It was some time before Albus emerged from the depths of the pensieve now holding a large part of Harry’s memories as seen by Severus. Some time indeed,

During the interment, the dark haired wizard had alternately tried a number of ways to occupy his time and mind, but all thoughts kept running back to Harry.

Fifteen minutes in, Severus decided that if this was what it felt like to be a parent, he’d rather have his brain amputated. There was no moment sitting in the various chairs of Albus’ office that he did not worry about Harry, what Harry was doing, what Harry would think when he next saw him. He could not fend off the thoughts of what he had caused the boy to endure over the years, could not suppress the anger that swelled up inside him every time he thought of what those Muggles had done , could barely control the rage that crashed over him, threatening to roil over his defenses and satisfy itself in revenge, bloody and gruesome and righteously given.

And then, the surface of the pensieve swirled, and all of a sudden, Severus was inexplicably calm. The red haze that had shrouded his mind had increased to such a volume till he was nearly surprised at his composure. Then Albus reappeared in his chair behind the intricately carved desk, and Severus thought he understood.

The man was livid.

Of course, that was expected, but something seemed a bit off. There was no remorse in those icy blue eyes, no regret or sadness in any form. In truth, those eyes were the eyes Severus usually associated with Death Eaters, or more so, the Chief Death Eater, when in a blind rage. And the old man’s words proved that point.

“They will be punished.”

Severus was momentarily taken aback. Even his rage subsided marginally. Revenge on the Dursley’s. Right; that much he had expected, on a stretch at least. But something, to Severus, seemed infinitely more important at the moment.

“And of Harry?” he asked quietly.

Dumbledore, who had risen and was now staring out into the night sky, waved a hand dismissively. “He will be dealt with later.”

“Dealt with?” His eyebrows furrowed. “Surely you don’t mean to punish the child?”

The silver head jerked sharply. “Of course not. He is not at fault. However he cannot return there. They must be deprived of their guardianship of Harry, and the boy must be placed somewhere else, all, undoubtedly, without the Ministry interfering.” He spun to face the office, and Severus could see that his face was still drawn. “Where did you get these memories, Severus?”

He barely resisted the urge to sneer. “From their owner, presumably.” It bothered him that Albus was not being Albus. “Have you no enquiries as to the child’s health? There were enough images of downright torture to upset even you, the Ultimately Optimistic.”

Another dismissive wave of the hand. “I assume you’ve already taken him to Poppy. As such he should be well on his way to recovery.”

Severus’ upper lip curled into a fearsome snarl. ‘Really?’ “And what else do you assume, Headmaster?”

Those ice blue eyes locked on him. “Nothing at all Severus, except that you will watch over the boy while I attend to other matters. Correct?”

His already pale face whitened further. “Correct.” He took one angry step towards the older wizard. “I will watch over the boy, and not only because or while you attend to other important matters. I will do it because the child needs someone, anyone, and once again you’ve missed the entire point of this conversation.” He took a shaky breath. “I found the boy broken and bleeding on the platform earlier this afternoon, and do you know what he was doing? The child was crying. Yes, Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lives-To-Defy-Death, was crying Albus. Have you given a single thought to how much pain he is in? To how much he has been forced to deal with in such a short pace of time? Surely, nothing is more important to you than speaking to him? Isn’t he the one child you’ve admittedly allowed yourself to become attached to? I’m sure, if you really wanted to, you could put off all your other important matters and visit the boy.”

Albus, to Severus’ further disbelief, shook his wizened head. “No, Severus. I am afraid this must take precedence. This must all be taken care of as quickly and quietly as possible. If the wizarding world ever found out, their sense of morality would be lost. Harry holds the hope and future of our world in his hands, whether he knows it or not.”

The younger man sneered “Ah, yes. Back to this ‘The Golden Boy must save the world’ theory. Tell me, Albus, upon what do you base such thoughts. Harry Potter is but a fifteen year old child. Exactly how do you expect him to do that?”

To his surprise, the headmaster answered. “There is a prophecy, Severus. One made right before Harry was born, foretelling his ability to destroy the Dark Lord.”

Snape snorted derisively. “If you truly expect me to believe that some prophecy – “

But he was cut off by a harsh, grating voice, and he focused his eyes on the headmaster, who had retreated behind his desk. His wand was pointed at the pensieve, and a slightly transparent familiar figure was slowly spinning

‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...’

