally inexcusable of me."

Harry was somewhat taken aback by the apology and the quiet tone totally took the wind out of his sails. He slumped back down in the chair, rubbing his forehead with stiff fingers. "I wasn't lying," he said more calmly.

"I know."

Harry looked at him and flared up once again, though his tone was more muted. "Yeah, you know because you saw that I was telling the truth. If this is going to work on any level Professor, then you have to trust me."

Silence swallowed up the last of the angry words. ‘'"As you do me, Harry."

Harry flared up again. "How can I trust you when you do things like that?"

"I have told you that it was inexcusable of me to Legilimize you. I am not even sure why I did it..."

"You did it because you thought I'd left the Dursleys yesterday just to give you a hard time! I didn't. I don't know why I left, but I suppose it's because I had to have some sort of contact with my mum and d...with James."

"Say dad, Harry. James is still your father. James will always be your father, and I would not expect you to forget that. Just remember, without James, none of this situation would have been possible. If James and I had not been cousins; if we had not been the son's of each of twin siblings who were also the children of an identical twin, then Lily would never have asked me to donate blood to James in the first place. So, it is the fact that we were cousins first that made this situation possible."

Silence descended again as Harry thought of what Severus had said. It soothed him a little. After a while, his quiet voice, just above a whisper broke the silence. "I had accepted you as a cousin, you know. I was even growing comfortable with it."

Severus sighed. "Another reason why family disagreements should never be allowed to fester."

Harry levered himself upright and looked across the chair arm at Severus. "What do you mean?"

"The Potters obviously have a very, very strong streak of stubbornness running through them. My grandfather-your great grandfather-my mother and Jame's father were all obviously very stubborn people. None of them would back down after the break down of their relationship.

"It must have been a tremendous wrench for my mother and her brother to not have contact with each other because they had always been very close. If only one or both of them had taken after their mother, the situation may have been salvageable." Severus sighed again and Harry was a little surprised at the look of regret on his austere face.

"She must have been heartbroken," Severus said quietly. "I know she stayed in touch with my mother as much as she could."

"She sounds like she was a really nice lady," said Harry wistfully. Severus nodded.

"Everything I was told about her would indicate as much. I do not remember her myself, however."

Harry looked at him questioningly. "But you were born before she died, weren't you? If your mum was preg...err, expecting you when she broke away from the Potters..." He trailed off, feeling stupid. So what if Snape had been born before Eileen Potter's mother had died. If Severus had still been a baby, or even a very young child when she died, he still wouldn't remember her, would he?

"My mother was pregnant when she left her parent's home, yes, but that baby wasn't me." Harry looked stunned.

"You mean you have an older brother or sister?" he asked incredulously. Did he actually have more relatives out there. The thought was somehow exciting, but Severus quickly disabused him of any such notion.

"No, Harry. I am an only child. My mother suffered a miscarriage within days of the estrangement. I was not born for another couple of years. I do not remember my grandmother because I was barely two when she died. I have seen her through my mother's eyes though, in her pensieve."

Harry was now perched on the edge of his chair again. He was looking at Severus with a hopeful light in his beautiful green eyes. Severus knew exactly what he was thinking. Those eyes really were a very accurate barometer for everyone of the boy's thoughts. "If you wish it, then someday I can show you the memories that my mother showed me. They are stored in the little pensieve she left me."

Harry grinned and nodded excitedly. "That'd be great," he enthused. "I've never seem any pictures of my grandparents...and I'll see my great grandparents as well."

Severus decided he had better haul the boy's expectations in a little. "Just a word of warning Harry. These happenings I have spoken of are not pleasant memories on the whole. These were very distressing scenes. So much so, my mother did not bother to take them back. She left them in the pensieve."

Harry smile had faded as Severus spoke. "I realise that," he said. "But I will at least see what everyone looked like." He gazed down at his hands for several seconds, obviously deep in thought. He looked up at Severus again. "This whole thing with you and me is just so weird. Do you realise that not only is your mother my great aunt, she's also my grandmother."

Harry stood up and thrust his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped as his gaze settled once again on the empty grate. Severus watched him, holding his breath, worried that the small accord they had reached might be about to disintegrate again. He spoke in a carefully modulated voice. "No, I had not thought of that. I can tell you though, that my mother would have been overjoyed to have a grandson, as she would have been overjoyed to have a great nephew if she had been alive when you were born." Harry lifted his eyes from the contemplation of the grate and stared at Severus, his face blank. Severus hoped he had not overplayed his hand. He continued with his planned speech.

"And if she had not died when she did, Harry, I am positive that my mother would have known you, because she was determined to end the rift between herself and her brother. I like to think that he would have accepted the olive branch, and that James would have also embraced her within the family fold. After all, he did make overtures to me."

"Yeah," said Harry, in a voice as blank as his eyes. "And you knocked him back." Harry leaned against the brick wall of the fireplace, his feet a foot or so forwards and his thin backside and back against the bricks. His hands were still in his pockets and his eyes were now focused on his trainers.

"Yes, I did. But Harry, if my mother had still been alive, things may have turned out differently. I doubt, for instance, that I would have ended up in the Dark Lord's black web." Now Severus's gaze was fixed on the grate and his next words were introspective. "I would not have been able to bear the disappointment I would have seen in her eyes."

Harry turned his head and looked at the man who was responsible for having turned his life on it's head over the last couple of weeks. He could still see the sneering, narrow-eyed glare that he was most used to in the now impassive lines of Snape's face. He realised that Severus Snape's life had been no picnic either, but the man had at least had his mother during his formative years. He had known a parent's love and devotion, even as he had known pain and distress at the other parent's hands.

He, Harry had not had even that. He knew he could have coped better with Uncle Vernon's violence if he could have been safe in the knowledge that his aunt at least cared for him. But she had hated him just as vehemently, if not more so because he was a living reminder of the sister that she had been jealous of and had come to hate.

He knew that James and Lily had loved him; they had delighted in their baby son...he at least had a couple of photos that proved that, and he had Sirius and Lupin's testimonies as to the depth of that love. But what better testimony did he need than the fact that they had both died in an effort to protect him.

But now he had the chance of having a life with another parent. He did not kid himself that that life would be the loving idyll that growing up with Lily and James would have been...he wasn't even sure if either he or Snape would ever be able to get past their hatred and animosity. How could he even believe that Snape was doing this for himself and not upon the orders of Dumbledore. Keep ‘The Boy Who Lived' happy by thinking he has a parent.

But Harry was pretty sure that Snape hated him too much to be willing to go along with such a ridiculous and repugnant plan if he didn't want to. In fact Harry wasn't even sure that Snape's hatred would even be able to get past the fact of his paternity being proven by that potion, despite his present assertions to the contrary. If the man had been able and willing to hide their relationship as cousins for all the years he had known Harry, then how was he going to be able to even try to be a father. Harry had to think that he was making this massive effort because Dumbledore would want him to and because, in a misguided way, he thought that it was what he should be doing to keep Harry happy. After all, if there was one thing about Snape that Harry was now sure about, it was the fact that Snape was definitely against Voldemort; he fought for the light. And if the only way that that snake-like scum was going to meet his demise was at Harry's hands, then it stood to reason that Harry should be kept happy.

Well, he wouldn't be happy knowing that Snape was just going through the motions. Harry pushed himself away from his backrest and walked beyond the small area bounded by the lounge furniture. He moved over to the dining table and threw himself down in the chair he had earlier vacated. He reached out and grabbed a scone, surprised that they were still warm. When he broke it open, the delicious smell assailed his senses and he realised that he was a little hungry. He reached for the jam.

Severus did not join him; the boy was obviously on the verge of saying something, so he waited patiently. He heard the soft noises of food preparation and then he heard the sound of coffee being pored. The fragrant aroma tickled his senses, but still he waited.

Finally, after ten minutes, Harry put his cup back in it's saucer. Severus heard Harry mutter a quiet spell to cleanse his sticky fingers. He wanted to automatically chastise the boy for using magic during the holiday but then he bit his tongue. Harry had quite definitely had enough trouble with the authorities over the use of underage magic, and so, he had obviously realised that one more spell being cast within the walls of Hogwarts would not alert the ministry. It was just one of many.

Still, as a parent, wasn't it his place to ensure that Harry obeyed the rules, stupid as they seemed at times. He rose and joined Harry in the dining area and making sure his tone was not confrontational, he said, "I believe it is my place to tell you not to use magic during the holidays, Harry."

"No-one will know while I'm here."

"I know. And as your parent..."

Harry jumped up. "Look, Professor, you don't have to keep on doing this. I recognise that you are making an effort, I really do. But I also know that you must be hating every minute of it. Hatred doesn't turn to love just because of a stupid potion." Harry threw his arms wide. "It doesn't even turn to acceptance or liking. Let's just leave things like they were before."

"We cannot leave things as they were before. Not with the knowledge we now have."

"You went along with knowing that we were cousins without it worrying you one iota."

"Being a father is a shade more intense than being a cousin Harry. I denied James for all of our years at school, and as first cousins, we were more closely related than you and I." Severus was trying to hold onto his patience. How was he going to convince the boy.

"You're being forced to do this, aren't you? By Dumbledore."

"No."

"You must be!" bellowed Harry. "I am still the son of your most hated enemy and cousin. I am still that cheeky, annoying little snot of a Gryffindor."

Severus leaned across the table. "And you are also the son of the woman that I loved," he bellowed back and then he pushed himself erect and Harry fell back a step in fear as the man pulled his wand. He thought Snape was going to hex him again. But at Snape's next words, Harry's jaw dropped.

"Cast your Patronus."

"What?"

"Cast your Patronus."

Harry swallowed. "I was always Lily's son," he said hoarsely, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Yes, but now I know I am your parent as well...that I am that along with Lily...and with James. We three have shares in you and I didn't know that before. But I do now. And now that I have had time to get used to this revelation, I am determined that I will continue in their effort to protect you. If I loved your mother, I can come to care for her son...our son. Now, cast your Patronus."

"But why," said Harry shaking his head, a little punch drunk after listening to that impassioned speech. And in answer, Severus raised his wand.

"Expecto Patronum," he said in a strong voice. And Harry saw with amazement, a beautiful, dainty doe land on her tiny hooves as she appeared before them, the result of Severus's incantation.

Harry stared at her, mesmerized, his eyes beginning to tear up as the blindingly, bright apparition dazzled his retinas. Then dazedly, he pulled his own wand-paler and slightly shorter than Severus's-and with thoughts of Ginny waking him that morning, he summoned forth Prongs. He sighed with relief when he felt the jolt his wand always gave when his Patronus was bursting forth. It had deserted him back in the graveyard in Godric's Hollow.

Both Severus and Harry fell back several paces as the magnificent six point antlered stag materialized, taking up most of the room in the area behind the sofa. The stag easily overshadowed the doe with his sheer size, but as Severus and Harry watched, the two smoky wraith-like apparitions tripped towards each other and put their muzzles together. Harry's eyes widened and a whispered "oh" escaped his parted lips. Severus just stood and stared at the beautiful sight.

"That is all the proof you need that I wish to do this, Harry." Severus turned towards him. "Until your mother died, I was incapable of producing a Patronus. When I tried after Lily's murder, I produced this doe. This doe was your mother's Patronus. She did not produce a Patronus until she and James were together and, perhaps unsurprisingly, her Patronus was the match of the man's she loved.

"As I had never produced a Patronus before, and as Lily had no more need of hers, and because I had never stopped loving her, when I finally managed to produce a Patronus, it was hers. You have produced you father's stag from the beginning-both his animagus form and his Patronus-and no more proof that we should be acting upon this relationship, is needed as far as I am concerned.

Both Patronuses were still visible, though they had begun to fade; their brightness no longer rendered Harry blind. He still had spots before his eyes though, but he could not drag his eyes away from the apparition before him. However he was quite capable of speaking. "But you have to think of something really happy to produce a Patronus. How could you produce one after my mum had died, but you couldn't produce one before? Thoughts of her death could hardly be considered happy."

Severus too was watching the fading deer. "No. I was devastated. I do believe Albus feared I may do something stupid. It was more than a year later, when in the presence of Dementors that I tried, hopelessly, I thought, to produce a Patronus.

"I was being overwhelmed by a rogue group who had never succumbed to ministry rule, and in my hopelessness, my thoughts turned to Lily...the Lily I had known since we started at Hogwarts. The Lily whom I had been best friends with and the Lily I had fallen in love with. Memories of that Lily lifted my soul and her Patronus saved my life. Her Patronus became mine."

The bright light cast by the deer had faded to almost nothing now, and Severus turned back to Harry at the same time as Harry looked at him. "Just as you have become mine," he said. "Or at least, just as I have learned that you are mine.

"I believe that your mother may have had suspicions about your paternity. Nobody knows an infant as well as its mother. Your looks combine James and Lily, but I am also there in your face and expressions for anyone who wishes to look closely enough. And if Lily knew enough about magical blood to correctly predict that I could save James with some of my blood, then I have to assume that she knew enough to suspect that her son would have traces of both James and myself.

"I knew your mother well, Harry, and I know that she would have wished me to take up the mantle of parenthood. And the fact that we never knew about our relationship until you are nearly a man, and the fact that I have been unforgivably foul to you for several years does not change what I believe to be true...and that is that she would have wanted this."

Harry swallowed the lump that had was now blocking his throat. He turned away and used his sleeve to swipe at the tears that had welled up and that had nothing to do with the laser bright light that had now disappeared.

"But I have to know that this is what you truly want, Professor," he whispered. "You see, I'm Harry James Potter. I'm not Lily. I only have her eyes."

Severus took Harry gently by the shoulders and turned him around to face him. He had to put a long finger under Harry's chin to bring his head up. And then he had to say, "look at me, Harry," before the boy lifted his eyes.

"This is what I want. I am ready to learn to be a father. And if you are willing to learn to be my son, we can do it together.

"I do not imagine for a minute that it will be easy. We are both too volatile. You got your temper from me, by the way."

Harry managed to produce a watery grin. "What temper?" Severus, to Harry's amazement produced a pretty good imitation of a smile himself. the thin lips lifted the barest fraction at the corners."

"You get your sarcastic sense of humour from your mother."

"Not James?"

Severus shook his head. "No, sarcasm wasn't James's forte. His humour was more robust. A lot like Fred and George Weasley's." Harry's smile faded a little but Severus did not let him lower his gaze.

"If a lot of that humour had not been directed at myself, I could have appreciated James's sense of fun." He did let Harry's chin go now, but he kept his other hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Our mutual antipathy was the fault of us both, Harry. And I gave as good as I got. What you saw in the pensieve was a particularly bad day for me. But there was many a day where I bested both James and Sirius. I also targeted Lupin and Pettigrew, though neither were usually involved in James's, Black's and my mutual hexing or jinxing episodes. Pettigrew because he was a weak coward and Lupin because he was too high minded. At least Lupin retaliated when I did target him, unlike Pettigrew who just ran to the others. Lupin never instigated anything though. I targeted them because it infuriated James and Black."

"It was pretty constant though," said Harry miserably.

"Not as constant as you may think. Most of the time, we chose to ignore each other. And often, any altercation was at Sirius's instigation."

That pronouncement definitely did nothing to raise Harry's spirits, but Severus continued gently. "The day your father tried to reconcile with me, Sirius was standing off to the side. He did not look happy at this turn of events. But he looked ecstatic when I knocked James back. As I stalked off, I heard him encouraging James to hex me from behind. But James said ‘no' and he left in the opposite direction.

"After that day, I had little trouble with the Marauders and when I did, it was inevitably Sirius working alone."

Harry had turned away now and Severus's hand dropped. "Yeah, I get it," said Harry bitterly. "Sirius was immature and a bigger bully than my...than James."

"I am not telling you this to upset you Harry. I know why Black was like he was. He was jealous of the fact that James and I were cousins and he did not want James to become friendly with me. He had lost his own family, by his own choice and he had adopted James as his brother. He did not want James's affections being shared around more than they already were. I do believe he was even jealous of Lily for a time until he realised that Lily would do nothing to upset his and James's close friendship."

Severus lowered himself onto the arm of the sofa. "I can understand that jealousy Harry. That is how I felt when it became obvious that Lily had finally succumbed to James's charms.

"Now, from the distance of all these years, and from the place where I am now, I can look at Black's actions with less hatred."

"It didn't look like that last year," accused Harry in a voice that had become just a little confrontational again.

"Last year, I was just Severus Snape: Order member, Death Eater and spy...and an angry, bitter man. Now I am Severus Snape: father, Order member, Death Eater and spy. I find that I am no longer as angry and bitter. I know that you mourn Black and that is as it should be."

Severus let silence enfold them. If he had not said enough to convince Harry of his desire to try to be a father, then he doubted he would ever be able to convince him. After a minute, Harry excused himself and marched off towards the bedroom and the bathroom beyond.

Severus knew Harry needed to be alone. He waited impatiently, stalking backwards and forwards behind the sofa. After five minutes he grabbed the bottle of whisky and slopped a goodly measure into a tumbler. He threw it back quickly, not wanting Harry to see that he had resorted to alcohol to calm his nerves.

It was fifteen minutes and another hefty dose of whisky later, before Harry appeared in the bedroom doorway. Severus saw him there after he had spun around to retrace his steps over the path he had been wearing in the flagstone floor. The boys hair was a total mess-more so than usual-and his eyes were bright in his pale face. Whatever he had been doing for the last twenty minutes, it had not included grooming himself. As Severus stared, twin blossoms of colour stained Harry's cheeks.

"So," Harry said, his voice wavering. "How do we go about this?"

Severus didn't realise just how tense he had been until he let out a long held breath and he sagged with relief. But the sight of Harry's still obvious disquiet as to whether he was leaving himself open for more heartache stiffened his spine again. He could not believe just how important this decision had been to him until Harry had finally succumbed to his persuasion.

He knew better than to make any overt display of affection...even a touch might make the boy bolt at this moment of decision.

"We will work that out together."

Harry stared at him and then pressing his lips together, he gave a single, determined nod. At that moment, perhaps fortuitously, the floo flared green and the two black haired wizard looked towards it, both of them grateful for an interruption.

Albus Dumbledore's bearded face smiled benevolently at Severus and Harry from within the green flames. "Ah, my boys...I'm glad to see you're still here. May I step through?"

"As if I have the wherewithal to stop you," Severus grumbled with ill concealed irritation. But the disembodied head had already disappeared. Severus rolled his eyes and turned away from the fireplace. Mad old coot, he thought. And where else would we be, seem as it was you who opened up the direct floo connection to these rooms from the Burrow and who would have immediately closed them again when you knew we had arrived.

Harry's face had flamed crimson when he had seen his headmaster's head within the green flames. Memories of their last encounter rose up to engulf him in shame. It was the second time he had lost his temper around the powerful, but benevolent old wizard. He really needed to do something about controlling these explosive rages. And then he recalled Snape telling him that he got that temper from him. Harry's heart sank even further. What were the chances of his ending up a benevolent old man one day? Zero.

What were the chances of his ending up any sort of old man, was the more pertinent question, he thought dejectedly. When the green flames whooshed higher and Dumbledore stepped out looking resplendent in olde gold robes with silver stitching, Harry turned away, too ashamed to meet his headmaster's eyes. As he turned away, he could not help but note that there was not a speck of soot on those lurid robes. It always amazed Harry that the old man could floo and always step out of the fire at the end of his journey, spotless. Come to think of it, there was never a trace of soot on Snape's robes either. Harry wondered if clean floo travel was a talent that came with age.

Perhaps not necessarily. Harry recalled that Mrs Weasley carried a clothes brush around with her when she and the family flooed anywhere. If there was a spell to repel soot, then surely Mrs Weasley would know it. There had to be another reason why some wizards were obviously able to remain clean within the floo network. He would have to remember to ask Snape.

Harry winced internally. Snape! What in the hell did he call the man, now. How many people called their father by his surname? ‘Severus' was totally out of the question. In the Muggle world, Harry knew that there were some kids who called their fathers by their Christian names, but that was usually because they were little smart-arses who thought they were sticking it to their fathers by being disrespectful. Hmm, maybe that was something to think about if Sn...if his father got on his nerves too much. And of course Harry thought with an internal snigger, if he was talking to someone else about his father, he could always resort to ‘the old man', or ‘the old cheese'!

And then he groaned; he hardly made a noise but Severus and Dumbledore both looked at his still turned back and hunched shoulders questioningly. Harry could just imagine the repercussions if Snape ever heard Harry refer to him as either of those things, even if it was to someone else. And then he thought that it would be doubtful that anyone else would ever find out that Snape was his father...well certainly not until old snake-face was gone; that information was just too dangerous to become common knowledge. And if he and Snape did start to bond-Harry nearly gagged-would he ever be able to tell anyone that he had two fathers? Oh God, he could hardly even think it, let alone talk about it to others. He was rubbing the back of his neck when he turned back to face the other two wizards. When he saw them staring at him, his cheeks flamed again.

"Is there a problem, Harry?" asked Severus. Harry wanted to laugh. He felt like saying, ‘do you want a list', but he just shook his head, totally flustered. God, he had to calm down. He had made the decision to give this relationship a shot, so that was exactly what he was going to do. He wasn't a coward. And while Snape...er, his father had been a total arse yesterday, he had been pretty decent today. Harry knew he had been making a huge effort. This wasn't going to easy for him either.

Albus thought a rescue from the tension that filled the room was in order. Both Severus and Harry needed a break from their mutual confinement and their very emotional discussion. He had flooed in because he had just wanted to make sure that all was going well. Seeing them through a haze of green flame had not assuaged his worries. But it seemed that his qualms were overstated. It seemed that major advances had been made because Severus was calling Harry by his given name, and he was doing it without any hint of derision. And if Harry was ill-at-ease, at least he wasn't bristling with resentment.

Of course, knowing Harry as he did, Albus knew that part of the boy's disquiet had to do with their own very recent interaction. He knew Harry would be feeling remorse for yesterday's harsh words. That was just Harry. The dear boy exploded with spectacular results and then his remorse was always fathoms deep and he flagellated himself until he got up the nerve to apologise. Albus didn't need an apology, but he knew Harry would need to offer one sooner or later.

"Come, Severus, Harry. I have arranged for some luncheon to be served in my rooms. I think a bit of bright sunshine...yes, the sun has broken through for the first time in days and it will do you both the world of good to bask in it's golden warmth."

Uncharacteristically, and much to Albus's satisfaction, Harry looked to Severus to see what his thoughts were to this suggestion. Severus knew they definitely needed a break from each other's sole company. He gestured towards the floo and looked at Albus. "After you headmaster," he said stiffly, and Albus re-entered the fireplace and disappeared. Then Severus gestured for Harry to precede him. When he stepped into the fireplace, Severus joined him. Harry looked up at the tall, black robed figure beside him. Severus felt his scrutiny. Before he threw the powder down, he said, "we will talk some more later, Harry."

As they were swallowed up in the green flames, Harry wondered whether that statement was a threat or a promise.

When they stepped out into the headmaster's office, the beautiful round room was indeed bathed in midsummer sunshine. Dumbledore was ascending a short circular staircase that hugged the round wall of the office when they stepped out of the fireplace-Harry would have fallen out if Severus hadn't grasped his arm-and they followed in the wake of the sweeping gold robes. Harry had never ventured up here and he assumed that the staircase led to Dumbledore's private rooms. His interest was piqued but he was too aware of the severe figure one step behind and slightly to the side of him to be relaxed.

His father. The severe figure was no longer just his hated teacher, he was his father. How was he going to separate those two people...assuming, of course, that the father was going to be different to the teacher. God, how was he going to stand it if Snape wasn't able to make the transition, if he was the same snarky, nasty Slytherin bastard he had always been. What if he couldn't get past the Potter/Gryffindor factor.

And what if I can't get past the snarky Slytherin bastard who has made my life hell for five very long years?

Harry quickly thrust those thoughts aside. He would just have to make the supreme effort to get past it. That is if he wanted any kind of relationship with the man who apparently was just as much his father biologically as James was, even if it wasn't by choice.

When they gained the next level, Harry didn't immediately see the other person in the room. He was halfway across the honey coloured timber floor before he noticed the figure rising from one of two deep armchairs in an intimate reading nook, and it wasn't until the figure stepped out of the shadows that he realised that it was Remus.

Severus realised that the fourth person in the room was Lupin a second before Harry did and he had stiffened perceptibly, shooting a basilisk's glare at Dumbledore and cursing him to the heavens for once again manoeuvring his little chess men to exactly where he wanted them to be on the board, whether they wanted to be there or not.

Harry's face had broken into a wide grin at the sight of Lupin. Something of the tension that he had been feeling for the last couple of hours loosened its hold on his chest, and he rushed forward, thumping hard into Remus, whose arms automatically closed around him. Remus's eyes found Severus over the top of the untidy raven hair and ignoring the rigid, cold countenance of his fellow Order member and old enemy, he offered a half smile and a curt nod in greeting.

Harry clung onto Remus as if he was a life line and Remus was not eager to let him go either. After last night when he thought that they were both going to be subjected to the dementor's kiss, he was happy to have the physical proof of Harry's well being clamped to his chest. If anything had happened to Harry so soon after losing Sirius...well, Remus knew that he would have welcomed the oblivion that the dementors would have provided. He was feeling utterly appalled that he had been of absolutely no use in protecting the child.

Finally, realising that he had been wrapped in Remus's arms for longer than what would be considered dignified, considering that he was nearly a man, Harry loosened his hold, albeit a little reluctantly. His face was red when he glanced up through his fringe into the careworn face of his friend and he grinned sheepishly. "Uh...sorry about that," he said. "I'm just relieved to see that you're OK."

Remus smiled and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "As you can see, Harry, I'm fine. And you don't have to apologise to your friends for showing affection." Harry ducked his head down and rubbed the back of his neck. "How are you anyway? None the worse for wear after you adventure, yesterday?"

"Err...no. I'm OK. I think I might be getting a cold though," and to demonstrate the truth of this assertion, Harry felt a sneeze coming on. He turned away and sneezed violently, his hand cupped over his lower face in lieu of a handkerchief. Remus reached into his pocket and produced a folded square of soft, oft washed maroon cotton which he handed to Harry, who mumbled an embarrassed thanks before turning away again. He blew his nose and wiped his streaming eyes, but he was a little precipitate because two more sneezes followed in quick succession.

"Perhaps some pepper-up potion might be the go, Severus," suggested Remus, turning towards the other two men who were both sipping some honey coloured liquid from small, stemmed glasses. Albus picked up another full glass and handed it to Remus.

"Thank you Lupin. I will give your suggestion all the consideration that it deserves," said Severus in a deadly voice.

"Severus!" admonished Dumbledore, but Severus had turned away and was now glaring at Harry.

"Why didn't you tell me that you felt unwell, Potter?" he asked with barely concealed, cold impatience."

Harry looked startled at the renewed use of ‘Potter', but Severus raised his eyebrows significantly and after a couple of seconds, Harry realised that this was an act for Remus's benefit. He didn't like it much that they were deceiving Remus, but he reluctantly played along. It was no act that he sounded annoyed however.

"I didn't think about it. And besides, it just suddenly came on. I felt fine when you dragged me away from the Burrow." His eyes were stormy as he glared at Severus. So, this was what it was going to be like. Amongst other people, they still had a part to play. They hated each other. Well, Harry supposed that wouldn't be too hard because they would just be falling back on the old script, wouldn't they?

"Perhaps a small glass of mead in the interim will act as a pick-me-up, Severus?" suggested Albus, who had already poured the tipple and had moved to Harry's side to hand it to him.

"Err, thanks, sir," said Harry, looking down at the glass of thickish golden liquid a little warily. He had never had mead before. He looked up at Severus, who just shook his head irritably.

"Just drink it, Potter. It wont hurt you."

"Well," said Albus, I think it is time to appease our appetites, don't you?" He clapped his hands and a round table situated near a black, wrought iron balustrade which allowed a full view of the office below, suddenly filled with dishes, and the delicious aroma of roast chicken wafted through the air. "Gentlemen," said Albus, gesturing for Remus and Severus to sit down. The two men seated themselves as far away from each other as they could but the upshot of that was that they were facing each other.

When Harry made no move to join them, Severus twisted around in his chair. Harry was just standing looking miserable-his eyes were bright with the beginnings of a fever and he was beginning to look a little florid. The handkerchief was balled up in one hand and his nearly full glass was in the other. He was looking at the platters of chicken and vegetables as if they were poison. Severus wondered how on earth he could have missed the signs of impending illness. For Merlin's sake, he was supposed to be a healer.

Colds didn't come on in a matter of minutes. Severus could only assume that he had been too caught up in the moment and perhaps Harry had assumed that any feelings of illness he may have been experiencing were just manifestations of the stress he was feeling as the pair of them had tried to come to an understanding. However while he had missed the signs when they had been alone together, it was quite obvious now that Harry was certainly under the weather.

Still, with Lupin looking on, he had to play a part. He and Harry had not progressed as far as discussing how they would have to act around others. Harry had certainly not looked happy a minute ago when he, Severus had reverted to his usual acerbic self, but he had gone along. So now... it was on with the show.

"When you're ready, Potter," he sneered, and even to his own ears, he sounded hateful. He tried to convey through eye contact that he was sorry that it had to be this way.

But if Harry read his expression, he chose to ignore the silent apology. His lips thinned and after a narrow eyed glare that showed only too clearly that he was far from happy with the situation, his eyes skittered away. After slugging down the rest of the mead, he focused on Dumbledore who had pulled out a chair for his youngest guest and was smiling encouragingly at him.

"Come along my boy," he said placatingly. "It's only roast chicken, and if you can eat only a small portion, I am sure that will satisfy Professor Snape." He squeezed Harry's shoulder as he slumped into the chair.

"I really couldn't care less if Potter starves himself to death, but the rest of wizarding Britain might have something different to say on the subject, though why I cannot fathom. And as it would quickly become known that I was his healer, I have no intention of being labelled incompetent. So you will eat something, Potter. Having a cold does not have to preclude eating."

Harry glared mutinously at his empty plate, but he made no effort to reach for any of the utensils to serve himself up even a small portion. Instead, he held out the little glass to Dumbledore. "Can I have some more mead, sir?" he asked in a tight voice.

Dumbledore looked a little taken aback but Severus answered for him. "No, Potter, you may not have some more mead." He reached for a metal ewer of iced pumpkin juice and poured a measure into a tall glass in front of Harry's place setting. "You may have some pumpkin juice."

Then Severus deposited a piece of golden skinned chicken breast, a roast potato and some carrots and peas on Harry's plate. Then he moved the gravy boat to within easy reach. Harry sat silently throughout this operation, and as soon as Severus had returned his attention to his own meal, he pushed back his chair and stood. Harry ignored Severus as he lowered the laden fork he had just been transferring to his mouth, back to his plate and kept his green eyes focused on Remus.

"It's good to see you again, Remus, and I want to thank you for coming to my rescue yesterday. I'm sorry that I put you in danger." Remus didn't have a chance to respond before Harry turned to Dumbledore.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I really have no appetite. Something is really turning my stomach. If you'll excuse me..."

"Sit down, Potter!" snapped Severus, and this time, it wasn't too difficult to feign anger. Harry ignored him and hurried to the staircase. Severus would have pushed himself away from the table, but Albus put a firm hand on his shoulder. Severus would have shaken it off but he caught Lupin's eye and it was obvious the bloody werewolf was expecting him to make life difficult for Harry. He forced himself to relax.

Harry had only descended four steps before he stopped and turned back. "Err...Professor Dumbledore...I'd like to apologise for my rudeness last night. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"Don't think on it any longer, Harry. I have forgotten already."

Harry offered a tight little smile and a curt bob of his head before he continued his descent. After a few seconds, the three adults heard the roar of the flames and Harry's voice as he called out his destination.

Even though Severus knew that Harry would not have been able to designate a destination outside of the castle, he had been worried that he would try. It was only after he heard the boy call out for Professor Snape's quarters, that the tension left his body.

Over the next few minutes the silence around the table was only broken by the sound of cutlery scraping against china and the muted noises of chewing and sipping. Severus's jaw was so stiff, it hurt to chew, and after the second mouthful of chicken following Harry's departure, he gave up eating as a bad joke and concentrated solely on his wine. The beverages accompanying luncheon had included a deep, ruby red burgundy-Severus's favourite.

Finally, Dumbledore broke the silence. "I wouldn't worry Severus. I'm sure that Harry is just tired after yesterday's adventure, and if he has got a cold coming on-well, that wouldn't be surprising considering the inclement conditions he was exposed to yesterday with little in the way of protective clothing.

Severus didn't answer. He had deduced all of this himself of course, but he also knew that Harry was expressing his displeasure at the way the status of their new relationship had so quickly reverted to normal so soon after their talk. Severus was far from thrilled himself that their new situation had been put to the test so quickly. But despite this, his annoyance at Harry was real. The boy had to realise that he could not go off in a snit and refuse to eat when things did not entirely suit him.

Severus's temper was not improved by the fact that Lupin kept on staring at him. There was more to those stares than just disapproval of the way he, Severus had told Harry off. The look was contemplative-knowing.

When his ire had reached its peak, he met Lupin's eyes with his own fathomless black pools. "So, Lupin, why exactly were you at Godric's Hollow yesterday?" he asked in a bored drawl. "Come to that, what are you doing here today? Cadging food perhaps? You are looking a little more starved than normal lately, not to mention ragged." Severus lips curled into a thin sneer as he saw Lupin flush. His barb had hit a nerve.

"Severus, I don't know why I tolerate your company when you are one of the most unforgivably rude individuals I have ever met." Dumbledore had not raised his voice but it vibrated with his disgust. Severus just turned his head away apparently coldly indifferent to the censure, pretending to be interested in the titles of some of the books in the old man's little library. He appeared to take a casual sip of his wine, but it was in actual fact, a huge swallow.

Truth to tell, even though Lupin staring at him in that knowing way had got on his nerves, Severus's foul comment and sneer had been an automatic response to his feeling less than in total command of a situation. But this time, it had been for show. His heart had not been in that verbal attack. As foul a human being as he was, he had not forgotten that Lupin was in that graveyard with Harry and he had been making every effort to protect him in the face of overwhelming odds. He owed the wolf something, but he could not be seen as being out of character. And besides which, he still loathed the man.

"Thank you Albus, but I do not need a champion," Remus was saying when Severus tuned back in. "I have known Severus's rudeness since we were eleven years old. But back in those days, Severus Snape could not comment on anyone elses raggedness, because he, dressed in his second hand robes, was the ragged one."

Severus could no longer feign disinterest in the conversation. His head snapped back so that he was glaring at Remus. His eyes were narrowed with the old hatred. He pushed his half full plate to the side and leaned across the table as far as he could reach.

"You go too far, Lupin! Eleven year olds have to rely on the largesse of their families and I have no trouble admitting that my father was a total bastard who kept my mother and myself in virtual poverty while he squandered what little money he might come by on booze and gambling." If Severus was hoping to make Remus feel abashed for his nasty comments, he was bound for disappointment. Of course, he knew his own comments had been equally in poor taste, but that was the sort of thing that Severus Snape did. And besides, he had only insulted the man himself, not his dead family. And though Severus could not care less who made disparaging remarks about his father, he would not have any one think ill of his mother.

But Remus did not look in the least abashed. Those tawny coloured eyes continued to gaze at him solemnly. He was totally unfazed by Severus's fury. "Yes, Severus, I am totally cognisant of your unfortunate childhood and just for the record, I meant no disrespect to your mother. I am sure she did her best with the little she had to work with. I am sorry that you had to grow up in such dire circumstances. But then again, your situation is far from unique. There are a lot of bastard fathers out there."

Severus froze, and as it always did when he was unsure, his face became set and his eyes seemed to become blank. Beside him, he was aware that Albus too had become very still. What in the hell had Lupin meant by that comment. Had it just been a throw away line? It had to be. The wolf could not know anything.

Unless...Severus's eyelids drooped in an effort to hide his mental gymnastics as his thoughts whirled. How long had Lupin been at the graveyard yesterday before the dementors had attacked? Had he and Harry had a chance to talk beforehand? Had Harry been so upset that he might have blurted out the whole of his latest dealings with Severus Snape to Lupin? After all-the werewolf had made himself Harry's confidant back in the boy's third year, and that relationship had no doubt been expanded upon last year at Grimmauld place.

Lupin and Black would have spent as much time together as possible, no doubt reminiscing about the good old days before the Dark Lord had brought it all crashing down-back to the days when their twosome had been a foursome, although Pettigrew had always been the odd man out amongst his more talented and braver friends.

Harry would have seen quite a lot of Lupin last year and he had also been at the Department of Mysteries with Harry when Black had met his demise. So, it would have seemed perfectly normal for Harry to ease his burden by sharing it with the last of his father's...James's friend. After all, Severus and Harry had not spoken of keeping this a deep, dark secret.

But surely, even lacking so deplorably in Slytherin secretiveness and cunning as he was, Harry must have realised that this was not a subject that could be broadcast to anyone. But Harry had still been in shock, hadn't he?

Severus raised his eyelids and stared at Lupin. The damned werewolf was still watching him with that knowing look, leaning back indolently and spinning the stem of his glass in his long fingers. and for once, Albus was leaving it up to the pair of them. He was carefully pouring himself another glass of wine. It was obvious he was waiting to see what would transpire between these two old enemies, who at least, now were working with him towards a common goal.

"Well, Lupin, it would seem that you wouldn't know much about bastard fathers," drawled Severus, in his best, disinterested voice. "Yours must have been a paragon."

Remus shrugged. "He was a good man, yes. I am sure you know that the reason I was attacked as a child was because he refused to help the Death Eaters. He Who Must Not Be Named sent Fenrir Greyback to do his worst. And his worst was to attack a two year old child who was playing in his garden after sneaking out of the house after dark.

Severus had not, in fact, known this and he was irritated to feel a twinge of pity for Lupin. He had been transforming since he was two. The wonder was that he did not look older and more scarred than he did. After all, he had only had the benefit of the wolfsbane potion for the last three years. It was very expensive to buy commercially and as most werewolves were unable to get jobs, unless they came from independent wealth, they were unable to afford the potion that would make their lives more tolerable.

But as a great proportion of the people who were werewolves had no desire to make their transformations a peaceful time because they revelled in their wild states, and enjoyed creating mayhem at the full moon, great quantities of the brew was not produced anyway. They were willing to put up with the pain of the actual transformation if it meant that they may be able to find some prey.

Lupin was one of the exceptions. He hated what he became once a month. He insisted on being locked away from everyone and before he had access to the potion, he would attack himself in lieu of other prey. At least the wolfsbane allowed him to keep his own mind and he would just sleep the night of the full moon away.

"You are mistaken, Lupin, I was not aware of your sad, sad history. So, I imagine your wonderful father regretted his decision not to help assist the Dark Lord in his cause."

"No, he did not. He regretted that it was his son who paid for his hard line, and he did everything in his power to make my life a happy one up until the time he died." He turned to look at Albus. "Could we have some coffee, Albus?"

"Certainly, my boy." Remus turned back to Severus as Albus summoned a house elf and ordered coffee.

"But my father did no more than most father's would do for their offspring. Arthur Weasley would do no less for any of his children. Your cousin James, of course, died to protect his wife and son. Severus stiffened imperceptibly. Were they getting to it?

The table cleared of the detritus of the largely uneaten meal and a handsome silver coffee service popped into existence in its place. Remus poured himself a cup of the aromatic brew and added milk and a spoonful of sugar. He took an appreciative sip. Severus watched him surreptitiously as he too poured himself a coffee. Albus had collected a bottle of cognac and three balloon glasses from his liquor cabinet. Without asking, he placed a glass in front of each of the younger wizards.

Severus did not usually imbibe to this extent at luncheon, but today he decided that he needed the liquid courage. He sipped the potent beverage and watched Lupin do the same. As was to be expected, the cognac was superb.

"This is excellent, Albus," complimented Remus, toasting him with his glass.

"I do try, my boy," said Albus, raising his own glass. "I thought a little reward was in order after all your hard work over the last little while with the werewolves. It is also a thank you for being there for Harry yesterday."

Remus reddened a little. "Your gratitude is misplaced Albus. I was unable to produce a Patronus. There were too many of them."

"Do not sell yourself short, Remus. The dementors would have gotten to Harry a lot faster without you protecting him with your body." Albus took a sip of his own drink. "You did James proud by protecting his son."

"I am extremely fond of Harry for himself, Albus. I would have made every effort to protect him, no matter who his father is." At these words, Remus looked straight at Severus.

"Well, you had double the reason, to play the hero then didn't you, Lupin?" said Severus with his best sneer gracing his lips. As his heart was threatening to break free of its moorings, that sneer was difficult to conjure. Lupin definitely knew something. He was looking far too superior for all of this to just be random conversation.

"Triple the reason actually, Severus. You see, I was inordinately fond of Lily too. She and I were also the best of friends. We talked a lot, Lily and I, all the way through school, and even after she married James." The look was even more pointed now and Severus had had enough of pussy footing around. He thrust his chair back and shot to his feet, leaning upon his knuckles on the tabletop to get even closer to Remus. Remus raised an eyebrow.

"If you have something to say, Lupin, why don't you just spit it out?" Severus hissed.

Remus looked contemplative for a moment and then he nodded his head decisively. "Very well. You remember that I was there the night Lily asked you to help James. We were all extremely grateful, Severus. I don't think I have ever thanked you for that amazing act of kindness."

"Lily's thanks were all I wanted. Potter lived to play another day. He got married and had a son with Lily and they were, as rumour has it, exceedingly happy." Severus had thrust himself upright again and had begun pacing backwards and forwards.

"For a short time, yes. They were very much in love and Harry completed their happiness."

"So, a fairytale ending," Severus said in clipped tones.

"I would hardly call their ending a fairytale,' observed Remus coldly. "A hellish nightmare would be more the mark, actually. Thanks to your boss."

Severus shot him a fulminating glare, but Remus ignored it as he continued. "Yes, Lily and James were very happy, for the short time they had with their son. Sirius and I visited often.

"During one visit, when Harry was about three months old, I followed Lily to the nursery. She had gone up to put Harry to bed and she had been away for a while. While James and Sirius played a game of wizard's chess, I went up to see what was taking her so long. I found her gazing at the baby while he slept-not an unusual occupation for new mothers, I'm sure-but tears were streaming down her face."

Severus had stopped pacing and was staring out the window, his elbow resting in the palm of his other hand. He was running his finger over his thin lips but the rest of his body was as taut as a drawn bow string.

Remus continued. "She cried on my shoulder, and then we talked." His tawny eyes moved between Albus and Severus. "Can you guess what she was worried about Severus?"

"I have no idea what you're on about, Lupin." said Severus, but even to himself, the lie sounded forced.

"I don't think you would have known even a month ago, but I think you know now." When Remus got no response from Severus, he transferred his gaze to Albus.

Albus raised a white eyebrow. He sighed and glanced over at Severus, who had still not moved. "I think as the Muggles would say, Severus, ‘the gig is up'." He turned his bright blue eyes back to Remus.

"Why have you not spoken of this before, Remus? After Lily and James died, if you had a suspicion that Harry may not be an orphan after all..."

"Because all I had was Lily's suspicion. She never proved anything. She never got around to mentioning the possibility to James." His gaze skittered to Severus and back to Albus again. "And as Severus seemed totally ignorant of the possibility, I wasn't going to put the cat amongst the pigeons. The last thing Harry needed was to know that there was a possibility that he was related to a man who clearly hated him."

"That wasn't your call to make, my boy," said Dumbledore sternly.

"Lily begged me never to mention her suspicions to anyone. I promised her, and I kept my promise."

"And Harry grew up thinking he was an orphan."

Remus threw out an arm and gestured to Severus. "Albus, can you honestly say that you would have been happy if you had known that Severus may have had a hand in Harry's conception? And I knew that Harry had to go back to the Dursleys because of Lily's blood protection."

"Still Remus, this was a big thing to keep to yourself," said Albus, shaking his head and looking disappointed.

Remus's cheeks were heating up. "If the truth be known," he said earnestly, "as Harry got older, his resemblance to James became more pronounced. I honestly didn't think that Lily's concerns were valid. And she herself said to me when Harry was a year old that she was sure that he was solely James. I never thought about it again until recently."

Severus had now turned back. "And what changed, Lupin? If you were still not worried when you were here in Harry's third year, what made you begin to dwell on Lily's words again now?"

Remus looked relieved that Severus didn't appear to be furious. In fact, he appeared to have calmed down considerably after his earlier rant. "During this last year, Harry's looks were beginning to change a little...oh, not really very much and I am sure everyone still thought he was James all over again. I know Sirius did.

"But no-one else had reason to think otherwise. But I saw some differences...actually, they weren't all differences, it was just that I had never taken note of the fact that Harry's eyebrows were so much finer than James were. That feature became much more pronounced when his face became more defined with puberty. The high cheekbones became more pronounced."

Remus paused, obviously trying to pull his thoughts together. "But still, I pushed any doubts to the back of my mind. He had inherited Lily's eyes, so there was no reason he could not have been like her in other ways. He was still James overall. He even had James's bad eyesight, for Merlin's sake.

"But it was really yesterday that opened my eyes fully. Harry going to Godric's Hollow...at the time of course, I didn't have time to think to deeply about why he had gone there...why he was so very upset." A muscle was working in Severus's jaw and he turned back to stare out the window. He didn't like to be reminded of the mistakes he had made yesterday.

"It wasn't till we were back at the Burrow that I was struck by the change in Severus's attitude to Harry. The perpetual sneer was gone." Remus shot another quick glance at Severus and then focused his attention on the reddish, brown liquid left in the bottom of his balloon glass. "You were worried about him. And most telling of all, you called him by his Christian name. And then you were summoned, Severus, and Harry became quite frantic..." He spread his hands as if to say, ‘there you have it'.

"But the clincher came when Harry yelled at you and Albus, there on the stairs. Something had been worrying me about his voice for a while." Severus turned around and stared.

"His voice? What are you on about, man?"

"I did not put it together until he yelled...did not realise that I had been semi-consciously pondering the changes in his voice for a while." Remus's eyes bore into Severus. "He has your voice, Severus. When he was frightened for you-when he yelled-I was able to pick up the particular cadence that makes your voice unique, and which Harry also has."

Severus continued to stare at Remus as if he was mad. He then turned his gaze to Albus, as if asking to be spared any more of Remus's idiocy. But Albus, just raised one eyebrow and cocked his head slightly to the side, nodding as illumination struck. "You do have a very distinctive voice, Severus. And though I would not have picked it up myself, now that Remus has brought my attention to it, I do believe he is right. Of course, if anyone was going to pick it up, Remus would have, with his superior hearing."

Remus's eyes were glued to Albus. "I take it then that it is all true...that Lily's theory was correct?" Albus inclined his head. Remus's lips thinned and he sat back in his chair. The silence between the two younger men was heavy with unease. Albus though, was looking quite pleased with the turn of events. His earlier disapproval of Remus's failure to share Lily's theory seemed to have gone.

And I take it that Harry knows?" Albus nodded again.

Remus lips tightened into a straight line. "But things are not going to well," he observed and Severus's eyes narrowed.

"What makes you say that?" demanded Severus.

Remus cocked his head to the side. "Well, Harry did not seem to happy before he stormed off in a huff. And it was you he was angry with, Severus."

"He was angry because I had to revert to type for your benefit, Lupin. Thick as you are, even you must realise that this is not a situation that can be advertised. I had thought that just Albus, Harry and myself knew. The bigger the circle gets, the thinner the chances of keeping this a secret. Harry's safety depends on it remaining so, and though I realise that you could not care less, my safety also.

"I would never do anything to endanger Harry, and though I know you would prefer not to believe it, nor would I endanger you." Severus just sneered before stalking to the table and grabbing up his cognac and downing the fiery liquid in one gulp. With little regard for the quality of the liqueur, he slopped more into the balloon glass. When an inch of liquid became two, Albus, waved his hand and the liquid stopped pouring. Severus had only just realised that the flow of cognac had stopped when, after a second surreptitious wave of Albus's hand, half the liquid in Severus's glass also disappeared.

Severus slammed the bottle down with a growl before turning on Albus. "Have I not told you previously, old man, that I do not need you to regulate my drinking?"

As usual, Albus was totally unfazed by the foul mood. He sat back and crossed one leg over the other, a picture of casual unconcern. "Clearly I do, my boy."

Losing it entirely, and little caring that Lupin was there to witness his total loss of control, Severus threw the cognac down his throat, before spinning about and hurling the glass across the room so that it smashed into the stone wall that was hugged by the staircase.

Then he spun back to Albus and bending, he thrust his face into that annoyingly composed, old face. "How can you be so bloody relaxed? Isn't it bad enough that Harry knows. For God sake, he is so lacking in guile, he could go down to Hagrid's hut, and Hagrid could legilimise him." He threw out his arm and gestured wildly at Remus who was now on his feet and standing behind his chair with his arms crossed, quite entertained by his old school adversaries performance.

"And now he knows. He doesn't know Occlumency either. What if he's captured? The Dark Lord will have the truth out of him in mere seconds and then I will be dead mere seconds after that. Or worse; he will Imperious me and make me kill Harry, or he will make me bring Harry to him. I cannot resist the Imperious curse. How the hell the boy can do that but be so hopeless at Occlumency, defies logic."

Severus was aware that he was ranting...that he had lost it entirely. He was aware of it, but he couldn't seem to stop. He strode around, pointing out that this whole bloody mess was Dumbledore's fault, that he would have ignored the discovery of the birth mark if Dumbledore had not forced the issue.

Of course, he didn't take into consideration before he started apportioning blame that it was he who had told the old wizard the story of his having succumbed to Lily's desperate pleas to save James all those years ago. And he also chose to forget that he himself would have been unable to ignore the presence of that distinctive birthmark once he had seen it. He chose to ignore the fact that that knowledge would have eaten away at him until he had proven whether the marks presence was significant.

Albus and Remus let Severus get it all off his chest-Albus suspected that this release was necessary, that it had been building up for some considerable time-until he suddenly ran out of ammunition and he finally slumped down into his chair.

Severus put his head back and sat, deflated, and with his eyes closed for several minutes. When he heard the gentle clinking of china as Albus placed a full cup of coffee in front of him, Severus opened his eyes and looked at the offering dazedly for several seconds, before taking up the cup and clasping both hands around its heat before taking a sip.

Remus was now leaning back against the metal balustrade, one leg crossed over the other and his own coffee cup in hand. Severus kept his eyes on his hands for a minute or two before he finally looked up at his old enemy. As the two wizard's eyes locked, Severus recalled that Lupin had always been the least obnoxious of the bloody Marauders. He had rarely joined in with James and Black's more outrageous attacks upon him-indeed, Severus had, on more than one occasion heard him admonish his friends for their unfair tactics.

Lupin had been just as talented as his two friends; he had just not broadcast his accomplishments far and wide as they had done. Of course, Pettigrew had not shared Lupin's disdain of unnecessary violence. He had revelled in watching the two bullies do their worst. The little rat had practically salivated every time one or both of the popular Gryffindors had hexed or jinxed a weaker, or an unprepared victim. Of course, Severus had not considered himself a victim because he had given as good as he got. Unlike the man before him who had an aversion to attacking anyone weaker than himself, or indeed, attacking for no good reason. This altruism was something the werewolf had not grown out of.

Severus's eyebrows drew together. Come to think of it, Harry was exactly like Lupin. More like Lupin in fact, than he was like either James or himself. Both Harry and Lupin genuinely cared for other people more than they cared for themselves.

Severus took a deep breath. The last half hour had not been one of his finer moments and neither was he looking forward to the next half minute. But it had to be done. "I apologise for that unforgivably childish display, Lupin. But you may rest assured that my losing control like that is rare, and that I have advanced a long way when it comes to controlling myself around Harry." Of course, this was not strictly true-Harry could still drive the white ants out of the wood-but he was working on control. Of course, he might end up as a ward buddy of Gilderoy Lockharts in St Mungos...

"I am not worried about you attacking Harry, Severus. You have been his teacher for five years and have managed to restrain yourself from resorting to physical violence. It's the nasty tongue that has me worried."

Severus carefully placed his cup back in its saucer. He would really like to give the werewolf a good dose of his ‘nasty tongue' right now. He ran a long finger over his lips again. Finally, he said, "I'm working on that too."

"Well, gentlemen," said Dumbledore, putting his hands on the table and pushing himself upwards. "We seem to have reached an understanding. Severus, I think you will come to realise that extending the circle of people in the know is not the disaster that you envisage. Remus managed to keep Lily's secret for nearly sixteen years after all. And he has managed to evade capture by the Death Eaters for a long time as well.

"Remus will be around for you to confide in if you should feel the need. You do not have experience in being a father and you may wish to bounce ideas off a man who is closer to you in age. You both have Harry's best interests at heart, after all. And also, Harry trusts Remus implicitly."

Severus scowled at this pronouncement. Surely Dumbledore couldn't be suggesting that Severus have Lupin ‘dropping in' on a regular basis. How would Harry and he be able to develop a rapport if Lupin was there all the time, for the boy to turn to. And he was certainly not going to admit to himself that he was worried that Harry would favour Lupin's company to his own. No, he was certainly not going to express that kind of concern.

"Well, as Lupin will not be around other than to report his activities to you, Albus, I really don't see how that will be possible, certainly not on any kind of ongoing basis."

"Well, Severus, proximity-or lack thereof-will not be a problem come the start of term. Remus will be on staff again."

Severus's eyes narrowed and he looked from Dumbledore to Lupin. The old man looked as pleased with himself as if he had just given Severus an early birthday present. Lupin, to his credit was not gloating.

"Pius Philpott, as you know, has joined the Order. He is an eminently sensible man as well as a friend. As the head of the Board of Governors, he was able to hold sway over the rest of the board and convince them that Remus was an exceedingly capable wizard who is more than capable of protecting the students in these troubled times. What is more, there was no arguing with the exam results that showed that Remus had the best pass rate of any Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in the last twenty years."

"And what of the monthly danger that Lupin presents?" asked Severus in a low voice.

"The governors saw the precautions we have instituted to isolate Remus during the full moon. That, combined with your improved wolfsbane and a strict schedule of weekly doses leading up to the moon, convinced them. Notices have been sent to all parents and so far, the responses have been positive. The newspaper reports explaining that Remus is a close friend of Harry's and that he was there, fighting at the Department of Mysteries against the Death Eaters have helped enormously."

"You have been planning this for a while obviously," Severus said stiffly.

"We need Remus here, Severus. I need capable wizards within my school, not just to be on the lookout for Death Eaters, but to help keep an eye on certain elements within the school."

"Well then, there is nothing left to say but welcome back, Lupin." And though Severus's welcome sounded anything but sincere, Severus acknowledged the other man's appointment with a decisive nod of his head. And now, if you will both excuse me, I wish to return to my rooms and check on Harry. then I have some fresh pepper-up potion to brew and as the full moon is less than a fortnight away, I have to make a start on a new batch of wolfsbane.

And with another nod of his head that encompassed the two men, Severus crossed the small area and swept down the stairs, the flaring of his robes expressing the displeasure that he had not verbalized.

When Severus stepped out of the fireplace onto his rug, he noticed that some ash had actually had the audacity to attach itself to his sleeve. Mentally cursing, he yanked his wand out of his pocket and practically cursed the smudge away. But the vicious wand movement combined with his non verbal charm and his livid frame of mind not only got rid of the ash, it also left a two inch diameter hole in the fine, summer weight fabric.

Severus growled, much like a growl he imagined the bloody werewolf might make at the full moon. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyebrows hard, breathing deeply in an effort to calm down. After a full minute, he dragged in a final breath and opened his eyes. Looking down at his mutilated sleeve, he pointed his wand at it and calmly thought the appropriate incantation. Finally with his pristine robes restored to their original condition, Severus pocketed his wand again, thinking as he did so that he really had to work on anger management. These physical manifestations of his temper had to stop. If he did not do something to curb these tendencies, he might end up doing something worse to Harry than using a sticking charm or a tongue tie charm on him.

Feeling much calmer now, Severus looked around the sitting room, belatedly surprised that Harry was not slouched, sulking in an armchair, or lying on the sofa. Concluding that Harry must be in his room, and recalling the reason for the boy's precipitate departure from Albus's office, Severus thought he was probably sulking in his room, and he strode through the dining area. The bedroom door was closed and Severus stood for several indecisive seconds, trying to decide whether to knock or just barge in.

He had to admit the latter would give him more satisfaction because the aggressiveness of the action approximated the depth of his newly restored ire, but the mornings advances in his and Harry's relationship dictated that he proceed with more restraint. So he announced his presence with a rap on the door...a sharp rap!

When no invitation to enter was forthcoming, Severus forced back his growing irritation and rapped again. If Harry was just ignoring him...

Severus put his ear to the door and though there was still no raised voice either bidding him to enter or ordering him to ‘get lost', Severus heard a muffled thump and then a soft-his eyebrows drew together-titter?

What in the name of Merlin...Severus pushed open the door. The room was empty. Without conscious thought, he took one...two...three steps into the room. Black eyes took everything in, in one sweeping glance. The door leading to the tiny bathroom was open...the bathroom was empty, however. The wardrobe was shut as were all the drawers in the tallboy and the top of the dresser, the desk and the bedside drawers were still devoid of any of Harry's possessions. But Severus saw immediately that everything was not as it had been left a week ago-the day Harry had discovered his new room and the day he had been forced to abandon it.

One edge of the burgundy and gold rug next to the bed was flipped back on itself and the Gryffindor scarlet bedspread looked like it had been grasped in a fist and pulled askew down the side of the bed...the far side of the bed. The bed itself was no longer flush with the wall.

The sweet, cloying, alcoholic smell of mead invaded Severus's senses at exactly the same time as more drunken laughter floated up from behind the mussed and displaced bed. And then the bed moved, scraping on the stone floor and the quilt was being yanked further down the side.

Severus could feel fury bubbling up in him like molten lava. He pulled his wand out with a hand that shook slightly with his rage. "Accio bed!" The bed shot towards Severus, to reveal Harry sprawled on the floor, right up against the wall. He still had the quilt grasped in one hand and the other hand held a bottle.

Somehow, the bloody, idiot child had tipped himself off the bed and he had ended up squashed between it and the wall. He had obviously been unable to move and had been trying to drag himself upright by pulling on the quilt. When the bed had obeyed Severus's summoning charm, Harry's head had smacked back against the floor. Severus heard the dull crack but Harry was so drunk, he was totally oblivious to any pain.

Harry groggily lifted his head and with his glasses askew, he tried to focus on Severus who had skirted the end of the bed and was now standing over his son. Harry's eyelids and head both lost the fight with gravity and his eyelids dropped as if they had lead weights attached to them and his head fell back onto the hard, stone floor again with another dull crack. His yelp of pain was mixed with another drunken laugh and it came out as a strangled snort. It was as if the sight of Severus was the funniest thing he had ever seen because the laughter continued. Liquid was dribbling from the narrow opening of the bottle onto Harry's stomach, left bare because his windcheater had ridden right up to his chest. The remainder of the mead was trickling downwards to soak into the top of his jeans and some was snaking from his navel, across his bare hip, around to his back and onto the floor.

"Accio bottle!" Severus said through his teeth and in a voice that trembled with fury. The green bottle shot into his hand with a loud thwack and Harry managed to lift his head a little again and get his extremely uncooperative tongue around an indignant, "Hey!" when he realised that his bounty was gone. After five seconds, his muscles gave out again and for the third time, his head hit the floor. And now it was definite that something about Severus was very, very funny because Harry had blurted out another peal of drunken laughter.

Severus turned away from the pathetic sight now crumpled on the floor. To give himself time to calm his fury, he stiffly traversed the short space and put the bottle down on top of the tallboy. He stood staring at the bare wall, his arms crossed, one hand cupped around his mouth and attempting to block out the sound of the intermittent outbursts of hysterical laughter from the drunken teen.

Severus knew that bottle of mead had practically been full, Albus had given it to him for his birthday and he had opened the bottle and shared a small tipple with the headmaster that evening back in January. He hadn't touched it since because he was not that fond of the sweet concoction. Obviously, the sweetness hadn't been a problem for Harry. In fact, that had probably been the reason why he had been able to consume so much of the bloody stuff. Severus wasn't sure, but he didn't think that Harry would have had much experience with alcohol, other than butter beer with its minuscule alcoholic content. The mead would have seemed like a cordial to him.

All of which did not excuse the fact that the idiot child knew that the mead was alcoholic as he had been offered a glass in Albus's rooms. He also knew he was underage and he had stolen the full bottle from Severus's stock of alcoholic beverages. And though Severus knew that teenagers had been put on Earth just to drive the adults around them to drink, if there was one teen in wizarding Britain who should not lose control like this, it was Harry. If the Dark Lord should decide to attack Harry's defences at the moment...well, he would be totally vulnerable. Severus did not want to think about what the combination of his drunken state and the less than gentle invasion of the mind that that foul snakelike creature might decide to instigate, would do to Harry.

He had seen the boy scrubbing at the scar on his forehead when he was showing no overt signs of pain, and he had seen him in absolute agony at times when the Dark Lord's emotions were running high. But not once had he seen the effect on Harry that a deliberate mental attack would elicit. Albus, drooping with fatigue and pale with distress after his duel with the Dark Lord, had told Severus that he thought that Harry would die that night in the Ministry of Magic when evil incarnate had possessed him, so all consuming had the child's pain been.

Severus knew that Harry's experiences with agonising pain were more than most adults would encounter in the whole of their lives. The wonder of it was that the boy was still functioning. Why was he not like Alice and Frank Longbottom...a totally broken human being who was just a biological entity, with no higher function at all?

Severus sighed. And perhaps, therein lay the answer. Harry had imbibed the mead in an effort to forget the terrible things that could well break him. The small tipple he had imbibed in Albus's rooms had probably made him feel warm and reasonably content...it had probably hit him once he had returned to these rooms, after his stomach had had time to release its contents into his bloodstream. And because the taste was not foul, he had decided to treat himself to some more...and more still. And Severus denying him a second glass at luncheon would have made the illicit act of taking and drinking the mead even more of a temptation, tinged as it would have been with rebelling against the edict of a parent. A newly discovered parent with whom he was still having difficulty coming to terms.

A loud snore escaping Harry broke Severus out of his introspection. He realised that the drunken titters had long since died away. Severus moved back and gazed down at the boy whom he now called ‘son'. He looked so young, so vulnerable...younger even than his still tender years. As Severus leaned over and prised the bunched up bedspread from Harry's grasp, he realised that it was only a little more than a week till Harry's sixteenth birthday. No person that Severus knew had ever been through the horrors that Harry had been through in such a short span of years. A little less than fifteen years of horrors actually. Harry's first fifteen months had been those of a normal, much loved baby.

Severus draped the bedspread back over the blankets and then he pulled the whole back to the foot of the bed. He transfigured Harry's damp, reeking clothes into pyjamas and then he cast a freshening charm to get rid of the stickiness of the mead and the smell of alcohol. And then with a swish and flick of his wand, and a non-verbal Wingardium Leviosa, Severus levitated a comatose Harry from his sprawled position on the floor onto his bed. He then pulled the covers up and took off Harry's glasses, placing them on the bedside drawers. As he tucked the blankets around Harry, it struck him that he was once again looking after an unconscious Harry Potter. In fact, the last time he had pulled covers up to Harry's chin, he had just discovered the birthmark that was the beginning of this whole saga.

Severus raised his wand and pointed it in the general direction of his lab and said firmly, Accio Siccus Venenum. After several seconds of silence, he frowned. He glanced at Harry to make sure he was still deeply asleep, he strode from the room. In his lab, he crossed unerringly to the cupboard where he kept the phials of sobering potions, only to find the shelf where they normally sat, empty.

He groaned and banged the door shut. How could he have not realised that he needed to brew that particular potion. It was not like him not to keep track of his stocks. He had thought there was at least one left, but then it came to him that Albus must have helped himself to that last phial to give to Severus to take the morning after his own unforgivable fall from grace after he had found the birthmark on Harry's leg. Because he had not procured it himself, he had not noted that his stock was entirely gone and Albus had forgotten to mention it in the ensuing confusion of confession and revelation.

The potion was not something he could whip up in a couple of hours. It required meticulous preparation and the silver coltsfoot had to soak for 48 hours before it could be ground to a pulp. So the idiot child would have to put up with the harsh reality of a hangover when he awoke. Well, nothing more than that would be needed to act as a deterrent. Harry wouldn't be drinking anything stronger than butter beer for many a long month to come.

8888

Severus appeared to be concentrating solely on the preparation of some of the highly toxic ingredients that were necessary for the Wolfsbane potion...indeed, it was very meticulous work, but he was actually on the alert for any noise coming from outside his lab. He had left Harry's bedroom door open as well as the lab door. Hopefully, Harry would just sleep through the rest of the day and night, but Severus doubted that would be the case. The boy's stomach would rebel well before then.

He had just placed the crushed stems of the Angel's trumpet in the briny solution in which they had to soak until every drop of sap had been leeched from them, when he heard the sound of violent retching. Severus quickly spelled the protective coating from his hands before striding from the lab.

Sure enough, Harry was leaning over the side of his bed vomiting his heart out. Severus had had the forethought to move the rug out of the way earlier, but Harry was making a mess of the bed instead-he had not leaned far enough to the side. Severus didn't even wrinkle his nose at the foul odour that permeated the room, so used was he to unpleasant smells. There was nothing he could do but watch that Harry didn't start to choke.

Severus tried to remain detached-tried to think that the young fool deserved this and more-but as the vomiting continued, and Harry groaned in ever increasing agony between retches as the painful spasms made it seem as if his intestines were being expelled from his body through his mouth, he had to intervene. Though there was little he could do, he had to do something.

He summoned several different potions from his lab and as Harry lay panting and groaning, his face slick with perspiration, Severus first spelled a anti-spasmodic draught directly into Harry's stomach. Severus hoped it would be quick acting enough to coat the lining of Harry's stomach and his duodenum. The smell in the room was now hellish because it was more than just gastric contents that Harry was ejecting, so violent were the paroxysms.

While Harry had enough time to recover his breath and relax fractionally from the abnormal peristalsis-his groans had eased to rapid breaths-Severus wielded his wand and cleaned up the mess on the floor and the bed, as well as Harry's face, hair and pyjamas. Pulling his lower jaw down; Harry's muscles were too slack to fight him; Severus refreshed his mouth. But no sooner had he finished, than another bout of vomiting overtook him.

This time, the spasms were not quite so violent and as soon as Harry had relaxed again, Severus spelled more anti-spasmodic draught into his stomach and duodenum.

For the next two hours, Severus sat with Harry, cleaning up the dribbles of bile that were now all that was being forced out; he spelled potions into Harry and he soothed and refreshed him with cloths soaked in lavender and rosewater, both good for nausea and headaches. Harry remained virtually oblivious to all these ministrations, the only indication that he might know someone was helping him was when he groaned with pleasure when the warm, sweet smelling face washers were applied to his forehead and neck.

Finally, it seemed to be over and Harry settled into a peaceful sleep. After half an hour when nothing more alarming than Harry flipping over onto his stomach happened, Severus dragged himself out of the chair his tired body had been propped in, and trudged first to his lab, where he made sure all his ingredients were being processed as they should be, and then across the small sitting room to his own bedroom where he threw himself down on his bed fully dressed and drifted into a fitful sleep. He remained fully tuned to any noises that might arise from Harry's room. The last few hours had been harrowing and combined with his mostly sleepless state last night and the stresses of his talk with Harry that morning, Severus finally fell into a deep sleep.

8888

Severus didn't know how long he had been asleep; he was annoyed that he had so very obviously been oblivious to the world, but something had definitely impinged upon his consciousness. He lay very still, his ears straining in the pitch black. It couldn't have been Harry vomiting again because all was quiet now. He had just decided that he must have been dreaming when a low moan reached out across the dungeon rooms. It was Harry.

Severus groaned and rolled out of bed. His exhaustion had hardly been appeased and casting a tempus charm, he saw that it was only seventeen minutes past ten. He had been asleep for less than three hours. He felt worse than he might have done if he had not fallen asleep in his robes and with his boots on. He ran his hands over his rough jaw and cheeks and he pushed his hair back, grimacing at the greasiness of it. He felt dirty and dishevelled and vowed to take a shower after he had seen to Harry.

