Weasleys really were a disgustingly strong-blooded group of people, Severus mused. At least, he thought so. How else could their youngest child be regaining magical strength at a rate only seen in the rarest of cases? Not to mention that her case was rather rare in and of itself, of course.

The fact of the matter was, Ginny was recovering at a remarkable pace and it made him sick. Especially when said child had the strength to squeal “Uncle Sev!” at him from across the ward.

The day after the Corbin Incident, as he called it, Severus had decided that avoiding the little red-head served no purpose.

After spending an indeterminable amount of time that morning listening to the Granger whine on and on about how unfair it was that Harry got to take Theory of Magic, as she had aptly named the boy’s sessions with Dumbledore, when it was obviously so much more useful than History of Magic. If he had to listen to her complain that it ‘really wasn’t fair that Theory of Magic isn’t offered as an actual class when they expect us to change teacups into turtles successfully! I mean, honestly!’ one more time, he was certain that he would lose a few vital ounces of brain matter. Even though he had tried his best to tune her out, he could still recite, verbatim, her entire rant. Curse his spying skills.

It was in this frame of mind that he had ruthlessly kicked the miniature miscreants out of his quarters and swooped up the three flights of stairs to the hospital wing, and was greeted with,

“Uncle Sev!”

His eyes zoomed in on the beaming face of Ginevra Weasley, a child who had not, in all her years at Hogwarts, said more than two words to him. Ever. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What did you just call me?” he asked, gliding towards the bed menacingly.

“Uncle Sev,” Ginny chirped, giving him a wide smile.

Eyes narrowed even further, he hissed, “I am not your uncle!”

Ginny replied by simply crawling across the hospital bed and wrapping her arms around his torso. Severus glared pointedly at the fourteen year old whose chin was poking his solar plexus.

“Unhand me this instant, you blubbering isopod!” he snapped, pushing the girl away from him, if gently.

Ginny huffed, and rolled her eyes. “Muuuuum! Uncle Sev’s calling me names.”

Soft chuckling brought his gaze up, and when it settled on one Molly Weasley, they narrowed once more in annoyance.

“You find something amusing, do you, Gryffindor?”

“No, no. Of course not,” Molly hastened to assure him, trying and failing to hide a smile.

Severus stared at the still smiling woman as she pretended to busy herself with her bedside table. The thing was horribly covered in all sorts of folded colored paper, candy and a multitude of flowers that would make the Hogwarts greenhouses hide in shame, but it was hardly as important as the current situation. “Are you not going to order your offspring to remove herself from my person?” he enquired silkily into the silence.

Molly looked up, and gave a placating smile. “Now, Severus, Ginny is recovering from a horrible ordeal, and Madame Pomphrey did say she needed to be calm and comfortable at all times to facilitate a speedy recovery.” She looked towards her daughter, who had pasted an innocent expression on her face. “Ginny, dear, are you comfortable?” Molly asked sweetly.

“Yes, Mum,” Ginny answered from where she had her ear pressed to Snape’s stomach.

Severus gave a truly nasty scowl. This was not amusing. He was not a touchy-feely kind of person. He grabbed at Ginny’s thin arms and attempted to push her away from him, but the small girl only tightened her grip. This was his body, dammit! There had to be a way to get her away from him.

“Miss Weasley, do get a hold of yourself!” he hissed. “Regardless of your convalescence, do remember that I am your professor while you are a student at this institute, and your behavior is highly inappropriate!”

Ginny looked up at him with wide brown eyes. “But Uncle Sev,” a vein in his temple jumped. “I’m not a student at this school, remember?”

And Severus Snape abruptly felt like an idiot. Hadn’t the last Weasley boy told him as much? Muriel Weasley had withheld payment of the girl’s schooling. He really should pay the pile of scum another visit…..not that it would change anything since the semester had already begun….

The contract though. Severus could almost hex himself. Almost.