For long minutes there was silence, as Dumbledore watched Severus for any reaction. He received none, save the slightest twitch of the lips.

But inside, Severus’ was reeling. Merlin. It was a tall order to fill. That the boy, the same thin, messy haired boy would save them seemed impossible. Could it be?

“Sybil?’ was the question he eventually asked at length.

“Yes.”

Severus sighed. So this was the much talked about real prophecy of hers. Because there was no question about whether or not this was true. There were too many variables that had already come to pass.

The potions master snorted, and Albus’ eyes refocused on him. “Problem, Severus?”

“None. I was just thinking that nothing about the boy was simple.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Indeed. He will make the task of protecting him most difficult for his next guardian.”

Severus expression darkened. “Next guardian? Surely the child will spend his holidays here at the castle, as you are his recognized Guardian in our world?”

Something akin to annoyance flitted across the Headmaster’s features, before it was replaced with a blank mask. But Severus had already seen it. He felt his anger rising again.

“Severus, I cannot be expected to care for a child as active as Mr. Potter. I will leave that to younger folks. My duties as head of the Order are enough to occupy me until my demise, I’m sure.”

“How convenient,” Severus spoke in barely a whisper. “That your obligations should now presume to demand all of your attention when previously, as in this very week, you had time to spare, particularly to locate a certain werewolf just so Harry could have someone on staff to speak to. I find it odd, now that you’ve seen what the boy has lived through, that you’ve seen him, essentially, at his worst, that you are reluctant to spend time with him?” He stood rigidly for a moment, raking Dumbledore with his calculating gaze. “I wonder, if perhaps your reluctance to interact with the boy has anything to do with your shattered beliefs that he is some sort of savior.”

Angry blue eyes met carefully calm onyx orbs. “Don’t presume to know my beliefs, Severus. That is dangerous territory, even for you.” Albus stared at his Potions Professor intently before looking away. “Harry has survived more than any child his age should ever had to. The fact that he did survive and that he isn’t turning towards the Dark Side shows that he just might be able to defeat Voldemort after all. His capacity to love surpasses all sensible thought. It is his experiences, actually, I believe, that make him so able to forgive. He knows how to put himself into another’s shoes. Harry understands what it is to be the underdog.”

Severus was quiet for a moment. All of a sudden, he wasn’t angry in the slightest. He was, really, more than a little bit confused. “Forgive me, Headmaster, but it seems as if you are actually defending the manner in which those Muggles treated Potter. It seems as if you actually believe that it was done for the greater good.”

Albus spun around, his robes swirling wide around him, fire dancing in his eyes. “Are you implying that I planned this? That I intentionally placed him in the care of relatives that hate magic and everything about it just so he would be suitable to defeat the Dark Lord?”

Severus’ eyes were cold. “That does seem to be the case, yes.”

“How DARE you accuse me of such a thing!”

Severus had never seen the old man this angry, but he was far past caring. “You do seem to have a penchant for doing things, or ordering things done for ‘the greater good’.” Albus opened his mouth to speak, or perhaps curse Snape, but the younger man cut him off. “And even if that wasn’t your original intention, when you learned the boy was being mistreated, couldn’t you have removed him? Didn’t you assure me that he was fine, on a number of occasions? And don’t give me that excuse about the wards. You know as well as I that they were, are and forever will be inconsequential. They are many ways to better protect the child than convoluted blood wards.” He gazed at the man who had been his mentor for the past sixteen years, eyes hard and heart harder. “But you never checked on him, did you? You’re not even sure there are any blood wards around number four Privet Drive.” He spat the address like an expletive, and was immensely satisfied to see a flicker of guilt in those blue eyes before they looked away.

“I can understand your anger Severus – “

“No. You cannot. You cannot begin to understand what I am feeling Albus, so do not pretend to.” If Severus was true to himself, he could admit he didn’t even understand what he was feeling himself. There was anger, of course, but it was hardly directed at Albus, or anyone else for that matter. It was mostly directed at himself, for having his head too far up his own arse to read the signs, to enquire further after the small, unhealthily thin child. Then there was confusion. Albus was confusing. The old man he knew would have apologized, even though he owed Severus none, and would have blasted through Voldemort himself to make his way to Harry, and apologize further. This Albus was cold, heartless. He had seen the result of his actions and had made no apology, had shown no remorse over the things he had done, and did not do. There was something the matter here. There was also disappointment, and a burning sensation he usually associated his determination. He was disappointed in his mentor. For a while he had been entertaining the notion that Albus was undefeatable, and he had just learned in a none-too-pleasant fashion that it was not so. And Severus was determined that the boy would not be subjected to anyone resembling the Dursely’s, in mind or matter.