A long, keening noise sounded now and Severus picked up his pace, entering Harry's room and spelling a dim light on. Harry was tossing his head around and the covers were twisted around his legs. There was no tell tale odour to indicate that further retching had occurred, but the boy was definitely distressed.

Severus moved to grasp Harry's shoulder when Harry spoke, his voice emerging, rough and cracked. Severus pulled his hand back and listened to the anguished tones as Harry pleaded with his dead Godfather.

"No, Sirius, don't go! I'm sorry! There's nothing I can do...don't go....please don't be angry. Sirius...SIRIUS! Come back!" The thrashing increased and Harry was now whimpering.

Severus reached out and shook Harry's shoulder a little harder than he had been planning before he had realised the subject of his nightmare. "Wake up Harry!" But Harry continued to twist and turn, and call for the mangy mutt. Severus shook harder and called out louder. But it wasn't until he took hold of Harry's jaw and put his lips right to his ear to bark out his name that Harry jerked awake.

His eyes had a feverish cast to them and he stared into the dim light, his breath coming in noisy rasps. Severus straightened and watched as dispassionately as he could as Harry came back to the here and now in stages. He blinked several times and then he ran his hands over his wet face, grimacing at the feel of the slick dampness.

If he knew Severus was there, he gave no indication. He seemed to suddenly remember the dream because he covered his face again and groaned aloud. After a few seconds, he tried to sit up, but the abuse his body had suffered during its fight to rid itself of the toxins he had willingly polluted it with, rendered Harry incapable of the simple movement. His hands grasped his ribs and he screwed up his face in pain, gasping loudly. And then his face contorted even more and one hand fluttered up to his forehead and the gasp became a whimper.

"Oh, god," he groaned.

"No deity is going to help you through this," said Severus coldly. He probably would have sounded a little more sympathetic despite his initial fury with Harry over his idiotic actions, but then he had discovered that his son was dreaming of bloody Sirius Black. And the fact that it had obviously not been a pleasant dream hardly registered over his pique.

Harry groaned again. "Then you help me," he demanded, showing no surprise that Severus was there, but groaning as he own voice reverberated around the inside of his skull. "Please!"

"There is little I can do, I'm afraid. I have none of the appropriate potion that would effect a complete cure."

"A headache potion, then," he begged around another groan. His "please!" was a tacked on whisper.

""When someone's headache is caused by the fact that their brain has been pickled in alcohol, a normal headache potion is of no use," bit out Severus. "Time is the only cure."

"Oh, God!" groaned Harry again. "I think I'm going to be sick!" And he made a move to lean over the side of his bed but he never made it. He gasped as pain attacked every single muscle from his shoulders down to his groin. As his gut clenched again, and his muscles contracted Harry retched agonisingly, fresh beads of sweat breaking out on his face. Severus waited until the episode had passed before taking up another dose of anti-spasmodic potion and spelling into Harry's stomach.

"Perhaps next time you will not be so determined to do something that you know I will disapprove of."

"I...I just wanted some more of the mead. It was really nice, and it made me feel good," whispered Harry, the pain in his head obviously overpowering him again, if his screwed up face was any indication.

"Do you feel good now, you idiot child?"

Harry began to shake his head but stopped instantly the pain peaked. He squeezed his eyes shut tight.

"Why am I so sore?" he asked in a whisper. "I feel like I just fell a hundred feet from my broom."

"You were vomiting violently for a long time. Not only do you use every muscle in your abdomen when you vomit, but the violence of prolonged retching can actually bruise organs. I imagine your liver and spleen have been bruised because they would have been rubbing against your ribs and considering that both of those organs were badly compromised by the poisoning, you are very lucky that worse has not happened."

Harry looked horrified and his eyes begged Severus to help him. When Severus just shook his head, Harry turned his head away and covered his eyes with his forearm.

"As soon as I am sure you will no longer reject anything you take by mouth, we will begin with some fluids. You are dehydrated and as soon as that condition is rectified, your headache will ease. Your sore muscles are another thing entirely though. That will take longer."

Severus saw a tiny movement from beneath the arm that indicated Harry understood. That famous Gryffindor stoicism seemed to have kicked in.

"One thing I can do for you is cast a light Somulus charm. I think you have expelled all you are going to and even if not, the charm will not hinder you from answering the urges of your body." Harry gave another almost imperceptible nod.

"Can't you spell some fluids into me?" he asked in a pathetic whisper.

"No. it has to be spelled into your stomach. I do not think you are ready to actually have anything in your stomach just yet. Perhaps in the morning."

Severus saw Harry's lips thin but there was no argument. "You will just drift off to sleep. Hopefully, you will feel a little better when you awake."

Severus moved his wand in a complicated arc over Harry. Within a few seconds, his arm dropped away from his eyes, but they did not flutter open. Severus watched his respirations slow and deepen. He studied the pale face that even in sleep hadn't relaxed out of its lines of pain.

Severus shook his head but he reached his hand out and pushed Harry's damp fringe away from his forehead. The scar was angry against his sweaty pallor. Severus wrung out the cloth infused with the lavender and rosewater. He wiped Harry's face gently and Harry seemed to sigh in his sleep.

After a final gentle wipe of the cloth over Harry's hair, Severus left the cloth in the bowl of scented water that had been spelled to stay warm. "Next time, consider your actions," he said softly before turning away.

But just as Severus reached the door, he heard a whispered, "I'm sorry."

8888

Harry slept right through until nine-thirty the next morning. Severus was still at the breakfast table, perusing the rubbish that passed as news in the Daily Prophet. He was not at all surprised to see that the idiot Fudge had been drummed out of office but he was no happier to see that Rufus Scrimgeour had taken his place. They had gone from an insipid idiot at the helm who surrounded himself with cruel bullies to enforce his policies and undermine his enemies, to a man who was a bully in his own right...but a bully who got things done, none the less.

He was just reading that a rift had developed within hours of Scrimgeour taking office between the new minister and Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, when that very man's head appeared in his fireplace, asking permission for his head with attached body to step through.

When he was ensconced in a chair with a cup of tea, he gestured to the newspaper that Severus had placed aside. "Did you like the write up on Harry?" asked Albus.

"Absolute, bloody tripe," snapped Severus, flicking the paper with a disdainful finger. "The Chosen One!"

"You do not think he is the chosen one after what I told you was prophesied?"

"For God sake Albus, what power does that boy..." Severus pointed toward the bedroom, "have, that the Dark Lord does not?"

"Oh, he has one particular power at his fingertips which your other boss does not have at all," assure Dumbledore.

"What power?" asked Severus, sceptically.

"It will keep for the moment, Severus. I can assure you that Harry is not ready to know yet. I have much to teach him, and I am sure now he has a father, he will want you as his ally."

"You are saying it will definitely come down to a final battle between Harry and the Dark Lord?" said Severus, aghast.

"Say his name, Severus. Do not let him have that power over you as well as that one." Dumbledore gestured to Severus's left forearm."

Severus looked mutinous. "Allow me to play my part the way I see fit, Albus."

Albus nodded his wise old head. "As you say, my boy, it is your part. And a very important one it is too." Albus took another sip of his tea, looking the picture of innocent unconcern. Severus's eyes narrowed as he stared at the wily old codger. Albus never said anything unless there was a reason, no matter how roundabout his methods. Severus was sure that at some time in the not too distant future, Albus was embellish upon that last remark. He knew it would be a waste of time to ask him to do so now.

"Was there a reason for this early morning visit, Albus."

"There is my boy. Molly sent me a message this morning."

Severus stifled a groan. "And?"

"And she wanted to know when they could expect Harry back. I was surprised that you did not allow him to go back last night." he turned his silver head towards Harry's door. "Is the dear boy having a lie in, or is he perhaps in the shower?"

"He is still asleep."

"I take it all went relatively well, yesterday?"

"As well as can be expected. He listened to me and didn't dismiss me out of hand. He has agreed to give this new relationship a chance."

"Well don! I knew you could do it. This bond is something no one will ever be able to take from you Severus. A child is the greatest gift, my boy. You will learn from each other every moment you are together." Dumbledore reached across the table and placed his gnarled old hand over Severus's smoother, younger one where it lay on the table.

"And who will I learn how to be a father from?" asked Severus. "Who will teach me what to do when my son drinks a whole bottle of mead in a little more than an hour?"

Dumbledore stared at Severus for a few seconds. Severus expected him to be shocked, and concerned. But his, "did he indeed?" was a long way from shocked and concerned.

"That is all you have to say?" he asked, irritated.

"Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "how long have you been head of Slytherin house?

"You know very well how long I have been head of house."

"Then you have confiscated more than a cellars worth of illicit alcohol during that time, I am sure. Severus, boys will be boys. Surely you participated in secret drinking binges when you were here as a student. I know I did."

"This is not the same thing at all, old man. Drinking with your peers is a very different proposition to drinking alone until you are so drunk, you fall off your bed into an untidy heap with no one to help you up again."

"If I had not let myself into his room, he would have spent the night on the floor. He vomited so violently, I thought he was going to do himself a serious internal injury. The position he was in on the floor would probably have led to him chocking to death. He was totally incapable of helping himself."

"But you were there to help him. I am sure you were angry, as any father would be because you could see the inherent dangers in the child's foolish action. That is what parents do, my boy. We step in when our children need us. Whether they think they need us or not. And whether they want us to or not."

"He needs a bloody good hiding," ground out Severus.

"You don't think he has had enough of those in his young life?"

Severus scowled to hide his embarrassment. He should have thought before he said such a stupid thing. He had never resorted to corporal punishment with any of his students, no matter the provocation. He had, of course, come closest to physically disciplining a student with Harry himself. He had scared himself badly that terrible day after Harry had helped himself to his, Severus's pensieved memories. He had, of course, since learned how upset the boy had been after viewing the memories. He had not thought that James had been so very cool and clever. He had been ashamed of his father's bullying ways. And yet, he had not said anything about Severus's own appalling behaviour...calling Lily a ‘Mudblood'. Harry's reaction to that episode should have shown him earlier what sort of a person Harry Potter was.

"Forget I said that," said Severus with a sigh.

"It is forgotten," responded Albus, his fingertips pressed together and a small smile playing about his lips. "Now, is Harry going to be allowed back to the Burrow? I do think the child needs to be able to be with his friends...and his girlfriend. Perhaps tomorrow?"

Severus tapped a fingernail against the rim of his cup. "If I allow him to go back to the Burrow straight away, he will think he is being rewarded for his foolishness."

Albus was shaking his head. "I'm sure the dreadful hangover will be a strong reminder of just how foolish he has been. Just I'm sure your verbal lashings will reinforce the physical consequences." Albus cocked his head to one side as though he had just thought of something. But Severus wasn't fooled. Albus Dumbledore never just thought of something on the spur of the moment.

"Unless you are going to take pity on him and give him the Siccus Venenum potion. Then he could go back today...if you have settled things between you, that is."

"There's an idea, Albus," drawled Severus, pouring himself another cup of tea. "What a pity you never told me that you had used the last of the Siccus Venenum when you thought to take pity on me."

"Oh, dear," said Albus, genuinely contrite. "I am sorry, my boy. I did not think. I summoned it, you see."

Severus took a sip of tea and then shook his head. "No. It is not your fault. I was thankful for the reprieve from my suffering. I should have checked."

"Understandable that you did not. It is not as though you have been idle the last few weeks," sighed Albus.

"Indeed," agreed Severus.

"So, poor Harry has to overcome his indisposition the Muggle way."

"Yes. Pity he imbibed a magically enhanced alcoholic beverage."

Albus sighed again. "Yes, a great pity."

At that moment, both wizards heard a disturbance from Harry's room. Periwinkle blue eyes looked into black. Severus sighed. "Let the games begin."

After greeting an extremely under the weather young Gryffindor who had to add extreme embarrassment to his list of grievances, Dumbledore left Severus to deal with his son, reminding him to remember that Molly was waiting for word of Harry's return.

Severus made Harry drink several glasses of water before forcing him to have a shower. Harry bore the whole stoically, but he looked terrible. In the shower, he just leaned against the wall, letting the hot water cascade over his head and bent neck. After fifteen minutes, he desultorily reached for the soap and gave himself a quick lick and a promise. His head was pounding like a bass drum and though he hadn't vomited again, he thought he would several times.

As Harry forced himself to dress in the re-tranfigured clothes that Severus had also cleaned, he couldn't help but think that his new father had been remarkably tolerant, considering that he had wiped himself out the evening before.

Harry only had a vague recollection of the horrors of the night before. His painful abdominal muscles gave testament to just how violent his bouts of vomiting had been. He didn't think that his head would ever stop thumping, and for some reason, he had a huge lump on the back of his head that was throbbing independently of the inside of his skull. Though these other aches in his head had muted the continuous niggle of pain in his scar. At the moment though, he wasn't sure that this was entirely a fair trade.

But Harry knew if it came down to a choice between it and his scar pain when Voldemort was in full cheesed off mode, he would vote for the hangover headache any day.

Moving very carefully-he hadn't bothered to put his socks and trainers on because he would have to put his head down-Harry girded his loins and entered the dining area. Severus was sitting side on to the table, his legs crossed and his hands folded on top of them, obviously waiting for him. He indicated the chair opposite with a dip of his head, and Harry lowered his aching body into it.

There was a steaming bowl of what smelled like celery soup in front of him. He looked at Severus with an eyebrow raised in question. Severus was distracted by that raised eyebrow for a second. Why had he never before noticed that that was a habit of Harry's? Just as it was a habit of his.

"Celery soup?"

Severus blinked and dragged his focus from that finely arched eyebrow. "Celery root soup to be precise. It is an excellent digestive remedy and liver stimulant. You will be able to taste a trace of ginger as well. A natural anti-nausea remedy."

Harry gazed into the murky depths and thought how disgusting it looked. For an instant, he wondered whether Snape was having a joke at his expense, whether this was part of his punishment. But then he realised that his new father wasn't going to poison him; he had spent countless hours trying to save his life and get his body back to being fully functional again. Snape wasn't going to negate all that hard work.

Harry picked up his spoon and dipped it into the murk. And then...well, there was that talk they had had yesterday. Snape had put himself on the line. He had convinced Harry that he really wanted to try to make this work.

Harry took a noisy sip of the soup, expecting to gag. Amazingly, he didn't. Snape was watching his every move; Harry could feel his eyes on him, but he refused to look up as he slowly but surely ploughed his way through the contents of the bowl.

So, if Snape really wanted to make this work, why had he, Harry, gone out of his way to piss the man off? Oh, sure, Harry had been annoyed that they had had to revert to type in front of Remus. But he had known that it was necessary. Snape's continued safety depended on the Dark Lord not finding out that one of his most devoted followers was biologically connected to his arch enemy, Harry Potter.

But knowing that was the way things had to be when they were around others did not make Harry comfortable with the idea. How on Earth were they going to build a relationship if they had to continually flip from being friendly to being bitter enemies and then back again. How was he going to be able to keep it all straight in his head, for God sake? Harry knew that Professor Dumbledore knew everything, but what about Professor McGonagall? She had helped nurse him when he had been ill. Had she been privy to this information? Had Dumbledore told her?

Harry couldn't finish the whole bowl of soup, but Snape seemed satisfied; he didn't argue when Harry put the spoon down. "I can't eat anymore...sorry."

"You've done well. That will help."

Why wasn't the man yelling at him? Telling him that he was a little turd? But Snape didn't call him names. He didn't even yell. Harry's head was starting to pound more with the stress.

"Why don't you just yell at me already?" he cried. He immediately regretted his loud voice and raised his hands to his head, massaging his forehead with the heels of his hands, knocking his glasses askew in the process.

"What would be the point? Why should I expend all that extra energy getting myself all worked up just to make you feel better?"

Harry lowered his hands and stared. "You never used to worry about expending that kind of energy on me."

"And as I am sure you remember from our talk yesterday, I am going to make every effort to change. I cannot sit here and promise you I will never get angry at you, because I am positive you will go out of your way to press as many of my buttons as you possibly can..."

"No I won't," denied Harry.

Severus's head bobbed up and down several times. "Yes, you will. But I suppose that is to be expected. You, after all, are the child. I am led to believe that it is a child's place to push as many buttons as he possibly can."

Harry looked offended. "I can make an effort too, you know?"

Severus inclined his head. "And I'm sure you will. Gryffindor nobility and fairness are ingrained in you. But none-the-less, you will rebel, because as the parent, it is up to me to put strictures upon you. And after having known you for the last five years, you do not take kindly to strictures."

"I don't mind strictures as long as they aren't unfair," said Harry. "Like yesterday, for instance...why couldn't I have had another glass of the mead. That would have been enough then. I would have been happy."

"If that is so, why didn't you stop at just one glass when you found the bottle down here?" Harry swallowed. He really had no answer to that. What could he say? That he just wanted to piss Snape off?

"The mead was just an excuse, Harry. You were angry because I reverted to being Professor Snape within minutes of telling you that we would make a go of things. I understand that that was upsetting to you, but I hoped you would be mature enough to understand."

"I did understand," said Harry. Then his voice became earnest. "But you're right, I didn't like it. Remus is my friend. You know him well too, even if you don't like him. He would never give away our secret."

"Not willingly, Harry. But what if Lupin was captured? What if the Dark Lord broke into his mind. He knows you are friendly with Lupin. He would want to know what Lupin knows about you."

Harry had no answer to that, either. With his elbow on the table, Harry sat and rubbed his forehead. Severus watched him in silence for several minutes.

Finally, Harry could stand it no more. "I'm sorry, all right. I'll never drink again."

Severus sighed. "I am sure at this moment, and maybe for the next few days while this is all fresh in your mind, you really believe that you will never drink again. But you are a normal young man-amazing really, considering everything you have been through-and normal young men experiment. You will drink again, but I hope next time you have the sense to know when you have had enough.

"Drunkenness is not the only consequence of over indulgence of alcohol, Harry. You could have ended up with alcohol poisoning. Your liver could have shut down. And often there is no coming back from that. Your liver has already done the work of ten livers, trying to detoxify the other poison that was nearly the death of you. It really needs a break.

Harry's cheeks were glowing like beacons at the end of this lecture. He really was an idiot. Why hadn't he thought about what he was doing to his liver? He knew that the liver was responsible for cleansing the body of poisons. He had learned it in Public Health at his Muggle school. And Snape had told him that his liver and spleen had been badly affected by the poison. For God sake, Snape had put a protective charm around them while they healed.

"I really am sorry," reiterated Harry, looking Severus straight in the eye. "I'll try to think things through before I think about doing anything stupid again."

Severus thin lips lifted in what might have been a small smile...a very small smile. Harry thought he looked tired, and his guilt intensified. No doubt that was his fault too.

Severus stood and straightened his robes. "We will say no more about it then. How do you feel now?"

When Harry stopped to think about that, he realised that his stomach had settled right down now. His head was still aching, but the bass drum had turned into a bongo. He smiled tentatively. "I've still got a headache, but it's better than it was."

Severus nodded. "Well, if you think you can stand the rigours of another journey through the floo network, I will return you to the Burrow. I think some time with your friends will do you good."

"Really?" Harry's eyes shone as he pushed himself to his feet. The movement was a little too enthusiastic and he gasped, pressing his hands into his stomach below his ribs.

"As long as you wait for a couple of days before you fly, I think you should take your broom with you. I noticed a makeshift Quidditch pitch in the back yard."

Harry couldn't believe it but he wasn't going to argue. He hurried to his room as fast as his body would allow and got his Firebolt. When he reappeared with Sirius's precious gift, Severus held his hand out for it. Harry handed it over without question and Severus waved his wand and said, Reducio!" The broomstick shrank down to miniature proportions, still perfect in every detail. Severus produced a small metal box which he put the Firebolt into. He handed it to Harry. "This will keep the tail safe while it is in your pocket," he explained, handing it to Harry who put it in his jacket pocket.

"Thanks," he said gratefully, but he was unable to hide his surprise that Snape was being so thoughtful.

"My mother gave me that when I got my first broom. Of course, I didn't have anything as grand as what you have, so you need it even more than I did."

"You had your own broom?"

"I didn't get it until I was fifteen. My mother had saved a long time to be able to purchase it for me." Severus turned away, clearly not comfortable talking about his mother. Harry hoped that would change. He wanted to know a lot more about Eileen Snape now that he knew she was his grandmother...one of three grandmothers. Harry shook his head. This whole thing was still so surreal...not least how nice Snape was being to him.

Harry watched as his one time enemy reached for the floo powder. Somehow, calling him Snape felt all wrong now. What exactly did you call a man whom you had called many, many names...and not one of them was nice.

Father? Dad? Pop? Pa? Pappy? Harry snorted to himself. Yeah, he could just see Severus Snape being happy being called any of the last three.

They would have to discuss it...and soon.

As Snape lifted the bronze goblet of floo powder down from the high mantel, Harry wondered if he would ever equal Snape in the height department; he had to stand on tiptoe to reach that mantel. And when he thought back to the spirit of James that Voldemort's wand had regurgitated in the graveyard, his impression had been that he was also tall. So how was it that his own height was so meagre when he had the genetic advantage of having two sires who were tall? It hardly seemed fair.

But then again, it seemed he had inherited James's talent on a broom. Harry took the long metal box out of his pocket again and studied it more thoroughly. The silver lid was etched with a tiny figure flashing forward, lying flat against his broom, with his arm outstretched and a tiny, winged ball just out of reach of his eager fingers. Though the box was made of silver, the snitch had been fashioned in gold. Harry ran his fingers over the upraised image of the little ball. The box was a beautiful work of art and Harry wondered at Sn-no...his father-giving it to him when it had been a gift from his mother.

He said as much while watching his own fingers playing over the seeker. Severus too watched the young Gryffindor seeker touch his metal counterpart. "Who else would I give it to, Harry?" he asked seriously. "It was one of the few things my mother brought with her when she left her parent's home for good. My mother would think it appropriate that her grandson-who is a seeker-should have the box to protect his broom. It is finally being used again for what it was designed."

Harry felt the heat of a hot flush staining the back of his neck. He looked up. "Were you a seeker? Is that why your mum gave you the box?"

"I was never talented enough on a broom to play any position in quidditch. Once I could apparate, I never travelled anywhere by broom." Severus stopped here, his thoughts returning reluctantly to some of the raids he had participated in that had been ordered by the Dark Lord, and where a broom had been a necessary accessory.

Cutting off these reminiscences, he continued with his speech to Harry. "You are James's son in this regard. I can fly a broom but aerial acrobatics was never my forte. And I have to tell you Harry, that as talented as James was-and I would have bitten my tongue out before ever admitting such a thing in school, of course-your own expertise in the air is superior to his. In fact..." Severus turned away to replace the goblet of floo powder on the mantel, as it seemed unlikely that they were going anywhere in a hurry, "though it pains me to say it because you too are a Gryffindor, I have never seen a more talented flyer."

Harry stared. A huge lump had formed in his throat and he tried to swallow past it. He had never seen this man's eyes so full of approbation. And that approval was for him, Harry Potter, pestilential Gryffindor and son of James Potter. But it was also for Harry Potter, son of Severus Snape. And Severus Snape was doing his best to act as a father should act...just as he had promised he would. While he, Harry had just gone on his merry way, acting like a complete arse. His latest escapade had certainly not been within the spirit of their mutual agreement to ‘make an effort' to make their relationship work.

"Thanks," he croaked past the lump in his throat. He was now looking back down at his trainers and rubbing the back of his neck to cover his embarrassment. Severus's highly polished boots and the hem of his robe came into Harry's downward field of vision. Then he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I only speak the truth, Harry." And then with a final squeeze, Severus was turning away and reaching for the floo powder a second time.

"Wait!" Severus pulled his empty hand back again. He looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

"Did you forget something?" he asked. "Your bag is still at the Burrow. You should have everything you need there."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, wincing when he touched the tender spot on the back of his head. "Umm...I'm still not feeling brilliant and I thought...well, maybe it'd be better if I stuck around here for the day." When Severus said nothing, but continued to stare through hooded eyes, Harry hurried back into speech.

"I mean, if it's a problem, I'll..."

"It's not a problem. I have told you to think of these rooms as your home. You do not have to ask if you can stay. Even if we are at odds with each other at any time, I will not tell you to leave, Harry." Severus's lips quirked slightly. "I might tell you to go to your room..."

Harry's shoulders had tensed up during his own tentative speech, but at Snape's words, he relaxed. His lips pressed together in what passed for a grin, though it looked more like a painful rictus.

"Well, being sent to my room is a massive improvement on being locked in my cupboard." When Severus's face darkened ominously, Harry wished he hadn't said anything. He had only been trying to get them past the awkwardness of the unusually heartfelt moment. He watched apprehensively as Severus breathed himself back to calmness.

When he finally felt in control enough to speak, all he said, in tight lipped disapproval was, "indeed." It appeared that he didn't trust himself to say anything more when it came to the Dursleys.

Despite the newly intensified throbbing in his head, Harry felt happier than he had in a long time. Snape was angry, but this time it was on his behalf. It was not directed at him. And Harry realised with a further lift of his heart that Snape had not really been angry at him for quite a while...well, that wasn't strictly true. He supposed that the man had been angry when he had found him passed out in a drunken stupor last night, but as Harry didn't remember that, it didn't count. Besides, he had a right to be furious about that.

Harry threw himself down in a chair. He put his head back and closed his eyes, his eyebrows drawing together as the drums beating in his head increased their tempo. The bass drums had taken over from the bongos again.

"You're feeling worse, again."

Harry nodded, a barely there movement of his head. "I feel like sh...I mean, I feel lousy. I think that cold has definitely taken hold." And to demonstrate this assertion, Harry flung himself forward to sneeze violently into his cupped hands. Severus rolled his eyes slightly and delved into his robes, removing a pristine white handkerchief and pressing it into Harry's hands. Just in time, for Harry sneezed three more times into the handkerchief. It would appear that teenage boys made it a habit not to carry anything as cumbersome as a handkerchief around, but went out of their way to acquire as many of the squares of cloth from others as they could, only to promptly lose them. As he didn't appear to have it on him, Severus assumed this was the fate of Lupin's handkerchief.

Severus took Harry's arm firmly and hauled him out of the chair. Harry groaned. "Can't I just stay here and die."

"No. You make the place look untidy. Back to bed, I think. Sleep is the best cure, both for hangovers and head colds." Harry didn't argue. Truth to tell, his new bed sounded wonderful right now and while he threw himself down on the still rumpled covers, Severus went to his lab to get some more potions. After he dosed Harry with another phial of headache potion and a decongestant potion that had Harry catching his breath and wiping his streaming eyes as the combined effects of menthol and eucalyptus cleared his head and breathing passages and also filled the room with their refreshing vapours, Severus made Harry undress and don pyjamas he found in the tallboy. He insisted that Harry would be more comfortable if he was dressed appropriately for bed. Within a minute of his head hitting the pillow, Harry was asleep again.

8888

Many hours later, Severus was in his lab, making excellent inroads into the preparation of the hospital potion stocks. He was behind his normal schedule because of all the hassles with Harry, but last night and today, while Harry slept, had advanced him a long way.

Later, Severus couldn't be sure whether Harry's cry of pain or his own dark mark burning viciously had alerted him to the fact that the Dark Lord was in the grip of a significant emotion and that the evil megalomaniac craved his presence ASAP.

The combination of Harry's scream and the pain in his arm made him drop the phial he was sealing onto the stone floor where it smashed, the contents splashing onto Severus's trousers, boots and the hem of his robe. Severus ignored the mess to stride to Harry's room. He found his son on his knees beside the bed with his face buried in his pillow to stifle his groans. Severus shelved his own pain to grasp Harry under the arms and hoist him back onto the bed. But Harry struggled free and buried his face deeper into the pillow. His hair was dripping with perspiration and Severus could see damp patches under the arms and on the back of his pyjamas. Severus raised his wand and pointed it towards his lab. He summoned the same strong pain relief potion he had developed specifically for Harry and had given to him for the first time at Privet Drive. He also summoned the salve to massage into his scar.

"Harry!" he growled. "Please lift your head. I have your potion and the salve to ease your scar." Severus saw Harry's head move from side to side as he mashed his face further into the soft pillow. It was as if he was trying to push his face through to the back of his head. Harry groaned and fisted his hands around the edges of the pillow; his knuckles were white.

Severus wasn't going to take any rubbish when time was at a premium and the boy was obviously in severe pain. "All right Potter, we'll do this the hard way," and he snaked his arms around Harry's thin torso and hauled him upright. At the same time he twisted his body so that both he and Harry fell on the bed. When Harry struggled, Severus subdued him by throwing one leg over Harry's thighs and tightening his muscles. Harry bucked, but Severus's ire was fuelled by worry for Harry and his own pain. Half lying on the boy, he caught Harry's two flailing arms and dragged them upwards, clamping one large hand around his wrists. All the while, Harry bucked and tried to drag his wrists free of the very strong, clamp-like hold.

"Do I have to put you in a body bind, you idiot child? I am trying to help you!" The threat of using, Petrificus Totalus on Harry was just that-a threat. Severus did not want to use magic...neither a petrifying or a stunning hex. He was fully aware that he had done just that in the panic of the moment that first night at the Dursleys when Harry had been in such terrific pain, but Severus had had time to review his actions since and he was convinced that when Harry was in the grip of these episodes, applying magic could ultimately cause damage.

He and Albus had discussed it and the old man had agreed with Severus when he had opined that the Dark Lord may be enhancing the connection with the application of dark magic. Unless they knew just what magic was being applied-if it was being applied-they would be foolish to add to the mix. Not when the effects of the connection were so very volatile.

"I don't want the potion," panted Harry, dragging Severus's dire thoughts back to the struggle and he tightened his muscles as Harry tried to buck him off again. "Let me go!"

"You-are-going-to-take-this-potion!" grunted Severus, as he and Harry struggled. Suddenly, the pain in Severus's arm intensified and he hissed as his shields weakened a little. At the same time, Harry went rigid and screamed. Severus watched in horror as Harry's scar began to trickle blood. It welled faster and flowed down into his eyebrow.

The noise coming from his son's mouth made Severus's skin crawl. Unable to claw at his face, Harry twisted his head to the side and rubbed his scar against the inside of his arm, spreading the blood across his forehead and cheek. Severus wrenched himself from his horrified paralysis. He increased the strength of his hold on Harry's wrists, and with his free hand, he dragged out his wand and pointed it at the pot of salve that was still hovering in midair in front of the madly writhing bodies on the bed. The cork popped out and the container moved to where Severus could reach it. But first, he dropped his wand on the bed and gripped Harry's jaw and forced his face upwards again. Then, with an awkward movement he swiped some of the blood off with the sleeve of his own robe. Harry was still fighting, but his struggles had weakened considerably.

Severus scooped some of the salve out of the hovering pot and without hesitation, he pressed his grease covered fingers against the livid scar.

The shock of a finger exerting pressure against his abused flesh momentarily calmed Harry, though it was obvious from his pallor and the rigidity of his facial and neck muscles that his head was still aching appallingly. He sighed however, as the salve cooled his scar, easing that pain considerably. The salve also seemed to be reducing the bleeding to almost nothing and Severus was grateful to see this.

"Right," said Severus, loosening his hold on Harry's wrists. "Now you can take this." And he grabbed the phial of potion.

Harry immediately shook his head but then groaned as his headache assailed him with renewed ferocity. "I don't want it," he panted. "I don't want to go to sleep. I need to know what's happening."

"But you're not going to know what's happening, idiot child!" pointed out Severus, through gritted teeth. His own pain peaked and Harry took the opportunity to wrench his hands out from Severus's loosened hold. But all Harry did was grind the heels of his hands against his temples.

"He is so caught up in the emotion of the moment, he isn't bothering to occlude. He is deliberately opening the connection at the moment so that you will know he is planning something, or has already done something," explained Severus. "You need to take the potion."

"But you've been summoned, haven't you? I need to know that you're all right."

Severus just stared at Harry. "You do not have to worry about me. I have been doing this for a long time," he finally said, and before Severus could react, Harry vented a cry that was a mixture of pain and rage and frustration. He threw Severus's relaxed leg off himself and curled on his side, throwing a crooked arm over his eyes.

"Well, if you're going to go, you'd better move," Harry said in a would be unconcerned voice. He's getting seriously pissed off. I think he was ecstatic before, but he's hacked off now."

Severus knew this. His arm felt as if it might spontaneously combust at any moment. He had clasped his hand over the dark mark and it felt as if it was singeing his palm. Harry must have seen his movement because his voice issued from beneath his arm again.

"Why don't you use that salve you put on my scar on your dark mark? It works brilliantly. I've hardly got any pain there now."

Severus was stunned that Harry could think about his discomfort when his own pain must be all consuming. Severus had not tried to produce a pain killing salve for his mark since the Dark Lord's return, because he had learned during his early tenure as a Death Eater that nothing eased the pain of a summons. The Dark Lord had made sure of that when he had woven his evil into the spell that tethered his followers to him.

"The salve will not work on the dark mark," he said shortly. "I have tried many similar formulations over the years. He made it that way when he designed his spell." Severus stood and looked down at the suffering bundle of humanity on the bed and he wondered how he could ever have thought of the boy as an arrogant little burke who deserved everything that he got.

He had been wilfully blind.

"Will you take this potion?" Severus asked one last time. Further battle would be pointless, he knew. It would just increase Harry's suffering; he was beginning to shiver violently, as if he was in the grip of an ague.

"No," stuttered Harry, through his chattering teeth. "I...I h...have to b...be aware of wha...what's going on." He removed his arm and looked beseechingly at Severus. "Please, don't...don't make me take it."

Severus drew in a pained breath. Perhaps emotional blackmail was the key as it seemed Harry was so worried about him. "You do realise that having you and your suffering on my mind will not be conducive to helping me to fully occlude while in the presence of the Dark Lord."

Harry stared at Severus, his face devastated. Then he screwed his face up as a fresh wave of pain reverberated inside his skull. He rubbed his forehead. "I didn't think," he moaned. I'm sorry," and he held out a shaking hand for the phial. Severus, feeling guiltier than he would have thought possible, broke the seal and uncorked it.

"I'll be fine, Harry," he reassured as he handed the phial over and watched as Harry drank it down immediately, obviously not wanting to give himself time to talk himself out of it. "You do not need to worry, and I am not just saying this to get my way. I am too valuable to the Dark Lord for him to do anything dire to me."

Harry's hand had already flopped onto the bed, the phial falling from his loosened grip. "But if...if he..." his eyelids were drooping, "if he sees your thoughts."

Severus pulled the rumpled covers back and threw them over Harry. He then threaded his fingers through the impossibly messy hair. "He will not. I am a better occlumens than he is a legilimens." But Harry was asleep, his face relaxed for the first time since Severus had rushed into the bedroom.

Now Severus left Harry, and in the living room, he transfigured his robes into his Death Eater regalia before pointing his wand at the logs in the grate and incanting, incendio. Taking up some floo powder, he threw it onto the flames. But instead of stepping into the fireplace, he just knelt on the hearth and called for Dumbledore's rooms before sticking his head in the flames.

"Albus!" he called desperately, and before two seconds had passed he called out again, "Albus, for God sake man, answer me!"

Severus nearly collapsed with relief when he heard hurried footsteps on the stairs and he was winding up to launch into speech when Remus Lupin's face appeared instead of the headmaster's. Severus's face fell into a stiff mask and his voice was frigid. "What are you doing here Lupin? Where is Albus?"

"Good evening Severus. Albus has been called away. I have been preparing my rooms and Albus asked me to stay up here to explain in case someone tries to contact him here."

"Shit!" said Severus frustratedly. "Where the hell has he gone?"

Remus shook his head. "He didn't say, I'm afraid."

An extra vicious twinge reminded Severus that he really did need to get a move on. Though only about ten minutes had passed since his mark had started to burn, Severus knew he couldn't leave it much longer or he really would be in more trouble than he wanted to think about. Cruciatus was not high on his list of enjoyable ways to pass the time. Though he did not want Lupin in his rooms or hanging around Harry, he didn't have any choice. He could not leave Harry alone.

Taking a deep breath, he swallowed his distaste and said, "I need your help, Lupin. Can you step through?" Remus raised his eyebrows in bemusement, his lips quirked in a questioning half smile. When he didn't move immediately Severus's eyes narrowed menacingly and that was enough to release Remus from his study of Severus, and he stood up.

Severus removed his head from the fire and sprang to his feet. When Remus stepped onto the rug, automatically brushing at his robes (Severus couldn't understand why he bothered, as they were so disreputably old and patched in the first place), Severus was dragging his travelling cloak from the rack near the door.

Remus didn't waste time looking around, he just stared at Severus questioningly. "I need you for babysitting duties," Severus stated baldly. "I've been summoned and Harry has just had a severe episode of scar pain and headache."

Remus was suddenly on alert. "Where is he?" he asked quickly. Severus indicated Harry's room by pointing with his chin. "He's sleeping now. I've given him a strong potion that I developed especially for these episodes."

"He's unconscious?" asked Remus worriedly. He was already striding towards Harry's room.

"No, Lupin!" barked Severus and Remus turned back to face him. "He's rousable but I would prefer you don't rouse him. He doesn't need to be aware at the moment. He'll just stress." Severus turned away and reached for the floo powder. He had to exit the castle via Albus's fireplace.

"I'll be back as soon as I can." And he threw the powder into the flames for the second time that evening. "Just watch him," he ordered, and then Severus was whirling away in the flash of green flames. He had to step out of the fireplace in Albus's office to point his wand at the floo and incant a spell that acted as a password. When Albus was not in residence, the floo was protected. No one who did not know the password was able to access the floo to either enter or leave the castle. And that list of people was very short indeed.

8888

Once again Severus had lost track of the time. He didn't know how many hours had passed since he had followed the call of his mark. But unlike the time spent in his lab, these missing hours were not the mindless, relaxing time that had passed him by while he worked on getting the hospital potion stocks up to date and monitored the wolf's potion. These hours had started off with a dose of the most excruciating pain known to man-albeit a miniscule dose that was the result of an angry flick of the Dark Lord's wand when Severus had finally arrived at the home of Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Madam Bones wasn't dead when Severus arrived, but he was sure that she wished she had been. He wished that she had been. She was a broken and bloody mess and whenever she passed out from the pain, she was re-enervated. It was a long, slow bloody process before the Dark Lord had delivered the welcome coup de grace. Severus had been sickened, but that had not been the end of the ‘fun'.

They had then apparated to Emmeline Vance's home and the whole bloody trauma had started over again. And he had had to pretend that he was enjoying it. Somehow, in the spirit of celebration that had pervaded both scenes of horror, no one had noticed that Severus did not really join in the torture of the two middle-aged women. Oh, he had wielded his wand and cast a few spells, but none of them had caused pain. In fact, for Emmeline, who had recognised him because he had arrived with the rest of the party, he had managed to cast a couple of silent charms that had partly shielded her from the pain of the next couple of horrific curses, mostly delivered by the maniacal Bellatrix.

Two talented witches were dead because the greatest dark wizard the world had ever known had decreed it be so. He had decided to mark his return to open active duty by murdering a high profile Ministry official and then compounding it with a swipe directly at Albus Dumbledore and the Order by murdering one of their own.

Severus couldn't remember exchanging more than half a dozen words with Emmeline Vance in the whole time he had known her, but she had been one of the few Order members whose company he could tolerate with impunity. She had been quiet and unassuming and she had not judged him. She had carried out any orders given to her by Albus without fuss or argument.

Harry's connection had obviously been reacting to the Dark Lord's feelings of ecstasy rather than fury this time. The man was never happier than when he was causing pain and suffering.

Severus didn't enter the castle via the floo. He apparated to the gates and walked across the dark grounds, allowing the fresh air to wash the smell of blood and gore from his nostrils and lungs. The floo would have gotten him back much quicker to see how Harry was faring, but he didn't want to confront him in his present frame of mind. The boy would know immediately that something dire had happened. He already blamed himself for every single death that happened at the Dark Lord's hands. Or as Harry preferred to call him, Voldemort!

Severus didn't have to spell the huge oaken doors open with his wand as Filch was just unlocking them for the day. Severus swept past the obnoxious caretaker without a word, his re-transfigured robes and cloak flapping behind him as he headed towards the dungeons. At his clipped pace, he traversed the dungeon corridors to his rooms in less than seven minutes, very different from the day not so long ago when he had made a convalescing Harry Potter walk to the Great Hall and it had taken fifteen odd minutes with the boy collapsing three-quarters of the way through the journey.

Just one more sin he could add to the extensive list of crimes he had committed against the boy he now had to call son.

Severus stood outside his door and breathed himself to calmness; he buried the memories of the night's horrors deeply behind his shields. When he had gotten past his wards and entered his rooms, Harry-who had been sitting at the table with Lupin-jumped to his feet and was waiting with his hands clenched. Lupin stood up more slowly to face his old school adversary. He saw a look of quiet relief pass across the werewolf's face and just had enough time to be surprised by the evident relief before he turned his full attention to Harry.

The boy's features were drawn and pale and there were huge dark circles under his eyes. Severus had been gone longer than he had thought he would be, and Harry's features were a testament to his worry. He turned to hang his travelling cloak on the rack near the door and he could feel Harry's eyes raking over him.

He turned back and approached the table. "I'm all right," he reassured as those haunted green eyes took in his tired and drawn face. Lily's eyes had looked like that when she had come to beg him for his assistance to save her fiancé's life.

"Why were you so long?" asked Harry, in a slightly confrontational tone. Severus raised his eyebrow and Harry reddened a little. "Sorry," he said, "but I was worried."

Severus looked more closely at the smudges under Harry's eyes and now he noted his reddened sclera. "How long have you been awake to be worried?" he asked, clearly annoyed. Harry should have slept for at least eight hours if he had not been woken. He turned sharply to look at Lupin who was pouring tea into a clean cup.

Though he was concentrating on his task, Remus obviously felt his regard because without looking up, he said, "I didn't wake him, Severus. He only slept for about four hours."

Severus turned back to Harry, his brow furrowed. "You've been awake since two AM?"

"I've been dozing on and off," said Harry defensively. He had seated himself again and was fiddling with a piece of toast that he obviously had no intention of eating.

Remus thrust the cup of tea into Severus's unresisting hand and Severus looked at it in surprise. "Drink it," ordered Remus. "I'm sure you could use it."

Severus wanted to say that his welfare was definitely not any of Lupin's business, but he really did need the tea. So he grunted a barely civil thank you and raised the cup to his lips. After a long swallow of the strong nectar of the God's, he fell into the nearest chair and put his saucer on the table while he proceeded to drink the rest of the tea. Remus moved the teapot and milk to within easy reach. Harry watched Severus warily, almost as if he was looking for some sign of spell damage.

"Were you in pain the whole time since you awoke?" Severus asked as he poured another cup of tea.

"It wasn't anything like what it was before I took the potion." Severus quirked that eyebrow again, as if he wasn't sure whether to believe Harry's assertions. "Honestly!" said Harry, seeing the doubt.

"He wasn't in agony, Severus," interjected Remus. "He insisted on getting up, but I made him lie on the sofa, where he dozed on and off."

"And you were awake the whole time to ascertain his level of wakefulness, were you?" snapped Severus accusingly. He knew he was being totally unreasonable, but he couldn't seem to help the nasty impulses where Lupin was concerned.

But as usual, Lupin was impossible to rile. "I do not find staying awake a problem, except for the first two days after the full moon." He walked over to the nearest chair and picked up a book that he had left open over the arm. "You have an excellent library, Severus. Your Defence Against the Dark Arts section is most impressive." Severus saw that the title of the book Lupin was holding was ‘Defending yourself against the Indefensible'.

"I've been planning some lessons for the NEWT level students." He looked back at Severus and said with quiet emphasis, "I did not fall down on the job. I had plenty to keep me occupied while Harry dozed.

"He couldn't have dozed for long. He's exhausted."

"He was fitful, I confess, but what do you expect when his father was away and in eminent danger."

"I was in no more danger than you were tonight, Lupin," groused Severus, fully aware that the claim was patently untrue, but he refused to allow Lupin the last word. "And if that is the kind of garbage you've been feeding him, then you were way beyond the pale."

Remus bestowed a look of exasperated tolerance upon Severus, making Severus want to draw his wand and direct some kind of painful hex at the bloody infuriating man. "I know you don't really believe that to be the case, Severus..."

"Hey!" said Harry irately. "I'm right here." He poked a finger into his own chest.

Both men looked at him in some surprise. "For God sake, you're not in school now. Get over it!" It was obvious that this verbal attack was directed at Severus. "You asked Remus to babysit..." and here, Harry flexed the index and middle fingers of each hand in the air, "...me and you wouldn't have done that if you thought even for an instant, he couldn't be trusted. And for future reference, I don't need babysitting."

Severus wanted to berate the boy for his cheek, but the memory of Harry's suffering the night before and the realisation of just how worried he had been stilled his tongue.

"I apologise, Harry," said Remus contritely. "You have to excuse two old school friends..."

"We were never, and nor will we ever be friends, Lupin," bit out Severus, ignoring Harry's harangue completely. "My life would be infinitely improved if I could be assured that I would never have to see you again. But as you refuse to disappear, reluctant acceptance of your presence is all I can promise."

Harry pushed his chair back as he shot to his feet. He glared at Severus. "Obviously age is no indication of maturity. And you think I'm the one who needs babysitting!" He looked at Remus with a slightly less pugnacious expression. "Thanks for keeping me company Remus. I'll see you later." And he stalked into his room and slammed the door.

Severus was yelling before Harry had taken two steps, but his, "get back here, Potter!" was ignored. He slumped back into his chair and watched dispassionately as Lupin poured more tea into two cups. He was really too tired to chase after the disrespectful little whelp, or to insist that Lupin now leave.

"It will get easier, Severus, I'm sure it will," opined Lupin most unhelpfully.

"And you've been a father for exactly how long, Lupin?" asked Severus with exaggerated confusion.

Remus chuckled. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'll ever have that pleasure," and there was something akin to extreme disappointment in his voice. Severus looked at him with wonder.

"You mean to say, you would actually volunteer to find yourself solely responsible for the welfare and wellbeing of a disagreeable, disobedient and wholly ungrateful child?"

Remus just shook his head. "If I were ever in the position of being able to father a child Severus, I would hope to have a wife to help with the responsibility. And I would hope that my hypothetical child was not disagreeable, disobedient or ungrateful. But the situation will never arise as I do not think there would be many women out there who would be attracted to a werewolf." He stood up and picked up his discarded book.

"May I borrow this?" Strangely, Severus didn't even think about refusing and he nodded. He was still ruminating upon Remus's words. As the thought of marriage to any woman other than Lily had never occurred to him, and the thought of procreating left him cold, he had never thought that there might be other bachelors out there who would actually crave these things.

Lupin, of course was right. Any woman who would be attracted to a werewolf would be a very strange woman indeed. But as Lupin bade him goodbye, Severus had a fleeting image of bright pink hair framing a heart-shaped face adorned with a soppy expression, as aquamarine eyes rested on Lupin.

Severus looked after Lupin thoughtfully as he called out for his own quarters and disappeared with a loud whoosh. He wondered if Lupin knew that there was one woman out there who was attracted to him.

Severus shook his head and pushed his aching body to its feet. Knowing Lupin, as Severus was appalled to realise he did, if Nymphadora (what a truly ridiculous moniker Andromeda had foisted on the unfortunate infant) Tonks, pushed herself at him, Lupin was far too noble to allow the girl to continue in her infatuation. He would push her away, even if he developed a reciprocating attraction. He pondered just how difficult Lupin's life really was and he was surprised and dismayed when he had to force a fleeting pang of sympathy away. He steeled his jaw and pushed all thoughts of the werewolf away. He had nearly been killed by that werewolf many years ago and that was something he would never get over. But he could not help the small voice that niggled in the back of his mind that Lupin had known nothing about that plan of Black's and that he had been as appalled by what may have been as Severus was.

Severus slammed the doors shut on the old nightmare. He had other things to think about than his and Lupin's disagreeable past and the fact that the man's love life was probably on a fast rack to nowhere. Rounding the table to go and talk to the son he had not asked for, Severus was pulled up short when a blindingly bright phoenix materialised in front of him. It opened its beak and Albus's voice issued from it...Albus's very weak voice. Severus was immediately on the alert.

"Severus, please...I need your help. I'm in my office. Quickly!"

Before the Patronus had finished relaying its message, Severus had thrust Harry's door open. Harry, who was lying with his hands behind his head shot upwards in alarm at the look on his father's face.

"What?" he cried, swinging his legs off the bed. "What's happened?"

Severus tried to calm himself. "The headmaster needs to see me. Will you be all right by yourself for a while?"

Harry's brow furrowed and he looked at Severus suspiciously. Severus raised his eyebrows and Harry scowled. He must have imagined the worry on the man's face. "Of course I'll be all right. I told you I don't need a babysitter."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Severus said as Harry lay down again. Harry just nodded.

"I'll be here," he said off-handedly. Severus had to trust that Harry would behave himself.

Less than a minute after Albus's message had been delivered, he was stepping out of the fire in the headmaster's office.

Even before he had stepped from the flames, Severus could see Albus. The old wizard was behind his desk, slumped sideways in his chair, his glasses askew and his face contorted in pain.

Severus rushed forwards, pulling his wand out as he moved and incanting a string of Latinate sounds as he moved the wand in a backwards and forwards motion, starting at the top of Albus's head and moving down over his neck and torso. For an instant before his spell told him otherwise, Severus had been terrified that Albus was dead. His fear had prevented him from hearing the rapid, laboured breathing, but now he could hear it and it terrified him more than the waxen cast to Albus's face and the closed eyes and gaping mouth.

But Severus could not immediately determine what was wrong. The old man had not had a cerebral bleed, nor had he had a cardiac episode and though his heart was working overtime in conjunction with the increased respirations, the heart muscle was sound.

"Albus, can you hear me?" Severus tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He took Albus's glasses off with a shaking hand and pocketed them.

Albus gave a low groan and his eyelids fluttered. The white lips moved but Severus had to lean down to hear and then all he could make out were the words, ‘hand' and ‘ring'...or at least that was what he thought Albus said.

Severus stood upright again. He had been on his knees beside his old friend. He could not work while Albus was sitting slouched in the chair. He pointed his wand and said, "Wingardium Leviosa," in a voice that shook slightly, and the old man rose into the air. Severus noted that Albus's fine, oyster grey robes were covered in grime and what looked like smudges made by dirt encrusted spider webs. Where in the hell had the old fool been?

Severus guided Albus up the stairs and into his bedchamber. He pulled back the covers on the bed while Albus hovered. It was as he was lowering him carefully to the bed that Severus saw a sight that made him gasp in shock. He quickly grabbed Albus's loose right sleeve to prevent his right hand flopping onto the bed. When the thin, body had settled against the pristine white sheet, Severus kept a hold on the sleeve so that the hand dangled. He pointed his wand towards the bathroom and summoned a fresh towel which he laid on Dumbledore's chest in a thick, many layered pad. A powerful cleansing charm was cast upon the clean cotton to sterilise it and then he very gently lowered Albus's hand to lie on top of it.

Where Albus's pale, clever hand with its long, tapered fingers should have been, there was now a raw, bloody mess that looked as if it had been thrust into a cauldron of boiling potion. Paper thin curls of dead white skin had peeled away from the swollen, raw and oozing muscle and Severus could see white patches of tendons and bones amongst the weeping mess. Not aware he had even moved, Severus pulled Albus's sleeve back further. The redness and swelling, oozing flesh and peeling skin stopped about an inch above the wrist. The disfigurement actually looked like a macabre glove.

Severus was so shocked, he just stood in horrified immobility, staring at the ruined extremity...staring at what had once been one of the most talented wand-wielding hands in the magical world. He did not notice Albus's eyelids flutter open and it wasn't until he felt the faintest tug on his sleeve, that his appalled eyes snapped to the pain glazed one's of his patient. The irises that were usually an amazing periwinkle blue were dulled with pain; they were a sluggish, dull grey-blue, almost as if the pain and shock had leached the colour out.

Severus swallowed and took a deep breath. "What the hell did you do, old man?" he said in a would be exasperated, albeit unsteady, voice.

"Water..." croaked Albus, and Severus immediately turned to the bedside table where he knew Albus kept a carafe of water. It was empty, as was the glass and Severus pointed his wand at the glass and filled it with cold, clear water. He didn't use magic to raise Albus's head and shoulders, but sat on the side of the bed and eased the thin upper body off the bed and placed the glass to the parched lips.

Albus drank the whole of the contents of the glass. Severus lowered him down again and when his mangled hand was jostled, Albus could not suppress a moan of pain. He breathed deeply for several seconds and Severus watched as the tension in the old body eased slightly. He opened his eyes and looked at Severus.

"I was a fool, Severus," he whispered in a worryingly, weak voice. "This was caused by a cursed ring."

Severus put his head to one side and stared as if he had not heard correctly. But when Albus held his gaze and it became obvious that he wasn't going to retract that statement, Severus said, "My God, have you gone senile? Since when has the most brilliant magical mind of the age been deluded enough to think he could put on a strange artefact without checking it first? I know you Albus, and you would have been able to detect magic within the article immediately!"

Severus's voice had become more and more deadly as his rant continued. "What were you thinking?"

"Apparently, I wasn't. I'm sorry my boy. I've disappointed you. I have proven to you that I am nothing more than a foolish, foolish old man." Albus's voice seemed to be weakening even more and Severus had to force his anger back. Time was of the essence.

"Where's this ring?"

Albus waved his uninjured hand vaguely towards the door. "On my desk...the floor...I'm not sure..."

Severus glared at Albus, wanting to berate him further, but the old man's eyes had fluttered closed again and Severus had to find this cursed ring. He looked at the hand again and a sudden thought made him pause.

He had seen similar effects from a curse before. A curse that was once a favourite of the Dark Lord's. A terrible spell that Satan's spawn had developed that actually boiled the flesh from the bones. The Dark Lord would cast the spell so that a hand or foot was afflicted, and then the curse would advance along the arm or leg at a relatively rapid pace. It would take about an hour for a fully grown man to be boiled alive, an hour of unimaginable agony that would ultimately send the victim mad before death could claim him.

The first time Severus had seen this curse, it had been used on a heavily pregnant Muggle. Whilst she had still been sensible enough to know what was happening, the young woman's abdomen had been sliced open-by Bellatrix, Severus remembered-and the nearly term foetus had been removed from her womb alive, only to have the curse put on it as well.

Severus had been seventeen and the torture had been so horrific, he had been unable to prevent himself from expelling the contents of his stomach at the feet of Bellatrix who had lifted her robes fastidiously even as she had watched a piteously wailing, writhing infant dying beside her similarly afflicted mother. He remembered that spasm after spasm had assailed him and the older, more experienced Death Eaters had laughed at his weakness, his physical and mental discomfort adding to their enjoyment of the occasion. The Dark Lord had not punished him for his weakness-indeed, he would have had to punish several new recruits who had found the graphic sights, smells and sounds too much for their then untutored souls-as he had been in a remarkably good mood because his new curse had worked better than he could have hoped. He had playfully berated his acolytes to toughen up or they would never be the kind of servants that he wished to surround himself with.

Now Severus studied the ruined hand more closely. From what he remembered of the curse, it had advanced along the affected limb and then spread across the rest of the body at a rate of about an inch a minute. But since he had found Dumbledore and seen the injury, the curse had not advanced at all.

"Albus, what have you done to stop the spread?" he asked urgently.

Albus forced his tired eyes open. He looked vaguely at Severus. "Think Albus, how did you stop the spread of the curse?"

W...wand," was all he managed to articulate before his eyes closed again. Two spots of red had appeared on the old wizards cheeks and Severus cast another diagnostic spell. Albus now had a slight fever.

Without further ado, Severus rushed out of the room and down the stairs. Wand! What the hell did he mean by wand? A wand alone could not stop such a dark curse. What incantation had Albus used?

Severus saw straight away that Albus's wand was on the huge desk which was covered with it's usual array of parchments and books, a handsome etched silver writing set complete with a phoenix feather quill and some of Dumbledore's seemingly inane trinkets. There was also some detritus...crumpled up balls of parchment and sharp scrapings spread about from where Dumbledore had sharpened his quill. And on top of the whole and looking monumentally out of place, was Gryffindors silver ruby hilted sword. Severus picked the sword up and studied its flawless perfection. There was not one scratch on the centuries old artefact. It looked as if it had never been used and yet, Godric Gryffindor would not have had it just for decoration. And this was the sword that Harry had used three years ago to kill the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets if what Albus had told him was true.

But why wasn't the sword in it's glass case? Had Albus been polishing it before he went on his little mission? Severus shook his head at this idiotic notion. Goblin made silver did not need polishing. He put the sword back down on its nest of parchment and after another minute of looking, he knew the ring wasn't on the messy desk. He had even searched the drawers. He was halfway to his knees when a thought occurred to him. He cursed himself for being all kinds of a fool. His worry for Albus and his own sleepless, nightmarish night had addled him.

He raised his wand, though really, on second thought, he didn't expect anything to happen. If there was a dark enough curse on the item to have caused the terrible damage to Albus's hand, then it would be immune to a summoning charm.

"Accio, ring!" And to his amazement, a glittering gold and black object flew straight at his head. He only just managed to catch it before it smacked into his face where it would have left a nasty wound, even if it hadn't knocked him unconscious.

Panicking, Severus dropped the ring and it fell onto a pile of parchment on the desk. He held his breath while he waited an agonized few seconds for pain to rip through him. He hadn't expected the ring to respond to his summoning charm, let alone respond to it at the speed of a bullet. But when nothing happened, he relaxed by degrees.

Severus glared at the ugly, bulky ring. Understanding dawned immediately. You must have to put the ring on a finger for the curse to be activated. It was beyond his understanding why Dumbledore would have wanted to put the hideous thing on to start with, let alone where he had found the blasted thing.

And then he bent a little closer. The black stone had a deep, wide fissure down the middle of it, effectively dividing the stone into two halves. They were held together by the bulky clawed fastenings. Frowning, Severus pointed his wand at the ring and incanted a complicated string of Latin words. Nothing happened. The curse had somehow been removed from the object.

Severus looked at the sword where it lay innocently on the desk. Why had Albus had it out? Had he known the exact spell to use to banish the curse from the ring? Albus was the cleverest man Severus knew, but he had never studied the dark arts intensively enough to be able to counter a curse that would have required a specific incantation.

Severus left the ring where it was-it was of no use to him anyway-and he entered the floo, calling out for his rooms. Within seconds, he was in his lab, opening cupboards and summoning specific ingredients. He worked with a feverish intensity and when Harry entered the lab minutes later, Severus didn't even look up to acknowledge him.

Luckily, Harry could see that now was not the time to interrupt Severus and so he hoisted himself up onto a stainless steel work bench and watched the master at work.

Harry had never really seen Snape working in his element like this, except that one time when he had been brewing what had turned out to be the paternity potion, and though that insignificant cup full of liquid had altered the course of both his and Snape's lives, its brewing had not been the frantic rush that this potion-whatever it was-appeared to be.

The tightly pressed lips, the drawn face and the angry flash in the black eyes were enough to tell Harry that whatever this was, it was very important and its earliest completion was of the essence.

Severus already had a common base potion made up. It was the combination of fifteen ingredients that were necessary to counteract the effects of any dark curse. It could be stored for several years under the effects of a stasis charm. Decanting the half pint of liquid into a cold pewter cauldron and then bringing it to a rapid boil was the first step in brewing the potion Severus knew would counter the effects of the curse. Other ingredients specific to the task at hand were added in very precise quantities and in exact order.

All those years ago, the Dark Lord had set Severus the task of developing a cure for the effects that his boiling curse produced. Not that the cure would ever be used on the Dark Lord's unfortunate victims, but accidents could happen and often did. And then there were the times when ‘Satan's Spawn' had used the curse as punishment for whatever misdemeanour one or other of his followers may have committed, and if he did not want his acolyte to die ( not always the case), Severus's cure would be brought into play.

Severus only hoped that the curse was the one he thought it was. Dumbledore had somehow destroyed the curse in the ring, and there were no traces of the dark magic left behind, so thorough a job had he done. How the old fool had managed to do that, suffering as he must have been with that injury, was beyond Severus's comprehension, but he had stopped being surprised by what Dumbledore could do a long time ago. Severus had been convinced a very long time ago that Albus's power rivalled Merlin's, and was certainly equal to that of any of the four Hogwarts founders.

Severus only hoped that he had gotten it right. If his guess-his educated guess, certainly-was wrong, he could kill the old man. And truth to tell, he had never known the curse to be actually spelled inside an object before. It was possible of course for any dark curse to be placed inside an object, to be activated at a later date, when a designated set of circumstances converged, but this was a curse of the Dark Lord's design and Severus had not seen it used since the evil wizard's return to full power. And before his downfall, he had cast the curse directly, he had never, or so Severus thought stored it to be activated later.

And that begged the question, was it the Dark Lord who had cursed the ring, or one of his senior Death Eaters who had seen it used many times, over fifteen years ago? How long had the cursed object been waiting to be activated? And what was the curse protecting? The ring itself wasn't very valuable...it was crude and ugly, the stone nothing more than a chunk of polished obsidian and the metal was not pure gold because it was not heavy enough. So Severus doubted that the ring had been cursed only to protect it from theft. There had to be another reason. Something else had been hidden in that ring.

These thoughts whirled around in Severus's mind as he added ingredients in meticulously measured quantities, and stirred with a precision that was nothing short of perfection. Harry watched his father's every move with something approaching awe. This was a very different proposition to what he saw in his potions classes, including the performances of the most talented students at potion making...Hermione of course, and Malfoy and Nott. Compared with this precision of movement and knowledge, the three best fifth year potioneers looked like they were making mud pies when they were brewing.

Hermione would be mortified if she could see just how far she had to go to reach Severus Snape's level of proficiency.

Harry thought that is Snape were to give a demonstration of what it meant to be a good potioneer who enjoyed what he was doing, after he gave his ‘I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death', speech, he might actually win over a few more converts to the art of potion making. At least he might actually have a few more people enjoying the lessons, even if they knew they could never aspire to reach the dizzy heights of perfection demonstrated by the master.

Because the base was already made, and most of the additional ingredients were already in the chopped, crushed or shredded state needed for their addition, Severus was making very good time...which was just as well, as he wasn't sure if the curse may reactivate, especially as Albus said he had prevented its advancement with nothing more than a spell. But now Severus needed to carefully chop some japonica stems, and as they were very tough, he needed both hands.

He had been aware of Harry's presence for some time now, and had been quietly pleased-amidst his gut churning worry for Albus-that the boy had the sense to just sit quietly and watch. Though he must have questions aplenty, he had not succumbed to the temptation to start asking questions. Without taking his eyes off the softly simmering grey mixture, Severus spoke.

"Come over here, Harry." The command was delivered tersely but that wasn't why Harry started. The intrusion of a human voice in the echoing lab was shocking; the only noise to date had been the hissing of the magical flames under the cauldron, the liquid swish as Severus had stirred the potion and the occasional sound of a new ingredient being added to the brew.

He jumped down from his perch and went to stand close to Snape, looking at him questioningly. "I wish you to take over the stirring. I have some ingredients to cut up." He moved his hold on the stirring rod without altering the rhythm and leaving room for Harry to put his smaller hand in place. "You must not alter the rhythm when you take over."

Harry swallowed nervously; it was obvious that this potion was critical and he didn't want to think about what would happen if he stuffed up. When he took the glass rod in hand, Severus did not immediately relinquish it, but directed the stirring for the next three rotations, before pausing for exactly three seconds and then reversing and stirring in a counter clockwise direction.

"Seven times counter clockwise, three second break, then nine stirs clockwise." Harry gave a jerky nod, but did not talk because he was too busy counting.

Satisfied, Severus attended to the japonica, and while he had the chance he weighed out thirty grams of dried, ladybug wings and poured them into a mortar where he proceeded to crush them thoroughly. He kept a surreptitious eye on Harry, but he was concentrating fully on his task and stirring exactly as directed.

Without retrieving the rod from Harry, Severus added the lengths of japonica, one at a time every three stirs, interspersing every second addition with a sprinkle of ladybug wings. The two wizards worked seamlessly until every last ingredient was incorporated and the potion had turned a beautiful golden colour.

Severus spelled the fire out and took the rod from Harry without comment. Harry thought a ‘well done' or at least a ‘thank you' might not have gone astray, but if he was honest, he had been expecting neither. He moved back out of the way, though he didn't hoist himself back onto the bench.

Harry watched, perplexed as Severus cast some kind of charm on his hand. Then he summoned a large pewter goblet from a glass fronted cabinet and catching it with the charmed hand, he directed the cauldron upwards with his wand, inverted it and allowed the contents to flow in a steady golden stream into the goblet.

Ah, thought Harry, the goblet would get very hot from the near boiling contents of the cauldron, hence the charm.

Severus now looked at Harry. "I have something to do elsewhere in the castle, and I would appreciate it if you could clean the equipment before the remnants of the potion set. Scrub it out with salt. Put all the containers of pre-prepared ingredients into the cooler and the powders onto the shelf over there. He turned and strode to the door, ignoring Harry's disgruntled expression. At the door, he threw a "Behave!" over his shoulder, and then he disappeared into the lounge. Seconds later Harry heard the floo flare, but he didn't hear the destination Snape called out.

As he picked up the empty cauldron that was now resting on the stainless steel bench, Harry wondered what the potion was, and why it was needed so urgently. There was no open potions manual anywhere for him to check out because Snape had made the whole potion from memory. And walking to the sink, Harry hoped that neither Dumbledore nor Remus needed that potion.

8888

Many hours later, Severus lifted the sterile cloth that covered Albus's injured hand and peered beneath it. The extremity actually looked like a hand again-a wrinkled, very pink hand, but very definitely a hand. The skin had regrown but was still very thin and delicate. It would be days before it had grown back to its normal thickness. Each of the fingernails was black and Severus was sure would remain so until they grew out. But it appeared that Albus's spell-whatever it had been-and the potion had countered the effects of a very dark curse indeed.

Severus lay the sterile cloth back over the hand and slumped back in one of Albus's trademark chintzy armchairs, He yawned and rubbed his tired eyes. The day had been very long and stressful, and combined with the previous long night attending the Dark Lord and watching two innocent women die, and worrying about Harry, all he wanted was his bed. He wasn't sure whether it would be Harry or this old fool who would be he death of him, but he would bet his Gringotts vault that one of then would end up with that dubious honour.

Severus picked up a glass with the remains of some single malt he had poured an hour earlier, and threw it down his throat, welcoming the slight discomfort as it burned its way to his stomach. Then with a sigh, he reached for the bottle to pour another. He was expecting his replacement any time now and Albus was out of danger, so Severus felt he needed a reward.

"Any chance of my having one of those?" said a weak voice.

Severus stopped pouring for a moment, keeping his eyes on the neck of the bottle, then he finished filling his glass. He put the bottle back on the table before raising his eyes to look at his patient. "Absolutely no chance at all," he replied in his most fearsome potions Professor's voice.

Albus sighed and shut his eyes. "I thought you would say that, Severus."

"Then why ask, old man?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Am I allowed liquid of any sort?"

Severus raised his voice slightly and called, "Flintoff!"

The house elf that Harry hated so much appeared in front of Severus with a loud crack. He bowed low and spoke to Severus's boots. "Professor Snape called for Flintoff?" he asked in his deep voice.

"A pot of tea for Professor Dumbledore and..." he looked at Dumbledore. "Are you hungry? You may have something light."

Albus shook his head. He looked at the elf. "Just the tea, thank you, Flintoff." The elf bowed low to the headmaster and then to Severus before disappearing with the another loud crack.

"May I have my glasses, my boy?" asked Albus, and Severus slipped them onto the long crooked nose. Then Albus lifted his hand and studied it minutely, turning it this way and that. Then he allowed it to fall back onto his chest, disregarding the pad of fabric it had been resting on. "You've done a wonderful job, Severus. As I knew you would."

Severus picked up the ring and held it so that Dumbledore could see it. "Are you going to tell me about this?" he asked in a hard voice.

