The whistle blew nearby, and the short dark-haired child struggling onto Platform 9 and 3/4 heaved a sigh. He was going home. After an absolutely dismal summer, he was finally going to the one place he felt he belonged.

Hogwarts.

Home.

Shaking his fringe out of his eyes, he trudged on toward the gleaming red train. It took all his will power to take each step and not collapse into a sobbing heap in front of so many people. He prayed his glamour would hold, at least until he got up to the castle. Then he could sneak into a classroom and brew something for his bruises, though he wasn't too sure he would be able to tackle a bone mending potion just yet.

Unbidden, memories of the summer flashed through his mind. For a minute he stood, dazed, his injuries making it impossible to deal with so much pain, emotional and physical. Images flitted through his mind, of his uncles large purple face screaming at him, his aunt throwing a scornful look over her shoulder as she walked away from him, being thrown down the stairs, bullied by Dudley and his friends while his aunt and uncle pretended they couldn't hear them, sitting at the table watching the blonde family eat, wishing over and over for just a bit, just the tiniest bit from any of their plates, Vernon, standing before the now open fireplace, chucking Harry's schoolbooks in, one by one.....

A large, soft warm something collided into him, complete with a ear-shattering squeal of delight, and Harry instinctively bit the inside of his cheek from crying out. A white hot blaze was tearing up his back, branching off to fill his chest, and down through his left leg. If he wasn't being held so tight he would have fallen. Finally, his brain pinpointed the mass of bushy brown hair from memory, and his heart leapt when he realized that the human freight train was actually his best friend, Hermione.

As glad as he was to see her, he couldn't find the strength to hug her back. All he could do was gasp her name. “‘Mione."

Quick as a flash she pulled back, her large brown eyes raking over him in that motherly way she had sometimes. "Harry, are you alright?" She peered at him closer. "You're crying!"

Harry gave her a weak smile, hoping it didn't look too much like a grimace. "Missed you," was all he was able to mutter.

The bright witch opened her mouth to say something, but before a sound could leave her lips, the sun was blocked by a towering figure standing over them. Looking up, Harry grinned. "Hey, Ron."

"Hiya Harry." His always lanky friend had obviously taken advantage of the summer, growing a full foot, it seemed to Harry. After a minute he considered that in reality he really had only grown a few inches. Even so, Harry was acutely aware that he was still the shortest of the three, but the difference now was stark. "How were your summers?" he asked, before his mind could wander further.

"It was great Harry. My parents and I spent the summer in Australia, with my aunt Pat. You should see the flora, Harry. Most of it is magical, though only the Aborigines use them. They're the only ones that brew potions Harry, did you know? I've read all about it. Australian wizards steep various plants for healing, and drink them like tea, but for anything else, like potions to change appearance, or anything else physical, they get from the Aborigines. Its really quite interesting, considering - "

"Slow down, 'Mione," Ron grinned, putting an arm around her shoulders. "I think Harry's a bit overwhelmed."

Harry managed a small smile and shrugged. In truth, his legs were really paining him. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten the glamour to hold him up, but he wasn't interested in pushing it much further either. It had been tested enough as far as he was concerned this morning, when Vernon had come after him with a bat in the kitchen, furious to find that Harry could not only walk after his punishment the whole day before but that he didn't carry a single scar from his ministrations.

Shrugging off this train of thought, he turned to the red head. 'What about you, Ron?" he asked, pushing his trolley closer to the train.

"It was brilliant, mate. Everyone was home for the summer. Bill and Charlie came down, and Percy got an extended leave from work. It was a madhouse Harry, All nine Weasleys in one place." The taller boy babbled on about his rambunctious family, ignoring Harry's protests when he picked up his trunk effortlessly and hefted it up onto the train. "Merlin, Harry. Your trunk's as light as a feather! Are you sure you've got everything?"

It hurts so much. He felt like he couldn't breathe. No, he didn't have everything. He didn't have anything at all.

He fought to take a breath. "Yea I do."

But he didn't.

Ron was the one who had everything, he thought as he watched his best friend press a kiss to Hermione's forehead. 'You've always had everything, mate. You just don't see it.'

He hastily swiped the tears from his face. No, he didn't begrudge Ron his perfect life. He couldn't. But over the past summer, he'd spent a lot of time thinking, and wondering, and he'd come to the conclusion that how the Dursley's treated him was not his fault, and that there was nothing wrong with him. He didn't understand, though, why his uncle suddenly decided to punish him in a new way, or why it wasn't possible for him to share Ron's perfect life. Why couldn't some of Ron's good luck rub off on him? He sighed, and turned away from his friends. They were so happy they made him sad.

He had refused this job. Of that he was sure. He had firmly and in no uncertain terms told his employer that he would not do it, and there was no amount of Galleons, Dementors or maniacal dark wizards on earth that could make him.

Yet, here he was.

Standing on the damn platform, drowning in the overall far-too-pleasant atmosphere of badly restrained chaos in the form of what some fools might mistakenly call 'excited children'.

Severus growled.

He hated excited children.

Actually, he hated children in general.

Actually, it was children in general, first years in particular.

He barely suppressed a shudder. Merlin, he hated first years!

He stalked through the crowded platform, gently urging students finish up their last minute goodbyes, ("Cease that incessant rambling this instant!"), excited hello's ("Kindly continue this meaningless drivel you call a conversation aboard the train!"), adding a snarl here and a sneer there for effect.

After about an hour, he felt much better. Students all around him were shooting him nervous glances over their shoulders, and many parents were giving him the evil eye. He almost smiled. It felt so good to be appreciated.

He was thinking up ways to frighten the first years senseless well within their first potions lesson when he happened upon The Boy. He never knew what to do with the boy, really, and since the dark lord's return that previous June his emotions pertaining to the Potter brat had become more confusing than before.

After nearly giving himself a heart attack with worry during the first two tasks of the Triwizard Tournament held last year, Severus had taken an extra precaution right before the last task. The Calming Draught had made it easier, he would admit to the only person who knew he took it. But he had nearly been undone when the damn child had appeared outside the maze, bruised and bloody and clutching the clearly dead Cedric Diggory, screaming at the top of his voice about the return of the dark lord.

Severus stared down at the child before him, feeling his insides knot into twists. Who gave the infernal Potter spawn permission to cry? And look so damn vulnerable, and so much in need of a hug?

Who gave Severus' arms permission to want to hug him?

He glared at the offending appendages. A bit of Muggle verse came to mind. 'If thy limbs offend thee.......'

All hugging-related tingling ceased immediately, and he moved, cloak billowing furiously, towards the boy whom he secretly didn't hate anymore, if he ever did.

"Potter."

He expected the child to jump a foot into the air, to turn angrily distrustful emerald eyes towards him, before snarling out the expected reply of his title with all the venom he had learned to expect from the boy. He expected to have to resist the urge to deduct House points and assign detentions.

He did not expect to come face to face with a blotchy faced, puffy eyed Potter, feel an odd clenching in his chest he would later discover was the remains of his heart, and extend one elegant, potion-stained hand clutching a pristine white handkerchief. If the Potions Master had been shocked speechless by his own actions, he was facing being permanently addled in the mind, for Harry took the proffered hanky, and wasted no time in cleaning his face.

"Sir?"

Realizing his face had softened slightly in disbelief, he hastily schooled his features into something a bit more foreboding, and studied the face before him. To his chagrin, there was no hint of resentment on the boy's face, just the odd mixture of surprised wariness, resignation, and well masked pain.

Storing that bit of information away for later, he looked around for the other two thirds of the Golden Trio. "You shouldn't be alone Potter. Even on the platform." Hmmm, no snide remark on the boy's tears.....Maybe he was slipping.....Ah, there they were, standing just a little ways off, arms wrapped around each other......snogging their hearts out. Severus was gripped momentarily by another fit of disbelief.

‘Well, I never…’

He dragged his eyes away from Weasley and the Granger , and turned to look at Potter.

All of a sudden he was feeling out of his depth. Was Potter standing here, tears streaming down his face, pining over the Granger? Over Weasley? Had Severus, perhaps, stumbled upon the remnants of a steamy love triangle turned devoted twosome?

‘Oh please, Severus. They’re children,’ the little voice in his head reasoned, ‘not the stars of one of your sordid little soap operas.’

Inner Severus sniffed. ‘You would be surprised with what some of these children come up with.’ With a final mental huff, Snape redirected his attention to the green eyes that were gazing up at him in wonder.

“Let’s get you onto the train, Potter.”

To his surprise, the boy actually turned around and stepped towards the train, stopping at the doors when he realized that Severus was still standing where he’d left him.

Severus felt his brow furrow. Was that hope he saw in the boy’s eyes? Absolutely not. Why would the boy be hoping that Severus was coming with him? Was he that much in need of company after the relatively recent betrayal of one (or both, he thought with a shudder) of his Gryffindor lovers?

Pushing these thoughts from his head, Severus allowed himself to escort the young Gryffindor onto the train, and found himself, much to his further disbelief, searching for an empty, and secluded, compartment.

‘Severus!’ whispered the most Severus-sounding voice in his head, ‘you are coddling the boy!’

‘Maybe I am,’ he thought back, ushering the boy into the abandoned teachers’ compartment, at the very end of the train.

Ignoring the indignant sputtering of his inner voices, Severus settled into a seat and motioned for Harry to do the same. There were many things he wanted to ask the boy, to demand the boy tell him, but words simply would not come. He considered Legimency, but discarded that option immediately. He never used Legimency on a child, save in life or death situations. And neither he nor Harry was dying.

‘Rather unfortunate, that,’ one of his voices said airily.

Before he could reply, Severus heard a sharp SMACK, a whining ‘ow!’, and voice number three say in a startling imitation of the Granger ‘Don’t say that! He likes Harry now!’

‘I do not!’ cried Severus mentally, the embodiment of indignance. ‘I do not like Harry!’

‘Really,’ said the voice in an I-don’t-believe-a-word-you’re-saying tone. ‘Then since when is he ‘Harry’?

Severus had no answer to this, so he pointedly ignored the question, and continued to study the obviously less distraught teen.

He had gotten as far as the boy’s feet, which still hung a few inches above the compartment floor despite the child being fifteen, without incident. The messy hair, slightly puffy eyes and buttoned up school robes were not new to him.

But the site of the child’s feet disturbed him, stirred memories of his own childhood that he’d rather forget.

Forgetting for a minute that he was not supposed to care, Severus asked, in a quiet voice that carried across the chamber nonetheless, “Harry, what are those on your feet?”

Glancing down, Harry's brow furrowed. There, on his feet, were his trainers, the only shoes he had, courtesy of Dudley. He returned his gaze to his Professor, brow furrowed in confusion. "Shoes, Professor. Those are my shoes."

He wasn't entirely sure how he had ended up here, in this situation. He was sitting in an empty compartment at the very end of the train with Professor Snape, perhaps the one person he hated more than his cousin Dudley and less than Voldemort.

Only he didn't hate the Professor. He wasn't sure that he ever did. Sure, he wished the man would stop picking on him, would stop sneering and snarling and taking points and such just because he looked like his father, (he was not his father!), but he didn’t hate the man.

And, right now, it seemed as if his wish had been granted. The Professor had found him a weeping mess, and hadn't said anything even borderline mean. Maybe someone had slipped him a personality altering potion, he considered. But it didn't seem likely. And neither did the thought that the Potions Master had botched up one of his own. Whatever the reason, Harry was glad.

It made the things he'd planned on doing much easier to carry out.

He just wished he wasn't faced with the most difficult of them so soon.

Because while telling an adult exactly what went on inside Number Four Privet Drive every summer, and even before he started Hogwarts wasn't at the top of his list of things to get off his chest, it was by far the hardest.

And he had chosen Snape to tell it all to.

It was really a split second decision. One he wasn't even sure he had made. Maybe he decided when Snape passed him the handkerchief. Maybe when he ushered him into the compartment, then layered the corridor outside with Repelling and Silencing Charms, so no one would come barging in. Maybe it was when he decided to answer Snape's question. It seemed likely. He knew that when the Professor asked why he had none better, he'd tell him everything, even if he was on he school train.

Because Harry wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it up.

He could feel the glamours on his face and hands wavering. He'd thought that since he let up those under his robes he could concentrate on these better, but that didn't seem to be the case. The glamours were acting like part of a whole, and one part had broken, so the others were constantly teetering back and forth on the verge on collapse.

And when they did, Harry hoped they were far away from prying eyes. And away from the Headmaster.

He didn't blame the old man, exactly. Harry was just sure he didn't want to see him just yet. And he was sure if the Headmaster heard even a whisper that Harry was hurt, he'd be forced to deal with Dumbledore's well being attempts at comfort.

Tearing his gaze away from the compartment floor, he looked up to meet the narrowed gaze of his Professor.

"What do you mean, shoes, Harry?"

The boy's eyes widened.

Damn.

'You owe me three Galleons,' said voice number three, the Granger sound-alike. There was the clink of coin against coin, accompanied by much grumbling, followed by a resentful 'Here', and a self satisfied humming Severus was sure the real Granger would be doing if she ever indulged in such horrendous affairs as gambling.

The boy was still staring. Severus was becoming vaguely worried. He wasn't sure eyes were supposed to be able to be that big.

"Its a simple question," he said, not managing to snap in his usual manner. It worked, nonetheless, and those enormous green orbs shrunk down to size. They still gazed at him curiously though, even as the boy answered.

"They're my cousin Dudley's hand me downs, sir."

Severus' best mask was up. "I see," he said softly. "And where are your school shoes, child? I was not aware that these......shoes... were a part of your wardrobe during your previous tenure at Hogwarts."

Merlin, but this was harder than he thought. "They weren't." Harry bit his lip. Hard. He blinked back the tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks. "My uncle threw them away."

Of course, Harry was ashamed. But not that his relatives treated him horribly, because he knew that was not his fault. He was, rather, ashamed that he had done nothing he should have, he had engaged in foolish, reckless behavior and put himself in danger summer after summer for years by not telling someone, anyone, just how bad it was at 'home'.

But Harry knew that wasn't his fault either. He had told someone something, or at least he'd tried. And he knew that he deserved to be treated like any other child, like Ron and Hermione, or maybe even a bit like Dudley, at least on his birthdays. Harry knew that he deserved love, something he had never, ever had.

The professor's expression was as unreadable as ever, but Harry still felt like a particular interesting (read: disgusting) potion ingredient being thoroughly inspected.

After a while, his face began to burn. Why was he staring so? Was there something on his face?

He raised a trembling hand to his cheek, and barely suppressed a scream of pain. The glamour had dissipated in a shower of faint sparks, and the train hadn't even started yet. Through tear-filled eyes he looked up to see if Snape had noticed, and found himself locked in a gaze with intense, concern obsidian eyes mere inches from his face.

The older man silently extended a hand, concern written across his sharp features. Flinching, Harry tried to turn away, a small, anguished "No" escaping his split lips.

Severus froze, staring at the child's features before him. His stomach churned, and then clenched and then tried to empty itself in burning rotation. The skin that had been pale and smooth a minute before was now bruised all over, almost beyond recognition. One pale green iris flickered onto him for a moment, the other a violent purple swelling crusted with blood, before slamming shut again, accompanied by the faintest whimper from is owner.

But that on brief look was all Severus needed. Instantly, his brain leapt into action.

'Harry! How did this happen? Who did this? Was it Death Eaters? No, I would have heard about it.......So much pain.....Those green eyes......Does Dumbledore know?.....Oh, I‘m going to kill somebody….... Don't die on me child.....I couldn't explain it to the mutt......BREATHE! Breathe you idiot child.......He's not breathing....He's not breathing and he's bleeding and I killed a child and Albus is going to kill me and BREATH CHILD!....and he's bleeding and loosing s much blood and he's bleeding and no oxygen and - '

'Stop it!' a voice cried in through his mental panic. 'Are you a trained healer or not?'

"Right," he said, heart thudding painfully in his throat. "Right."

'First,' he thought, intently studying the boy, while extracting emergency potions from the many pockets of his robes, 'something for pain.' To his immense relief the boy actually was breathing, but they were ragged, shallow breaths, indicating a fractured rib in there somewhere. Magicking the table over from under the window, he set the many different colored vials atop it. "But before that, let's lay you down, Harry."