“Molly,” he began, ignoring the way Ginny settled back against him. “Do you think that you could…persuade…Madame Pomphrey to release you and your daughter for a short time this afternoon? You may want to gather your family, and meet at my quarters for dinner; there is much we have to discuss.”

As expected, Molly agreed with the usual ramblings of seeing Harry, ‘the poor dear’, and getting a hold of Arthur and whatnot. Severus tuned her out in favor of looking down at his ‘niece’. “I suppose I shall have to get used to all manner of hugs, shan’t I?” he asked, already knowing the answer would not make him a happy man.

“Just from me,” Ginny answered easily. Then her face adopted a wicked grin. “And the twins.”

The look on his face sent her into peals of laughter.

*~*~*

Fighting the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, Harry pushed the door to the headmaster’s office open and let himself through. Almost.

“Come in, Harry.”

The old mage was sat behind his desk, and when Harry met his eyes, gave him a wide, twinkling smile.  “Hello, my boy,” he said cheerfully. “Lemon drop?”

Harry rubbed his sweaty palms against the legs of his robes and studied the room intently. “No thank you, sir,” he mumbled.

“Quite alright, my boy, quite alright.” He waved towards the only chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, child. Let’s get started.”

Harry moved cautiously from where he was standing just inside the door, and swung his heavy bookbag into the indicated chair. The leather sack landed with a ‘thump’, rocking the chair back on two legs.

“Sturdy enough for you?” Dumbledore asked, age-lined face a mask of concern.

Harry nodded absently, mind still racing. It couldn’t be that simple. There was a trap here, somewhere. Of that he was certain. So the chair had not turned out to be an instant portkey set to whisk him away to some distant location; that didn’t mean he should relax. It could still be triggered if the Headmaster said the right thing. Or some kind of poison gas could pop into existence with a snap of the old man’s fingers if he didn’t just stun him outright. The fact that Severus had spent hours this morning layering spell after lethal spell into his skin to protect him from anything Dumbledore might even think to throw at him didn’t make a difference. Harry did not want to be here.

“Harry?”

Reluctance written in every line of his body, Harry slowly sank into the chair and sat there, shoulders tense for a full minute. He was aware that Dumbledore was watching his every move, and after a bit, he relaxed; at least enough to pull some ink and parchment from his bag.

“Well now,” Dumbledore started, folding his hands on top of the many sheets of parchment spread out on his desk. “It’s been decided that it is in the best interest of everyone that we teach you some measure of control over your magic. Now, no one is more displeased about how this situation came about than I, but we shall try to make the best of a bad situation, yes?” He gazed at Harry over his glasses with a gentle, expectant smile and twinkling eyes. Some of Harry’s nervousness instantly bled away into anger.

Did the old man really think he didn’t know what was going on? Was he just going to pretend that everything was fine? That he hadn’t planned on dumping Harry on some unsuspecting family? That Harry hadn’t spent the summer being beaten to a pulp. He gripped his quill and took notes as the school’s head rambled on.

“Now, Harry; to the basics. Firstly, you must realize that magic cannot be controlled. It is a force of being, the very life form of our world; one can only hope to control the amount of magic that flows through you at any given time.”

That just didn’t make any sense to the small fifth year. “How can magic be something that can’t be controlled? If I can’t be controlled, then why am I here?”

Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment, a frankly indulgent expression on his bearded face. “You are here for a number of reasons. One of them, the most remarkable, actually, is that while you lack the ability to control how much magic you use, you possess the ability to control how that magic is used, something very few wizards or witches are able to do.”

“That’s only one reason, though,” Harry pointed out, when it seemed the Headmaster was content to sit and stare at him.

“You are correct, of course,” Albus agreed with a tip of his head. “Secondly, you possess, I believe, the potential to control how much magic you use and release, or else I would have let the Ministry bind your magic when Mister Corbin first raised his concerns.”