"My boy, it would take far too long, and I have to admit the tale would be beyond me tonight. He looked towards the window. "It is night I see."

"Yes, Albus, it's night. It has been a very long day."

"I'm sure it has, and I apologise for making life difficult for you. Taking up your time when you should have been interacting with your son. How is the dear boy after his bacchanalian adventures, by the way?"

"He's in a lot better condition than you are. But then again, the mead he imbibed wasn't cursed.

A silver tray popped into existence on the dining table in the other room and Severus left to pour Albus a cup of tea. When he returned, Albus was trying to sit himself up, but was having trouble with one hand out of commission. Severus made a noise of impatience and he put the tea down and assisted Albus into a comfortable position.

Albus could use his hand, but it was still very tender. So he just took the cup from Severus and with a sigh of contentment, he savoured the hot, sweetened drink.

"Why did you put that ring on, Albus. Where did you find it?"

"As I have already said, those are questions for another time. I have a lot to ponder upon."

Severus stood in a flurry of black and began stalking about the room. "You're bloody lucky that you're in a position to ponder upon anything, you old fool! If you hadn't been able to halt the advancement of that curse before it took too great a hold, no amount of potion would have been able to mend the damage. Of course, if you had not been able to counter the curse, you would probably be dead."

Albus sighed. "But I was able to halt it and your excellent potion did the rest. What's done is done Severus, and all the ranting in the world is not going to change what has happened. But if it will make you feel any better, I will say once again, ‘I was a fool'. There, will that do."

Albus held out his empty cup and Severus snatched it from him. "Another of those would be most welcome, my dear boy."

To avoid the temptation to throttle the old man, Severus stalked into the other room and prepared another cup of tea. He knew that his rage was wholly caused by worry and fear. Albus never did anything without there being a perfectly logical reason as to why. Though it seemed that this time, for whatever reason, things had not gone entirely according to plan. Even Albus would not have risked his life as he had if he been thinking clearly. Perhaps the ring had been surrounded by some form of suspended imperious curse that made one put the ring on.

Speculation! That was all he had, because his boss wasn't going to assuage his curiosity any time soon. He watched Albus sip his second drink with a black scowl adorning his face. "If you will not tell me about the ring, will you at least tell me how you stopped the spread of the curse. I know that there is no counter-curse...only a potion will heal the damage caused by that curse and then only if it has not advanced to far."

Albus smiled. "Luckily for me, Severus, I have a truly remarkable wand. This is not the first time that it has saved my life."

"No wand could have done that without some kind of counter charm being invoked. What spell did you use?"

"Oh, just something of my own, spur of the moment, devising. But I do assure you, that it was my wand that was responsible for a job well done. Where is it, by the way?"

Severus had left the wand down on Albus's desk. He had not given it a second thought earlier. Now he raised his own wand and the other sailed through the door and into Severus's outstretched hand within seconds of his summoning it. He looked at it closely, noting the runic carvings around the intricately turned handle. It was quite a long wand, at least thirteen inches, and quite handsome, but otherwise, it looked entirely unremarkable.

He handed it to Albus, who took it in his left hand, his old fingers grasping it eagerly.

"What is it made of?" asked Severus.

Albus was caressing the handle. "Elder, my boy...elder."

Something stirred at the back of Severus's mind, but it was so vague, he shut it out. "And the core?" he asked, impatiently

Albus's smiled once again. "Ah, the core. There is much conjecture over that, Severus, but my own suspicions are so unbelievable, I think it best that I keep them to myself."

"What are you talking about. Why don't you know. It is your wand...I presume it was made for you."

"Actually, no. This wand is very old..."

"I don't know how to break this to you, Albus, but you are very old."

Albus chuckled. "Too true, my boy. But this wand is much older than I."

Severus shook his head. "I think that cursed ring did much more to you than nearly destroy your hand. You're losing it, old man."

"Quite likely, my boy, quite likely," and Albus reverently lay his very old wand on the table beside his bed.

"Well Severus," he said by way of a change of subject. "I think I am well enough to survive without your tender ministrations now. You have done a wonderful job, and I and my hand thank you very much for your timely intervention. Perhaps you should get back to Harry now, though."

"I imagine Harry's asleep. I checked him a couple of hours ago and he was then."

"Good heaven's!" exclaimed Albus. "What on Earth is the time?"

"It's ten pm, but Harry had a very disturbed night last night. In fact, he was up most of the night and in quite considerable pain for a fair proportion of it."

The easy smile fell from Dumbledore's lips and his brow furrowed. He pushed himself up a little more, wincing as he used his healing hand. "Why? What's happened?"

"Perhaps it would be better if you remain ignorant for tonight..."

"Tell me Severus. What have I missed?" Albus was once again the powerful old mage that Severus was used to dealing with when it came to Order business.

Severus sighed. "I was summoned last night. Harry was so affected by the connection that his scar actually bled. I had to force the potion into him because he wanted to stay awake...he wanted to be aware of what was going on."

Albus looked grey, and suddenly very, very old. "And what was going on?"

"Madam Bones and Emmeline were tortured and murdered last night," said Severus heavily.

Dumbledore's mouth fell open and he fell back against his pillows, his eyes closed and sadness and mourning etched into every wrinkle. Tears welled and leaked from the corner of his eyes. Severus reached forward and put his hand over Albus's, where it had fallen onto the bed.

"I'm sorry Albus, I know that you knew and was fond of them both."

"Both dear friends," whispered Albus in a quavering voice. He opened his sad old eyes and focused on Severus. "Did they suffer much?"

Severus wanted to lie, but he knew it would be pointless. "Madam Bones was nearly dead when I got there. I could do nothing to ease her suffering." Then he went on to describe how he had helped Emmeline as much as he could, which wasn't very much at all and was of little comfort to the old man."

Albus extricated his own hand and patted Severus's. "I know you did what you could, Severus." He gazed off into space for a minute and Severus let him collect himself. Finally, with a deep breath, Albus took his glasses off and dashed the wetness from his cheeks. He cleared his throat.

"Well, Severus, I've held you up long enough. I think Harry deserves your presence now. And you must need sleep yourself, my boy." Albus began polishing his glasses with the edge of the sheet

Severus sat back and crossed his legs, adjusting his robes fastidiously. "I'll leave when Minerva gets here," he said.

Albus started and looked at Severus with a horrified expression on his face.

"You didn't summon Minerva back?"

"I did."

Albus groaned and Severus had to bite back a smile. The old man sounded just like a small boy who knew he was in for some serious scolding, followed by some serious coddling."

"I thought you were my friend, Severus."

"I am your friend, though a more supremely irritating friend it would be hard to imagine. But, despite my frequent forays into the Dark Lord's camp, I do value my life, and if Minerva was to find out that you had been this ill and I had not summoned her...well, I don't think I need to paint any clearer picture, do you?

"Severus, I would not have thought you capable of such a dastardly deed. I had supposed myself your friend."

Severus smiled. A real smile. It didn't happen often, but when it did, it transformed the man's hard face into something much less threatening and bitter. Severus Snape was not totally without appeal. Albus had always known it. He just tried to make himself appear that way.

At that moment the floo flared and Albus groaned and for a second, Severus's smile grew as he observed the pained look on his bosses face that had nothing at all to do with his healing hand.

Minerva had arrived.

8888

Severus's face had returned to its usual harsh lines when he stepped out of the floo into his quiet, darkened living room. all looked peaceful but he didn't trust his senses. Even the fact of his having surreptitiously warded the floo-the door was already warded-from even internal travel did not assuage his slight disquiet. After all, this was Harry Potter. He had to check that all was as it seemed.

For once, it was. Harry was curled into that ridiculously tight ball that he preferred to sleep in and he was sound asleep. There didn't seem to be any congestion tonight, so perhaps the cold was on the wane. The couple of quick glimpses Severus had had of him today-in the lab and when he had come to arrange a meal for him-other than a slightly reddened nose, Harry had seemed well enough.

As he readied himself for bed, Severus wondered how Albus was faring with his lady in charge and in sergeant-major mode.

A shower helped him relax and once in bed, and staring at the dark ceiling, he smiled as he revisited in his minds eye an extremely cowed Albus Dumbledore wilting under the weight of his beloved's censure. Minerva had the story out of the two of them within ten minutes of sweeping into the room in all her tartaned glory. But not even one of the most formidable witches that Severus knew could wheedle the story of the ring out of Albus. There was more of the ‘I have a lot to ponder upon', guff, which had brought the wrath of Minerva McGonagall down upon his white head. But despite her fury, Severus noted that her efficient care and handling of her weakened partner was all gentleness.

Minerva had thanked Severus for his care and told him that she would call him if she thought he was needed. As Severus had descended the stairs, he could hear Dumbledore's disgruntled tones as he asked Minerva to stop fussing, and her brisk tones as she had told him that if he didn't behave himself and lie down, she would put him in a full body bind.

Severus went to sleep with a small smile adorning his lips. He had smiled several times that day. A feat that was almost unprecedented for Hogwart's potions master.

Severus opened Harry's door a crack early the next morning and peered in, before he went up to check on Albus. The boy was still asleep, and Severus was pleased to see it. For the first time, for a long time, it seemed as though Harry had had a settled night. As Severus backed out of his room he admitted that it was the beginning of a new era. He actually felt relieved that Harry Potter had had a pain free, uninterrupted sleep. So this is what it felt like to be a father...worrying about the simple things, like whether your child slept well or not.

Of course, the uninterrupted night had also been a relief for him...no summons from the Dark Lord or Matron McGonagall. True, it was only seven AM, but Severus had always managed on very little sleep. He functioned perfectly well with four or five hours a night.

However, it appeared that Harry, if left well alone, was quite content to wallow in bed indefinitely, and though he would not tolerate the established teenage habit of sleeping till midday on a normal basis, for the moment at least, Severus didn't mind. The boy had had a rough trot lately. It was only about two weeks since he had recovered from the effects of the poisoning, and since he had regained consciousness, he had had four or five episodes of severe scar pain and headaches. Albus had told Severus that the connection between Harry and the Dark Lord had intensified alarmingly since the Dark Lord had been reborn. It was a wonder the kid even functioned.

Severus huffed a self-disgusted breath when he remembered that he couldn't have cared less how much the boy suffered mere weeks ago. Well, maybe he was being a little hard on himself. He wouldn't have wanted Harry to die as a result of his indisposition. He wouldn't have been able to stand the thought of Lily's censure, apart from anything else. Severus knew that even without their filial connection coming to light, Lily would have relied on him to help keep her son safe.

The only interest Severus had had in Harry's sufferings before the poisoning had been purely clinical, but now that he had seen the effects of these scar pain episodes first hand, he could not help but be affected by them. He thought that even if the discovery of their relationship had not been made, he would have been hard pressed to remain above it all.

When his own dark mark burned, the pain could become excruciating if the Dark Lord was in a particularly foul mood. But he had chosen to be branded; he had no-one to blame but himself for his occasional suffering; Harry had not asked for any of this. This had all been determined by fate and Harry was the unfortunate vessel that fate had decided to unleash this particular nightmare upon. Besides, Severus was able to occlude and block the worst of his pain. Harry had no such talent.

When Severus entered Albus's room, it was to find an amazingly chipper old man who seemed to be further down the road to recovery than Severus could have envisioned, considering the horrific injury he had suffered as a result of one of the darkest of curses. Albus was sitting up, propped by an extravagant amount of pillows, reading a long length of parchment. His glasses were propped on the edge of his nose and as far as Severus could tell, they were completely superfluous to needs because Albus was looking over the top of them.

As soon as Severus stepped into the room, Albus looked up and smiled, dropping the parchment and pushing the glasses further up his nose. He put his finger to his lips in a shushing motion and pointed across the other side of the room. Minerva was sound asleep in one of Albus's signature armchairs. She looked as comfortable as if she were in a bed because Albus-Severus knew it had been Albus, because Minerva would have considered it as nothing less than dereliction of duty to fall asleep on the job-had charmed the chair to recline. Minerva would have been dozing lightly, covered by a tartan rug and Albus would have turned the doze into a deep sleep by turning her chair into a bed.

Severus raised his eyebrow as he approached the bed and pulled out his wand. "You are so dead, old man," he said quietly.

"You underestimate me, Severus," said Albus, smiling like a loon. "As soon as she shows signs of awakening, I will set the chair to rights. She will think she fell asleep without any assistance from me."

Severus shook his head as he moved his wand in intricate circles over Albus's hand and then moved it slowly up his arm.

Albus endured his attentions with the impatience of the perpetually healthy. "I am entirely fine, Severus. Your potion, was perfection itself. But I would have expected nothing less. I am whole again, thanks to your potion and my spell." Severus transferred his attentions to Albus's vital organs, ensuring that the curse had not affected the approximately one hundred and fifty year old heart, liver and brain. The brain definitely didn't need any assistance to set it along the road to decline.

Decline for Albus Dumbledore was a very short journey indeed as far as his long suffering potions master was concerned. Severus finally put his wand away.

"There, I told you so, my boy," said Albus complacently. "As good as new."

"'No, Albus. I would say it is perhaps as good as your other one and a half century old hand. It is certainly not as good as new."

Albus chuckled again as Severus perched on the edge of the chair near the bed. "Which begs the question, why is it as good as your other hand, when the time span between when you put that bloody ring on and when I got the potion down your throat should have been long enough to kill you."

"I told you my..."

"There is no specific counter curse, Albus. I know. You stopped the curse in its tracks. How?"

Albus leaned over and picked up the wand on the bedside table and held it in front of Severus's face. Severus looked from the wand to Albus's twinkling eyes. He rolled his own eyes.

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth, as he regained his feet. "Keep your little secrets, old man. But if you have found a counter for this horrific curse, Albus, you are morally obliged..."

"If I had done any such thing, Severus, do you think I would keep it to myself?"

Severus glared for a moment and then he shook his head. "Then how?"

"Severus, you will learn all in good time, I promise you."

‘Profoundly irritated, Severus glared harder. Then he bit out, "If I tell you to stay in bed for at least a day, I suppose you will ignore me?"

Albus tilted his head to the side and looked suitably regretful when he said, "Severus, I am well enough. I promise not to do anything too strenuous."

‘Then I won't waste my breath and order you to stay in bed!"

"Excellent. I would hate to disobey my healer."

Severus threw a final glare before stalking to the door. The whole of this conversation had taken place in barely more than a whisper, but now Severus raised his voice to a normal volume.

"Just so you know, I'll be taking Harry back to the Burrow today, so can you open the floo connection from my rooms, please."

Shhh!" hissed Albus, flapping his uninjured hand, but it was too late; Minerva had awoken. She was one of those rare beings who was instantly alert as soon as they opened their eyes.

"I'll see you this evening, Albus," Severus said in an even louder voice and then, "Good morning, Minerva. Your patient awaits you, and I would prefer he stay in bed today." And throwing a smirk at a very disgruntled headmaster, Severus left the room.

Just as it had the day before, Minerva's strident tone accompanied a grinning Severus down the stairs and into the floo.

8888

Severus had just ordered breakfast from the kitchens when Harry stumbled out of his bedroom. Severus ‘s first instinct was to send him back to shower and dress, before he ate, but as he had found himself doing quite a lot lately, he bit his tongue and seated himself opposite the sleep dishevelled teen in his T-shirt and loose, low slung pyjama pants.

"Mornin'," said Harry around a wide yawn which he made little effort to cover.

"Good morning," answered Severus, in a long suffering voice, helping himself to a plate of eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes. "I gather you slept well?"

"Yeah," answered Harry, sounding slightly surprised as he loaded a plate with a weeks worth of animal fat. Severus cringed at the amount of bacon Harry was planning to consume. He doubted very much he would meet his aim, however. "I did! I haven't slept that well since before Si...since before the Department of Mysteries."

Severus glanced up, but Harry kept his face down as he began to eat. Severus noted that the little bit of skin he could see beneath the thick, untidy hair had paled a little. Harry was still profoundly affected by the death of Black. Ignoring the slip, Severus poured a glass of golden pumpkin juice and pushed it across the table before preparing two cups of tea and adding milk to dilute Harry's to the strength Severus had come to know he liked.

He knew that any platitudes he could come out with would be insincere at best, and so, it was best to remain quiet on the subject of Black. If Harry needed to talk through his grief, there was always Lupin who would be happy to listen. The werewolf would be sympathy itself.

Breakfast proceeded in silence and it was fifteen minutes later when Severus sat back, replete and with his customary second cup of tea in his hand. He watched as Harry put his knife and fork together, leaving at least a third of what he had served himself. Severus had known that the boy's eyes had been bigger than his belly.

Harry drained his cup and placed it back in its saucer. Severus pushed the teapot a little closer, but Harry shook his head and sat back. Severus studied the young face opposite him. The hair was its usual bird's nest and there was a fine shadow of stubble adorning Harry's jaw line and upper lip. But there was a bit more colour in the high cheeks today and Harry's eyes were clear and bright-their resemblance to Lily's even more striking now that they were not shadowed with illness or pain, or sleep deprivation. The full effects of the alcohol seemed to have worn off and there didn't appear to be any traces left of the cold. Colds and flu rarely lasted long for those with magical blood-nowhere near as long as they did for muggles. The potions available to ease the symptoms made the whole period of illness even shorter. Severus could never remember being laid low with flu for more than two days.

"You appear well today," said Severus. He dipped his head towards Harry's plate. "And considering that that is the most food I have seen you eat at one sitting, I take it that you are feeling much better."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I feel good today." He lightly rubbed the scar on his forehead. "Even this is hardly tingling. Your other boss must be taking a rest from murder and mayhem."

"No doubt," said Severus, thinking of the horrors of two nights ago. "How long have you had constant sensation in your scar?"

Harry shrugged. "Pretty much from when Pettigrew performed the spell that created that hideous body he chose for himself," he said matter-of-factly. "I didn't realise for a while because he wasn't as openly active as he is now. The main thing was me seeing him in my dreams obsessing over the prophecy. For a long time, I kept on seeing the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries. But the dreams got more and more detailed as the year went on. Dumbledore said that the more Vold..." Severus glared at Harry.

"Err...I mean the Dark Lord." Harry rolled his eyes. "The Dark Lord! He's no more a Lord than I am."

"All the same, Potter...Harry, I would prefer you stick to..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know! You have to stay in a mindset. But can't you see what a pretentious twat he is, dubbing himself ‘Lord Voldemort'?"

"I don't wish to discuss this..."

"You do know that his name's an anagram, don't you?" Severus looked surprised and despite himself, he was curious to know what Harry was talking about. He cocked his head to one side in a gesture that said Harry should continue.

"Yeah," said Harry. "His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle...Tom Riddle after his Muggle father, Marvolo after his wizard grandfather. Anyway, Tom Marvolo Riddle becomes, ‘I am Lord Voldemort'."

Severus was sitting side on to the table with his elbow resting on the white tablecloth and his face resting on his open palm. "He's a halfblood?" he said in a soft, slightly confused voice. "How, in the name of Merlin, do you know all of this? Did Dumbledore tell you?"

‘Riddle told me."

Severus's hand fell back onto the table with a thump. This was getting more and more fantastic "Riddle told you?" Harry nodded, pleased to be able to shock the generally unflappable potions master.

"When precisely did this conversation take place? Severus asked, unable to completely hide his scepticism. "Did he feel the need to convey this information to you in one of your visions? I am sure there wasn't time when you encountered each other at the Ministry."

Harry's face became set and he lowered his gaze to the remains of his greasy breakfast. "No," he said softly. "Chatting wasn't high on his list of priorities. He did talk to me, he just didn't require a response." Harry swallowed, refusing to look up, the memory of just what had happened mere weeks ago freezing his vocal cords for the moment.

"So what did he say?" asked Severus in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

"Not much," croaked Harry. "It amounted to, ‘I have nothing more to say to you, Potter. You have irked me too often, for too long.'" Harry shrugged as though he was talking of nothing more significant than losing a quidditch match, and it was Severus's turn for his face to become set in an expressionless mask.

"I'd be dead if Dumbledore hadn't arrived because I just stood there, totally gormless while Voldemort fired the killing curse at me...again. Dumbledore blocked it by charming part of the statue of Magical Brethren to jump in front of me."

There was silence for a full two minutes. Harry had picked up his fork and was scraping the tines through the layer of grease on his plate. Severus watched the aimless movement, his thoughts in turmoil; he had had no idea that the killing curse had been aimed at Harry again...for the third time if his calculations were correct. He had only been aware of the possession at the Ministry that had almost killed Harry-according to Dumbledore-and had ultimately had such a devastating effect on the Dark Lord, laying him low for at least two weeks.

"Anyway," continued Harry in a slightly stronger voice, as if he had not just related a near death experience to the father whom, not so very long ago, may have wished Harry had gotten a little more of a comeuppance than he had. "Tom Riddle told me himself about his ancestry and how he changed his name...or at least the memory of himself from the diary told me, down in the Chamber of Secrets."

Severus just stared at Harry, totally lost for words. As unbelievable as the story was, it didn't occur to Severus to disbelieve Harry. The more spectacular any story relating to Harry Potter was, the more likely it was to be true. Severus knew this boy had faced more danger-much of it actually here in the supposed safety of Hogwarts-than any other child of his age that Severus knew of.

But apart from the horrors in the graveyard at Little Hangleton; some of the details of which he had learned from a crowing Lucius Malfoy, Severus had never heard the finer details of Harry's other adventures. He just knew the bare bones of the business with Quirrel and the Philosopher's Stone, the rescue of Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets, and what had happened at the Ministry of Magic in June.

Harry dropped the fork down onto his plate with a ringing clatter before jumping to his feet. "I need to have a shower," he said shortly and he disappeared into his bedroom and shut the door.

Severus sighed and raised his hand to his forehead, rubbing the tension away as best he could with his fingertips. How in the hell was he going to connect with this kid?

8888

When Harry re-entered the lounge/dining room three quarters of an hour later, Severus was standing at his large desk going through some sheets of parchment. He looked up at a freshly showered Harry whose hair was still so wet, the neck and shoulders of his T-shirt were sopping.

"You do know what towels are for?" Severus drawled as he lowered his gaze to his task again.

"If I leave it wet, it doesn't stick up as much," explained Harry, walking over to the desk and looking down at the parchment.

"Oh, well thank Merlin you have such an effective strategy to cope with that particular problem." The drawl was even more pronounced and Harry's eyes snapped to Severus's face. Harry thought he saw a quickly suppressed smirk adorn the thin lips.

"What's all this?" asked Harry, indicating the closely written sheets of parchment.

"Work," said Severus succinctly. "I'll be taking you back to the Weasley's in a few minutes."

Harry glanced up again. Severus had separated about eight sheets of the thick parchment from the rest of the pile. He opened a drawer in the desk and placed the remaining sheets within before locking the drawer with a charm.

Harry followed Severus into the lab and hoisted himself onto the same bench he had sat upon yesterday. Severus ignored Harry's presence as he stalked around gathering together containers full of potion ingredients and checking the three separate cauldrons that were already simmering away.

"I can help you if you'd like," said Harry after several minutes of busy silence. Severus glanced at him sceptically and then went back to his task.

"You want to help me brew potions?"

Harry bristled. "Yeah, well, I'm not as big a dunderhead as you might think, you know. Whenever I was trying to brew in your classes, I was working under a massive handicap, wouldn't you say?"

Severus didn't rise to the bait. "A good potioneer should be able to brew under any and all conditions, no matter how adverse they may be."

"Really? Then how come the Slytherins didn't have to work under the same kinds of adverse conditions? And don't you think that statement would only hold true for an experienced potioneer? Everyone has to learn." Severus remained silent as he separated several stems of some kind of dried herb from a much larger bunch. Harry studied the purplish stems, with their small furry looking leaves, but he couldn't recognise what they were.

And then Severus spoke and Harry forgot trying to recall if he had ever seen the herb in the green houses or an illustration of it in his text books. "I concede you have a valid point, Harry. Your potions lessons up to now have not exactly been a haven of learning." Severus replaced the remaining stems of the unknown herb in a large glass jar and resealed it.

"Before term starts, I promise that I will allow you to do some brewing, but not today. I do not wish you to assist me with what I have to do today."

"Why not?" asked Harry quickly.

"Mainly because I said so, but specifically because some of what I brew is dangerous, and what I am doing today falls into that category."

Harry's brow furrowed. He scanned the carefully laid out collection of plant and animal ingredients and though he recognised some of them, most were a mystery to him. He glanced up at Severus, whose face was set as he held the half dozen or so stems of the unknown plant in a tight grip and sliced them into even, inch long lengths. All of a sudden all of the items on the table, combined with Snape's set face and his refusal to let Harry help him brew seemed to add up to something sinister.

"You're going to brew a poison, aren't you?" accused Harry in a tight voice, jumping down from the bench and standing with his fists clenched

Severus paused in his task for a fraction of a second-little more than a blink of an eye-but Harry saw it, as well as the twitching nerve in his jaw.

"You're brewing for that maniac, and I'm guessing that it's not a pimple remedy."

Severus ignored the scathing tone, but it was very hard not to drop his knife and give the idiot Gryffindor who had suddenly re-emerged, a sizeable chunk of his mind. This was the incarnation of Harry that Severus knew he was going to have the most trouble dealing with. He knew that the idiot Gryffindor was going to rear its foolish head far too often and because of that, his and Harry's relationship would never be smooth sailing.

In his ‘fool's rush in where angel's fear to tread' persona, Harry was one hundred percent James, and Severus had never been able to come to terms with his cousin's freewheeling antics. He had never been able to do anything about James, but he was in a position to make a difference with Harry.

"Do you do this sort of thing often?" asked Harry, his eyes narrowed accusingly.

Severus bit his tongue and scraped the sections of purple coloured stems into a glass dish. Then he spelled his hands clean of all traces of sap from the succulent plant. When Harry opened his foolish mouth and said, "so how many muggles is this lot going to kill..." Severus grabbed Harry hard around his bicep and forcibly marched him from the lab.

Harry didn't struggle until they had crossed the threshold, then he wrenched his arm free and put several yards distance between himself and the angry wizard who was glowering at him as if he had caught him out and about after curfew. His, "don't manhandle me!" was ignored.

Severus advanced again and bent forward to thrust his face close to Harry's. "Even if you have never before put your brain into gear before you open your mouth, I suggest that you get into the habit pretty damn quickly, because I can't abide idiocy for idiocy's sake." Severus was livid and Harry backed up a step, but his eyes remained stormy.

"What I do is of absolutely no concern of yours, Potter, unless I decide to share it with you. Do you understand me?"

"How can you do it?" yelled Harry, very red in the face. "How can you calmly brew a potion that you know may very well cause the deaths of God knows how many muggles?"

"You have no concept of just how important my position as a spy is to our side," hissed Severus through clenched teeth. "And to keep my cover it is necessary..."

"No advantage is worth the deaths of innocent people! Do you even think about those who might die because of you? Do you think about the families that are left behind, or the parents who have to witness their child die because he or she was in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

Snape looked as though he might hit Harry. But with an enormous effort, he spun away and put the length of the sofa between himself and his teenage tormentor. With his back to Harry, Severus squeezed the bridge of his nose hard. He hoped the pain of that would counter his fury at this sanctimonious little bastard.

Harry eyed Snape's rigid back with some trepidation. After several very uncomfortable seconds, his shoulders drooped a little as his brain finally caught up with his mouth. His temper had run away with him again and what little sense he had just flew out the window whenever anger overtook him.

Hadn't he learned enough about Snape over the last few weeks to know that nothing was as it seemed. If Snape was brewing for Voldemort, Harry was sure that the poison would be so fast acting, it would probably save the poor victims from terrible suffering at the hands of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. How could he have accused the man of being so callous? Harry knew that Snape had a job to do, he really did. A spy was a vital link between the Order of the Phoenix and Voldemort. Terrible things still happened-Harry knew that it was imperative that not all of Voldemort's plans be foiled because then he would know for sure that he had a traitor in his ranks. And as Severus was the one who straddled both camps, he would be the most likely suspect. Harry knew Voldemort would act first and ask questions later, and he didn't want to even think about what the evil git would do to a traitor. That was why Harry couldn't help worrying when Snape was summoned.

He opened his mouth to say all of this by way of an apology, but Snape had spun back around and was talking in a tightly controlled voice. "I would advice that you collect whatever you wish to take to the Weasleys that isn't already there. You will be leaving for the Burrow in no more than five minutes."

When Harry opened his mouth, Severus held up a hand and spoke in a voice rigid with hard won self control. "And I suggest you do it without opening your mouth and spewing more venom." He pointed towards Harry's bedroom. "I will see you back here in five minutes."

And with that, Severus stalked into his own room and closed the door quietly. Harry would have preferred him to slam it; that would have just indicated fury. This quiet restraint indicated something much deeper. Harry stared at the impenetrable barrier of that thick slab of timber before he turned and sloped to his own bedroom where he threw himself down on his bed. He pulled the pillow out from under his head and clamped it to his face. He let loose with a scream of frustration that was muffled by its feather and cotton barrier.

When would he ever learn to keep his big mouth shut? Everything had been going along nice and steadily. Snape or Dad or whoever in the hell the man was had stuck to his word. He was obviously putting in more of an effort to date than Harry, and considering that he had spent most of the last five years hating Harry and giving him a hard time, the task of trying to build some kind of relationship couldn't be easy.

But, the man was definitely trying!

And what had he, Harry done? Everything he could think of to stuff it all up. He had cracked it for a sad when Snape had reverted to type to keep up appearances in front of Remus, and he had stormed out. Then he had compounded that by wiping himself off so badly with a whole bottle of mead, he had needed some serious nursing back to health. And had his new father busted his chops for that? No, he had explained what the consequences could have been and why it wasn't a good idea for him to loose control like that.

And then, after being the very definition of restraint, Severus had given Harry a gift that must have been quite precious to himself because it had been a gift from his own mother. And what had Harry done then? He had paid Snape back for that terrible transgression by accusing him of being an unfeeling monster and murderer.

Harry dragged his pillow out from under his head and flung it across the room where it hit the door with a soft whump. He sat up and adjusted his glasses which had dug into his nose as a result of being attacked by a pillow. He looked around the room vaguely. There wasn't really anything that he needed to take to the Burrow with him, except...

Harry leaned across to his bedside table and picked up the metal container Snape had given him for his shrunken broom. He ran his fingers over the determined seeker etched into the lid. It really was a lovely thing and a really thoughtful gift. Harry always worried about his Firebolt when it was shrunken and stored in his trunk. He had always wrapped it in a T-shirt and placed it carefully amongst all his clothes so that it was well protected. And now he had this. Did he really deserve it though? Harry knew that he didn't. People weren't usually rewarded for bad behaviour.

Harry heard Snape's door opening and he jumped to his feet, thrusting the metal box into his pocket. He had to put this right before he was sent away. He raced into his bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He turned on the tap and sluiced water over his hair, which was sticking up in its usual fashion, regardless of the fact that it wasn't all that long ago that he had had a shower. It was a pointless attempt to flatten it, and he didn't know why he was even bothering, because unlike Uncle Vernon, Snape didn't go on and on about his hair. In fact, of late, he hadn't gone on about much of anything at all, really.

After managing to do nothing more useful than wetting the neck and shoulders of his tee-shirt again, Harry raced back through his room, nearly breaking his neck as his foot caught the corner of the rug. He flung the door open and practically stumbled into the dining room.

Severus looked up from where he was standing putting his travelling cloak on. Harry's heart sank. The anger seemed to have dissipated from the forbiddingly blank face but the lack of emotion was somehow worse than the earlier fury.

"Are you ready?" Snape asked, his voice as emotionless as his face.

Harry nodded. He was aware of crossing the room but his feet were moving independently of his brain. Severus swept past Harry and reached for the floo powder.

"I'm sorry!" Harry said in a rush. Severus's hand hovered in midair for a second, but then he grasped the stem of the bronze goblet and lifted it down from the mantelpiece.

"Your apology is duly noted," he said, still in that expressionless voice. He dipped his hand into the container but Harry wrapped his fingers around the strong wrist before Severus could throw the powder onto the fire.

"But not accepted, right?" said Harry flatly, staring into the fathomless black eyes above him.

Severus sighed. What did he say to the boy when his every instinct demanded that he say ‘no, your apology isn't accepted'. It would be so easy to return to the role of hateful and hated potions professor, protagonist to Harry Idiotic Gryffindor Potter. He wasn't any good at this father business. He had known that he wouldn't be. A father should be able to forgive his sixteen year old son mouthing off at him. Kid's mouthed off all the time. It was their job to keep their parents in a state of suppressed anger.

And then Severus thought of Lily. Lily, who had always been patience itself. Lily who had remained his friend no matter what garbage he had served up to her. That made his beautiful friend, the girl he had loved from the moment he had first seen her, a much better person than he was...or would ever be.

Lily's patience and beautiful nature had also overcome her aversion of one of the greatest practical jokers and trouble makers that Hogwarts had ever seen within its hallowed halls, and actually married him. As far as Severus was concerned, that took as much tolerance as it did love.

Lily Evans had always been known for her beautiful nature. She had many friends, all of whom seemed to bask in the aura of tranquillity that radiated from her. But Severus doubted that even Lily wouldn't be pulling out some of her beautiful hair if she was here to see some of the antics of her son, and listen to some of his more colourful diatribes.

Severus Snape had never been accused of being a patient man. So, how was he going to cope with this often foolish and always opinionated boy? He had thought that he would be able to. He had been prepared to be the bigger man, but now he didn't know if he was going to be able to succeed in his self-appointed task.

"Sir," prodded Harry, his voice hesitant.

Severus took some of the floo powder before reaching up and replacing the goblet. A fine trickle of glittery green powder trickled down from his fingers.

‘I suggest that you spend the time at the Weasleys thinking long and hard about what you want, Harry," said Severus, not really responding to Harry's question. Time apart from me might enable you to ponder the future with me as your father. You don't appear to be willing to separate the past from the present.

"It's difficult for me to adhere to the precepts of behaviour that I've set myself where you are concerned when you keep on doing everything you can to hijack my good intentions.

Harry swallowed-hard, and Severus watched his Adam's apple bob up and down. Harry opened his mouth again to say ‘I'm sorry', but then closed it, the words unuttered. He turned away and stared at the yellow flames that seemed to be waiting for its offering of floo powder. His vision was slightly blurry and he blinked rapidly several times to clear the excess moisture that seemed to have welled up in his eyes.

Severus clamped his lips together determined to ignore the slumped shoulders and averted face. He knew Harry was upset, but the boy had to really decide what he wanted. And as long as he didn't wholly trust Severus, it seemed unlikely that he would ever be able to accept him as his father. He reached past Harry and threw the floo powder into the flames.

"After you," said Severus.

Harry turned to face his father again. "So...are you kicking me out?"

Severus's brow furrowed. Am I kicking you out! This was what Harry was worried about? This was why he was looking so devastated! Certainly, Severus was angry but he was doing his best to hide it behind a façade of imperturbability. Perhaps Harry was seeing something entirely different though.

Severus sighed and pointed his wand at the towering green flames. "Finite." The flames stilled for an instant and then disappeared entirely. Harry looked up at Snape, trying very hard not to look too hopeful.

Severus pointed towards a chair. "Sit down." Harry sat. Needing a little time to compose his thoughts, Severus took his cloak off and walked across to hang it on the coat rack. Harry sat perfectly still, almost, Severus thought as if he was waiting for the axe to fall irrevocably.

"Sir, please," begged Harry, his white-knuckled fist resting on the arm of the chair. "I am truly sorry! It won't happen again, I promise!"

"I suggest you don't make promises that you can't keep, Harry," said Severus. "But just enlighten me. Exactly what is it that you are promising not to do again?"

Harry looked confused for a moment, but then he burst into frantic speech. "I promise not to mouth off at you again! Or...or to question your loyalty. I know that you're not a Death Eater anymore. I know that you only do what you have to do to maintain your cover."

Severus sat down in the other armchair and steepled his fingers, tapping the tips together lightly. "As I said, you shouldn't make promises that you can't keep."

Harry scooted his backside towards the edge of the chair and stared at his father with impelling intensity. "But I will keep it!"

Severus raised a doubtful eyebrow.

"I will!" yelled Harry, springing to his feet and taking three steps towards Severus. But then he realised that his voice had risen and when he next spoke, it had reverted to almost a whisper. The lack of volume however, didn't detract from the desperation Harry was obviously feeling. "I have to. I don't want you to kick me out! I don't want to go back to not having a real family."

Severus couldn't help but be affected. Harry was more afraid of losing his new father than he was about the fact that that father was a Death Eater and a murderer.

When Severus continued to sit silently with his hooded eyes fixed on Harry and his fingertips pressed together, Harry seemed to droop. He raised his arms in a gesture of hopelessness and let them slap back to his sides. Then he turned away.

"OK. I get it. You've had it playing father." He stood on tiptoe and grabbed the goblet of floo powder, and took a pinch. But before he could throw it into the grate, a long fingered hand closed around his fingers.

"Harry, I have no intention of kicking you out." Harry dipped his head, his eyes closed and a lump the size of a quaffle in his throat.

"You haven't?" Harry croaked around the lump. He twisted his hand a little and Severus released it immediately and stepped away. The floo powder was now glittering on the rug. Harry turned and faced Severus, his eyes behind the round glasses glittering like multi-faceted emeralds. He blinked several times to get rid of the unwanted moisture.

"I told you that I am committed to being a father to you. I believe that includes providing you with a home...such as it is," Severus said, gesturing with his hand to indicate his quarters.

"Then why..." began Harry.

"I wish you to go and stay with Arthur and Molly because I have things to do that I would much rather you not see or be a part of. That is also part of being a father," Severus continued. "Shielding his child from the less pleasant facts of life."

Harry goggled at him. "You don't think I'm used to unpleasantness?" he asked incredulously.

"I know you are, Harry. Far too much for one so young. For one of any age," Severus added in a subdued voice. "But I would rather you didn't know the extent of what I have to do."

He put his hand on Harry's shoulder and leaned down slightly to look directly into his face. "Just know that I do everything within the scope of my knowledge to make anything I have to brew for the Dark Lord much less potent than it should be...to the point where he would not be able to detect it, anyway. I also always make sure I have an antidote brewed before I allow the Dark Lord to know that I have perfected his latest poison. There are certain circumstances where I have been able to administer an antidote."

Harry swallowed, newly appalled by what Severus had been doing earlier, but now understanding just how much he hated doing it. Harry felt anger against Dumbledore begin to simmer in his gut. How dare he send Snape into that mire of evil and misery whenever that evil bastard touched a dark mark. How Snape maintained his sanity was a mystery. How fear didn't overwhelm him when he knew that there was always the possibility that Voldemort-the psychopath-could smite any one of his own followers down on a whim.

But then Harry made a concerted effort to douse the negative emotion. He knew that if there was any other way, Dumbledore wouldn't send Snape into the enemy camp. But knowledge was the best weapon they had. For the time being anyway. Until he, himself was older and ready to face his destiny. And knowing Snape, even if Dumbledore told him to stop spying, Snape would continue anyway. Harry knew this man was no coward.

"This job is very important, Harry. Since the return of this monster, I have saved more lives than I have been responsible for taking."

"If you had said all of this earlier, I wouldn't have mouthed off like I did," said Harry, quietly.

"Anger got the better of me as usual. I was not in the mood to placate you at the time. I was more in the mood to turn you over my knee than try to make you see sense. I didn't want to start a screaming match with you." Severus squeezed the shoulder his hand was resting on. "I am making an effort, Harry. I'm not very good at it yet; I don't know if I ever will be. No one knows better than you that I am not a very nice person." His own voice lowered. "If I was a nice person, then I would make a better father. And if I was a better father, I would have realised that you were worried about my rejecting you."

"I guess I'm not very good at being someone's son either," Harry admitted. "I've done everything I can to make you want to reject me. I suppose I was seeing how far I could push before you cracked."

"You did a very good job. I was ready to take one hundred points from Gryffindor and assign you a months worth of detentions and post-date it to the beginning of term," said Severus drolly. Harry grimaced.

"My restraint was hard won. I had to lock myself away in my room to try to bury that anger very deeply behind my strongest occlumency shield."

"Well next time, instead of trying for restraint, I'd prefer that you yell at me. I'm used to that."

"Next time?" Severus said ominously, but one corner of his mouth had quirked upwards. Harry stared at the infinitesimal gesture that may or may not have indicated that a sense of humour lurked somewhere inside those black robes.

"Not that there'll be a next time," he amended quickly.

"Perhaps if we both promise to make more of an effort, this sort of misunderstanding won't happen again."

"I promise," said Harry sincerely. "I want this to work. I...I really do."

Severus stared into the earnest young face and saw Lily and James staring back at him. But he also saw himself...a much better looking version of himself, but himself none the less. It was amazing that he had never seen the resemblance before all of this had come to light. But then again, he had never tried to look for it before.

Now, Severus nodded his agreement. "I want this to work too," he affirmed.

The two dark haired wizards stared at each other for several seconds, both marvelling at the lack of animosity in the other's gaze. Severus looked away first and strode towards the dining area with the long-legged grace that made his robes flare so magnificently and which Harry knew he could never aspire to.

"I think that we should partake of an early lunch before I take you to the Burrow. That way, Molly won't have to worry about feeding you until this evening."

Harry followed, grateful that he was still here and even more grateful that Snape was still committed to being his father. He vowed that he would not make him regret it by pulling anymore fool stunts like getting pissed out of his gourd and accusing him of being a murderer, ever again.

After partaking of a bowl of thick, creamy wild mushroom soup and chicken sandwiches in a relatively comfortable silence, Harry seemed to became more and more pensive, keeping his eyes on his fingertip as he pressed it into the remaining crumbs on his plate so that they stuck to his finger, and then brushing them off into his empty bowl. He repeated this action several times before Severus replaced his coffee cup in its saucer.

"Is there something on your mind?" he asked, looking pointedly at the offending digit when Harry's head snapped up. It was obvious that he had been miles away and Severus raised his eyebrows at Harry's blank look. Harry marvelled again that those mobile eyebrows could convey so much.

His cheeks reddened. When he automatically began to fidget again, Severus's, "Harry!" had him reaching for his goblet of pumpkin juice with a jerky movement. But he missed the goblet's stem and knocked it over instead, staining the white linen tablecloth with the garish, orange liquid.

Severus had his wand out and had dealt with the spreading pool before Harry had finished pushing himself backwards and jumping to his feet so that the drips didn't stain his clothes. Once the goblet had been righted and the cloth returned to pristine white, Severus glared exasperatedly at Harry whose whole face was glowing like one of Professor Trelawney's shawl draped lamps.

"Out with it, Harry," bit out Severus impatiently. "What's on your mind now? You've become more and more introspective as lunch has continued."

Harry rubbed his hand through his hair making it stick out in even more directions. "I...I don't know wh..." His eyes begged Severus to help him out, but as Severus had no idea what the problem was, he just stared back, waiting with ill concealed impatience.

Harry spun around to face the wall and put his hands up to his face, pushing his fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes.

"Arrgh!" he growled in frustration.

"Spit it out!"

"Idon'tknowwhattocallyou!" Harry spoke to the wall and he spoke so fast, it took Severus several seconds to translate the garble. When he did finally decipher the words, his face went strangely still. Harry wanted to stay staring at the wall for ever more if it meant that he didn't have to see the look of derision on Snape's face.

After what seemed like forever-the blank stretch of wall offered no insight-Harry managed to gather some of the much maligned Gryffindor courage about him and turned to face the man whom he no longer knew what to call.

"I can't keep on calling you Professor Snape," he said hopelessly. Or Sir, or Snape, or Greasy Git, or Slytherin Shit, or Snarky Bastard.

"What do you want to call me?" asked Severus, calmly, but in truth, he felt anything but calm. Harry's behaviour showed that this dilemma had been causing him some consternation for a while now. When he thought back he realised that the boy hadn't called him anything at all for the last couple of days. When they had first come back from the Burrow, he had been ‘sir' or ‘Professor'. But that had been before they had come to the mutual decision to give their newly discovered relationship a chance.

"I..." Harry's mouth snapped shut and he shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck, and looking down at his feet rather than at Severus. Severus thought he had better put him out of his misery. He had never imagined that anyone would ever call him father, or dad. He had never thought about what title he would prefer if he ever did become a father, it had only ever been a partially formed dream when he had had hopes of spending the rest of his life with Lily. Any thoughts of fathering a child had died when Lily had married James.

He supposed an infant learned to call his father whatever his parents taught him to. Tobias had always been ‘Dad' as far back as Severus could remember, though he supposed he had once called him ‘Daddy' when he was very young. Dad, as a title would come naturally to a child who had grown up with a father, but this was an awkward step forward for Harry.

Dumbledore had said that Harry craved a family, that he would eventually be thrilled to have a father, even if that father was him. And it seemed like Harry wanted the whole thing, title and all.

"What do you imagine you would have called James if you had grown up with him?" asked Severus.

Harry thought of Ron calling his father, ‘Dad'. Hermione referred to ‘her father', but Harry had heard her call him, ‘Dad' when he had picked her up at King's Cross. And Dudley called Vernon, ‘Dad'. ‘Dad' seemed right and normal. ‘Father' sounded pretentious to Harry. He imagined rich, toffy-nosed little snobs might call their sires, ‘Father", but normal kids didn't.

But Harry wasn't normal and Severus Snape had only known he was a father for five minutes, and he might think that ‘dad' was too personal. What if he didn't want to be either? Would Harry be able to call his father ‘Sir', for the rest of his days? He didn't think so.

But Harry knew what he would have called James. "I would have called him, ‘Dad'," he said with quiet decisiveness.

"It's not something I ever aspired to, but if it you would like to, you may call me ‘dad'." Severus didn't want to turn it into a big deal. They had to get past this. He realised how hard it was. How long had it taken him to stop calling his son, ‘Potter'?" And he still slipped up now and then if he was angry about something...a circumstance that happened on a far too regular basis. It had gotten to the stage now though, that he didn't have to stop and think. ‘Harry' flowed off his tongue with relative ease now.

After a minute of intense thought, Harry nodded once. "I'd like to give it a try."

"I don't imagine it will feel natural for a while, to either of us, but constant use will alleviate the strangeness," said Severus, trying to ease the taut atmosphere. "I am your father, and the title goes with the job."

Harry offered a tight smile. "I know that you can only be ‘Dad' when we are alone together, or with Professor Dumbledore." Harry frowned as a thought occurred to him. "Does Professor McGonagall know about us?" he asked.

"She does," said Severus nodding, and then swallowing his irritation, he added, "and so does Lupin." Harry's mouth fell open.

"You told him?" he asked in amazement, but he looked thrilled.

"Not directly, no. It appears that your mother confided in the werewolf all those years ago. And it appears that she did have her suspicions about what did ultimately happen. But she died before she could convey those suspicions to me.

"But why didn't Professor Lupin say anything all those years ago?" asked Harry in a high pitched voice. "We could have known about this right from the start. I wouldn't have had to grow up with the Dursleys."

"As to that, Harry, you probably would have still had to grow up with the Dursleys. Don't forget that I told you that I don't think I could have accepted responsibility for you all of those years ago. And even if I had, there was still the question of the blood protection.

"But..." began Harry, but Severus held up his hand for silence.

"Your mother told Lupin of her suspicions, but she made him promise never to say anything. He kept his promise. And then, when you turned one, Lily told him that she was sure that you were entirely James's...that her suspicions were unfounded. He didn't think about it again, especially as you looked so much like James.

"But then, when the circumstances occurred that led to the discovery of our relationship, Lupin became suspicious of the changes in both our behaviours towards each other...specifically the fact that I called you by your Christian name and the fact that you became quite frantic when I was summoned from the Burrow. Your unplanned trip to Godric's Hollow also gave him pause for contemplation." Severus looked like he had just eaten something that didn't agree with him.

"Of course, I have always known that Lupin is possessed of formidable intelligence." This didn't sound like a compliment to Harry's ears, not when it was said with such obvious disdain. "He put everything together and came up with the correct conclusion."

Harry sighed for what could have been. He had had a parent and he had never known; neither had the parent, of course. Even if he had had to stay with his aunt, things would have been different if she had known that Harry had a father; she and Uncle Vernon would not have been so keen to abuse him if they had known that retribution was just a visit away. And though Snape...err, his dad had said he would not have wanted responsibility for Harry, Harry was sure that he would have visited on a regular basis to make sure that everything was well.

"So, I think that the circle of people who know our secret is quite big enough for the time being, so you must be super vigilant not to let on to anyone. That goes for your..." Severus stopped. Harry's cheeks had blossomed with spectacular colour again and he looked amazingly guilty.

"What?" said Severus, his tone its ominous best.

Harry didn't speak. His bottom lip was firmly grasped between his teeth and Severus knew that something had happened that Harry knew he would not approve of. And Severus was sure he knew what it was.

"Weasley and Miss Granger know, don't they?" he asked quietly. He looked surprised when Harry yelped out a convincing, ‘no'!

"Then what are you looking so monumentally guilty about?"

Harry swallowed and licked his lips. "I didn't mean for it to happen..."

"You never do," drawled Severus, prepared to hear the worst. "So you may as well tell me so that I can implement damage control."

"Professor Dumbledore already has," said Harry. "Implemented damage control, I mean." He sighed. "When you were summoned when we were at the Burrow, I was pretty angry-with you and Professor Dumbledore-and I let something slip when I was yelling at him. Ginny was there."

Severus put his elbow on the table and rubbed his forehead with a long index finger. It was his turn to sigh. It was not as bad as it could have been, he supposed. Ginevra Weasley was not the loose canon that her three nearest in age siblings were. She was easily the most tolerable of the four youngest Weasleys, which was just as well considering that she and his son were in the midst of a teenage romance.

Severus privately thought that for Harry, any romantic relationship would be significant; he was not the sort of person who would skip from one short-lived romance to another. And considering that Miss Weasley appeared to be very protective of her boyfriend, Severus was sure that she would be of a like mind.

"I'm sorry," said Harry pathetically.

"You always are, Harry," said Severus in a long suffering voice. "We are going to have to work on anger control for you, I feel."

Harry goggled at Severus. "And who would take charge of that operation?" he asked snidely. "I don't think you're qualified to teach anyone anger management."

Severus glared through narrowed eyes and Harry groaned inwardly. When was he going to learn to keep his big, fat mouth shut? He waited for the explosion, but it never came.

"I have to admit that you do have a point. I did tell you that you got your temper from me." Harry drooped with relief.

"Exactly what was said in front of Miss Weasley?"

"Umm...I'm not exactly sure. But I do know I mentioned ‘my father' and I'm pretty sure she knew that I wasn't talking about James Potter. Professor Dumbledore asked her not to say anything to anyone and she promised she wouldn't. She didn't even bring it up the next morning."

"At least the girl seems to be possessed of a modicum of sense," drawled Severus. "I will deal with it."

Harry looked alarmed. "You're not going to obliviate her," he said, appalled.

Severus glared at Harry through narrowed eyes. Harry had the grace to look ashamed of his outburst. He lowered his eyes. "Sorry," he whispered to the tablecloth.

"Perhaps you should prepare yourself for the journey to the Burrow, before we come to blows again," said Severus, standing up and heading for the lab.

"I'm ready, said Harry, still subdued. "Severus halted his stride and turned back to face Harry. He scrutinized his light t-shirt, and changing direction, he headed towards his own room instead, stopping near the front door. He pointed his wand at the small mirror near the door and muttered the incantation that Harry now recalled showed the sky outside just above the edge of the Forbidden Forest and enabled one to check the weather.

The sky was a uniform steel grey and the tops of the trees that were visible above a hovering mist were quiescent. "I suggest that a jacket is in order. That mist does not bode well if you are hoping for more seasonal temperatures. You have enough clothes in your bag at the Burrow?"

Harry nodded, pushing himself upright. The sight of the grey day outside did nothing to enhance his state of mind. All of a sudden, he felt miserable. Sna...err, his father was all business again; he seemed to be in a great hurry to get rid of him.

Severus watched Harry walk into his room and noted the dejected droop to his shoulders. Now what was the matter? Shaking his head, Severus went to his lab and rechecked the ingredients he had prepared that morning and had placed under a quick stasis charm to keep them at peak condition until he could utilize them. He took the time to set a medium sized iron cauldron half full of water, and to which he had added two ladles full of colloidal silver over what was little more than a candle wick sized flame. The heating process would be extremely slow, but it was better if the colloidal silver was heated as slowly as possible. When he got back from the Burrow, a light blue haze should be rising over the level of the liquid in the cauldron.

When he looked up from a final check of the flame, Harry was hovering in the doorway, looking at the cauldron as if it was a bomb that might go off at any moment. Severus strode towards him and Harry hurriedly led the way back into the living room. Severus saw that he had donned one of the ubiquitous hooded jackets that most of the students seemed to wear these days. It didn't look very thick.

"Haven't you got a coat of some sort?" he asked, marvelling at how good his interpretation of a fussing parent was. He had made the enquiry without conscious thought, almost as if he had been doing it for many a long year. Severus could only assume that his solicitousness was a throwback to when Harry had been so seriously ill. He had somehow gotten used to being Harry's carer.

"I'll be warm enough," said Harry, and Severus let it go. Harry was nearly sixteen, not six...quite capable of deciding whether he was warm enough. Then Severus remembered that Harry had been dressed much the same as this in the graveyard at Godric's Hollow, and he had been far from warm on that occasion.

Taking a calming breath, Severus reached for the floo powder, while Harry took off his glasses and put them in his jeans pocket. Severus threw down the powder, and gestured for Harry to precede him. Seconds later, Harry was on his hands and knees on the worn hearth rug in the Burrow's shabby but comfortable sitting room.

Hands grabbed him and pulled him to his feet and suddenly Harry's face was buried in a bush of brown hair and he was breathing in the smell of green apples. "Hi Hermione," he said, laughing, ending up with several strands of hair in his mouth.

"Oh, Harry, thank goodness you're all right."

"Mione, let him breathe." Harry felt Hermione prised away from him and Ron grinned at him as he picked several hairs that had parted company with Hermione's exuberant crowning glory out of his mouth. The he reached for his glasses and put them on.

"The smiles faded from Ron and Hermione's faces as Severus stepped gracefully out of the green flames. Molly bustled in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

Severus removed his flint like gaze from the three teens to focus on the Weasley matriarch.

"Ah, Severus." Molly nodded to Severus and he dipped his head perfunctorily in return. "And Harry...it's so good to have you back with us, dear," and she enfolded Harry in one of her trademark hugs.

Harry hugged her back and allowed her to hold him at arms length so that she could inspect him minutely for signs of malnutrition and bruises. "You're still looking a little peaky, dear." She turned to Severus and gave him the gimlet eye. "Are you sure he's fully recovered, Severus?" she asked.

"Potter will never be better than he is at this moment, Molly. I can assure you of that," drawled Severus. Harry glared at him, as did Hermione; Ron thrust his hands into the pockets of his rust coloured cords and studied the tips of his gungy trainers. Harry marvelled at how easily Snape could change personas. He could just exude nastiness on command!

Molly gave Severus a withering look that as usual left him totally unaffected. When she spoke, her voice could have cut glass. "May I have a word with you in the kitchen, Professor Snape?" Then she turned to the three teens. "Why don't the three of you go up and get Harry settled. Hedwig will be pleased to see you, dear. She's been quite sulky. The only one she doesn't snap at is Ginny, so she's in her bedroom."

"I want a final word with you before I leave Potter," said Severus in a coldly significant tone. Harry glared at him. He had known that this would be the most difficult thing for him to come to terms with...this reversal of attitude; even though he knew that it was just an act, his father was scarily good at it. Harry didn't know whether he would be able to turn on and off like that, depending on the situation they were in at the time. He knew he had to, but God, it was hard.

His, "yes, sir!" was said through clenched teeth and it was not because that was how the fatherless Harry would have once spoken to Snape, but because he was trying to hold in the hurt he couldn't help but feel at Snape's snide comment and coldly delivered order. As he trudged up the stairs behind Ron and Hermione, he realised that it didn't matter if he was acting or feeling hurt and irritated, the end result was the same; he sounded resentful and hateful, which was exactly how he had always sounded when he spoke to Snape.

So deep had he been in thought, Harry bumped into Hermione, who was in turn knocked into Ron who had stopped and turned back to face them in front of Ginny's door. Harry looked at the door blankly for a moment, and then at Ron, whose scarlet face was the colour of a Chinese Fireball, and Hermione...whose face was the same colour as Ron's.

It's about bloody time they became aware of each other. But now Harry realised that he would have to live through them both trying to deny their attraction to each other, and the arguing that would ensue. It was going to be a long year.

"You'll want to see Hedwig," said Ron after clearing his throat and deciding that it was best to pretend that Hermione wasn't even there, and without knocking, he thrust open the door. Hedwig was perched on the end of Ginny's bed. She turned her rather fearsome face towards them and Hermione moved back a little. But as soon as the snowy owl saw Harry, her fierce expression seemed to lighten and she hooted and launched herself into the air. A single sweep of her wings carried her to Harry's shoulder where she landed and began to nibble his ear straight away.

"Hi ya, girl," crooned Harry softly and he rubbed his cheek against her snowy breast. "I missed you too."

Hermione watched the reunion with tears in her eyes...she had seen and felt (the scratches on the back of her hand were testament to how sharp Hedwig's beak was) just how out of sorts Hedwig had been, and she was still stressing about everything that had happened to Harry. Her best friend was going to be the death of her. Ron however was grinning like a loon. "Bet you wish that was Ginny, hey Harry? Her nibbling on your ear and you...well, you..."

"Yes, thank you Ronald...I think we get the visual!" snapped Hermione.

A little grin lifted the corners of Harry's mouth as he continued to nuzzle Hedwig. He couldn't help being amazed at the change in Ron's attitude towards him and Ginny...he had been so anti-them as a couple not all that long ago.

And just where the hell was Ginny? Frowning, Harry looked around the tiny room, as if he might see her pop out from under the bed or from behind the camp bed Hermione had slept on and which had been propped up against the wall so that the girls could move without stepping all over it. The bedding was folded on the end of Ginny's bed. Hedwig didn't appreciate being ignored even for a few seconds and she nipped Harry a little harder on the ear than she had been.

"Oww," He raised a hand to stroke her head. "Sorry," he said, and while continuing to stroke her, he asked, "where's Ginny."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Probably in the midst of committing a grisly murder, I'd say." He continued the journey to his own room and Hermione and Harry followed...Harry after taking a good look around the tiny, bright room with its sunny yellow walls and bright posters and butterfly and flower motifs stuck all over the walls and ceiling and the tallboy that was squeezed into a corner. There was no wardrobe because there was no room for one. All of Ginny's clothes must be in the tallboy. A big mauve backpack was shoved behind the door and Harry assumed it was Hermione's.

With Hedwig swaying on his shoulder, Harry hurried up the last flight of stairs and entered his bolthole here at the Burrow. ‘The Orange Eyrie', he had dubbed it in his own mind and it was one of the few places where he felt truly at home. Ron always seemed perfectly happy to share a bedroom with him, particularly as Harry didn't go on about the Chudley Canon's colour scheme. Pigwidgeon was hooting happily from his cage on the top of Ron's wardrobe. Ron was throwing some owl treats up to him-Harry noticed that they had been broken into smaller pieces for the tiny little Scops Owl as he tended to choke on them otherwise-and he tipped a handful into Harry's hand so that he could feed them to Hedwig.

"What do you mean, she's in the midst of committing a grisly murder?" asked Harry lowering himself carefully onto his camp bed before feeding a treat to Hedwig. He was a bit peeved that Ginny wasn't here; the thought of her had been one of the main reason's he had finally been resigned to leaving the dungeons with no more complaint.

"Aunty Muriel has decided that she's not well-she's a miserable old fraud-and she demanded that Ginny come and..." Ron drew inverted commas in the air with his fingers, "‘nurse' her." Ron hoisted himself back into the corner near the head of his bed-as far away from Hermione as he could get, Harry noted-and leaned back, drawing his knees up and resting his forearms on them. The look on his face indicated what he thought about the prospect of nursing his old aunt

"It happens at least once a summer since Ginny started at Hogwarts. The old bat even demanded that Mum drag Ginny out of school to nurse her once, but Mum really put her foot down there."

"Poor Ginny," said Hermione. "But perhaps Muriel is sick this time," she added, trying to be fair.

Ron looked at her as if she was mad. "Hermione, that old bat will live until she's two hundred years old, just to piss us all off. She's a horrible, manipulative old hypochondriac who loves to hold us all to ransom. And she's only an aunt by marriage too. She was married to Dad's Uncle Xavier, who died when Dad was only a kid. And as she was an only child from a long line of only children, she had no one else and so she latched onto the Weasleys, and us specifically."

"Why pander to her if she's such an old fraud?" asked Harry, feeling more than a little pissed with Aunty Muriel...and (guiltily) with Mrs Weasley for making her daughter do something it seemed that she didn't want to do."

"Because she's loaded and Mum reckons that we deserve something after putting up with her antics for so long."

Harry and Hermione both looked taken aback at the news that Mrs Weasley was willing to sell her daughter's services in the hopes that they would benefit from Muriel's will. Ron interpreted their looks.

"Dad's Uncle Xavier was an old bugger too. He was the older brother and the Weasleys used to have money. But Dad's grandfather left all the fortune to the oldest son...Xavier, and he watched Dad and Mum struggle for every knut they earned and never shared what Dad should have been entitled to. He came from the old school where the oldest son inherits everything and any other kids can go to hell.

"Dad couldn't care less, but Mum figures he was duded and she will do anything she feels is necessary to get something out of Muriel, who is sitting on a huge pile of galleons that she holds over Dad's head as a lure. Mum figures some of it should be Dad's."

"But Ginny is the one who's in the middle," said Harry, indignant on behalf of his girlfriend.

"She didn't used to mind. Muriel was pretty decent to her. But she's become a lot more demanding and a lot less generous. You should have heard the screaming match yesterday, when Muriel floo called asking for Ginny. Ginny of course, didn't want to go because we were expecting you."

"But your Mum won," said Harry.

"Duh! Of course she won. But if Dad had been home, I think Ginny would have won. He doesn't want Ginny going anymore...he never wanted her going. In fact, Dad's a bit pissed with Mum at the moment."

Harry privately agreed with Mr Weasley, but Ron now waved his hand in the air, indicating that the subject of his poor sister's travails was not important enough to turn into a debate. He scooted to the edge of the bed and leaned towards Harry looking eager.

"I just want to know how you survived living with Snape in the dungeons again. He's such a wanker!" he added for good measure.

Harry felt his cheeks redden a little and he concentrated on scratching Hedwig's chin. She seemed to have gone to sleep on his shoulder, obviously reluctant to leave him. Hermione looked interested in his answer too, but when she saw how uncomfortable he looked, she tried to change the subject.

"Ginny told me that you and your cousin are getting on a lot better these days, Harry," she said, but Ron wasn't going to be thwarted.

"He's another wanker. And you had Snape staying there at the Dursleys too, didn't you?" He shook his head, imagining the nightmare Harry had been living lately. "What God did you piss off, Harry? Snape and the Dursleys under one roof! Urrrgh!" He gave an exaggerated shiver.

"Ron!" snapped Hermione again.

"It's OK, Hermione," said Harry. Then he faced Ron. "I've had to put up with Snape, Ron because Dumbledore has appointed him my babysitter. It seems I am in more danger than ever. Voldemort..."

Ron shivered for real this time. "Don't say the name!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Get over it Ron. It's a name. A made up name at that. If you don't like me calling him Voldemort, I'll refer to him as Tom. OK?"

Ron just rolled his eyes and Harry hoped that the subject of Snape might have been forgotten, but no...

"Isn't there another member of the Order who can babysit you? I mean, here, the wards and enchantments around the house have been strengthened to the nth degree, so you can be safe while you stay here. Dumbledore wants the house put under the Fidelius Charm next, but they want to see how this is going to work out.

"You're a bit early actually, but Bill is coming to live at home while you're here. He's using up some of his holidays. He was supposed to get here before you. I suppose that's why Snape is hanging around, until he gets here."

"God!" burst out Harry, springing to his feet and dislodging Hedwig who fluttered down onto the camp bed with an irritated flutter and a loud squawk "Can't I just come for a holiday at my best mate's house without all this hullabaloo? This is just such crap!"

"Harry," said Hermione gently, reaching forward to put her hand on his forearm. "With everything that's been going on lately..."

"What's been going on?" he asked in a tight voice. Ron and Hermione looked at each other and then looked down at their knees.

"What!" demanded Harry. "Tell me what's been happening?"

"Err, we thought you would know, living with Snape and all. He'd be in the thick of it, wouldn't he?"

When Harry's eyes narrowed to a glare, Ron blustered, "What are you looking at me like that for. He is a Death Eater."

"He's a spy!" yelled Harry. "And he doesn't get called to every Death Eater meeting."

"How do you know that, Harry?" asked Hermione in a calm voice, determined to forestall any argument before it happened.

"Because of this!" snapped Harry pointing to his scar. "I know when Vold...sorry, Tom is active...it flares up and the constant pain in it gets worse. It's been pretty bad lately, but Snape has only been summoned once in the last few days." He wasn't going to tell them that his scar pain was somehow worse when Snape was summoned. He had really only worked that out recently.

"When?"

"When what?"

"When was Snape summoned?" asked Ron.

"Why?" asked Harry cautiously.

"Ron!" Hermione's voice held a warning, but Ron ignored her.

"Two days ago, Amelia Bones, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and Emmaline Vance, a member of the Order, were murdered by You Know Who and the Death Eaters."

Harry stomach swooped and he felt sick with the sudden roller-coaster sensation. Oh, God, Snape had been there. He had been gone for hours. He remembered that Snape had come home looking pale and sick and exhausted that morning. He felt both his friends staring at him with worried eyes.

"No. He wasn't summoned two days ago. He was at Hogwarts all day." Harry brushed past Hermione's knees and walked over to the window, leaning on the sill and looking down into the Burrow's untidy but eminently welcoming garden.

Harry knew they didn't believe him, but he wasn't going to give Ron more dirt on Snape than he already thought he had. He still felt sick. His father had been there while two women had been murdered. "How were they killed?" he asked in what he hoped was a vaguely interested voice.

"We don't know," said Hermione. It's been withheld from the newspaper reports."

"And if Dad or Bill know, they're not saying," added Ron.

"So, what else has been happening?" asked Harry, turning around and leaning his butt on the edge of the sill.

Ron opened his mouth to answer but a short, sharp knock sounded on the door, and it was thrust open to reveal Bill.

"How you doing Harry? Professor Snape wants to see you before he goes." He pushed the door open further and after giving him a tight smile, Harry strode past Bill and clattered down the stairs. Mrs Weasley was alone in the kitchen.

"Professor Snape is waiting in the garden dear," she said, smiling fondly at Harry. "We're having your favourite roast chicken for dinner and treacle tart for sweets."

"Great," said Harry, trying to put as much enthusiasm into his response as he could. But truth to tell, any appetite he might have had had deserted him with the horrific news of the two murders. And Snape had been there. And from what Ron and Hermione had said, heaps more had happened.

It seemed that Voldemort was out in the open and making up for lost time.

Harry headed into the back garden. The dark cloaked figure of his father was down near the little lake and Harry headed towards him. It was cold and he hunched his shoulders and thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. Tendrils of mist wrapped themselves around his lower legs and feet.

Severus looked up when he heard Harry approach. He knew straight away that something had happened. "What is it?" he asked as soon as Harry was in hailing distance.

Harry shook his head. There was no way that he was going to jump down Snape's throat about what had happened two nights ago, not after what had happened in the lab. And he knew if he said anything, he would end up yelling. Not because he thought Snape had willingly participated in the murders, but because he had kept Harry in the dark about what was happening in the Wizarding World since he had regained consciousness after the poisoning.

Harry opened his mouth but Severus cut him off. "Don't say, ‘nothing'!" he bit out.

Harry's lips thinned and he hunched down even further into his jacket, but he didn't respond.

"You've been here five minutes, Harry. You're not sulking because of what I said and the way I spoke when we first got here, are you?"

"No!" cried Harry. "I know it was an act. I don't say I like it, but I know we have to do it."

"Are you going to tell me what the matter is, or do I have to legilimize you?"

"You wouldn't!" said Harry, appalled.