Said Harry opened his eyes, or tried to, and blinked up at his professor. Everything seemed blurred and unreal, despite his glasses, and Harry was very sure that Potions Master had called him by his given name, again.

But everything hurt, down to the hairs on his arm, and Harry didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about anything. Not Uncle Vernon's large, heavy foot connecting with his head, not his Uncle's belt cutting into his skin, not the way he threw him into a wall every time he had a nightmare, which was practically every night that summer...

But he did, and he couldn't stop the thinking. It carried on, bringing back to him vision upon vision of the past summer, past pain colliding with present, tearing through him, and over him and on and on and in him till he saw nothing and knew nothing and felt everything...till all his inner space was used up and still pain and pain and pain… and then soft hands connected with flesh and everything flowed out.

Severus, having just decided upon the best way to lower the child onto the now transfigured cot, froze. The skin beneath his hands was rough and clammy and burning to the touch, but he could feel none of that. All he could feel was the mental equivalent of a bone breaking as his Occlumency shields were violently torn down, and watch in horror as the visions unfolded.

A snowy white owl, fear radiating from her large amber eyes, seconds before a blurred metallic something flew into view and then it lay limp and bleeding at the bottom of the cage.....A man hitting a small black haired teen about the face with his fist...the same man cornering the child in a small room, brandishing a thick, black belt...."No, please Uncle!"...."Ungrateful whelp! I've had enough!"........the child curled into a ball as the man kicked him....... the heavyset man tossing books and cards and pieces of clothing into the fire, the same thick belt lying at his feet, while the green eyed child watched from his place, bound to a chair, tears streaming down his already bruised face...a woman, tall and pointy, screaming at the thin child laying at her feet...."I'll never feed you again! You don't deserve it!....the child throwing up blood in the hallway..... a thin hand swinging to connect sharply with heavily bruised cheek.....the child seated at the table, watching hungrily while the man and woman dined on a feast, blinking back tears... the man again, the belt, his fists, the crying, the pain, the scent of liquor invading his senses......"Don't hurt him, Tobias! NO!"...... the pain, those green eyes...the whip cutting into his back...the child again, more screaming, more pain....a hand fisted tightly in his robes....more screams more yelling, more pain, more tears, more visions, more and more and they all blurred together to form one continuous scene of pain and begging, four people begging and begging and begging for it all to stop and then suddenly… it did… and the world faded to black.....

~*~*~*~

When Severus awoke, it was to find that he was holding somebody.

The Hogwarts express was moving, the passing trees casting brief dark shadows across the compartment around him in the light of the setting sun, his knees were sleeping in that you-can't-feel-me way that suggested painful re-acquaintance with oxygenated blood very soon, he had a terrible headache, and he was holding someone.

Someone who was breathing on his neck.

Annoyed, Severus pulled back, only to find that his arms were very much trapped under the person who was now oh-so-contentedly snuggling into his chest.

He looked down.

Eurgh.

Potter.

He hastily unwound his arms from around Potter's torso and under Potter's head, and, ignoring the child's sounds of protest, dumped the child rather roughly onto the cot. 'Now I'll have to have my robes cleaned again,' he thought with a sneer. 'I do so hate that laundry elf.'

He gazed at the sleeping child, whose forehead was furrowed in sleep at the loss of his warm, beating pillow. Of seemingly their own volition, Severus' hands came up, one resting atop the child's chest, the other submerging itself its nimble digits into the inky black mass that was the child’s hair. The forehead promptly smoothed, and its owner sleepily tried to bury himself in the embrace.

Something passed through Severus then. 'Maybe he isn't so insufferable when he's asleep.' He studied the child intently, his mind for some reason insisting that he’d missed something big.... 'With the help of a permanent sleeping draft I may survive till his seventh year.'

He blinked. There it was, right there on the boy's face. How could he not have seen it sooner? It was right in front of his eyes, yet he hadn't seen it.....

Nothing.

There was absolutely nothing on the child's pale face, save his glasses, which were horribly askew and terribly distorted, when there certainly should have been something. There were no bruises, no split lips or cuts that had been there before....

His eyebrows conferred with each other over eyes that raked the now considerably less clothed Harry, while his mind worked double time to explain his lapse of consciousness. 'What was that? Could the child have somehow learned Legimency?' he asked himself, absently taking note that the boy had no broken or fractured bones like he should have, no bruises at all on his pale skin that Severus knew without a doubt had been there only moments before. 'But how?'

Only it wasn't just moments, he considered, just as the compartment's overhead lights flickered on. 'It was hours ago.' Hours ago the boy had torn down his carefully constructed walls and he’d witnessed, he’d sat in horror and watched as the child’s memories unfolded before his eyes. A wave of dizziness made him close his eyes. He had been so wrong. He had been so wrong and Harry, Harry had been through so much, it was a wonder he hadn’t turned bitter. And from there, to the Dark.

Because Severus could tell he hadn’t. There was no resentment, no thirst for revenge in all the torrent of pain and emotions that had incapacitated him earlier. ‘And as long as I have life I’ll try to keep it that way.’

Taking out his wand, Severus absently transfigured two buttons from his robes into a set of warm pajamas for Harry, and banished the rags the child was wearing to the farthest point away from him. After quickly checking the time, he slipped the garments onto the sleeping child, and turned to claim a seat to better consider the situation.

Or tried to, before he was afflicted by the Cruciatus Curse' second cousin three times removed, better known as 'stupidly-trying-to-move-on-still-sleeping-limbs'.

And so, Severus lay on the compartment floor in agony, unable to do anything at all but clench and unclench his jaw as thousands of little Cornish pixies wearing spike-soled boots trampled over every inch of leg he had, sending the occasional shock of electricity up his spine, and therefore increasing the sensation.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Severus was finally able to get up from the floor, just as the train began to slow down. It seemed, though, that while most of his brain had been occupied with the Skelo-gro rivaling pain, one part of the grey matter had come up with a plan of action.

Though, really, for even a quarter of Snape's brain, it wasn't much.

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'Tibet?'

Severus' brain huffed. 'Ok fine. I have a fascination with Tibet. Are you happy? Is it a crime? NO! But fine, go ahead, take it off the list. Not like I care, or anything.'

Severus gave a short nod. 'I shall.' And he did just that.

'Now, back to item number one.' He gazed at the sleeping teen. 'This will prove interesting.'

The train had stopped completely , the sounds of happy children (Severus made a face) disembarking drifted back down the corridor to meet his ears.....

'Put Harry to bed...'

Severus huffed. Considering that they were aboard a train, that was easier said than done. And he couldn't exactly take forever either..... He sighed again, and drew his wand.

And stopped.

He could not levitate the boy. Levitating him felt too.....impersonal...what with everything that had passed between them, whether the boy knew of it or not.

He could always carry him. But didn't that feel too personal? He wasn't exactly familiar with the boy....

Too late. The boy was already wrapped quite firmly in his arms, a cloak, having materialized from somewhere, was snuggly wrapped around the boy, tucked under his chin and over his head so that only his sleep-smoothed features showed from the man's arms.

Raising his brow but making no further comment, he made one last visual sweep of the room, flicked his wand to banish the potion vials back to his study, and made for the teachers' exit.

Out in the night air, Severus stealthily made his way up to the castle, his precious cargo pressed close to his body to ward off he chill, (it was then that he discovered the mysterious origin of Harry's makeshift blanket) using every shortcut and covered path he knew. He'd use the side entrance used only by Filch, and follow a hidden passage to the dungeons. No one would see him, of that he was certain, and determined.

Because he was damned if anybody did.

But he was damned anyway.

Harry was awake.

He waited till he heard the outer door to Snape's chambers close before opening his eyes. The room was dark, faintly lit with one torch whose light shown into the room through a door behind him. He couldn't make out much even if the room was fully lit, since he didn't have his glasses. He could just make out the edge of the bed, from the difference in pigment of the greyish looking sheet against the black everything else. He flopped back onto the bed, relishing being able to move freely after so long.

And how had that happened? Had Professor Snape healed him? Harry's brow furrowed. He didn't know the Potions Master was a healer. But he supposed it made sense, seeing as he was always harping about how volatile brewing potions was. Offhandedly, he wondered how many times Snape had to heal himself. The idea made him giggle.

His first thought upon waking up was 'Merlin, I feel good.' He wondered why Snape didn't make him get up and walk the distance back up to the castle once he was healed, even if he didn't know how it had happened.

He was glad he didn't though. Harry was quite content with the way things turned out, even if it didn't all add up. He liked to think it was some wild bit of magic let loose by both of them that neither could control. It was easier to believe that the Potions Master had unleashed wild accidental magic because he had been so completely overwhelmed by what he was feeling as Harry's memories ran amok through his head. But that was only because he had such a hard time believing could feel anything, because that required a heart.

But, Snape had one though, or at least, he had a beating one. He had heard it, felt it beating a warm, steady tattoo into the side of his head as Snape held him, bringing him up to the castle, making him feel all full of something he couldn't even properly describe. All he knew was that, though he'd probably never admit it, something inside him had loved the feeling of waking up with warm arms around him for once in his life. For one brief, shining moment, Harry had felt what it felt like to be cherished, and he'd trade that for a year's worth of anything Snape could throw at him.

He reached up to scratch his head. Only, Snape didn't seem to be preparing to throw anything at him. The snarky Potions Master had tried to comfort him, in his own, awkward kind of way, back on the platform, he'd been nice, almost, and had healed him completely, even though he professed to not like him, had physically carried him up to the castle, and then had put him to bed in his own rooms. It all made Harry vaguely confused.

He'd given, of course, unintentionally, the man who seemed to be giving Voldemort a run for his money in Harry-hating prime material to make his life at Hogwarts as close to hell as possible, and a part of him had expected him to start right away. But he hadn't. Snape had actually been nice.

Harry scoffed. Nice? He was lying in the man's bed, up to his chin in blankets and wearing the softest Pajamas he'd ever owned in his entire life. 'Nice' didn't begin to cover it.

But why the sudden change? Was it because he suddenly felt sorry for him? Harry wriggled further down into the covers. He didn't want to think that.

He didn’t want to think about anything besides the here and now.

Right now he was here in Snape’s rooms, comfortable and warm and safe. Paranoid genius that warded everything that the Professor was, he’d probably warded everything down to the carpet to alert him if Harry so much as set one toe out of bed. Harry sighed, content. Nothing was going to come in and get him before Snape appeared and sent it back to who knows where. For the first time in his living memory, Harry felt really, irrevocably safe.

And on that note, a very sleepy Harry Potter rolled over and bid consciousness goodbye.

~*~

The walk up to the Headmaster’s office was long and winding. Not because Severus had taken a long turn while deep in thought and had subsequently gotten lost. At least, not intentionally.

Because Severus Snape was very deep in thought. So deep in thought was he that he correctly assumed he would not be done thinking all he had to think about by the time he reached the Headmaster’s office. And so he had taken a wrong turn, and another, and another, until he was quite possibly at the furthest point in the castle away from Albus’ office.

He paused, momentarily distracted by the sight before him. The Hogwarts grounds sprawled out below in the moonlight, the forest and Hagrid’s hut casting stark shadows in the silvery luminescence. There were fireflies dancing in the shadows and the squid skimmed the surface of the lake lazily, basking in the cool air and moonlight.

It was a tranquil scene, one very provocative of peace and serenity, but that did nothing of the state of Severus’ mind.

Because serene and tranquil he was not. He was, though his outward appearance would say different, waging a war in his head.

And it was all over The Boy.

Potter.

A voice heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Severus,’ said the Granger voice. ‘We’ve been over this. His name is Harry.’

Severus gave a mental eye roll. ‘Fine, Harry then.’

‘There. Was that so bad?’

Severus sneered angrily, whipping away from the beautiful scenery. ‘That’s the entire problem, isn’t it? It wasn’t. It isn’t! I’m not slowly dying in agony, I’m not bleeding out of my ears! THAT IS THE PROBLEM!!”

‘What?’ a voice said thickly. ‘Tha’ you awolly li’ ‘im?’

‘Ugh! Please swallow before you speak,’ said a disgusted three.

‘I like him, well enough. The problem is that I’ve spent four years trying to prove otherwise, convincing myself that I didn’t and coming up with ways not to.

‘Wai’ ’. There was a pause in which voice number two swallowed quite audibly. ‘Ah. That was good. But here, but didn’t you hate him because of James?

Severus paused at the top of a stairwell. Didn’t he? Didn’t he hate the very memory of one James Potter? Yes, he did. But truthfully, he did not hate the boy. He had no reason to. Sure, the child was impulsive, was reckless to the point of mortal endangerment, but he was not his father, and Severus could find no basis for his previous animosity, and no excuse for his behavior.

‘I don’t.’ The admission felt good. He decided to try it out loud. “I don’t hate Harry Potter.” The wall made no response. Severus scowled and walked away.

‘Of course you don’t,’ said Two sneeringly. ‘It only took you seeing the child bruised and bloody for you to realize it. Well done, O Wielder of Great and Powerful Skills of Deduction, well done.’

‘Why you little – ‘

‘Two! You know that’s not completely true. How could you say such things? You know Severus has always known how much he cared about Harry, even though he didn’t really know…’

There was a pause in which both Severus and Two thought over that declaration. Then,

‘Care to explain that obtuse bit of logic, voice?’

The female voice sighed. ‘It’s simple, really. Don’t you remember all those nights sitting up in the hospital wing, repeatedly asking yourself why you were there sitting beside his bed when you so clearly loathed him? Or last year when you completely worked yourself into an apoplectic fit when you saw what he had to face in the first Triwizard task. You tore into Dumbledore like he’d put your own son in there. Should I mention the whole protect-Harry-from-the-werewolf incident, even though you’re deathly afraid of them, mind you, and acting as his personal security detail while everyone thought Sirius Black was still a crazed mass murderer? Or maybe you forgot your near uncontrollable need to see him every time you heard he’d faced the Dark Lord?’

‘And let’s not forget,’ Two added silkily, ‘that awful tingling sensation you’ve been having in your arms lately, especially when you’re around young Harry. Tell me, how much longer do you think threatening to sever your limbs is going to work until they take it upon themselves to hug the boy, hm?’

With tremendous force of will, Severus forced both Two and the now scolding Three to a quiet, heavily padlocked corner of his brain. Of all afflictions of madness he could have been cursed with, why did it have to be voices? Why?

He had been a complete fool. Fine. He could accept that. He had added to years of pain that Harry could certainly have done without. It was painful, but he could accept that also.

But that Harry would continue under the impression that no one on earth cared beyond his ability to fight Voldemort, that was unacceptable.

~*~*~

The gargoyle guarding the entrance to Professor Dumbledore’s office was always such an ugly thing to Severus. It had a way of increasing his bad moods, and efficiently destroying the few good ones he ever had. He secretly believed that Albus had bewitched it specifically to annoy him.

Today, the gargoyle was looking positively gruesome. Its large nose made of rough stone cast a foreboding shadow in the hallway. Its large hooked nose made of rough stone cast a foreboding shadow in the hallway. Its open mouth seemed to be laughing at him. Severus growled. There was only one reason he would be standing there, taking in the gut-wrenching sight that was gatekeeper for the head of Hogwarts.

He did not know the password.

Severus growled. Hadn’t Albus given it to the staff just this week? It was the name of some odd sort of candy again, he was sure. His lips curled disdainfully. He was not going to stand around calling off names of candy one after another till he got the right one. He would wait for Albus to return first.

To his immense annoyance, several long minutes after he’d settled onto a stone ledge so conveniently nearby, several voices drifted down the corridor, only preceded by the general scrape and clatter that usually followed the exodus of the students from the Great Hall, groggy from a heavy mean and eager to gaining their beds. Severus frowned. Albus’ he recognized, Minerva’s was there as well, but the third, that last male voice was completely foreign to him, and he was not at all in the mood for welcoming guests.

The trio came into view much too soon for Severus’ liking, who had only heard a few words of what seemed like a grand speech being given to the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress. “– Is of the opinion that the education of its youth is of vital importance, not only for the future of the Wizarding world, but for the future of magic itself. Children are perceived as gifts, and those gifts would become null and void if not given proper guidance and nurturing. I am saddened to report, Headmaster, that though under you tenure here, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has made tremendous strides and have continued to release many talented witches and wizards into our community, we at the Ministry feel that many things are left to be desired, and others require no modifications. The school had become unbalanced, undisciplined, and wayward in its teaching – “

It was here that the three made their appearance, and Severus was hard-pressed not to lay into the longwinded newcomer, Ministry employee or no. The speech continued though, even as they drew closer and closer to Severus’ perch, which was incidentally hidden in shadows.