“What?” Harry asked, dumfounded. All around him, he Headmaster’s things all began to rattle and shake in their places, notes and memos shifting slightly in a sudden light breeze.

“Calm yourself at one, Harry!” Dumbledore snapped, eyes flashing a frightening icy blue.

The wind picked up, and a shelf of silver trinkets met an early death on the office floor. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to calm myself when you just said you would have let the Ministry screw with my magic?” Harry yelled over the din. The Headmaster had gone daft, he was sure of it. Did he truly not see what was so insulting, so wrong about what he had just admitted?”

Dumbledore’s gaze became downright flinty. “While this is not the formal classroom setting, Mr. Potter, you will show me the proper respect. Ten points from Gryffindor!”

Harry was floored. “What? You can’t be se – “

The connection at the depths of his mind gave a sudden, sharp ‘twang’ and Harry fell back into his seat before he had even realized he was standing. The breeze stopped abruptly, and the soft, distant voice of his guardian sounded in his head. “Calm down.” Chest still heaving, Harry watched as Dumbledore continued to stare at him, face still impassive, but his eyes less flinty than they had been. At length, the old man finally spoke.

“Very good, child. That impressive feat of control is exactly why I decided to engage in these lessons.” Blue eyes studied him intently. “May I ask what technique you employed just now?”

Harry clenched his jaw to keep from saying something he would regret later. The connection he shared with the Potions Master throbbed rhythmically within his head, and he would rather not act out on his impulses and find out that Sev had been listening in. “I’m not sure, sir,” he added.

Dumbledore nodded. “Very well. Think on it, and tell me what you come up with. It seems to be most effective.”

Harry gave the man a curt nod and decided to change the subject.

“Is there a third reason, sir?”

“Yes, there is, my boy, and it is rather distressing.” At Harry’s lack of response, Dumbledore continued. “You possess, in my opinion, the potential to wield all sorts of powerful magic. However, power tends to stir up and expand one’s proclivity for things that are, shall we say, frowned upon.”

“The Dark Arts, you mean,” Harry said.

“Yes, child, precisely. You do not only possess in spades power enough to tempt and even control the darkest of dark arts, but with your history, it is a given that at some point you will be faced with its temptation.”

“My history?” was all Harry could manage to whisper. His hands had wrapped themselves around the arms of his chair as Dumbledore had explained, and now he sat, every muscle tense, silently willing away the ball of molten heat that had sprouted to life in his stomach.

“Yes, your history. Certain climates breed strength in a particular inclination of magic, and you have lived in one such climate for more than a decade. I am aware that the Sorting Hat wanted to place you in Slytherin, and quite frankly I was, and still am, pleased that you managed to talk it out of it.”

“And you don’t think I could fight it?” Harry asked, his voice soft and breathy as he stared hard at the bit of desk in front of him. The smoldering ball of energy was now leaking through to his skin, sending wave after wave of blistering heat through him. Harry wanted out of this office, needed out of this office before he snapped and did something permanent.

“Harry, child, as strong as you are, I know you cannot fight it. Older men, stronger and wiser than you have fallen prey to the Dark Arts. And even if you somehow possess the will power to turn away from the allure, after a time the taint begins to warp the very fabric of who one is.” He gazed intently at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. “I do not have to name any examples, do I, Mr. Potter?”

Harry shook his head swiftly. Was Dumbledore trying to scare him away from Snape? Shaking, Harry curled in on himself, not stopping till his forehead was pressed against the sheet of parchment spread across his knees.

“Harry? Are you feeling quite well, my boy?”

“So you think I’m going to turn into a Dark Lord worse than Voldemort?” Harry asked, ignoring the question.