"I don't want to, so you had better tell me."

"It's Voldemort, all right!" yelled Harry.

Severus looked angry at Harry's tone and when he pulled his wand with the speed of a striking cobra, Harry fell back a step. But Snape just muttered a strange incantation. Harry couldn't tell what he had done but as it didn't seem to have affected him, he went on in the same vein as before. He did try to lower his voice, but he wasn't very successful.

"Why have you been hiding what's been going on from me? You haven't let me see a paper since I woke up. And now I know why. He's in full war mode, isn't he?"

Severus's lips were now clamped together and he looked angry. "You don't need to know what's going on. There's nothing you can do. And you have enough to be going on with.

"You're not ready for any of this, so there is no point in your knowing and getting upset about things you have no control over. You're job is to concentrate on school. These happenings will happen with or without your knowledge."

"These people are dying because of me!" Harry's voice had risen again. "I'm the only one who can end this. I need to learn how to kill him, and I'm learning how to transfigure kittens into slippers and how to fertilize and prune flutterby bushes and look after flobberworms. It's all crap!"

"And as for Defence Against the Dark Arts. That's the biggest load of crap of the lot. Remus was the only one who ever taught us anything in the least little bit useful, but even that wasn't how to fight dark wizards because we were only in third year.

"Umbridge was the most useless of all because she and her lunatic boss refused to believe that Voldemort was back! She was more interested in torturing students. Mostly me," he added, his voice filled with hopelessness.

Harry had run out of steam. When he finally got up the nerve to look his father in the face, he expected to see the all too familiar anger blazing from those black eyes, but instead, there was something that might just have been compassion...and worry. Harry's throat seized and he felt tell tale moisture begin to glaze his eyes.

"How am I going to do this?" He shook his head and turned away. A hand came down on his shoulder and forced him back around. He raised those incredibly beautiful eyes to Severus's face and Severus saw his frightened son staring at him and beseeching him to make it all right. "I'm scared, Dad," Harry croaked.

It happened without conscious thought. Afterwards, Severus couldn't say who had made the first move, but suddenly Harry was pressed against his chest and he had one arm clamped around the slender shoulders and one buried in the shock of black, untidy hair, pressing Harry's face to his shoulder. He was actually hugging his son. The ice that had been encasing his heart for the last twenty years of his life seemed to shift as it began to thaw.

This felt right. This boy who was clinging to him needed him desperately. This child's life was hell, but despite what he was living through and the frightening future he had to look forward to, there was still room in his heart to forgive one of his worst tormentors and embrace him as his father.

Still without conscious thought, Severus lowered his face into the soft mop of hair. There was so much of it but it was as soft as a baby's, and when he spoke, he spoke into the unruly locks "You're no longer alone, Harry, and I am not going to let anything happen to you. We will prepare for this together and I will protect you with my life."

After how long, Severus didn't know, Harry squirmed a little and Severus released him and stepped back. Harry was embarrassed. He looked own and dug the toe of his right trainer into the dirt over and over. But after about fifteen seconds, he looked up. His eyes were still shining behind the round lenses, but they weren't full of despair now...they were full of hope. His voice was still uncertain however.

"Do you mean it?"

"I mean it. It would seem that an automatic side effect of being a father is the need to protect. It has crept up on me with a great deal of stealth, but it is now entrenched and there is nothing I can do but succumb to its demands."

Harry's smile was slow to develop but when it did, it lit his face like a beacon.

Severus's eyes roved over his son's happy face for several seconds, but then his expression reverted to its usual harsh lines and Harry's smile faltered. "Just realise how hard this is for me, Harry, when every instinct cries out to me to make sure all Gryffindors are as oppressed as it is possible for them to be within the constraints of the law."

Harry's smile widened once again. He shrugged. "I imagine it's almost as hard as it is for me to be told what to do by my Slytherin potions Professor when every instinct cries out for me to give him the finger and tell him where to go."

A corner of Severus's mouth quirked upwards, but straightened out almost at once. "It would seem that we will spend the rest of our days fighting our natural instincts."

"Oh, I don't know," said Harry and his eyes shone with a light that Severus hadn't seen there before. It could have been the light of a fledgling affection, but as it had been a long time since Severus had seen the light of affection in anyone's eyes, he couldn't be entirely sure. "I think an unnatural behaviour becomes an instinct if it's given enough exercise, don't you?"

And as Harry looked to him for an affirmative response, Severus had to marvel at his son's capacity for forgiveness and freely given affection.

"Perhaps you're right," he agreed.

Harry's smile slowly faded, but it didn't disappear altogether...rather, it became a slightly self-conscious grimace. He became fascinated by his trainers again. The disconcerting realisation that he had practically thrown himself into Severus Snape's arms was washing over him again. Sixteen year old boys should not need physical comfort, certainly not from a guy...even a father, and certainly not a hug.

So why had that contact felt so good? He had been hugged by Ginny, Hermione, Mrs Weasley and even Tonks, and all of those displays of affection had warmed his heart...especially Ginny's; well...Ginny's hugs had done more than warm his heart! But being enclosed by the strong masculine arms that had just wrapped tightly around him had felt more than heart-warming; it had felt safe and secure.

It couldn't be wrong for a father to hold his grown up son in his arms...could it? It was just that Harry hadn't grown up with any kind of affection...the female affection he had received since entering the wizarding world had been easy enough to adjust to after having Hermione throw herself into his arms countless times...it was either adjust or suffocate under that mass of hair. After all, hugging was what females did. But male affection was different...hell, he loved Ron like a brother but they hadn't hugged each other, not that he could recall anyway. And he sure wouldn't tell Ron that he loved him either. Ron would probably deck him!

In the household he had grown up in, Harry couldn't recall Uncle Vernon hugging Dudley...ever! The physical affection was left up to Aunt Petunia because Uncle Vernon was frightened of turning Dudley into a ‘Nancy boy'. The most physical his uncle got with Dudley was to clap him on the back.

Looking up shyly through his fringe at his father-Harry wondered how long thinking of Snape as his father was going to feel alien-he decided there and then that he definitely wouldn't object if his dad wanted to hold him again in the future...if the circumstances called for it. After all, if Uncle Vernon didn't hug his son, then that was definitely not the way things should be done.

Harry saw that his father wasn't smiling, but nor had he closed himself off either. His obsidian eyes were raking over Harry as if he was really only seeing him clearly for the first time. And indeed, in a way, he was. Severus was seeing a vulnerable young boy who carried the weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders. This Harry wasn't exhibiting any of the false bravado, impudence and disrespect that so annoyed Severus. He was a scared child-and that was all he was...a child who was fearful of what was prophesied for his future, and he needed the stability of knowing that he had someone who would stand by him no matter what. Of course, Dumbledore would be there for Harry for as long as humanly possible, but somehow, having someone that you could call your own was different. Severus was sure that Harry saw Albus as an hierarchal figure, able and willing to share knowledge and dispense advice, but a little too legendary and, well...antique, to be able to easily confide in for all that he cared deeply. Harry needed a father, not a grandfather....Albus had known that; that was why he had pushed so hard for Severus to verify his paternity.

Severus thought back over the last three weeks and the happenings that had occurred and the revelations that had come to light. When Albus had told Minerva and himself, about the contents of the prophecy, he, Severus had practically scoffed...there was no way that mediocre Harry James Potter was going to be able to finish off the newly resurrected Dark Lord, so it was practically a given that the boy was going to die. This news had virtually had Minerva in tears, but Severus had shown his usual disdain for anything to do with the boy...though not out loud; he was more than a little nervous of Minerva McGonagall in a towering rage. Once alone though, he had contemplated what the almost certain demise of the boy meant; he, Severus would no longer have a living relative, and somehow, even before he had known of his and Harry's closer relationship, the thought had not cheered him.

What a change time and knowledge wrought. Now, if it came down to it, he, Severus Snape would do what Lily had done all those years ago; he would shield Harry with his life. Before today, the only people Severus would have willingly given up his life to protect were his mother and Lily.

Perhaps the unveiling of his and Harry's relationship at this time had also been destined. Maybe Trelawney had predicted this, but there had been no one to hear her rambling. Because if Harry Potter ever needed adult help and stability, it was now and into the future, however long it took to meet his destiny. Severus was determined that Harry would not go into that future alone.

I will look after our son, Lily and James, or I will die trying.

Harry was becoming more and more self-conscious as the silence continued. Now that he thought about it, the stillness was all encompassing...he couldn't even hear any bird song, or a breeze blowing the leaves on the trees. In fact, their was absolutely no noise that might have muffled his voice when earlier, he had-as usual-yelled.

"Oh, God!" he said, staring appalled at Severus. "They probably heard every single word we said up at the house. Ron's window looks out this way." And then his emerald eyes widened behind the round lenses of his glasses. "Ron and Hermione would have seen too."

Severus grasped Harry's shoulder and squeezed. "For Merlin's sake, breathe, boy!" He forced Harry around, and Harry gaped at the sight before him. The Burrow was totally obscured behind a total whiteout...they might have been in the Alps during a blizzard. He goggled for a moment and then he spun back to look at the little pond that they were standing in front of. There was mist, yeah, but it drifted in little wispy tendrils just above the surface of the water, and the reeds and trees and the rest of the landscape were easily visible.

"Wow!" When you do a job, you don't do it by half measures, do you?" Harry looked at Severus in wonder and Severus didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed at his son's total incredulity. Harry had now been a part of the wizarding world for five years and he still acted like Albus Dumbledore being confronted by a box of Honeyduke's finest selection when he was confronted by advanced magic.

"Don't you think they might be a little suspicious when they look out the window?" asked Harry.

"No doubt. But they'll just think that I've been berating you in my usual Gryffindor-prejudiced, Harry Potter hating manner and that I don't want them to see."

Harry grimaced and nodded once. "Good thinking,"

"I thought so. Your job is to convince them that that is exactly what I've been doing."

Harry sighed. "I'll try."

Severus suddenly looked his usual snarky, Slytherin self. "No! You will succeed. You've had plenty of practice hating me. Enlarge upon that theme."

Harry sighed again, but nodded resignedly. "I'll just have to employ some of that Slytherin cunning that the sorting hat thought I had."

Severus raised both eyebrows in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

Harry suddenly looked like he had had an epiphany. "You're the reason why!" he said excitedly.

"I'm the reason why what?"

"When I was sorted, the hat seriously considered putting me in Slytherin."

Severus was shocked speechless. This was the most intense case of déjà vu he had ever experienced. He just stared at Harry for several silent seconds. The inevitable question occurred to him; how would he have treated, Harry Potter if he had been placed in Slytherin...under his control? Would things have been better or worse? Severus was honest enough to admit to himself that if he had had Harry under his eye all the time, he probably would have made his first five years at Hogwarts even more of a trial.

The thought disgusted him. What a stellar human being I am.

But then the absurdity of the situation took over from his self recrimination. "What do you mean it seriously considered?" he asked quietly

Harry reddened and looked down at his trainers and the gouge mark he had made in the soil. "I talked it out of sorting me into Slytherin."

"You talked the sorting hat out of putting you in the house where it considered you belonged?" Severus realised, that he was feeling a little peeved that Harry had been so desperate not to be put in his house. And just how ludicrous was that?

"It said I'd do well in Slytherin...it never actually said that I definitely belonged there," justified Harry.

"How much more specific did you want it to be, for Merlin's sake?"

Harry looked down again. "Professor Dumbledore said that if I wasn't meant to be in Gryffindor, then the hat would certainly not have put me there," he mumbled.

"So, it would appear that you are equal parts Gryffindor and Slytherin, but because you didn't want to be in Slytherin, Gryffindor won the prize."

"Look! Ron had just told me that there wasn't a witch or a wizard who had gone bad who wasn't from Slytherin! Did you expect me to be thrilled to be put there?" Harry was fuming now. "Plus Malfoy had already shown his stripes. He had been boasting that he would definitely be in Slytherin and he had already shown himself for what he was. Sneering at Ron because he was poor and because he was a Weasley."

Severus closed his eyes. Bloody Malfoy! The boy had been a right royal pain in the proverbial from the minute he had set foot at Hogwarts...even before then seemingly. Severus supposed he had introduced himself on the train. So bloody sure of himself and his place in the Dark Order...until he had suffered the pain of being branded. The foolish boy had thought it would all be beer and skittles. It had been a rude awakening...and worse for Nott.

Severus shook his head. He didn't want to think about Nott.

"It was a rather broad generalisation of Mr Weasley's that all bad wizards belong in Slytherin," he said tersely and automatically. But Severus knew that was the general way of things. It still amazed him to this day that the hat had listened to his own silent plea. His mother and her twin brother had been Gryffindors, as had Potters as far back as his mother could remember.

Severus sighed. "I too, got a choice when I put on the sorting hat."

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"The hat told me that I would do well in Gryffindor."

"And you chose to become a Slytherin instead?" Harry finally managed to say when his vocal cords decided to co-operate. His voice emerged as a high pitched squeak, however.

"No," said Severus tightly. "The hat had not specified another house at that time. All I knew was that I did not want to be put in the same house as my dear cousin or Sirius Black. They had just been sorted into Gryffindor. Like you and Mr Malfoy, we had already met on the train and it was not a pleasant encounter. It was the first time I had met James and the ill-feeling I felt towards him morphed into instant hatred."

Harry stared for several seconds, and then he looked away. Severus ignored the hurt he had seen in the boy's eyes. "I could have been put in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, but the hat chose Slytherin instead."

"Wouldn't you have preferred to be put in Ravenclaw?" asked Harry quietly. Harry knew there was no way on God's Earth that Severus Snape would have been sorted into Hufflepuff.

Severus shook his head. "I was not displeased with my placement. Unlike you, no-one had told me of the prejudice against Slytherin house before I was sorted."

Silence engulfed the pair for a minute or so. They both stared out over the placid little pond. Severus was the first to speak. "Did the hat give you a choice of Gryffindor or Slytherin?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope. It just waffled on about Slytherin and I begged, ‘not Slytherin' and then it said, ‘better be Gryffindor'. I was pleased; all of Ron's brothers were there and that was where Ron was hoping to be placed."

Severus nodded. Of course. Harry took exception to the look on Severus's face, however.

"Ron was the first person to ever actually speak more than a few sentences to me and then hang around for more. I had never, ever had a friend. Dudley threatened anyone who ever spoke to me. Kids were scared of Dudley and his gang."

"I am not condemning you for making a friend of Ronald Weasley," said Severus, and Harry nearly pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "I'm sure that he makes a far more satisfactory and loyal friend than Draco Malfoy would ever have made. With Draco Malfoy, you remain a friend if you become a sycophant."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, sometimes I feel sorry for Crabbe and Goyle."

"Indeed," said Severus, thoughtfully. "But Messrs Crabbe and Goyle do benefit from the association. Draco Malfoy is far from stupid and his cohorts in crime have managed to stay on board the educational express, as it were, due to their more intelligent friend's assistance and a lenient grading system for them."

Harry goggled for the umpteenth time that day. "What! You're all letting them waltz through. WHY?"

"Because Harry," explained Severus patiently. "Do you think that the Dark Lord would care if his henchmen are qualified or not? Keeping those two in school, keeps them unbranded for the time being and prevents them causing mayhem in the wider world." Severus didn't consider telling Harry about Nott and Malfoy.

Suddenly a large, white shape separated from the whiteout and soared towards them to land on Harry's shoulder. Harry smiled and reached up to scratch the beautiful owl on her snowy breast. "Hey girl," he crooned. "Get sick of waiting for me?"

Severus studied the beautiful owl. He had never seen her up this close before, but he had admired her from across the Great Hall, just as the rest of the staff did. She was truly magnificent. He reached out and stroked her head. Hedwig turned her head and eyed him with regal disdain. She did not click her beak however. "I imagine that Weasley and Granger have gotten sick of waiting for you and have sent an emissary to make sure that I have not done away with you."

Harry thought he was probably right.

"I have to go anyway," Severus said.

"Why did you want to see me before you went?" asked Harry. He didn't really care why, he was just glad that they had had this short time alone. They had advanced a long way towards total accord out here in the Burrows familiar environs.

Severus gave a small huff of laughter. "I just wanted to say goodbye in private. I could scarcely bid you adieu with the ‘We Hate Severus Snape', squad in there." He jerked his head towards the house.

"Maybe they wouldn't hate you so much if you let up a little bit on Gryffindor in class." Severus raised his eyebrows. "I don't expect you to become friendly or anything; just don't put everyone down, especially Hermione who is the best at potions in our year...and you know it. And don't take points for no reason."

"You know I cannot be seen to change Harry. It's too dangerous, especially now when we know there is someone within the school just as determined to kill you as the Dark Lord is."

Harry turned away and Severus looked at the slight figure with the large owl on his shoulder. He put his hand on the other shoulder and squeezed.

"It's going to be a good year," said Harry with bitter sarcasm.

"But this year, you have a Slytherin ally, Harry." Harry looked up and offered a tight smile.

"Well, I suppose that has to be a huge advantage seem as the would be killer is in all likelihood a Slytherin. I don't think anyone from Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw hates me enough to kill me."

"Perhaps someone from your own ranks," said Severus with a upward lilt in his voice.

Harry's brows drew together. "What! A Gryffindor? Want to kill me? No way!"

"It isn't beyond the realms of possibility, Harry. Pettigrew had no qualms about handing your mother and father over to the Dark Lord after eight or nine years of supposedly close friendship."

"Nobody in Gryffindor is a follower of Voldemort!" bit out Harry. "Not now. And I have no enemies in my own house. I have no enemies within Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw either."

"You don't know that for sure." Severus sighed. "All I'm saying, Harry, is that you cannot let your guard down anywhere at school. We will discuss strategies closer to term, but you are not to be alone anywhere at Hogwarts. You don't even go to the bathroom by yourself."

Harry looked into his father's blazing eyes. He wanted to object, strongly and vociferously, but he knew it would be pointless. He bit his tongue.

"The same goes for here. Do not leave the Burrow under any circumstances. The property is heavily warded, and Bill is here to provide extra protection. He is a very competent wizard and you are to do exactly what you are told. Is that understood?"

"So, I'm under house arrest?" said a clearly annoyed Harry.

"In a word, yes. The only way you're to leave here if I am not the one to take you, is if Arthur, Molly or Bill accompany you. But in the meantime, you have your best friends and your girlfriend as housemates. Imprisonment wont be so bad, will it?"

Harry shook his head. "I suppose not." He looked up at Severus. "Can you make an excuse to drop by every now and then?" he asked, almost shyly.

Severus felt some more of the ice encasing his heart shift a little. "I think I can Slytherin my way in every now and then," he said lightly, but as he and Harry stared at each other, there was a warmth of emotion within the depth of his eyes that Harry was slowly getting used to seeing. How could he have ever thought that those black eyes were dead and expressionless.

"That'd be great...Dad." There, he had said it! He had called his father ‘Dad' when he wasn't in the midst of a emotional display as he had been earlier.

Severus swallowed past the lump that had suddenly taken up residence in his throat. The last time he had felt as if he couldn't breath because of a lump in his throat was when he had learned of Lily's death. On that occasion, he'd thought he would choke. That had also been the last time he had cried.

Insipient tears were not going to be a problem today...at least he didn't think so, but Harry looked as if he might be sick. He was still worried about being rebuffed. Severus couldn't leave him like that...and it had been easy enough before. And the owl had flown off somewhere, so...

Severus put an arm around Harry's shoulders and squeezed firmly. "As I told you before, Harry, we're in this together...for the long haul." His voice lowered to a soft, husky cadence. "And I think it will be easy to get used to hearing you call me ‘Dad'."

Harry smiled. "And I think it might be easier than I thought to get used to saying it," he said in his own slightly husky voice. And for a fleeting second, Harry rested his head against Severus's cloak draped arm before sighing contentedly and stepping back. No sense in overdoing it. But it did feel good.

He cleared his throat. "Well, I think I'd better get back inside before they send out a posse to find me."

Severus nodded and produced his wand. An intricate wave and a muttered incantation later, the thick mist had disappeared and the noise of the outdoors was restored to normal. A second later, Harry started when Severus grabbed his arm and thrust his face close to Harry's in an aggressive gesture.

"Granger and Weasley are just inside the back door. In a second, pull your arm out of my grip and stalk towards the house. And don't forget to act aggrieved over my treatment of you." Harry nodded resignedly. "And I will see you soon," added Severus, still close to Harry's face.

"Be careful," whispered Harry, and he yanked his arm out of Severus's seemingly harsh grip and turned on his heel. He didn't see Severus turn with a swirl of his cloak and stalk towards the boundary where the wards ended. But he heard the soft ‘pop' when he disapparated.

8888

"What the hell did he want that took so long," demanded Ron as soon as Harry's pseudo-angry stride brought him within hailing range. Hermione was looking at him with concern. "And what the hell was all that mist about."

"He was just being his usual, foul self and he didn't want witnesses," said Harry, with an off-hand shrug and what he hoped was a bitter tone. He stepped into the kitchen as Ron and Hermione moved aside to allow him entry. "Do this Potter. Don't do that Potter. When I say jump, Potter, ask how high." Harry hated what he was doing and he could feel the blush of betrayal rise in his face. He only hoped the other two would take it to be a blush of anger."

"God, he's such a git!" stormed Ron. "Just because he saved your life, he thinks he owns you!" Harry entered the lounge room and flung himself down in one of the shabby chairs. He immediately started picking the frayed, corded edge of the arm.

"Yeah, well Dumbledore has put him in charge of me," said Harry. "He's in the perfect position to keep an eye on the Slytherins when we get back to school."

Ron had perched himself on the edge of the sofa, Hermione imitating him at the other end. "Bet he loves that," growled Ron. He now has permission to torture you anywhere he feels like it. What was Dumbledore thinking?"

"He's just trying to keep Harry safe, Ron," said Hermione sensibly. "And you should be thanking Professor Snape, you know."

Ron goggled at her and Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Thank Snape!" blustered Ron. "What the hell for?"

"Ron! That's enough of that kind of language," said Mrs Weasley sternly as she passed through the lounge on her way to the laundry. She had a basket of towels in her arms. The admonition seemed to be automatic because she didn't even glance at her youngest son, but offered Harry a little smile as she passed.

"Yes, Mum," said Ron, equally automatically, and as soon as she was out of earshot, he turned to Hermione.

"OK. Just tell me one reason...one, why I should be thanking Snape? What's he ever done to deserve thanks from me or any other Gryffindor?"

"He saved your best friend's life," returned Hermione simply.

Ron stared, opened his mouth to reply, shut it again and then throwing himself back against the sofa back, he crossed his arms and huffed out a sigh. "Yeah, well...I bet he only did that because Dumbledore made him," he muttered.

"I think there had to be more to it than that, Ron. From what I gather, Professor Snape worked ceaselessly all the while that Harry was practically moribund. If he had wanted Harry dead, he could have just pretended to try and find an antidote for the poison. He could have let him die from the poison's affects with no one being any the wiser, but he treated each of Harry's symptoms as they manifested whilst continuing to work to identify the poison and create an antidote."

Her voice went soft and she stared at Harry as if she couldn't get enough of the sight of him. "I don't think any of us, not even Harry realise just how close to death he truly was."

Harry looked away from Hermione's intense gaze. He was gratified that she cared so much for him. He knew he would feel as devastated as she had been if anything was to happen to either her or Ron. He wouldn't be able to stand it if anything happened to either of them...or to Ginny either.

He did know how hard Snape had worked to save him, the miracle of that being that it had been before he discovered the birthmark that had changed both their lives forever. But he didn't like to think about the attempt on his life by someone-he was sure it must be a Slytherin-within Hogwarts. That was a truly scary thought because that person was still around, probably waiting for a second chance when school started again. He could definitely see why his father didn't want him to go anywhere by himself. It was a sensible precaution, but Harry knew it was going to irk him enormously.

"Well..." said Ron into the silence that had fallen. "I concede that Snape did a good thing and that we should be grateful to him for saving Harry. But Hermione, do you honestly think he would want our thanks? He'd sneer at us and take points from Gryffindor for daring to remind him of his huge lapse in judgement."

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. She just had to concede that Ron was a lost cause where Snape was concerned. Harry knew he was going to get sick and tired of all the snide comments pretty damn quickly, so he would have to come up with something to keep Ron's thoughts off Snape.

"So, what else has been happening in the wizarding world?" he asked. And Ron and Hermione spent the next half an hour catching Harry up on the news that had been denied him.

After fifteen minutes, Bill joined them and he added his take on things. Bill had been out in the front yard whilst Harry and Snape had been out by the pond. Harry's head was reeling from the everything that he was told, not the least important being that Fudge had been ousted by a vote of no-confidence and that a bloke named Rufus Scrimgeour was now the Minister for Magic.

Other changes had taken place also within the Ministry, the best of them being that Mr Weasley had been promoted to a newly created position. He was in charge of the Department for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. Harry was really pleased because Mr Weasley had been moved to a much bigger office and he had several people working under him now. The best part of the promotion was that Mr Weasley had gotten quite a hefty pay rise. Harry was glad, as the Weasleys struggled to make ends meet and they wouldn't accept anything from him for his board and keep when he was staying with them.

Bill explained the nature of the job to Harry and why it was so necessary. The illegal trade in protective talismans and charms and potions to counter dark curses and help fend off dark wizards had sprung up over night now that it was official that Voldemort was back and on the warpath again. Unfortunately, it was the criminal element who made and sold all of the stuff, and all of it was useless and often downright dangerous. The trade had reached dangerous levels and quite a few unwary witches and wizards had already ended up in St Mungos as a result of the dangerous nature of some of the objects. Bill said one old witch had almost died from applying a dangerous body paint which was supposed to keep her permanently invisible.

Harry had goggled at the gullibility of some people and Bill had noticed his look of derision.

"Harry, you have to understand that a fair proportion of witches and wizards out in the wider wizarding world are not capable of advanced magic. Imperturbable charms are difficult to perform. Apparition is also difficult. Most witches and wizards don't bother...splinching is a very real possibility."

"Oh, great," said Ron resignedly. That means I'll never be able to apparate."

"Don't be a prat, Ron," said his oldest brother exasperatedly. "You can learn anything if you put your mind to it. You are not a weak wizard." Ron just rolled his eyes.

Bill looked back at Harry. "So you have to understand, Harry, that the fear factor now that Vol...get a grip Ron...now that Voldemort is back is off the scale. People are terrified and yes, they are gullible. Magical folk are, on the whole, superstitious and in many cases, foolishly trusting. They are easily talked into patently foolish acts."

Harry sighed. "So, the world is going to hell in a hand basket. He's out and about and causing mayhem on every front." No wonder Sn...err, his dad had wanted him to remain oblivious. There was nothing he, Harry could do, so there was no point in his knowing the worst.

Four heads spun towards the fireplace as the floo flared. Ginny's head sat in the midst of the flames. Harry grinned and scooted down onto the floor. "Hey Gin," he said happily. "Are you coming home?" Ginny's eyes lit as they found Harry, but the smile she offered was a tight-lipped little grimace.

"Hi, Harry," she said in an almost shy voice. She looked at him longingly, but then she forced her eyes away. She spotted Bill and spoke to him. "Is Mum around, Bill?"

"I'll get her," volunteered Hermione and she jumped up and left the room. Ron joined Bill in front of the fireplace and Harry, feeling more than a little peeved, pushed himself to his feet and slid back onto the chair he had just vacated, and listened to the siblings talk.

Mrs Weasley bustled into the room with Hermione behind her and Ron moved aside for his mother. "Ginny, dear? What's the matter?"

"Aunty Muriel wants to come to dinner tonight." Harry was sitting on the very edge of the chair and he was staring at his hands which were clasped between his bent knees. He sensed rather than saw Ginny's eyes swivel towards him before she looked back at her mother. "She's insisting on meeting Harry." Harry's head snapped up. Great! No wonder Ginny had seemed standoffish. She was embarrassed.

"Oh, she does, does she?" bit out Mrs Weasley.

"I most certainly do, Molly Weasley" said a quavery but stridently bossy voice from behind Ginny. Harry saw that Ginny was now kneeling before a backdrop of garish pink robes, that clashed ridiculously with her bright head and its muffler of green flames "I am not getting down on my hands and knees to argue the point with you, Missy," continued the disembodied voice and Harry could see Mrs Weasley was shaking with fury.

"I am just doing you the courtesy of letting you know that I'm coming. And I refuse to travel by floo. You will send one of your boys here so that I can side-along with him."

"It's not convenient for you to come tonight, Muriel," gritted Mrs Weasley but for all the notice the old woman took, Molly might just as well have been talking to the empty grate.

Muriel's final words were, "When someone comes for me, I'll send Ginevra home through the floo." Then the connection was broken. Harry's last sight of Ginny was her looking at him in an agony of embarrassment.

"That bloody woman," growled Mrs Weasley as Bill helped her to her feet. "How dare she lay down the law! How dare she hold my daughter hostage! How dare she demand to come to our home to gawk at Harry as if he was a...a..." words failed her. She was pacing back and forth on the hearth rug and her face was as red as Ron's usually got when he was in a towering rage.

"Calm down, Mum," ordered Bill, leading his mother to a chair and forcing her into it. "You'll burst into flames in a minute." He crossed to a cabinet that housed some liquor and poured his mother a measure of fire whisky.

"I hate fire whisky, Bill," she bit out, but Bill forced her to drink it.

"You need to calm down Mum," Bill ordered his coughing and spluttering mother. "I'll contact Dad and he can swing by Muriel's on his way home."

"And I'll help you with dinner, Mrs Weasley," said Hermione placatingly.

"Yeah, me too," said Harry.

Mrs Weasley's bottom lip quivered ever so slightly as she looked from Hermione to Harry. "I'm so sorry, dears," she said. "You shouldn't have to put up with this horrible old witch. She's Arthur's aunt by marriage," she explained to Harry.

"I know," said Harry quickly. "Ron told me before when I asked where Ginny was."

"You should never have pandered to her by sending Ginny," admonished Bill. "Now Muriel thinks she can get whatever she demands."

"Dad never cared about the money," pointed out Ron, joining the fray. "Why should you?"

"You stay out of it, Ron," said Bill.

"I was trying to ensure that your father gets what he's entitled to," screeched Mrs Weasley over the top of Bill, her face almost purple now.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, and by common consent, they thought it best to leave the family to it. They left them still arguing-Ron telling Bill that he had as much right to put in his two bob's worth as Bill did-and they hurried out into the yard and away from the house. Harry thought they could use his dad's muffling charm now because they could still hear Mrs Weasley's piercing shrieks and Bill and Ron's deeper, angry voices.

They both threw themselves down under the huge old oak tree and tried to shut out the argument in the house by talking about what they had been up to since the last time they had met. Hermione wanted an account of Harry's flight to Godric's Hollow and so Harry told her the bare bones of what had happened. Answering Hermione kept his mind off Ginny and her strange behaviour.

But Hermione was a little too interested in finding out why Harry had fled Privet Drive in the first place. Ron and Ginny had just accepted that Harry had argued with Snape, but Hermione wanted more details. Harry tried to prevaricate, but she held on like a terrier until Harry got really tetchy and said that he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Luckily Ron showed up at that time and after telling them that Bill had told him to get lost so that he could calm their mum down, the talk had centred on Muriel and what an old harridan she was. But every now and then, Harry felt Hermione's eyes on him and he knew she wasn't finished prising information out of him.

Hermione was going to be a real problem. She saw far more than Ron and she intuited the rest. Harry wished Hogwarts offered a course in method acting because he didn't think that he had any of his new father's talent for acting a part.

Mrs Weasley had become more and more volatile as the time approached for Muriel's invasion, and everyone but Harry had found an excuse to scatter to the four winds. He soldiered on, laying the table for ten people and listening to the dire mutterings coming from the scullery. But he was so eager for Ginny's arrival, when Mrs Weasley stepped back into the kitchen with an armful of vegetables, he eventually took his courage in hand and asked when she was going to arrive.

Molly turned distractedly to face him whilst rummaging in a cupboard for a large saucepan. "But she arrived fifteen minutes ago, dear. She's taken her things upstairs," she said, before turning back to her task.

Harry stared at her back for a moment and then he gazed down at the remaining knife and fork in his hand. Ginny had been home for fifteen minutes and she hadn't sought him out. Why? They hadn't seen each other for days.

Obviously, she was not as keen to see him as he was to see her. Harry stood as if in a dream for several more seconds, twiddling the cutlery before completing his task and then, almost on autopilot, he walked through the living room and out the front door. Harry didn't know where Ron was; he had disappeared with practiced ease within five minutes of he and Harry beginning to lay the table. Hermione too, had disappeared, but that was at the behest of Mrs Weasley who had asked her to give the bathroom a quick once over. If she was still giving the bathroom a once over, it wasn't a quick one. Perhaps she and Ginny were catching up.

There was an old floral covered sofa on the front porch with some of its innards oozing out of various holes; it smelled very musty and Harry was sure there were mice nesting within it's sagging depths, but he sat down anyway. The mice wouldn't mind sharing and Harry didn't mind the company. It was all he had at the moment, because his best mates were Merlin knew where, and his girlfriend didn't seem in any hurry to see him.

Right at this moment, Harry wished he was back in the dungeons at Hogwarts. He'd be much better off spending more time with his dad than sitting here worrying about whether he still had a girlfriend or not. Harry shook his head. There must be something wrong with him, specifically in relation to girls-in relation to romance, at least. He was obviously totally clueless, because apart from not being around much, and that had been beyond his control, Harry couldn't really figure out what he could have done to make Ginny so distant when he had thought she was as happy as he was.

First, Cho hadn't seemed to like his ideas regarding romance, nor his friendship with Hermione, nor his repugnance of her treacherous friend, Marietta Edgecombe. And now Ginny...yep, totally clueless.

Harry didn't know how long he sat on the porch gazing off into the distance, but it turned out to be much longer than he realised. He became aware, as if from a distance that the noise inside the house was becoming louder and louder, and somehow frantic. He had just vaguely decided that perhaps he should go in and see what the problem was, when the front door burst open and Bill and the twins, rushed through. The twins had already jumped down the two steps onto the path that bisected the front garden when Bill spotted Harry rising from the sofa.

"Harry!" His handsome face registered enormous relief at the same time that it suffused with angry colour. The twins stopped their headlong flight after only a few running steps and whipped back around at the sound of Bill's exclamation. Many bodies appeared in the doorway behind Bill, and Mr and Mrs Weasley separated from the scrum with Molly rushing forward and pulling Harry into a suffocating hold.

"Oh, Harry!" she sobbed into his hair.

"What!" cried Harry, totally bemused. "What's the matter?"

"You were told not to go off!" bit out Bill angrily. Mr Weasley put a hand on Bill's shoulder and squeezed.

"Now Bill...it seems Harry was only sitting on the porch. Time must have gotten away from him." He looked at Harry and smiled, but his face was just now regaining its normal colour. "Right Harry?"

Harry was still in shock, but he nodded. Bill was not much appeased.

"You should have told someone where you were going."

"I'm sorry!" said Harry. "I thought I'd only been out here for a few minutes. I must have been daydreaming."

"Sleeping more like," corrected George, clapping Harry on the back. "You'll be the death of us, young Harry."

"Yeah," said Fred. "How in the name of Merlin did you come up with such a good hiding spot. "I mean...the front porch. Who'd a thunk?"

"Shut up, you idiots," growled Bill. He turned around and forced his way back through the crowd into the house. It seemed that he was determined to remain in a towering temper. Harry had never seen Bill so angry; he had always found him to be pretty laid back.

"All right. Everyone settle down," soothed Mr Weasley. "He's all right. That's all that matters."

Fred and George offered identical grins and with one on either side of him, they each flung an arm over Harry's shoulders and began guiding him towards the door, through which Mr and Mrs Weasley had just disappeared. Ron and Hermione were hovering just inside and there faces were pale and anxious.

But Harry didn't have much time to feel guilty over the fact that they were so obviously upset. Ginny was standing on the bottom stair. She was wringing her hands and looking more distressed than everyone else put together. Fred and George looked from Ginny to Harry and with equally knowing grins, they clapped Harry on the back, nearly knocking him over, before joining Bill who was pouring several small glasses of a smoking liquid...firewhisky, Harry presumed.

Harry still wasn't quite sure what the near panic had been about when he couldn't be found. They certainly hadn't looked very hard to find him before going into panic mode. He had promised that he wouldn't leave the Burrow and he couldn't have been outside for more than ten, maybe fifteen minutes at the most. He was sorry that everyone was so concerned; he had not meant for that to happen, but uncharacteristically, he suddenly felt a vindictive pleasure that Ginny looked so upset.

Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but Harry turned away and walked stiffly towards the congregation in the living room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron and Hermione exchange concerned glances before Hermione peeled herself away from Ron's side and headed towards where Harry assumed Ginny was still standing; the place from where he thought he heard a tiny, quickly stifled little sob.

He desperately wanted to turn back and comfort her himself, but then he recalled how Ginny had ignored his presence when she had gotten home...how she had seemed reluctant to even look at him when she had Floo-called. It was she who seemed to have had enough. This wasn't his choice. He was just going along with what she seemed to want.

"Well, lets have a look at you then!" a strident, demanding voice emerged from the depths of one of the armchairs, bringing Harry up short; though he could not see the occupant, he recognised the same voice as the one that had earlier issued from the Floo: Aunty Muriel.

"Don't hide back there, boy! You've already set the thestral amongst the owls, setting the house on its head whilst this lot of headless chickens raced around. I doubt even You-Know-Who is so determined to find you."

Harry was too shocked to move and he registered Ron stopping right next to him. The faces of all the male Weasleys present turned a startling shade of puce, even the twins. He could feel the heat radiating off Ron's face from where he stood alongside him. Mr Weasley looked as angry as he did mortified.

"Muriel, really!" he said helplessly. "Harry..."

"Button it, Arthur. I'm here to see him." Muriel leaned forward a little, and peering past the winged edge of the chair, she pointed an arthritic finger at Harry. "Come closer, boy," she commanded imperiously.

Ron leaned in close to Harry's ear. "You might just as well get it over and done with because she ain't going to let up on you."

Feeling like a prize exhibit at the zoo, Harry moved forward three steps as though in a bit of a dream and halted near the arm of the chair. Muriel Weasley would once have been considered a strong looking woman...not pretty by any stretch; her features were too bold for that, but Harry supposed some would have called her handsome. Age had made her features sag but there was no denying that strong nose and very determined jaw.

Her hair, amazingly, was red-but not the natural fiery red shared by all of the Weasleys that he knew, but a garish, unnatural cerise. It was set in a rigid array of fantastic curls that would not have looked out of place on the head of Marie Antoinette. In fact, when Harry looked more intently, he saw that the extravagant confection was a wig.

"Not there, boy! I don't want to end up with a crick in my neck." With remarkable speed and strength, a clawed hand shot out and grabbed a handful of Harry's sleeve and yanked him sideways so that he was standing directly in front of Muriel. Harry's face reddened as he stumbled and tried to right himself. He extricated his sleeve from the pincer grip and stepped back a pace. All he wanted to do was bolt from the room, but he didn't want her to start lambasting the others. Ron was right...he might just as well get this over with. This obnoxious old biddy thought she could behave any way she liked, probably because of her age. And then there was the money that she dangled like a carrot in front of the Weasley's faces. Harry didn't want to muck that up for them.

Small, red-rimmed, slightly protuberant, wishy-washy blue eyes set beneath black painted eyebrows, flitted greedily over Harry from the top of his messy head, down over his pinched, bespectacled face then onto his hooded jacket, jeans and trainers.

The only sound that could be heard was the clattering and banging coming from the kitchen. [TEL1] The Weasley males, Hermione and Ginny seemed to be holding their collective breath. Harry could sense their anger on his behalf, and he felt an overwhelming gratitude and a sense of belonging to this family.

He wasn't quite sure how this affection for the Weasleys would fit in with his new relationship with Severus Snape. But the fact that his new dad had wanted Harry out of the way while he took care of his ‘other' work, and that the Weasleys were his choice of ‘babysitters', boded well for his ongoing interactions with them. He had been close to the family before he and Ginny had ever become a couple; he wasn't going to let her defection affect his relationship with the rest of the family. But how was he going to stand being around her whenever he was here at the Burrow knowing that she had been his for a short time?

Muriel was still looking him up and down and it was all Harry could do to stand still under her blatant inspection. He expected her to ask him to lift one of his feet so that she could inspect his fetlock. He knew that he had grown in height lately, because he was now only a head shorter than Ron. When this amazing phenomenon had taken place, he wasn't really sure, because he knew how ill he had been, and it should have been impossible for him to increase in stature, when every cell in his body had been fighting for its mere existence. It must have been magic.

But his increased height notwithstanding, he could see from the look on the old woman's face that she found him lacking in some essential.

"Muriel, that's quite enough! I think you have now seen enough of Harry," said Mr Weasley extremely angrily, earning Harry's eternal gratitude.

Muriel sniffed derisively, and completely ignoring her nephew, her eyes shot upwards to Harry's forehead and not seeing what she obviously wanted to see, she stared into Harry's green eyes. "Well!" she barked. "Lift up that untidy fringe, boy! Let me see this famous scar that everyone blathers on about."

"Muriel!" snapped Arthur again. "I will not allow you to embarrass the poor boy any further." He strode to Harry and Ron, and settling a hand on each of their shoulders he nudged them towards the kitchen.

"Go and help your mother, Ron," he said, his red cheeks testament to his embarrassment on Harry's behalf.

Ron and Harry obeyed Mr Weasley's command, Harry gratefully following in Ron's wake. Hermione and Ginny brought up the rear, but before they had exited the room, Muriel's voice rang out again.

"And this is supposed to be the saviour of the wizarding world? This is the one the Daily Prophet refers to as ‘The Chosen One'?"

Harry froze in his tracks and stood stock still for a moment before spinning around and looking at the old lady in the chair. She had a truly malicious smirk on her face that would have done Severus Snape proud. His gaze snapped to Ron who was looking down at his trainers and Hermione who, most telling of all, had her hands clapped over her mouth, her eyes bright with remorse.

"What's she talking about?" asked Harry in a quietly ominous voice. "What's this ‘Chosen One' business?"

Muriel cackled. "He doesn't even know?" she wheezed unpleasantly, proving that there was nothing wrong with her hearing. "He's supposed to save us all from You Know Who, and he doesn't even know it. Oh, I'll definitely sleep more peacefully in my bed tonight knowing that you're on the case, Harry Potter."

"Muriel, you know very well that there is absolutely no proof to those rumours that were reported in the paper," bit out Mr Weasley, but he might just as well have been talking to the wall. Muriel didn't even acknowledge his presence with a look.

"And you, missy," she said, pointing that gnarled finger at Ginny. "I thought you said he was something special. If he is what you've set your heart on girly, all I can say is that you're taste is all in your mouth."

"Muriel!" Mr Weasley was now beyond angry. Harry had not seen him in this state before, not even when he was angry at the twins before the world cup. His raised voice brought Mrs Weasley hurrying in from the kitchen. She looked from the mortified faces of her daughter and Harry and then took in her husband's furious countenance. She swelled alarmingly and Harry took the opportunity to flee to the kitchen, before he could witness whatever Mrs Weasley had in mind for her unwelcome guest.

He registered vaguely that Ginny spun about in the opposite direction and flew towards the stairs to seek, he assumed, the sanctuary of her bedroom. His own anger prevented him from focusing on her embarrassment at the moment. And he was too confused by her attitude to give much thought to what she had apparently said to Muriel, nor indeed why she would say any such thing if she was-as it appeared-giving him his marching orders.

8888

Harry didn't stop in the kitchen; he stormed through the back door and out into the garden with Ron and Hermione following in his wake. Their faces bore testament to the fact that they were not looking forward to the coming verbal confrontation with their friend.

Harry didn't stop until he was almost at the exact spot where he and his father had spoken earlier that afternoon. They were far enough away from the house that they would not be able to hear the verbal bollocking Mrs Weasley was no doubt serving up to Muriel. Harry stood glaring at the placid surface of the pond for several seconds; that calm water was a far cry from his own inner turmoil that was threatening to break free. He knew Ron and Hermione were behind him but he didn't think he could face them quite yet without really letting loose. He concentrated instead on the other source of his anger...his father.

All this stuff that had been happening since the Department of Mysteries and he, Harry hadn't known about it? How many times had he seen Snape-as he had been then-reading the Daily Prophet and being very careful not to let Harry see the headlines. Not once had Snape thought to tell him what was in the papers. Of course not! Why would he even think about telling Harry what was going on, especially about the articles directly concerning him? It was fifth year all over again. Last year the Prophet had told the world that he was a raving lunatic. What exactly had they been saying this year? He spun about to face his two best friends.

"How long did it take the pair of you to work out the edited version of what to tell me?" he demanded angrily. "And did you decide to do it off your own bat, or did someone tell you what not to tell me?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, their faces guilt ridden.

"Well?" snapped Harry.

"Harry..." began Hermione tentatively, but Harry cut her off.

"I don't want any of your psychobabble, Hermione. I want the truth without any embellishment." He looked at Ron for the explanation and Hermione, mortified beyond belief, pressed her lips tightly together, but held her tongue.

Ron looked panicky for a few seconds, but then he took a deep breath. "It was because of what happened last year that we didn't tell you about the...'The Chosen One', thing," he said in a rush.

Harry glared at Ron as if he was mad. "Because of what happened last year you decided not to tell me," he repeated. "Exactly what about what happened last year made the two of you think that I do better with less information than more?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks again and when they looked back at Harry, their faces held identical looks of dawning horror.

"Harry," said Hermione, her voice placatory. "The Chosen One isn't like what they were saying last year. It isn't demeaning in any way. It's just... ridiculous."

"Ridiculous how?" asked Harry.

"Ridiculous because the Prophet knows what happened at the Ministry, Harry. They know that you faced Voldemort again and that you escaped him again."

"I didn't face him!" growled Harry furiously. "Dumbledore did. I'd be dead if Dumbledore hadn't come when he did."

"The public need a hero, Harry, and you're it," said Hermione, ignoring his outburst. "They know that we fought Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, and that they were after a prophecy.

"And they've concluded that the prophecy was about you and...and You Know Who, mate," continued Ron. "And that it said that you were the only one...the only one who can kill him."

Harry suddenly felt a little light headed. They knew! How could they know? Dumbledore had said that nobody knew what the prophecy said except the two of them and senior members of the Order. And surely none of them would tell. But now that he thought about it, he wondered precisely how many Order members were considered ‘senior'.

Harry's gaze flicked from Ron to Hermione. He swallowed the huge lump in his throat before turning away and gazing out over the water again. "That's crap," he said quietly, but Hermione had noticed Harry's sudden evasiveness and disquiet.

"We know it is, mate," agreed Ron, relieved that Harry seemed to have calmed down. "But you know the idiots at the Prophet. They've never let the truth get in the way of a good story yet, have they?"

Hermione put her hand on Harry's back and rubbed a comforting circle. "Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry nodded brusquely. "Did you omit telling me anything else that's been happening while I've been incommunicado?" he asked, in a careful attempt to lead Ron, and especially Hermione away from talk of the prophecy. He wasn't ready to share the truth with them yet; he wasn't sure if he ever would be. He really hadn't come to terms with it himself, and he doubted he ever would.

Just precisely how did you come to terms with your inevitable and almost certainly, imminent death, or indeed tell your friends about it? Harry didn't want them to worry, that was for sure...and he knew they would if they found out.

"We told you everything we can think off," said Hermione quickly, eager to get back in Harry's good books. "We just thought...thought for your peace of mind, that it would be better for you not to know about that stupid ‘Chosen One', thing."

She paused and shook her bushy head. "Obviously not very good thinking on our parts. We didn't consider what would happen when we got back to school." She shot a look at Ron, as if the oversight was all his fault.

"Yeah...well, I can understand why you kept it from me," returned Harry in a resigned voice. "But just remember from now on...I hate being left in the dark. I'd much rather know the worst."

Ron and Hermione both nodded earnestly. "We promise never to keep anything from you again," said Hermione.

Harry squirmed a little. He thrust his hands into his pockets and scuffed the dirt with his trainer. Here was he berating his two best friends for keeping things from him, and he was doing exactly the same thing.

But there is a fundamental difference, he thought. My not telling them about the contents of the prophecy isn't going to hurt them at all. Their not telling me about the ‘Chosen One' thing, would have led to my being unprepared for all the unpleasantness from the Slytherins once we get back to school.

Now that his own actions were justified to his satisfaction, he redirected the conversation. Things had gotten way too serious and he didn't want to spend his time at the Burrow arguing with his friends. "Do you think your mum has finished putting your aunty Muriel back in her box?" he asked Ron.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Who knows. Muriel isn't shoved into a box very easily, but then again, Mum doesn't give up easily." He looked towards the house and let out a little huff of mirth. "At least the house is still standing."

Harry was looking towards the house too, but at Ginny's window specifically. He just didn't know what to make of her. She had told Muriel all about him apparently, but she was acting so weirdly around him. He had had visions of them being alone together for a few minutes and them catching up for lost time with a thoroughly enjoyable snog. He was already more than halfway addicted to snogging Ginny and they hadn't really even done it that often.

"Come on," said Ron, "we'd better get back to the house before they launch another search for you, Harry."

Harry fell into step beside Hermione as Ron strode ahead. "Umm...Hermione, did Ginny say anything to you?" he asked, trying to sound casual but knowing that he had failed miserably.

"Anything like what?" asked Hermione guardedly.

"I don't know. Just...anything." Harry knew he sounded impatient but he was really past caring.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, you really need to talk to Ginny yourself. She's...well, she's a bit upset. Muriel gave her a bit of a hard time."

"A hard time about what?"

"It's not my place to say, Harry. You need to speak to Ginny yourself." With that, Hermione hurried to catch up with Ron, purely and simply, Harry knew, so that he couldn't question her anymore.

As they neared the house, they could hear Muriel's strident voice ringing out from the lounge and the renewed clattering of dishes from the kitchen. It appeared that Mrs Weasley had returned to her task of preparing the loaves and fishes to feed the multitude and Muriel was reduced to insulting one of the male Weasleys.

When the three of them stepped into the kitchen, it was to find Fred and George helping their mother. So Bill and Mr Weasley had been left to guard their outspoken relative.

"You three get upstairs and wash up," ordered Mrs Weasley curtly. Harry, Ron and Hermione moved quickly across the room, eager to get out of the firing line, because it was obvious that Mrs Weasley was still in a towering rage. The twins looked up from their appointed tasks and rolled their eyes in unison. It would have been funny if Harry had been in the mood for laughing.

"And bring Ginny back down with you," Mrs Weasley called out to their retreating backs. "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes."

They carefully avoided looking at Muriel as they hurried through the living room; she was still holding court from the armchair and it appeared that Bill was now her hapless target. She was swigging firewhisky quite enthusiastically and from the slight slurring of her words, Harry presumed that this wasn't her first.

On the landing where the bathroom was situated, Hermione gave Harry a slight shove. "You go tell Ginny dinner's ready."

Harry frowned. He wasn't sure that he was ready for a confrontation yet.

"Go on," pressed Hermione, giving him another push, and she darted into the bathroom before Harry could argue. Harry looked at Ron for help, but Ron just shrugged his shoulders and leaned back against the wall, awaiting his turn in the bathroom.

"She's been weird since she got back," opined Ron. "No doubt it is you she needs to see."

"But what's the matter with her?" asked Harry confusedly.

Ron shrugged again. "Don't know. She hasn't spoken to anyone but Hermione. But seeing as she's still acting weird, it's probably you she needs to talk to."

Harry looked up the eight stairs to the next level where Ginny's bedroom was situated. Those eight stairs looked awfully difficult to climb.

"Are you sure that you're ready for the hassles of having a girlfriend?" asked Ron with a smirk. "You know you'll never be right about anything again, as long as you're together, don't you?"

Harry looked at his best mate and shook his head. "There are compensations, you know. And neither you nor I have been right about anything for the last five years anyway, so I'm used to that."

He put his foot on the bottom tread before adding, "You might think about garnering some compensations for being wrong all the time, yourself, old pal." He hurried up the stairs, but he could imagine Ron's look of total incomprehension.

But at Ginny's door, Harry paused again. Did he want this confrontation now? Was he ready for Ginny to officially give him the bum's rush? Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and knocked on the door. If she was going to give him the bum's rush, then he might just as well know the worst.

For several seconds there was no response from the other side of the door, then a quiet voice said, "Tell Mum that I'm not hungry."

Blow that for a joke, thought Harry. Before he lost his nerve, he opened the door and quickly slipped through. Ginny was lying on her bed facing the wall, her beautiful hair spread across the pillow.

"I wouldn't be game," said Harry quietly. It was as though Ginny had been poked with a cattle prod. She jerked upright, turned, and sprang to her feet to face Harry all in one movement. Her face was pale, but hectic colour was climbing into her cheeks.

"Harry! What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing here, Gin? I want to know what's going on. Why haven't you talked to me since you got back? Why were you so distant when you Floo called?"

"I wasn't!" Ginny automatically denied.

"Ginny, you hardly even looked at me!" Harry flared. "A quick, awkward hello, and then you spoke to Bill and Ron, and your mum."

Suddenly Ginny's eyes were swimming with tears and she turned her back. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wanted to talk to you, but Muriel could hear everything I said." She began crying even harder, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.

Harry looked at her helplessly. He really was at a loss. "But you'd already told her about me, hadn't you? From what she said downstairs..." Harry trailed off. He was very confused

Ginny dashed the tears from her cheeks before turning back to face Harry. "I didn't mean to bring you up, Harry, I truly didn't. But she was talking about me staying with her for a couple of weeks and I told her that I couldn't because you were coming to stay.

"She cackled in that horrible way she does and said ‘and why should that worry you, missy? Isn't he Ronald's friend?'" Ginny shook her head. "But of course, she had already guessed. And she just went on and on, and before I knew it, I had said more than I really wanted to."

Tears were spilling from Ginny's eyes again, and Harry couldn't stand it a moment longer. He covered the tiny space between them and pulled her into his arms. She half-heartedly tried to shrug him off but quickly succumbed to the comfort he offered and began to sob on his shoulder. Harry buried his face in her hair and rubbed soothing circles on her back.

"So, I've still got a girlfriend, then?" he asked, kissing her fiery locks. "Because you know, I thought you'd given me the push."

"Oh, Harry!" Ginny sobbed even harder. "I'm so sorry."

"What for?" laughed Harry. As long as she still wanted him, he didn't care what she had done.

"She said...Muriel said..." But at that precise moment, there was a loud thump on the door.

"Come on you two," called Ron. "Mum's having kittens. Leave some for later, Potter." Harry heard him sniggering as he thundered back down the stairs.

"You can tell me what she said later," said Harry and he put a finger under Ginny's chin and lifted her face for a kiss.

Several wonderful seconds later, Harry pulled back with a groan of frustration. "Come on, I suppose we'd better get down there."

Ginny bit her bottom lip. "Maybe if you go first, it won't give Aunty Muriel as much ammunition as if we walk in together," she said.

Harry looked at her, his brows slightly furrowed. "Are you ashamed to be seen with me?" he asked, slightly annoyed again.

"No, Harry, of course not!" said Ginny desperately, grabbing hold of his hand. "I just don't want her hassling you. She's a total embarrassment."

"Gin, you've met my family. Nobody is more embarrassing than them. Not even Muriel." He tugged on her hand and together they left the room and headed down the stairs. In the kitchen, Harry was annoyed to see that he had been seated as far away from Ginny as possible. Poor Ginny was sitting opposite Muriel, who was on the same side of the long table as Harry, and would have to lean forward or back to see past Ron and Hermione to stick her barb into Harry again.

He had known that the meal was going to be uncomfortable, but Harry hadn't thought it would be quite so appetite suppressing. Muriel was more than half drunk and as a result, was even more obnoxious than she had been earlier. She complained about Molly's cooking: the chicken was too dry, Bill's choice of girlfriend: French, William, whatever were you thinking? Even absent Charlie was not off limits: dragons, Arthur, whatever is the boy on about?

Harry glanced nervously at Mrs Weasley. She was steadily eating her way through her portion of roast chicken and vegetables, but Harry noticed that her hands were trembling slightly; her face was set and her eyes bright with fury.

Muriel's bleary eyes had finally alighted on Mr Weasley when Mrs Weasley made her move. She had finally reached the end of her tether. Muriel Weasley was not going to target any more of her family with her viper's tongue, not if she had anything to say about it. Before any of them realised what had happened, Molly Weasley's wand was in her hand and pointed at Muriel.

"Molly, no!"

"Mum!"

Bill and Mr Weasley sprang to their feet and Bill, who was closest to his mother made a grab for her wand hand, but Molly was too quick for him. Muriel was too far into her cups to register the excitement going on around her, and she just kept on talking.

"Silencio!" screeched Molly, and though Muriel's lips kept on moving, no words emerged. Bill and his father sagged with relief but Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George were all still staring from Molly to Muriel in varying states of shock. Muriel seemed to have suddenly realised that something was not quite right because she was now clutching at her throat.

Evil grins were unfurling on the twins faces. Fred banged the table several times with his hands in a noisy form of applause. "Way to go, Mum!" he chortled.

"Impressive," added George, his grin nearly splitting his face in half. "You have hidden depths, Mother."

Molly ignored all of them. She leaned on the table with one hand and held her wand close to Muriel's face with the other. Muriel reared back, seeming much more sober all of a sudden. If she could have made a noise, she would have been squawking. Arthur strode the length of the table and snatched Molly's wand from her hand. Molly allowed herself to be disarmed, but her tongue was still loaded and primed.

"You invite yourself into my home and proceed to insult everyone you lay eyes upon. My children-and I count Harry and Hermione in their number-are off-limits to you from now on, Muriel Weasley. My home is also off limits to you until you can decide that you will act in a way that is commensurate with what the rest of the world considers to be socially acceptable. Age is not an excuse for being a horrible old hag!"

"Here, here!" agreed the twins.

"Fred, George, that's enough!" said Mr Weasley. Harry didn't know whether the poor man looked more upset or proud. Perhaps a combination of the two. He took his wife's upper arm in a gently, persuasive grip and guided her away from the table. He looked at Bill distractedly.

"Bill, please take Muriel home and make sure everything is all right at her end. Tandy, her house elf, will look after her. You just check the wards, would you?"

"Sure, Dad." Bill eased a clearly livid, but still totally silent Muriel out of her chair and guided her into the living room. Harry, Hermione, and the four youngest Weasleys remained in their seats, grinning and exchanging awed looks.

"That's our mum!" said Fred, and he and George exchanged a gleeful high five.

"She was awesome," agreed Ginny.

"Now we know where you got your power, as well as your temper from, little sis," said George, pulling a lock of Ginny's long hair. He turned to Harry.

"Just watch yourself, little bro," he added. "I'd hate to have to pick up the pieces and try and put them back together again, if this little Chinese Fireball loses it with you." He lifted the lock of Ginny's hair and waved the end of it at Harry. Ginny pulled her hair free and turned to her twin brothers who both cowered away in mock fear.

"I don't think Harry need worry, my dear brothers, but you two should be afraid. You should be very afraid!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione laughed at the sight of Fred and George cowering away from their diminutive youngest sibling. As Harry stared at Ginny, he was struck anew at just how gorgeous she was. He still couldn't believe that it had taken him so long to notice her in a romantic light. He wondered if she hadn't made the first move, whether he would have ever had the nerve to approach her. It didn't matter now, he supposed.

"Well," said Ron, "now that that successful visit is at an end, how about pudding?" Hermione and Ginny rolled their eyes, but Ron missed the exchange as he had already risen and crossed to the oven to extract the treacle tart he knew his mother had made in honour of Harry's return to the Burrow.

Hermione began to cut portions of tart while Ron found the vanilla ice cream, and though Harry wasn't even slightly hungry, he had a small piece. He was aware that Mrs Weasley had made it because she knew it was his favourite.

When most of the tart was demolished-they left two small slices for Bill and Mr Weasley-the five of them worked in surprising harmony to clean up the kitchen. With Fred and George's magical help, everything was spick and span within fifteen minutes. They then informed the others that they were off to meet Angelina and Alicia and with sly winks at Ron and Harry, they told them that they may or may not be back later.

Harry and Ron grinned in appreciation but Hermione shook her head and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Behave yourself, children," said Fred, with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, and with that, he followed George into the Floo where they disappeared in a flash of green flames.

"Lucky dogs," whispered Ron to Harry when the girls were safely occupied putting the kettle on the burner and setting out a tray of tea things for Mr and Mrs Weasley.

Harry nodded, and he couldn't help thinking about a future where he and Ginny would be as intimate as the twins and their girlfriends appeared to be. It was a lovely thought, but Harry swore to himself that he was not going to be a pushy boyfriend. Ginny could set the pace, he was determined on that score.

"Come on Ron," said Hermione. Let's take this up for your mum and dad.

Ron scowled. "Why can't you and Ginny take it up?" he asked.

Hermione raised her eyebrows significantly, but Ron didn't catch on. "Because, Ron, I thought you and I could take it up and maybe then we could have a game of wizards chess."

Ron's own eyebrows rose so high, they disappeared under his shaggy fringe. "You! Play chess with me. Since when have you been interested in wizards chess?" he asked. He looked at Harry with an expression of incredulity.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Ron," burst out Ginny. "Would you just disappear already! I want to talk to Harry...alone."

Ron goggled for a moment and then a knowing grin unfurled, and when he clapped Harry on the back and waggled his eyebrows, he looked positively juvenile. Ginny rolled her eyes. "Will you get out and get your mind out of the gutter!" snapped Ginny.

"My mind isn't in the gutter," protested Ron. "But you can't tell me you just want to talk, Gin."

Ginny drew her wand so fast, it was a blur. She held it in front of Ron's long nose. "Mum's not the only one who can do a Silencing Charm," she said in a threatening voice. "And I just might follow it up with the Bat-Bogey Hex if you don't leave. Now!"

Harry remembered Ron telling him that the Ministry couldn't really detect underage magic in a household like the Burrow where there were so many adults, but he had to wonder whether they might not be a little suspicious if they registered a Bat-Bogey Hex originating at the Burrow. They would surely have to wonder what adult would cast such a spell.

Ron however wasn't taking any chances. After shooting a glower at his little sister, he hurried after Hermione who was already at the base of the stairs.

Ginny sighed and put her wand away before turning to finish the task of making two cups of tea for herself and Harry. Harry crossed the kitchen and made a move to take both her shoulders to turn her to face him. But she had picked up both cups and they were now held between them, almost like an unwitting shield. Keeping her gaze on the cups, Ginny held one out to Harry.

Now that they were alone, she had gone quiet, and almost shy again. Harry took both cups from her and put them back on the bench. He then took her shoulders in his hands and bent his head to look her in the eye.

"Gin, what's the matter?"

Ginny bit her bottom lip and her eyes were once again sparkling with unshed tears. "I'm sorry to be such a pain," she whispered. "I don't usually cry like this." And one tear escaped each eye and slid down either side of her nose.

Harry clasped his fingers behind Ginny's head and caught the tears with his thumbs. "Is this about what Muriel said to you?" he asked gently.

Ginny swallowed and then she was howling on his chest, just as she had done earlier.

"What?" asked Harry, a little desperately. "What could she have said that is so bad? Surely you just ignore everything that comes out of her mouth, because you must know she's just trying to get a rise out of you."

"I can't ignore this," hiccoughed Ginny, her voice muffled against Harry's jacket.

"Why?"

"She said that I'm just like her. She said that if I kept on being pushy and bossy, I would get exactly what I wanted in life. She said that's how she caught Dad's Uncle Xavier and his Gringott's vault full of galleons." And with that, Ginny burst into even more anguished sobs and Harry was left to comfort her as best he could, while feeling totally lost and bewildered.

Severus stepped out of the Floo in Dumbledore's office and brushed tiredly,andpointlessly at his robes. There wasn't a speck of ash anywhere. With an exhaustedsigh, he began to climb the stairs that hugged the rounded wall of the tower andbrought him to the headmaster's living room-cum library-cum dining room.

The old man was ensconced in a deep burgundy, suede armchair, his glasses perched low on the long crooked nose, a sheath of parchment in his hand and another great stack on the small table beside the chair.

Albus was already peering towards the stairs, having heard the Floo, and when Severus appeared at the top, Albus smiled a fond welcome. But the sight of the shadows under Severus's eyes, and the uncharacteristic droop to his normally erect shoulders, wiped the smile away. Without a word, he picked up his wand, and with a rapid series movements, another chair shot into position in front, and slightly to the side of his own, along with another table. A tea-tray appeared as well, twirling in mid-air for a few seconds before settling gently on the tabletop.

Severus sank into the chair and with a sigh, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I'm getting too old for this crap, Albus," he informed his friend. "I really don't know how much longer I can tolerate the degradation of serving that megalomaniac. I am a favourite at this point in time-much to Bella's everlasting, spiteful and pathetic jealousy-but that is just as nauseating to me as being the lowest of the low, who are nothing more than expendable foot soldiers, or are targets for his perverted sense of humour."

Albus remained silent as he poured two cups of aromatic, Darjeeling tea.  Severus inhaled deeply; the fruity, floral undertones helped to calm his emotions and soothe his tired muscles. Albus added the drop of milk that he knew Severus preferred and held the cup and saucer out. The fragrant steam tickled Severus's nose and his nostrils twitched appreciatively. Peeling his eyelids apart, he straightened his posture before taking the offering from Albus's very nearly normal-looking hand.

As Severus studied the hand with his healer's eye, Albus turned it over and back for him. "As you can see, my talented young friend, you did an exemplary job," he said with absolute sincerity.

Severus took a sip of his drink and raised a mocking eyebrow. "Don't you mean me, and that amazing wand of yours?"

Albus waved an airy hand. "The magic I produced with my wand was just a stopgap, my boy. It localised the damage until you could work the real magic." Albus stared at Severus over the top of his teacup. "You always have underestimated your contribution, Severus."

Severus huffed a self-deprecating laugh. "Yes, Albus, my contribution is inestimable. After all, how many others could say that they are a member of the Order of the Phoenix and that they just supplied their nemesis with a truly barbaric poison that could conceivably kill hundreds of Muggles and wizards alike?

"It will not kill as many as it would have done without your remarkable talent for obfuscation, Severus," contradicted Albus. "Your position is inestimable...because of you, we can, and do, make a small difference. Yes, terrible things still do happen, but without your presence in the enemy camp, we would not be able to anticipate any of his actions, and even more would die."

Albus knew that he could do little to alleviate the young man's guilt. That one huge, miscalculated step, nearly two decades ago was the albatross around Severus's neck that prevented him from thinking he had any right to even the smallest degree of contentment; nothing he had done since could compensate, in his opinion for the deeds that he had been forced to commit under the aegis of Lord Voldemort. And even after he had convinced his evil boss that he could be put to better use in his capacity as a healer and a potioneer, Severus had still witnessed too much murder and mayhem for him to ever feel clean again.

And though he had not participated for a long time in the bloody and torturous violence that was Voldemort's bread and butter, he had still remained, albeit with growing despair, within the ranks of the Death Eaters. It had taken the subject of the overheard prophecy and the relaying of its contents to Voldemort to make Severus decide he could no longer tolerate the horror of a life under the strictures of a genocidal maniac. And the subsequent, shocking decision by Voldemort to dispose of Lily and James Potter and their infant son had been the catalyst that had sent Severus back into Albus's orbit.

And though he had been bitter and unwilling to fully trust-and definitely not befriend-at that time, the man considered by many to be the greatest wizard of the age, Albus had managed to convince Severus Snape to fight for the light; to spy for them. And so he had...for seventeen months Severus had played one side against the other; he had convinced Voldemort that he had heard that the position of Potions Professor at Hogwarts had become available and that if he applied and was successful, he would be in the very camp of that Muggle-loving fool, Albus Dumbledore.

Voldemort had listened to his brilliant young potioneer and healer, but had not committed himself immediately. Instead, he had sent Severus away and had pondered the proposal; he had looked at it from every angle...had weighed the pros and cons, until, finally convincing himself that the idea had definite merit, he had agree to it. Indeed, so good was the idea, he had convinced himself that it was his own, and when he had called Severus back into his presence and had presented the idea as if it were his own, Severus had happily bowed to his Lord's amazing insight and had begun working for Albus Dumbledore.