” – that tradition will out, and some things, some decisions made today, while with the best of intentions, will be recognized in future as mistakes, errors of judgment that we will wish had never been made. It is, therefore, the mission of the Ministry to bring Hogwarts back into agreement with its magical customs, to forge ahead into an era of co-operation and openness on both ends, to retain and disperse knowledge that is fitting, and to do away effectively with information detrimental to our productivity.”

Severus chose this moment to emerge from his hiding place, not that he was hiding in the first place, and join the group that was now headed up the stairs to the Head’s office (the password was cherry flavored jelly beans, much to Severus’ disgust). At first, dark as it was, no one made mention of his appearance, though he had the sneaking suspicion that Albus saw him approach.

But that thought was thrown out the window in the bright light of the office former. Severus remained standing near the center of the room while Minerva sank into an armchair nearby, and Albus settled behind his desk. The Ministry official promptly lost his pompous posture and paled visibly. Severus almost smiled.

“W-who are you?” asked the perfectly coiffed blond man. Snape sneered. He resemblance to Malfoy, junior and senior, was overwhelming.

“This,” said Professor Dumbledore, “is my Potions Professor, Severus Snape. Professor, meet – “

“William McDaniel Corbin, the third, Ministry of Magic High Inquisitor of Education,” interrupted the short man, puffing his chest out. He had seemingly regained some of his oomph, and was giving Severus what was probably supposed to be an intimidating look. “You were not at the Opening Feast.”

Severus gave him a look that could have melted stone. “Obviously, or else I might have been gifted with the full version of that speech of yours.” He moved to stand closer to the fireplace, knowing that with his hair hanging loose the shadows the flames cast across his face made him look quite frightening. “The Ministry is interfering with Hogwarts I see.”

“Severus,” Albus chided. McGonagall said nothing, but hid her face quickly by pretending to be busy with a tea tray that had not been there before. “Thank you, Professor McGonagall. Two sugars please.” Albus had not taken his stern blues eyes off of Severus, and though he was studiously not meeting them, he got the message loud and clear. Behave. But his eyes were twinkling.

Corbin, though, seemed to have taken Severus question as a personal insult. He huffed and he puffed, and got red in the face, and Minerva leaned over to add so much sugar to her tea that Severus feared for her health. “Now you see here,” the young man sputtered unevenly. “I don’t know who you think you are, but let me say a few things to you – “

“No,” Severus stepped away from the fire, drawing himself up to his full six-foot-five-inches. “Let me tell you a few things. The Ministry is nothing more than a rather large group of idiots employing other idiots and making the few most unfortunate enough to end up with them carry out their idiot policies. Similarly, the Minister is nothing more than buffoon in a bowler hat, and has done nothing else in his entire time in office than convince those of the magical community with a functioning IQ what a complete and utter ass he is, and reduce the Ministry into a heaving laughingstock.” He towered over the smaller man, who was now quite visibly shaking. He continued, his voice pitched quite low. “And lastly, Albus Dumbledore is the only doddering old fool in this castle. I assure you, if your Ministry ever does anything even remotely harmful to any of the students under the tutelage of any of the Hogwarts professors, I will personally acquaint you with the more legal forms of torture and dismemberment. Do I make myself completely clear?”

“Y-you c-c-can’t d-d-do th-that!” shrieked the clearly terrified visitor. He was quite possibly whiter than a sheet. “I – I’ll report you to the Minister himself!”

This time, Severus actually smiled. It was a smile that more belonged on the face of a wickedly smug cat that was toying with its food, but a smile nonetheless. Corbin was not impressed; he paled further. “You do that.”

William McDaniel Corbin, the third turned wide gray eyes to the Headmaster, who hurried to school his face from one of sheer amusement to stern disapproval. “I don’t k-know what kind of school you’ve got running here, Headmaster, but you will be hearing from the Minister!” And with that, he scurried over to the Floo, threw in nearly the whole jar of powder, and in a shower of sparks, he was gone.

And then it happened. Severus and Dumbledore witnessed a natural phenomenon they were sure would never happen in a million years.

Minerva McGonagall laughed.

And if that wasn’t earth-shattering enough, she laughed so long and hard till tears ran down her face, her usual pin tight bun came loose and her steel-grey hair hung loose around her shoulders. McGonagall laughed her way out of her chair, one hand alternately clutching her head and stomach, while Severus and the Headmaster could do nothing but watch in protracted awe.

Finally, the show came to a close, and Minerva, still erupting into giggles, begged her superior’s forgiveness. “Albus, I am truly sorry.” More giggling. “ I didn’t mean to fall apart like that. It was Severus…. I was just imagining the looks he would have given him in the Great Hall … buffoon in a bowling hat… Albus please, I must deposit this into my pensieve. I am so very sorry, but may I please go. Did you need me for anything else?”

Professor Dumbledore dismissively waved a hand, eyebrows still raised. “No, Minerva, nothing at all. ‘Tis no trouble. Good night. I trust you can make it up to your rooms alone?”

She shot him a grin. “Yes quite fine, Headmaster. Good night.” Her eyes briefly flickered over the other occupant in the room. “Good night Severus.” The office was again swamped in the sound of her laughter, drifting in from the stairwell.

‘Sweet Circe…’ Severus was shocked, to say the least. ’That was odd…’ When, at last, he was able to pull himself together enough to move, he turned questioning eyes to his mentor, and found the ice blue orbs twinkling at him.

“Doddering old fool, am I?”

Severus, who had unconsciously been preparing for a well deserved tongue-lashing, relaxed. It seemed that Dumbledore wasn’t upset by his actions; he seemed rather amused.

“Hhmm,” he replied, noncommittally. He was in no mood to entertain the old man. There were specific things he needed to bring to his attention. But first,

“I assume there was substantial cause for our Deputy Headmistress to dissolve into a fit of giggles worthy of an over-exuberant third year Hufflepuff?”

The twinkling increased tenfold. “Ah, but didn’t you hear? She gave us a reason. She was quite upset with the things our newly instated Inquisitor had brought to our attention, and, in keeping with a bet she made with our dear Sybil, I believe, fought to remain calm and not ‘rant on and on about such mundane things as misfiled paperwork and improperly pronounced spells in the name of righteous indignance’, and I quote. As she said, she had been imagining you doing just what you did on our way up here, and I think the slight meltdown we witnessed had more to do with nearly three months of frustration being released than with any possible humor in the situation.”

“Indeed.” It was enough to make his head spin. Had he been hiding under a rock for the past two months of the summer? He mentally shook himself. There were more important things to attend to.

“Incidentally, Albus, there is an actual purpose to this visit.”

The older wizard smiled sadly. “So this is not a personal call. My, my, Severus, how you must truly loathe this old man. You refuse to spend anytime with him, and you chase away those who would. I do believe I’m beginning to think that you want me to leave this world completely bereft of friends.”

This evoked no response from the dark haired man. Instead he replied, “It concerns an aspect of my employment.”

The change was immediate, and startling to any who had not been privy to this demonstration before. With several swift complicated sweeps of his wand Albus Dumbledore secured the office from both inside and outside. When his eyes returned to rest on Snape, the trademark twinkle was gone, and he was faced with the man everyone knew as the greatest wizard of the age.

“Has something happened with Voldemort?” was the softly spoken question.

“No,” was answered just as softly, as seriously. “The other one.”

Large white eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Harry?”

One sharp nod. “Indeed.”

Blue eyes met black in an action that had been practiced countless times before, up until fourteen years ago, one reaching out, expecting the other to yield and to divulge the secrets that needed sharing. Severus had no intention of yielding tonight. Albus would view these memories the old fashioned way, and then, he had some explaining to do.

“Severus, what is the matter?” Worry was most evident in this version of Albus, the grandfather many of the students saw daily. Severus was not moved. Silently, he moved over to the cabinet holding many of Albus’ personal effects, and withdrew the pensieve. Carefully setting it down in front of the older wizard, he focused on the memories that Harry had forced upon him, pushing down the feelings he had forced him to accept, and drew them out one by one, all the ones he had seen personally and smaller, older ones that had filtered in under the haze of pain that had blinded them both.

When he was finally done, he felt drained, and refused to meet Albus’ eyes. “You will watch.”

Without question, the wizened wizard grasped his wand firmly in his had and touching the tip to the silvery surface of the pensieve, disappeared.

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!’

Draco Malfoy prided himself on several things. Firstly, on the status and prestige granted to him because of the Malfoy name. Another was the ability for that name to get him any and everything that he wanted. The youngest Malfoy also prided himself on be being always being intimidating and feared, but never doing the actual fearing.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

He shakily made his way through the common room, to stand before the door. His fellow students were gazing entreatingly at his back, even those older than him, begging him not to mess up the task set to him mere hours into the first day back. He reconsidered. The older years looked far worse than the younger students, who only had a fleeting understanding of what Voldemort’s return to the land of the living meant.

He was not at all pleased with the amount of pressure he was under. If he messed this up….he shuddered. He didn’t want to think about what would happen, to him, or others. They’d never make it back to Hogwarts. That much he knew.

Pushing open the door, he silently, if a bit hesitantly, began his trek up to the headmaster’s office. Draco had never liked the old man, but he preferred him to the maniacal tyrant their parents served. Voldemort’s fiery red eyes floated before his vision. He shuddered. No, they could never serve him, or it, as he liked to think to himself.

The walk to the Head’s office was shorter than he expected, even while he trudged along at a snail’s pace. Much too soon for his liking he was standing before the ugly stone gargoyle.

He had always had a bit of luck when it came to guessing the password to the Headmaster’s office. Before now, he had always chalked it up to ‘pureblood’ superiority, or, on occasion, when he was feeling particularly generous, that the old professor was simply getting careless, to use the names of Muggle candy as his password.

But tonight, Draco was just grateful he knew the names of as many Muggle candies as he did.

He was also grateful that he was alive to think about it. The past summer had not gone as planned.

Upon arriving on Platform 9 ¾ last June, Draco had been unceremoniously wrenched from his friends, or, lackeys, rather, if he was being truthful, and had been Side-Apparated with his father to right outside the Malfoy Manor gates.

From there he had been literally hauled inside, too shocked to even consider the reasons for his father’s incredibly odd behavior over the past three minutes. Lucius did not spare a word for his son, nor had he taken a moment to look at him as he dragged him along behind him. If he had, particularly as he dragged him upstairs to the sleeping quarters, he surely would have snapped about proper pureblood decorum and deportment, neither of which Draco, mouth hanging agape and complexion an odd mix of pale and flushed, was demonstrating to his standards.

The boy had balked, when he finally realized his destination. He hadn’t been allowed into these rooms since before he started Hogwarts. Long before he started Hogwarts. His father hadn’t paid him any mind though, and determinedly marched his towards the clearly occupied bed.

At that moment, he had thanked all the gods he could think of for making Pansy Parkinson obsessed with both him and calories. She had commandeered all the snacks he had bought on the train, and had declared, in a lofty voice reminiscent of the Granger, that they contained far too many calories to be considered a healthy snack after such a filling lunch. She had made them all go hungry, and no amount of yelling in the world had made her relent.

As such, when his eyes found the disgusting creature reclining on his parent’s bed, there was nothing for his churning stomach to expel, as it so dearly wanted to. Instead, Draco had averted his eyes, following his father’s example and sinking to one knee, and had taken in the other occupants of the room. He had not been comforted by what he saw.

A short, balding man stood sniveling in the far corner, looking as repulsed as Draco felt, though he had the freedom to express it. His robes were torn and tattered, and he was filthy. Draco was sure he stank, but was much more inclined to think that the more sulfurous fumes came from the still silent figure on the bed.

Reclining on the chaise lounge was his mother, or a woman who Draco fervently hoped was not his mother. He was seeing far too much of this woman to harbor any type of maternal feelings for her. Draped over her torso was a partially transparent sheet, covering just enough of her to be considered moderately decent, or decent enough for privately entertaining her husband. Draco’s stomach turned into a leaden ball. The way she was gazing adoringly at the ….thing on the bed suggested just that.

“Lucius.” The thing hissed! It couldn’t be human. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“My lord.” His eyes had widened. This couldn’t be…. This had to be wrong….. Surely this wasn’t….

“I am most pleased with your son, Lucius. His magic is strong. There is a fire in him. We must teach him, Lucius, all of our ways. He will be great; he shall do great things for me.” Draco could practically feel his father burning with pride. The soft, almost tender way he held him as they were dismissed showed just how much he was longing to praise, but Draco wasn’t entirely sure they were to be directed at him or at his father’s lord.

“Oh, Lucius?” He could only watch dully as his father spun on the spot into a low face-meets-floor position of submission. “I hope you don’t mind, I took your wife to me whilst you were away today. Surely you approve?”

Cold and heat washed over the nearly fifteen year old boy, his cultured stomach turning painfully at the images the previous statement had brought up to his mind’s eye. He stumbled blindly forward as his father practically vibrated with pleasure. “Of course Master.” His voice was soft, sounding slightly breathless. “All I have is at your disposal.”

A warm arm softly wrapped itself around his shoulders, and Draco was led to his room, amidst soft murmurings of praise and thanksgiving, rapturous endearments and whispers of the future.

Draco blinked, and realized he was still standing in front of the motionless gargoyle. He swallowed, wishing he could bury the memories of his past summer deep in the recesses of his mind, and never ever EVER have to think about them again.

“Mars Bars.” Of course he would have to. The Headmaster would want to know for sure he was sincere. Draco wasn’t naïve enough to think different. While Dumbledore portrayed the doting grandfather figure to the students he deemed worthy, Draco was quite sure the powerful mage side of him would and could be quite visible and, he shuddered again, scary.

“Gumdrops.” Still, the gargoyle made no movement. Draco growled, and willed himself to concentrate. It never took him more than three tries to get the password. It would be disgrace if he needed more now. Though he was sure others would deem it an understandable failure, this wasn’t about anyone else. This was about his personal record. He’d never forgive himself if he got this next one wrong.

“Snickers.”

The gargoyle smiled and moved aside. Draco grinned in spite of himself. The third time was always the charm.

~*~

Harry hovered nervously right outside the potions lab sequestered between the door to the bedroom and what he assumed was the man’s private study. From where he stood, he could see his Potions Professor, selecting jars of ingredients seemingly at random, peering intently at their contents before replacing them. To Harry, it seemed like nervous behavior. But the man certainly could not be nervous. He was foolish to think so.

But Harry was. He was absolutely dreading going into the room. He knew what Snape would want to talk to him about, and he was none to enthusiastic to begin that conversation. No matter that he had already decided to tell the man exactly how his relatives treated him, or that he, for that matter, had effectively shown the man already. No, Harry’s full stomach (wow, wasn’t that a feeling) was tied into knots because he knew, sooner or later, he would have to face the headmaster, and then, he’d have to go back

He swallowed harshly. Harry didn’t think he could handle that.

“I trust you remember the events of yesterday’s train ride?” The silky voice wafted over to him in the quite dungeons, startling him out of his thoughts. How had he known he was there? He nervously fiddled with the edge of his shirt. The pajamas Snape had transfigured with him were all he had, and so, after he had had a quick shower he’d put them back on, His brow furrowed in confusion. At least he thought he’d put them back on. In any event, he hadn’t a clue where the blue shirt in his hands came from, or the jeans he was now wearing. On his feet were, thankfully, not shoes, or he would have begun to doubt his sanity, but thick socks, that kept his feet from getting cold on the freezing dungeon floor.

“Relax, child. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Harry felt rather than saw the man looking at him, as he was currently studying the smooth stone between his feet. For a minute, he wondered if Snape would reconsider and berate him for stealing, since the shirt and jeans were obviously not his, and the man knew he didn’t have anything. All he got, however, was “That’s an interesting choice of shirt, Harry. Do you like cats?”

Bewildered green eyes swiftly looked up at meet black, before falling again to study the shirt covering his torso. Sure enough, there was a cat, stretched out lazily, a human hand scratching its back as it purred in pleasure. Across the bottom of the scene, in choppy white letters read ‘Yes, my hooman, yes. When I rule the world, you shall be spared.’ The last word shuddered in time tot the cat’s tail, and Harry could see why the image amused Snape.