“I assure you, Severus. I will exercise more caution in discerning the child’s next guardian.”

Silence reigned for precious seconds. Severus stared blankly at the older wizard, who seemed not to notice. Then, “Like hell you will.”

Surprised eyes met his. “I beg your – “

“I’ll take the boy in. I’m assuming responsibility for his well being. I will be his guardian,” he stated with all seriousness.

Albus, apparently, didn’t get that memo. A soft chuckle that did nothing but set Sev’s teeth on edge sounded through the room. When Albus finally looked up, there was no twinkle in his eyes. “You truly expect me to believe that you wish to care for that child? For James’ son? Harry Potter?” He shook his head slowly, as if explaining something to a recalcitrant child. “Why Severus, you hate him. Surely you remember that?”

A sneer graced the features of his face, finally, rejoicing in its freedom to sallow his cheeks and sharpen his eyes and gather up those thick eyebrows in an expression of utmost loathing. Severus Snape was not a happy camper. “It is interesting, isn’t it, the way you’ve spent years arguing with me that I didn’t hate the child, and when I finally admit it you decide to believe I do.” He stepped closer to the older man. “Well let me relieve you of that misconception. I do not hate Harry Potter. I’ve spent years trying to convince myself otherwise and it was all for naught. I’ve been a complete arse to the boy, truly, but I’ve always made a point to look out for him, dead rival’s son or not.” He looked up into Albus’ face. “And besides, who better? Who better to help the child come to grips with his relatives past treatment than someone who’s experienced a life much similar? Who better to protect him from the Dark Lord than one of his most trusted confidantes? Who better to prepare the boy for his inevitable date with destiny than one who has seen, heard and felt all to well what the Dark Lord can do, who’s had to fight to the death for sport in front of him? Who do you think is better?”

They stared at each other for a long minute, the tension so thick it practically congealed the air. Albus was first to speak, though neither men dropped their gaze. “You will not gain custody of Harry Potter.”

“I will.”

The headmaster peered over his half-moon spectacles at him. “I will not allow it.”

Severus stepped even closer, so that their noses were nearly touching. “Albus Dumbledore, try to thwart me and I will take the boy and disappear so swiftly and completely you yourself will doubt if Severus Snape and Harry Potter had ever previously existed.”

Without giving the old man chance to respond, the Potions Professor turned on his heel and stalked out.

*~*~*

Harry awoke to an angry stomach.

Literally.

That particular organ had worked itself into a full rage, twisting and turning and clenching and cramping something so awful that for a fleeting second Harry thought he was back at the Dursley’s and his uncle was expressing his particular dislike of having a freaky nephew. But then, memory came crashing in, and he realized where he was and what the terrible pain in his abdomen was; he was hungry.

He burrowed further into the blankets covering him, emitting a groan. But Merlin, he had never been this hungry. Ever. Not even when his uncle had withheld food from him for two weeks, because he had the last of his sweets from school to tide him over.

But this was torture. His stomach felt like it was eating itself, hungry as he was. He had just began to ponder whether he had been asleep for weeks or years when the most heavenly scent wafted past his nose.

FOOD.

He inhaled deeply, throwing the covers off of him. It smelled of bacon and eggs and toast and oh it smelt so good and he practically floated across the room to the open door. He stopped there however. What lay in the room beyond? Was Snape there? Was there enough food for him? Was he intruding?

Severus looked up in time to see Harry come to a screeching halt in the doorway of his bedroom, eyes slightly glazed and practically frothing at the mouth. He furrowed his brow over his cup. When had the child woken up? How had he made it across the dark room without his glasses, without making a single sound? Why was he just standing there?

“Good morning, Harry.”

As expected, the boy’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He watched as the child’s brow furrowed, as he licked his lips and tried again, all the while with one hand clamped over his abdomen.

“I imagine some water would help with that.” He considered the child for a moment, obsidian eyes raking over the pale features and flushed cheeks. Everything was as expected, and he was just about to pour himself another cup of tea when he was momentarily floored, and his china teapot came into serious danger of being smashed.