But Voldemort had had one small trump up his sleeve that Severus had known nothing of...Peter Pettigrew. Voldemort had made sure to keep the fourth, and most ineffectual Marauder's presence within his ranks a secret from the rest of his followers; he did not want this second spy's presence , becoming general knowledge. And Peter Pettigrew had finally earned his keep by revealing the Potters' whereabouts, within hours of having been made the Secret Keeper for the young family.

Still, Severus had carried out his double duties-even if he could not offer up the identity of the traitor that Dumbledore was sure lurked within the Order-until the unparalleled happenings of that terrible Halloween night nearly fifteen years previously. The vanquishing of Voldemort by an infant, had meant that the continuation of Severus's spying duties could be put on hold...for how long, neither Albus, nor Severus had known, but they had both been positive that they had not seen the last of the Dark Lord.

Severus had wrapped himself firmly in his guilt, and he had carried out-albeit with little enthusiasm-his teaching duties at Hogwarts after Albus had gone to bat for him and kept him out of Azkaban. Few Death Eaters who had managed to talk their way out of Azkaban, trusted Severus Snape any longer, especially as their most hated nemesis, Albus Dumbledore had made it clear that Severus Snape fought for the side of the Light.

One who had maintained contact was Lucius Malfoy; he, in his arrogance could not conceive of any who had served Lord Voldemort being seduced to any other way of thinking. Lucius enjoyed the prestige of maintaining a friendship with one as clever and accomplished as Severus Snape and one whom his Lord had trusted implicitly. This pseudo-friendship had been beneficial to Severus and he had occasionally been able to furnish Dumbledore with information of a nature that may have led to a resurgence of dark activity if action had not been taken to curb any such occurrences.

It went without saying that Lucius and many others had maintained their beliefs in their pure-blood heritage making them superior to the lesser bred magical folk, but even Lucius, a man truly convinced of his superiority,  had not felt omnipotent enough to become the new face of evil. Even Bellatrix, if she had remained at liberty, would not have taken over from her Lord, because her belief in him and his doctrine had been all-consuming, and she had refused to believe him gone. But she would have happily continued along his evil route if she had been at liberty to do so, until such time as she could find him again and fall at his feet.

Severus finished his tea and replaced his cup and saucer on the table. Albus studied the young man before him with a discerning eye. Severus had not expressed his displeasure for his current lot in life quite so frequently, nor so vehemently as he had done over the last two weeks, since before the return of Voldemort a year ago. But Albus thought that he could sense a lightening of the man's unhappiness, a lessening of the lines of pain and discontent about his mouth and forehead, and a shadow of something that might have been hope within the ebony depths of his eyes.

Severus's voice was disgustedly resigned when he spoke. "The Dark Lord was rather preoccupied this afternoon; I'm sure he has something diabolical in the works, but he was far from forthcoming. I could sense Bella's discontent. He is not confiding in her and it's driving her insane...even more insane than she already is, which does not do a lot for a disposition that is truly delightful at the best of times."

"The charming witch cornered me as I was leaving and spewed vitriol all over me, before actually spitting at me." Severus brushed at a spot on the shoulder of his robes with a look of distaste adorning his features. "She is somewhat discontented that she is no longer considered to be the most loyal, the most trusted of that megalomaniac's remaining inner circle. She has been tarred with the same brush as Lucius because of the failed attempt to retrieve the prophecy; she is the lucky one though, because, despite it having been her hand that was responsible for the demise of Black, she escaped Azkaban."

Severus paused in his recital and stared back at Albus. "If she could, I am sure she would kill me. As it was, she hissed at me that as I seem to be totally incapable-or more to the point, in her opinion, totally disinclined-she was taking it upon herself to find Harry and present him, gift-wrapped to her Lord. It did not matter what I told her about the blood protection...she cannot conceive of not being able to do Harry harm even with the protection in play. She refuses to believe that your magic could be powerful enough to counter the Dark Lord's desires, despite evidence to the contrary. She is convinced that I do not wish Harry to be captured or killed."

"Very astute, our Mrs Lestrange," said Albus. "You have not tried very hard...you have not tried at all, even before your feelings for Harry changed."

Severus threw a narrow-eyed, warning glare at Dumbledore. He did not like being reminded of his history where it concerned Harry, neither the early history, nor the recent. He needed to come to terms with these changed circumstances by himself.

"The last thing we need Severus, is Bellatrix Lestrange running around mounting her very own vendetta against Harry, especially when her boss is so conveniently taking you at your word about his not being able to cause Harry, nor the Dursleys harm whilst Lily's protection is in play."

"Do you honestly think he really believes that, Albus?" asked Severus, scornfully. "Especially when the Dark Lord himself was able to possess Quirrell, and Bartemius Crouch Junior was able to guide Harry through the Tri-Wizard tournament with the purpose of sending him to his death. Not to mention the fact that Wormtail lived in Harry's presence for nearly three years." Severus had flung himself out of his chair and was pacing backwards and forwards and his voice was ominous in its barely restrained anger.

"Hell, Crouch and Wormtail had dark marks...I had the dark mark! And we were all able to be within the boy's presence."

"Severus, I have explained this to you to the best of my knowledge before," said Dumbledore in tired and regretful tones.

"Explain again!" said Severus through clenched teeth, hardening his heart against these uncharacteristic signs of weakness in his friend. He was not sure how the conversation had deteriorated so completely; he had not had any intention of even bringing up the subject of Harry and his near escapes. But somehow, Harry was never far from the front of his mind these days, and Bella's threat had obviously wormed its way deeper into his psyche than he had realised at the time. He needed Albus to reassure him that Bella would not be able to reach his son.

"Quirell did not have a dark mark...he was a vessel for Voldemort, he acted on Voldemort's orders, and as Voldemort was less than human at that time, I can only assume that that is how he was able to get past the wards within the castle...they recognised Quirrell, who had been at the school for several years.

"Peter Pettigrew was able to be so close to Harry, partly, I imagine because of his animagus form, and because he had no intention of hurting Harry. In his mind, Voldemort was gone and he had nothing to gain from murdering Harry; it was much more to his advantage to remain hidden from his fellow Death Eaters and from the Ministry. He was well fed and spoiled, and I am sure he would even, on occasion revert to his human form to partake of certain human rituals that he would not have been able to enjoy as a rat." At Severus's sceptical look, Dumbledore added, "In the Muggle world, of course, well away from any who might recognise him. He might have been a rat physically, Severus, but he would still have had a man's urges."

"He was never a man," bit out Severus contemptuously. "A man doesn't hand two of his best friends and their child over to be murdered.

"Quite," agreed Dumbledore mildly, but Severus had no illusions that Peter Pettigrew was held in any higher esteem by the old wizard than by himself.

"To continue," said Dumbledore, "You were never a threat to Harry and the wards recognised you because you, like Quirrell were under my aegis, and you were actually protecting Harry.

"So much for your wards, Dumbledore," said Severus, his voice bitter with self-condemnation. "I did everything in my power to harm the boy."

"You were not out to murder him, Severus, and you were helping to protect him from those who were out to cause him physical harm."

Severus stood at the window and looked out over the moonlit castle grounds He did not respond to Albus's attempts to diminish his sins; it was something that he knew he would never be able to do himself. Even before the discovery of his and Harry's relationship, when Severus had been unable to stop himself from attacking James's son, his own cousin, at every turn, guilt had always reared its head whenever he had felt those green eyes glaring at him with hatred, and often confusion. Those beautiful green eyes that might have been lifted straight form Lily's lovely face and transplanted into her son.

Severus shook himself out of this reverie, forcing his mind back to the topic at hand. "And Moody, Albus? How did Moody, who was working directly for the reincarnated Dark Lord, manage to even get into your school, let alone be in frequent close contact with Harry, when he had every desire for harm to befall him."

Albus sighed and took his glasses off. He studied them minutely as he opened and closed the ear pieces over and over again.

"Once again, I can only put his being able to be within the school without detection down to his Poly-juiced persona. And as for his being able to interact with Harry so closely...well, that has to be down to the fact that Moody was actually doing everything in his power to protect and help Harry....to get him through the first two tasks and into the maze with a substantial head start."

Severus snorted in disgust. "So Harry should have been protected by the magic you evoked after Lily's sacrifice, and by the wards here at Hogwarts, and yet, he has come close to death too many times to count."

"I have never claimed to be omniscient, Severus," said Albus regretfully. "I did all that I could think of to keep Harry safe. Before school starts again in September, all of the teachers will join with me to reinforce the wards...not just for Harry's sake of course, now that Voldemort and his Death Eaters are fully active again." Albus held up the sheets of parchment he had been working on when Severus had arrived.

"I have been working on the problem." Severus walked across the room and took the papers. They were covered with Albus's easily recognisable, elegant slanted and looped writing. The screed was very technical, and Severus wasn't ashamed to admit that much of it went over his head. Albus's knowledge of the mechanics of spell casting was second to none.

No one, except for perhaps Tom Riddle had come close to equalling the genius of Albus Dumbledore in living memory. Indeed, Severus doubted any of the four founders, nor Merlin himself would have been more powerful than Hogwart's current headmaster. And yet, for some reason, this remarkable wizard was not, according to himself, going to be able to finish off the Dark Lord. That particular, seemingly impossible task was to fall upon the shoulders of Harry Potter...his son. His and Lily's and James's son.

"I bow to your superior knowledge, Albus," said Severus, handing back the sheath of parchment. "Forgive my maundering. I am finding the whole situation with Harry to be more than I can tolerate with equanimity; and if you ever thought that you would hear such words from me, then I know you would be lying. But I do know you're doing everything you can, and nobody could do better. It has always been the same. Harry is fortunate to have you in his corner.

"As he is fortunate to have found you, my boy, even at this late stage of the game. His discovery of a living father can do nothing but make him stronger and more able to face his ultimate fate."

Severus shook his head. "Until you explain to me why this has to be Harry, Albus, I cannot believe this is his fate...regardless of the prophecy."

"Albus sighed deeply and looked infinitely sad. "Were I able to make it different, I would, Severus. You must know that I would take on the task myself if I knew I could do the job. But I know my efforts would end up being for naught. Voldemort would kill me and then I would be unable to help guide Harry towards his ultimate destiny."

"But what can a sixteen year old boy do?" demanded Severus, his frustration running high. "If Harry was going to be the possessor of powers to equal yours or the Dark Lords, we would surely know it by now."

"Harry is not as ineffectual a wizard as you have often accused him of being, Severus."

"I know that! You must know I never really thought that. It was just me venting my spleen. And I have actually been on the receiving end of Harry's wild magic, Albus, as I'm sure you remember."

"I am convinced that Harry's powers will increase greatly between now and when he reaches his majority."

"He will need special tuition," said Severus, somewhat frantically.

"He will get it, Severus," assured Albus. "Though it will not be in the form that you envision." Severus frowned.

"I have much to impart to Harry over the next school year, but it will not be advanced defence. He will continue with his classes as normal," said Dumbledore.

"Then what?" cried Severus.

Albus looked regretful. "I have not entirely made up my mind whether it would be prudent to share with you, what I have to impart to Harry."

Severus drew himself up. "As you have taken great pains to point out to me, old man, I am Harry's father."

"And you are also, rather frequently, in the presence of Voldemort. What I have to teach Harry would be dangerous for you to know. If Voldemort was able to Legilimise you..."

"You discount my own skills in that area?" hissed Severus.

"You know I do not. But chance cannot be discounted. And this knowledge, if it got back to him, would be the end of any hope of even Harry finishing him for good."

Severus glared at Albus. "So, this is your last word? You will not allow me to help my son?"

"You will help him by just being there for him, Severus."

Severus opened his mouth to argue more, but at that moment, Minerva appeared at the top of the spiral staircase. Her stern demeanour lightened a little when she saw Severus, and she conjured a tight smile.

"Severus, how are you this evening?" And without waiting for an answer, she turned to Albus. "And why are you not getting yourself ready for bed, Albus Dumbledore?" she admonished, as if she was talking to one of her more recalcitrant Gryffindors.

"Minerva, my love..."

"Don't you think you can get around me, just because Severus is here. I am sure he would agree with me that you still need plenty of rest. It is barely two days since your injury and it will not be down to me if you do not recover fully."

Albus waved his hand in the air so that the wide sleeve of his purple dressing gown fell back to reveal the still delicate, newly healed skin. "It is recovered fully," he said with a winning smile.

Minerva produced her wand and before Albus could blink, she had banished all of the papers from his table. "There, you have nothing left to work on this evening." She pointed her wand towards the bed chamber. "You have the choice of taking yourself off to bed, or I will transport you there myself."

Severus had to turn away towards the window to hide his mirth. Even the greatest wizard of the age could be brought undone by a very determined female.

Albus acquiesced, albeit with much grumbling, but Severus could detect a wealth of fatigue in his voice, and when he turned back to watch the old man's progress, in his shuffling walk towards the bed chamber. "I bid you goodnight, Severus," said Albus, pausing at the bedroom door. "Perhaps we will be permitted to finish our discussion sometime tomorrow." Severus inclined his head before making for the stairs.

"Severus, if you could spare a few moments, I would like a word with you myself," said Minerva. "I will just see Albus settled."

Severus wondered what she could possibly want with him this late in the evening, but he returned to the window and gazed out over the tops of the tress that were limned with silver, even though the moon was only just a sliver of brightness in the night sky. For once, there didn't appear to be any mist.

When Minerva re-appeared ten minutes later, she informed Severus that Albus was already asleep and that he was as stubborn as the day was long and ridiculously blasé about his own health. "He should have been in bed over an hour ago; he is still recovering from that injury." She looked at Severus shrewdly. "Did he tell you how he sustained such a terrible injury, Severus?"

Ahh, so this is why she wishes to speak to me...to interrogate me.

"No, Minerva, he did not. He is as secretive with me as he is with you. You know, I am sure, that Albus does his own thing without reference to others."

Minerva narrowed her eyes. Severus could see that she was in two minds as to whether she believed him or not. He did not know what Albus had told her; she knew, of course, that he had been hurt, but she had never seen the state of his hand as Severus had. Severus did not know whether Albus had told her that his injury was the result of a very dark curse. And it was not up to him to make her cognisant of that fact.

‘Well, if that is all," he said now, moving again towards the stairs. He was in desperate need of a scalding shower and at least six hours sleep.

"No, it is not all," contradicted Minerva, shortly, and with an irritated sigh, Severus turned back to face her, placing his hands on the back of Albus's wing-backed chair.

"Can't this wait, Minerva?" he asked, doing little to hide his impatience. "I have had a trying day and I wish to become reacquainted with my pillow."

"Then I will make it quick," sniffed Minerva. "As the world seems to have been turned on its head lately and it appears that I am to defer to you in all matters relating to Harry, I would like to talk to you about his OWL results."

Severus's lethargy was quickly dispelled at the mention of Harry. His chin came up; Minerva's tone illustrated her disquiet about Harry's changed circumstances. "I'm sorry that you obviously disapprove of my newly established paternity, Minerva. But if Harry and I can make an effort to overcome our previous-shall we say-less than cordial feelings towards each other, then it would behove you, as his head of house, to try to do the same. I am Harry's father, and I will be taking responsibility for him from here on out."

"And I am-as you so correctly point out, Severus-Harry's head of house and therefore, his welfare within this school is my responsibility." Severus opened his mouth with every intention of putting Minerva in her rightful place in matters relating to Harry Potter, but Minerva forestalled him by holding up an imperious hand that automatically had him falling silent, much as he had done when he was a student under her overly strict eye.

"I do not desire to argue with you about the truly remarkable events of the last little while Severus, and though I admit I find it difficult to picture you actually..." Minerva paused, obviously searching around for an appropriately benign word, and actually coming up with three, "taking an interest in Harry, with the memory of your past relationship rearing its ugly head every time I think on it, I cannot deny your paternity. I only hope that you are serious in your desire to be a true parent to the boy...it will do him good to be able to revel in the knowledge of a real parental presence in his life."

Severus wanted to tell her, in his most disdainful voice, that because of the paternity that she could not deny, he had the right to treat Harry anyway that he chose...but the concern he could see in her pinched lips and bright eyes reminded him that she only had Harry's best interests at heart and she was finding it difficult to ever picture him in a parental role, let alone as Harry Potter's father. He clamped his lips together in an effort to hold back his biting retort.

"You do not need to worry, Minerva, I have no intention of abusing my newly discovered position. It has taken a while, but it would seem that I am not altogether different to other men who find themselves new fathers. It is insidious, but responsibility does overtake one...even, I admit, a growing sense of caring that I might one day actually be able to label affection."

If Minerva was shocked by the usually, cold and aloof man's speech being tantamount to an admission of actually being capable of softer emotions, she did her best to hide it. She did not want to jeopardise that which may well be the calming influence that Harry needed. Oh, how she hoped so.

Their eyes drilled into each other for several long, uncomfortable seconds, and Minerva was the first to look away. She could see no subterfuge in his expression. She sniffed and drew herself up. "Very well. I look forward to conferring with you in regards to Harry. Up till now, all decisions concerning Harry have been made by Albus, with my occasional input."

Minerva sniffed again, making it very clear that she did not approve of many of the things Albus had allowed Harry to get away with. Severus found himself in full accord with her on that score.

"So, Minerva, what is it you wish to talk about, now that we have put your disquiet on the back burner."

"Actually, it is more your position as Harry's teacher that I wish to appeal to." She smiled happily now. "The present circumstance makes this appeal easier, I must say." Severus's finely arched brows-so like Harry's, Minerva noted with surprise-lowered ominously.

"I am not sure whether your interactions with Harry to date have revealed to you his desire to become an Auror." Severus's eyebrows now arched in surprise...answer enough for Minerva.

"I have been comparing results for the OWL students with their career choices, and Harry's desire to be an Auror is fully on track with excellent results in all his subjects."

"All?" said Severus, sure now where this was going.

"Yes, Severus, all! At least, all, if all his teachers were reasonable in their expectations."

Now Severus's right eyebrow did its usual aerobics, rising independently of its fellow. "Ah, I see. Our young Gryffindor didn't receive an outstanding in potions."

"Of course he didn't!" snapped Minerva. "How could he have, with the torture sessions that were his lessons down in that accursed dungeon classroom."

Severus chose to ignore this diatribe. "And exactly what grade did Harry get? Did he manage to scrape an ‘acceptable'?"

"Actually, he was awarded an ‘exceeds expectations'. Without your usual torture, he managed to do exceedingly well on his exam. But that, combined with his marks from his class assignments...his unfair class assignment marks, he missed out on an outstanding."

Severus was surprised. He had, of course watched as his students had performed their practical, Potions OWL, but he had not been privy to the results of their written exam. Harry-or Potter as he had been then-had performed quite well on the practical, left to his own devices. And though, with his class work, Severus had always awarded Harry the mark he had actually earned in his own records, not the one that was scrawled on his assignment-they were more often than not fails-he was surprised to learn that Harry had gotten higher than an acceptable.

Perhaps he had been wrong...perhaps Harry did have the makings of a potioneer. After all, the ability must be hidden within his makeup somewhere, as his three parents were, all competent potioneers, and he Severus, was actually considered to be one of the most talented potioneers in Europe. Perhaps the fact of the two of them having been in close proximity to each other had bought out the worst in both of them...Severus had done his best to undermine Harry's every effort, and Harry may well have decided that it was not worth his effort to even attempt to work to his full ability.

Minerva cleared her throat. "Perhaps you would be able to see your way clear to do something about allowing your son, admission to your new NEWT class, Severus. I know you have never made exceptions before, but I think in this case...well, perhaps a makeup exam of your own devising. None of the other students need know about it."

"How many others received the requisite grade to get into NEWT Potions, Minerva?"

"I am sure you must have a fair idea. But if you allow Harry in, there will be nine in the class...that is if all those who received an outstanding wish to go on with Potions."

"I know that Mr Weasley will not have received the necessary grade to continue with Potions. Do you think Harry will wish to continue on with the subject if Weasley is not in the class? Or do you think I should allow him to sit a makeup exam as well?"

Minerva sighed again. "Ronald Weasley only got an acceptable, I'm afraid."

Severus crossed his arms and rubbed a forefinger along his thin, upper lip, seemingly lost in thought. Minerva thought he was winding himself up to turn down her request. She spread her arms and then slapped her hands noisily against her sides.

"For heaven's sake, Severus, I thought you said you were coming to care for Harry. And you know very well that you have been grossly unfair to him during the whole of his time so far at Hogwarts."

"I did not say that I would not consider your request, Minerva. I will speak to Harry."

Minerva clamped her lips closed when it appeared she had been ready to continue to flail Severus with harsh words. Taken aback by his easy capitulation, she stared for a few seconds before saying, "Oh....well...good."

Severus made a mocking bow. "So, I take it I am dismissed, now?" said Severus mockingly.

"Do not take that tone with me, Severus Snape. It was important that I bring this to your attention quickly. The OWL results need to be sent out no later than two weeks hence."

"I will attend to the problem in time, Minerva," said Severus, heading for the stairs.

"Oh, and Severus..." Severus looked over his shoulder. He was surprised to see a wicked smirk adorning the Deputy Headmistress's mouth. He turned fully to face her.

"I was just wondering who you will be cheering for when Gryffindor play Slytherin in Quidditch, what with your son being the Gryffindor Seeker and you being head of Slytherin House?" She waited for the shock of this statement to register before adding slyly, "quite a conundrum, isn't it?" Then with a final, evil smile and a sardonically raised eyebrow, she nodded her head to bid him goodnight and returned to Albus's bedchamber.

Severus looked at the closed door for a few seconds and then with a smirk quirking his own lips, he headed for the Floo and his own bedchamber.

8888

Harry, Ron, Ginny, Bill and the twins were in the backyard the following day when Severus arrived at the Burrow. He had Floo-called Molly to ask permission to visit. Molly, of course, consented and Severus stepped into the sitting room with a grace that Molly secretly envied. The man did absolutely everything with a casual elegance and ease of movement, unequalled by anyone that Molly knew.

Having been a member of the Order for the last twelve months Molly had come to learn that Severus Snape was an exceedingly clever man and  formidable wizard. She did not envy him his horrible job; she could not imagine what it would be like to have to associate with the likes of He Who Must Not Be Named, nor could she imagine the dislike and distrust that he had to live with because others in the Order did not trust him.

Molly knew Severus had made a terrible mistake in his youth, and that he was atoning for it in taking on these duties, but others-Alastor principally among them-refused to see him as anything separate from his past; they refused to believe that Severus was now truly on their side, despite Dumbledore's assurances. But Molly knew that her husband trusted Dumbledore implicitly, and as she trusted Arthurs instincts, so too did she have faith in Dumbledore's assurances.

But Severus Snape was such a difficult man to get to know; it was impossible to even try to be friendly with him. Molly had never seen as much of the man outside of Order meetings as she had done since the terrible attempt on Harry's life, and Severus's unwavering care that had seen her surrogate son returned to full health. But why was Severus here now? Could there be something about Harry's health that he had to continue to monitor? Harry appeared to be back to his normal, dear self...and thank Merlin for it, but had that terrible poison caused some kind of permanent damage? Oh, she prayed not.

Molly watched as Severus made a completely pointless swipe at his sleeve...there wasn't a trace of soot or ash anywhere on his black robes. She responded to Severus's nod of greeting with a slight smile. Somehow, that simple nod which was a trademark gesture of Severus's did not appear quite as curt and unfriendly as it usually did.

"Severus," Molly said brightly. "how nice to see you again. The children are out the back playing Quidditch. Would you like a cup of tea? I was just making one for myself."

Once, Severus would have said an automatic ‘no' to this kindness, but circumstances had changed. Harry was much in the company of the Weasleys, and Molly and Arthur treated him as one of their own. He could not tell them of the change in his and Harry's circumstances...not yet anyway, and though he had to keep up the pretence of sneering dislike around the boy, he could make an effort to be a little less brusque with Molly. He had already seen that Arthur and Bill Weasley were not below his attention, both being accomplished wizards. Arthur had more than proven to him that he was far from being the simple creature whose façade he presented to the world at large.

And as his son was so very often in the care of these people, it would do no harm to cultivate a less prickly relationship with them. Of course, he still had a part to keep up, and so outright friendliness was out of the question, but a lessening of overt hostility couldn't hurt when there were no others to witness even a slight softening in his generally unpleasant demeanour.

"Thank you, that would be most welcome." Severus's voice was suitably stiff, but Molly's smile broadened none-the-less and Severus followed in her wake as she bustled into the kitchen. She had been baking and Severus's mouth watered at the combination of delicious smells that filled the air.

"Sit down, Severus," Molly encouraged, but Severus had caught a glimpse of the activity going on in the backyard, and he crossed to the window and watched the aerial acrobatics for several minutes.

It was a lively game in which it appeared that the three present Gryffindors were teamed against  Bill and the terrible twins. There was no snitch involved in the play; it was just a matter of any on either team trying to score goals with an old and battered Quaffle.

All of them were certainly at home on a broom, even Ronald, who had made such a terrible show as Gryffindor Keeper during the last school year, until the very last match, when he had shown, briefly, what he was capable of. Bill Weasley had lost none of the talent that had made him a stand out player during his time on the Gryffindor team, and Fred and George, though excellent in their previous team positions, were too rough and ready, and lacked the finesse required to be anything but unrefined, though excellent Beaters.

Ginevra Weasley was everything Severus had seen her be when she had played seeker for Gryffindor last year...quick, artful, and unafraid; she was totally unfazed whenever any of the larger bodies on broomsticks streaked towards her and tried to block her. She darted this way and that, dived steeply or shot upwards like an arrow, when she was in possession of the Quaffle, and blocked her opponents and ran interference for her two team mates with as much, if not more finesse than her male rivals.  

But for sheer magnificence on a broom, none of the Weasleys could surpass Harry. He was truly one with his broom; he had definitely been born to fly. His manoeuvres were seamless and fluid, his broom obeying his slightest change of position or grip; it was obvious that he was at home on a broom as he was on his feet...perhaps more so.

Severus had never had any talent on a broom. Oh, he could fly from point A to point B, but he much preferred to be on terra firma. What Harry did in the air seemed to defy every principle of physics, and even magic. He appeared weightless, and he seemed to have an instinctive knowledge of what he needed to do and where he needed to be at any given time. His joy in the freedom of flying was apparent even from this distance.

Severus had always enjoyed Quidditch, though he made a show of only pretending an interest in Slytherin's victories. He rarely missed a match, even those in which Slytherin played no part; the teachers were encouraged to turn up and support all the matches. So Severus had watched Harry from the start of his Quidditch career; he had watched the tiny eleven year old as he was nearly bucked off his broom when Quirrell had tried his best to kill, or at the least, seriously maim the boy.

In spite of himself and his prejudices, Severus had been vastly impressed, though doing his best to hide the fact from his fellow teachers, specifically, Minerva McGonagall who had all but crowed when Harry had caught that first Snitch.

He had watched the less talented and vastly less sporting Draco Malfoy try everything in his power-and when his power was not enough, in his vast arsenal of illegal moves to best Harry on the Quidditch pitch, as he did in every other aspect of their lives at Hogwarts...but with little success. Harry was fearless in the air, and could out-manoeuvre Draco at any turn. It was not in Harry's makeup to cheat. Unlike Draco, and indeed, any of the other players in the Slytherin team, Harry would not consider a win that had been brought about by cheating, to be a win at all.

Severus could see all of this now, but for the last five years, he had admired Harry's skill, while closing his mind to the fact that probably the most brilliant Seeker Hogwarts had ever seen was his most detested student and the son of the cousin he had spent most of his teenage years hating. As Severus watched his son streak through the air and fearlessly fly straight at the Weasley twins so that they were forced to angle off messily in separate directions in a flurry of gangly arms and legs, he realised that his old feelings for Harry weren't solely based on his and James's mutual antipathy, but also on his guilt for not ever following up on his mother's desire for him to make peace with his cousin.

Harry had scooped the Quaffle close to his chest after Ginny passed it to him, before Bill could block the move, and Harry, backed up by Ron, streaked towards the single goal ring and scored. Severus watched as Ginny flew wildly at Harry, her red hair a shining wing streaming behind her as she bumped into Harry, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. Even from this distance, Severus could see Ronald roll his eyes and he could hear the other brothers wolf whistling.

Transferring his gaze from the high-spirited display in the air, Severus saw Hermione Granger and a young woman with a magnificent waterfall of silver hair falling down her back to her waist, clapping the aerial performers. Bill Weasley swooped down and landed beside the statuesque woman and pulling her into his arms, he kissed her with a deal more finesse than the two teenagers in the air had displayed in their youthful ardour, and who had now let each other go so that they could land.

Molly appeared beside Severus and passed him a cup of tea. At the Order meetings, it was usually she who provided the refreshments and as a result of that, she had not had to ask how Severus took his tea and the brew in the cup was exactly as he liked it. As Severus sipped his drink, Molly followed his gaze to the scene in the back yard.

"That is Fleur Delacour with Bill, isn't it?" asked Severus, indicating the handsome couple with a movement of his head.

"Yes," answered Molly, in a tight voice. "She and Bill have been seeing each other for the last year and now they have become engaged."

Molly didn't sound at all thrilled at the prospect of having Fleur as a daughter-in-law, but Severus did not want to become bogged down in the Weasley family dynamics. He could feel that Molly wanted to talk to someone about the future addition of the stunningly beautiful French girl to her family, but Severus forbore to give her an opening.

After several seconds of silence that was heavy with disappointment, Molly sighed and keeping her eyes on the now advancing party of Quidditch players and spectators, she asked, "I take it that you need to see Harry again?"

Severus nodded. "I need to do some more tests on him."

Molly frowned. "I was under the impression that he was totally cured."

"He is...as far as the original symptoms go." Severus made sure to keep his voice emotionless. "But several of his organs were compromised and I have to continue to run tests on him to make sure that everything is as it should be."

"And how long does this have to go on?"

Severus sighed. He didn't really want to get too deeply into this with Molly. It was, of course, his excuse for needing to have frequent contact with Harry. "If, after twelve months, no symptoms develop, I'll be convinced that Potter will have no further worries."

"That long?" said Molly. "My goodness, this poison must have been a truly sinister brew."

"It was," said Severus, still in an uncaring voice. "But Potter is a master at escaping death."

Molly pursed her lips. "Must you be so insensitive? The rest of us are exceedingly glad that Harry is a master at escaping death."

"Well, I too am glad that Potter didn't die this time around. As I was his healer, it wouldn't have done my reputation any good at all if he had died."

Molly snatched Severus's cup out of his hand and stalked to the sink where she slammed it and her own down so hard on the draining board, one of them broke in half. With a furious flourish, she withdrew her wand from the pocket in her apron and repaired the damage.

 "Truly, Professor Snape, just as I think you might actually have a human side, you have to make your prejudice against Harry glaringly obvious all over again," snapped Molly, as she rinsed the cups and placed them roughly on the draining board. "I hope you are not going to keep him too long. I have a celebration planned for his birthday in three days time."

Severus turned to look at Molly as they heard the back door pulled open to admit the gaggle of young people into the scullery.

"And please don't mention the party to Harry," hissed Molly. "I want it to be a surprise." And though it looked like it cost her a lot, Molly took a deep breath before adding, "And as you saved Harry's life, and he seems to have developed a sort of dependency on you, you are welcome to attend, if you think you can keep your dislike under wraps for the occasion."

Severus had forgotten all about Harry's approaching sixteenth birthday. July the thirty-first. Now that Severus knew the contents of Trelawney's prophecy, that date was very significant. That birth date was the reason that Harry was the Boy Who Lived. One of two wizard babies born at the end of July, either of whom fitted the criteria. It was the Dark Lord who had made the final choice...had he but known.

But Severus did not imagine for a moment that he had made the wrong choice. No one could look to Neville Longbottom as being the saviour of the wizarding world. But Severus had wondered more than once since Albus had shown him his memory of the prophecy, exactly what had been the reason that the Dark Lord had picked Harry over Longbottom. It had been too early in their development for either infant to have shown even the beginnings of their magical ability. It was a mystery and was likely to remain so. He could not imagine himself asking the Dark Lord outright why he had picked Harry over Longbottom, even if he was the Dark Lord's favourite at the moment.

Severus now inclined his head towards Molly. "Your gracious invitation is duly noted, Molly, but I think my presence at Potter's party will rather put a dampener on the proceedings, don't you? In view of that, I must regretfully decline."

 Severus had barely finished this speech before the young people, sans broomsticks and minus Bill and Fleur clattered into the kitchen in an exuberant heap; one by one, the laughter disappeared from each face as they caught sight of Severus. Harry, who had his arm slung over Ginevra's shoulders and was laughing at something his Weasley sidekick had just said, caught sight of Severus and stopped laughing immediately. But then, to Severus's dismay a huge smile blossomed to take its place and his eyes shone with pleasure.

Severus groaned internally. The boy was an open book. If everyone's horrified gaze had not been focused upon him instead of Harry, all of their mouths would have fallen open in fresh horror to see the delighted surprise on their friend's face. Severus had to close that open book.

"I see that you have been doing what you do best, Potter," sneered Severus, hating himself, and amazed that he hated himself for something that had once, not so long ago, come so naturally to him. "Showing off with aplomb."

The smile and the pleasure disappeared as though Severus had wielded his wand and vanished them. Why couldn't Harry remember that they were to keep up the pretence of hatred? Even the present look did not project hatred, just bitter disappointment.

Ronald, Hermione and Ginny automatically turned stricken faces to Harry, but Fred and George, perhaps under the foolish misapprehension that they no longer need fear him because they were no longer at Hogwarts, stepped forward as one to stick up for their young friend. "It's always been my motto..." said one twin in what he considered to be a deadly voice.

"That if you've got it..." said the other...

"Flaunt it," said the first.

"Fred! George!" screeched Molly, but to no affect, because they continued in the same vein, over the top of their mother's furious protest.

"But as you've never had anything that you can flaunt, Snape..." continued the second twin.

"This would be a totally alien concept," finished the first.

"That's enough!" Bill and Fleur had finally arrived-Severus supposed they had remained outside to indulge in some private snogging time-and an absolutely livid Bill stalked over to his younger brothers. "Apologise. Now!"

"No, way," expostulated both twins together.

"Guys..." said Harry weakly.

"It's about time he quit picking on Harry, Bill."

"Guys, please." Harry had stepped forward now, but the twins and their older brother were oblivious.

"Yeah, where does that plonker get off dissing Harry at every turn?"

"Guys!" Harry yelled. This time, Fred and George stopped mouthing off and they and Bill turned to him. "Don't worry about it, OK. I don't anymore. I can handle Professor Snape."

Severus, who had watched and listened to the whole foolishly brave confrontation by the twins with a sneer lifting the corner of his lip, also stepped closer to the twins, ready to unleash a stinging harangue of his own. But before he could begin, Molly inserted herself between the warring factions.

"This is my home, and I will not have it turned into a war zone.

"That's rich," snorted one of the twins, "after your defeat of Muriel, the other night."

Molly turned a gimlet eye upon her son and held a warning finger under his nose. "One more word out of you Fred Weasley..." and without warning she turned to the other. "Or you George, and I swear by all the powers that be that I will hex your tongues to stick to the rooves of your mouths and then forget the spell that will release them!"

Both twins looked horror struck, and Severus and Harry looked at each other, both remembering that horrible day at the Dursley's, Harry with distress and Severus with regret. Suddenly, Severus had had quite enough histrionics for one day.

"As pleasant as this has been," he drawled with every appearance of extreme boredom, "I am afraid I am going to have to cut the performance short. Mr Potter and I have an appointment."

"You're dragging him off again!" exclaimed Ginny involuntarily, and when all heads turned towards her, she reddened and bit her lip.

"Do not despair, Miss Weasley," sneered Severus. "Though your taste in boyfriends is questionable, I will, none-the-less return him to you tomorrow morning...if his health permits."

"Or you don't murder him in his sleep," mumbled Ron, his eyes fixed on his size twelves and in a voice that was clearly louder than he realised.

"Ron!" yelled Molly and Bill together.

Severus didn't wait to hear more. He stalked past the assembled crowd of redheads and the blonde, brunette and black-haired ring-ins, throwing "I'll leave you to make your farewells, Potter, and wait for you in the sitting room," over his shoulder as he passed.

It was only a minute before Harry joined Severus, and without a word, they both stepped into the empty fireplace and Severus threw down the Floo Powder he had clutched in his hand and called out their destination. A sickening roller-coaster ride later, Harry stumbled out of the fireplace in Professor Dumbledore's office. He would have fallen to his knees if Severus had not stepped out immediately behind him and grabbed his upper arm tightly.

Harry pulled his arm free and moved a few paces across the office before stopping and turning back. Severus noted that his young face was as set and strained as it had been when they had stepped into the Floo together. "Can I walk down to the dungeons? I don't fancy another Floo journey."

Severus studied him closely...the averted eyes, pale cheeks and vulnerable mouth. He sighed. "You do know that was all an act, don't you, Harry?"

Colour now climbed into Harry's cheeks. He looked away before nodding curtly. Severus closed his eyes in exasperation. "Harry..."

"I know!" yelled Harry. "I know it was all an act, all right. But I hate it! And you're just so bloody good at it. And I'm sorry that I can't turn on sneering contempt at the drop of a hat!" He rubbed the back of his neck and walked around in a tight, agitated circle before stopping and looking at Severus miserably.

"How do you do it?" he asked helplessly, throwing his arms wide.

"I've been playing a game of subterfuge for a long time. I'm used to it."

"Yeah, well..." said Harry, looking anywhere but at his father and rubbing the back of his neck again. "...I sometimes wish you weren't quite so bloody good at it." Severus waited for more, and sure enough...

"So you think I'm a show-off?" Harry asked softly.

"No," said Severus as patiently as he could, "I do not think you a show-off...far from it in fact. But I had to say something, Harry. Your face lit up like one of Flitwick's Christmas trees when you saw me."

"No, it didn't!" denied Harry.

"Yes it did! If the others had not been looking at me with the horror that I hoped you might display, they would have immediately become suspicious."

"But you saved my life," argued Harry. "They know that I have to be grateful for that."

"At the most, they might accept grudging gratitude on your part, and it should certainly not be overshadowed by the pleasure you displayed. Resignation and exasperation would have been the most positive emotions that you should have displayed, if you could not bring yourself to show outright dislike."

Harry turned away, shaking his head.

"This is important, Harry." 

"I know. You keep telling me. But I'm around Ron, Hermione and Ginny most of the time. I am not going to be able to keep this a secret for ever. I don't want to keep it a secret forever. They won't spread it around...I know they won't."

There was silence for several painful seconds in which Severus fought hard to keep his temper.

"Please," begged Harry, "let me tell them."

"Perhaps it would be for the best, Severus." Dumbledore was descending the stairs, his wide-sleeved silver and white embossed robes and his long silver hair and beard making him look like a deity.

"Albus!" said Severus, his exasperation finding a new outlet. "You are not helping!"

Albus ignored Severus as he came level with him. Instead, he smiled fondly at Harry. "How are you, my boy?" he asked.

"Fine thanks, Professor."

"You're looking better than I have seen you look in a long time," said Albus, walking towards Harry and studying him closely. "Molly has been working her maternal spell upon you, I see. I'm sure you have put on a little much needed weight."

Harry grinned. "Every time she looks at me, she's shoving food down my throat."

Albus smiled back. "Well, as Molly is such a wonderful cook, I do not suppose that is much of a hardship."

"It's not a hardship at all," affirmed Harry. He looked past his headmaster and took in his father's cross-armed, rigid stance and set, angry face. His stomach gave a nervous little swoop...he didn't want to be upsetting his father, not now that things had started to go so well for them, but he just knew he was never going to be able to pull this off on a long term basis. He knew he was hopeless, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had never been able to hide his true emotions. Never. And if Professor Dumbledore was willing to be an ally in this, he would take full advantage of the fact.

"Sir, please help me talk Professor Sn...I mean, my father into telling my friends about him and I...about our relationship."

Dumbledore put his hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed it gently. Even through his anger, Severus noted that it was the previously injured hand, and that Albus appeared to have regained full use of it without experiencing any apparent discomfort.

"Harry, this ultimately has to be your father's decision, and I will not force him to do something that he feels may put him in danger...I cannot order him."

Harry drooped under the weight of Albus's hand and his declaration. He raised those pleading green eyes. "But you said..."

"I said that I thought it would be for the best, Harry. I can only council your father."

"Then you might as well save your breath, Albus. I will not have my position compromised by a slip up from a mouthy teenager. For God's sake, I told you that I thought it would be too dangerous to tell him..." he made an angry gesture towards Harry, "about our relationship because of his inability to hide his emotions."

"And yet," reasoned Albus, calmly, walking to his desk and seating himself in his high-backed chair, "you ultimately could not keep the secret to yourself." Severus's eyes narrowed with anger but Albus was unaffected by this new example of his young friend's all too frequently displayed ire.

"And if I am not mistaken, Severus, your own confession came after you had inadvertently let slip that Harry was your son to Petunia Dursley and Harry overheard." Twin slashes of colour appeared over Severus's cheekbones. "So you will hardly be able to castigate Harry if-as seems likely to happen at some stage-he lets slip some telltale piece of information."

"As he has already done in front of Miss Weasley when in a raging temper," bit out Severus, and Harry cringed inwardly.

"Exactly," said Albus, calmly. "I am afraid that try as Harry might-and I do not doubt his good intentions...he would not deliberately go behind your back or against your wishes-he will ultimately be unable to not let slip something of import that will have his friends guessing the rest. Do not for an instant forget that Miss Granger is part of this equation, and she will note any changes in Harry's behaviour, even if he does not think there are any changes. She will observe and analyse and eventually come up with an explanation."

"The girl is a bloody menace," growled Severus.

"Hey!" objected Harry.

"She is a loyal and loving friend, Severus. She would never do anything to harm Harry, nor any of her other friends. And she is as incapable of ignoring a conundrum as you are, dear boy.

"And I will add, that none of Harry's friends would do or say anything to harm him."

"And if they fall into hostile hands, Albus. What then?"

"The chances of that happening are very slim indeed. They will have the benefit of the same protection as does Harry himself. You know the extent of the protection around the Burrow, Severus; you helped to construct it. And once back here at Hogwarts....well, once again you know to what extent we have gone, to make the school safe for all the students, with still more to be done."

"And what of the internal threat? Have you forgotten about that?"

"Old though I may be, my boy, do not make the mistake of considering me senile. I am sure that those of us in the know will be able to keep that particular problem under wraps."

When Severus opened his mouth to comment further on this internal threat that Harry would dearly have liked to know more about, Professor Dumbledore spoke over him. "We will carry on this discussion at a later time, Severus," he said pointedly. "But getting back to the original subject, if I may put my oar in the water..."

"If I but had the power to stop you!" drawled Severus, sardonically.

Harry bit his lip, worried that he might be the cause of tension between the two wizards. Dumbledore looked at Severus over the top of his half moon spectacles. Then he leaned back in his chair and spread his hands.

"All you need do is say the word and my opinion will remain un-uttered," said Dumbledore quietly.

Harry saw his father roll his eyes. "Oh, please Headmaster, far be it for me to be the cause of you breaking the habit of a lifetime. Giving your unsolicited opinion is one of the things you do so very well. My big objection is that your opinion rarely, if ever, coincides with my deep rooted convictions as to what is the best course of action to take."

"I am asking you to listen to me, Severus. You do not have to do as I urge."

Severus moved across to the window and looked out over the grounds. In the distance, he could see Hagrid hailing Fang, who came bounding around the side of the cabin to follow his large master off into the forest. Severus watched until Hagrid and his dog disappeared before turning back to face the room and perching on the edge of the sill with his arms crossed in an attitude of pseudo-patient expectation.

"Tell me why you think it best that half the wizarding world should know that I, the Dark Lord's right-hand man, am also the father of the boy he wants dead above any other...even you Dumbledore."

"Half the wizarding world Severus? Really, I know that Arthur and Molly have been blessed with a large family, but even you, with your penchant for exaggeration could not call them half the wizarding world.

Severus narrowed his eyes and bit back any number of retorts that were fighting to be uttered.

"As I said before, Miss Granger is a very far-sighted young lady who notices the smallest aberration from the norm. And we already know that Ginevra heard more than we really wanted her to hear that first night at the Burrow after you were summoned, Severus."

Severus bestowed a mild glare upon Harry who thrust his hands into his jacket pockets and looked down at his feet.

"Has Ginevra brought up the subject with you, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

"No."

"Then she has done what I asked of her and she has not spoken about what she heard." Dumbledore pinned Severus with his periwinkle blue gaze.

"Ginevra is the youngest of them all Severus, and she has managed to keep her mouth shut for five days. She has not even brought the subject up with Harry...she has not asked him for details.

"Harry will not be able to be around you during the next school year and totally pretend indifference toward you. Not with his friends being so close to him. They will see his confusion and ultimate distress and it will only be a short step from there before Miss Granger puts two and two together.

Severus thrust himself away from the sill and began to pace. "Ronald Weasley wouldn't be able to keep a secret of this magnitude if his life depended on it," he growled

"I disagree," said Dumbledore.

"I doubt very much if Ronald Weasley would be able to hide his total abhorrence of Harry having me as a father Albus," said Severus, expanding on his previous statement. "In fact, if Harry insists to Mr Weasley that he is happy with this development in his life, he might very well turn against Harry."

"There's no way Ron would do that," denied Harry hotly.

"What?" said Severus, "you think that when you tell your friend that I am your father, he will clap you on the shoulder and say, ‘I'm glad for you, mate'?"

"I...I can't say for sure how he will react at first, but I do know he would never turn against me," said Harry firmly.

"No?" said Severus shortly. "Like he didn't turn against you when he thought you had put your own name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"You thought I had put my own name in the Goblet of Fire!" yelled Harry. "Along with three-quarters of the bloody school."

"But I wasn't your best friend who knew you as well as if you were a brother."

"No, you were just the mongrel Potions master who did his very best to make sure that Karkaroff and Madam Maxime thought that I was a cheat and a liar." As soon as he had finished his rant, the colour drained from Harry's face and he looked positively sick.

Severus too, had lost every vestige of colour and he looked like a waxen image. "Harry..." he began.

"No," croaked Harry rubbing a hand agitatedly through his messy hair. "No...I'm sorry. I never meant to...I'm sorry. But you're wrong about Ron. The Tri-Wizard Tournament was...well, it was a horrible time, even before what happened in that graveyard.

"Ron and I talked about what it would be like if we could get past Professor Dumbledore's time-line...how great it would be to compete and win. It was a nice dream, but I wasn't really that fussed. I just went along with Ron.

"He was jealous. He thought I had managed to get past the time-line without telling him how I did it. He was jealous...he thinks he's not as worthy as his brothers. Anything that he might do, one or more of them has done before him. And...and then he ended up with me as his best friend. Me, who kept on being thrust into the limelight and who never wanted it. Once again, Ron was left in the background."

Harry looked at Severus pleadingly. "He really knew I hadn't entered myself, and as soon as he saw me trying to battle a dragon, he snapped out of his jealousy.

"With this though, what's he got to be jealous about? He's got his own father."

"It will not be a matter of jealousy," said Severus, prepared to go along with Harry to get past the painful moment. "It will be a matter of his not being able to believe that you can actually think anything but ill of me. His and your mutual hatred for me was something that you both agreed fully upon."

"Severus..." interrupted Dumbledore, who had sat silently throughout the confrontation between father and son. He had been gratified that Harry and Severus had been able to get past this contretemps without any outside interference. Things were definitely on the improve between the pair of them and the old man could not have been happier. Harry would need his father in the coming months.

"I am sure Ronald's regard for Harry greatly exceeds his ill-feelings for you, especially when he realises that Harry is happy to have you as a father."

Severus threw himself down in a chair and placing an elbow on the arm, he rubbed his hand across his mouth. He really did not want to do this. But it seemed Dumbledore had more to say on the subject.

"I really do think that it would be to your advantage to confide in the Weasleys, considering Harry's very close association with them and considering that they, or most of them anyway, are in the Order. I know that you respect Arthur and William," and seeing the look of disgust Severus shot at him, Albus added sternly, "and there is no point in trying to pretend otherwise, my boy. And you know as well as I that they will keep this confidence. I have no doubt that you will have their full support and that once the shock has worn off, they will all be happy for you and Harry."

When Severus still looked mutinous, Dumbledore continued doggedly. "It will be too difficult to keep up this subterfuge, Severus, because the family is so close to Harry. It is not fair to ask Harry to try and continue to display the negative emotions that have marked his behaviour towards you for the last five years, not now that you and he are trying so hard to establish this new rapport.

Silence.

Harry looked at his father's set face and then, hopelessly, at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore sighed. He pushed himself to his feet, and crossed the room to stand behind a clearly unhappy and unconvinced Potions master. He placed his hand on Severus's tense shoulder and squeezed. "When are you going to realise, Severus, that you are no longer an island?

Harry was miserable. He didn't know what to do. He really didn't want to upset his new dad, but he knew, he just knew that he would never be able to keep up the subterfuge the man was insisting upon, not on a long term basis. Look what he had done today...grinned like a loon because he hadn't seen Snape for all of twenty-four hours, and he hadn't even realised that he was doing it!

I mean, how pathetic is that? Who would ever have thought that I would ever smile at the sight of Severus Snape? If Ron had seen me, he would have likely thought that I had indigestion, or something equally mundane. No way would my best mate have thought I was happy to see Snape!

Harry was trailing along behind his father as they headed through the empty hallways and down staircases, making their way to the dungeons. The trip was longer than Harry was used to it being, because his dad didn't take any of the shortcuts that he, Ron and Hermione made frequent use of. But that was good. Harry didn't relish the thought of reaching their destination and being sequestered with the angry wizard.

The click of Severus's boots reverberated loudly in the silence, the stone floors and walls throwing the noise back at them all along the route from the seventh floor to the dungeons. The noise was an intrusion; the castle seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for scores of noisy students to make it come to life again.

Harry kept his eyes on the flaring robes that practically brushed the rough-hewn stones on either side of the narrower corridors of the dungeons. Those were not happy robes! Harry had long since decided that the degree of flare achieved by the Potions Master's robes was a perfect barometer-reading of his mood.

But unlike when he might have been following Snape to one punishment or another in the past, Harry was not a bundle of nerves this time. He did not feel apprehensive; he just felt wretched. He had done it again, hadn't he? He had upset Snape and that was the last thing he had wanted to do.

Yesterday, Snape had hugged him; he had convinced Harry that they were going to make it as a family. That gesture more than anything had convinced Harry that Snape and he had a future together. And today, twenty-four hours later, he, Harry had already begun to stuff it up. Why couldn't he just go with the flow? Why did he have to be such a bloody plonker?

Harry stopped a few steps behind his dad when they arrived at the heavy oak door to the dungeon chambers. He stood with his shoulders hunched and his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his baggy jeans. Severus performed the ritual to gain access to his rooms, and once the door swung open, he stepped back and ushered Harry in ahead of him. A quick glance at his father, as he passed showed Harry the stern, humourless features he had been used to seeing up until a few days ago, and his wretchedness increased.

Severus had not said a word all the way from Dumbledore's office and Harry had an overwhelming desire to apologise. But what would be the point? Everything he had said in Dumbledore's office was true. He wouldn't be able to keep this secret, because if there was one thing that Harry knew he was not, it was an actor. He most definitely was not going to be able to keep this act up without giving himself away, sooner rather than later. The only way that his friends wouldn't figure out that something was really wrong in his life was if he distanced himself from them entirely.

Was that what he had to do? Sacrifice his friends for his father. The mere thought of doing something like that made it feel like someone had put a giant hand inside his chest and ripped his heart out. Ron and Hermione were more than just his best friends; they were also family. And Ginny...he didn't know what Ginny was yet, but he knew that it was just as important as what he had with Ron and Hermione, but in a different way. One day, he suspected that what Ginny meant to him might become more important than his relationship with Ron and Hermione. He knew he was already very protective of her. But they would always, all of them, be very important to him; he couldn't just suddenly deny them.

But then again, neither did he want to lose his father just after he had found out that he had one. Harry shook his head. It couldn't come down to a choice of father or friends, surely? Snape wouldn't demand that of him. Harry was under no illusions that Severus Snape, head of Slytherin House and Hogwart's Potions Master held his friends in much higher esteem than he had Harry up until a short time ago...mainly because they were his friends, Harry suspected. But still, being such a sensible man, his dad had to know how important the Weasleys and Hermione were to him, and how upset he would be if he had to cut himself off from them entirely.

If he told Ron, Hermione and Ginny that Snape was his father, then it was their choice to do what they would. He was positive that, after the initial shock, he would be able to rely on Hermione's support, and he was sure that Ginny already knew that something was off between him and Snape, but she was still around. But Ron...despite what Harry had said in Dumbledore's office, he wasn't really sure how Ron would act ultimately...once the initial shock had worn off, and Ron saw that Harry was not entirely upset about having their most hated teacher as a father.

Harry sank gingerly onto the edge of a lounge-chair and watched as Severus strode to the Floo and spoke to a House Elf in the kitchens to order afternoon tea for two. Then he turned and stalked to the coat rack to hang his cloak and outer robe up. Harry was still not used to seeing this more casual Severus Snape. His high-collared, wide sleeved, white linen shirt was reminiscent of what the heroes wore on the covers of the ‘Bodice Ripper', Regency romances that Aunt Petunia was addicted to.

All that was ever visible of these undergarments was the very tips of the upright collar, so until Harry had begun to live with Severus, he had not had any idea exactly what his father wore under his robes. Immaculate white linen, slim fitting black trousers and high black boots made up the ensemble worn beneath the billowing black robes; maybe it was old-fashioned, but Harry conceded that it suited Severus Snape down to the ground. He did not think that he would ever reach such giddy heights of sartorial splendour himself, considering the clothes that he had worn for most of his life.

Harry always felt good in his own robes, but he knew he could never look as put together as Severus Snape did. But then again, he didn't think he was as uptight as his dad. The clothes most definitely reflected the man.

"Come and eat, Harry. You'll need sustenance considering what you will be doing for the next couple of hours."

Harry looked at his dad in surprise as he crossed the room and slipped into his usual chair at the table. The statement temporarily drove his current travails from his mind. "What will I be doing for the next couple of hours?" he asked as he reached for a slice of pound cake.

Severus poured tea into two cups and passed one across to Harry. He answered Harry's question with another question. "You have not been curious as to why I dragged you away from the Burrow after only twenty-four hours?"

Harry stopped chewing, and a crease appeared between his eyebrows. He hadn't really thought about that. He had been so pleased to see his dad again, he had gone with him without asking why or even where he was being taken. The where had been answered almost instantly, but the why had escaped his mind because they had gotten into the argument about him confessing their secret.

"Umm, I wasn't even thinking about a reason," admitted Harry, sheepishly. Severus rolled his eyes. "Well, I was too busy being peeved about what you said in front of everyone..."

Severus held up his hand and Harry fell silent. "I do not wish to discuss the subject of making our secret business, public knowledge..."

Harry opened his mouth to protest again, but Severus spoke over the top of him, his voice as typically harsh as Harry was once used to hearing it. "...anymore, at this time."

Harry's jaw set and he crossed his arms and threw himself back in his chair. "Fine," he said in a voice that told the world that it most patently was not fine.

Severus ignored this fit of pique. He sipped his tea and pretended to be interested in a slice of the cake. In fact, his appetite had quite deserted him. He indicated the half eaten portion of cake on Harry's plate.

"I would advise that you eat, Harry. You will be very busy for the next little while."

"Doing what?" asked Harry, despite himself.

"Professor McGonagall is in the middle of collating all of the O.W.L. results."

This news shook Harry out of his bad mood and he sat up straighter, his eyes fixed on his father's face. Snape didn't look too put out, so Harry dared hope that he had not failed miserably. "Umm...really?" he said, realising immediately how stupid the question was. As if Snape would fabricate something like that. "I mean..."

Severus, biting back his amusement, replied solemnly, "I know what you mean, Harry. She also informed me of what your choice of career is. I must say that I was a little surprised to hear that you wish to become an Auror."

Harry bristled. "Why should you be?"

Severus shrugged slightly. "No specific reason, I assure you. I just thought..."

"You just thought that I would sit back and live off my father's..." Harry's rant ceased abruptly. He wanted to kick himself. "Err, James's fortune," he finished lamely, the colour high in his cheeks.

All of the humour had left Severus's face and Harry felt mortified and confused.

"Do not..." said Severus angrily, "do that again."

"I'm sorry," said Harry wretchedly.

"Sorry for what?" bit out Severus and Harry's confusion intensified. "Sorry for mentioning your father...the father you have known about your whole life? I will not have you deny James, Harry."

"But..."

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes," said Harry. "I just didn't want to upset you."

"You upset me by thinking I would prefer you to forget the father who loved you and who died in his attempt to save you and your mother."

Now Harry felt really confused. "But you hated James."

"Once upon a time, yes. And I childishly kept that hatred simmering because I was too stubborn to admit to myself that I was being ridiculous. But my feelings aside, Harry, James is still your father and always will be. He loved you. This recent discovery of my shared paternity of you does not change that. Don't lessen his memory, or diminish his sacrifice."

Harry looked down at the crumbs on his plate. "I didn't mean to do that," he said softly. "And it won't happen again."

Severus studied the bewildered young face opposite him, predominantly James, to be sure, but the traces of himself were easier to see now that he knew they were there. Strangely, though his own face was very far from being attractive, his arched eyebrows and high cheekbones in what was essentially a Potter face, along with Lily's beautiful eyes, made for a very attractive youth. More attractive than James had ever been. And the fact that the boy was entirely unaware of his own charms only enhanced that attractiveness. James had always been rather full of himself, one of the things that Lily had found abhorrent for so long, much to Severus's younger self's delight.

Harry squirmed a little under the intensity of Snape's inspection. He definitely needed to get them back on track. He cleared his throat. "So, anyway, why did Professor McGonagall bring up the O.W.L results with you?"

"Because though you passed your Potions OWL well, it was not a good enough result to meet my requirements."

Harry's heart sank. "Oh. So that's that, then?"

Severus took a deep breath. "I am aware...more than aware, that I did all in my power to turn your Potions' lessons into a less than conducive environment for learning. Our mutual Potions experiences have been the equivalent of hell on Earth, and I would like to give you a chance to really show me what you can do."

Harry sat stunned, his green eyes huge in his pinched face.

"Do you like Potions, Harry?" When Harry looked even more incredulous, Severus waved a hand through the air as if to erase his foolish choice of words. "I should have said, ‘do you think that you would have liked potions had you not been subjected to a relentless barrage of verbal and mental abuse?"

Now Harry looked embarrassed. He felt compelled to say something to alleviate his father's self-disgust. He looked down and poked an agitated forefinger at the moist crumbs littering his plate. "It wasn't that bad," he mumbled. "I could have put in more effort.'

"Why would you have bothered when everything that you did was shot down in flames? Do not make excuses for me, Harry. My behaviour was appalling and had you been any other student, you would have reported my systematic abuse to Professor Dumbledore. But you have a strict code of honour that would never permit you to share your problems with anyone else. You have to be self-sufficient."

"I had to be self-sufficient," replied Harry, his eyes fixed resolutely on his busy finger. "I had no-one to complain to at the Dursleys. I only had myself to rely on."

"And old habits die hard," said Severus with a sigh. "You will not have to rely on only yourself any longer, Harry," he added, leaning over the table and placing his hand over the back of Harry's and squeezing lightly to stop his agitated movements.

Harry looked up. He and father stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Harry's heart swelled with what he saw in the black eyes...a mixture of warmth and regret. His battered soul revelled in both and he knew that he would never get enough of this approbation. The fact of it being the very antithesis of every interaction he had ever had with Severus Snape before, was what made that warmth and regret so important to him. Harry would always want the warmth, but he no longer wanted to see the regret. The past was the past.

Harry smiled and turned his hand around and squeezed his father's. His own eyes were alight with an emotion that was more than mere affection. Harry did not know how it had happened so quickly...maybe it made him appear needy, but he knew that gratitude had turned to acceptance, which had turned to affection, and mere affection had somehow, miraculously, turned to love. And all in the space of less than a month. Ron would definitely think he had lost his marbles if he realised that Harry not only accepted Severus Snape as his father, but that he loved the man.

His feelings towards this man had never been indifferent; it had always taken up all his energy to sustain the degree of antipathy that he had told himself he felt for Snape. The energy had created a vortex and Harry's emotions had been battered about inside that vortex. He remembered the confusion that he had felt when he had found out in first year that his most hated teacher had been looking out for his safety...had actually saved his life. When that had been thrown into the wildly swirling hurricane, confusion had as often dominated his thoughts of Severus Snape as outright hatred.

The point was, his emotions had always been in a state of upheaval when it came to the man. He had always told himself that he hated Snape with a passion. But that had not really been the case. If it had been, he would have sneered at the treatment he had seen James Potter and Sirius dole out in that pensieved memory. Instead, he had felt distress and anger. He had thought that the distress was because James had been toppled from his pedestal, but that had not been the whole truth. He had been distressed for Snape; his throat had clogged up with emotion every time he had thought about the man's humiliation.

He had blamed Snape for Sirius's death, but that had been because he had not wanted to blame himself. He had not really needed Professor Dumbledore to tell him that Snape had done everything in his power to check that Sirius was at Grimmauld place and to try to keep him there. With his absolute devastation at Sirius's death, Harry had found it easy to lay blame.

The fact was, after Sirius's death, Harry had been a total wreck. His performance in Dumbledore's office the day he had been poisoned was proof of that, and yet, even amidst all the verbal abuse he had heaped on his Potions Professor's head, Professor Dumbledore had told him that Severus had been the first to realise that something was wrong, and because of this, his speedy removal to the dungeon laboratory had probably been one of the factors that had helped save his life.

No, considering everything that he and Severus had been through during the last five years, Harry was not shocked to realise that his buffeted emotions had so rapidly settled on love. The genuine warmth in the eyes now staring into his, could not help but engender love in Harry's heart and mind. He knew that his father was going to be there for him now as much in spirit as he had always been in reality.

Harry did not know whether his dad had quite gotten to the stage of loving yet, or at least, whether he would be willing to admit to any such emotion. After all, Severus Snape's life had been no picnic either and he had a lot more years of misery to erase than Harry did, and many more prejudices. But he would get there, Harry was sure of that now. It wasn't as though the emotion was entirely unknown to the man. He had known his mother's and grandmother's love even as he had loved them. And he had had Lily's love up to a certain point.

Severus cleared his throat and gently extricated his hand from Harry's. "So," he said in a slightly husky voice, "do you think that you would have liked Potions given the opportunity?"

"I looked forward to that first Potions lesson," said Harry, perfectly truthfully. "So yes, I think I would have enjoyed Potions. But I deliberately cut off my own nose to spite my face by not trying very hard after things...well after things started out so badly. It was as if I thought that I might be hurting you if I didn't make much of an effort."

Severus shook his head, his eyes full of regret. "I have to be perfectly truthful, Harry as you have. Your lack of effort just cemented my opinion of your being a lazy, incompetent wizard who was planning on using his fame and his Quidditch skills to propel him into the future. I felt vindicated in thinking that you were going to quite happily waste your life, depleting your family fortune and flying on a broom above a Quidditch pitch to enhance your already ill-deserved place in wizarding history.

Harry couldn't help but look disappointed and when he would have lowered his eyes, Severus reached out and propped Harry's chin on a finger, making him maintain eye contact. "And that, Harry, is the very height of how blind a man can be. I revelled in those feelings of superiority. I knew I was a better man than you would ever be because I had a serious job and I was doing something that was incalculably important to the Order.

"I chose to forget about my own catastrophic choices when I was only a little older than you are now. Choices that I knew without thought, that the rich, idle and questionably intelligent Quidditch player would never make because I knew, deep down, that he had so much more integrity and caring in his little finger than Severus Snape had in the whole of his body.

"I used to live with two great regrets in my life, Harry. One: that I did not make peace with my cousin when it was my mother's heart's desire that I do so. Two: that I let your mother down by allowing a madman to draw me in to participate in his grand plan for the wizarding world and to brand me to make me his own...the very thing that made me realise that the Dark Lord's plan was all about his own self-aggrandisement, and not about the maintaining of the essence of the wizarding world as we knew it.

"But I now have a third regret: that I treated the son of my cousin with the same disdain that I had treated his father, despite my already deep-rooted regret for not having eased my mother's mind...because it had become habit to disdain anything Potter." Black eyes bore into Harry's emotional green ones.

"As I said before, Harry, old habits die hard. I have a lot of things that I will never be able to forgive myself for...my treatment of you, an innocent child being abused by a supposedly intelligent adult, is the one I most regret."

Harry tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, but it was impossible and his eyes filled with tears that welled so fast, they had overflowed before he could swipe them away."

"Do you think," asked Harry in a croaky voice, "that we can maybe forget the regrets and get on with the rest of our lives?"

Severus watched as Harry frantically scrubbed at his cheeks and eyes, and then he smiled. The smile said it all...so much more than words because it was such a rare sight.

"My thoughts exactly. And in that vein, without any further prevarication, I will tell you that I have brought you here today to take a makeup practical potions exam."

Harry sniffed and took the handkerchief that his father held out to wipe his nose. "A make-up exam? But I haven't studied for anything."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I now know that you are not that questionably-intelligent Quidditch player that I so foolishly spent the last five years denigrating you as, Harry; I know that you have taken in a lot more than you have shown me that you are capable of. I know that you will handle N.E.W.T Potions with relative ease, if you want to, that is. Do you want to take the exam, or not?"

Harry was nodding before Severus had finished speaking and Severus held up a hand to curb his enthusiasm a little. "Before we go any further though Harry, you must promise me that you will not tell any of your friends. I know I am asking you to keep another secret, but I do know that you would have easily obtained an outstanding O.W.L if I had allowed your talent free rein."

After a few seconds of hesitation, Harry nodded. "I promise," he said. "This won't be a problem. If you don't tell me how I do, my result will still be a surprise when the owls do come with our results. I can be surprised." He grimaced. "I hope."

"I have complete faith in you." Harry's face radiated joy again, and Severus shook his head helplessly.

"Now, if you have finished mutilating that piece of cake, follow me."

8888

It was three hours later, just before dinner time, that Severus Apparated into the Burrow's backyard with Harry clamped to his side. He once again wondered at his son's inability to tolerate any form of magical travel other than a broomstick, as he hung on to Harry's arm until he re-orientated himself. That was taking a long time and instead of beginning to look better, every vestige of colour had drained from his face and he was obviously trying to take in great lung-fulls of air to try and stop himself from vomiting.

Severus had thought that after so long spent in the lab, a walk down to the gate would do them both good. That had, but the Apparition had not. Severus realised, belatedly, that Harry had never side-along Apparated before whilst conscious.

The back door crashed open and two Weasleys and a Granger spilled out into the yard, only to slow their advancement upon their friend when they saw Severus holding Harry up. But when the inevitable happened and Harry's stomach turned over and Severus bent him over his arm so that he could purge himself, the smallest of the trio separated from the other two and ran towards them.

If she found Severus's solicitousness unusual, she made no comment as she placed her hand on Harry's convulsing back and rubbed comforting circles. She looked at Severus, concern the only emotion in her eyes. "What happened, Professor?"

"Your boyfriend does not travel very well unless on a broom Miss Weasley. As he is rather averse to the Floo, I thought that Apparating here might be the better of two evils...but apparently not."

Ron and Hermione had advanced a little further and were both standing, looking wary and worried. Severus decided he had best make himself scarce. Harry was leaning against his chest now, apologising and wiping his mouth with the handkerchief that Severus had given him earlier. "Weasley, Miss Granger. Come and assist your friend back to the house."

Hermione darted forward immediately and Ron was close behind. Hermione insinuated herself between Harry and Severus and managed to hook an arm around Harry's waist. Of course, he objected strongly to being made such a fuss of, now that his stomach had returned to its normal position in his abdominal cavity.

"I'm OK." He tried to lift his arm from around Ginny's shoulders and extricate himself from Hermione's tenacious hold, but neither girl would have a bar of his bid for independence.