However,

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I did magic. I mean, I didn’t mean to, to get this shirt I mean, but I still did, and I’m not supposed to, am I? And I did magic on you yesterday too, and I really didn’t mean to, honest everything just happened and it was too much and then I just let go ad I didn’t mean for it to happen honest, I – “

Harry’s apologetic chatter was cut short by Severus clamping a hand over his mouth. Truth be old he was a bit alarmed. Weren’t children supposed to outgrow the incessant need to chatter on endlessly at around seven years old? Resisting the urge to massage his temples he led the boy into his study, still covering his mouth. Gently, he deposited the child into a squashy armchair, and settled himself on the couch across from him.

Severus sighed. The child was gazing at him curiously, but at least he was quiet. He was not looking forward to this conversation, but it had to be done. If he wanted to get anywhere with the boy facing him, it had to be done.

“First of all,” he said, making sure he had the boy’s attention, “you are not in trouble. Nor will you ever be for using magic for necessity. It’s quite alright for you to transfigure one set of clothes into another if you have none available, and furthermore, I am largely impressed that you accomplished that. Not many fifth years could manage a transfiguration of that complexity, let alone one including a moving image. Well done.”

For a minute he thought the child was going to cry. Little did he know, Harry was thinking the same thing.

For years, he’d waited for someone to say those words, to even hint that they were proud of something he’d done. He’d spent nearly his entire life fearing a punishment after every bit of accidental magic he ever did. Now, here, he’d done accidental magic and gotten praise for it. It made his chest tight, thinking about it. Of course Remus had praised him when he’d finally mastered the Patronus Charm, but he’d been working on that for months, and even though Professor Dumbledore awarded him points after all of his and his friends’ adventures those first three years, this was somehow completely different.

“Harry?” Snape’s voice called. A part of him wanted to smile. He’d been so disappointed that first year, when Snape had turned out to hate his guts. He’d been trying, though he didn’t realize it until late into his second year, that he’d always wanted the man’s approval. His vision blurred. It seemed like he finally had it. After nearly being killed twice, and being made a fool by the wizarding newspaper and, for years, the man himself, he finally had it.

All of a sudden he was angry. Why did he care all of a sudden? His sleepy-hazed thoughts from the night before found their way back to him. Was he feeling sorry for him? Did Snape think that if he suddenly started to be nice then Harry would forget everything he’d put him through?

“Why are you being so nice?” He knew he sounded rude, especially after all that Snape had done for him, but he really didn’t care.

Severus almost smiled. Of course the boy was still the defiant, stubborn teen he had always been. Of course, now, he was also a lot more, but this angry Harry was familiar, with this boy, he didn’t feel so much like he was out of his depth. Not that he would tell the child, of course.

“It will undoubtedly come as a shock to you, Harry, but cared for quite some time. However it is not in my nature to show many feelings, and too, it took me a while to realize. Poppy has always told me, along with Professor Dumbledore, that I was in denial, hiding behind my dislike for your father as an excuse to mistreat you. For that, I must say, I am sorry.”

“I know what you are thinking. I do not pity you. At least, that is to say that I truly regret that you had to live with people that treated you as if you were less than a person. While it may seem like a stretch for you, I do know what that feels like.” His eyes dropped. He didn’t know why he had told the boy that. Hell, he didn’t even know he had been thinking about it. Perhaps he wanted the child to know he actually did understand what it felt like. Maybe he was trying to establish some common ground?

“I know.” Surprised black eyes looked up to meet emerald. Harry blushed. He hadn’t meant to say that, really. But he did know that what Snape was saying was true. Those eyes, though, were starting to look suspicious. “It’s just that yesterday, I mean, the memories, they weren’t all mine.”

“I see.” Suddenly they were both studying their hands. Neither knew quite what to think. Snape was still vaguely shocked. He had remembered a night or two at he mercy of his father, but he had thought it was a throwback from watching the boy’s own traumatic experiences. Perhaps there was already enough common ground to work with. Harry, on the other hand, was bracing himself for the other questions. Because he wasn’t stupid. He knew there would be questions. He wasn’t angry anymore. He couldn’t hold on to it for more than a few seconds. Even before Snape had apologized. Somehow, it seemed like he and the snarly man were starting over, almost. He wasn’t even residually angry. He liked how it felt, sitting here with Snape, and the fire blazing merrily beside them. Now that he was awake enough to think about it, he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable with him. At least, not like he might have expected to be. He was still hoping the man wouldn’t turn him over to Dumbledore, after all.

Severus cleared his throat, and prepared to go on. The silence was becoming awkward. “As I already know the extent of your relatives’ treatment of you, I will not ask you about them. However, I must ask you why you have not endeavored to bring this to the attention of any of your professors.”

“I did,” the boy said hotly. “I told professor Dumbledore.” He faltered, picking at a hangnail. “I-I mean, I didn’t exactly tell him everything, really. I just said they didn’t really treat me nice.” He swallowed, turning his bright eyes to his potions professor. “I wanted to tell him, I did, I swear. It – The words just wouldn’t come.”

Snape nodded.”I understand.” His eyes darkened. “It seems his list of transgressions grow longer.” It was barely audible, but Harry heard it anyway.

“Professor Dumbledore sir?”

For a brief instant, Severus considered ignoring the question, but thought better of it. This child had an uncanny ability to find answers to questions when refused answers. “Yes. I visited him last night to report your …. condition, and he seemed most disinterested.”

Harry paled dramatically. “He’s going to send me back?”

“No.” He reached forward to grasp the child’s limp hand. “He was adamant that you be removed from their care, fortunately. However, I expressed doubt in his ability to choose your next guardian, and so, for the foreseeable future, you will be staying with me.”

“You’re my new guardian?” The boy’s eyes were wide, almost alarmingly so. Gently, Severus brushed the surface of the boy’s mind. Surprisingly, he boy let him in. He could actually feel the blocks drop around him. He was surprised. Never had he thought the boy would be a natural Occlumens. But then again, Harry probably developed his skills in the same way he did. Closing off all his emotions in the face of his abusers.

But this was different. He wasn’t looking for memories, but feelings. The boy didn’t seem upset about his new status, but it would be nice to be sure. A wave of warm washed over him, and Severus could distinctly separate surprise from a mixture of pleasant emotions that gave him a comforted feeling in his stomach. An image of the venerable elderly Headmaster swam into view, accompanied by a wash of fear. There was pain, and longing accompanying a picture of Remus, along with Sirius, but Severus could feel the boy felt apprehension about how the man would react to him being Snape’s ward.

After another few minutes, Severus was able to pull away from Harry’s mind. The exchange had been enlightening, to say the least. He believed they had communicated better than they ever could have with just spoken words, because one could not lie through Legimency. He could have simply told the boy why he hated his godfather and his best friend, why he favored the Slytherins in and out of classes, why even after he decided to protect him from everything and himself he continued to berate him, though it did not negate his apology. He could have simply told the boy everything, and ask the boy to do the same, but he didn’t. Though it wasn’t planned, this way the child knew he was sincere, he could feel the truth, even if he didn’t know that lying was impossible while linked to another’s mind..

Those green eyes were staring at him. “Thank you.” The word met his ears, and whispered through his mind. Severus started. He’d closed down the link, the boy couldn’t still be using Legimency! He felt a hand squeeze his, and then he understood. His surprise, confusion and understanding sizzled along their joined hands, and then suddenly Harry let go, and retreated far into the chair.

“Sorry.”

The older man’s eyebrows furrowed. “What for?”

“I used, magic, and it wasn’t necessary.” He glanced over at him hesitantly. “I’m really sorry.”

“Harry, its alright. Really.” He waited until the child met his eyes. “I can’t punish you for accidental magic. It is very rare to find a natural Legimens, and I can’t possibly expect you to be able to control it so soon after many of your magical abilities have been unbridled.”

Because he could now see that that was what had happened. Harry’s aura was now so brilliantly vibrant it was almost overwhelming. He had noticed it when he was studying the boy earlier: the child’s aura was considerably stronger than they were when he left the school last June, or even when he boarded the train the previous evening. Somehow, that wild bit of magic that had healed the boy had destroyed all his magical blocks, and the boy’s power was nearly unlimited. It was enough to give him a headache.

Dragging his thoughts back to the present, Severus continued, “We’ll help you control them, surely. But it will take some time.”

Harry nodded. After thinking about all that had happened since he boarded the train yesterday, he was pretty sure this year would be more interesting than all the other ones bound together. Shaking his head, he asked, “What happens now, sir?”

Severus studied the boy before him for a moment before answering. ‘Now, child,’ he thought to himself, ‘we make sure Albus cannot get his manipulating old hands on you, ever again.’ To the boy he said, “Now, we make a family call. I do believe its been far too long since I’ve last seen my brother.”

Standing, he beckoned Harry to follow him, and after transfiguring a bowl into a pair of sneakers that the teen enthusiastically deemed “Brilliant!” they entered the Floo, and were off.

Harry was absolutely glowing. He was sure only his fifteen year old dignity kept him from bouncing along beside the Potions Master as they hurried through the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic building. Well, that, and the glare Snape would give him if he tried.

Snape. Harry couldn’t hide a grin. The greasy git was going to be his guardian. Of course, Ron would be absolutely revolted when he found out, but at that moment, Harry found he didn’t care. He was never EVER going back to the Dursely’s. The thought made him want to sing. But, Snape would glare at him for that, too.

He was smiling so hard it was making his cheeks hurt. But he couldn’t stop. For the first time in ….forever he felt incredible. He was wearing clothes that fit him, and that hadn’t been anyone else’s before now, he was pleasantly full from a delicious breakfast that for the first time in living memory he could finish. And not only had he finished, he had eaten seconds. The thought was so unbelievable that for a minute, he imagined what Hermione’s expression would be when he told her. He snorted and ducked his head, and consequently, bumped right into his professor.

Severus didn’t have the heart to be upset. And, even if he did, he didn’t think he could manage it any how. The boy was literally radiating happiness. He watched as a disgruntled worker stomped out of his office, only to have a goofy grin plastered on his face as soon as he was fully into the hallway. Severus wasn’t too worried though. He wasn’t capable of grinning, no matter how happy the boy next to him was making everyone. He could only imagine his face was blank, as that was the closest expression to pleasant he possessed. ‘And besides,’ he thought to himself, ‘this may very well work to my favor.’

He gently guided his charge over to the elevators through the golden gates. Without hesitation he selected the lift with the fewest amount of people, and quickly pressed the button for Level 1: Minister of Magic Office.

Truthfully, he had been a bit worried about bringing the boy along with him in case he was recognized, but yet again, the boy had surprised him. His already long hair had been lightened to a deep brown, and his eyes darkened to a green so deep it was almost black. Except for his nose, the boy could have been his son. He was most distressed at the odd thumping that thought caused in his chest.

He also suspected the child’s mood kept would-be worshippers away. For that, he was grateful. He was not sure he could be civil to both the boy and his adoring public at the same time, and unfortunately for most, the boy took precedence. He glanced down at him, only to resist a smile. The child was still grinning like a loon, even after all this time. In all honesty, it had only been a few minutes, but really, the child could calm down any day now.

The cat on his T-shirt was still enjoying his back rub, and Severus shook his head, bemused. Harry was incredible, even without knowing the prophecy that dictated his existence. For the first time, Severus could see that Harry actually had a chance. More than a chance, really. Voldemort was cruel and vindictive, and yes, he was powerful. But Severus knew beyond a doubt that even now Harry could defeat him, hands down, even on one of Tom’s good days. The thought was distinctly frightening.

He quickly disembarked when the elevator pulled to their stop, and used his lengthy legs to quickly reach the end of the corridor. An indignant “Hey” made him turn at the door though, and he paused to watch Harry stretch his admittedly shorter legs to match his stride, panting up the aisle.

“Running would have been easier, you know,” he offered the boy good naturedly as he drew near.

He watched, amused, as Harry sniffed, and stuck his rounded nose into the air. “Running would have been undignified.”

Severus snorted, and ushered the boy ahead of him.

There was a young, blonde witch sitting at the receptionist’s desk, apparently absorbed in her work, but not enough so that she could not ask them for their names and if they had an appointment. Severus paid her no mind, and marched Harry across the richly decorated waiting room to the door of the inner office. The sputtering girl had just enough time to lay the sheets of parchments she was studying on the table before Severus threw the door open, and greeted its occupant with a smirk.

“Minister, sir, I’m so sorry,” the blonde girl was saying. “He just barged right in, and didn’t even give me his name. I’m sorry. I could call security – “

“No, no, Miss Ethridge, its quite alright. Mister Snape here has a habit of making an entrance.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Go on, out with you. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Still looking wary, Ms. Ethridge retreated to her desk, closing the office door behind her. Harry wandered over to a bookshelf, gazing at the barely legible titles, and wishing he could pick one to read. Or attempt to, he thought, squinting at the curly script.

His ecstasy had subsided a bit. Oh, he was still happy, make no mistake, but he was also a bit confused now. Snape had said he needed to make a family call. So why were they in the Minister’s office? Harry wasn’t sure how he felt being so close to the man who had so obviously favored him, until the night after the tournament when Harry had reported Voldemort’s return. He had been adamant that Harry had been lying. He wasn’t sure how to voice these concerns to Snape, but it didn’t matter. The Minister was speaking.

“Well, Severus, I haven’t seen you in some time. How have you been? What brings you so far out of your musty dungeons?”

Severus did his best not to sneer. It never did any good with this man. “I won’t bring up the fact that you haven’t seen me since our mother’s funeral because you were too busy pursuing a political career, as that would only lead to an argument, surely. However, the simple fact is this: I require a favor.”

The Minister’s eyes twinkled with an intensity to rival the Headmaster’s. “Of course, of course, brother. You can always come to me if you need anything.” His large brown eyes flickered over to Harry. “And our young guest? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

Severus bowed. “How foolish of me. Harry,” he extended a hand to the boy, who immediately stepped over to stand beside him. “This is my brother, Cornelius Fudge. Neil, this is Harry Potter.”

“Harry Potter?” The sitting man asked in confusion. It was a minute before Harry understood why. Hastily, he allowed his features to morph back into their original appearance, and barely suppressed grin when the portly man only smiled indulgently. “Chocolate Frog, Harry?” he asked, pulling a bright blue basket full of the sweets from his desk drawer. “I’ve never been able to resist one myself.” He snatched one up for himself and unwrapped the magically enhanced chocolate. Letting the wrapping fall to his desk, he caught the hopping frog and deftly bit off its head. Of course, to Harry this was perfectly normal behavior, and so with a further grin for his professor, who only rolled his eyes, he selected one for himself, and settled in a chair in the corner of the office. Not that everything was forgiven, of course.

“Now,” said the Minister of Magic. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

Severus was never one to beat around the bush. “I need to obtain guardianship of Harry as quickly as your influence will allow. It has to be done quickly and with the least amount of communication necessary. I have reason to believe that Harry is in more danger at his current place of residence than anywhere in our world.”

Brown eyes pierced obsidian. “I don’t understand.” For a moment the resemblance Harry had been trying to find was blatantly obvious. “Couldn’t Dumbledore handle this for you?”

Snape’s face was determinedly blank. “He is precisely the reason for the necessity of haste and discretion.”

Cornelius was once again confused. “I thought Albus doted on Harry?”

With a rustle of robes, Severus leaned over the desk. “Apparently, not anymore.”

The two men stared deep into each others eyes, and Harry, recognizing Legimency, reached for the chocolate basket. This could be a while.

~*~

“Come in, Mr. Malfoy.”

The blonde boy gulped, and tentatively pushed open the heavy wooden door. The circular office was just as it had been the last time he had seen it. The ancient looking desk still sat in the same place, Fawkes’ perch was still where he had last seen it, all the cabinets were still filled with all the same things, but the familiarity was NOT comforting Draco.

Because this wasn’t the same Draco walking, no, trudging through the headmaster’s door. The old Draco would have walked in as if the office was his, sat in whichever seat he pleased and damned be the one to tell him different.

But this Draco, this Draco inched into the office and stood pressed up against the closed door, trying not to draw attention to himself. Which was utterly pointless, when you considered he had the complete and undivided attention of the most powerful, observant, manipulative being on this side of time. Of course, our little blonde refugee didn’t know that, and so, trembling slightly, he held the long, curling sheet of parchment over to the man who represented safety, forgiveness, and second chances.