He watched, transfixed as a glass of water, complete with dancing little cubes of ice, appeared in the boy's hand, and he raised it to his lips, and drank deeply.

Picking his jaw up from where it had fallen in his shock, he studied the child more carefully. He seemed not to have noticed the sudden appearance of a cold drink of water right into his hand, nor the fact that he was under intense scrutiny.

Truth to tell, the boy looked considerably better than he had the day before. His skin, though still pale, has that healthy look of the well rested. The bird’s nest he called a head of hair was as unruly as ever, but glistened in the dim light of the room in a way that seemed almost artificial.

His eyes though, were the same brilliant, haunted green, though at the moment they were shadowed with something akin to desperation.

Severus could not blame they boy. After more than twelve hours of sleep he supposed even the child’s miniscule stomach needed filling.

Because miniscule it was. Growing boy though he was, Harry’s appetite had continually rivaled that of a particularly weight-conscious teenage girl. In all his years of surreptitiously watching the boy, he had never seen him eat more than half of the small portions he served himself.

Of course, with Ronald 'I-prefer-to-vacuum-rather-than-chew' Weasley as his best friend and constant companion sitting next to him at most meals, the contrast was most disturbing.

So intent was he in his thoughts that he almost did not hear the boy when he finally spoke up.

“G’morning, Professor. And thanks,” he gestured with the glass clasped in both hands. “I feel better now.”

Severus inclined his head, and rolled his eyes at himself when he looked up and realized the boy could not see it. “I am sure you are hungry.” Here the boy’s stomach gave an angry growl. Eyebrows raised, Severus continued. “Would you like my help in getting to the table, which, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is already laden with enough food to feed even a contingent of Ronald Weasley’s, or would you prefer to test your navigational skills in a room both dark and unfamiliar, and not a little bit difficult to compass without your glasses?”

Harry blushed. Why was Snape so angry? He frowned a little. But this wasn’t Angry Snape, so maybe, maybe Snape was just naturally snippy. He took a few hesitant steps. Maybe he wanted to see what he would do? Was Snape the kind of person to issue a challenge first thing in the morning? It seemed so.

He hesitated. The whole room was dark, and so was the furniture, if there was any. Harry’s blurry eyes could not make out the differences in color, or shape. He wished he had his glasses, even if only the things he focused on were clear when he wore them. He’d take clear vision with blurry edges over blurry vision with even blurrier edges any day.

Gathering up that much maligned Gryffindor courage, Harry marched ahead, (Snape’s voice had come from the left, hadn’t it?) glass clutched tightly between his palms. He was a bit curious as to how it got there, really. All he knew was that one second his throat had felt like it was lined with sand paper, and then Snape had mentioned water and then it was there, in his hand, as cool and refreshing as if he had just pulled it from the Dursley’s freezer.

He walked slowly, relishing the feel of the soft dark rug beneath his feet. Had Severus summoned it for him? Maybe he could do silent magic. It made sense, as Harry recalled a few times when he’d seen his potions Professor light a fire without a wand. Maybe….. maybe he could ask him to teach him, or perhaps maybe Professor Dumbledore, if he wasn’t too busy. Strangely enough, Harry felt an unswerving desire to be around Snape, was faintly surprised to be eating breakfast with him. Had he ever seen the man eat? He thought back, moving on autopilot. At every meal he’d ever seen the man attend, whenever Harry had hazarded a glimpse at him, he was always drinking something, or glaring at some student, more often than not himself. Did the man eat? Did he have teeth, or did he prefer to suck down some twisted form of mutant nutrition like bat blood or flobberworm skin or…..

He started badly when his leg bumped into something, nearly panicking as the sounds of many tinklings and a small thud assaulted his ears. ‘Oh snap, I spilled something.’

But Severus’ smooth voice flowed over him before he could completely lose it, and he realized, belatedly and with a bit of a grin, that he had reached the table. Still grinning like a loon, Harry decided that next time he would try to control his thoughts, and not let his mind run away with him. But it had taken his mind off of the trek from the bedroom door to the table...

Severus couldn’t help the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth when the boy smiled that way. The way it lit up his whole face made him seem like the fifteen year old he was, instead of the old soul he was used to seeing.