"I need a quick word with your mother, Weasley," Severus said to Ron, who was standing, watching Harry struggling to free himself from his two female captors, and looking as useless as a cheese cauldron.

"Weasley!" barked Severus and Ron startled, looked at him with trepidation. "Where is your mother?"

"Erm, in the kitchen, I think. At least she was a minute ago."

Severus stalked past the gormless boy. "And get your arse into gear boy and go and assist your friends!" He threw the command over his shoulder even as he saw the girls were herding Harry towards the house.

By the time Severus had relayed his message to Molly and was preparing to take his leave, the kids had appeared in the kitchen. Severus was relieved to see that Harry was now walking unaided and looking more than a little sheepish.

Molly darted towards Harry and simultaneously managed to pull him into a hug and pull out a chair to push him down into it. Severus had informed her that Harry had been sick, but that it was just the result of Apparition and that his tests had all been satisfactory.

As the three sidekicks pulled out seats around the table and Molly bustled to the stove to put the kettle on and prepare the universal panacea for the world's ills, Severus caught Harry's eye and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you over your little upset, Potter?" he asked in the bored voice he had perfected when showing his disdain.

"I'll survive, sir," answered Harry, looking away and squeezing the small hand that had just slipped into his on top of the table.

"Well, as everyone else is of the opinion that that is a good thing, I think I will just remain quiet."

Harry's  eyes were riveted on his and Ginny's joined hands. "Whatever," he said bitterly. He didn't have to try very hard to come up with bitterness. He heard his father leave the room and exit the back door.

"Wanker," muttered Ron so that his mother couldn't hear over the clattering of crockery. Hermione, her own eyes riveted on Harry's taut face, admonished him in her stead. Ron looked outraged.

"Well, he is Hermione. Can't he give Harry a break?"

"Drop it Ron," reiterated Ginny. "Harry doesn't need anymore grief. We all know that you don't like Professor Snape, but just shut up about it or I'll hex you five ways to Christmas."

"Ginevra Weasley, you most certainly will not hex your brother, and if you threaten to do any such thing again, I will confiscate your wand for the rest of the holidays. Is that clear, young lady?"

"Yes, Mum," said Ginny, totally unabashed. She grinned at Harry, then released his hand to pour him a mug of tea.

"Are you really feeling better, Harry?" asked Hermione. Harry just nodded and sipped his tea. "What did he have to do today that took so long?"

"Just some more tests, Hermione," said Harry, his voice as disinterested as he could make it. "My liver was badly affected by that poison and Snape just has to keep on checking that it's still functioning properly."

"He seems to have to do that a lot," said Hermione, her head to the side studying Harry's averted face. Harry looked at her, his gaze direct.

"He saved my life Hermione. As much as it peeves me to have him poking and prodding, I'm not about to kick up a stink about it. If Snape says he has to keep on checking my liver function, then I'm not about to argue the point."

"Well, you can't really, can you? Still, I can't figure out why he has to do it so often, or why it takes so long."

Ginny looked annoyed. "Are you a healer, Hermione?"

Hermione frowned. "No, but..."

"And have you a hankering to direct your considerable talents in that direction?" asked Ginny.

"No, but Ginny..."

"And do you know much about the workings of the liver?"

"Ginny..."

"Then stop trying to find a mystery where there isn't one."

"OK guys," said Harry, standing up. "Can we just not talk about this anymore? If Snape says I'm to go with him, then I go. Professor Dumbledore has put him in charge of me for the time being."

The two girls looked at each other as if they each would like to argue more but neither wanted to push Harry's buttons anymore.

"Mate," said Ron, shaking his head sympathetically. He and the girls followed Harry into the living-room, Ron with his mug of tea still in hand. "This has to rank as one of your worst summers."

Harry threw himself down on the sofa, where he leaned over to pull the chess board towards him. "Nearly dying sure wasn't a highlight of my life, but it's not as if I'm not used to being someone or others' target. As for Snape, he does what he has to do and then he ignores me until he has time to bring me back here. I'm not allowed to even Floo without a bodyguard."

The three of them stared at Harry from their superior heights because they were still standing. "I don't want to talk about Snape, or my bloody liver anymore. I just want to have a few days of peace before I get poked and prodded again. So park it Ron, and beat me at a game of chess."

Ron grinned and planted himself across from Harry in an armchair. Hermione sat on the arm of his chair and Ginny snuggled up to Harry on the sofa. Ron won three games against Harry and two games against Ginny, though she got closer to knocking Ron off his pedestal than HArry had done.

Harry spent the next two days relaxing and laughing and enjoying a continuous burst of warm weather. He and Ginny even had a bit of alone time to get a little closer, and that certainly made this trip to the Burrow an even more memorable and enjoyable time than all of the other times put together. Ginny helped keep Harry's mind off of Hermione's suspicions and off of Ron's Snape insults. And she made it possible for Harry to not dwell on thoughts of his new father for hours at a time.

This was the best birthday ever in the history of birthdays! Harry couldn't remember when he had felt quite as good as he did at this particular time. He should turn sixteen more often if this was the sort of treatment he could expect.

He was snapped out of his wonderful reverie when his stomach did a back flip. This wasn't one of the horrible, uncomfortable flips where he produced a Technicolor yawn...no, this flip was a shivery, delicious flip, the cause of which was a small, cool hand tentatively working its way under his tee-shirt and up over his stomach.

"Gin!" he groaned, and his eyes fluttered shut, blocking out the dappled sunlight that filtered through the feathery canopy of the copse of silver birch trees that Ginny had led him into half an hour earlier. His stomach did another delicious little wiggle when an exploring finger dipped into his belly button.

Soft lips teased the corner of Harry's jaw before a warm, feathery breath tickled his ear and whispered words penetrated his befuddled senses. The hand was working its way upwards. "Do you like that?"

Like! What kind of insipid word was ‘like'? Stupid word really. ‘Like' did little to describe how Harry was feeling about that marauding hand. And when the pad of a finger brushed fleetingly across a nipple, the resultant spasm that coursed through Harry's body and the groan that issued from his throat made it necessary for him to remove the word ‘like' from his vocabulary altogether. But was there a word that actually did do justice to how he felt at the moment? Harry didn't think so.

And now she was doing it again...and again, and Harry thought he was going to explode. He sucked in his stomach in an effort to ease the tightness of his jeans. Yeah, like that was going to work when Ginny had wiggled her lower body closer to his...she had been lying on her stomach, side-on to him, but now their lower bodies were in contact and her leg had worked its way over his.

They were lying on the soft, mossy ground in this little hiding place where Ginny said she had been coming since she was a little girl. She loved to read here. Her little girl self would have been able to step between the close growing trunks to this little dell within, no problems whatsoever, but it was a tighter fit for her now. Still she managed it fairly easily. Harry, on the other hand had only just gotten through; if he had not lost so much weight when he had been sick, he wouldn't have made it.

Reading was not the purpose of this expedition today however. Ginny had dragged him here to give him his birthday present, and then to follow it up with their present activity. Harry definitely preferred this activity to reading, or even opening presents...hell, he preferred this activity to breathing!

Ginny was practically adhered to his side now...her hip was digging into his while her hand continued its exploration of his torso and her foot, sans sandal, was rubbing his calf through his jeans. Her lips travelled down his sweat-slick neck until her tongue dipped into the hollow of his throat. Harry groaned again-indeed, it was the only noise he was capable of producing at the moment-and his eyes practically rolled up into his head. All he was physically capable of (at least consciously-one part of his body was working independently of his brain) was lifting a very heavy arm and digging his fingers into the long, soft, fiery tresses at the base of Ginny's skull, and pressing her face more tightly against his skin.

Ginny let out a little groan of her own as she became impatient with the tight neckband of Harry's tee-shirt. Harry's breath whooshed out of him-he felt as if his lungs would never re-inflate again-when Ginny quickly pulled her hand out from under his shirt and it brushed across the fly of his jeans. And even though that part of his body that worked independently of his brain was restrained by several layers of cotton and denim and a metal zip, Harry knew he would have needed to be inside an iron lung to be oblivious to even that accidental touch.

Ginny didn't seem to have noticed what she had just done-that had not been her goal-and if she noticed Harry's tense stillness and his short panting breaths (it seemed his lungs were still capable of working after all), she ignored it. She was intent on exposing his torso to her gaze and her touch. And when her lips lowered to take that well fingered nipple into her mouth, Harry yelped and practically lost consciousness as every last vestige of blood drained from his brain and migrated south.

Harry pressed her head closer for a fleeting second, but then, with a groan, he reluctantly wrapped both hands around the sides of her head and eased her face away from him. "Gin!" he panted. "You're killing me. You really need to stop." The words were little more than a croak. Harry peeled his eyelids open and looked at the blurry, pale oval with its twin, chocolate-coloured orbs, framed by the curtain of fire. He saw her smile knowingly and lower her head again, but he exerted more pressure to keep her from her goal.

"No, really...Gin, you have to stop." Harry tried to move sideways away from that bony little hip that was still digging into him.

"Do you want me to stop?" Ginny whispered, and Harry felt that little hand move down over his fluttering stomach. He swallowed around the dry lump in his throat. Did he want her to stop? Hell no. But...He grabbed her hand before it reached the waistband of his cargo pants.

"You have to stop," he reiterated, albeit reluctantly, and when she tried to twist her hand out of his grasp, he held on tight.

"I want to make you feel good, Harry," she said with a stunning candour that made some of the blood that had pooled in Harry's groin rush northwards again to stain his cheeks with heated colour.

He groaned again and shut his eyes, raising a shaky hand to rub it over his face and then back, through his hair. That was what he wanted too. And he wanted to reciprocate. God, did he ever want to reciprocate.

"Ginny," he squeaked, "your dad and your brothers will kill me...hell, Ron'll kill me all by himself. And your mum trusts me."

Harry opened his eyes, and even though his vision was blurry, he could see the tiny smile on his girlfriend's face flicker and die. And before he could stop her, she pulled away from him and sat up, her back to him and her knees drawn up so that she could wrap one arm around them and pluck at the mossy surface she was sitting on with the other. "Sorry," she said in a whisper. "I just thought, well...it's your birthday and we've never...I've never...I'm sorry."

Harry's excited flesh had settled down somewhat, enough to enable him to scramble into a sitting position without too much discomfort considering the tightness of his pants. He scrabbled around for his glasses which Ginny had plucked from his face after they had gotten in the way when they had really started snogging.

"Don't be sorry," said Harry. He had crawled around in front of her so that he could see her face. Still on his knees, he took her face in both of his hands and raised it so that she was looking directly at him. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I loved you touching me. I didn't want you to stop..."

"Then why?" she said.

"Gin, we have to think about this carefully. You're not even fifteen yet."

"I'll be fifteen in less than two weeks," she pointed out impatiently. "I'm not a little kid, Harry. I know what I'm doing...at least, I know what I want to do...what I want us to do together."

Harry groaned and sat back on his heels, looking at her as if she was one of Florean Fortescue's giant knickerbocker glories, and he was loath to devour it because it was such a work of art. "Ginny...your family," he said helplessly.

Ginny pulled away from Harry and with jerky movements, she slipped her sandal back onto her foot before jumping up and stalking off across the mossy ground towards the trees.

"Ginny!" cried Harry and he jumped up, to race after her.

"I get it Harry. All I was thinking about was you-us-but you obviously had your mind focused elsewhere."

Harry grabbed her arm to stop her from going any further. "Gin, that's not fair."

"What's not fair is the fact that I can't keep your mind on me-on us-so I'm obviously not very good at what I was trying to do."

"Not very good! Ginny..." started Harry, hopelessly.

"No, Harry," she interrupted, and he was appalled to see tears swimming in her eyes. "Do you think any of my brothers worry about what I might think of their antics when they're with a girl. Or do you think they feel guilty because of what our mum might think. No, they wouldn't! And nor do they wonder what the said girl's mother would think either. None of them are that self-sacrificing. Their take on the matter would be that it is up to the girl to call a halt if she wants to."

"I bet none of them were fifteen, Gin."

Ginny's face became stony. "Is there a magical age when it's all right to do more than just snog your boyfriend, Harry? If I was seventeen would it be OK, or would you still kowtow to my family?"

"Gin, Ron's like a brother to me...the twins, your mum and dad are-shit-they're the closest thing to a family that I've got."  Not true anymore, but Harry couldn't get into that. He would always consider Mr and Mrs Weasley as family because they had made him part of their family.

Ginny just stared at him, her brown eyes huge with hurt and sadness. She gently twisted her arm until Harry's hand fell to his side. He felt absolutely wretched. When Ginny had ambushed him after lunch, and dragged him outside to lead him quickly to this favourite spot, he had come perfectly willingly.

She had pulled him down onto the springy surface under the birch canopy and given him a homemade birthday card (thankfully, not a singing one) and his present. It had been so natural for him to then lean over to kiss her, and for that kiss to lead to the snogging session that had, sadly and inexplicably ended here, with Ginny stepping back from him, her face pale and set.

"Gin..." Harry knew his voice sounded a little impatient, but hell, he had gone from floating on cloud nine to feeling like shit in the space of fifteen minutes, and she was being a little unreasonable...wasn't she?

Ginny smiled a tight little smile that looked infinitely sad. "You have to decide whether you want a sister or a girlfriend, Harry," she said in a wooden little voice. "I might be living up to Aunty Muriel's assessment of me as being forward, but I know what I want, and it isn't another brother." She leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on his unresponsive mouth. Then she turned and walked to the trees.

But before she stepped through, she turned back. "And just so you know, it wasn't my intention to have us go all the way today. Contrary to what you may think, I am not that forward." And with that, she slipped between the trees and disappeared.

Harry just stared after her. He couldn't believe that the euphoria and excitement he had felt a very short time ago could have deteriorated to this. Why couldn't he have kept his big mouth shut? They had both been in it together until he had baulked. Ginny was right to be peeved. What kind of a fool was he? To give up the pleasure he had been feeling because thoughts of Ginny's family had intruded.

Harry turned back to pick up his gift. He stared down at it, a small smile curving his lips. It was a carved, oval, wooden picture frame with a photograph of the whole of the Weasley family...sans Percy. Ginny had explained that she had asked Bill to spell an old photo of Charlie over Percy, because she didn't think that Harry would appreciate a photo of Percy, when Percy had spent the last twelve months denigrating Harry.

They were all standing in front of the Burrow in an attitude of perpetual motion, waving at the observer. Ginny was standing in front of Bill, who had his arms draped around her neck and his chin resting on her head. She was laughing at something and Harry thought she looked absolutely perfect. The original photograph-with Percy in it-had been taken to send to Charlie in Romania, because he had not been able to get home for his birthday. But in this copy, not only had Charlie replaced Percy, but Ginny was also her present day self, thanks again to Bill.

The higgledy-piggledy house itself wasn't part of the photo. Ginny had superimposed the family in front of a brilliant pencil drawing of the Burrow. Harry had vaguely known that Ginny was really good at drawing-he thought Hermione might have mentioned it to him-but he was ashamed to say, he had never taken the time to look at any of her art, even though he had often seen her sketching at Hogwarts. For his gift, she had spelled the drawing of the Burrow to take on sepia tones, and with the coloured Weasleys in the foreground, the effect was very unusual, but very attractive.

Harry put his gift back in the box-thinking how much effort Ginny had put into it. She had said that she had done the drawing at school, so she had had it planned for a while. Bill had sent her the altered photograph as per her instructions and Ginny had constructed the whole at school because she had needed to use magic.

As Harry forced his way back through the gap in the trees, he heard Ron calling him. Fifteen seconds later, they came within sight of each other as Harry rounded the copse. Ron stood still and allowed Harry to skirt the pond to reach him. Harry wasn't too thrilled to see the set look on his mate's face.

"Where have you been?" Ron asked in a confrontational tone. He saw the loosely wrapped gift-Harry had put the paper back around the box-in Harry's hand. "Is that from Ginny?"

"Yep," said Harry blithely and he pulled the frame out of the box and wrapping and handed it to Ron. Ron took it reluctantly and stared at the montage. After grunting his grudging approval, he thrust it back at Harry.

"Why did you have to drag her off? She could have given you that at the house."

"Well, Ron," said Harry with exaggerated patience, "just to set you straight, I was the draggee, not the dragger, though note; I wasn't complaining. And as for why, well, I imagine privacy had a lot to do with it."

Ron's blood was obviously heating up because the colour was starting to rise in his face. On Ginny, the high colour was attractive, on Ron, well...it just made him look plain mean.

"You were gone for ages," bit out Ron.

"We were gone for about twenty-five minutes all up, Ron. Don't exaggerate. And if you were keeping a real close eye out, which it appears you were, then you would have seen that Ginny got back to the house a few minutes ago."

"Yeah, she did," said Ron, attacking from a different direction now. "And she looked miserable. She looked as if she had been crying. What did you do to her?"

Harry felt his own temper rise, but he didn't want to mar his birthday by having a fight with his best mate. He just looked his disgust before stalking off, making sure his shoulder bumped Ron's arm as he passed him.

Ron grabbed Harry's arm and spun him back around. He thrust his face close. "What did you do, Harry? Why's she upset?"

Harry yanked his arm out of the tight grip. He thrust his face close to Ron's so that now, they stood nose to nose. Harry was at a disadvantage because Ron was taller than he was and was looming over him slightly. "What I do with my girlfriend is none of you bloody business, Ron," he yelled, not exactly sure why he wasn't saying he hadn't done anything, except that it was none of Ron's business. "But if you're worried, why don't you ask Ginny. If she doesn't set your big-brother mind to rest, then you can beat me up. Or at least you can try."

With that rash challenge ringing in the air, Harry spun about and stalked off. He was seething. First Ginny's overreaction to his trying to do the right thing, and now her bloody brother was acting like he had raped her or something equally mental. This was really great. Harry knew Mrs Weasley was preparing a birthday dinner for him, and now, celebrating was the last thing he wanted to do.

Harry never thought that he would say it, but all of a sudden, he wanted to be back in the comfortable dungeon quarters with his dad. There was always peace and quiet there...well, there was now that he and Snape weren't at each other's throats all the time. And when the fleeting image of himself going to Snape for advice about how to handle this situation with Ginny rose in his mind, he snorted with suppressed laughter. Yeah, right...Severus Snape would be just the person to discuss girls and how to survive in a relationship, with.

"Harry."

Harry looked up. Hermione was coming down the stairs but not being in the mood to be lectured by his friend, Harry just said "hi," and brushed past her. When she called after him, he ignored her, sure that she and Ginny had just been speaking.

When he got to Ron's room, he shut the door firmly, even though he could here Hermione's light steps ascending the stairs after him. He leaned against it and sure enough, Hermione tried the handle. Harry had never known anyone as determined as she was.

"Harry, can I talk to you?"

"No." Harry wasn't in the mood for diplomacy, and the succinct answer seemed to take the wind out of Hermione's sails.

Eventually, in a subdued voice, she said, "You might feel better."

"I feel fine, thanks Hermione." And then, because he didn't want another miserable female on his conscience, all because of something he had either said or done, albeit unwittingly, Harry opened the door and poked his face through the opening. Hermione, who had turned to descend the stairs, spun back around. She did indeed look miserable. "Look, Hermione, I really am OK. Ginny and I just had a disagreement about something. Maybe you should talk to her, make her feel better."

Harry sincerely hoped though, that Ginny would draw the line at actually discussing what the two of them were out of sorts over...that was their private affair. He was aware that girls seemed to talk everything over with their best friend, and Harry knew Hermione and Ginny were really close. All he had to do was picture Lavender and Parvati with their heads bent close together every time they were together.

Hermione set his mind to rest at once. "She doesn't want to talk either, and she looks really upset."

Good! She should be upset, thought Harry, but then he felt a dagger of remorse pierce his heart. He didn't want Ginny to be miserable because of what he had said and done in the copse. "We'll work it out Hermione. But at the moment, I just want to be by myself to think. Maybe you could go and calm Ron down and stop him from planning my execution."

Hermione smiled...a sad little smile, but a smile nonetheless. "All right," she said and then she closed the distance between them and surprising Harry, she took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead.   

"Honestly, boys really should come with a set of built-in instructions when it comes to how they should be with their girlfriends."

"Hey!" objected Harry. "Not everything is the boy's fault, you know."  But Hermione had already disappeared down the stairs. All of the indignation went out of him and he shut the door and threw himself down on his camp bed. "What boys need is a manual that just pops into existence when they decide on the girl they want, so that they know exactly what that particular girl likes and wants," he said out loud. And how far she really wants to go, he added silently.

If it had been him who was trying to force the pace and was pushing Ginny further than she had been willing to go, Harry could then understand that she would have had every right to be upset. But to go off in a huff just because he had tried to be a gentleman and stop things before they had gone too far...well, that was just plain mental. And as for having to decide whether he wanted a girlfriend or a sister...well, that was just fucking idiotic. He wouldn't have been doing the things he had been doing-even to the limit he had done them-if Ginny was his sister for ‘F's' sake.

She had really not been fair. How was he just supposed to wipe Mr and Mrs Weasley and what they would feel out of his mind when he and Ginny were getting hot and heavy? He had been able to up to now because they had not done anything that Mr and Mrs Weasley could really object to, had they? But today was different. If Ginny had continued with her explorations, Harry doubted he would have had the strength of mind to stop. She had said that she had no intention of going all the way, but if she had touched him there, he would have wanted to go a hell of a lot further than she would perhaps have been willing to go.

Harry threw his arm over his eyes, blocking out the orange light that pervaded the whole room, compliments of the Chudley Canons paraphernalia that covered practically every vertical and horizontal surface; there was even a poster on the ceiling over Ron's bed. Usually, it didn't bother him, but at the moment, Harry couldn't cope with fireball orange.

He conjured the memory of what had happened in the copse before he had called a halt, and as was inevitable, his body reacted with alacrity. He squirmed at the memory of Ginny's lips and hands; her tactile exploration had been exquisite torture. Back there in the copse, Harry thought he had died and gone to heaven. Now, as he groaned and flipped onto his stomach, heaven seemed a long way away and he had to wonder if he would ever attain those dizzy heights with Ginny again.

8888

Molly had pulled out all the stops for Harry's birthday dinner. The knowledge that they had so very nearly lost him at the beginning of the holidays and the sad fact that Harry had reached the age of sixteen without ever having had a proper birthday celebration (that he could remember at least) made her determined to make Harry Potter feel special in a good way for once. It was not a huge party...it was, in fact just family and the people who were closest to Harry.

And that was what made it so special for Harry. He would have felt highly embarrassed if all and sundry had turned up to make a fuss of him...Harry hated being the centre of attention; Molly had gotten that right.

It wasn't really a large guest list when you took the Weasleys out of the equation. There was Hermione, of course-and Molly considered her an honorary Weasley, just as she did Harry-as well as Remus, Tonks, Hagrid and Kingsley. She had also invited Albus and Minerva to dinner, but Minerva had declined dinner, saying that they would come for a short time later, as Albus had been unwell of late, and she didn't want him out and about for too long. Molly had chuckled after receiving the owl from Minerva; she could just imagine Albus's indignation and disappointment. No one loved a party as much as Albus Dumbledore.

Oh, yes...Molly heaved a sigh as her eye fell upon the silver haired vision of perfection sitting next to Bill halfway down the table. Fleur, the girl her precious son was engaged to and whom Molly really could not come to terms with. Nobody who had that kind of other-worldly beauty could make a good wife in Molly's opinion. From everything Molly had seen of Miss Fleur Delacour, she was as taken up with herself as much as every male within hailing distance was. All that time spent admiring one's reflection was time taken away from looking after her husband. And that, particularly when said husband was one of Molly Weasley's sons, was just not on.

Molly looked sour as Fleur's irritating trill of laughter rang out and all of the men, even the older contingent...Arthur (whom she would be having strong words with later), Kingsley and Hagrid, had their glazed eyes fixed upon the French woman. Remus was not fixated on her at least...he was gazing down at his hand where he was turning his spoon end over end. Tonks was whispering in his ear and Remus' lips were lifted in a slight smile. Molly frowned as she watched the two of them. Tonks looked ecstatic now that she had Remus, but Remus, never looked equally so. Perhaps it was just that the man was a more serious individual than his exuberant girlfriend. It could not be easy being Remus Lupin; Molly did not envy him his existence. She wondered why it was that the nicest people were the ones who usually had more than their fair share of misery.

Shaking her head sadly, Molly's gaze moved on, settling on the younger generation, all of whom practically had their tongues hanging out as they stared, mesmerised, at Fleur...all but Harry, and of course Bill. Despite having fallen in love with Fleur, Bill had never exhibited the glazed eyes and the slack mouth that so many young men suffered from when confronted by the part-Veela. He appeared to be immune to the stunning looks, which Molly had to admit, was all to the good; he was not entering into this relationship totally blind-sided by Fleur's unearthly beauty.

Harry, dear boy, kept on darting covert looks at Ginny, whom, Molly had noted earlier, did not look her usual carefree self. Harry too, when he was not forcing himself to join in the festivities, looked a little sad. It seemed that the young couple might have had a falling out.

Well, at least Harry appreciated a girl whose beauty was not the result of being a descendent of an enchanted race of magical beings whose main purpose in life was to ensnare susceptible men. In Molly's opinion, her daughter was just as beautiful as Fleur Delacour.

The long table was outside on the verdant back lawn and in the deepening twilight, Molly felt a great contentment-despite the impending nuptials of her eldest son-in her home, and with her family and friends. The Dark Lord and his evil mission seemed a long way away this evening. Multi-coloured fairy lights were strung between the branches of the trees and clung magically to the walls of the house, lending the festive scene a magical aura. The table itself was lit by four glass lanterns inside which Bluebell flames flickered merrily, and which were placed at intervals down the length of the table. It would have been perfect if Charlie and Percy could have been there, but they weren't...one by choice, and the other by necessity.

Molly hated Charlie heading off to practically the ends of the Earth to live and work with dragons. Not only was he too far away for her to keep in close contact with, but his job was highly dangerous and she worried constantly that one of his charges could seriously injure, or even kill him. Percy, of course, was just too stubborn to admit that he had been wrong. Molly recognised that Percy was very like her in the stubbornness department, and she just had to hope that one day he could swallow his pride and come back to them.

The people around the table seemed to have broken into separate factions now: Fred and George were showing Hagrid some card tricks, Remus, Arthur and Kingsley were discussing what Molly assumed was Order business, Bill and Fleur had their heads together, blissfully unaware of anyone else for the moment, Tonks had Ginny and Hermione in fits of laughter by doing foolish things with her face; Ron was looking on, but not finding the performance as funny as the girls, and Harry was sitting with his hands clasped between his knees, looking at the ground. Molly wondered what had happened between the boys. She had not seen them exchange a word all night.

Molly shelved the worry of the boys' behaviour and stood to start stacking dishes. Once she had a pile of plates, she spelled them to float through the air towards the back door. As they floated past Harry, he seemed to come out of his reverie, and realising that Molly was clearing up, he jumped to his feet to help.

"No, Harry dear...this is your party. You don't clear the table on your birthday," she said, putting her arm around his shoulders and squeezing.

"No, really...I don't mind helping Mrs Weasley..."

"Sit down, Harry." Mr Weasley had come to lend his efforts and he put a hand on Harry's shoulder and pushed him gently back into his chair. He smiled.  "Haven't you learned yet that you do not argue with a Weasley female?"

Harry returned the smile but it was devoid of humour. He glanced at Ginny who was watching the exchange. "I have learned that, yeah."

8888

Harry took Molly and Arthur's strictures to heart and he was the last to leave the table, only getting up to follow Ron, Hermione and Ginny when they stood to go back inside. All of the adults had already departed the table, Tonks and Remus being the last to leave, deciding to walk past the protective charms to Apparate away, rather than use the Floo.

Tonks had been regaling them with tales of her antics when she had been at Hogwarts. Harry had laughed along with the others, although he got as much enjoyment out of watching a sparkling Ginny as he did out of the stories. Remus, of course, had to top Tonks and he had launched into several anecdotes involving a demented caretaker and a certain invisibility cloak and enchanted map. Harry had listened avidly to these tales and Tonks had had to admit herself outpranked by the masters...the Marauders, whose adventures were still talked about as being the stuff of legends, even though the four miscreants had left the school a good six years before she had started.

The evening had ended on this happy note and as Harry followed in the girls' wake as they walked back towards the house, Ron fell into step beside him. Harry glanced at him, noting the hands thrust deep into jeans pockets, the sloping footsteps and the colour riding high on Ron's cheekbones as he kept his gaze riveted on the ground. Harry waited for him to dredge up the courage to speak-all of the indicators showed that he had something to get off his chest-and he did so after the girls had entered the house.

"Harry, I'm sorry mate. I've been a total pillock again." Harry stopped and thrust his own hands into his pockets. He kept his gaze on Ron's large trainer-clad feet. He wasn't going to make this easy. He was more than a little sick of Ron flying off the handle when it came to him and Ginny.

"You'd been gone for a while, and when Ginny appeared, she was miserable and looked as if she had been crying..." The reminder of Ginny's tears jolted Harry. He had temporarily forgotten that she had been so upset.

"Anyway, I jumped in feet first, as usual. Hermione's had a go at me, and Ginny's threatened me at wand point, again, for acting like a prat towards you." Ron fell silent again. He scratched the side of his neck and looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "So, are we OK?"

"Are you just apologising because Hermione and Ginny are giving you a hard time?"

"No!" said Ron. "No, I've had a shit of a day, true, but then again, I can see that you've had an even worse one. And it's your birthday. I really am sorry. It's obvious, now that I've had time to think, that whatever happened between you and Ginny has made you just as miserable as she is. And she's not really mad at you...she's just sad. Like you." He fell silent and dug at the grass with the toe of his trainer, dislodging a divot which he then attempted to tamp back down with his heel. "So, are we OK?"

"Yeah, course," said Harry after pretending to deliberate for a few seconds. "Only do me a favour. Next time you want to attack me because you're trying to protect Ginny, just remember that I would never deliberately hurt her and that she is perfectly capable of looking after herself."

Ron grinned. "You've got that one right. If I find you with giant flying bogies flapping around your face, I'll know you have displeased your lady and I might leave you to suffer for a short time, but then I would perform Finite for you."

Harry laughed. "You're all heart."

Ron clapped him on the shoulder and they entered the house together. They heard the roar of the Floo as they shut the door and looking at each other, they walked through the kitchen where Molly had set cups and saucers and plates of birthday cake and left the kettle simmering and the teapot standing, waiting for its offering of boiling water. They entered the living room in time to see Professor McGonagall step out of the green flames, followed almost instantly by Professor Dumbledore.

Ron looked at Harry as his mother stepped forwards and embraced their Head of House and Arthur greeted Dumbledore. "Did you know they were coming?" he asked and as Harry shook his head, Dumbledore spotted him.

"Ah, Harry...happy sixteenth birthday, my boy." He crossed to Harry and laid his hands on his shoulders, his wide smile visible through the silver moustache and beard. "I trust you have had an enjoyable day."

"Yes thanks, sir," said Harry, grinning back. "It's been great, thanks to Mr and Mrs Weasley." 

"Yes. Harry, happy birthday," said Professor McGonagall, smiling as she joined their little group. "I'm sorry that we could not get here for your dinner, but Professor Dumbledore is still recuperating from an injury he sustained in mysterious circumstances and which he has so far failed to divulge the origins of." Minerva bestowed a very disapproving look upon the headmaster who managed to look supremely unaffected by this telling off. Harry, on the other hand, had to bite his bottom lip to stop a smirk adorning his features and Ron, not quite as successful as his friend, had to turn a snort of mirth into a cough. When Minerva looked at him over the top of her glasses, Ron's ears turned red and he thrust his hands into his pockets and lowered his gaze to his truly fascinating trainers.

Harry glanced towards the Floo, hoping to see it flare again and his father step out. But when the grate remained disappointingly lifeless, he sighed and turned back to Dumbledore who was fishing in a deep pocket of his midnight blue robes. He pulled out a small cube-shaped package, wrapped in gold paper and patterned with tiny wands that were shooting multi-coloured stars over and over across the golden surface of the paper.

Harry's cheeks reddened as he took the little package. "You didn't have to get me anything, sir," he said softly and Dumbledore patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

"I am fully aware that I did not have to get you anything, my boy. And I have to admit that I really did not go out and buy this little offering." Harry looked confused and Dumbledore indicated that Harry open the package.

Intrigued more than embarrassed now, Harry ripped the paper off to reveal a plain white box. And when he took off the lid, his eyes widened before he tipped a walnut sized ball into his palm. Tiny wings unwrapped themselves from around the body and fluttered somewhat feebly before drooping and brushing Harry's palm.

"A Snitch!" Six voices stated the obvious, and Harry's head snapped up to see that Hermione, Ginny, Bill and Fleur had come to stand with him, Ron and Dumbledore.

"A pretty exhausted Snitch," added Bill, his eyebrows raised.

"This, children," said Dumbledore, smiling at Bill's exasperated expression at being referred to as a child, "is not just a Snitch. This is the first Snitch that Harry caught in his very first Quidditch match."

"Oh! exclaimed Harry, removing his eyes from the nearly motionless Snitch to Dumbledore's old, lined face.

"It is just a keepsake Harry. I thought you might like it as it has your signature attached to it now. I have kept it all this time and now I bestow it upon you."

"But isn't it needed for the matches?" asked Harry, a little confused, although when he looked at the drooping wings, he was sure this winged ball didn't have another match in it.

"Ah, no one has ever explained to you the remarkable qualities of a Snitch, Harry?" said Dumbledore and Harry was relieved to see that he was not the only one looking confused. Ron, the Quidditch king looked as puzzled as Hermione, Ginny and Fleur. "Perhaps you could explain, Bill."

"When a Snitch is caught, Harry, the successful Seeker's magical signature becomes attached to it, so that if there is a disputed call, it can easily be proven who the true catcher was. Until the Snitch is caught, no human hand has ever touched it, not even the maker, who wears gloves throughout the making."

"I didn't know that," said Ron, his face reflecting his amazement that there could possibly be anything about Quidditch that he did not know. Ginny nodded her agreement.

"But, said Harry," seeing a slight flaw in this explanation. "Sometimes both Seekers touch the Snitch if they're neck and neck."

"True, Harry, but the Seeker who grasps the Snitch in his fist is the one who leaves the signature. Just brushing it with a fingertip isn't enough to transfer any of a Seeker's magic to the ball. It has to be enclosed in a fist."

"Ahh," said Harry, and he looked at the first Snitch he had ever caught with more interest. "So, that must mean that a new Snitch is used for every match."

"Correct," said Dumbledore.

"The professional teams keep all of the Snitches that won them games, in glass showcases in their clubrooms," continued Bill. "Occasionally, of course, the match is not won by the team who catches the Snitch. The last world cup is a case in point. I think the Seeker is then allowed to keep the Snitch as a keepsake."

"And as you were the youngest Seeker for over a century at Hogwarts, and you won that match, I have kept this in a showcase. But I think that you should have it."

Harry grinned. "Thanks, sir," said Harry sincerely and he hefted the little winged ball in his hand. It must have been his imagination, but Harry  thought that it felt a little heavier than a Snitch normally felt. But as he returned it to its nest of red velvet, he dismissed the errant thought as imagination."

"Look after that Harry," said Dumbledore.

"I will sir, thank you.

"Do not try to use it for an impromptu game. It is only suitable to be a keepsake now."

"I'll keep it safe. Don't worry."

"Come along all," said Arthur, who had reappeared in the doorway. "Molly has tea and cake."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, rubbing his hands together and walking briskly towards the kitchen. Gathering the young people about him like chicks, he began to usher everyone towards the kitchen and Molly's wonderful cake. Albus couldn't resist sweets of any sort.

But the roar of the Floo had everyone stopping their forward momentum and all looked back to see a black-garbed figure step out onto the rug as the green flames died behind him. Harry's eyes lit up and he almost smiled, but he remembered the admonishments from the other day and managed to keep his lips together.

"What the hell's he doing here?" he heard Ron mutter beside him.

"Severus!" Arthur advanced past the gaggle of people and strode to Severus, his hand outstretched. "Molly said you would be dropping by."

"Arthur," said Severus, taking the proffered hand and bestowing his usual cursory smile on the man.

"I was beginning to think that you had gotten lost, Severus," said Dumbledore.

"What a shame he didn't," came another acid mutter next to Harry's ear, and Harry frowned and glared at Ron, unable to help himself. Luckily, Ron had his narrowed eyes fixed on his professor and so did not see Harry's annoyance.

Hermione clearly had and she shushed Ron as they were shunted slightly to the side by the appearance of Molly in the doorway where they were all gathered. She didn't look entirely pleased with the appearance of the tall, dark man in their midst either, but she had invited him and good manners precluded her from making any comment as to his tardiness, especially as Dumbledore and Minerva had only been there for fifteen minutes themselves. And to be perfectly truthful, Severus had told her that he wouldn't join them until late as he didn't want to put a damper on everyone's appetites by interrupting their dinner.

"Well, come along, do," said Molly, "or the tea will be cold".

Ron didn't waste any time scarpering into the kitchen, unceremoniously dragging Harry with him. All of the others followed, Severus and Arthur bringing up the rear. "Don't bats go looking for food at night?" asked Ron with a snigger as he pulled out a chair as far away from Professor McGonagall as the large table would allow. "That's why he's turned up, for some of Mum's cake." It was all Harry could do not to thump him one, and he ignored Ron's attempts to pull him down into the chair next to him.

The general confusion and noise as people settled around the table and pulled crockery towards them could not cover up the fact that Severus too resisted being shunted into a chair by Arthur. Instead, he became a magnet for all eyes as he walked up to Harry and silence fell as if someone had cast a Silencing Charm.

Harry had to blink when Severus smiled at him, but when he put his hand on Harry's shoulder and held out a package wrapped in plain grey paper. Harry couldn't help his lips parting in shock. What had happened to subterfuge? Severus Snape would never give Harry Potter a birthday present.

"Happy birthday, Harry." No way! There was no way that Severus Snape would ever call him Harry, and especially not with the hint of fondness in his voice.

A quick glance to the side showed Harry that he had not imagined the fact that his secretive father had just handed him a birthday present-with a smile attached-and called him Harry in front of a room full of Weasleys. Most everyone's mouth was slack with shock as they stared goggle-eyed at the two dark-haired wizards standing close together at the end of the table. Only Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and Fleur were unfazed...Dumbledore was, in fact beaming at them. Professor McGonagall also had the slightest of smiles on her face and Fleur just looked bewildered at this inexplicable reaction to Harry being handed a gift. It was his birthday after all. But of course, she did not know the Potter/Snape history

"Err..." Harry didn't know what to say.

"I had no idea what to get you as I have never acknowledged a teenager's birthday with a gift before," said Severus, ignoring the audience. "But I thought you might appreciate that." And he indicated the package in Harry's hand with a slight movement of his head.

It seemed Ron could not curb his tongue an instant longer. "What is it? A bomb?"

"That will do, Ron," admonished his father, who had recovered faster than his wife, sons, Hermione and Ginny, because he had seen Severus's panic the day Harry had disappeared from Privet Drive.

Harry covered up his emotion by placing Dumbledore's gift upon the table so that he could unwrap the book-sized gift. He did it slowly and with slightly shaking hands, trying to settle his shock with the preciseness of his movements. It was indeed a book...an old Charms textbook. Though it was in fairly good condition, it was obvious that it was second hand. Intrigued, Harry opened the cover and as his eyes focused on the name written on the blank inside page, a lump rose up in his throat, preventing him from taking a breath for a few seconds.

‘Lily Evans' was written in small, neat writing, and animated lilies at either end of the name bobbed their pretty heads merrily in a non-existent breeze. It seemed like forever that Harry remained focused on the words his mother had written before he was even born, but finally he raised moist eyes to his father's face. He tried to swallow the lump, but Severus saved him the necessity of talking.

"Your mother and I used to study together and somehow or other, that book remained in my possession."

Harry tried to hold himself aloof, he really did. But when Severus put his hand on Harry's shoulder again and squeezed, Harry took it as an invitation and launched himself against his father's chest. Severus did not push him away, but closed his arms around the thin shoulders while the other people in the room stared and stared at the truly incongruous scene being played out before them with varying expressions of shock, horror and delight.

Harry might have been oblivious to the silence and the tension in the room, but Severus was not. Against his better judgement he had staged the first act in this little drama, now the interrogation and the explanations could begin. But as he felt the slim body of his son pressed against him, Severus knew he had made the right decision. All of the people in this room were Harry's family, if not by reason of a blood connection as he himself had discovered he was, then certainly by reason of emotional connections. Severus was not happy about putting any portion of his life on display for anyone; he had kept so much about himself bottled up for so long, it had become an ingrained habit to keep it that way.

Apart from his mother, only one other person in his life had ever known the real Severus Snape. That of course had been Lily Evans. And that had been a very long time ago. The only other who had come so close to knowing the real him was Albus. Severus had become used to confiding in the old wizard...almost as if Albus was a parent.

But even though he was not going to be revealing the whole of himself to these people,  even the part of him that concerned their mutual interest, Harry, was too much for him to feel comfortable exposing. But his concerns were not just his own anymore; there was now another whose views had to be considered. Harry could have gone against him and told their secret, but no, he was trying desperately to do as Severus had instructed, even though it had not felt right for him. He had put his own desires aside to please the man who had spent the last five years making his life a living hell.

Now it was Severus's turn to do his bit to please Harry.

Even the Dark Lord knew only what Severus had told him and what he had allowed him to access during his foul attempts to plumb the very depths of Severus' mind by means of Legilimency. And though Severus did not think his soul was worth very much, he could at least rest easy in the knowledge that his own could be considered almost pure, compared to that of the man who had ordered him to commit most of the depraved acts that tarnished his soul.

In his own way, he was trying to make amends, but he had no hopes that he would ever have a totally clear conscience. But Albus Dumbledore continued to give him hope that he could at least ease his soul's burdens, and Severus wanted to believe him. He had no illusions that he would ever obliterate all the terrible deeds which were attached to his name; not all of them had been sins of the mortal variety. It was the lesser ones that pricked his conscience the most. The ones that he had not been ordered to commit in the name of pure-blood supremacy...but the ones he had happily heaped, one on top of the other, until the target of the abuse had changed from a bright-eyed, eager student to a suspicious, bitter protagonist who had tried to give as good as he gotten but who had always been hindered by his inherent goodness. Harry, of course, was the worst of it, but Severus was fully aware that he had been a far from exemplary teacher; he had no patience with the less than stellar students, and they were few and far between.

The simple fact of the matter was that he was not a nice person...he never had been. Not even when he had had the benefit of Lily's softening influence; she had failed to soften him and he had failed her. Perhaps he would be able to avoid doing that with their son, if he tried very hard. Severus knew he had a lot of ground to make up and he knew that it was not going to be smooth sailing; he was a foul tempered man and it didn't take much to set him off.

Harry had been there, Harry had been vulnerable and Harry had been in his power. It had been easy to intimidate and mentally abuse him, and it had been despicable, more so in view of the fact that Severus had known that Harry was his cousin.

As Harry now loosened his hold and stepped back, his face glowing with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, Severus looked at the messy black hair and the fine-boned face, the arched eyebrows and the brilliant green eyes, and wondered anew at the fact that the boy was an obvious mixture of James, Lily and himself, and that he had failed to ever see the likeness to himself in all the time that he had known Harry. Though perhaps it wasn't such a surprise...Albus had never noted a likeness either. Perhaps Harry was growing into the Snape part of his looks. Severus sincerely hoped that what Harry already had from the Snape gene-pool was all he was going to get!

Severus could never have guessed that the knowledge of having contributed some of the genetic material that made up the young person before him, would, in such a short time, have had such a profound affect on him...in short, that his being a father, could come to mean so much. He had never had any aspirations towards siring a child, and if he was being brutally honest, he had to admit that even if he had won Lily's heart, he would not have wanted to share her with a child.

Selfish to the core.

"Harry, what's going on?"

Harry's head snapped around towards Ron, but without saying a word, he looked back at Severus, his face now registering extreme guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said to Severus in an agonised voice, while in the background, Arthur was admonishing Ron to be quiet.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry. I started this."

"Started what, precisely?" asked Molly, who was standing with a colourful tea-cosy clutched to her chest, her voice positively rigid with disapproval. She ignored Arthur's long suffering ‘Molly', and marched around the table to put a proprietary arm around Harry's shoulders. Short of shaking her off, Harry had no choice but to fall back several paces as Molly guided him forcefully backwards.

Severus raised his eyebrows, his obsidian eyes cold as they pierced Molly's normally kind, brown ones. "You do not need to protect Harry from me, Molly."

"Really, Severus?"

"Mrs Weasley, it's all..."

"Hush, Harry dear. You don't need to say..."

"Molly!"

"You have a very nasty mind, Molly," bit out Severus, his ever-ready temper flaring at what she seemed to be implying. The bloody woman actually thought that he had taken a sixteen year old boy as his lover!

"What else are we..." screeched Molly.

"I think..." began Dumbledore calmly, but his voice was cut off as pandemonium broke out in the Burrow's kitchen and several things happened at once. Arthur, supremely embarrassed, tried to pull Molly away from Harry, while Harry wrested himself out of her enfolding embrace and staggered several steps back towards Severus.

Ron surged to his feet and yelled, "What the bloody hell is going on, Harry?" while Hermione tried to pull him back down into his seat making desperate shushing noises.

Minerva tried to help Arthur guide Molly into a chair, but Molly was  pointing a shaking finger and screeching that she wanted that man out of her house, and out of Hogwarts before her children, Harry and Hermione stepped foot back in the school. Bill had added his voice to his father's entreaties for his mother to calm down.

Ron sank back into his chair but he was still arguing loudly with Hermione, gesticulating towards their friend and Hermione was hissing at him to be quiet while trying to grab at his flailing arms. The noise was intensifying as most of the people present tried to be heard above the ruckus. Severus impaled a struggling Molly with his best basilisk's glare while Arthur shot him an apologetic glance. Arthur wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but he knew that it was not the conclusion that Molly had jumped to.

Harry just stared around, appalled, at the noisy, emotional crowd of people and cursed his desire to want to let everyone in on his changed circumstances. Snape had been complying with his wish, and Harry knew he had not wanted to, and this was the outcome. Fleur was now hanging off Bill's arm as he rested his hands on his now-seated mother's shoulders and Mr Weasley squatted in front of Molly, still trying to calm her. Professor McGonagall hovered nearby, her lips pursed and she kept on shooting looks of disapproval towards Severus. Harry didn't know what that was about; she knew the true circumstances, why wasn't she trying to talk sense into Mrs Weasley? Why wasn't Dumbledore taking charge for that matter...he was just sitting there looking disappointed, his head in his hand and his long fingers massaging his forehead.

Harry couldn't believe the conclusion that Mrs Weasley had jumped too. It defied belief on every level. Did she really think that he would allow...that he would welcome... Harry couldn't even complete the thought in his own head. He was the one who had thrown himself into Severus's arms. Did Mrs Weasley think he was gay? Did she think that he was so pathetic that he would allow a man old enough to be his father...Harry shook his head and huffed out a bitter laugh as he turned away from the scene. Old enough to be his father...precisely!

A firm hand grasped Harry just above his elbow and began to pull him towards the living room. Harry tried to pull his arm away until he realised that it was Severus who had hold of him. He relaxed his elbow and allowed himself to be pulled along. There was a sudden lull in the noise level, but Severus didn't halt his determined stride around the table. Harry could feel his rage.

Harry realised that he still held his mother's book, but that his Snitch was on the table. He looked back instinctively and in that instant, Severus came to an abrupt halt and his grip tightened to the point of being painful on Harry's upper arm.

Harry grimaced and looked around to find Ginny blocking the doorway. She looked scared, but determined as she looked up into his father's angry face.

"Move aside, Miss Weasley," bit out Severus.

"Gin..." said Harry hopelessly.

"Please, Professor Snape, don't go." Ginny swallowed. "Don't go until this has been settled."

"Miss Weasley..."

"Please, sir! Mum has jumped to the ..."

"Ginny, get away from him. Harry...Arthur...LET ME UP!"

"MUM," yelled Ginny, maintaining her position in the doorway but looking angrily at her mother.  "Stop It! You're being ridiculous. You are so wrong."

"Ginevra Weasley..."

"No, Mum...just listen! Professor Snape is..."

"Thank you Ginevra, my dear...but I will take over from here." Dumbledore's powerful voice silenced everyone else in the room. Harry eased his arm out of his father's punishing grip-it was easy now as Severus had loosened his hold-and putting his mother's book under his arm,  he gave his abused flesh a cursory rub before reaching around Severus for Ginny's hand. She slipped it into his and he pulled her close to him.

Severus bowed to the inevitable and uncharacteristically, he seemed to droop a little, leaning against the door jamb. But when he crossed his arms it was a very Professor Snape-ish action. Harry looked at him to try and gauge the level of his anger and he sighed in relief when Severus looked at his and Ginny's clasped hands and gave the smallest jerk of his head to indicate that he was not angry about that.

"Albus, this is my hou-"

"Molly, I think that you have caused quite enough of an uproar for one evening." The powerful voice held everyone's attention, except Severus's, seemingly-he was looking down at the floor, his face set in its usual harsh lines. Molly was swelling with indignation.

"Albus, why would a man who has always loathed Harry and showed just the other day how much contempt he holds him in, suddenly pull him into an embrace?" she asked in a furious voice.

"A very good question, Molly, and one that has an answer that I know you will find difficult to believe, but which can be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt." Molly's lips pressed together so firmly, Harry was reminded forcefully of Aunt Petunia.

"But allow me to ask my own question Molly. Why would Severus pretend to hold Harry in such disdain if he had, in actual fact, developed entirely different feelings for him?"

Molly raised her chin defiantly. "Well, I suppose to allay suspicion," she said but she didn't sound entirely convinced. Harry could feel his face flaming spectacularly as he listened to the innuendo-laden speech going on around him.

"And yet, he walks in here quite openly tonight, gives Harry a gift and then a hug in front of everyone." Molly stared at Dumbledore for a moment and then she buried her face in her hands. Harry wasn't sure if she was crying, or if she was indicating that she didn't want to hear anymore; like an ostrich burying its head in the sand.

"Albus..." began Arthur, distressed to see his wife so upset and being told off as if she was a child. Albus held up an imperious hand and Arthur fell silent immediately. Dumbledore exuded such a presence, it did not occur to Arthur to point out that this was his home and if he wanted to speak, then he most certainly would. Bill sighed and shifted away from his mother, leaving her in his father's capable hands. He put his arm around Fleur's shoulders and pulled her close.

Ron was looking at the table where his clenched fist rested with Hermione's hands clasped around it. Hermione was staring avidly at her headmaster, but directed the occasional furtive look at Harry and Severus, oblivious to the fact that she was virtually holding Ron's hand.

Albus continued, but his voice was a little less censorious. "I am more than a little upset Molly that you could jump to the conclusion that you have done when you have sat at the same table as Severus at countless Order meetings. You have fed him, you have invited him into your home and he has been teaching your children since Bill started at Hogwarts. Have you ever heard one single rumour of any impropriety?"

Molly pressed her fingertips against her lips to try to hide a slight quiver. She looked away from her interrogator and after casting a furtive glance at Severus's seemingly indolent figure, she lowered her gaze to her restless, intertwined fingers. Knowing that tears were imminent, Arthur pressed his handkerchief into his wife's hands. She immediately began twisting it into tight knots. He knew that she was totally ashamed of her outburst, but would take a while to acknowledge that she had been in the wrong.

"He won't let anyone get to know him, Albus," Molly said in a quavery voice. "How are we supposed to know what he is capable of. And he is a Death..."

"No, he is NOT!" boomed Dumbledore beginning to pace up and down in a billow of dark robes.

"I do not need you to defend me, Albus," snarled Severus pushing himself away from the door jamb and glaring at Molly. Arthur drew himself up a little, prepared to defend his wife if needs be. "What I do or..."

"Thank you Severus, but I have the floor now," said Albus in an uncompromising voice.  "I do not wish for this unfortunate episode to be any more protracted than necessary." Severus's eyes narrowed and he looked as intimidating as Harry was used to seeing him in Potions lessons. Mrs Weasley's shoulders were shaking as she sobbed into Arthur's handkerchief.

If he had been the only part of the equation, Severus would have just left, but this had to be fixed for Harry's sake. He couldn't drag the boy back to Hogwarts and sequester him in the dungeons until term started, even if his instincts told him to do just that. He knew that it would not be fair to separate Harry from his friends and keep him locked up for the foreseeable future.

This whole scenario had not gone according to his plan. Harry's effusive hug had thrown him. He had meant to soften the shock of his revelation by giving Harry a gift and allowing the gathering to see that the relationship between the two of them had changed. He had not factored in the boy's demonstrativeness and the bloody Weasley matriarch had jumped to the worst possible conclusion. He should have realised that Harry might make some such move after the hug they had shared in the garden the other day.

Now that he thought about it, Harry's penchant for physical contact was something that had only recently come to light. He had never seen him being in the least physically demonstrative before, even with the female third of the Gryffindor Triumvirate. He had seen Granger throw her arms around Harry in the way females were known to embrace their friends, male or female, but Harry had always been embarrassed by these displays and had moved out of the embrace as quickly as possible. It was amazing the things that you could witness from the teacher's table in the Great Hall. The hordes of students were usually oblivious to the staff's presence unless someone was addressing them from the top table

He eyed the clasped hands of Harry and Ginny and wondered if perhaps the awkward male teenage habit of being reluctant to make any affectionate overtures to anyone at all, was over because young love had sprung into being. He remembered his own awkwardness when it came to physical contact with even his mother...something that he had been sorry for when it became obvious that he was going to lose her far too early and he had never expressed just how much he had loved her. He also remembered his willingness to touch Lily in any way, shape or form because he had loved her since they were both ten years old. Albus was talking again and Severus tuned in, tamping his anger and his old regrets down as much as possible.

Dumbledore's voice had softened to a kindly tone and Molly's sobs were subsiding somewhat. "I know that you are a mother, Molly and I would be loathe to second-guess you when it comes to the safety of your children-and I know that you consider Harry to be one of your own-but in this instance, you are way off the mark."

There was silence for several heartbeats and Molly kept her eyes on her agitated fingers and the wet, ruined handkerchief. Harry had to avert his gaze because even though she had said and inferred some horrible things, he still didn't like to see her upset. He looked at Ginny when she squeezed his hand and she gave him a tiny smile; Harry knew that he had her full support and that she was apologising for what had happened between the two of them earlier that day. Harry squeezed back, also apologising, but he couldn't muster a smile, not even a little one. He glanced back at his father who was just staring stonily at the opposite wall. He did not look like he would appreciate any interaction at the moment. Harry sighed. God, he hated this.

Dumbledore was continuing doggedly. "When Harry was ill, and before he had regained consciousness..."

"Professor Snape is my father!" burst out Harry, and every eye in the room snapped towards him. Harry looked just as shocked as everyone else...he had not meant to say that. He looked from Professor Dumbledore who was staring at him over the top of his spectacles and Severus, whose black eyes bore into Harry's green ones, his expression now inscrutable. But as neither Dumbledore, nor his father made any attempt to silence him, Harry continued. His eyes skittered to Ron whose mouth was hanging open slackly and Hermione whose lips were also parted in a small silent, shocked ‘oh'. Whatever theory she might have been on the trail of, this was definitely not it. Big shock! No-one would come up with this theory. He had to be the only freak in the world who would have two biological fathers.

"I'm sorry sir," said Harry, looking back at Dumbledore, "but this whole thing is mad!"

"Harry, dear..." said Mrs Weasley in a breathless whisper. "What are you saying..."

Ginny squeezed Harry's hand again, and he glanced at her. Her brown eyes were fastened on him and he could see that she had realised what his angry words had meant back when he had yelled at Dumbledore after his adventures in Godric's Hollow. She had filed his angry words away, just as Dumbledore had asked her to. She had never let on to anyone that he had yelled those unlikely, furious words. She had never pushed him for an explanation, even though she must have been totally confused. She had been willing to wait until he was ready to give her an explanation. Harry couldn't believe how lucky he was to have her in his life.

But right now Harry had to finish what he had started because everyone was waiting with baited breath and various expressions of incredulity. He took a deep breath. "Professor Snape and my dad...err, James Potter...they were cousins...first cousins. And Professor Snape was really good friends with my mum. They knew each other from when they were kids, before they started at Hogwarts..." And Harry told the story as quickly as he could, including only the salient points: James terrible injuries, the blood donation, the fact that James and Severus were first cousins, and Severus's magical signature attaching itself to James because they had been so similar.

When he fell silent, every eye remained focused on Harry, until, one by one, every person in the room moved their gaze to Severus. It was Hermione who broke the silence and it was obvious that she was very nervous, as her voice emerged a little squeakily. "But...but sir," she said, addressing Severus. "Any book in which I have ever seen a reference to magical blood...well, they all say that unlike Muggles, wizards cannot use another's blood because the magical signatures will attack each other, leading to the wizard who receives the blood either having his powers totally destroyed, or...or to his dying."

Harry didn't think his father was going to deign to answer, but after a few moments of tense silence, Severus did speak. "In normal circumstances, Miss Granger, that would certainly have been the expected outcome for the recipient of donated magical blood. That is why the Blood Replenishing Potion was developed and why it is such a potent brew. In most circumstances, the potion does the job of a blood transfusion. But James had lost so much blood, he virtually had no red blood cells left for the vital components in the potion to latch onto, which is how it works. James was moribund, and Lily cooled his body so that his heart was beating minimally and his brain activity was nothing more than a baseline...just enough to keep him alive while she came and made the request of me to donate blood to my cousin.

"Lily worked in the Department of Mysteries and she studied the properties of magical blood. She had taken the study further than anyone else had ever done before, and it was her belief that because James and I were first cousins...and more than that, that my mother and James' father were twins, and their father was an identical twin, as was their mother.

Everyone was hanging on Severus's every word, and Hermione's eyes were shining as they always did when she was learning something new.

"But wasn't that still a massive gamble?" she asked, her voice hushed.

Severus dipped his head in acknowledgement. "It was. But the only outcome without taking the gamble was that James would die. Taking the gamble, he could still die, or he could live but no longer have any magical powers, or at the very outside, he might survive and lead a perfectly normal life. Lily was willing to take the chance. I complied, and James survived with his powers intact.

"But unbeknownst to any of us, his magical signature had changed fractionally because mine had been incorporated into his. The two signatures were so similar, they did not battle each other, but James' blood accepted mine and the two signatures joined. In short, James' genetic makeup changed."

Silence ensued for more than a minute as everyone tried to assimilate these facts to the best of their abilities. Harry knew that the explanation had been delivered in the simplest possible terms, but it was such an amazing series of events, it was difficult to comprehend.

Dumbledore's voice broke the silence. Harry was grateful because everyone was looking at him as he had been afraid they would look at him when they found out that he was a freak show for a whole new set of reasons. "Minerva, perhaps a fresh cup of tea would not go astray. I think we could all use a pick-me-up."

"Of course." Professor McGonagall bustled around Molly's kitchen with ease, boiling the kettle, finding the tea canister and making a fresh brew in the gigantic earthenware teapot. Cups and saucers were still on the table as well as the jug of milk and the sugar. Molly didn't even try to get up to help her; she did not seem to notice that another woman had taken charge in her kitchen. Her face was pale and she kept her gaze in her lap. Her fingers had stopped their agitated movement now, though. It looked as if she was trying to come to terms with what they had all just been told.

Harry was led by Ginny to the table and they both sat down opposite Ron and Hermione. He could not meet either of their eyes and when a cup of tea was put in front of him, he grabbed it and sipped it gratefully. Ginny kept hold of his hand under the table. He was very glad for the warmth of the contact; it kept him grounded. This whole thing was a nightmare. But at least it was out there now and everyone really had no choice but to accept the fact that Severus Snape was his father.

Dumbledore had taken a cup of tea across to Severus and stood with him while they both drank.

"So, Severus..." Mr Weasley was the one who broke the silence this time, and returned them to the subject. Harry tensed. What now? "I am a little confused. Harry says you are his father. And you say that your magical signature combined with James Potter's and changed his makeup..."

"What it all boils down to Arthur," said Severus in a tight voice that defied anyone to interrupt him, "is that Harry's genetic material is a combination of James and Lily Potter, and myself. In essence, it means that Harry has two fathers."

"Mais non! C'est impossible!" Fleur had spoken for the first time. Seemingly, her credence had been stretched to the limit. From the looks on the faces around the table, it appeared she was talking for all.

Severus ground his back teeth together. He wasn't going to stand here and discuss this any further. He strode to the table and with admirable restraint, he placed his cup and saucer down carefully. He glared at Fleur, and Bill drew himself up and glared right back while putting down his own cup and drawing Fleur against him again. Harry cringed. It looked like Severus was going to say something scathing to Fleur, and then Bill would have to tell him to back off and the hostilities would recommence.

But it was Dumbledore who spoke. "No, my dear Miss Delacour, you are wrong. This is not impossible, I assure you. Improbable, yes, unbelievable, definitely. It is something that, as far as I know, is unprecedented in the magical world. I have never seen any thing like this documented before, and since this has all come to light, I have looked, I assure you.

"Even though magical blood is a very different proposition to Muggle blood, I believe that Lily Potter, in her short time of making a study of the subject, drew upon some of the qualities that distinguish Muggle blood and applied the same principles to Magical blood. In short, Muggles can only be given blood from someone who has the same blood group as they do. There is an exception, but that is not relevant to this discussion.

Harry privately marvelled that Dumbledore had researched this so thoroughly. How many wizards would even care about anything Muggle, especially the differences between magical and Muggle blood...well, he supposed anyone who was Muggle born might. And Dumbledore, obviously. Harry had been raised by Muggles and even though he had never been happy in his life, pre-Hogwarts, he knew that he would never be able to totally leave the Muggle world behind.

"Lily's research led her to the conclusions that Severus has already explained to you. And then when it looked as if her fiancé would die, she was in a position to put her theory to the test. She had nothing to lose; one way she would definitely lose him, the other way, there was the slimmest chance.

"She took that chance and she went on to marry James and they had a son." Dumbledore looked at Harry affectionately and Harry, his face bright red, stared down at his clenched hand on the table top. Ginny squeezed his other hand but he couldn't return the gesture. This was way worse than he could have ever imagined.

‘And the remarkable young man that we know Harry to be has just been through his own major health crisis, just as his father, James did. And during the course of his treatment and care, Severus made the totally unexpected discovery that James and Lily's son also has some of his genetic material. There is only one way that could have happened. So, in essence, Harry has three biological parents."

Arthur leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his rough chin, and stared at the floor. "This is...this is, as you say Albus, improbable and unbelievable. It is an awful lot to take in."

"Imagine how Severus felt, Arthur," said Dumbledore simply. "And Harry. It has not been an easy transition for either, especially considering their past-shall we say-colourful history."

"But that is precisely one of the things that I do not understand. Severus knew he was Harry's cousin and yet, from everything we have seen and  been led to..."

"I think we have had enough entertainment for one night, Dumbledore!" bit out Severus, pushing himself away from the wall where he had returned when Albus had started his recital. "I do not intend to put any more of my life on display." He looked at Molly and her brown eyes skittered away from his cold gaze.

"Thank you for the invitation, Madam. You will forgive me if I do not extend the social niceties to saying that I had a wonderful time." Molly put her hand over her mouth and looked as if she was going to burst into tears again.

"Severus..."

"Do you wish to come home, Harry?" asked Severus, cutting Arthur off. "Or do you wish to stay with your friends?" His voice was carefully neutral; he was going to leave the decision to go or stay, up to Harry.

"Severus, you don't have to go...please." Severus ignored Arthur, who had risen to his feet. Both men watched Harry rise and Arthur moved forward.

"Harry, please. Help us come to terms with this."

Harry looked at Mr Weasley, then at everyone else. "I've come to terms with this, Mr Weasley, so I don't know why it has to be so hard for all of you. This is my life...and Professor Snape's. I thought you might like to know what was going on with me because you have always made me so welcome within your home and your family."

"But it's not really important that you all accept it. It was me who wanted you all to know because I didn't want to keep pretending that we hated each other. Professor Snape didn't want anyone to know because it could be dangerous for him.

"But I kept pushing, and so he gave in because I said that no one here would ever give away our secret." Harry stepped close to Severus.

"I get that you can't accept this, but please, you must keep it a secret. That's very important. Now that I've got a dad who is able to be there for me-and he is there for me-I don't want anything to happen to him." Harry turned his back on everyone and Severus put a hand on his shoulder as Harry passed him, and kept it there as he followed. He was glad that he didn't have to speak because there was something wrong with his throat.

"Harry!" Ginny had jumped up and running to him, she threw her arms around his neck. Severus continued towards the Floo. "I accept it. It doesn't make any difference to the way I feel about you," she said into his neck. "I'm happy that you have a father."

"And you must know that I wouldn't care, Harry." Hermione was there, and she was holding out his two birthday presents. Ginny stepped back to allow Harry to take the gifts, and then Hermione had her arms around him. "You're the same person that I've been best friends with for the last five years." She looked across at Severus and smiled. "The only thing that has changed is that we now know a bit more about your family history."

"Harry...Severus, please don't go." Molly had risen to her feet and was looking at the two dark-haired wizards imploringly.

Harry looked at her and gave her a sad little grimace of a smile. "I'm sorry Mrs Weasley, but I've had enough for one day and I need to go home with my dad. Maybe you could send my stuff on to Hogwarts tomorrow." Severus now had a handful of Floo powder. Just before he stepped into the grate, Harry turned back and looked at Mrs Weasley again. "Thank you for the party. It was really great."

He smiled at Ginny and Hermione and then he and Severus were being whisked away in a flash of green flames.

Severus sat slumped in his chair, a glass of his favourite single malt dangling from his fingers at the end of the chair arm. His other elbow was bent and he absently rubbed his forehead whilst gazing into the low flames he had conjured, just so he had something other than the empty grate to stare at. He was tired and his eyelids had drooped considerably...the flames were nothing really, but a bright blur.

The glass still had an inch of golden liquid in the bottom of it, and though Severus had downed a first glass in two gulps, it had been nearly two hours ago. This measure of whisky was only missing two sips. He was quite, quite sober.

Unfortunately.

Why, he didn't know, because he had planned to make himself forget the night's happenings by the most expedient means. Somehow, it hadn't happened. Subconsciously, he had realised that becoming drunk was not the most sensible plan, especially when there was a chance that Harry might see him. After Harry's own recent bad experience with alcohol and the subsequent lengthy lecture on bad decisions and inherent dangers he had received, Severus knew it would be hypocritical of him to go down the same path.

Having a teenager living with him was going to be more than a little inconvenient at times...Severus enjoyed the odd tipple. Perhaps he should enlarge upon the previous lecture and talk to Harry about sensible drinking habits and the appropriate age to begin indulging. 

But right now, sensible drinking was not helping Severus forget the evening's debacle...the total fiasco that his plan had morphed into. When he and Harry had left, they had Flooed back to Dumbledore's office and then to here. Harry had maintained a stoic facade, but Severus knew that he had to be upset. He was pleased that Harry had, without consideration, left to come home with him, but in doing so, he had left his girlfriend and his two best friends behind.

Severus's eyes narrowed and he lowered his hand back to rest on the arm of the chair where he clenched his fist.  One of those friends had reacted to the night's revelations in exactly the way Severus had thought he would. Ronald Weasley needed a swift kick up the arse. Weasley was supposed to be Harry's best friend, and this was the second time that he had failed to be supportive when Harry was under extreme pressure.

Granger had backed her friend without hesitation, and Ginevra Weasley had seemed to know what was going on before the revelations had even been made. Obviously, she had put two and two together after Harry's outburst to Dumbledore ten days ago, and had kept her own council since. The girl definitely took after her father, rather than her volatile mother. And that could only be a good thing. One Molly Weasley in the world was almost one too many!

It had been awkward when they had arrived back home. Harry had tried to put a brave face on it, but Severus could see that he was upset and trying not to show it. Severus recalled their short conversation.

"Do you want to talk?"

Harry gave him a grim little smile and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "Umm, thanks...err, Dad...but I'm...I'm really tired." He looked away, unable to maintain eye contact.