He hoped.

The professor was intently staring at the long list of names. Draco studied his face, or the thin sliver of it he could see. He was not generally a gifted reader of facial expressions, but he could see, quite clearly, that the professor was a tad perplexed.

He didn’t think that was a good thing.

“It’s a list of names, Headmaster. Of the entire house, really. We’ve, none of us, I mean, we don’t want, You-Know-Who – “

“Headmaster!” Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. A portrait of an elderly woman with a moustache panted heavily in her frame. “The Great Hall – “ she wheezed, “flying food,” more panting,” house elves screaming – “ She wheezed and coughed with an intensity that made Draco fear for her health. “The Ravenclaw quidditch team, Headmaster, they broke into the kitchens and stole a turkey the elves were preparing for dinner. The Great Hall sir,” she moaned. Draco thought she shuddered. “It’s become an all out battlefield.”

Professor Dumbledore rewarded her with a blinding smile. “I assure you, Madame Herefew, if the house elves are involved, the students will be set straight fairly soon. One of them will have the sense to notify Professor McGonagall, I’m sure. I don’t like abandoning my students when they require my help,” he said, gesturing towards Draco.

Madame Herefew squeaked, eyes widening fearfully. “But Headmaster, you don’t understand. When I fled, Peeves and the Ravenclaw captain had Deputy Headmistress McGonagall strung up by her ankles, upside down over a giant bowl of pumpkin juice. I assure you, the only one who can handle this is you, Albus.”

With a heavy sigh, the Headmaster relented. “Very well.” He turned bright blue eyes to Draco and said, “If you would take a seat, Mister Malfoy, I will return shortly. I trust you and your housemates can wait until then?”

He found himself nodding before the headmaster had even finished speaking. He scampered over to a squashy armchair and sank into its depths, trying his hardest to portray to the old man that wild hippogriffs couldn’t drag him away.

He must have succeeded, too, since the sounds of soft chuckling drifted into the office as the Headmaster turned to leave.

~*~

“Well, that certainly explains a few things.”

Harry started, frightened out of the oh-so-animated conversation he was having with a portrait on the far wall of the Minister’s office. The brothers (Harry still wanted to know how that happened) sat facing each other in front of the grand desk. Snape waved his wand and then suddenly there were bottles floating across the room.

“Care for a drink, Harry?” called Neil, pouring a strong smelling clear liquid into a glass tumbler.

“He’ll have no such thing,” snapped Snape. He deftly plucked an amber bottle from the bunch and cast a cooling charm to it. The now iced butterbeer floated over to him, and Harry accepted, tuning out their now continuing conversation for his with the portrait.

“You said magic comes from the earth?” he asked the wizened old man.

“I did.” He turned away to gaze at the odd sunset behind the large boulder he was perched on. It certainly didn’t look like any portrait Harry had ever seen. While Harry was used to the slightly crinkled canvas the portraits were painted on all through Hogwarts castle, this was painted on something that looked rather like animal skin. He vaguely remembered learning that animal skins were used for paintings and maps in the early centuries, but Harry doubted that this one was prepared right. For one thing, little sprigs of hair stuck up around the edges, soft looking brown hairs that reminded Harry of a rabbit he had once seen in elementary school. For another, the skin looked fresh, like, alive. Harry tried not to think about that, but it was disconcerting.

He shifted restlessly. Didn’t this portrait know you were supposed to talk to carry on the conversation? Honestly! Why’d he say hello if he wasn’t going to carry on his half of the exchange?

“So, uh, how do wizards get it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice respectful.

It was still another full minute till the portrait deemed it worthy to look at him again. “Wizards, unlike muggles, have a deeper connection to the earth that we walk upon. And while we have easier access to magic than other humans, we are still vastly less connected than other magical beings, such as goblins and elves.”

The teenager cocked his head to the side. “So, on, like, the magical totem pole, witches and wizards are actually near the bottom?”

Crinkly portrait eyes looked at him. “Not near the bottom, child, are the bottom.”

“But, what about giants?” Harry asked. “They don’t use magic, do they?”

He was gifted with a portrait smile. “Exactly why one mustn’t think of the distribution of magic in terms of highest to lowest, or a totem pole, as you said.” With a serene smile, the wizened man lapsed into silence once more. Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation and let out a huff.

“Er, sir?”

“Still here?” The man asked, eyebrows raised. “My, you’re the first to speak to me this long in nearly two centuries. Of course, he was a bit older and was asking pointed questions about power and such, but he had it too.” He nodded a bit to himself. “Yes. See, the distribution of magic can be better understood if you think of it as a web. The different species’ access different types of earth magic, but they also sometimes overlap. Do you understand child?”

Harry nodded, if somewhat distractedly. “Like centaurs. They’re half human, and half-horse, but they have a deeper grasp of Divination,” he answered, thinking of the time he met a centaur during his first year. While he understood, he was also intrigued by what the portrait had alluded to earlier. Had he spoken to Voldemort? He seemed like the kind of person who’d be interested in power, even at an early age. But no, the portrait had said nearly two centuries ago. The only person he knew of who was that old was Dumbledore…

The portrait smiled wider. “Simply put, yes. You have the right idea. In the same thread, some wizards have a deeper connection to the earth than others, like that young man I was telling you about, and yourself.” He nodded to the sunset. “Yes, Dumbledore, he said his name was, when I asked, of course. And I had to ask twice, mind you. Terribly rude of him, don’t you think? But he had it, a deeper connection than I’ve seen in all my time.” His eyes locked on Harry again. “That is, at least, before I met you, son. Tell me, what is your name?”

Harry blinked, stunned. The portrait couldn’t be saying what he thought it was… ”I’m Harry. Harry Potter.” He looked down at his untouched butter beer, and back up again. “But I think you’ve made a mistake.”

The portrait chuckled. “You do, do you? Tell me, have you had anything unexplainable happen around you lately? Made anything happen without realizing it?” it asked, raising an eyebrow. His smile widened with the understanding flitting across Harry’s face. “Understand it now?”

Harry nodded, dazed. “Merlin,” he breathed.

The portrait chuckled again. “Why yes.” He inclined his head. ”Pleased to meet you.”

Harry stared at the laughing portrait for a minute, before stumbling blindly to his professor. His stunned expression elicited a chuckle from Cornelius, who was initialing a stack of parchments and systematically passing them to Snape. “I take it the portrait’s told you who he is then?”

Harry’s eyes widened further. “That’s really him?”

Neil snorted. “Yes it is, though no one knows where the portrait of him came from, it just showed up one day, during the second minister’s second term. Of course, no one can speak to him long enough to find out if he knows anything about his origin, so they all gave up.” He passed the last sheet to Snape and then pulled out another, smaller stack. While Severus completed his stack, he turned his eyes to Harry.

“You know, truthfully, I’m not sure how I feel about you coming into the family, dysfunctional though it is.” His smiling eyes flitted over to Severus and back. “The whole wizarding world goes absolutely frothing mad when it comes to you. Not to mention that stunt you pulled this past June.”

“It wasn’t a stunt,” Harry replied. His voice was carefully even, but tight. He was acutely aware of what Fudge was doing for him, and knew he could not jeopardize it because the man refused to see reason. But his heart was pounding in his ears and he could feel his face becoming flushed. He just hoped Snape finished his signing quickly, before he said something to mess this all up.

Cornelius nodded. “You still stand by it then? Unfortunate, that.” He pulled another chocolate frog from the basket, and considered the wrapper. “You realize that in the public eye I am going to have to discredit you, don’t you? Officially, I have nothing to go by.”

Harry blinked, and then all of a sudden he was relaxed. He could clearly see a way out of this. But the question was, had the Minister offered it, or was it just circumstance?

“What would it take for me to offer you what I know, officially?”

Surprised brown eyes looked up at him from over a half-eaten sweet. “Officially?” the man blinked. “Well, you’d first have to make an appointment to see me, really, and even then, I can’t take a statement from a minor without a guardian’s consent. And as with a legal matters pertaining to minors, you’d have to submit to utilizing a pensieve, to ensure you haven’t been adversely influenced.” His expression turned curious. “Why?”

Harry stared at the man. Definite Hufflepuff. He looked over to his professor, who was staring at him intently, just in time to see the stack of parchment glow blue briefly and then disappear. His eyes were searching for something, and then narrowed when Harry smirked. Really, he thought the man would appreciate his plan. He wasn’t sure if it was Slytherin or not, but it seemed pretty good to him.

Of course he wasn’t sure Snape would go along with him, but he also couldn’t think of a reason he wouldn’t. But how would he explain it to the man without letting Fudge know. He blinked. Snape had said he was a natural Legimens, whatever that was. He wasn’t mad when Harry spoke to his mind, so maybe he wouldn’t be now?

Hesitantly, Harry reached across the small space between their chairs and touched Snape’s wrist. Instantly, he could feel the connection between the two of them. It wove through the walls and shields the double agent had erected around his mind. It made Harry smile, to know that he could reach the man in a way no one else could. Temporarily putting aside his happy thoughts, he quickly fed his plan through the link.

When he withdrew, it was to find two pairs of eyes studying him thoughtfully. Harry blushed, and could not suppress a small smile. He knew magic wasn’t evil. He did, really. It was just so nice to be able to do it when he wanted to, without sending someone into a howling rage.

“Cornelius,” Snape’s voice brought him out of his inner musings. “If Harry were to meet all of the aforementioned requirements, there is nothing else needed for his account of the evening he alleges that the Dark Lord returned last June to be considered officially given to you, as Minister of Magic?”

Harry shot Snape a dark glare. He knew that man was a Slytherin, and could work circles around the minister, but he didn’t like that the way he worded his question made it seem as if Harry really had pulled a stunt at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. He sat back and pouted a bit when the man did seem fazed by his fierce expression. One of these days, he’d master that snarky Snape glare, and then they’d all cower in fear. Just watch.

The Minister cleared his throat. “Well, really, I’d have to have a witness, preferably an employee of the Ministry, but other than that, no.” His dark eyes flitted between the potions master and his new ward. “What exactly are you two planning?”

“Neil, honestly,” began Severus. “What makes you think we’re planning something?”

Minister Fudge just raised an eyebrow and gave his brother a look that asked ‘Do you really want me to answer that question?’

Severus pointedly ignored the look and plowed on. “Since Harry and I are already here, perhaps you should call in your secretary as a witness.” He pulled out his wand and handed it to Harry. “Removing memories is simple business. It just calls for concentration. Neil, I don’t suppose you have a Pensieve on hand do you?”

“I do.” He stood and retrieved a large stone bowl etched with runes from a cabinet in a corner. Setting it down on the desk he considered his brother. “You’re going to give me a statement, aren’t you?”

Severus moved to stand behind Harry. “Not me. Harry. Your witness?”

While the minister summoned Miss Etheridge from her desk outside the office, Severus turned his full attention onto his new ward.

“Well, Mr. Potter, this is not exactly how I imagined this visit to play out.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “But you do have a way of throwing people’s schedules out the window, don’t you?”

The child flushed. “Not intentionally sir, no.”

Severus huffed. “Of course not.” He carefully tilted the child’s chin up. “And I must say, child, for a Gryffindor, this certainly is a Slytherin mode of action. I’m impressed.”

Twice in one day. He’d impressed this man twice in one day. He felt like he was going to burst. Was this what it felt like to have a parent? He felt his eyes fill with tears and blinked them away. Soft fingers gently swiped at the few that had escaped his awkward hands.

“I don’t believe it.” Harry looked up to see amused eyes on him. “I spend five years telling you how you manage to do everything wrong, hoping for this very same reaction, when all I had to do was tell you when you did something right?” Severus rolled his eyes dramatically. “Goodness, are all you Gryffindors this complicated?”

Harry grinned, despite the tightness in his chest. “Yes,” he managed softly. “It’s a standard trait.”

Severus scoffed, and carefully nudged the boy’s chin. “Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” he asked softly. At the boy’s steady nod, Snape easily slipped into professor mode. “Before withdrawing a memory from your mind, you must be able to focus completely on the memory you wish to extract. You must bring it to the forefront of your mind and will it to transfer to your wand.” He considered the nodding teen for a minute. “Ready?”

Harry didn’t answer. Instead he pressed Snape’s wand to his temple, like he’d seen Dumbledore do before, and concentrated on that horrible night last June, the one he still had nightmares about. Vaguely noticing that the minister and his assistant were now back in the room and seated, Harry slowly pulled the wand away from his temple. He watched, fascinated, as a thick string of glimmering blue tread came away with the wand, swinging lazily when it broke away. Carefully, he lowered it into the pensieve, and turned a triumphant grin to his professor.

“Well done, Harry,” the man intoned.

Harry beamed.

“So, Severus,” the Minister of magic announced suddenly. Snape, distracted previously by watching Harry converse with Cornelius’ blonde assistant, turned to offer him a mild glare. Fudge just graced the surly man with a smile, and continued. “I heard you’ve taken to frightening innocent Ministry workers in your time off from frightening children. That’s an interesting use of your spare time.”

Severus snarled. “Your High Inquisitor was leveling some thinly veiled threats at the Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore may be a manipulating old bastard, but there is a reason Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is the most elite institution in the country,” he snapped.

Cornelius gazed at his brother thoughtfully. “You really like the place, don’t you?” At Severus’ intensified glare, he hastily switched topics. “Am I really a buffoon in a bowler hat, Sev?” His brown eyes bored in to his younger brother’s imploringly. “Have I truly made the wizarding world think I’m an arse?”

Severus glared at his brother. He concluded for probably the thousandth time since he’d known the man, that it was simply wrong for a Slytherin to have a Hufflepuff brother. He hated how he reversed their positions without even a serious thought. Didn’t he realize that he was the eldest of the two? Goodness, if the man was Slytherin he’d be near unstoppable!

He kicked his glare up a notch. Damn this man to hell! He knew he couldn’t lie to him. It was incredibly unfair for him to be put in this position. “Yes,” he snapped out irritably. “To both.”

The man opposite all but pouted. “But Severus, that’s not fair! The Ministry isn’t anything at all like I thought it would be. Everything has to go through the Wizenmagot. I mean everything. Someone down in Games needed some time off to stay with his wife who just had triplets and he was called up last week on the council. Every single matter you can think of has to be voted upon, and majority rules. Why else do you think those werewolf laws are still on the books? Or do you think I like the fact that the goblins and centaurs have no rights other than the few the Council has so graciously given them?” His voice held enough sarcasm in it to give even Severus pause. “Why do you think I’m always asking Dumbledore for advice and assistance. He’s really the only person alive that can handle that group.”

Snape gazed at the other man thoughtfully, unconsciously mimicking his earlier behavior. “So, why not just resign?” he asked, purely curious.

“Because then they’d just find someone who agreed with their views, someone who’d seriously enforce all their laws rather than pretend to enforce them while trying to keep everyone happy.” He looked over to where his assistant was showing Harry something at the end of her wand. “I know no one thinks I’m doing my job, but really, I can’t. My job is to represent the people and protect their interests, but I’m only really a voice-box for the Council.” He sighed softly, then turned a glare to Snape. “It’s your fault I’m feeling so ambivalent all of a sudden you know.” He looked over at his brother when he got no response, and grinned.

“Hey,” he said, nudging the dark haired man over the desk. “Quit staring at my assistant.”

Severus snarled, turning to face his brother. “I am doing no such thing!” he snapped hotly. “I’m watching Harry, thank you very much.”

Cornelius leaned back in his chair, a knowing gleam in his eye. “Sure you are.”

Snape glared at him further. Time to change the topic. “I trust you to keep this quiet, Neil. I cannot lose him to Albus.”

Fudge sobered. “You won’t. One of those forms you signed was a request for adoption. I’ll walk it through Wizarding Family Services myself. It’s an adjunct off to the ministry, so I should have no problems from the Council.” He looked back at the young man who was whispering conspiratorially with his assistant, both of them shooting the older men furtive glances every few seconds. “There will be an inquiry. You will have to provide proof of your accusations. They’ll accept Pensieve memories from him for that. But, you, Severus, have quite the reputation. You will be questioned.“

His brother nodded. “Thoroughly,” he added. He was gifted with an annoyed glare. “It will not be easy, Sev, but you will be able to adopt Harry.”