He had watched, unable to move an inch while Harry made his way across his living quarters. It wasn’t that the boy had made it to the table without encountering a single bit of furniture that had shocked him. It was the why they he hadn’t bumped into any of the heavy wooden furnishings. They had all moved when Harry came near, sliding our of the oblivious child’s way as if a large invisible hand had moved them for his convenience, only to replace them to their original positions when the boy had moved on.

Incredible. The amount of wandless magic the child was displaying was simply incredible. And the boy didn’t realize what he was doing. How much more could he accomplish with conscious effort? That ragged, hoarse voice sounded through his mind again, ‘….power the Dark Lord knows not…’

He was about to claim guardianship of the boy. An eyebrow raised all on its own. Could he truly contend with the myriad of challenges the boy would undoubtedly present him with? Could he teach the boy how to control his magic? Could he help him to prepare for his duel with destiny? Above all else, could he come to see and treat him as a normal child? Could he handle a teenager, and all the complexing, angsty drama that came with one, or even the simple puzzles, like why the boy before him was now stuffing himself fit to throw up?

“Harry! You little idiot, what do you think you are doing?”

The boy had jumped nearly a foot, the fork he had been using (in lieu of a shovel that would have better served this purpose) to transport bits of egg and bacon from his plate to his gaping maw had clattered loudly onto his (gasp!) already empty plate.

Those green eyes were wide, filled with fear. “I’m sorry! I’m just so hungry. I didn’t mean it, it just hurts so much. I’ll stop, I swear! I won’t eat any more, sir. I promise!”

Severus was out of his chair seconds before the boy had finished uttering his apology. Squashing down his desire to hunt down the Dursely’s and do them grievous harm, he moved swiftly to the child’s side, a blur of black in the small distance between the two ends of the table. The small figure had, upon completion of his speech, folded his hands into his lap and was staring intently at his intertwined fingers, a position that Severus recognized from the child’s memories, when he was forced to sit at the table and watch his relatives eat, or worse, when they had given him his own serving, only to snatch it away when he had relaxed enough to eat any.

Severus sighed, using two fingers to lift the child’s chin. “That not what I meant child. I know you’re hungry, but I didn’t mean for you to stop eating.” Confusion lit those emerald eyes, and Severus fought to suppress a growl. ‘Damned Muggles!’ “You were practically vacuuming the food into your system child. I simply meant for you to slow down. It would not do for you to bring back up all that you had worked so hard to shovel down, now would it?”

To his amusement, the boy’s cheeks reddened, before he uttered yet another apology.

Shaking his head, Severus replied, “No need to apologize child. Just eat slower. Make sure to chew your food properly. There is no need to treat your stomach to half-masticated bacon, understood?”

Satisfied with the student’s nod, he clasped one thin shoulder. “I shall leave you to continue eating, and to freshen up for the day. I shall be in my personal lab, which is the door next to the bedroom. When you are done, you may join me there.”

The child's smooth brow furrowed. “You aren’t eating?”

Straightening up, Severus gestured towards a large grandfather clock that Harry could not see. “As it is fairly late in the morning, I have already partaken in this meal's spread. As such, I will leave you to it.” He paused. “Any other questions?”

There was quiet for a minute, and Severus could clearly see the child’s thoughts walk across his face. Finally, “Sir, do you have my glasses?”

Severus frowned. “I don’t. They may have been left on the train, perhaps. In any event, we shall endeavor to get you a new pair. I don’t believe your eyes have ever been tested.”

Harry worried his bottom lip. “No sir. But how will I see?”

“I can help with that.” He gently placed his hands on either side of the child’s head, gently aligning his palms with the side of his wide eyes. “Now this is only temporary, but it will serve its purpose.” He angled his hands slightly, and Harry couldn’t repress a shiver. “Hold still. This won’t hurt in the least.”

He incanted a long string of Latin that Harry hadn’t a hope of catching, and then, quite suddenly, everything became so clear.

Severus just barely managed to hide his amusement as Harry’s eyes nearly dropped out of his head as he took in his surroundings. No doubt the boy had never seen anything so crisp and clear in his life. “Better?” he drawled at the still rapt teenager.”

“Much,” was the slightly breathless reply.

The older of the dark haired men nodded. “I shall see you in my lab then. We have much to talk about, Harry.”

He spun away, and Harry’s last thought before he turned back to his magically heated breakfast was that even when the man was walking slowly, his robes billowed. ‘Un. Natural!’