"I'm sorry, Harry..."

Harry shook his head. "It's not your fault. I should have listened to you. I should have accepted that it would be best to keep this quiet." He began stalking up and down, his hand rubbing the back of his neck agitatedly. "What if they broadcast it around?"

"They wouldn't do that. They won't hurt you because they care for you. And as you made it quite apparent that you are starting to accept me as more than your teacher, they will not hurt me either."

"Why did Mrs Weasley have to react like that?" asked Harry in a pained voice. "How could she even think..."

"She was in shock," said Severus, trying to be generous for Harry's sake. "She didn't give herself time to process things properly before she reacted. She will come around."

Harry shut his eyes and raised his face to the stone ceiling. "I don't know if I can forgive her for her insinuations," he croaked.

Severus shook his head and crossed to his son, putting his hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "Of course you will forgive her. Molly thinks of you as one of her sons and when it all boils down, the whole scene happened because she was frightened for you."

Harry looked at him and shook his head, but it was a very indecisive movement. "Harry, Molly has always cared for you...of course you will forgive her. I treated you like dirt from the moment I saw you, and you forgave me." Severus sighed and for some reason, he sounded and looked a little exasperated. "It's what you do, Harry...you forgive people."

Harry looked away. He was quiet for several minutes and Severus could see the wheels turning...he could see Harry's thoughts as if they were a Muggle film flashing across his young, unhappy face. Finally Harry had just looked at him and said he was going to bed.

"I'll see you in the morning," he added and without waiting to hear if Severus wanted to add anymore to their conversation other than a quiet goodnight, Harry had hurried to his room and shut the door.

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Severus rubbed his eyes and sighed. There was little point in sitting here any longer, going over the unsatisfactory end to Harry's sixteenth birthday. It had happened and it couldn't be undone. Molly Weasley had gone to a lot of effort to make Harry's birthday a memorable event. Well, she had certainly succeeded in her aim, but for all the wrong reasons.

Severus looked at the glass in his hand and its virtually untouched contents. He picked up his wand and banished the whisky before levitating the empty glass across to the drinks table where it joined its fellows. Severus pushed himself to his feet and took two steps towards his bedroom before he stopped, pondered for a moment and then turned to cross the room to Harry's bedroom.

The door opened silently and he peered into the bedroom, allowing the light from behind him to illuminate the bed and the figure in it. Harry's face was turned to the wall and his limbs were splayed messily, one arm thrown above his head. He was asleep, but from the evidence of the messy covers, Severus was sure that it hadn't been for long.

Severus stood and stared at his son for over five minutes. When Harry eventually turned onto his side and curled himself into a ball, Severus felt another seismic shift in the region of his chest. The easing of tension in his chest each time he felt this sensation was totally at odds with the tightness he felt in his throat. Staring at Harry Potter in the past had elicited some very different reactions...irritation and intense dislike being the two major ones. And though this easing in his chest felt much more pleasant than the previous black tension that had always dominated his body and his psyche, it was still difficult to get his head around

As Severus got himself ready for bed, he marvelled once again at just how much that positive paternity test had changed his attitude. He had fought it...he had tried to deny the changes, but ultimately, it had happened outside of his control. And along with the new fledgling affection that was rapidly developing for his newly discovered son, Severus openly admitted to himself that most of his earlier attitude towards Harry had been prejudice on his part, and not inherent disobedience and arrogance on Harry's part. He had not, however, exaggerated Harry's desire to rush into dangerous situations, or his sense of invincibility. And that was something they were going to have to address, because Severus had not gotten to this place of acceptance and affection for The Boy Who Lived, just so he could lose lose it all to one of Harry's foolish, dangerous whims.

Severus climbed into bed and extinguished the lights, and as he settled back and stared into the darkness, he wondered if he would ever be able to forgive himself for his transgressions against Harry as easily as Harry had forgiven him.

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When consciousness crept up on him the next morning, Harry lay with his eyes shut for several minutes, his mind in that limbo between sleep and full wakefulness. After a minute or so, he was alert enough to wonder why his eyes weren't being assaulted by the orange onslaught which always burned into his retinas through his closed eyelids when he was staying at the Burrow. Ron's room faced east and the morning sun turned his room into a fireball.

But not today. Maybe there was another mist.

And then Harry remembered and his eyes flew open, to be confronted by the windowless stone walls of his room in the dungeons at Hogwarts. The room was dimly lit, and Harry wondered how, when it had been dark when he went to sleep, and there was no natural light source down here.

His brow creased. He had never really thought about it before. There were candles and gas lamps down here; Severus lit them at night. But this light was not the artificial light of candles or lamps; this light was like early morning light, and Harry realised that the same light illuminated the whole of the dungeon chambers during the day. It seemed that his father had charmed the whole of his chambers to imitate the daylight outside in all of its phases. What he was seeing now was what the morning would be like if blocked out by a blind.

Harry sighed and stared at the far wall. The mystery of the charm that produced the daylight underground was intriguing, but now that he was fully awake, his thoughts strayed right back to the happenings of the previous night. He didn't want to dwell on what had happened as his birthday celebrations had drawn to a close. His birthday had not been the fantastic day everyone had tried to make it, even though it had started out so brilliantly. It had been such a novelty for Harry; he had never had a proper birthday before.

The well-wishes, the kisses and hugs from the females (especially Ginny), the gifts; he had loved all of it. The birthday dinner with so many of the people he cared for turning up to help him celebrate had been fun, though he had not appreciated it as much as he should have done because he had still been miserable about being on the outer with Ginny.

But Ginny had been there for him when it had counted; she had been there for him in the face of her mother's very obvious annoyance and displeasure. That fact alone had made the train wreck at the end of the day just barely tolerable...her acceptance and Hermione's. Harry refused to think about Ron, just as he refused to relive all of the horrible details.

His father had tried to do the right thing for him. Against every one of his instincts, he had decided to put Harry's wishes ahead of his own and it had blown up in their faces. He had tried to pretend that he wasn't too upset, but he knew that Severus Snape had seen through his pathetic façade. He had tried to get Harry to talk once they were back here, but all Harry had wanted to do was go to bed and try to forget everything that had happened.

But when his dad had said that he, Harry would forgive Mrs Weasley because that was what he did...he forgave people, it had been too much.

Snape had made him sound pretty pathetic, pretty soft, though Harry knew that had not been his intention. But he knew that his father had been right. He was pretty pathetic. He didn't want to be angry with Mrs Weasley. She had done so much for him over the last few years. She had made him a part of her family, and he really cared for her.

But he didn't know if he would be able to tolerate her not being able to tolerate his father. Harry didn't think he could stand the people in his life being at each other's throats all the time. If that was going to be the case, then he just had to distance himself from the adult Weasleys. He had had a gut full of the Dursleys being at his throat for most of his life, and varying numbers in the wizarding world being out for his hide at different times.

And of course, worst of all, Voldemort wanting him dead ever since he had heard a portion of a bloody prophecy many years ago, and had decided that ‘the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord', was Harry.

All I want is a peaceful life. Is that too much to ask for?

Harry sighed and threw back the covers so that he could sit on the side of the bed. He knew that peace was not in his future. But surely, until he was old enough to fulfil his destiny, asking for a bit of calm wasn't too much to ask for.

Surely it wasn't too much to expect the few people that he cared for to all get along together. After all, they were all on the same side, weren't they?"

Harry ran his hand over his stubble-rough jaw and then through his messy hair. It seemed that he probably looked as shitty as he felt. He forced himself upright, and as his muscles and joints protested as he moved towards the bathroom, he realised that his misery over yesterday's events was making him feel like he was a hundred years old; it was an effort to put one foot in front of the other. He definitely needed a long, hot shower to perk him up.

8888

Severus looked up from his perusal of the Prophet (which was, thankfully, devoid of murder and mayhem today) when he heard Harry's door open. He had been amazed when he heard the clanks and gurgles of the ancient pipes, indicating that Harry was showering. The noise had started twenty minutes ago, and as it was only now ten past eight, Harry was up far earlier than Severus would have expected, considering the restless night he was sure the boy had probably had, and the fact that it was still the holidays.

"Hi," said Harry as he slipped into his seat and reached for the jug of pumpkin juice.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Harry shrugged. "Not bad," He mumbled. Severus saw that Harry was reluctant to raise his eyes. Sighing impatiently, he rubbed his forehead with his index finger as he watched Harry take a piece of cold toast.

What would you like for breakfast?" asked Severus, but Harry just shrugged again.

"This is fine," he said, taking a bite of the unappetizing toast to which he had added a scrape of butter.

Severus bit back his irritation and rising, he went to the Floo and ordered breakfast for Harry. Within seconds, a bowl of steaming porridge and a plate of fresh toast appeared on the table.

"I told you this was fine," said Harry grumpily.

Severus had returned to his chair and was pouring two cups of tea. "It most patently is not fine," he bit out. "Eat your breakfast, Harry. It might put you in a better frame of mind." Severus glared as he placed a cup of tea in front of Harry, daring him to argue further.

Harry bit back his irritation. He didn't want to argue, and so, after adding sugar and milk, he began to eat the creamy cereal. He really wasn't hungry, but he had to admit that the food sliding down his throat and into his stomach was kind of comforting.

Satisfied that an argument was not going to eventuate, Severus relaxed by degrees, sitting sideways to the table and sipping his own drink. Harry now avoided talking by the simple expedient of keeping his mouth full. He knew he was being a total prat, giving his dad the silent treatment. But he was worried that last night would be brought up, and Harry definitely didn't want to go there.

But once he had finished eating, the Berlin Wall had to come down and Harry sat back and reluctantly looked across the table. "I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ar...err, for being such a pain. It's just that I didn't want to talk about last night."

Severus inclined his head a little. "Perfectly understandable, Harry. It wasn't high on my list of favourite breakfast topics, either."

Harry relaxed a little bit more and began the very grating [TEL1] habit of playing with the crumbs on his plate. Severus leaned forward and grasped the back of Harry's hand. He squeezed it slightly to make sure that Harry knew to desist, and with reddened cheeks, Harry dropped his hand onto his lap and slid down in his chair. "Sorry," he muttered.

"A most annoying habit, Harry, and one that I wish you would try to address." Harry nodded. Severus sat forward and leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his hands in front of his mouth. "I have no intention of reliving the happenings of last night, but I feel it necessary to say that if you wish to return to the Burrow today to be with your friends, I will not stand in your way."

Harry's eyes widened and he shook his head emphatically. "I don't!" he said quickly.

"I will not be upset, Harry. Your holidays thus far have been far from the time of rest and relaxation that they are supposed to be."

"I don't want to go back," said Harry a little more loudly.

Severus sighed and leaned forward a little more. "I know you will be welcome. It is me that Molly has a problem with..."

"And you think that will make me want to go back...the fact that my best friend and my girlfriend's mum has a problem with my father, but not with me?"

"Harry..."

Harry shot out of his chair. "I'm not going back. OK? If Ron and Ginny want to see me they can come here."

Severus raised his eyebrows.

"Can't they?" Harry asked a little desperately.

"And you think Molly Weasley will allow her children to come and visit you here, when I am here also?"

Harry sank back down into his chair. Plonking his elbows on the table, he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes under his glasses and let out a growl of frustration. "God, why does everything have to be so bloody complicated?"

Severus didn't know what to say to that, and he was more grateful than not when the Floo flared to life behind him, even though he knew whose annoyingly cheerful visage he would find there. Harry lowered his hands and adjusted his glasses while Severus stood and strode towards the fireplace. "A bit early for a call, isn't it, Albus?"

"Good morning, Severus. It is early-ish, I do agree, but you have some visitors, and I think it will be better to get things out of the way early, so that you and Harry can enjoy your day more. Could the two of you please come to my office?"

Severus straightened and looked down his angular nose. When he spoke, his voice was arctic and he lowered it considerably. "There is only one reason I can think of that you would seek our presence so early, today, old man, and if my assumption is correct, you can tell..."

Harry appeared at Severus side and he stopped talking abruptly. He knew the Weasleys were in Albus's office and after his speech about turning the other cheek to Harry, he wasn't going to launch into a diatribe and tell Albus exactly what he could do with Molly Weasley. He might be advocating forgiveness to Harry, but it would be a cold day in hell before he forgave the bitch.

Albus was greeting Harry. "I was just telling your father that you have some early morning visitors who are most anxious to see you both."

Harry knew immediately who it had to be, and he turned to stare at Severus. Those green eyes were questioning, but they were also pleading.

"You want to see them, I take it?" asked Severus.

Harry shrugged. "Only if you do," he said, trying for casual but hopeful was what came through most strongly. Severus sighed deeply and tried to hide his irritation. This was a perfect example of Harry's completely transparency, and the reason he needed to learn Occlumency so desperately. He turned back to Albus.

"We'll be there in a moment." Albus looked from Harry, back to Severus, nodded once and disappeared.

Harry stepped back to allow Severus to stride across to the coat stand and grab his outer robe. His face had fallen back into its usual cold mask, and Harry, whose spirits had soared at the news that the Weasley's were here, felt them plummet again when it became obvious that his father was far from delighted at the news. Surely they could only be here to apologise for Mrs Weasley's outburst last night; they would not have come to continue the nastiness, especially when Dumbledore was so obviously their ally.

"We don't have to go see them if you don't want to," said Harry quietly, as Severus did up his many buttons.

"It is perfectly obvious that you wish to reconcile, and that is as it should be," said Severus, his tone stilted.

"But I don't want to reconcile if you don't!"

"We spoke of this last night, and again, not ten minute ago. You need to..."

"I don't need to do anything. You're my father...they're my friends. Well, they were my friends. If you don't want to see them, then I'm not going to either," Harry said stubbornly.

Severus knew he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He was going to have to make an effort with the bloody woman, or Harry would ultimately be the one to suffer; he would be miserable if he went the rest of the holidays without contact with his friends. [TEL2] And Harry needed the people who cared for him. He knew that Molly loved Harry as much as she detested him, and so...

"Let us see what the formidable matriarch has to say for herself, today," said Severus, and after taking up a pinch of Floo powder, he ushered Harry into the fireplace ahead of himself and called out for Dumbledore's rooms.

8888

Severus steadied Harry before he allowed him to step out onto Dumbledore's hearth. As soon as Molly saw him, she shakily returned her tea cup to its saucer with a loud clink and jumped up from the chair she was sitting on. She took a nervous step forward before Severus straightened behind Harry and she stopped short, her pale face going even paler. Arthur stepped behind his wife and grasped her upper arms reassuringly.

Harry dragged his eyes away from the clearly upset woman and looked around. He drooped a little when he realised that Ginny, Ron and Hermione weren't there. Dumbledore was seated behind his desk looking more severe than Harry was used to seeing him and Professor McGonagall was standing beside him.

Arthur was the first to speak. "Severus, Harry, thank you for seeing us so early," he said. "Molly and I wished to see you both as soon as it was reasonable to do so. You left so quickly last night, we didn't get the chance to set things right."

Severus had moved across to the window. "I would have thought that my leaving when I did would have set things righter than anything else could have done, considering all that was said." Severus was staring down into the grounds and his voice was so cold, Harry was surprised that ice didn't form on the window panes.

"Severus..."

"Severus, please..." said Molly, pulling herself from Arthur's hold and taking several steps towards him. "This is all down to me. The horrible things that I said last night and your reaction are all down to me. Don't take this out on the rest of my family by keeping Harry away from them."

"Dad didn't..."

"Be quiet, Harry!" said Severus in a deadly voice, and Harry's lips clamped together. Severus turned slowly and crossed his arms. Because the light was behind him, his face was in shadow, but Harry didn't have to see the austere features to know just how angry Severus was.

"In case it escaped your notice last night, Harry was not coerced in any way to leave with me. He came of his own free will. And neither am I stopping him from having contact with you and your family. He is free to do so any time he wishes to. We have already spoken about this, this morning and I have encouraged him to visit..."

"Mrs Weasley," said Harry, his voice raised to cut Severus off. "I'm sorry, but I would be uncomfortable coming back to the Burrow knowing how you feel about my dad."

Molly bit her lip and her eyes filled with tears. She delved into her sleeve and pulled out a handkerchief, and after a cursory swipe at her wet eyes, she began to tug and fiddle with the square of fabric. "Oh, Harry dear...I am so sorry. This is all coming out wrong...I'm saying it wrong. I did not intend when I came here this morning to ask you to choose. I don't want you to choose. Of course you would choose your...your father if it came down to choices.

She looked towards Severus again and as if against her will, she took several more steps towards him. She took a deep breath and seemed to draw herself up taller. "What I came here to do Severus, was apologise to you. What I said last night...the way I acted, it was wholly unforgivable and totally unreasonable. I reacted without thought and all I can do is beg your forgiveness."

Severus wanted to tell her that her opinion of him was a matter of total indifference to him, that he would be happy never to speak to her again, but he could not do that. He had  developed a respect for Arthur and Bill Weasley, and though he wouldn't go as far as to describe them as friends, Severus was loathe to lose two of the few positive interactions that he had with members of the Order. Refusing to accept the peace-offering of their wife and mother was not going to do anything to ensure continued good-will between them. And then there was Harry...

Harry's eyes were pleading and Severus knew that if he rejected Molly's entreaty, Harry would accept his decision, but he would be totally miserable. Severus knew that no plea from him would make the stubborn child change his mind about visiting the Burrow.

"Severus?" Albus finally spoke, bringing Severus out of his short reverie. He transferred his hooded gaze from Albus to Molly. If her hanky had been a tissue it would have been shredded all over the floor. After a second, he inclined his head stiffly. "I accept your apology."

Molly lowered her eyes and put her hand over her mouth in an effort to stifle the sob of relief that tried to escape. As over-emotional as Molly always was-last night being the prime example-Severus was worried that she would launch herself at him, or at the very least grab his hand, but with a visible effort, and much to his relief, she hauled herself in. She just raised her head and smiled weakly at him.

"Thank you," she mouthed silently as Arthur came up behind her and put an arm around her shoulders. He put out his hand and after a second, Severus shook it.

"Thank you Severus," he said in a heartfelt voice, and Severus not only saw relief in the red-haired man's eyes pale blue eyes when he looked at him, he saw exasperation and hard won patience in them when he glanced sideways at his mouthy and opinionated wife.

A loud clap sounded and heads snapped around to Albus who had his hands together and was beaming at them all as if he had just bought off a major coup. "Excellent, children, now that you have decided that you can play nicely together, I suggest we have some tea to celebrate the ending of hostilities." And he twirled his wand over the teapot and milk jug that were already there and then another twiddle produced more cups, saucers and spoons.

"Really Albus," huffed Minerva, who had been totally silent up to now. "It is a deplorable habit that you have developed, speaking to grown adults as if they are minors."

"You are all children to me, Minerva," said Dumbledore happily, and he winked at Harry who was biting his lip in an effort to hold back the grin. "Even you, my love."

Albus took Minerva's hand and dragged her forward. "But you can be mother now, my dear, and pour the tea."

Minerva saw Harry's eyes widen at the foolish old man's endearment, and she sent a gimlet-eyed look at him that clearly said that if any other student found out that Albus Dumbledore called her ‘his love', then he would be in detention for the whole of the coming school year.

Harry believed her.

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Fifteen minutes later, an unusually subdued Molly Weasley put her cup down in its saucer. Albus, Minerva and Arthur had kept the conversational ball rolling, with Severus putting in the odd, reluctant comment. Molly and Harry had remained silent the whole time, but now Molly looked at Harry and Severus, who were sitting close together. She cleared her throat.

"Umm, Harry, if it's all right with Professor Sn...err, your father, would you like to come and spend the day at the Burrow?"

Harry's eyes shot straight to Severus. Severus had been expecting some such offer. He leaned forward and placed his cup and saucer back on the table. Then he sat back and crossed his legs, brushing an imaginary speck of lint off his robes. "Harry is quite at liberty to visit his friends, Molly. He does not need to ask my permission to do so. If, at any time I wish him to stay here for whatever reason, I will inform him."

"Oh, right." Molly transferred her gaze to Harry. "Harry, dear?"

Harry looked at Severus. "Are you sure you don't mind if I go?"

"We discussed this very subject this morning, I believe. I have absolutely no objection to you visiting your friends." Harry stared at him, a little taken aback by the indifference in his father's tone and when he continued to stare, Severus raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Is it such a difficult decision to make, Harry?" asked Molly softly. "I know you might still be a little put out with me, but Ron, Ginny and Hermione are anxious to see you."

"Umm, no," he said feebly, "Sorry...I just though my dad might have needed me for something today." He knew his excuse was ridiculous...what would his father need him for? To help clean up his rooms? Weed the garden? Help him make potions.? Yeah, right! It appears he didn't even need his company. He stiffened his spine and smiled at Mrs Weasley.

"Yeah, OK. I'll come back to the Burrow with you." He stood up and Molly looked a little taken aback at his abrupt action. "I don't need to get anything. Most of my stuff is there anyway."

"Oh, very well, dear." Molly kissed Arthur goodbye and bade Albus and Minerva a fleeting adieu before turning to Severus. "Thank you Severus, for seeing us today and for listening to me and accepting my apology." Severus inclined his head, just a little too abruptly and he saw Dumbledore's eyes narrow a little with disapproval. Molly and Harry had moved across to the Floo when Severus stood to address her again.

"Thank you for coming, Molly. It is not good for these things to fester." His knew his voice was stiff-it was impossible for him to radiate approval for the woman-but it was the best he could do to appease Albus, and counter the thin-lipped disapproval that Minerva was conveying. He could also see that his final words had lightened the look on Arthur's face.

Molly smiled at him more brightly. "Shall I send Harry back through at around sixish?"

Harry carefully avoided looking at him by reaching for the Floo powder and stepping into the fireplace. Severus knew that he had upset the boy somehow. He nodded in response to Molly's query. "Or he may wish to stay. Let me know."

Twin spots of colour had blossomed on Harry's cheeks and he glared at Severus. "Yeah," he said defiantly. "Yeah, I just might stay over, seeing as I'm not needed for anything here." And he threw down the powder and called out his destination.

When Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, he only just managed to avoid the ignominy of falling flat on his face. He was especially glad that he managed not to look so totally useless when Ginny rushed into the living room from the kitchen. Her face split into a wide smile of delight and she would have launched herself at him if it hadn’t been for the fact that her mother joined Harry within moments of his gaining his feet.

Molly noted the looks of ill-suppressed longing on both the teen’s faces and deciding to let them have their reunion, she hooked her handbag over her arm and swung her cloak from her shoulders before striding towards the kitchen. “When you have finished saying ‘hello’, Ginny, you might want to let Ron and Hermione know that Harry is here,” she said briskly. She was thankful to see that her daughter was no longer looking at her as if she was a monster.

Ginny joined Harry where he still stood on the edge of the hearthrug. She raked her eyes over his face and the bitterness that had suffused Harry’s features when he had stepped into the Floo in Dumbledore’s office had been erased and replaced by pleasure at the sight of his girlfriend. Ginny reached out a tentative hand and ran a light finger down the back of Harry’s wrist.

“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly. Her exuberance of a few seconds ago seemed to have dissipated now that she and Harry were alone, and her voice was a little hesitant. Though things had seemed fine with them last night in the midst of all the turmoil, Ginny could not forget that she had stormed off in a fit of pique earlier in the day because she had not gotten her own way.

She had been a controlling wench, trying to make Harry see things her way, trying to talk him into something that he was obviously not comfortable with. He had been thinking of her and her parents, rather than of himself, and she had berated him for that. She should have been pleased that he wasn’t rushing her into something that she might ultimately have been uncomfortable with.

“I'm sorry about yesterday morning,” she whispered.

“Come here,” said Harry. He pulled her willing body into his arms and kissed her. Ginny wound her arms around Harry’s neck and he tightened his embrace even further, fusing the two of them together from lips to knees.

Harry marvelled at how well they fit together, just as perfectly standing as lying in the little copse on the spongy moss. He had never been so pleased that he wasn’t especially tall. What did height matter when the top of Ginny Weasley’s head came level with his mouth; when he only had to bend his neck a little to touch her lips with his when she tilted her head back? Why would he want to be taller when the curves of her body fit perfectly into the dips and hollows of his?

And what delicious curves they were!

Even their mouths were a perfect fit; their lips meshed together as if God had made them as a pair, though Harry knew that Ginny’s tasted infinitely more delicious than his own did. Their teeth clicked together, but not as much as they had done the first time they had kissed; they were both quick learners. And as their tongues tentatively touched and tasted and circled each other, there moist lips slid over each other as they changed the angle of their heads, as one responded to the other’s demands.

Both now knew that more than kissing, and more than gentle petting would come; it would come easily and they would both accept the pace that they set together. There would be no more hesitation on the part of one, nor aggression on the part of the other. Harry and Ginny knew what they wanted and they would get there in their own time; Ginny knew she did not have to push, and Harry now knew that the only people he had to consider ultimately, were his girlfriend and himself. They would battle the adults together if and when they had to, like young couples had always done down through the ages.

They were so caught up in each other, they did not hear the roar of the Floo. What made that so amazing was that Ginny had heard the flames roar to life from the kitchen earlier. But, perhaps it wasn’t so very amazing, as she had been listening carefully for that sound earlier, and now, she was blissfully occupied doing what she had wanted to do since five minutes after she had run out on Harry yesterday morning.

“As much as you might think you are alone at any given time in a room that generally sees a lot of traffic, it is wise to assume that you will not remain so for long.”

Harry and Ginny jumped apart so violently, their noses bumped painfully. Both their faces were magenta when they spun to face the man who had just stepped out of the fireplace and addressed them in an amused drawl.

Harry gaped like a landed fish and Ginny stammered, “Pro…Professor Snape…”

Severus made a supreme effort not to smirk at their combined looks of mortification. Interrupting student trysts was something he took great delight in at Hogwarts, but Severus did not feel his usual spiteful condescension upon finding his son wrapped in the arms of his girlfriend and attempting to remove her tonsils with his tongue. The looks on their faces were priceless, but Severus could see that Harry’s embarrassment was rapidly turning to anger.

“Yeah, well…if I had known that you were coming, I would have taken Ginny and hidden well away from your prying eyes!”

Severus raised an eyebrow in clear disapproval of Harry’s belligerent tone, and when Harry reached for Ginny’s hand and pulled her to him so that he could defiantly sling an arm around her shoulders, the other eyebrow rose to join the first.

The two wizards glared at each other for several long, uncomfortable seconds, so that Ginny began to feel a little like the meat in the sandwich. When Severus addressed Ginny, her head snapped up. She had been looking at his shiny black boots—anywhere but at his face—where they rested on the faded hearth rug.

“Miss Weasley, w…”

“Her name is Ginny! She—is—my—girlfriend! How long are you going to keep calling her Miss Weasley?”

Ginny squirmed uncomfortably, hoping that Harry would let her go, but he just drew her closer. Severus narrowed his eyes and pinned Harry with his deadliest glare, daring him to say anything else, or to continue to defy him.

“Harry, I’ll just go so…”

“No! I don’t want you to go.”

But Ginny took matters into her own hands by grabbing Harry’s hand where it rested near her shoulder and lifting it slightly so that she could duck out from underneath.

“The Profess…err, your father wants to talk to you Harry. I’ll wait in the kitchen.” She shot Severus a nervous, close-mouthed smile before she hurried across the room. She knew Harry wasn’t happy with her defection, but she wasn’t going to let him use her as a weapon in whatever was going on between him and his father at the moment. She had no idea what could have happened between last night and this morning; they had been united against the world last night.

“Miss Weasley…” Ginny looked back at Severus just before she left the room.

“Sir?”

“Thank you,” said Severus. “For being the sensible one.”

Ginny blushed and offered another tight little smile in acknowledgement of Severus’s words, and after an apologetic glance at a clearly irate Harry, she disappeared, shutting the door behind her.

Harry launched into a tirade as soon as the door shut. “What’s your problem? You were happy to see me go ten minutes ago, but you follow me here and then send my girlfriend packing. This is her house in case you’ve forgotten, and it’s the holidays and you have no authority over her.”

“But I do have authority over you!” was the deadly retort.

“You think?” said Harry with foolish bravado, before he could think better of the words. As soon as they were uttered, he wanted to call them back. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights as he stared into his father’s cold narrowed eyes.

Severus knew he should ignore the words. Responding was a very bad idea. But Severus, it seemed, could be equally as impulsive as Harry. Well, of course he could! It was certain that Harry had inherited his nasty temper.

When Severus spoke, it was with a return to the sneering coldness that Harry knew all too well. “I think it would be a wise move if you shut your runaway mouth before you say anything else that you’ll be sorry for.”

The mixture of horror and embarrassment on Harry’s face was gratifying, but it was not enough to appease Severus. Not after he had followed Harry here to set things straight, when he had realised that Harry had been under the foolish misapprehension that it was a matter of total indifference to Severus whether he came back to the dungeon quarters that night, or stayed at the Burrow.

He had been going to assure Harry that he wanted him to come home to spend the night. But now…

Severus took two steps closer to Harry and stuck his face close to his son’s. “I came here to tell you to come back to the dungeons for dinner and to spend the night. But I think it would be a better idea for you to stay here until you decide that your input as far as this arrangement goes, needs to improve substantially, because far too often, up till now, it has been drastically lacking.”

Harry’s Adam’s Apple bobbed up and down and his eyes were still wide and distressed. He tried to croak out an ‘I’m sorry’, but Severus held up his hand and straightened to his full height.

“It’s not enough, Harry. Sorry does not seem to mean much to you. I did what you wanted last night, against my better judgement, and again this morning by accepting the offered olive branch from Molly Weasley. But even after those examples of my commitment, you still left my presence under a foolish misapprehension and in an extremely irate mood.”

Severus reached up to the mantel to grab some Floo powder, and Harry, desperate, stepped forward and grabbed his forearm. “Pease…Dad. Don’t leave! I am truly sorry. I’ll try to address my temper…”

“I think a few days without my presence will do you good.”

“Like at the Dursleys?” said Harry, flaring up again in his panic, though not as badly as earlier.

Severus shook his head, whether to indicate a negative or to indicate just how hopeless he was, Harry didn’t know. “No, not like at the Dursleys.” Severus said, “You’re with people who care for you here.”

Harry nearly said, ‘and you don’t?’, but he managed to bite the words back, even though they nearly choked him. He had to stop making negative assumptions, and thinking that Snape didn’t care. He had to learn to trust that bad moods and even harsh words did not mean that he and Snape were going to go back to the way they had always been before the happenings of the last month.

As Severus stepped into the fireplace, Harry stepped back. “Right,” he said, trying to sound accepting as opposed to panicked. What if Snape decided that he would much prefer to go back to his solitary existence, that this being a parent lark was just too hard? And he, Harry, was making that an easy choice. If he kept on going the way he was going, he would push Snape right away.

“Umm, I guess I’ll see you sometime,” said Harry in the same forced tone. He looked at Severus and though he tried to prevent it, he knew that there was a plea in his eyes.

Severus, the man who had always been unable to cope with the various expressions in those amazing eyes because they had reminded him so much of Lily, and so had avoided looking into them as much as possible, now found himself softening under their pleading look. Dragging his own eyes away from the green orbs, Severus took in the rest of the anxious young face, so decidedly not Lily, but James, and now that he knew to look, a little of himself.

Severus took a deep breath. He wouldn’t leave Harry with nothing, despite how angry he was. “I will see you shortly,” he said, knowing that the statement was pathetically inadequate, but unable to get past his own pettiness and then, unprepared to cave further, he threw down the powder and called out, “Dumbledore’s office.”

8888

Harry stood and watched the fluorescent green flames die down to nothing but some sparkling grains of Floo powder on the brick base of the fireplace. Then with a sigh, he turned towards the kitchen with the intention of going to find Ginny. But two steps into his journey, Harry came to a halt.

He didn’t think that he could appear as though everything was fine between himself and Snape, and he certainly didn't want to let on that there was a major problem. Not after last night…not after everyone now thought that he and Severus had moved past their renowned differences and had settled into an easy relationship. Although, if Ginny hadn’t picked up on the tension between the two of them, then he was a flobberworm.

Harry turned around and headed towards the stairs. He needed some time alone. He needed to get his head around exactly what had happened today. Why couldn’t he control his temper anymore? He never used to have a bad temper. He had lived with the Dursleys forever and had managed not to retaliate against their unreasonable and harsh treatment; he had not even really retaliated against Dudley on the few occasions when he might have been able to get the better of him. Not with the same vindictive pleasure that Dudley had always attacked him with, anyway.

And as much as Harry thought himself justified to have been in a shitty mood, he had usually been able to control himself before last year. With all the terrible stuff that had happened after Voldemort had come back, Harry had found himself losing his temper all the time. There had been all of the secrets kept from him throughout the year. He had been attacked by bloody Dementors and Umbridge and Fudge had been on his case all year, making him out to be an attention-seeking liar. Then there had been Snape, before his transformation into a human being, raping his mind twice a week.

Mixed in with the anger, he had been worried all the time that Sirius would do something stupid. And just to bind the whole lot together in one simmering, foul stew there had been the constant pain in his scar and head, and his unknowing connection to Voldemort, causing the incessant dreams about the Department of Mysteries.

And Sirius had done something stupid, hadn’t he? But only after he, Harry had done something infinitely more stupid. No…he was not going to go there! He wasn’t going to think about his idiocy and the terrible price that had been extracted for that idiocy. There was too much else on his mind, and though Sirius was there all the time, so was the guilt he, Harry felt for leading him to his death. And as if all of that guilt wasn’t enough, there was now the added guilt he felt for pushing Sirius so much futher into the background because of everything that had happened with Snape—Harry didn’t want to think about it at the moment. Thinking about that, on top of everything else would really do his head in.

Harry reached for the knob to open the door to Ron’s room, only to have it yanked out of his grasp. He found himself nose to…well, nose to neck with Ron; Ron was still quite a bit taller than him.

“Oh, you’re back,” said Ron, unenthusiastically. He stepped back to allow Harry entrance.

“Obviously,” said Harry, peeved, his anger surging to the fore again at Ron’s tone. He looked at the space where his camp bed usually stood, but it wasn’t there. He looked back at Ron with his left eyebrow raised. “Did your mum move me to the twin’s room, or something?” he asked in a carefully controlled tone.

Ron threw himself down on his bed, lying back with his hands behind his head. “No,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d be back, so I packed the camp-bed away. I thought you’d be staying with your new dad.”

“Well, you thought wrong, didn’t you?” bit out Harry, ignoring the fact that he would probably still have been at Hogwarts if he hadn’t been pushed back here. “So, where did you put my trunk and my broom?” The bulky trunk was nowhere to be seen either.

There was an uncomfortable, slightly guilty silence for the space of about three heartbeats, and when Ron spoke, he kept his gaze fixed on a patch of sunlight on the wall above his bed. “They are in the twin’s room. I thought they should be Flooed back to Hogwarts for you.”

Harry seethed. He leaned back against the closed door, hooking his thumbs into his jean’s pockets. “So, you couldn’t wait to get rid of me then? Why didn’t you just drag the trunk all the way down to the living room?”

Silence.

“I’ll tell you why! Because you knew your mum or dad would ask you what the hell you were doing! I never said I wasn’t coming back, Ron.”

Ron sprang into a sitting position, and Harry noted that his ears were beginning to glow. “You never said that you were either!” he yelled.

“When did you do the rearranging? Last night, or this morning after your mum and dad left for Hogwarts?”

“I thought Snape wouldn’t let you come back,” said Ron, in a more temperate tone.”

Harry glared at him. “Or you hoped?” He walked across to glare malevolently out of the window at the unsuspecting garden. Ron looked down at his hands, and shook his head.

“You’re my best mate, Harry. You’re like a brother to me, but this is really hard for me to get my head around, ya know?”

Harry turned back and perched his butt on the windowsill. “And you think it was easy for me?” He was too worked up to have registered what Ron had said about him being a brother.

“You don’t seem to mind, though,” said Ron, shaking his head again and keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the worn rug under his feet. “That’s the bit that I can’t get my head around. After everything he’s done to you, you actually seem to have forgotten the last five years.”

Harry’s first instinct was to start yelling again. Ron had no idea how agonising this whole thing had been for him. He has no bloody idea! But suddenly, Harry seemed to wilt. How much more could he take?

He looked at Ron. “I’m sorry if this is all to much for you, Ron. I know you hate Snape, but the facts are the facts, regardless of whether you approve of them or not. I can’t make you accept things. I am still the same person; I just have a slightly different history now.”

Harry pushed himself to his feet again and crossed the small space to the door. If you’re willing to let our friendship go because of something that I have no control over and which you refuse to accept…”

“Help me accept it then. Explain it to me. I was in shock last night and most of what was said went right over my head. Tell me how Snape even came to suspect that you…that you and he…”

Harry leaned his forehead on the door and closed his eyes. Ron couldn’t even say the bloody words! Could he explain it all to Ron? Could he explain it so that Ron, or anyone, come to that, would understand the incredible upheaval his emotions had been through over the last three weeks or so?

Three weeks! Was that all it was? Three weeks since he had found out that he was Snape’s cousin, and nearly a fortnight since that day in his bedroom at Privet Drive when Snape had told him that they were father and son. It seemed like a lifetime had passed.

He had to try. Harry didn’t want to have gained a parent only to lose his best friend. He hadn't had a parent since he was a year old, but he had never had a friend before he had met Ron either. He didn’t want to sacrifice one for the other.

As Harry straightened, there was a knock on the door and he pulled it open. It was, as he suspected, Ginny and Hermione. Ginny smiled at him and entered the room with a large tray of breakfast. “Mum didn’t know whether you had eaten or not, so she told me to bring this to you. Move your stuff Ron,” she ordered. Ron removed his Quidditch magazine, sweet wrappers and wand from the rickety bedside table so that Ginny could put the laden tray down.

“How are you feeling?” asked Hermione quietly and when Harry answered with his ubiquitous ‘fine’, she rolled her eyes.

“You always say you’re fine, even when it is quite obvious that you’re not,” she chided.

“Then why ask?” countered Harry, but then he relented under her worried gaze.

“Look, I really am okay.” Harry crossed to the bed and sat down on the end of it, ignoring the food. “Mr and Mrs Weasley came to Hogwarts this morning and set everything straight.”

“Are you angry with Mum?” asked Ginny, settling herself next to Harry and taking his hand.

Harry looked down at their clasped hands and took a deep breath. “I was. I was furious. Even if I still really hated Snape, that was a terrible thing to accuse him of.”

No-one had anything to say to that. Harry could tell that they all privately agreed with him, even Ron.

“So, you really don’t hate him anymore?” asked Ron, and Harry was relieved that there didn’t appear to be anger in his tone, just curiosity.

Harry shook his head. “I feel a lot of things—confusion mainly—but hate isn’t one of them. Not anymore.” He looked up to find three pairs of eyes fixed on him as if they were magnets. Suddenly he felt claustrophobic and he jumped up.

“Look, lets go outside…” he waved a hand towards the window. “It’s a nice day for a change and…and I’ll need to move around while I talk.”

“Are you going to eat this food?” asked Ron.

Suddenly, Harry felt ravenous. “I had breakfast but I’m hungry again.” With Ron’s help, Harry made short work of the bacon, eggs and toast while the two girls watched with identical looks of disgust, the rapid disposal of enough food to feed a pride of lions, eaten with about as much finesse. Finesse or not, Harry felt better able to endure the coming exposure now that he had some of Mrs Weasley’s wonderful food in his stomach.

Within minutes, the tray had been denuded of its edible contents and the four teens headed outside where Harry reluctantly spent the next hour walking up and down and talking himself hoarse about how his and Severus Snape’s lives had changed so profoundly over the last month.

He hated having to do it, but he knew that Ron, Hermione and Ginny needed to understand about the journey he had been on. He had to get across, that though he had always wished he wasn’t an orphan, his life was actually far from being a bed of roses now that he had discovered that he had a real parent. He tried to convey the confusion that he often still felt, and the guilt that consumed him when he thought about his ‘other’ father, James Potter. He was so worried that he would forget about James because Severus was the one who was here and the one he was interacting with.

But Harry also emphasized that Snape had assured him that he did not want him to forget James…that he had no intention of usurping James’ position in his heart, despite Severus and James’ less than friendly relations during James’ lifetime.

Harry told his friends these facts and more, and in the telling, he felt freed from the weight that seemed to have been pressing down on his chest ever since Snape’s revelation. They were all still in shock to think that anyone could have two biological fathers, but then again, so was Harry. He didn’t think that he would ever be able to get his head around that. But hey, that was magic.

They knew now, and even Ron was trying really hard to hide his distaste of the fact that this newly discovered father of Harry’s was Severus Snape. After Ron’s precipitate actions of distancing himself from Harry by packing his gear and removing his bed, he had decided to back up several paces and actually listen to what Harry had to say. And now he seemed to understand how much Harry was torn.

Ron no longer looked sick when he thought of Harry’s changed feelings for their git of a Potions teacher; he could see that Harry was just as confused as they all were with the incomprehensible happenings that had besieged him since the holidays had started. Ron could tell that Harry’s emotions were all over the place. He could really see, now that he had calmed down enough to actually look, that Harry was far from resolved to the idea of having a hated enemy suddenly morph into a father.

Ron had only ever known life with a decent father; a good man he knew loved him and his siblings without thought; that love was instinctual. And though he never really thought about it, Ron did love his father, and that love too was instinctual. He did not envy Harry, nor Snape (he painfully conceded) having to learn how to interact with each other as parent and child.

He would try really hard not to begrudge Harry’s new found feelings of tolerance towards Snape. He could only be there for him and support him as much as possible, because even though Harry might now have a father, Severus Snape was no Arthur Weasley.

They all sat in silence under the big oak tree when Harry finished unburdening himself and Hermione finished asking her inevitable questions about the scientific facts. Harry could not really appease his friend’s overwhelming curiosity; his knowledge of his mother’s theories concerning magical blood was limited to what he had been told, and that was very little.

Hermione’s frustration was palpable, but after a steely-eyed glare from Ginny, the older girl desisted, realising belatedly that the purpose of Harry’s unburdening was not to enlighten her about scientific principles, but to share with them the roller-coaster he had been on for the last four weeks.

Ron broke the silence. “Come on, Harry. You can help me put the camp bed back up.”

Ginny stood up and taking Harry’s hand, she dragged him to his feet. She pinned her brother with a gimlet eye that was very reminiscent of her mother. “No, Ron, you can do that yourself. After all, you were capable enough to dismantle it by yourself. Harry and I are going for a walk.”

When Ron opened his mouth to say that he and Hermione would walk with them and that he could put the bed up later, Ginny snapped, “Alone!”

She pulled on Harry’s hand and he tripped after her, grinning at Ron and Hermione over his shoulder, and waggling his eyebrows. Hermione grinned back and when Ron looked decidedly put out, Hermione whacked the back of her hand into his chest. “They are a couple, Ron,” she said with barely restrained exasperation.

“Yeah, but hell, he’s our mate too, Hermione.”

“So we should be happy that Ginny can make him happy. And vice-versa. If she can make him put his very mixed-up life on the back burners for even five minutes, then we should be grateful.

And then, much to Ron’s consternation and confusion, Hermione grabbed his hand and dragged him off in the opposite direction to the one Harry and Ginny had taken. “Come on, let’s go for our own walk.”

Much like Harry had done with Ginny, Ron trotted after Hermione obediently, but unlike Harry, his expression wasn’t smug, it was nervous.

8888

Severus had plenty to do at Hogwarts to prepare for the new school year, but he did not brew his potions or prepare for his new classes with the degree of absolute concentration that he usually brought to the tasks. Thoughts of Harry kept breaking his concentration.

For thirteen odd years, Severus’s summers had been peaceful times mostly spent at Hogwarts partaking of his favourite pastime…brewing. The potions brewed for the school hospital-wing’s stocks did not tax his mind, but Severus found the routine of chopping, dicing, mincing, mixing and stirring infinitely soothing. He also had time to indulge his creative side by experimenting, occasionally coming up with a new mixture that could be put to practical use. If he wasn’t brewing, he was studying his potions manuals or books on exotic plants or magical beasts that potion ingredients could be extracted from.

The downside of his summers had been planning the curriculum for all the year levels, but this was mostly a matter of routine. He and Dumbledore would occasionally decide that a certain potion should be removed from the curriculum and then they would decide on a replacement. Severus didn’t find any of this preparation stimulating, but it was necessary. Necessary but mostly pointless because only about two in ten of the little darlings passing through his potions classroom had any kind of aptitude for the subject, and only one in forty actually had any real talent.

Last summer, the Dark Lord had returned, and Severus had found his time split between his two masters and their demands, and the rest of his time was spent racing around trying to get his routine work done. When he had thought of Harry last summer, it was to curse him roundly and fulsomely. It had not mattered that he knew that Harry had been controlled all year by a master puppeteer and that he had nearly lost his life for the second time at the hands of the Dark Lord…Severus had been too angry about having to return to the Death Eater fold to think too much about Harry’s suffering.

But now, his life had been turned on its head and Harry was at the centre of this upheaval. There was none of the anger, nor bitterness, nor spitefulness whirling around in his brain for James’s son this summer; there was guilt and self doubt.

Severus was not used to second guessing his decisions. He was a clever and confident man who was always sure of where he was going and what he was doing. But not when it came to being a father. If all men felt as wrong-footed as he did when it came to fathering, then no male would voluntarily sire more than one child.

Even Dumbledore was a little put out with Severus over his handling of Harry’s little tantrum. When Severus had stepped out of the Floo after he had left a devastated looking Harry at the Burrow, the old man had naturally enquired about the outcome of Severus and Harry’s confrontation.

When Severus had explained with self-justifying pique that he had left Harry to stew in his bad attitude, Dumbledore had looked at him over the top of those bloody glasses and there had been a decided lack of twinkle in his eyes.

Severus swore now as he sprinkled too much ground Harlequin Beetle carapace into his latest experiment, causing the gently simmering golden brew to hiss and spit angrily, and froth up to the very lip of the pewter cauldron. He stepped back a pace, his wand already in his hand ready to vanish the contents of the cauldron at a moment’s notice.

Damn Dumbledore and his gentle admonitions, and damn Harry and those expressive green eyes. Severus still wasn’t used to looking into Lily’s eyes when they gazed at him out of Harry’s face. Those eyes should be gazing at him from Lily’s beautiful face, surrounded by her dark red hair.

But Severus couldn’t deny that Harry could put as much emotion into those eyes as his mother had been able to. And Severus found himself just as affected by the expressions in Harry’s eyes—now that he allowed himself to actually look into them—as he had been by Lily’s.

“Severus, are you here?”

Severus shut his eyes and allowed his head to fall back on his neck, his sigh long and loud. Dumbledore.

The brew had settled back to a gentle simmer, and amazingly, it had gained the viscosity and colour that he had been aiming for. It was ready for the addition of the Knarl quills, but Severus waved his wand and placed a stasis charm over the brew instead.

“Severus!”

“Coming,” yelled Severus, but before he left his lab, he picked up his quill and made an amendment to his notes.

Dumbledore’s head, surrounded by its flickering green curtain smiled at Severus from the fireplace. “Perhaps you could join us for dinner in the Great Hall, my boy. Filius and Poppy have returned and we can eat together.”

“Albus, as much as I crave the company of the all you delightful people, I have a potion…”

“Come, Severus. You have to eat, and no-one casts a more effective stasis charm than you do.”

Severus rolled his eyes.

“Well, if our company isn’t enough to lure you out of your den, then perhaps the news that there is a very persistent owl with a delivery for you that he will not relinquish into anyone else’s hands might do it.”

“An owl? For me?”

Albus smiled. “We’ll see you in a few minutes.” And with that, he was gone.

Severus stood and stared at the empty grate for several seconds before snapping into action and removing his brewing robe and replacing it with the more formal robe he wore within Hogwarts. He let himself out of his rooms and strode along the familiar corridors of the dungeons.

He had avoided dining with Dumbledore and Minerva for two days, resentful as he was towards Dumbledore after the bloody old goat’s concise words of advice after he had left Harry at the Burrow.

You do not teach a lesson to your child by withholding your affection, Severus.

More was said, but not much, because Severus had removed himself before he lost his temper entirely. Dumbledore’s obvious disapproval on top of his own disquiet had managed to put Severus in such a foul mood, he had ruined five different potions. This evening’s little blunder turning out to have a positive effect was definitely more good luck than good management.

Severus had found himself on the verge of contacting Harry several times over the last thirty-six hours, but then he had reminded himself just how insolent and smart-mouthed the boy had been, and his original decision to distance himself so that Harry could ponder his attitude had conquered his temporary weakness.

And is your attitude any better, Severus? Is your silence just another way of emphasising your authority over a boy that you are far too used to lording it over?

As Severus strode across the marble-floored Entrance Hall, he thrust these unhelpful thoughts aside. Tomorrow morning he would…what the…

Severus ducked as a noisy missile shot straight at his head, and failing to make contact, it commenced a noisy orbit around it. The high pitched twittering told a slightly shell-shocked Severus that this thing was a bird and not something one of his high-spirited colleagues had launched at him as a joke. And now that he was not fearing for his life, he could see that this must be the owl that Dumbledore had told him about, although ‘owl’ seemed too grand a title for the miniscule anomaly.

Severus reached out an arm for the owl to land on, but it failed to take the hint, continuing its erratic flight around his head and upper torso, all the while making that infernal noise. When the sound of laughter reached his ears above the high pitched assault on his auditory nerve, Severus glared darkly at his dinner companions. He wanted to pull out his wand and stun them first, and then the bloody annoying bird that was no more than the size of a sparrow. He wondered viciously if owl tasted anything like chicken.

“You mail, Severus.” said Albus with a chuckle.

Oh, very amusing!

Severus seated himself with as much dignity as a man with his own personal satellite could muster, reaching for the glass jug of mead and pouring himself a decent slug.

“Will you kill the bloody thing, or shall I?” asked Severus in a perfectly serious voice.

Dumbledore and Flitwick were hard-pressed to contain their amusement, but Minerva had pressed her lips together in a less than effective way to try and contain her mirth, and Poppy’s elbow rested on the table with her hand supporting her forehead whilst she gazed down at the tablecloth. But Severus could see her thin shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Now, now Severus,” said Dumbledore, wiping tears from his eyes with the corner of his napkin, “I am sure there has to be a way to still the creature so that you can retrieve your mail. It is just a little excited.”

“Who would have guessed?” Severus drawled. “I think the thing is somewhat deficient of brainpower and whoever sent it with a mail delivery must also be greatly lacking in grey matter.” And though he had never seen the bird before in the Great Hall, Severus was sure he knew who its owner was, and that knowledge did not make him want to retract his statement.

“It knew enough not to deliver your letter to any but yourself, my boy. He just could not get down to the dungeons to give it to you down there.”

Severus growled and slammed his goblet down on the table after the owl passed particularly close to his hand when it had raised his goblet to his mouth, nearly making him drop it. On its next circuit, and with reflexes that would have done Harry proud, Severus snatched the bird out of midair. His instinct was to squeeze the life out of it but he didn’t want blood and guts all over his letter.

“Bravo!” squeaked Filius, clapping along with Dumbledore at their dour colleague’s prowess.

Severus ignored them and opened his hand just enough to untie the thin ribbon attaching the parchment to the owl’s tiny leg. He then raised the bird to his face and spoke very quietly, rubbing a thumb over the small, feathered head. “Don’t go until I see if I need to reply to this.”

The bird twittered excitedly but when he opened his hand, instead of taking off and flying around dementedly, it fluttered onto his shoulder and began to nibble on several strands of Severus’s long hair.

“There,” said Dumbledore, quite impressed at Severus’s gentleness with the tiny Scops owl in the face of his obvious impatience and irritation. “He is yours to do with as you command.”

Severus just shot a withering look at his friend and pointedly turned his back on the others and opened the parchment. He was sure he knew who the letter was from, and sure enough, Harry’s small writing greeted his eyes and Severus scanned the missive greedily.

Hi!

I hope you don’t mind that I have sent you this letter, but I didn’t want to disturb you and maybe make you even more angry with me than you already are if I Floo-called you..

I just want you to know that I have been thinking about what you said, and that I realise that you were right (as usual), and that I do need to make more of an effort so that your efforts to include me in your life are not a useless waste of time.

I know we have spoken of this before and that I keep on blowing up in your face, but I promise I will make more of an effort. And I know I have said that before, but I really mean it this time.

Everything is fine here and I am enjoying the time with my friends (Ron and I are fine, by the way), but I would like to hear from you as soon as you think you can tolerate my company again.

Even if it is just to touch base and say ‘hi’.

Sorry about Pig. [Pigwidgeon] I know he will annoy the crap out of you, but Ron said I could borrow him, and Hedwig is at Hogwarts and Errol (the Weasley’s old owl) is too feeble to make the journey.

Pig’s gaga, but he’s enthusiastic. Try not to curse him into oblivion…Ron would be really upset.

Harry.

Long after he finished reading, Severus continued to stare fixedly at the writing. He thought inconsequentially that over the five years of Harry’s education, his writing had gradually changed from the juvenile ‘joined up printing’ that he had written his early schoolwork in, to this much more mature sloping handwriting that was distinctively Harry’s. It still wasn’t the greatest penmanship Severus had ever come across, but it was easily legible, unlike many of his classmates’ writing. He also pondered the fact that Harry had failed to say 'Hi, Dad', in his opening salutation.

A gentle cough behind him brought Severus back to the present. He rolled up the scroll of parchment and placed it beside his plate. When he sat straight in his chair again, he glanced at Dumbledore, who raised his sliver eyebrows in question. Severus knew he was asking if the letter was from Harry, and Severus gave a curt nod before starting to fill his plate from the serving platters where the food still steamed gently under the influence of a warming charm.

No-one within the school other than Albus and Minerva knew that Harry was Severus’s son, and that was the way it was going to stay. Severus was on friendly enough terms with Flitwick and Poppy, and he trusted implicitly that they were in no way connected to the Dark Lord, but apart from not wishing to advertise his private business, the less people who knew the secret, the safer he and Harry would be.

Before Severus started eating, he finely shredded some meat from a pork chop and placed it on a bread and butter plate for the tiny owl. He had to lift Pig down from his shoulder because he was sleeping with his head under his wing. The transfer woke the bird and Severus held a bit of meat up for him. Pig attacked the rest of the small serve with gusto.

“Beneath that black façade, you’re really a big softy aren’t you, Severus?” said Minerva, smirking behind her cup of tea. When Severus cast her a scathing look, she was supremely unconcerned. “Who would have believed that you were an animal lover?”

“I find that I can easily take to a creature that does not constantly assail my ears with inane chatter,” returned Severus. If he wanted to insult the deputy headmistress, he fell short of the mark; Minerva just smirked some more and Albus laughed outright. The other two staff members had been holding their own conversation and so missed the exchange.

Fifteen minutes later, Severus, with Pig enclosed within his fisted hand, left the Great Hall ahead of the others. But instead of taking the stairs down to the dungeons, he crossed to the open front door and waited for Albus to join him.

“Let us hope that the evening is just as beautiful in Devon, Severus,” the old wizard said. Severus rolled his eyes.

“I couldn’t just be standing here to admire the Scottish sunset?” he asked blandly. Dumbledore smiled and shook his head.

“Sunsets are not your thing, my boy,” he said confidently. “You have been itching to return to the Burrow since you left your son there in a less than positive frame of mind. But you are a very stubborn man.”

“He needed to learn a lesson.”

“Perhaps. What lesson did you learn, Severus?”

Severus glared at his mentor. “Stop trying to get inside my head, old man.” He quickly crossed the wide stone landing, but before he could begin to descend the steps, Dumbledore called after him.

“Please bring Harry back with you, Severus. I have matters to discuss with him.”

Severus turned around. “What matters?”

Dumbledore paused for a moment, but when he spoke, his voice was matter-of-fact. “Sirius’s will has been released. Harry is, of course, the main beneficiary.

Severus’s hand tightened around the bird that he still held in his fist until it twittered frantically to remind him that he still had a hold of it.

Albus watched as the angry young man turned in a swirl of his black robes to continue his journey along the gravel drive to the school boundary, thrusting Pigwidgeon into his pocket to keep him safe while Severus Apparated to Devon.

Harry was sitting on the couch, right in the corner where the padded arm met the back. His arm was hooked over Ginny's shoulder and she was sitting side-on to him with her legs stretched along the length of the couch. Ginny was reading a paperback book and playing with Harry's fingers.

Harry was supposed to be watching Ron and Hermione playing Wizard's Chess but in actual fact, he was fiddling with a lock of Ginny's red hair, watching as the light caught it and refracted into half a dozen different colours. The Weasley red was such an amazing colour...especially on Ginny. But Ginny was gorgeous from the top of her head to the tips of her cute little toes.

"Check and mate! Hah!" crowed Ron. Harry and Ginny looked across to see Hermione looking more than slightly peeved. She was sitting back with her arms crossed, glowering at Ron as he reset the board. She hated being outdone at anything by anyone. It did not matter that she had never been interested in chess before meeting Ron; she could beat him at anything (except flying and Quidditch and she didn't care about them), so she thought that because chess was such a cerebral game, she should be able to beat him at that as well.

Harry smirked and kissed the top of Ginny's head. She put her head back and smiled upside down at him, and unable to resist, Harry leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose as well. Satisfied, Ginny went back to her book and Harry resumed his relaxed position, idly watching Ron place the grumpy black pieces back in position. Ron was explaining his last winning strategy to Hermione and she was trying to look interested as opposed to resentful.

Harry continued to gaze at his two best friends, without really seeing them, and though his fingers had recommenced their tactile exploration of Ginny's hair, he wasn't really paying attention to its silky softness either; his thoughts were a long way away at Hogwarts. He was wondering exactly what his father was doing at the moment, and if he had spared a thought for him at all during the last two days.

Pig should have arrived with his letter by now but when Harry thought about what he had written and about Snape reading those words, he wanted to curl up in a hole and never come out again. Had he sounded like a pathetic, needy pillock, or what? His dad was going to think that was exactly what he was. It had obviously not worried him being separated from Harry. Why would it? It wasn't as if Snape was in the habit of thinking about Harry over the summer hols for the last four years after all.

Harry sighed and Ginny looked upside down at him again. "What's wrong?" she mouthed.

Harry smiled and shook his head. Ginny raised her eyebrows sceptically but she let it go and went back to her book, squirming closer to him. Harry's lips tautened. He was doing it again, wasn't he? He was thinking negatively again. Snape had said that they needed time apart for Harry to decide how much of an effort he was willing to put into their relationship. And here was proof that he needed that time!

Harry still found it difficult to believe that he and Snape could ever have found  common ground. The circumstances of their bizarre relationship still did Harry's head in whenever he thought about it.

Two fathers! He had two fathers. Two biological fathers. Wasn't he a big enough freak considering his past history without the ignominy of having two biological fathers.

It seemed not, because the facts were the facts. Why would Snape even think about claiming him as a son if the whole thing was a lie? It wasn't just an elaborate ruse. What would have been the point? Snape wasn't a Death Eater. He was a spy and Dumbledore trusted him implicitly. And if he had been a Death Eater, he had already had plenty of opportunities to hand Harry over the Voldemort.

But he hadn't done that. Even before their relationship had come to light, Snape had always protected him. Even while he had hated Harry, Snape had still protected him; he had saved his life more than once.

And look at the reward Snape had gotten for his last effort at saving Harry's life; he had actually found himself stuck with Harry in a way that neither of them would ever have envisioned even a month ago.

A month was a long time. Harry felt as though his emotions had been in turmoil for longer than just a month. Well, they had, hadn't they? He shut his eyes as painful memories washed over him. Those memories hurt...they hurt a lot!  

A little over a month ago, he had lost his godfather, but because of everything that had happened since term had ended, Sirius had been pushed right to the back of his mind. Harry had actually not thought about him at all for days at a time.

When Sirius had died, Harry had been totally devastated; he had been convinced that he would never get over it. He had just lost the man whom he had secretly hoped would take over the job that his first dad had been unable to fulfil. But because of his monumental idiocy, that was now never going to happen.

Harry still missed Sirius. He would always miss him, but he couldn't imagine ever being able to talk about that to Snape. Snape would be happy if he never heard Sirius's name mentioned again. It was true that Harry had never seen any overt signs of triumph from Snape after Sirius's demise; he had never gloated. Not even before Harry's poisoning had he gloated. He had never made any illusions to the event at all, in fact.

Harry remembered the first time he had seen Snape after Sirius had died. It had been in the Entrance Hall and Malfoy had just told Harry that he was going to kill him. Snape had come across them just as Harry had beaten Malfoy to the draw and had his wand trained unerringly on the Slytherin ferret. Of course, Snape had sneered at Harry in his usual way and taken points from him!

Harry's musings came to a screaming halt and his hand ceased its mindless caressing of Ginny's hair. It had not occurred to him before now.  Malfoy had threatened to kill him. Could Malfoy be the one who...

At that precise moment, a noisy, feathery cannonball whizzed into the room, circling Ron's fiery head once before careening into the new chess game that had just commenced and sending the shrieking pieces flying all over the room.

"Shit!" yelled Ron, putting a hand over his chest in an attempt to hold his adrenalin-charged heart in its original moorings. And then realising how loudly he had yelled out and wondering whether his mum would swoop into the room and berate him, he plucked Pig out of the air with a well-practised move and held the bird up to his crimson face. "You stupid, feathery git!" he bit out in irritation. Then his brow furrowed and he looked across at Harry.

"He shouldn't be back yet," he said in a much more subdued tone. "Scotland's way too far away for him to be here now."

Harry and Ginny were now sitting side by side on the sofa, staring at Pig as he hooted serenely over the top of Ron's fisted hand. Harry was as tense as a steel girder as he stared at the bird. Ginny held tightly to his arm, trying to infuse him with some of her strength.

Ron looked from Harry and Ginny to Hermione. "Do you think he lost the letter? Maybe I didn't tie it on tightly enough."

Harry wasn't sure whether he was more worried about whether Pig might have reached his destination and delivered that pathetic letter to Snape, or whether it might have come detached from his leg partway into the flight. In other words, did he want Snape to think that he was such a sap, or not?

"He didn't loose the letter, Mr Weasley." Four heads swivelled around and Harry bounded to his feet to face his father who was standing just inside the kitchen doorway. He could see Mrs Weasley behind Severus, but after smiling at Harry, she moved away to get on with whatever it was she had been doing since she had sent them all off after the evening meal.

Severus reached a hand into his robes and pulled out the letter. "It arrived compliments of your rather excitable owl, so, considering his diminutive size, and the distances involved, it was only fitting that as I was coming to see Harry anyway, I bring the avian menace back with me."

Silence stretched over several seconds before Ron managed to close his mouth and stammer a shocked, "Err...thanks Sir."

Severus nodded and then turned to face Harry. The boy was looking at him with a mixture of hope and embarrassment. Severus did not quite know how to start a conversation with his son, surrounded as he was by his Gryffindor guard, and as he was as wrong-footed as he had felt following their recent separation. Not being a master of diplomacy, however, he said the wrong thing.

"I gather you have been behaving yourself?"

The hopefulness on Harry's face disappeared and his sense of euphoria flickered and died. "I do know how, you know?" he said quietly.

Ginny's chin raised a little at the implied criticism but Harry squeezed her arm, indicating that she didn't need to become defensive on his behalf.

"I know that you do, Harry," said Severus, inwardly berating himself for his comment. He sighed deeply. "It took me a long time to believe that you were anything but an attention-seeking little twerp, but I have come to know that most of my preconceived notions as to your true nature were totally erroneous. I have known it for several weeks, in fact."

Severus paused and studied Harry's newly hopeful expression and although Harry had noted the ‘most' in his father's statement, he still felt buoyed by the concession.

Severus noted that Ginevra had not released her grip on Harry. He wondered if Harry had told his girlfriend and the other two thirds of the triumvirate the reason for their two day long separation.

He returned his gaze to Harry's face, and to break the tension he asked, "Are you well?" A pointless question as it was obvious that Harry was extremely well. Indeed, Severus had not seen Harry Potter looking so fit since he had first clapped eyes on him almost six years ago. For the first time, Severus could not see any signs of the ill health that had plagued Harry following his poisoning.

Harry licked his lips and nodded. "I'm fine," he said, interrupting Severus's musings.

Severus moved further into the room, as up till now, he had remained just inside the doorway to the kitchen. Pig twittered loudly and then he nipped Ron's finger...hard. Ron yelped and automatically opened his hand, raising his finger to his lips to suck the smarting wound.

Pig zoomed straight towards Severus, but instead of orbiting about his head in his usual demented fashion, the little Scops owl landed on his shoulder and began to nibble on his hair, just as he had done at Hogwarts. The four teens watched the bird's totally out of character behaviour in open-mouthed astonishment.

Severus raised a hand and closed his fist gently around the tiny owl. He held him at chest height, stroking the tiny head with a gentle thumb. Ron's eyes were wide with shock as a result of the defection of his bird. Pig's eyes had now fluttered shut in response to the mesmeric stroking. Ron was all too aware that he had never been able to calm the manic creature like his professor was now doing.

"Would you be open to returning to Hogwarts to spend the night?" Severus asked, keeping his eyes focused on Harry rather than on the handful of warm feathers that he held.

Harry's heart skittered several beats, then he nodded. "I'd like that," he said, just as quietly as his father had spoken. Harry felt Ginny's grip on his arm tighten momentarily before she released him and stepped away. He turned to her, feeling torn.

"Gin, I..."

Ginny touched the back of his hand. "It's OK, Harry. Go back with your dad. I imagine we'll see you soon." Harry knew that she was happy for him to return to Hogwarts with Snape, but she looked sad all the same.

Severus's next words shocked him as much as they apparently did the teens. He looked like he had toothache as he spoke. "Perhaps your friends would like to come to Hogwarts in a couple of days and spend the day on the Quidditch pitch with you, Harry." As Ron and Ginny's faces lit up, Severus's eye fell upon Hermione who was not looking totally ecstatic.

"Or if Quidditch is not your cup of tea, perhaps I can speak to the headmaster about allowing you access to the library, Miss Granger."

Hermione's brown eyes shone. "Thank you, Sir," she breathed. Severus nodded tersely, wondering what in the hell was wrong with him. But when he looked back at Harry, Harry beamed at him, and Severus felt a little better about his totally uncharacteristic offer. After all it was another step across the rickety bridge that was helping him and his son forge a proper relationship.

Harry knew that for Professor Severus Snape to actually consider his friends and his girlfriend, was a huge concession for him to make. After all, they were not only his friends, they were also Gryffindors and therefore beneath contempt.

Perhaps that attitude would soften now that he was actually related to a Gryffindor.

"Perhaps you could go and collect the things you wish to bring back home, Harry," Severus said, feeling a little bemused at his behaviour towards the other Gryffindors in the room. Surely becoming a father was not going to cause him to forget his general dislike of children, especially ones who were nearly grown and thought that they knew everything there was to know.

Merlin forbid!

Harry nodded enthusiastically in response to Severus's words, oblivious to the man's disquiet. He took Ginny's hand. "Can you come and help me, Gin?"

Ginny reddened a little as three pairs of eyes drilled into her and Harry. She knew that they knew that Harry didn't really need any help to gather his few belongings together. But she wasn't going to knock back the opportunity to be alone with him for a few minutes before he left. And Professor Snape wasn't voicing any complaints either, though he must realise that Harry wanted to share a private goodbye with her.

"What do you wish to do with your owl, Mr Weasley?" asked Severus. All eyes focused on the sleeping Pigwidgeon that Severus still held cradled in his large hand.

"I'll take him upstairs if you like, Ron," offered Harry and he gently took the proffered owl, who made a contented chirruping noise as the transfer was made, but who fell immediately back to sleep, his little chest rising and falling rapidly.

Harry and Ginny's departure from the room was made a little easier to bear for Severus when Arthur appeared in the kitchen doorway and beckoned Severus to join him and Molly for some supper. Severus liked that idea a lot more than staying in the same room with Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. His uncharacteristic behaviour did not yet extend to passing the time of day with Harry's friends. After all, who knew how long it would take Harry and Miss Weasley to say their goodbyes?