Snape nodded again, partially lost in his thoughts. Adopt Harry. The world suddenly seemed to spin on its axis. Harry could be adopted. It seemed unreal. It was the ultimate protection for the boy. He would be officially under his control and nothing Dumbledore could do would make the slightest difference. He looked over the boy, who was showing Miss Etheridge some trick with his fingers. He could admit to himself, too, in the privacy of his own mind, that a part of him was pleased at the thought.

Abruptly, he stood. “I cannot thank you, Neil.”

The minister smiled wryly. “You never do.”

With a nod, Snape turned sharply. “Come, Harry.” With a twirl of his robes he was stalking through the door.

~*~

Some time  later he was hauled unceremoniously out of the pensieve and thrown to the office floor. He didn’t know how he had gotten out, but frankly he didn’t care. All Draco knew was that he felt absolutely wretched, and that his stomach was emptying itself forcefully of the little dinner he had been able to force down.  Over and over he retched, each wave of nausea accompanied by a sickening image so intense it nearly made him unconscious.

Through the haze of nausea, pain and panic, an angry voice managed to get his attention. And with it came a fresh wave of terror.

“What have you done?”

Blindly the boy stumbled back, his mind blearily recognizing Dumbledore’s voice and that he was surely in deep, deep dragon dung. “ ‘M sorry, P’fessor,” he mumbled numbly. “’M sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” the little boy screamed, frantically backing himself into a corner and covering his head. The large man he hastened to get away from bore down on him, raising a thick cane threateningly before bringing it down with a sharp crack on the child’s small body. He screamed, again and again with each stroke of pain, each piercing wail rising higher and higher as the man beat him bloody. “I’m sorry! ‘M Sorry!”

Draco shuddered violently, and tried unsuccessfully to steady himself. Why, why, why had he gone into that pensieve? He pressed his lips tightly together, willing his stomach to stop churning.

“How dare you?” Dumbledore snarled. All the red flags in Draco’s head that had previously been stalled by shock went off. And angry Dumbledore was a dangerous Dumbledore. “I told you to remain seated. How DARE you invade my privacy!”

The teen whimpered, scooting back fearfully on his bottom, till his back came into sharp contact with the ornately carved corer of the old man’s desk. Finding purchase on the claw of some beast, Draco scrambled to stand, edging away from the visibly livid man.

“Professor, I – “

“Be silent!”

He backed up further, snagging a sheet of parchment from the desk. Feebly, he held it out in front of him like a shield. “Professor, please.”

“You insolent, impertinent child!” the Headmaster snapped, edging closer to the frightened teen. “You come here, requiring my assistance, and this is how you go about seeking my help? By disregarding my instructions and betraying my trust?”

“No, no sir! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, I mean, I didn’t know it was, Harry was, sir, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry – “

Dumbledore glared at him. “Get out.” His voice was a deadly whisper. “Get out of my office.”

He knew he should, but he just couldn’t. Even if Dumbledore killed him for it later on, he had to insist.  “Sir, please, we need you.”

In a blur of fabric that was reminiscent of a much more foul tempered man, Dumbledore had crossed the room and had Draco’s arm in an iron grip. Before he could make the slightest sound of protest he was being violently flung across the room, to collide painfully with the stone wall nearest the door.

“GET OUT!”

This time, Draco didn’t need telling twice. He scrambled with the doorknob for precious seconds before he finally convinced it to twist, and let him out. He fled down the rotating staircase and out into the hallways, not caring where he was going, as long as he got away.

After what felt both like no time at all and several centuries later, Draco collapsed into a heap in the middle of a deserted hallway, deep in the bowels of Hogwarts dungeons. He rested his pale, blotchy forehead on the cool stone floor beneath him. He'd give anything not to be able to feel right now. He was exhausted, confused, angry, sore, and utterly, utterly miserable. They were all going to die. He stifled his sobs and clenched his fists. It was then that the young Slytherin realized two things.

One, that he still held his, now slightly crushed, list. He still had the list of snakes who didn’t want to be slaves. Something like relief passed through him then. Maybe he could still salvage this. The second thing that grabbed his attention (or maybe it was the first) was that his shoulder was, at least, dislocated. But that was ok; maybe he could salvage that too.

Draco had a plan.

A stupid, dangerous, spur of the moment, not-at-all-thought-out plan, but a plan nonetheless. All he needed was the school’s resident Death Eater.

~*~

Harry Potter was in awe. Never, in all his living days, had he experienced anything like this. It was incredible. It was unbelievable. It was completely preposterous. But it wasn’t.

Severus Snape had taken him shopping.

Currently they were traipsing up the lawn back to Hogwarts castle. Harry was walking, still slightly dazed, beside his professor, whose pockets were fairly buldging with shrunken packages they’d acquired throughout the morning, his brand new StratusSpear clutched to his chest. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

He’d gotten a broom.

Severus Snape had let him have a broomstick.

The Head of Slytherin House had let Gryffindor’s star seeker have the newest broom on the market. The broom professional team captains had been clamoring to buy for their teams. He’d never met so many – hell, he’d never seen so many Quidditch players before in the four years he’d known the sport existed. He had been in awe. He was still in awe. The shop owner had taken one look at him and snatched one of the last brooms from the display. Somehow, the players all knew he was going to give it to Harry. The teen hadn’t the slightest idea what was happening till the end, however. He was a bit preoccupied with a miniature Quidditch set he thought Ron’d love. His brand new broomstick handle was now covered in swirly, squiggly autographs.  It was all he could do to put one foot in front of another.

Back in the shop, it was all he could do to look at the grinning middle aged man as he presented him with the state of the art broom. Finally, after what felt like ages, he turned his head to find Severus standing a little ways away, smirking. He had drawled “Harry, what do we say when someone gives us something?” and Harry had obediently looked back to the shop owner and exclaimed his thanks. He didn’t even mind that the whole store had chuckled at him like he was five or something. Severus had let him keep the broom. Warm fuzzies had nothing on the creatures in his tummy.

Severus Snape was staring determinedly ahead. He knew if he even chanced a glance  this new ward, he’d break out in full blown laughter. The child was in shock. It was the only way to put it. He knew the gift of a state of the art broomstick had been a lot for the child to take in, but it was truly only a part of the boy’s astonishment.

He’d taken the little urchin shopping, for everything he could imagine a teenager could want. Admittedly, the boy was easy to please, picking only the simplest and plainest of everything. But Severus had pushed the boy, had made him pick out the things he really, really liked. After prodding the boy in the first two stores, he had pulled the child aside and told him to snap out of it. Or at least that what he tells himself he did.

In reality, he’d taken a few tense minutes getting the boy to confess that he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to have and if Snape would let him get something he really liked. Severus, of course, was not offended that the child thought he would take him shopping and then tell him he couldn’t have anything. After all, it had happened to the child before. Instead, he had opened the link between them and told the messhead in no uncertain terms that he was not with the Dursely’s, that he was never ever going back to that horrid place, and that Snape himself would buy him the whole store if he really wanted it.

The blasted child had looked at him through those ridiculous bangs he had (He’d insisted that the boy have a haircut as soon as they’d reached Diagon Alley) and said, in all seriousness, that he didn’t think he need all that furniture.  He’d called the boy a cheeky brat and pointed him towards the next store. The smile he got made up for the points he couldn’t take.

All in all the day had been fairly pleasant. Although, truthfully the boy’s anxiety and expectations, even after their heart to heart, were no laughing matters. Nor was the fact that the child hadn’t a clue how to buy clothes that fit, or that he was in a near panic when Severus mistakenly let him see the bill after they left Madame Malkine’s. The boy had moaned and groaned his way through three more clothing stores before he had to promise to buy the boy a duplicate of his own wardrobe to shut him up. The boy had stopped immediately, and he had smirked his way to the Quidditch store.

He was relieved that his plan there had gone off without a hitch. The boy had wandered off to some display and Severus had sneakily paid for a brand new StratusSpear. He knew the boy’s Firebolt had been destroyed by his worthless uncle, and while it had had sentimental value that couldn’t be replaced (It was, after all, from the boy’s godfather) the child belonged in the air. But if the child ever found out he had paid for his broom, he’d never live it down. Of course it also meant that he had intentionally, if in a roundabout manner, worsened Slytherin’s chance for the House Cup, but he couldn’t have cared, not when he saw Harry’s face light up. But he’d have words to say to himself later, he was sure.

It was with these happy thoughts that our two favorite men reentered the castle that was their home for most of the year. They’d gotten three feet from the Great Hall doors before there was a shout of “Harry!” and Ron and Hermione came barreling out of the Hall.

They slowed down considerably when they saw their best friend’s companion, but hurried toward him nonetheless, the Granger’s hair bouncing purposefully behind her.

She shot him a look he didn’t have time to read before they both greeted him with two far too respectful “Good afternoon, Professor” ‘s.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Ms. Granger. Mr. Weasley. I trust your summers were well?”

Ron’s eyebrows rose to his hairline, while the Granger chit looked highly disapproving. Her resemblance to the Weasley matriarch was startling in that instant.

“They were great, sir,” answered the redhead. He glanced at Harry, his eyes widening at the sight of the broom. Severus just knew the boy was about to make some Quidditch related comment, and braced himself. The lanky boy opened his mouth to speak, and then wilted under the glare their female counterpart was giving him. “Er, sir, could we borrow Harry for a bit?”

He didn’t need Harry pleading eyes to make a decision. He frowned inwardly. He’d have to have a talk with the boy about this. He didn’t want him thinking he wasn’t allowed time with his friends. He pulled the broomcase from his pocket. “Pack your broom,” he said, handing the slim metal case to the child to enlarge, “and behave yourself,” he added, giving the young Gryffindor a fierce glower. The cheeky brat grinned up at him and quipped “But I always behave.”

Severus snorted and stalked away. The brat was incorrigible.

~*~

Before Harry had time to grin at his friends he was being hauled around the corner by a very determined Hermione. Bemused, he allowed himself to be toted, since a quick look at Ron showed his red haired friend was just as clueless as he was, but was dreading the upcoming talk all the same.

Eventually, they were led into an empty classroom on the third floor. Hermione swept in and slammed the door shut, casting silencing and locking charms on it. In a mad twirl of hair she spun back to face them.  Then she looked worried.

“Are you ok Hermione?” Harry asked. “Why’d you bring us all the way up here?”

Ron was sitting quietly on a desk next to Harry, watching the scene warily.

“I’m fine Harry,” his bushy haired friend answered. “I just thought we needed to talk. How have you been?”

Harry grinned. “I’ve been great, Mi. Yesterday didn’t start out too good, but since I got on the train, things have been wonderful.”

This answer only seemed to worry Hermione further. “But Harry, where have you been?”

This was not a question Harry thought needed to be asked. He furrowed his eyebrows. “I’ve been with Snape.”

“Snape?” Ron asked curiously. “Why were you with him, Harry? We couldn’t find you yesterday on the train.”

At this Harry blushed. He had totally forgotten about his friends the last evening. But really, could they blame him? “Erm, he helped sort me out last night, and this morning too, kinda. I needed help with a few things.”

Hermione seemed on the edge of tears. “What kind of things, Harry?” She asked, her voice trembling.

Harry blushed harder. How could he tell them? “Well, I was a right mess, wasn’t I? He helped me up onto the train and then into a compartment. He locked the door and cast a silencing charm so no one would hear us. Things were going fine, really, but they got kinda intense pretty quickly,” he said, remembering the memories. “And then, I kinda fell asleep, I guess.” He blushed at how lame it sounded. “But he brought me up to the castle and put me to bed.” He looked between his two best friends, and was suddenly worried. “What’s the matter?”

Hermione sobbed. “Oh Harry! Did he touch you?” She looked utterly distraught, both hands pressed tightly to her lips.

Harry looked at her oddly. “Well, yeah he had to, didn’t he? Ha had to change my clothes; they were a mess.”

A sound like a strangled scream escaped Hermione’s clenched lips before she threw herself into a chair and sobbed.

“Mi?” Harry started towards her fearfully. What had he done? A strong hand on his arm brought him up short.

“Wait Harry,” Ron said. To their other best friend he said, “Calm down, Hermione. Harry doesn’t even have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Hermione’s face was wet and blotchy when she looked up to give him a glare. “He’s fifteen, Ronald. How could he not know?”

Harry blinked between the two of them. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something?” he asked no one in particular.

“Have a seat and talk to me, Harry.” Ron hopped onto the desk in front of him, and gestured for Harry to face him. Harry considered. He liked this new, calm Ron. It was a vast improvement from the teen that used to fly off the handle so much last year. Harry sat, and gave Ron his full attention.

“So you’ve been with Snape. I guess he’s not as much of a git as he was last year, then?”

Harry nodded. “He’s been great, honest. I never thought he could be like this.” A wail rose from their right, and Ron shot Mione’s bowed head a glare.

“And he bought you a new broom?” Ron asked.

“Well, no. The shop keeper gave it to me. It’s the new StratusSpear. It’s probably been signed by every Quidditch players alive. They were all in there, waiting to get brooms…” Harry died down, noticing that for the first time ever Ron wasn’t completely enchanted with something Quidditch related.

“Well, that’s cool, mate.” He shot a glance at Hermione who was now dry faced but whispering softly to herself. “Listen, when Mi asked you if Snape touched you she meant something more specific, than changing your clothes, ‘cause wizards can just swap one set for another you know, like Madame Pompfrey.”  

Harry had an ‘oh yeah’ moment, and grinned sheepishly at his taller friend. “So, what’d she mean then?”

Ron gave him a sharp nod, one he’d seen before, somewhere. “What Mi meant was if he’d done anything like touch your bum, or try to kiss you, or, worst case scenario, touch you there.” At Harry’s blank look he continued. “You know, you priva – “

“Yea I get it Ron.” He ran his hands over his arms. Suddenly he felt cold and clammy. “He hasn’t. He wouldn’t. That’s just” he took a deep breath, “that’s just – “

His stomach rebelled. He had just enough time to fling himself off the desk and into a corner before he lost the nice lunch Snape had bought for him.

Shakily he stood up, wiping his face on his sleeve. One scourgify with his new wand later, and he spun to face his friends. “That’s just wrong.” He glared at Hermione. “How could you think he would, how could you think I would – bloody hell Mione!” He took deep steadying breaths, willing images of his beefy cousin out of his mind. When he had himself back under control, he turned his angry gaze onto the intelligent witch. “Why would you think that?”

“Oh Harry, if you had just seen yourself yesterday, you looked so sad and so miserable I – “

“Yes, but not too miserable to stop you two going off on a snogfest, though, right?” They both had the grace to look ashamed. He sighed. He couldn’t be mad at them, not really. “And?”

“And then you disappeared,” Hermione whispered, obviously chastising herself for leaving Harry on the platform to fend for himself. “And then some second years said you went on the train with him and then we couldn’t find you and then neither of you showed up at the Opening Feast, nor at breakfast this morning and then you just show up clutching some incredibly expensive broomstick and then you have to ask him if you can talk to us so what was I supposed to think?”

Harry shuddered, unable to believe what his best friend thought he had done, was doing, would do. “Not that.” He looked at her, pain quite visible in his green eyes. “Anything but that.”

Harry watched as she drew herself up, and knew that it was about to become very, very bad in here. “Mi, please don’t.”

“Look, Harry, I’m sorry. I know it’s a bit of a stretch, but you have to admit its easy to come to that conclusion.” She took his disbelieving silence as an invitation to continue. “He’s the only professor that doesn’t give a damn about your feelings, and he’s shown it for four years, but at the same time we know he’s been saving your skin every year. And you have to admit, he has been oddly fixated on you ever since you got here in first year. Add to that the fact that you yourself have admitted that you’ve always wanted his approval and the fact that you’ve never had a proper father figure – “

“Hermione!”

Harry drew back as if she’d physically slapped him. He blinked at her through his new glasses, trying to process what she just said, desperately attempting to connect this wild, irrational person with his best friend.

Ron’s stern voice grabbed his attention. “Where the bloody hell do you get off saying those things to Harry?” The boy in question shuddered. Ron’s voice was too low, too dangerous, it reminded him of Snape.

He had to get out of here.

“Ron, it’s ok.” He hated the way his voice cracked. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. “I’ll talk to you later.”