Dumbledore sighed. “No, I don’t think so. Despite your level of power, you do not possess the leadership skills needed to attain and sustain a following as he has. I do, however, believe that if Voldemort ever succeeded in recruiting you to his side, you would quickly surpass even Bellatrix Lestrange as his most fearsome follower.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was aware that his insides were a mass of knots and his head was so clouded he couldn’t even hear what Sev was whispering to him. The very feel of the man, though, gave him a bit of calm. After a few minutes of silence, Harry straightened in his seat, at least enough to stuff his supplies back into his bag.

“May I be excused, sir?” he asked, standing to leave. His limbs were visibly trembling, and as soon as he stood straight, the chair shot back into the wall. The air was thick, and tense and fairly pulsed with magic. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this, and I would rather not destroy your office.”

Dumbledore studied him intently for a moment, and Harry grit his teeth as he magic spiked. “Certainly, my boy,” he agreed, rising from his seat laboriously. “Let me escort you to a safe – “

But Harry was already out the door and halfway down the staircase.

*~*~*~*~

Sirius had a birthday.

It was a fairly logical conclusion to come to; the man was, after all, human, and alive. It stood to reason that this state of being had to have begun at some time or another. Hence, the birthday of Sirius Black.

There was one slight problem with this birthday, though. Draco didn’t know when it was.

At least, not exactly. He remembered a bit of something from his Family Studies when he was younger, about one of the Black brothers causing an awful stir because he was born before the Winter Solstice, as his entire family for generations before him had. He believed that it was the same son disowned for being sorted into Gryffindor, but he wanted to be sure.

Hence he was headed to Remus.

Draco turned down yet another corridor, and headed for the staircase. He knew he was risking the wrath of Professor Sprout when she got her hands on him for ditching class, but he wasn’t primarily concerned with that. Right now, all he wanted was to know when Siri’s birthday was. Partially because Sirius was the first adult besides Sev to treat him like something other than furniture, and he wanted to show his appreciation.

Mostly so he could correctly plan how much time he had to obsess over a gift.

The past few days had been something out of a dream. He was living with someone who wanted him, and showed it. Well, two someones. Sirius had replaced his father in all but blood, and if Draco had to guess what a mother would be like, he would have to say Remus came pretty darn close.

Not that the man went around singing about daisies and wearing make-up and aprons and stuff. Remus was just more……soft…..than Sirius. Sirius was the one who hugged him and told him stories about when he was growing up, who taught him charms and gave him someone to model himself after who wasn’t a bloodthirsty Death Eater; Sirius was the one he connected with. Remus was the one who badgered him about homework, made him (and Sirius) eat his vegetables, woke him up in time for school and made sure he had everything together. Not that Sirius couldn’t or didn’t do those things; he was just more concerned with having fun and causing mayhem and mess for Remus and Kreacher to clean up.

Draco shuddered as he turned another corridor. That elf gave him the creeps.

Finally reaching Remus’ office, Draco raised his arm to knock on the thick, closed door when he heard voices.

Now, eavesdropping on conversations was not a very Draco thing to do.

He had been punished more times than he could count for eavesdropping on private conversations in the Manor growing up. However, eavesdropping was a very good way to gather information, and it is always a Slytherin thing to have more information than the other guys.

Pulling his wand from his sleeve, Draco turned the corner, and pressed himself against the wall. After making sure he wouldn’t be seen by the casual passerby, he tapped the wall twice and muttered an incantation he had found in the Marauders’ Book only two days ago.

There was silence. At first Draco thought he hadn’t done it right, but a sudden rustling proved him wrong.

“It’s ok, sir. Really.”

That was Weasley, or Ron, as he supposed he should be calling him now.

“I want to do it this way,” the boy continued. “I need to.”

“But Ron, I could save you so much time.” That was Remus. Draco’s heart raced. What were they talking about? “Wouldn’t that be better? I can smell the – “

“Professor Lupin – “

“Ronald.” Draco grinned. He wasn’t allowed to call him ‘Professor’ either.

“Sorry, Remus, I can’t. I have to do it this way.” There was shuffling, like someone dragging their feet, before a muffled ‘thump’. Draco guessed Ron had kicked his book bag.