Severus was pensive as he followed Arthur into the kitchen. He was remembering another lovely redhead whom he would have once given anything to be able to kiss goodbye in a manner other than that of old friends. As he slipped into a chair and Molly passed him a cup of tea and slid a plate of dark fruit cake in front of him, Severus firmly shut his mind against his very old and very frustrated desires where Lily Evans had been concerned.

As he sipped his drink and broke off a corner of the cake that he did not really want, he reflected on the fact that Harry seemed to have inherited both his and James's penchant for redheaded females. Severus couldn't fault their son's taste at all. Ginevra Weasley was a very becoming young girl whose looks would only improve with maturity. She was also far above average with her magical ability. He was sure that James would agree with their son's choice of girlfriend. And Lily would have just been happy to know that Ginny made Harry happy.

Of course, they were both very young and they may not ultimately end up together, but both he and James had irrevocably fallen in love early in life (unfortunately with the same girl); the likelihood that Harry was in the process of going down the same road seemed pretty high.

8888

Harry did not reappear in the living-room for fifteen minutes. Ron and Hermione had given up on the chess and were sitting at opposite ends of the sofa. Hermione had her arms and legs crossed and one leg was bobbing up and down agitatedly. As soon as she saw Harry, she hitched a smile onto her sullen face. Ron too looked tense and miserable.

Harry sighed. When were they just going to admit that they were attracted to each other and bloody get on with it?

Ron glowered pointedly at Harry's slightly swollen and reddened lips. "Got your packing done, I see," he said sarcastically, staring at Harry's leather hold-all and broomstick. "You want to watch yourself Harry; packing with you mouth can be detrimental to your health."

Hermione back-handed Ron on the arm. "Oh, will you get over yourself, Ron. You sound like a broken record. How many times do you have to cause an argument with Harry about Ginny?"

"I'm not...I wasn't..." spluttered Ron.

"Yes you were!" declared Harry and Hermione together.

"They're together, so get used to it!" added Hermione huffily, getting to her feet quite gracefully, considering that she was in a temper and that the sofa was very old and very saggy. "And couples kiss Ron. That's why they are couples, so that they can kiss and be close to each other. A concept that seems to have entirely passed you by, but then, you always have been slow on the uptake."

She moved across to Harry and he couldn't help thinking that she really did look miserable. "Have a good time with your dad, Harry. I think I might go home and spend some time with my own parents before school starts. I don't really spend enough time with them."

She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank your dad for the invitation to Hogwarts, but I think I'll give it a miss. I'll see you before term starts though...maybe in Diagon Alley?"

Harry looked at her worriedly but he nodded and smiled. "Yeah, sure. That'd be great." He was more than a little surprised that Hermione would pass up an opportunity to have the run of the Hogwarts' library, but he thought he knew why she was going home. And the reason was slumped down on the sofa looking nettled.

Ron watched Hermione hurry to the stairs, then he turned back to Harry. "What in the name of Merlin's pants is her problem? She never said anything about going home before now."

Harry sighed and shrugged. He wasn't going to tell Ron to get a clue. It wasn't his place to tell Ron that Hermione really, really liked him and that she was waiting for him to give her some kind of sign that he definitely felt the same way. It wasn't his place to tell Ron that he was running hot and cold all the time and that Hermione was really getting fed up with waiting.

Harry knew that Ron did like Hermione as much more than just a friend; he remembered how Ron had looked at Hermione when they had all come to visit him that first time after he had been poisoned...before Harry had known that Snape was his father. But Ron seemed to have forgotten all of that. Sometimes he was possessive of Hermione and other times he seemed totally indifferent.

"Maybe she needs a bit of space," Harry said.

"A bit of space from what? We've been having a good time. She gets on really well with Ginny; they're like best girly-friends."

"She has got parents Ron. She's here more often than she is at her own home."

"But they went away on holiday and Hermione didn't want to go with them."

"Yeah, well, I expect they're back by now." Harry moved forward, keen to finish this particular conversation; he hit Ron on the arm in a display of blokey affection. "I'd better get going. You know Sn...err, my dad isn't renowned for his patience."

"Do you find it hard to call him ‘dad'?" asked Ron in a whisper, quickly picking up on Harry's faux pas. "You know, after the way he used to treat you and all."

Harry gave Ron a tight-lipped smile. "It's getting easier."

Ron nodded and watched Harry move toward the kitchen. But just before Harry exited the living-room, he called out and Harry turned back to look at him. "Harry, what did Hermione mean by ‘a broken record'? How can you break a record of something?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll tell you when I see you in a couple of days. Or..." he added over his shoulder as he walked from the room, "You could ask Hermione."

8888

Severus and Arthur were talking quietly when Harry walked into the kitchen. He could hear Mrs Weasley puttering about in the scullery. Harry was sure that neither Mrs Weasley nor his father felt comfortable in each other's company and so Mrs Weasley had found some chores to do.

Both men looked around at Harry. Arthur smiled at him before speaking to Severus again. "If you wish to speak to Harry before you Floo back to Albus's office, Severus, you may use the living-room. The kids can vacate it for a time."

"I would be grateful. I was going to Apparate and side-along with Harry. I could have taken the opportunity to talk as we walked up to the castle. But then I recalled that Harry does not take too well to Apparition.

Harry felt his face heat up with embarrassed colour and Mr Weasley chuckled, pushing himself to his feet and patting Harry on the shoulder as he passed him on his way to the living-room. "It is a sensation that does take some getting used to. You'll acclimatise to it soon enough, Harry."

Harry looked at Severus. "Why do we need to talk before we get back to Hogwarts?" he asked a little worriedly.

Severus took Harry's elbow and guided him back into the room that he had just vacated. Ron was heading up the stairs at his father's behest, looking back over his shoulder at Harry and his newly discovered father. Ron did not know whether he would ever be able to come to terms with Professor Snape being a father, let alone Harry's father. but he would be there for Harry, regardless.

Arthur smiled at Severus and Harry as he returned to the kitchen to keep his wife company and Severus shut the door behind him.

Harry was really beginning to look a little anxious now. Why all the privacy?

"Here, let me shrink your broom." Severus took the Firebolt and pointed his wand at it. Harry heard the muttered spell, Reducio! and watched as his broom shrank to about six inches long, the perfect replica of its larger self, down to the last twig.

"Do you have the case?" Harry reached into the front pocket of the hold-all for the beautifully engraved case that Snape had given him. Severus enclosed the broom within and handed it back to Harry.

Severus was looking a little grim and Harry, thinking he was in for another lecture about his need to put in more of an effort, burst into speech before Severus could begin. "I really meant what I said in my letter, you know? I really do intend to make more of an effort. I'll think before I burst out with any asinine statements or accuse you unfairly of anything."

When Severus raised an eyebrow, Harry ploughed on desperately before he could speak. "I really am sorry, sir. I don't know why I just  can't accept all of this without over-analysing everything and then imaging all kinds of dire things. I do believe that you want this..." Harry moved his index finger backwards and forwards between himself and Severus, "...to work and that you're doing your best to make it work."

When Severus still remained silent, Harry became conscious of his intense regard and he lowered his head to study his trainers. "I guess it all boils down to the fact that I can't really believe anything this good could happen to me," he trailed off self-consciously.

Severus studied the top of Harry's messy head and another seismic shift took place within his chest. He still found it difficult to believe that Harry had so readily accepted him into his life after their torrid past association. This boy was so vulnerable and so very needy. He felt a little humbled, when he realised that Harry was investing so much emotion in him, but also a little panicked when he realised  that he was such a large part of the boy's immediate happiness and contentment.

Harry needed to be happy and content now to be able to face what Albus was convinced he would eventually have to face. If that dire day came to pass when he met the Dark Lord in a fight to the finish, then Harry needed to feel good about the rest of his life...he needed a reason to win.

Sighing, Severus stepped forward and put his hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed. "We both need to think before we speak, Harry, not just you. It was overly harsh of me to banish you the way I did."

Harry looked up hopefully and Severus gazed into the green eyes that wrung his heart every time he saw them. "It will not happen again, I promise you. If it makes you feel any better, I missed having you around. The dungeon rooms somehow seem bereft without your presence."

Harry's green eyes became a little brighter in the dim light afforded by the gas lamps that illuminated the room. He swallowed past the lump that was threatening to occlude his airway. Had Snape just said that he had missed him?

It seemed so.

"I missed you too," Harry admitted, though it was difficult to look his father in the eye; his trainers were a much safer option at the moment. His vision wouldn't go starry if he looked at his trainers rather than the regretful features in front of him.

The silence seemed interminable, and finally Harry looked up. It seemed that was what his father had been waiting for because he squeezed the shoulder upon which his hand still rested and offered his version of a smile...the tight lipped grimace that Harry was becoming used to.

"Very well. We will get past this as we have survived all the other obstacles thrown in our path, the most malignant of which are both our tempers and our inability to listen when it is necessary. You are definitely my son in these respects, I am afraid."

Harry's lips quirked and Severus raised that mobile eyebrow that he knew Harry had also inherited from him. "Well, You know what they say, Dad. It's never too late to improve."

"They say that, do they?" drawled Severus, and all of a sudden Harry felt elated. His father was joking around with him, and it felt good. But there was one thing he felt compelled to ask.

"Did you come because of the letter?"

Severus drew himself up to his full height, a little nonplussed by the question. Here was more of Harry's monumental insecurity. "Will you believe me if I say ‘no'?"

Harry bit his lip, but he nodded unhesitatingly. Severus's eyebrow quirked again-this time expressing doubt-and before Harry could launch into further assurances to prove his willingness to put in more of an effort, Severus spoke.

"I had not had a very good day in my lab, Harry, and I was this close..." Severus held his thumb and index finger about quarter of an inch apart, "to coming to get you. Then Dumbledore Floo-called me to tell me that I had an owl. I joined the resident faculty in the Great Hall, ate a meagre meal as I read your missive, pocketed that demented little creature and left the castle grounds to Apparate here.

"So, in answer to your question, your letter was the catalyst, but you would have found me on the doorstep this evening, regardless."

Harry felt a bubble of happiness and relief inflate inside his chest, and all he could do was nod his response to his father's admission, but Severus could see that Harry believed him.

"I ruined five separate potions since our altercation, Harry."

Harry's eyes widened. "Five!"

"Five. One's thoughts have to be entirely on the job in hand when one is dealing with magical ingredients and accompanying wand-work. Mine were several hundred miles away."

Harry grinned and Severus attempted to look stern. "You feel that my failures are a matter of humour, Potter?"

"Not the failures, per se, Professor, but the reason for the failures do make me feel quite chuffed."

"Hmm."

"But it's also nice to know that even someone as pedantically perfectionistic as yourself, can occasionally make mistakes. Makes it seem that there may be some hope for the rest of us mere mortals."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Pedantically perfectionistic!" He shuddered. "There is no such word as perfectionistic."

"See what I mean?" Harry's grin became wider. Pedantic and perfectionistic. I just made the word up. The perfect two adjectives to describe Professor Severus Snape."

Severus rolled his eyes again and shook his head, and Harry was pleased to note that the greasy, lank hair he had always been so used to seeing, was still as clean and shiny as it had been  since he had woken from his poison-induced coma.

Severus felt ridiculously pleased to know that Harry bore him no grudge over their latest contretemps. But as he studied the happy, handsome young boy before him, he suddenly remembered why he had wanted to speak to his son, and the good humour drained out of him in an instant. He turned away and crossed the room to stand staring out of the window at the moonlit front garden.

The smile adorning Harry's face slowly began to slip when he realised that the atmosphere had changed perceptibly. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Severus took a deep breath. Discussing anything to do with Sirius Black was not a task he relished. And considering the subject matter and Harry's very real affection for the mutt, the task was going to be even more onerous.

Severus knew that he had to attempt to put his bitterness towards his oldest enemy behind him, because the subject matter was going to upset the boy all by itself...Harry did not need to hear his underlying abhorrence of Black cause every word he spoke to be laced with bile. He squared his shoulders as he turned and looked at Harry.

"I wish to discuss Black with you, Harry," he said without further preamble, and he immediately cursed himself when Harry went very still and most of the colour drained from his face.

After several seconds, the boy turned and walked to the sagging sofa on stiff legs and lowered himself onto the cushions. He leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs, and studied his hands.

"What about him?" he asked in a subdued voice. It could not have been more obvious that Harry had kept thoughts of the mutt at bay and that the subject was not a welcome one. Severus supposed that the subject was even less welcome, instigated as it had been, by him. But he wanted to prepare the boy for whatever Dumbledore had to tell him.

Severus decided that there was little point in prevaricating further. "When we get back to Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore wishes to discuss Black's will with you."

Harry's dark brows drew together. "His will! What will?" And then Harry seemed to come to a realisation and he jumped to his feet. "I don't want to hear anything about Sirius's will! I don't want any of his stuff, if that's what Dumbledore wants to talk to me about."

Severus wouldn't have been human had he not felt a sense of gloating pleasure at Harry's words. His son did not want any of Black's leavings. But clear thinking quickly overtook him and as he watched Harry stalk backwards and forwards across the room, his agitation and distress increasing by the second, Severus knew that he had to bury his old hatred of anything to do with his old Gryffindor enemy and act like the responsible adult he was meant to be.

"Harry, the will is a fait accompli. Professor Dumbledore is just the bearer of the news. You are obviously a beneficiary...to what extent, I have no idea."

Harry was shaking his head. "I don't care. I don't want any of his stuff. I'd just remember him every time I looked at anything he gives me. I want to forget!"

"You want to forget your Godfather?" Severus couldn't believe the words that had just come out of his mouth. And then he had to compound his idiocy by adding, "Black could not have loved you more if you were his own."

Harry halted in his tracks in the middle of this pronouncement and though incredulity was stamped across his features, anguish subsumed it. "It'll be too hard," he whispered, his voice cracking.

Severus moved forward and his large hand snaked around the back of Harry's neck. He exerted a modicum of pressure to pull Harry slightly towards him and he bent so that their noses were practically touching. "Let us wait and see what Albus has to impart, Harry," he said in a low voice. He held Harry's brilliant green eyes with his own fathomless pools. He lowered his voice a little more and added. "You have to remember that Black...that Sirius desired you to have whatever he has bequeathed you, Harry. You were his family."

Harry lowered his head so that his forehead was resting against Severus's. Severus heard him swallow. "You'll stay with me, yeah?"

"If that is your wish."

"It is," said Harry quickly.

Severus straightened and squeezed Harry's neck gently. "Then let us go and see what Dumbledore has to tell you."

Severus ushered Harry across to the fireplace and after throwing down a pinch of powder, the two wizards found themselves being propelled through the cramped spaces of the magical Floo Network...a trip lasting a very uncomfortable fifty seconds between the Burrow in Devon and Hogwarts in the Scottish highlands.

Before this summer, Harry had travelled by Floo powder a grand total of twice. Now, it was nearly as familiar to him as riding on his broom, but nowhere near as enjoyable. Harry still hated it with a passion, though in his opinion, it was fractionally better than side-along Apparition; in truth, he hated them both.

Severus, well aware of his son's adverse reaction to Floo travel, held onto Harry's arm and when the spinning stopped, he guided Harry onto Dumbledore's hearth. Harry was embarrassed but grateful; he despaired of ever being able to tolerate any form of magical travel other than broomstick.

This time, however, Harry was surprised when the world stopped spinning almost as soon as his feet hit the solid surface of Dumbledore's hearth. And his stomach returned to its original position within his abdomen immediately the spinning in his head stopped.

He looked suitably pleased with himself and he grinned at Severus. "That wasn't as bad as it usually is."

"Severus rolled his eyes. "Not before time."

"Now, Severus. Harry is not alone in not being able to come to terms with the effects of Floo travel, nor indeed, Apparition." Harry spun around and watched Dumbledore navigate the last couple of stairs down to the office into which he and Snape had just Flooed into. His smile faded.

"How are you, dear boy?"

"Fine thanks, Sir."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore and he indicated that Harry and Severus seat themselves in front of the beautiful desk that Harry had admired since his very first sighting of it way back in his second year.

Severus sat, noting the presence of a third chair in front of the desk. 

"We will have to wait for another few minutes, I am afraid," said Dumbledore as he waved his wand and his phoenix Patronus shimmered into being before disappearing through the closed door leading to the enchanted stone staircase.

Severus turned back to Dumbledore after watching the beautiful, silver apparition disappear, and bestowed a sour look upon him. "Let me think..." he drawled. "there is another beneficiary."

Dumbledore bowed his head. "Astute, as always, my boy," he said looking perfectly at ease in the face of Severus's glower.

Harry couldn't quite understand what was causing his father's displeasure. Albus filled the heavy silence by sweeping his wand over the top of his desk to clear a space,  and then twiddling it to conjure a tray of refreshments, which he lowered onto the exposed surface.

Severus's sat with his hands clasped upon his black-robed stomach, the glower firmly in place as Albus prepared them all drinks and quizzed Harry as to what he had been up to whilst at the Burrow. The colour in Harry's cheeks blossomed when his headmaster, the twinkle in his eyes turned up to full wattage, specifically enquired about Ginny's well-being.

He was saved from answering by the roar of the Floo and Remus stepped out onto the hearth. Harry smiled delightedly. Remus crossed the space and walking behind Severus's chair, he clapped Harry on the shoulder.

"It's good to see you, Harry," he said, ignoring the glacial cold that seemed to emanate from Severus.

"And you," returned Harry.  Although Lupin looked genuinely pleased to see him, Harry could not help but think that, like him, Remus looked decidedly uneasy about what they were going to be told by Dumbledore. Harry was profoundly glad though, that he didn't have to endure this alone; it seemed as if Sirius must have left something to Remus as well.

"Remus." Dumbledore was holding a cup of tea out to Remus and he took it and sat down on Severus's other side.

Because it would have been the height of rudeness to ignore the presence of the other man in the room (and unlike Severus, Remus was not rude), Remus said, "Severus."

Severus nodded curtly and said, in what Harry considered to be an unnecessarily snide voice, "Lupin."

"Albus, can you tell me why it has taken so long for this will to come to light. Sirius has been dead for over a month." Remus's voice sounded pained.

"You can blame the Ministry for that, my boy. Sirius' will went through the proper channels when he wrote it, but Scrimgeour decided that they would take the allowable time to check the will out to make sure Sirius was not passing on any dark artefacts. I imagine that Sirius's...er, questionable family connections were the reason behind this decision. Regardless, Scrimgeour stuck to the letter of the law by withholding the reading of the will under the Decree for Justifiable Confiscation-until they had double-checked that there were indeed, no Dark objects amongst Sirius's possessions."

"I thought the allowable time  stated within the parameters of that decree was thirty-one days," inserted Severus.

"You are correct, Severus. But the Ministry were able to extend the time by taking their time to declare that Sirius was, in fact, dead."

"And have they pardoned him?" asked Harry, tightly, not really caring that the reading of Sirius's will had been delayed because of some stupid decree.

Dumbledore sighed. "No, Harry. That has not happened."

"Why not?" cried Harry, surging to his feet and slopping some of his tea into the saucer he was gripping. Severus leaned forward and grabbed Harry's arm to stop further spillage. Harry hardly seemed to notice. Severus slid his own cup and saucer onto the desk before removing Harry's from his shaking hand.

"The Wizengamot, in its infinite wisdom, has decided, despite testimony from myself and many of the Order's members that until they see proof that Pettigrew is still alive, they will not be issuing a pardon for Sirius."

Harry stared at Dumbledore. "But you're the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot," said Harry, softly, hopelessly. "Why won't they believe you?"

"Harry, this is bureaucracy at its highest level," said Severus. "They do things just because they can. Or not, in this case."

"Yeah, but what about the fact that Sirius was thrown into Azkaban without a trial. He had no opportunity to defend himself then, and now, when they know he was fighting Death Eaters, they still think he is a Death Eater. Do they even think that Bellatrix killed him? I suppose their version of events is that Sirius tripped and fell through the veil."

Remus had been silent throughout this discussion. He was sitting forward in his chair with his head down, his forehead cradled in his hand. "Let it go, Harry. There is no point belabouring this," he said now, his voice bitter. "The Ministry are never going to admit that they did anything wrong fifteen years ago. They are certainly not going to pardon Sirius unless Peter is handed to them on a silver platter to match his silver hand."

"It will happen one day, Remus. I promise you that," said Dumbledore.

"You cannot promise that, Albus," said Remus. "Can we just get on with this." He gestured vaguely towards the various stacks of papers on Albus's desk.

Harry sank back into his chair. He had fallen silent in the face of Remus's very real despair. He had only known Sirius for a little over two years. Remus had known him since they were eleven years old. Oh, sure, for twelve of those years, he had thought Sirius was a traitor and a murderer, but even with that being the case, Harry knew that Remus would have mourned the loss of Sirius, as much as he had the loss of Lily and James and Pettigrew.

Harry noticed that Snape no longer looked as if he had a bad smell under his nose. He was staring straight ahead his face set, and though Sirius and he had been enemies since they were eleven years old, Harry thought he detected a certain amount of regret or compunction, or something, for the train-wreck that had been the last sixteen years of Sirius's life.

Even enemies it seemed, could see when justice had been grossly miscarried.

Dumbledore was suddenly all business and he opened his top desk drawer and pulled out a roll of parchment which he unfurled and then spelled to stay flat.

"This is very simple gentlemen. Sirius has left twelve Grimmauld Place and all its contents to you, Harry.

"But I don't want it!" burst out Harry.

"Harry," said Severus in a low voice. "We talked about this, did we not."

"Yeah!" cried Harry. "But I didn't think of the house. I don't want the house. I hate that house! Sirius hated that house."

"Harry!" Dumbledore's voice was authorative despite its lack of volume.

Harry subsided. He looked at Dumbledore and saw that his face was set in stern lines and there was not a twinkle to be seen in the periwinkle blue eyes. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Harry, it is very simple. Sirius left you Grimmauld place for several reasons. Number one, he cared for you deeply, and that house and the ground upon which it sits, is  a very valuable piece of property.

"Number two, If he had not tied up all the lose ends and left the property to a person of his choosing, it would have gone to the next person in line within his family-his eldest cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."

"What!" exclaimed Harry. "It would have gone to her even though she is a known criminal and Death Eater, and an escapee from Azkaban."

As that house did not come into Black hands through criminal activity, Harry, then Bellatrix is perfectly entitled to be its rightful owner. She just would not be able to take up residence openly.

Harry sighed. He would rather have the house than let it fall into that woman's hands. "Well, at least it can remain the headquarters for the Order this way."

Dumbledore bowed his head in acknowledgement. "That is very generous, Harry. It will certainly be easier than trying to find somewhere else with the same level of protection."

"What about the elf?" asked Severus. Harry looked at him in surprise.

"Kreacher is now Harry's," said Dumbledore simply."

Harry's mouth fell open. "Tha-that elf is now mine!" he spluttered. "That..." Harry couldn't think of an epithet foul enough for the Black family's old House Elf. "...that Kreacher betrayed Sirius. He set him up to die. He would never accept me as his master-even if I was willing to be his master."

"Harry, I am afraid that there is no choice in this matter. You are the owner of the Black property, therefore you are the owner of Kreacher."

Dumbledore rose and walked around his desk to perch on the edge in front of Harry. "I think it would be a good idea to get him out of Grimmauld Place whilst the Order is still in residence, and you, his owner, are not there to keep him under control. He does not have to obey anyone else."

"But where can he go?" asked Harry. He loathed the elf, but he didn't want him to be without a home. He said so.

Dumbledore smiled. "There is a solution, but we will deal with that in a few minutes. To continue on with the bequests...there is another proviso concerning the house."

Dumbledore looked towards Remus who had sat quietly throughout the proceedings so far. Remus didn't look up from his contemplation of his knees.

"The house is unequivocally yours, Harry, but the proviso is that Remus has a home there as long as he lives."

Remus's head jerked up and Harry cried, "But that's perfect. I don't want to live there and Remus has been living there since Sirius opened it up again."

"I'm living here at the moment, Harry," Remus said with a gentle smile. But if I find myself homeless and jobless again, I would be happy to have you as my landlord." But Harry could tell from the look on Remus's face that living at Grimmauld Place was the very last thing that he wanted to do now that Sirius wasn't there.

"The last two bequests," said Dumbledore, before Harry could speak again, "concerns the gold in the Black family vault. It is to be divided equally between you, Harry, and you, Remus."

Now Remus looked stunned. Albus smiled at him. "I do not think you ever have to worry about not having a roof over your head again, Remus. You are now quite a rich man."

Remus shook his head disbelievingly. "I-I never expected anything like this," he croaked. "Sirius told me he was writing his will-just in case-but I assumed he would leave everything to Harry. He should  have left it all to Harry."

"No, Remus," said Harry. "You were his oldest friend. Sirius cared for you and he knew how hard things are for you. He should have left it all to you because I already have gold from my mum and dad." Harry glanced quickly at Severus's face. "James," he amended quickly.

Severus sighed. "James is still your father Harry. We have discussed this before."

"Sorry," mumbled Harry.

"So, Remus, Harry..." inserted Dumbledore again. "To get back to the subject at hand. You both have to go to Gringotts at your earliest convenience to settle the transfer of the funds into your own vaults. Tolnok, the manager of the bank, has prepared the necessary paperwork. All that is needed is the addition of your signatures."

Dumbledore smiled at Harry and Severus in turn. "Perhaps you would allow Remus to accompany Harry, Severus, as you cannot be seen out and about with Harry Potter.

"Thank you Albus," said Severus stiffly. "I will arrange something."

"I would be happy to accompany Harry, Severus." said Remus.

"I have no doubt, but I wish to accompany Harry."

"Severus," said Dumbledore warningly.

"If you think that I will allow Harry to enter such a public and unprotected place as Diagon Alley without my protection, Albus, then you are definitely going senile. I know I cannot be seen out and about with Harry Potter, so obviously, some careful planning is necessary."

Severus had risen from his chair and was walking up and down. "There is plenty of time to work out a viable plan, but in the meantime, I suggest we deal with the unresolved matter of the elf."

"Please don't say that I have to keep him with me, sir," pleaded Harry.

"That won't be necessary Harry. But I think it would be best to keep him here at Hogwarts where a close eye can be kept on him. He needs to be in close proximity to you so that he no longer has an urge to wander away. He can work in the kitchens where the other elves can keep an eye on him."

Harry privately thought that even the kitchens was too close to him, but he nodded all the same.

"Why don't you summon him?"

"From here?" said Harry, astonished.

"Yes my boy. As soon as Sirius died, Kreacher became irrevocably bound to you. If you summoned him from the other side of the world, he would be able to Apparate to your side."

Marvelling at just how powerfully magical house-elves were, and thinking that it was just as well that they were happy being subjugated to wizards, Harry, feeling very self-conscious and more than a little foolish, opened his mouth and called, "Kreacher!" in a ringing tone.

Almost instantaneously, a loud crack reverberated through the room and the dirty, dishevelled old elf appeared at Harry's feet. He was even more gungy than the last time Harry had seen him out of the fireplace in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. His toga was filthy and hung in near tatters and he was so thin, his skin, grey with ingrained filth, hung in folds from his cheeks and his arms.  

Harry stepped back quickly, loathe to be anywhere near the thing that had betrayed Sirius. As Harry looked at the pathetic creature with distaste, he was struck at just how very different Kreacher was to Dobby.

If he had to own a house-elf, why couldn't it have been Dobby?

"Master called," croaked the elf in his deep, bullfrog's voice and he raised eyes to Harry that were just as full of loathing as Harry imagined his own to be.

His general abhorrence of Kreacher made Harry squirm guiltily; he wasn't used to feeling this much loathing for someone. He did not even feel towards the Dursleys the way he felt towards this pathetic excuse for a living thing. But he hardened his heart and ignored the mental prodding by Hermione to be kind to Kreacher.

"Err, yeah. Um..." Harry looked from Dumbledore to Remus, to Severus for some guidance.

"Severus stepped forward. "Harry Potter is now your master, Kreacher," he said in his deep, authorative voice that no student would dare defy. "He wishes you to stay here at Hogwarts and work in the kitchens with the other house-elves."

Kreacher bestowed a similar look of loathing upon Severus, then he turned his bloodshot, gooseberry eyes upon Harry again. "Is what Severus Snape says true, master?" he said contemptuously.

"Yes!" said Harry firmly. "And I order you to obey the commands of Professor Snape, Professor Lupin and Professor Dumbledore at any time. Do you understand?" Harry did not think it wise to tell Kreacher that Snape was his father.

"Oh, yeah, better add Professor McGonagall to that list as well."

Kreacher was looking at Remus and his lip had curled with contempt. "Master wants Kreacher to obey the commands of the werewolf?"

Harry's face suffused with blood and he stepped close to Kreacher, his fists clenched. He wanted to wring that scrawny little neck. "You will obey Professor Lupin!" he said loudly. "Is that understood?"

Kreacher's eyes lowered to half-mast and he made one of his ridiculously low bows and spoke to his toes. ""Kreacher understands, master." And then lowering his voice he said, quite audibly, "Kreacher's old mistress would never have asked Kreacher to demean himself by serving a traitor to the Dark Lord. No she would not. And as for having to serve a Dark Creature..."

"I don't want to hear one more word about what your old mistress would or would not do, Kreacher. Not another word about her! Do you hear me?"

"Kreacher hears master," spat the elf. "May Kreacher go and begin his new duties?"

"One more thing before you go," said Harry his nose wrinkling with distaste. The three older wizards looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Kreacher lives to serve his master," said Kreacher, but Harry could almost hear the insults reverberating around the inside of the elf's head.

"Before you present yourself to the kitchens, I order you to go and clean yourself up. And you will clean yourself daily while you are here. Understood?"

Kreacher looked down at his filthy toga and then he held out one of his stick thin arms and studied it, turning it backwards and forwards. Harry's brow creased as he watched this performance and when the elf looked back at him, Harry was sure that he could see confusion and distress on the wizened old face.

It was almost as though Kreacher had not realised just how filthy and disreputable he had become. Against his will, Harry found himself feeling sorry for the elf. Then he remembered the jubilant laughter that had accompanied Kreacher's telling him that Sirius had gone to the Department of Mysteries, and that he would not come back from there.

Forgetting the other wizards in the room, Harry turned his back on Kreacher. He fought to subdue his rage as much as he fought his sympathy.

"Dobby!" Harry called.

The air was rent with another loud crack and Dobby, the House-elf appeared in front of Harry. When he saw Harry, the little face split in half with a toothy grin and Harry just had time to brace himself before Dobby launched himself  forward and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist.

"Harry Potter has called for Dobby! Dobby is so happy! What is Harry Potter wanting with Dobby."

Harry gently disentangled himself from the skinny little arms and he marvelled that the towering stack of knitted hats on Dobby's head had not toppled off. They had to be kept in place by magic, he thought.

"Dobby, this is Kreacher," said Harry, and Dobby's smile died when he caught his first glimpse of the older elf. Kreacher's filthy state, and the glower that had taken up residence on his face at the sight of his younger counterpart, caused Dobby's previously happy mood to disappear and a look of disgust to rival Harry's to cross his face.

"I have just inherited Kreacher, Dobby, and he will be joining the elves here at Hogwarts. As you can see, he needs cleaning up and a new Hogwarts' toga. Can you take him under your wing for me."

Kreacher's glower became darker and Dobby turned away from him and beamed up at Harry again. "Dobby is knowing this elf. This elf is Mistress Narcissa's aunt's elf."

"Yeah, well, he's mine now," said Harry. Harry was glad to see that Dobby did not require an explanation as to why the Black family's elf now belonged to him.

"Dobby is happy to be of assistance to Harry Potter. Dobby is happy to do anything Harry Potter asks."

"Thanks Dobby. I'd also like you to come and tell me if Kreacher is causing any hassles. Would you do that for me?"

"Anything Harry Potter. Would it be all right if Dobby came to see Harry Potter when he is back in Gryffindor tower?"

"Course you can. Anytime."

"Thank you Harry Potter!" cried the little elf and he flung his arms around Harry again. Harry patted him on his skinny little shoulder. Dobby still wore Ron's shrunken maroon jumper and his football shorts and about half a dozen socks on each foot. Even though he looked so very strange with his mismatched clothes, he was scrupulously clean.

After this embarrassingly effusive goodbye, Dobby gingerly grabbed Kreacher's bony wrist and the pair Disapparated.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and he slowly turned around.

He did a slight double-take to find Severus, Remus and Dumbledore standing together in front of Dumbledore's desk. During the whole episode with Dobby, Harry had forgotten their presence and he was disconcerted to see matching grins on Remus and Dumbledore's faces and a smirk that passed for a grin on his father's face.

"What?" said Harry, his face reddening.

"Harry Potter, the house-elf's friend and saviour," drawled Severus and the three grins intensified.

Harry's glower matched Kreacher's. "Sorry, but that title belongs to Hermione."

Before: We left Harry in Dumbledore's office directing Dobby to supervise Kreacher at Hogwarts as Kreacher now belongs to Harry and is pretty hostile. Harry and Remus have both benefitted from Sirius's will and a trip to Diagon Alley as necessary.

Severus paced backwards and forwards across Dumbledore's office floor. Albus ignored him, blocking out the flourish of black robes at every sharp turn; he was composing another politely worded denial for the oft repeated request from the new Minister for Magic. Over the last sixteen days, Albus had watched with some amusement, the eroding of his potion master's carefully crafted aloofness and isolationism. 

Remus, who was also present, was not as adept at keeping his amusement at bay. As he placed his empty teacup on the desk, the grin he had managed to hide by keeping his mouth occupied with the cup and its contents, blossomed despite his best efforts. Unfortunately, during one of his clipped, military about-faces, Severus spied Remus's ‘smirk', and the worry lines adorning his forehead immediately smoothed out while the rest of his face fell into its usual expression of disdain and discontent.

"You find something amusing, Lupin?"

Remus, too late, clamped his lips together but was unable to entirely hide his mirth; his tawny eyes positively sparkled with humour. He shook his head.

"No, Severus, can't say that I do."

Severus glared, and Remus, biting his tongue in an effort to maintain his sober demeanour, stood and crossed the room to the window in front of which Severus had been doing his best to wear a track in the floor. Remus leaned a shoulder on the wall to the side of the window and gazed down into the grounds.

The Quidditch pitch in the distance sported a solitary figure flying high above the stands, a lanky frame and wind-tossed red hair making identification of Ron Weasley, easy. Closer to the castle, Hermione Granger cut a solitary figure as she walked towards the castle, but Remus was ready to bet that she was perfectly happy with her own company because her bushy brown hair was the only part of her head visible around the edges of a large book. Behind her, a young boy and girl slowly wended their way towards the castle, their arms around each other's waists, his broom slung over his shoulder and his head bent, apparently to catch what the girl was saying. He threw back his head and laughed as a strong gust of wind caught the girl's bright hair and blew it across his face. Remus smiled.

"Harry looks happy," he said. "So does Ginny." Remus kept his eyes on the scene but he knew that Severus had joined him at the window.

"They suit each other," Remus added. Glancing to the side, he could see Severus's face set into an expressionless mask. He knew that Severus was thinking the same thing that he was...that from a distance, Harry and Ginny bore a distinct resemblance to James and Lily. The lowering sun had turned Ginny's magnificent hair into a fiery aureole, just as it had once done Lily's.

Hermione had disappeared from view in the shadows of the castle and the lone flyer was now weaving his way casually across the grounds in the direction of the castle. Ron was still a good way back when Harry dropped his broom and turned to gather Ginny into his arms. She stood on tiptoe and wound her arms around his neck and Harry drew her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her slender body.

Severus and Remus could not seem to drag their eyes away as Harry and Ginny kissed with unrestrained fervour. It wasn't until Harry's hands covered Ginny's denim clad buttocks and pulled her into close contact with his lower body that both men decided that their unintentioned spying was now bordering on voyeurism.

When they turned simultaneously from the view, it was to find Albus standing just behind them, rocking on his toes, his hands clasped behind his back and his blue eyes unashamedly taking in the show. Severus cast him a dark glare. "Sunsets are a passion of yours, aren't they, Albus?" he asked in an acerbic tone.

Albus's eyes remained locked on the young couple below the window for another second or two before he turned his smiling and oddly contented visage upon Severus and Remus. "Undoubtedly one of God's more beautiful creations, my boy, yes indeed. But young lovers, in the first flush of an innocent passion, is another of His greatest works.

Severus rolled his eyes and crossed to the desk to throw himself into the chair Remus had recently vacated. "I wonder just how innocent it is," he bit out harshly. "Just how loving have the young lovers become?"

"Severus," said Dumbledore crossing to a diamond-paned, lead glass cabinet and removing a bottle of single malt whisky and three squat tumblers. "Young lovers will ultimately suit themselves."

"They are too young to be suiting themselves," said Severus through clenched teeth. He watched Albus fill the glasses and took the one handed to him, taking a hasty, much appreciated gulp.

"And I find your attitude to teenage sex rather alarming considering there have been so many of them under your protection over the years."

"You make it sound as if I run a brothel, my boy. I do not condone casual sex, as you well know from the punishments that I allow my staff to mete out when they become aware of any true impropriety.

"But nor am I foolish enough, despite my advanced years, to imagine that young people in love, and indeed, those who only pretend to be in love, will not find a way to be together. It is the nature of the human beast."

"Yes, well excuse me if I feel that fifteen and sixteen year old beasts are too young to be indulging in sex."

"Circumstance can certainly change perception, Severus," said Remus, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth again. He pointed at Severus with the hand that held his own glass of firewhisky. "You sound just like a worried father."

Severus glared. "When I want your opinion, Lupin, I'll ask for it."

Remus continued, undaunted. "I refuse to believe that the two months disparity in our ages makes it impossible for you to remember how very pleased you would have been to be able to get your leg over at every available opportunity when you were sixteen."

"We are not all rutting animals, Lupin, neither now, nor at the age of sixteen."

"Now, now children. Reminiscences about your sexual exploits, past or present, are not the order of the day." Albus turned his blue eyes on Severus. "If you are worried about the nature of Harry and Ginevra's relationship, Severus, I suggest you talk to your son.

"But in the meantime, perhaps you can enlighten us as to what has you so worried, because you have been out of sorts for many days now. There is more to your mood than disquiet over how far Harry and Ginevra have travelled along the path to sexual gratification."

Severus glowered for a moment, but then it seemed that the effort to maintain his ill-tempered demeanour became too difficult. He sighed deeply and slumped even further into his chair, extending his long legs straight out in front of him. He took another gulp of his drink before leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair and massaging his forehead with rigid fingers.

"I am not sure I can do this," he said. "It was so much easier when I hated him-when we hated each other."

Albus put a hand on Severus's shoulder and squeezed. "You can do it, my boy. You are doing it, and making a fine job of it, I might add. I don't think I have ever seen Harry as carefree as he has been over the last week. So you must be doing something right."

"He is too easily pleased," said Severus, gruffly. "I am not Arthur Weasley, and nor will I ever be. I am, more often than not, surly and uncommunicative. But Harry just goes about his business as if he has found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."

"Because he knows you are making an effort. I have told you before that Harry is not difficult to please.  You are not being ill-tempered towards him, nor being uncommunicative because you are displeased with him, after all."

Severus looked at Albus, guilt registering in the depths of his eyes. "It is not so long ago that I was worse than ill-tempered; I was wholly foul towards him because he dared exist and he looked the reincarnation of James Potter." He drained his glass. "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better Albus, but my culpability is indisputable.

"The past is the past, Severus, and you have to stop wallowing in guilt." Severus's head snapped around to Remus, who was perched on the edge of the desk. He was looking at Severus with an ‘I understand why you did what you did, but I forgive you anyway' expression. Severus did not understand why the werewolf was being so congenial; what did he think he had to gain by being his ally?

Albus took up the verbal gauntlet again. "Remus is right. Unless you can get over this guilt, your relationship with Harry will never be able to reach its full potential. Harry is not unaware of your true nature. He does not expect you to become garrulous and demonstrative overnight. Considering what the child has put up with for most of his life, it is not difficult to understand why he so delighted to reside with you.

"He knows that if he wishes to talk to you, you will not ignore him totally as his Muggle relatives always did. Your communications with Harry are not only going to consist of put downs and orders to get on with the inhuman amount of physical labour the Dursleys made the child do. And nor have you ever laid a hand on Harry. "

"If you recall, Albus, once, every time I opened my mouth to the boy, it was to put him down," growled Severus with bitter self-contempt.

"But because the way you did treat Harry in the past is a cause of shame for you now, that just goes to show how far you have come in a very short time," put in Remus quietly. "Despite your...shall we say...unfortunate tendency to project unpleasantness at every turn, you seem to be making an almighty effort for Harry's sake, to alter your previous behaviour. It seems you are determined to deny these natural instincts that have always tended you towards this ugly behaviour."

Severus glared at Remus. He wanted to ram those words back down the wretched man's throat, but because he was making an effort to ‘deny his natural instincts', he refrained from making a scathing retort and/or becoming physically violent.  If he was honest with himself, and self-honesty was something else he was endeavouring to perfect, Lupin was entirely accurate in his summation of his personality.

He was glad to have to concentrate on holding his glass still while Albus poured some more amber liquid into it.

But against Severus's will, Lupin's words had touched something deep inside him. The best friend of the late Sirius Black and James Potter did not have to try and make him feel better, but that was just what he was doing, even if the words had been unwelcome.

The werewolf had always been soft. But this time, Severus could not feel any sneering contempt for the man. Lupin cared for Harry; he wanted Harry to be happy. He knew that Harry's present happiness was caught up in the wonder of having found a father, so Lupin was going to do everything in his power to promote Harry and Severus's relationship.

Of course, Severus knew the effort was solely for Harry's sake. Why else would Lupin be so pro-Snape? Certainly not because there was anything akin to friendship between himself and his old schoolyard enemy.

If the tables had been reversed and Lupin had been found to be Harry's father, Severus was sure that he would have put in a great deal of effort to try to undermine the fledgling relationship between the werewolf and The Boy Who Lived.

The knowledge gave him no pleasure.

Severus remembered the werewolf's efforts to save Harry from the Dementors in the graveyard at Godric's Hollow. There was absolutely no doubt that the friend of James and Lily would do anything for Harry, not even stopping short of sacrificing his own life. Severus could not forget that near sacrifice and because of this, more than anything else, Severus found that he was tolerating the other man's presence far more readily these days.

Being the only adult residents of the castle at this time, besides Albus and Minerva, Severus had found himself thrust into the werewolf's company much more than he had been at anytime since Lupin had taught here two years ago. This state of affairs was mainly at Harry's instigation, but Severus, in his new mindset of self-honesty, could not deny that the man was undemanding company. He did not force Severus into conversation; he left it up to Severus to join in with whatever he and Harry were doing at any given time.

Severus was not surprised by the fact that Lupin was erudite and self-deprecating, was a good listener and had a very dry sense of humour. He had never been around his schoolyard contemporary long enough to discover these things when they had both been students here, but against his will, Severus had noted these attributes two years ago, despite his outward aloofness and disinterest.

Lately, he had found another thing that he could appreciate about Lupin. Severus was not one to indulge in idle occupations; the most idle he ever appeared was when he was reading; but as his reading tastes most frequently ran to educational and informational tomes and magazines, it was a false impression.

But Severus did have one occupation that was purely for enjoyment and relaxation, and he had discovered that Lupin also shared his passion. Both of them loved Muggle chess.

Lupin and Harry indulged in many a noisy and robust session of exploding snap or gobstones, and occasionally wizard chess. Harry often went to Lupin's quarters and left Severus in peace to either read or brew, but occasionally, Lupin invaded his dungeon quarters to socialize with Harry. Severus tolerated his presence for Harry's sake, or so he had continued to convince himself. 

One evening, on the way back from the hospital wing where he had been restocking potions, Severus had stopped off at Lupin's rooms to escort Harry back to the dungeons. He had to wait a while as his son and his old enemy were in the middle of a smash-up derby, masquerading as a game of wizard chess! Severus's foot actually came down on a piece of pottery that turned out to be a horse's head from one of the white knights. The magically-enchanted piece of pottery had whinnied its distress and Severus had rolled his eyes before picking it up and placing it on the table with the other broken pieces.

Lupin had offered a glass of single malt to Severus, much to Severus's surprise; he had thought Lupin's tastes wouldn't extend past the rough wizard's brew of firewhisky.

While the game was being brought to its violent conclusion, Severus had unabashedly wandered around Lupin's sitting room, stopping at a small, but well stocked bookcase to check out the titles. Severus had found many books pertaining to the Dark Arts and the defence thereof, and several on charms and transfiguration. There had even been two potions texts and a rune dictionary amongst the collection, as well as about a dozen well-thumbed Muggle novels. His interest piqued, Severus had studied the novels more closely; as well as a couple of works by well known wizard authors, the books included the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Jules Verne and Agatha Christie. The most modern-day author Lupin had on his shelf was Stephen King.

Severus had wanted to be able to disparage Lupin's reading tastes, but in truth, he had read all of the authors on the werewolf's shelves himself. He had continued his amble, tuning into Harry's delighted laughter when one of his bishops annihilated Lupin's second knight. Then he had spotted something even more incongruous than Lupin's reading material and his single malt whisky, and he had stopped short near a small, spindle-legged table partially hidden by Lupin's angled chair, well out of the way of the flying pieces of pottery.

On the table was a handsome Muggle chess set. Severus had moved closer to inspect the beautifully crafted pieces; the black appeared to be carved from ebony and the white from ivory. The kings and queens were Hindu Gods and Goddesses, the rooks were minarets, the bishops, crouching tigers, the knights, rearing elephants and the pawns were cross-legged snake charmers. The board was a tiered wooden affair, about two inches high, the angled sides beautifully carved with curlicues, and the four corners each sported a rearing hooded cobra.  The grain of the highly polished woods which made up the light and dark squares ran at right angles to each other.

Severus had immediately fallen in love with the set and he had not even been able to pretend disinterest when Lupin, having been trounced soundly by Harry who was packing the newly repaired pieces of the wizards chess set away, had noticed his interest.

It transpired that Lupin did not just keep the magnificent set for decorative purposes; he played Muggle chess. Like Severus, Lupin found the boisterous, noisy wizard version of the game far from enjoyable, with the disruptive pieces shouting instructions to the players and mutinying when a move was made that they did not agree with. Not to mention, the regular violence that ensued whenever a piece was defeated.

Severus occasionally steeled himself to play Muggle chess with Albus, but he did not find continual defeat at the hands of a master a very uplifting experience. Albus was as formidably brilliant at chess as he was at everything he tackled. It was far too demoralising an experience for Severus to want to put himself in harm's way more than strictly necessary and he only succumbed to Albus's entreaties when unable to think of a satisfactory excuse to decline.

Since the recent discovery of their mutual love of the game, Severus had twice consented to take up Lupin's challenge. He had been secretly delighted to discover that they were equally skilled and the two games they had so far played had been enjoyably competitive. They had won one game apiece.

It was becoming more and more difficult for Severus to continue to be his usual unpleasant self around the other man. Lupin had not overstayed his welcome once if he was in the dungeons and he certainly did not force his company upon Severus. In fact, he was away from the castle as often as he was in; Severus presumed that the company of one Nymphadora Tonks was too enticing to pass up for the much less stimulating company of a teenage boy-no  matter how much Lupin enjoyed having Harry around-and the dubious pleasure of his own company, especially when Lupin had to make all of the overtures.

"So, Severus, your self-recriminations and disquiet about your ability to perform as a father notwithstanding, I presume that this latest attack of anxiety is due to the proposed trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow?"

Severus's reflections were cut off at the sound of Dumbledore's voice and he shook himself out of his reverie, glowering at the old wizard. They were back to it. Yes, he was worried about the trip to Diagon Alley. He couldn't believe that he had allowed his thoughts to wander, particularly to the werewolf and how much they had been thrown into each other's company of late. And chess...what was he thinking? He shot a basilisk's glare at Lupin for good measure as he surged to his feet.

"Yes, I'm bloody worried about the trip to Diagon Alley," he bit out through clenched teeth. "I can't believe that you are taking the proposed outing so lightly, old man."

"You know that you cannot keep Harry under lock and key either here, or at the Burrow forever, Severus..."

Severus's apprehension overflowed. He banged his hand down-hard-on the desk top, causing Albus's crystal writing set to tinkle merrily, and Fawkes to squawk in protest. The phoenix ruffled his feathers and spread his magnificent wings to show his displeasure and when he settled again, he looked a third as big as normal because his feathers had not settled back to their normal crimson and gold smoothness.

"I know I cannot lock him up for ever, Albus, but it is I, do not forget, who has been in the presence of the foul, murderous psychopath who wishes to kill my son! I know how determined he is to get Harry in his clutches. And he has plenty of willing servants who are always on the lookout. They will be expecting the boy to appear in Diagon Alley.

"And to turn the bloody trip into a bloody gathering of Gryffindors by organising to meet the Weasleys and Miss Granger..." Severus ran a hand roughly through his hair as he strode up and down in front of the desk. "Why I ever let you talk me into such a foolhardy venture, I will never know."

Albus watched the agitated display from his position beside Remus's chair. He felt like smiling, but was very careful not to do so. Oh, he was not making light of tomorrow's excursion, nor the danger that it could well present, but every time Severus referred to Harry as ‘my son', it lifted the old man's heart.

"Severus, sit down, or I will have to put you in a full body-bind! You are wearing a path in my very valuable and very old Aubusson rug."

Severus stared at Dumbledore as if he could not believe what he was hearing...or rather, what he wasn't hearing. "Have you been listening to what I have been saying, or is your concern all for your bloody rug?"

"We have been over the plan, ad infinitum, my boy. And, you were happy with the arrangements," said Albus, patiently. He moved behind his desk and sat down. "I do not know what more we can do to set your mind at rest."

Severus threw himself back into the chair he had vacated, his face set in lines of discontent. He slumped back, one long leg stretched out in front of him, the other knee bent. He planted his elbows on the chair-arms and massaged his forehead with stiff fingers in an effort to ward off the incipient headache he knew was coming.

"If we could Apparate directly into Gringotts, settle this business with the bequest and then Apparate straight back here...that would make me happy," said Severus with feigned calmness.

"You know that is impossible."

"Yes, Albus, I do know." 

"Harry will not be happy if you change the plans now," put in Remus. He had wisely kept quiet for the last several minutes and allowed Severus to vent.

"Thank you Lupin. You can always be relied upon to state the obvious," drawled Severus from beneath his hands.

"I am sure that nothing is going to go awry, Severus," said Albus, the voice of reason. "Apart from the direct protection of the more than half dozen adults-all extremely capable witches and wizards, I might add-who will be close to the children, I have requested of Rufus that he has a sizeable number of Aurors stationed along the street. Any Death Eater who dares to show his face in the midst of all of that would be a very foolhardy Death Eater indeed."

Severus stopped massaging his forehead and lowered his hands to intertwine his fingers beneath his nose so that his mouth was covered. His black eyes bore into Dumbledore. "You are perhaps forgetting Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott."

Albus shook his white head. "I am not forgetting Voldemort's newest recruits, my boy. But this trip to Diagon Alley has not been advertised far and wide, and there is no need to assume that Messrs Malfoy and Nott will even be in the vicinity. Besides, there is nothing either boy would be able to do. Even without the adult protection, I am sure that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginevra are quite capable of looking after themselves against their contemporaries, if push came to shove.

"Do not forget that even these boys, branded as they are, still have to abide by the rules governing underage sorcery. And Mr Nott will not have another poison about his person on the off-chance that he will come across Harry Potter. And he knows now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, and to his great and tragic cost, that Voldemort insists on being the one to kill Harry.

Remus looked grim and what could be seen of Severus's face above his hands had paled, and the look in his eyes was bleak.

"As there will be so much adult protection around our young Gryffindors, all these junior Death Eaters will be able to do is taunt and jibe...if they are game to so."

"Speaking of the junior additions to the ranks of Voldemort's followers," said Remus, "just how are Malfoy and Nott going to be able to get past the wards protecting the castle when school resumes, with the Dark Mark adorning their forearms?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his focus all on Dumbledore.

Albus sighed. "I am afraid that the wards do not recognise that underage wizards could be a lethal danger to anyone within the castle," replied Albus, clearly displeased with this glaring defect. "I have tried, on many an occasion, to correct this flaw, but the castle is more powerful than I in this. Hogwarts has certain protections in-built within its very foundations...its very core as it were, and the one where this flaw is present...well, I admit that I cannot counter it."

Remus looked puzzled. "But how do you know of these ancient protections?" he asked. "The walls cannot talk, after all, and when the founders built the castle, there were no Death Eaters."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Sometimes, I think the walls can talk, my boy. But there is much more tangible evidence. There are magical blueprints of the castle and everything that went into her construction. These ancient documents are well protected and only the school's current headmaster can access them. They are only able to be accessed once a head takes up occupancy of this office. "And, if there are visitors within the office, the plans will remain invisible, even if I wish to view them."

Dumbledore smiled and looked apologetic. "So I am afraid that I cannot show you this tangible proof, Remus.

Remus huffed out a little laugh of amazement. Dumbledore smiled grimly. "The castle is very protective of its secrets, my boy. This castle is so much more than just its physical entity.

Remus shook his head. "So, Messrs Malfoy and Nott would not be able to kill Harry, nor anyone else within the castle," he concluded.

"Not with magic, no," said Albus. "But there is still the very real danger of accidental injury; these boys will still need careful watching.

"Students have been nearly killing each other for centuries, brandishing their wands foolishly and with malicious, but not murderous intent, against purported enemies. We all know the outcome of many hexes and even jinxes can lead to nasty consequences that may require hospitalisation. And, as we have all too recently witnessed, poisonous potions can be brewed and administered, but because it is not a direct attack against another, the wards do not recognise it as a murderous act.

"The curse that I am sure the wards would negate if a student were even capable of performing it, is the Killing Curse...there is no ambiguity there; if an underage wizard could perform that spell, it would be for the purposes of murdering someone.

"But the danger with spell-work laced with malicious intent, is not the consequence of the actual hex or curse, but the collateral damage of being knocked into a brick wall or down a flight of stairs. That could, if one was unfortunate enough, lead to death."

Albus leaned forward over his desk, clasping his hands on the desk top. "But we must keep in mind of course that we are not supposed to know that these two boys have been branded. That information is not something that Severus has been instructed to make known. Only the members of the Order know this, Remus. The boys must be treated exactly as you would treat any other student.  You must not hint in any way that you know of their promotion to the ranks of evil. Severus's safety is dependent upon our discretion.   

Remus nodded thoughtfully. "So, Malfoy and Nott's Dark Marks will be negated because the boys are underage and the wards do not perceive them as being lethally dangerous. But the wards do make it exceedingly difficult for adults with lethal intent to enter Hogwarts and you have added other protection to repel any who bear the Dark Mark."

"Yes, my boy. The Dark Mark is a relatively modern emblem-I always thought it rather foolish of Voldemort to advertise so clearly just who his minions are-and it was my place, as the protector of the inhabitants of this castle to add these extra wards. Luckily it was within my power to produce effective protection."

‘I doubt that any but you could have been come up with anything as effective," said Remus with unexaggerated truthfulness. Dumbledore smiled slightly and dipped his head in acknowledgement of the compliment.

But Remus still looked pensive, and Albus raised his eyebrows to indicate that he should continue speaking if he had other queries. Severus still sat slumped in his chair; his eyes had a far-away look in them and it seemed as if he had not heard any of the current conversation.

‘W-ell, "said Remus slowly, "I wonder how it was that Barty Crouch Junior could enter the school, and be here for nearly the whole school year, when his intent was evil. And Lucius Malfoy was a school governor and he could come and go as he pleased." Remus looked as though he thought he might be insulting the old mage with his doubts, but Dumbledore looked perfectly unperturbed.

"Severus and I had a similar conversation not so terribly long ago. Your queries are perfectly valid, Remus. Just as the founders protections have faults, my added protections against Death Eaters are not as perfect as I had hoped they would be either. It is my belief that Lucius could come and go as he pleased because he never intended any harm to a student. Neither did Barty Crouch. In fact, Barty went out of his way to protect Harry while he was here, so that he could be delivered whole and well into the hands of Voldemort. And Lucius had even renounced his master after his fall.

"Also, it is my belief that the brands on the arms of any who had been so marked had faded almost to invisibility, and as Voldemort was supposed to be finished, the wards did not recognise any danger. By the time the marks had started to become clearer, Crouch was already a trusted member of my staff."

Remus shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. He cast a furtive look in Severus's direction. Severus's eyes were now closed and without moving anything but his lips, he spoke into the sudden silence, his tone its disparaging best. "Don't stop now, Lupin. You're on a roll...your knowledge almost complete."

"Severus..."

"Go ahead...ask..."

"Severus, I do not think for a second..."

"Ask why I, branded as I am by the Dark Lord, can be within Hogwarts when the wards are supposed to keep me out."

"The wards would keep you out if you were a true servant of the Dark Lord, I know that. I do not for an instant think that the wards do not work," said Remus emphatically.

"Well, you are quite right, my boy," said Dumbledore. "The wards are not at fault; I pride myself on my ability to construct adequate protection. The only things I would change are the ones I have already outlined to you. But the question as to why Severus, an adult wizard with a Dark Mark, can be in this castle now that Voldemort has been restored to his body and is again active, is very simple.

"The wards recognise him as being loyal to me, and me alone."

"That is just what I thought," said Remus.

"And yet, you still felt the need to ask," said Severus calmly as he pushed himself to his feet and moved towards the door.

"I like to verify the facts, from the source, as it were."

"Commendable, I'm sure," drawled Severus. He turned back to face the other two, his hand on the heavy brass door-handle "Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I will see Harry's visitors get home safely."

"I will reopen the Floo connection in the Great Hall," said Albus, standing to cross to his own fireplace.

"We reconvene here at ten AM tomorrow...correct?" asked Severus.

Dumbledore dipped his head in acknowledgement and Severus opened the door, his robes sweeping through the gap after the man had disappeared.

8888

When Severus appeared at the open double doors of the Great Hall, he found the four Gryffindors variously occupied. Granger still had her head stuck in the book she had been reading earlier, Ronald Weasley was lying flat on his back on the bench on the opposite side to where Granger was sitting at the Gryffindor table, staring up at the clouds scudding across the enchanted ceiling. Harry and his ladylove were sitting side-on, facing each other upon the raised platform, leaning forward with their hands clasped and their foreheads touching.

As he watched, they began snogging and Severus rolled his eyes in exasperation. He moved into the hall, making as much noise as he could with his booted heels on the flagstone floor. Granger looked up from her book and the dunderhead nearly fell off the bench trying to sit up. But Harry and Ginevra remained oblivious; all of their other senses seemed to have been abandoned to accommodate their libidos.

It wasn't until Severus was almost close enough to pull them apart by the scruffs of their young necks that Harry and Ginny did become aware of his presence. They jumped apart, colour invading both their faces, their eyes wide and their lips red and slightly swollen as they stared up at Severus's severe expression.

Harry was taken aback; it had been more than a week since he had seen that look on Snape's face. He sensed Ginny fiddling with her hair and trying to do up the top two buttons on her green knit shirt.

"Hi," said Harry, his voice slightly croaky, and a weak grin making a valiant attempt to bloom. Neither the smile, nor the passion-drugged voice impressed Severus.

"Haven't I already spoken to you two about indulging in this sort of intimacy in a public place," he said in a deadly voice.

Both kids looked mortified, but his embarrassment did not stop Harry also looking angry; his lips tightened into a thin line-very reminiscent of Severus if he only but knew-and his brows drew together. When he saw Ginny scramble off the platform to sidle past Snape, he too stood. He glared up at his father, but before he could open his mouth to protest the unfairness of Severus's words, Severus turned away and walked towards the cavernous fireplace, beckoning the two Weasleys and Hermione to follow him.

"You are going back to the Burrow, is that correct, Miss Granger?"

‘Yes, sir." Hermione's voice was tentative; she wasn't going to help precipitate an explosion, not when it already seemed imminent.

"Very well...Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, you can go together." Severus pointed his wand at the grate and gentle flames appeared. He took a small box out of a pocket in his robes and threw a pinch of Floo powder into the flames which immediately flared and turned green before settling back to a gentle burn. He stood back and the two girls stepped forward with alacrity, into the pleasant warmth. They didn't want to be around this all too familiar incarnation of their Potions professor for longer than necessary.

Ginny looked past Severus at Harry who was standing beside Ron with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. She threw a tiny smile at him and half raised her arm to wave. Harry abandoned his pique for a moment to smile back. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "See you, Hermione."

Hermione smiled weakly, hugged her book to her chest and called out, "The Burrow." The flames roared higher and the girls were whisked away.

"Mr Weasley," said Severus.

Ron looked undecided. He shuffled from one foot to the other and held his broom out. He seemed to dig deep to produce some courage. "Err...Sir...could you please shrink my broom so it doesn't get damaged?"

Severus held out his hand imperiously and Ron swallowed nervously as he stepped forward to pass the Cleansweep over. Severus performed the spell and handed the shrunken item back to its owner. Fifteen seconds later, Ron had also disappeared through the Floo and Severus had extinguished the magical flames.

When he turned away from the fireplace, Harry was marching rapidly across the flagstones, his back rigid with anger. Severus knew if he called the boy back, Harry would ignore him. Severus sighed, already regretting his show of bad temper. He set off in Harry's wake, his pace much slower, his thoughts bleak. Perhaps it would be prudent to give the boy an opportunity to calm down.

Severus knew why he had been so foul, of course. His anxiety over the next day's excursion to Diagon Alley had his nerves stretched taut and his temper in hair-trigger mode. But he did not want to indicate to Harry in any way that he was so worried, because he knew that would only make Harry anxious. Harry knew his capture was foremost in the Dark Lord's mind...he did not need to know exactly how manic the man was these days.

When Severus reached his rooms, Harry was not prostrate on the sofa as he was want to be whenever he relaxed in the sitting room. The boy was obviously determined to avoid his company for as long as possible; Severus could hear the gentle gurgle of water rushing through the pipes, indicating that Harry had thrown himself into the shower. Perhaps he felt he needed a wash after his activity on the Quidditch pitch, but it was more likely that he needed to cool down before he came face to face with his father.

Severus sat down at his desk and pulled forward a thick roll of parchment. He untied the blue ribbon and unfurled the half dozen sheets, leaning back in his chair to read the lengthy epistle.

8888

At six-thirty, Harry had still not put in an appearance. Severus ordered dinner and then went and knocked on Harry's bedroom door. When there was no response, Severus did not hesitate to enter the room.

"Hey!" exclaimed Harry, springing up from where he had been lying on his bed. "I thought this was my room." Severus raised an eyebrow at the belligerent tone. "Doesn't that mean that this is my own private place?"

"Dinner will arrive very shortly," said Severus in a carefully controlled voice.

"I'm not hungry." Harry flung himself back on the bed.

"Never-the-less, you will eat."

Harry sprang back up as if he had a spring attached to his back. "I think I can decide when I eat and when I don't, thanks! I'm not a little kid."

"Then stop acting like one." Severus turned to leave the room. At the door, he stopped and spoke again without turning around. "Don't make me come and get you, Harry."

Severus was already seated, taking a sip of red wine when Harry slouched into the room and threw himself down at the table. He picked up his knife and fork and began to wolf down the chicken and ham pie, mashed potato, carrots and peas. He carefully kept his eyes averted from the man on the opposite side of the table.

Severus placed his glass down carefully and picked up his own cutlery. "Did you leave your manners out on the Quidditch pitch?" he asked in an even tone.

Harry swallowed the food in his mouth. "Maybe I did," he said tersely, still keeping his eyes on his plate of food. "Where do you think you left yours?"

Severus's eyes narrowed and even with Harry's head carefully bent over his plate, Severus could see colour stain the boy's cheeks and forehead. His frenzied shovelling of food slowed to an acceptable pace and the aggressive clatter of cutlery on china had also waned to a normal level. It was obvious that Harry was aware of his unacceptable rudeness. He did not, however apologise.

"You are pushing your luck, Harry. I am sure that you realise that I have little patience with insolence and discourtesy."

Harry did look up now. His fists were clenched tightly around his knife and fork, the ends of which were propped on the table. The redness of embarrassment still made his young face glow, but anger made those green eyes sparkle.

"But it's okay for you to treat Ginny with discourtesy?"

Severus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had known that Harry would take him to task for his actions; he was very protective of his little girlfriend. "I think it is inappropriate for the pair of you to be always demonstrating your, shall we say, enthusiasm for each other when others are around. You had two other friends in that room. You do not think it rude to ignore them to indulge your teenage passions?"

Harry's face had gone brick red, but he shook his head. "We had all been talking together five minutes before you stormed in," he said angrily. "And unlike you, both Ron and Hermione realise that Ginny and I are together and there will be occasions when we..." Harry paused dramatically to slam his knife and fork down so that he could draw quotation marks in the air with his middle and index fingers, "...will want to indulge our teenage passions."

Severus raised that condescending eyebrow again, but before he could speak, Harry launched into further impassioned speech. "And just because we're teenagers, doesn't mean that our feelings are any less intense than those of adults."

Severus threw an, ‘are you really that dense', look at Harry.

Harry threw his hands up. "What?"

"Do you even realise what you just said?"

Harry's brow creased as he thought back. After several seconds, he shook his head. Severus rolled his eyes and took his time taking a bite of food and chewing and swallowing it.

Harry looked his impatience and after fifteen seconds, he cried, "What did I say?"

"You are a perfectly normal, virile young man, Harry, on the cusp, shall we say, of discovering, and I have no doubt, indulging your sexuality."

"Dad!" Severus watched with smirking amusement as Harry's face turned practically the colour of beetroot.

"You are embarrassed even talking about it."

"We were kissing, for God's sake, not having sex!"

"You were so lost in your pleasurable pursuit, you were totally oblivious until I was practically on top of the pair of you. And just to clarify, one inevitably leads to the other."

"Not in the Great Hall, it doesn't," yelled Harry. "And nor has it anywhere else!" he added angrily, his face glowing again. "Just so you know...not that it's any of your business."

"Ultimately, your sex life is not my business, Harry..."

"I'm glad you realise that. Now, can we please stop talking about my sex life!" growled Harry, running an agitated hand through his hair.

"I am merely pointing out that both you and Miss Weasley are very young. You do not have to stampede to experience everything there is to experience between a man and a woman in the first five minutes of your relationship."

"It's been more than five minutes," groused Harry. "And as I already said, we're not stampeding."

"I am pleased to hear it." said Severus, softly. Then he applied himself to his meal, trying to give Harry space to overcome his embarrassment over the subject of their discussion. Or perhaps altercation might have been nearer the mark. 

Harry pressed his lips together and lowered his head. He picked up his fork and began to jab it into bits of chicken that had escaped their pastry cocoon.

"I don't think you like Ginny," he said belligerently. He slumped back in his chair while continuing to decimate his food. He huffed out a mocking laugh. "Look what I'm saying. Of course you don't like Ginny. You don't like teenagers in general and Gryffindors and Weasleys in particular."

Severus set his cutlery down and picked up his wine. "I like you, and you are two of those things," he stated with quiet intensity.

Harry looked up through his fringe. Severus was looking at him and the deep pools of his eyes were reflecting the warm depths that Harry was seeing so often these days. "And you are wrong. I do not dislike Ginevra. But, I admit, she is the only teenage Weasley I can tolerate with any sort of equanimity.

Harry grinned...he was suddenly feeling happy again. It was a feeling that he was finding he was becoming addicted to. This new contentment in his life helped block out the reality of what his future held, and the agonies past. Voldemort, Sirius, Cedric and the Dursleys were relegated to the background. These people could not hurt him or his feelings when his father was here to make him feel good about his immediate circumstances. Though the loss of Sirius, when he thought about it, was still an icicle through his heart and he quickly closed that avenue of thought off and forced himself back into bantering mode.

"How about you work on tolerating the other Weasley teenagers and the Granger girl," said Harry trying to suppress the smirk that transformed his features to those of a Snape, rather than a Potter. "They're not going to magically disappear, you know. I'm afraid that Ron, Hermione, Fred and George are here to stay!"

Severus sighed dramatically. "More's the pity." He looked severely put upon and Harry grinned. "I shall take your suggestion under advisement," he added.