A sound of protest went up from his female counterpart, but Harry ignored it. Slashing his new pine pine wand (with its thresthral hair and chimera tooth and water phoenix ashes) at the door, he released the charms and walked out.

Maybe it was the anger talking, or maybe the hurt, but Hermione could be as smart as she wanted to be. Right now, he thought she was an idiot.

Harry huffed angrily, and threw himself into an alcove. Who the heck did she think she was? Were the hell did she get off accusing people of such things? He growled, and closed his eyes. He had been in such a good mood earlier. Some best friend she was.

Harry sighed. At least Ron hadn’t gone off the deep end. Actually, Ron hadn’t really been angry at all. That was odd. The redhead’s dislike of the Potions Master went even deeper than his own, he thought. Or, at least, what he though was dislike. He couldn’t say he hated the man now, at any rate.

He groaned, and rubbed his eyes behind his new glasses. Did Ron instantly decide to shelve his old feelings for Snape just because of Harry? It seemed so, but that was so very unlike Ron that it was highly unlikely. Harry scoffed. Who was he kidding? The entire experience was so unlike Ron that he’d have to now figure out what was like this new Ron.

Harry growled again. He didn’t want to think about this. He wanted to find Snape, so the man could call him ‘brat’ or ‘idiot boy’ again; he wanted his good mood back. He wanted to forget Hermione and her stupid, stupid assumptions until tomorrow, or even better, Monday. He smiled. He’d be able to take on the world after a whole weekend with Snape. There had to be some benefits to having a sarcastic genius for your guardian, right?

The teen stood, and was instantly presented with a problem. How was e going to get down to Snape’s quarters? The man hadn’t a chance to show him before they had been ambushed by his teenage counterparts. Harry bit his lip. What could e do? Ask a Slytherin? Ha! He’d likely end up down in some damp, creepy dead end, dueling the entire house. He couldn’t just call on the man and expect him to appear (No matter how many times just thinking about him when breaking a school rule has the desired effect). He wasn’t some house-elf …..

The Gryffindor barely resisted slapping himself in the forehead. Of course! He’d just ask a house-elf to show him the way. But which one?

Dobby? No. The exuberant little elf would be falling all over himself in his haste to help ‘Harry Potter, sir!’ He liked the little guy and everything, but if he had to deal with him today, especially after he heard Harry’s destination….. Harry was afraid he just might strangle the elf.

Harry grimaced. The only other house-elf he knew by name was Winky, and the last time he ad seen her she had been a weeping mess. Of course, that had been near the middle of last term, and she also had the entire summer to collect herself….

Deciding that there was nothing for it, Harry called “Winky”, and nearly jumped out of his skin when she appeared with a loud crack.

‘Well’ he decided, after he had gotten over the shock, ‘it could have been worse.’ Winky stood before him, wrapped in a neon green the cozy spotted with bright pink stars, a bottle of butterbeer clutched tightly to her chest. It wasn’t open though, and she didn’t look anywhere near as bad as she had when he saw her last, so Harry supposed it would just have to do.

“Harry Potter called?”

She even sounded sober. That had to be a good thing.

“Yes, Winky. Could you show me the way to Professor Snape’s quarters, please?”

Winky narrowed her wide eyes and frowned. “Winky is being instructed, only children of professors and wards of professors is to be knowing where professors quarters is being.” Her eyes narrowed further as she looked him over. “Is you being Professor Snap sir’s son?”

Harry decided that further investigation of the odd thumping in his chest that statement elicited was a very bad idea at the moment. “He’s my new guardian,” he managed to whisper through his suddenly tight throat. What was wrong with him?

Winky positively beamed.

“Harry Potter is having a new guardian. Oh, very good! Winky is being very happy for Harry Potter!” She reached forward and touched his knee, and a flash of yellow nearly blinded him.

“Harry Potter will follow Winky then. Winky is checking to see if Harry Potter is telling the truth, and since Harry Potter is, Winky is taking him to his guardian, she is.”

With that the little brightly colored elf turned and trotted down into the dungeons. Harry listened as she chattered on and on about how much fun Harry was going to have and about the parties his friends were going to throw for him in celebration of his new status. Harry couldn’t help but snort. He couldn’t see any of his friends throwing him a party for this. If he hexed the man, maybe, but for becoming the Greasy Git’s ward, not a chance.

Unbidden, a smile graced his lips. He’d finally gotten a family. Not a normal one in any respect, nor had he acquired it by conventional means, but it was his, and that’s all that mattered.

Something suddenly brought him up short. Winky was crying. The realization sent him to his knees in front of the crumpled heap of elf on the cool dungeon floor. “Winky?”

He crouched next to her sobbing form. “Winky, what’s the matter?”

She scooted away from him, clutching her butterbeer even closer. “Harry P-Potter,” sob, “is having,” hitch, “a family-y-y!”

The teen knelt for a moment, puzzled, before the house-elf’s words began to make sense to him.

“Oh, Winky. You can’t still want a family, can you?”

He was met with a vey angry elf glare. “Of course Winky is still wanting a family, Harry Potter.” Giving him one more glare, Winky sniffed, and descended into piteous mewling once more.

Severus would kill him. That alone should be a strong enough deterrent. Severus would absolutely kill him if he did this. Ron would never believe him, and when he did, he’d think Harry was off his rocker. Was he even allowed to bind a school house elf? He didn’t think so, but school rules had never stood in is way for long before. Besides, Winky wanted this. No, Winky needed this. That was all that mattered, right? Hermione, if he ever spoke to her again, would never speak to him again. Strangely, it didn’t seem to mater as much as he thought it would.

~*~

Fifteen minutes later, found Harry walking contentedly behind a skipping, singing, over the moon happy house elf, bound to him and his new guardian, and to keep their secrets, once more heading for Snape’s rooms.

~*~

Severus sighed, messaging his temples. He’d only just sent off a sickeningly polite missive to the Weasley household, and was steadfastly anticipating a howler in reply. Why he had listened to the shreds of his conscious (against his better judgment) and written to explain to the Weasley adults the new status of the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Change-Things he was sure he would never know. Tiredly, Severus settled in his favorite armchair in front of the fireplace. He would sit here and waste away till it was time to fetch the boy. Sit here and waste away and prepare himself for the inevitable tongue-lashing from Molly. And that was before the redheaded matriarch made her way up to the castle to defend the honorary Weasley’s honor and dispatch with the villain known as Severus Snape.

‘A bit pessimistic, aren’t we, Sevy?’

The Potions Master groaned, and summoned a glass of scotch. If he just ignored it, the voice would go away. It was in all his psychology books. All the mind healers he’d seen had told him it was all in his head, and he just had to ignore it. Just ignore it, Severus, ignore it. Think of Quidditch, or poisons, ignore it….

‘You’ve been trying that for years Sev. It never works. I would suggest you try another method, but I think I should be insulted that you never want to see me.

He was getting old. That was the problem. He was simply getting along in age. That was the only explanation he could give for these voices that never left him alone, and for the day’s activities. Why else would he take the infernal child shopping, in daylight, no less, and then tote all the boy’s new belongings back up to the castle like a common pack mule? Then, not only had he allowed the boy to run off with his little friends, leaving him to carry the many packages to his room, he had taken the liberty of unpacking and arranging said purchases in the suddenly there third bedroom in his quarters.

‘Oh, quit pretending you don’t like the boy, Severus. A blind hag can see you do. Did you or did you not just file a petition for adoption? Honestly, the way you carry on, we’re going to have to get you into therapy!’

He needed another drink. Or maybe he was already drunk. What other excuse could he have for hearing a voice he should not be hearing, or willingly having two teenage boys in his rooms? Two extremely volatile teenage boys. Two extremely volatile teenage boys who hated each other.

Severus made a sound that may or may not have been a high pitched whimper, and slid further down in his chair. Dealing with an entire term’s worth of Longbottom’s botched potions seemed more favorable than dealing with Harry and Draco about this. Even if the boy brewed something acidic, something that ate through his robes…… destroyed his favorite cauldron…..brought down the entire west wing of the castle ………

He was pulled from his b=mad musings by a sharp knock on his door. He scowled at the offending slab of wood as he rose from his chair. “Surely Albus hasn’t found out already”, he grumbled to himself. His eyebrows rose quickly, however, and then fell into a deeper scowl as he read the name on the visitor scroll beside the door.

Draco Malfoy, it read, in loopy, curly script. Severus ruthlessly refused to stomp his foot. He had been hoping on at least another few hours before his godson dropped by. He had wanted a chance to talk to Harry at least once more before he broke the news to the blonde snake. Honestly! What was he thinking? Hadn’t he also been planning to ignore the Golden Boy entirely this year? He should know by now that his plans were never, ever going to work out, at least not where these boys were concerned.

Really, Severus. Haven’t you learned anything all these years?

The child knocked again. His scowl deepened. He was not dealing with this voice and two deeply hormonal boys at the same time. He summoned his strongest Occlumency shields and shoved the voice, his plush chair, pipe and heavily scented smoke, deep into the recesses of his mind. After a quick second, he was satisfied. Let’s see the nuisance make his way out of there.

He turned his attention back to the Draco dilemma. Severus paced. There was nothing for it, really. He couldn’t ignore the boy and leave them to meet in the halls, even if his new ward had promised to behave. He knew very well that Draco had been the instigator in all the boys’ previous encounters.

And now, with Harry’s newfound talents, it was simply beyond foolish to leave them to themselves. Sighing heavily, Severus opened the door, and waited for the show to begin.

The very first ting he noticed, before his wand went flying from his hand, was that his godson looked like ell. The second thing, which really should have been the first, all things considered, was that the boy’s wand was pointed directly at his heart. This, despite the fact that the child looked like death warmed over and sprayed with cheese, and that his wand arm hung limp at his side, gave the supposed Death Eater pause. While Draco was barely into his fifth year of schooling, Severus knew for a fact that he knew and could successfully cast as many spells and curses as the most skilled followers of the Dark Lord (the boy had been raised by the sycophant’s right hand man, after all).That said arm was out of commission was of no consequence. Draco Malfoy was one of the handful of wizards the world over who could cast with equal accuracy and power with either hand. One could understand why the evil overlord was so eager to brand the boy to his service.

“Hello godfather,” Draco said in a voice tat shook as much as his hand. “May I come in? I have some things I think we need to discuss.”

Severus studied the boy before him, silently debating whether or not stunning the teen and dumping an entire vial of Veritaserum down his throat was a vary good idea. The boy hadn’t a clue he was capable of wandless magic, and he wouldn’t not until Severus chose to disclose this information. He decided that he would wait, for just a little while, and determine whether or not the topic of Draco’s discussion warranted immediate action.

He gestured the boy inside, and fought a growl when he saw the idiot boy was limping. How was it that both his boys needed his medical expertise in as many days? Just what had had happened? He was, however, grudgingly pleased as the boy kept his aim true, even as if practically fell into a chair.

“Tea?” Severus asked? He could at least feed the boy.

But the blonde child shook his head. “And have you drug me with something? No thank you.”

“That scenario is highly unlikely, Dragon, as I have personally trained you to identify most poisons by smell alone.” He raised an eyebrow. “And even should this skill fail, you are required to keep on your person a vial of general antidote, are you not?”

The boy gulped. Severus was pleased. Apparently he could still be intimidating, even when on the business end of a wand. He relaxed visibly, and was pleased to see Draco do the same.

“May I sit?” he asked politely. As if asking to sit in his own rooms didn’t bother him in the least. When he was finished with Lucius Malfoy’s son ……

His godson looked distinctly uncomfortable. Good. “You may.”

Draco watched as his godfather made a show of settling into the nearest armchair. He had already called himself every foul name he could think of for initiating this plot. How could he have ever thought he could intimidate this man? And then he goes and calls him ‘Dragon’. It’s the height of manipulation! Here he was, threatening the man who had sat up with him for three nights when he had inflamed dragonpox when he was three. How the heck did he get here?

Temporary insanity. It was the only plausible explanation. He had gone absolutely stark raving mad for the entire minute it had taken to think up this plan. Now, he couldn’t explain what exactly had made him carry out said plan, but that was ok. He already knew the outcome. Snape would help them.

Well, really, not him, surely. After pulling this stunt, Snape was going to kill him. Whether it was today or tomorrow, or even in the New Year, he didn’t know, but he knew that he was going to die, and it would be at this man’s hand. But that was ok. Because no matter what the state of his mortality, Snape would help his snakes.

But didn’t that mean that he didn’t have to go through all of this? Sure Snape was a Death Eater, but he was also their head snake. He did things like send birthday cards to his students and sat up with them when they were sick. There was hardly ever a Slytherin in the hospital wing. Snape looked under first year beds for monsters and handed out nasty detentions to anyone who dared tease them. He made up homework groups for struggling students and sent anonymous care packages to his less than affluent snakes. This was SNAPE for Merlin’s sake.

But Snape was also a Death Eater. Loyalty to the Dark Lord came first. The slightest whisper that snakes were defecting from their calling of life, and the lot of them would be dead. Of course, if they went along with the crazy bastard they’d be dead anyway, but Draco tried not to think about that. The only way to ensure their safety was to make sure this man knew his was in jeopardy.

“I came across some very interesting information today, Severus,” Draco drawled, confidence returning. “Very, very interesting information.” He fought not to frown; the man made no show of having heard him. “It’s about you, you know,” he tried for casual. “This very, very interesting information.” Finally, something behind those onyx orbs. “The Dark Lord will be very pleased to learn what I did today, Severus.” Damn. Those eyes were blank again. He would not pout. “Won’t you guess what it is?”

“I won’t waste the time nor the energy, Draco, when I know you are going to tell me,” Severus replied easily.

Draco didn’t try to hide his disappointment. His godfather was just determined to be difficult.

“But I won’t, Uncle. If I do, you’ll know exactly what to look for when you obliviate me, so I think I’ll keep that little tidbit to myself, thanks.” He paused. “But I wasn’t joking when I said the Dark Lord would be very interested in knowing what I found out.”

Those dark eyes bore into his. “Indeed,” was all he got.

“Damnit, Severus” Draco shouted. He couldn’t lose. He couldn’t

“Language, Draco,” came the sharp reply.

The blonde teen pouted. “Sorry,” he whined, “but this is really, really important. Why won’t you make this easy?”

He was graced with a blank stare.

Draco moaned, and painfully picked himself up from the chair. “Fine.” He hobbled over and handed over the other man’s wand. “Just don’t kill me yet, ok? Just hear me out. You can chop me up for potions ingredients or feed me to your army of vampire butterflies later, but just let me tell you alright?”

Severus absently motioned the boy back into his chair. He was halfway through summoning a pain potion and bruise balm, but his mind was stuck on something the boy had said.

“Vampire butterflies?”

The child nodded fervently, his eyes wide and innocent. “They’re big and pink with red eyes and huge razor sharp fangs that hang all the way out of their mouths. It figures you’d have an army of them because they love black and greasy hair, and I just know you’ve got a secret fascination with butterflies.”

Severus looked suitably appalled. “I do not have a hidden fascination with butterflies,” he snapped. “Nor do I have an army of vampire butterflies at my disposal.”

Draco’s eyes were suddenly filled with tears. “You let them go?” he asked softly.

Severus narrowed his eyes. “I never had any.”

Draco dissolved into a sobbing mess. “No! How could you! How could you deny their lo-o-o-ve?”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and prayed for patience. How had this child managed to descend into hysteria mere minutes after threatening him? “Dragon,” he began, gently, “vampire butterflies do not exist.”

“NO!” the boy shrieked. He threw himself clear across the room, landing in a sobbing heap by the door. “I do believe in fairies! I do I DO!”

He stared at the child with wide eyes. How had they gotten to fairies? Of course the child believed in fairies! They existed!

The boy was going to hyperventilate if he didn’t calm down. How many calming draughts did he have in stock. He would need at least three to get this boy down to even a semblance of calm. How the blasted child had worked up a tolerance for this particular potion was a mystery, and not one he could ponder right now.

“Draco – “

“No! NO!” The boy was truly working himself up into a lather. “You have to believe, Uncle Sev, you have to,” he pleaded earnestly. “If you don’t then the vampire butterflies and the fairies won’t be able to have their little vampire fairy children, and then there’ll be no one to beat up Harry’s giant uncle, and then he’s going to squish us, and then Snake Face is going to throw a party and sing ‘Do you believe in magic – “

‘Calming draught, NOW, before I lose my wits.’