“But you’re so close – “

Bang! “I know, ok!” Ron yelled. Draco’s eyebrows rose clear into his hairline. “I know I’m close enough to reach out and touch it. I KNOW! I know you know who it is and I know I know who it is, but I’m not ready.” The last word ended on a hitch. Was Ron crying?

“It’s like I can see it out of the corner of my eye, and I can see it, but I don’t want to look too closely at it because if I do then I’ll know without a doubt what it is, and I’m not ready.”

“Okay, then,” Remus murmured.

“I’m not ready, right? I need to think about this. I need to research, and read. I need to think about why they would leave me!”

Draco stood, wide-eyed, weighing the pros and cons of walking away, right now. He had stumbled on something bigger than just information. This was bigger than anything he could possibly even fathom.

“Oh, Ron! That’s not what happened!” A rustle of cloth, steps on the flagstone floor.

“Look, I know you know what happened, but I don’t! I only just found out this summer that my parents aren’t really my parents! And I know I know who they are. But I need to think, Remus, please! I can’t just accept it like that. I need to build a, a perspective of all this. Just, “ there was loud sniffling, and Draco’s nose wrinkled automatically. “Just let me do this, ok? I just need some time.”

“Alright, I will.” There was a silence in which Draco would bet his entire Chocolate Frog Card collection (a new acquisition) that Remus had magicked a Handkerchief from somewhere and was wiping Ron’s face.

“I know h-he’s upset and you want to help him, but he’s had fifteen years of this. I – “

“It’s alright, Ron,” Remus said soothingly. “It’s fine. We’ll do this your way.”

After a full five minutes of silence, Draco finally deemed it safe to move. He cancelled the charm and walked on cushioned feet till he reached the stairs. Then, he took them at a run.

He had to find Harry.

~*~*~*~

Sometimes he seriously wondered just what was wrong with him.

Severus sat in his favorite armchair, for once not occupied by someone else, and wearily rested his head on the back. He had to be mad. Absolutely, stark, raving mad. It was the only plausible explanation. Or he had been a real, honest villain in a past life; killing children and burning down houses and the like. Yes. His current life was retribution for lifetime upon lifetime of evil doing.

Down on the arm of the chair, his left arm burned as if laced with fiend-fire, pulsing in time with his racing heartbeat.

The door to his quarters slammed open with a bang, as was Harry’s custom and said teenager slammed the door shut again, before kicking off his shoes and throwing his bag into the corner. The muscles in his back relaxed, just a fraction.

Shuffling over to the living room, Harry frowned. Severus hadn’t yelled at him for slamming the door, or for throwing his things around. He crept closer to his guardian, socked feet making muffled sliding noises on the cold stone floor. Was he asleep? Severus never slept anywhere that wasn’t his bed, so Harry highly doubted that.

Was he dead? No. Their link was still there, a little bit clouded over, but wide open and humming like it always was.  Asleep then, Harry decided. He gave their link a sharp prod, hoping that he wouldn’t have to shake him. Severus’ ‘Why-are-you-shaking-me-you-ridiculous-ignoramus-I-am-not-sleeping’ glare was kind of scary.

“Sev?” The link remained wide open and humming, but his guardian remained still and silent.

“In my bedroom next to my bed is a tall potions cabinet.” ‘Were his lips even moving?’ Harry wondered. Severus inhaled deeply, and spoke again. “On the second shelf in the right hand door is a round blue glass bottle. Bring it. Quickly.”

Harry was moving before the dark man had even finished moving. He hadn’t ever seen the man anything other than calm and composed, even when he was spitting mad, but to see him so still, and his breathing so labored, Harry knew something was very, very wrong.

The potion was easy enough to find. He rushed back to the living room, to see Snape hadn’t moved an inch.

“Sev?”

Black eyes slid open. Harry felt bad for disturbing the man, even if he wasn’t really getting any rest. He bit his lip to keep from rambling, and wiggled the vial in front of Sev’s face.

Thin, shaking fingers haltingly rolled the left sleeve of the Potions Master’s robes up, revealing a black, writhing mark. The sheer malevolence rolling off the Mark in waves made Harry take a step back.

“Pour,” Snape demanded.

“Why?” Harry hissed. Snape raised a single eyebrow a him, but before he spoke, someone else did.

“Do not presume to speak to me, speaker-that-is-not-of-my-nest,”

Harry’s eyes widened as the black snake writhing on Sev’s arm raised itself up to sway at him. There was no blood dripping from its semitransparent form, no marks on the skin of Sev’s arm where the snake had been. Harry stared in horror as the shadowy reptile seemed to grow as it drew closer to his face.  “Who are you to question my actions, human scum? Who dares to question the servant of the Dark Lord?”

Harry watched in horror as Sev winced in pain. Whatever the snake was doing, it was far more painful than it looked. And all of a sudden his fear was gone.

“I am as much your master as that human snake is nest breaker.” He hissed. “Leave this man alone. Tell your Master to do his own hunting.”

The snake reared in on itself, and Harry pulled his wand, waiting for an attack. “You dare! You blind, un-hatched weakling! My Master will eat you and your unworthy eggbearer, but you shall both suffer first.”

The snake-shadow seemed to glow black for a moment, and a strangled moan wrenched its way from Severus’ lips. No matter how much the Dark Mark repulsed him, Harry couldn’t resist the urge to kneel close to his professor, wrapping his skinny arms around the man’s bicep.

“Harry,” the man managed to whisper, eyes and hands clenched tight against the pain. “Stop it.”

Harry wanted to cry. He was making it worse! “Stop it! Can’t you see you’re hurting him?”

The Mark-snake twisted, and Severus lost his battle with composure. Harry could literally feel the dark Mark’s magic attacking Sev’s own, even while Voldemort poured pure liquid torture into the man’s body.

“You tail biter!” Harry screamed, giving in to the tears he had been trying to fight. Severus was going to die. “I told you to leave!” In one smooth movement Harry had his hands wrapped around the snake who’s head was nearly as big as his thigh. And just like with Quirrel, the snake screamed. Its high pitched, hissed screaming mixed with the Potions Master’s cries of anguish and rushed over Harrys sobs of fear, and he never let go. The shadowy form twisted and writhed until finally it retracted back into Severus’ skin, leaving an inky black Dark mark, and a very limp, trembling Severus Snape.

Shaking hands picked up the vial from where it had fallen, and Harry tried to steady his nerves as he fumbled with the stopper. Severus looked so pale and fragile, slumped in his chair like he was. Harry glanced up through his tear-stained glasses, and then did a quick double take. Was Sev breathing? His breath hitched when he realized that Severus was, but barely. He finally managed to get the vial open and pour its content over the Dark Mark on Sev’s arm, instantly fading it to a dull gray, but the man still trembled.

Harry bit his lip, and whimpered. What was he supposed to do? Didn’t prolonged trembling mean something was wrong with the nerves in someone’s body? Harry bit his lip, and put his head in his hands. Why couldn’t he do anything right? Severus was dying and all he could think of was something he learned years ago in primary school.

He moved closer to his guardian and draped himself across the man’s lap, wrapping his scrawny arms around the shaking torso. Harry closed his eyes and willed Severus to get better…..willed this all to go away and leave them in peace……willed some kind of help to walk through the proverbial door……

The door to their quarters ‘snick’ed open and Harry’s eyes shot open. There, standing in the doorway, was one Draco Malfoy, hair askew and robes disheveled, but as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Until he saw them. In three seconds flat, Draco’s wide, open features closed down into the Malfoy mask Harry had known for years. “What happened?” he all but snarled at his god-brother. “What the hell did I miss?”