“ – heart? How the music can free her, whenever it starts? And it’s m-mmmph – “

It was the quickest application of calming draught that Severus Snape had ever seen in his capacity as Potions Master. In three smooth movements, he had three vials of the admittedly vile tasting mixture poured down the child’s throat before the teen could even blink in surprise, and another held in hand, just in case.

But before the potion even had time to work, the door opened, and Harry walked in.

Severus opened his mouth to tell the idiot child to shut the door, (he was not chasing an injured, hysterical Malfoy all over Hogwarts castle but never got a chance to say anything. The air was filled with a shout of “Harry!” a split second before said teenage suddenly had an armful of limp, sobbing Draco.

Severus collapsed into his favorite plush armchair, ruthlessly crushing down the urge to scream in frustration. He had finally managed to wrestle a drowsy, whiny Draco into pajamas, and had nearly strapped the disobedient child to his bed. He was worse than a stroppy toddler!

Finally, finally, patience at an end, he had it the boy with the lightest sleeping spell he knew, and had stalked from the room before he did something he would regret, not checking to see if the boy had taken the spell or not.

The past two hours had no been kind.

Harry had, by some miracle, managed to deposit both bodies onto the couch. Draco had, expectedly, been entirely uncooperative, both when Harry was trying to calm him down, and when Severus decided he needed that last calming draught. The potion’s master had gotten a bruised shin for his efforts, and had consequently been in no mood to listen to Draco’s caterwauling.

Of course, that had all changed once the boy clamed down enough to explain the entire situation. He kneaded his forehead tiredly. His poor Dragon. The things the boy had seen!

He shuddered involuntarily. If it wasn’t enough tat the boy had seen the depths of his parents’ devotion to the creature called the Dark Lord, (which Severus thought should have broken the boy alone), he had then had to witness several of the evil thing’s rituals and even some of his failed initiations. He closed his eyes tiredly. His poor Slytherins. Even with all the terrible things he had seen in his life, let alone the terrible tings he had done, he couldn’t wrap his mind around hurting the children he had practically raised. Severus sighed. He couldn’t begrudge the boy a touch of hysteria, not after what he had seen.

And been through. The state of Draco’s body before he managed to heal the boy wouldn’t let him forget that the boy had been through much.

But it didn’t mean he had to like it either.

And suddenly he jumped up from his chair, stalking over to stare angrily into the fire.  The idiot little boy had to go and get himself into trouble wit Dumbledore. Of all the slightly unhinged, borderline dark mages out there to make an enemy of, the stupid child had chosen Albus bloody Dumbledore. And why?  To peek at a few memories! Memories that hadn’t the slightest thing to do with the old man. The blonde boy’s idiot idea that he could find out for sure if the old man was going to help them by finding an appropriate memory was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard (and he worked with teenagers everyday).

But he had to concede, the boy had had a lot on his mind.

And then the blasted boy had seen Harry’s memories. Of all the things to come across in Dumbledore’s extensive collection of memories, he had to find the one lifetime worth of abuse residing there. How insane was that?

Severus sighed again. He would have to speak to the boy tomorrow, and show him how to organize and lock away disturbing images. It was a good thing he was so gifted in Occlumency and had already caught the basics, or he would have a terrible time cataloguing the boy’s mind.

Mentally he ran through his potions stocks. He had no doubt that Draco would be suffering from nightmares tonight, and one look at Harry’s pale face told him the same would be true there, as well.

Harry.

All this time he had been indulging in his penchant to rant internally, and he had forgotten about Harry.

Well, not forgotten, really, he corrected himself and he watched the teen curled up on the couch. He couldn’t truly forget the boy if he tried, and there have been times he’d tried. It seemed, though, that Harry had forgotten Severus was in the room. The child’s eyes were glazed over and unfocused, and Severus wondered if the boy was indulging in his penchant to take the blame for things he could not control.

“Harry?”

After a beat, the boy blinked, and raised dull green eyes to meet his.

“Are you alright?”

Harry blinked again, pulling himself from his musings. Truthfully, he was so lost in thought he hadn’t even realized Snape had come back. Shakily, he nodded. He really was fine, kind of.

He wasn’t about to collapse into a pitiful heap of tears, or anything. But he did have a lot to think about. First though....

“I’m hungry.”

This statement was met with a thin smile from his guardian, and a disbelieving shake of his head. Severus ran a hand through his hair, and turned back to the fire. “I’ll fire call the kitchens, then.”

“Err,” Harry started. Now was a good a time as any to bring up his new….addition. “You don’t have to. I mean,” he faltered when the man turned his gaze back onto him, “I have another way.”

Snape rose to his full height, folding is arms over is chest. “Really,” he drawled. “Let’s see it, then.”

Harry pinked, and found the rug next to his seat very interesting. “Erm, well, you see…it’s kind of, um… err..what had happened was…” Harry stumbled over the words, knowing without looking that Severus’ ever mobile eyebrow was rising with every explanation he tried to give. “Oh bugger it. Winky!”

A sharp ‘pop’, and then the brightly clothed house elf was beaming up at him from her spot seated on the low coffee table.

“Master Harry called?”

Harry stared at her for a minute, unable to believe she was sitting on the furniture in Snape’s rooms. And the man hadn’t yet said anything. Not Gryffindor enough to look over and see the man’s reaction, Harry proceeded to order lunch. “And, er, Winky?” he asked when he was done, “could you bring some tea? Um, lots of it.” He had a feeling he and Severus were going to be here a while.

“Certainly, Master Harry. Winky is being right back.” And with another sharp ‘pop’, she was gone.

And there was silence. After a while, Harry peaked up at his pseudo-parent through his bangs, to see the man studying him intently. Nervously, he nibbled on his lip. Had he blown it? Was Snape going to yell at him now and send him away? He was so anxious he didn’t noticed he was wringing his hands agitatedly. Winky popped in again, laid down her trays, bid them both a cheery farewell and still there was silence. It wasn’t till a large, callused hand suddenly covered his that he finally began to come back to himself.

“Breathe, child.”

It wasn’t said nicely, but that simple command warmed Harry up like a whole bottle of butterbeer. It didn’t sound like Severus was angry with him, and he wasn’t getting any angry feelings from their link, either. What he was getting, he considered as he closed is eyes and enjoyed the sensation, was the equivalent of someone running a hand through his hair. It was very nice, really, and soothing. Abruptly, Harry’s eyes snapped open and he blushed when he realized he had been leaning into the mental touch.

Snape said nothing about it, though, and instead directed them both to the original matter. “So,” he said silkily. “You have a house elf.”

“We,” Harry corrected weakly, following a pattern on Snape’s dark robes. “We have a house elf.”

“Hmm. And this happened, when?”

“A few hours ago,” Harry replied, hoping desperately that Snape wouldn’t ask him anything else.

“I see.”

After a minute of fidgeting into the silence, Harry finally asked, “Can we eat?”

Black eyes met green in a searching gaze, but finally Severus agreed. “Certainly.”

~*~

Severus stared at the dark haired child over the rim of his teacup. He didn’t buy this calm façade for an instant. One wasn’t ambushed by your sobbing childhood enemy in your own home, made to listen to said enemy rant and rave about his eye-opening experience and how he was so very sorry for all he had put you through and beg for your help, and then sit quietly munching on biscuits and sipping hot cocoa. One did not. There was an explosion coming, and he would sit here till it came.

Harry, however, was oblivious to his guardian’s dire predictions. True, he was a tad confused about the whole Draco-having-a-life-changing-experience thing, but with all the other weird things that had happened to him in the past two days, he was pretty much going to take it in stride.

Draco had finally been encouraged (read: threatened upon pain of injury) to go to bed not thirty minutes ago, and Severus was deep in thought (Harry knew, because he had refilled his own cocoa twice and Snape hadn’t yet finished his first cup of his favorite tea). The blonde boy had sobbed and whined his way through an explanation that was so confusing, Harry still needed to think it out.

For one, Draco divulged information about his summer Harry didn’t want to think about. And here he had always thought Malfoy had been a spoiled brat. The irony had nearly made him snicker, but as Draco was in the process of telling of a particularly gruesome torture session, some of which the blonde had been subjected to, Harry had forced the urge down. Now, however, he felt the urge to giggle overcome him. He ignored Snape’s questioning glance, and pondered the afternoon’s events further.

Oh great, the boy was giggling. He nearly succumbed to the urge to pinch the bridge if his nose. He did not want to deal with another hysterical teen tonight. Or ever, really. He watched as another thoughtful expression shadowed the boy’s face, and felt himself relax, marginally.

It would only last for so long, however.

And like clockwork, Harry’s face gradually morphed into one of intense displeasure. The child was actually pouting.

‘It’s called a fearsome scowl, Severus.’

The man rolled his eyes at Two. ‘It is clearly a pout. Can’t you see his bottom lip protruding, just a bit?’ Severus asked the voice.

‘Yes, yes, that’s all good and well, for us at least. We know it’s a pout, but for the sake of our young charge, we must endeavor to at least attempt to think of it as a scowl. You know, manly pride and what not.’

‘Mmmm… I see your point. Fine then, I rephrase. Ehem: “The child was actually scowling.” Better?’

‘Much.’

Said scowl only proceeded to deepen, however, the longer Severus watched the boy before him.

And then, suddenly as if a light had gone off somewhere in his dark and crowded brain, Severus realized Harry had come back from meeting his friends much sooner than expected.

“I trust your rendezvous went well?” he asked, in what he hoped was a conspicuous voice.

Instantly Harry’s face darkened even further, if possible. “Yeah. Hermione and I aren’t seeing eye to eye right about now.”

Severus arched an eyebrow. He had expected the boy’s friends to have objections to his guardianship of the Boy-Who-Lived, but, he admitted to himself, he had been anticipating an explosion from their red-haired counterpart. “You’re friends took the news that badly?”

The teen’s eyebrows furrowed. “Well, no. Ron actually took it pretty well.” He still couldn’t puzzle that out.  “It was just Hermione….” He grabbed a pillow to pummel in frustration, “being Hermione!”

His other eyebrow matched the first. “Really now?” ‘Well this will be interesting,’ he mused to himself.  Making a note to investigate Mr. Weasley’s new attitude at a latter date, Severus asked, “What exactly was Ms. Granger’s problem with your new situation?”

And then Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable. Why did he have to ask that question? The boy squirmed in his seat. As angry as he was with the girl, he didn’t think she deserved whatever Severus might throw at her if he decided to enact revenge.

He looked up at his guardian (what a thought!) pleadingly, but only received an expectant look in return.

Fidgeting, Harry mumbled. “She said some stuff.”

Severus decided to ignore the boy’s mumbling, since he was obviously uncomfortable. Acting as if he hadn’t noticed he fixed the boy wit a dry look. “I assumed as much.”

Harry bit is lip nervously. “She just said…she thought…she asked if you touched…if you did…that thing….to me..”

Severus was no slouch, truly, but it took him a minute to fully understand and wrap his brain around the implications of Harry’s statement.

And then, he was angry.

Severus’ jaw clenched fiercely. “She accused me of impropriety?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Harry paled, and shook his head. “Well, you weren’t really there…so she couldn’t have, right?”

The boy was shaking, ever so slightly. Pushing his anger to the side, Severus reminded himself of his priorities.

Reassure Harry now, kill The Granger later.

Moving slowly, he caught the boy’s chin in his thin fingers, and turned the pointed face towards his own.

“Harry.” The boy blinked. “You do know that that will never happen. I will never, ever touch you that way. You know that, correct?”

But the blasted boy was shaking his head, eyes wide and fearful. “No, no, no! I know you won’t. You aren’t like that. Hermione was just being stupid. You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t. You’re not,” the child gasped, suddenly blinking back tears, “You’re not like Dudley.”

And everything else was forcibly driven from his mind. “Dudley?” he asked stupidly. “Dudl – What happened with Dudley?”

In a very small voice and with very wide eyes Harry asked, “You don’t know?”

Severus’ voice was very carefully controlled as he answered. “I have your earlier memories of your mother’s sister’s whale of a son, but nothing of this past summer.” He gave the boy a piercing look, willing his heart to stop hammering. “What happened?”

As calm and controlled as he might have looked on the outside, Severus was the farthest thing from cool and collected on the inside. If what he thought happened to Harry had actually happened….His blood ran cold. He couldn’t have been sexually assaulted, not by his cousin. And if he had been, why didn’t he see it? How could Harry have hid something like that from him when all his memories were practically fusing and meshing with each other in their effort to drive the boy crazy. He couldn’t have been hurt tat way too. Surely not.

Severus would not admit that he was frightened senseless of the boy saying he was.

And just how deep were these Occlumency shields, anyway?

Finding out was a matter for another day, however, as right then he had to stop the little wonder from edging away from him.

And that was simply solved by pulling the child up against his side. While he wasn’t expecting the boy to actively pull away, for the child to curl into a ball and press his face to his chest was a shock. Carefully pulling off glasses that were in serious danger of being warped beyond recognition, Severus wrapped his arms around the small bundle of human, hoping to provide the comfort the boy so obviously needed.

“Just breathe, Harry. It’s alright.”

And then, just like that, Severus found himself with a lapful of sobbing, rocking teenager. At a loss, he continued to hold the boy close and rub his hair. This certainly wasn’t what he expected to deal with after Draco’s performance. It wasn’t something he thought he’d ever wanted to think about, let alone deal with. He was so completely out of his depth here. What on earth was he supposed to do? Should he take the boy to Poppy? No, what good would that do? Should he try and get the boy to talk? Considering the distraught child sobbing into his shoulder, he didn’t think it was likely to happen anytime soon.

And then suddenly there was a slight pressure on his mind, a wriggling, nervous little presence waiting to be acknowledged. Severus was confused. Harry had already bypassed his personal shields and spoken (more or less) directly to his mind earlier that same day. Why was the child hesitating?

Cautiously, he reached out and touched the presence. The very embodiment of a frightened child, it slowly, slowly drew closer and closer ….and a memory unfolded.

Some minutes later found Severus holding Harry close, the boy’s face hidden in the crook of his neck, long potion stained fingers lost among inky black strands while slow irregular tears journeyed down his thin cheeks. Severus could find no words...there were no words to express the things he was feeling, the remorse, sadness, regret, nothing he could ever feel could even begin to make up a tenth of what Harry had been through, and just now that fact hit him like a ton of bricks.

And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all, but hold the child and try to make him feel better.

But it seemed, as Harry squirmed a little and settled again, turning his head to stare out at the fire, the boy didn’t want anything else. Indeed, the child seemed perfectly content, breathing deeply and evenly, curled up on his lap.

Severus arched an eyebrow. Did he truly come off as the cuddling type? Was the boy actually going to stay there? He scowled. ‘Should drop the blasted child right on his head. He’ll think twice about snuggling up to me again, then, won’t he?’  he thought darkly.

He was stopped from further dark musings, however, by a pair of brilliant green eyes peering up at him.

Really, for as snappy and grumpy as Snape was, Harry thought reflectively, he really was a nice bloke. He shifted in the man’s lap (the man’s lap!!) and gazed into the fire. He’d collapsed into a heaving, sobbing mess all over his professor, and all the man had done was hug him. And he was still hugging him. Harry fought not to smile. His professor might decide that he didn’t need to be hugged anymore. It was a bit puzzling too, that the man was still holding him, just like he did last night bringing him up from the train, like he was something important, even after Harry had showed him the latest trend in “Harry-hunting”.

And that got the green eyed teen thinking. Was this what it felt like to have a parent? And then he mentally slapped himself. Of course this was what it was like. He’d seen it enough times with his aunt and cousin, even though the most terrible thing to happen to Dudley was the Ton-Tongue incident. And mentally Harry cringed. Don’t think about it.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he let himself sink further into Sev’s (since when is he Sev?) embrace, and got is mind back on track. The older wizard had just signed guardian papers for him. And he knew that second stack of parchment was adoption forms, even if Sev and Neil didn’t tell him.

So that meant Sev was serious. He meant it when he said he was going to protect him and not ever, ever treat him like his nasty relatives did. Of course, Severus hadn’t said ‘nasty’, but since Harry wasn’t too sure how this mind connection worked, he wasn’t going to test it by repeating, even to himself, some of the more colourful members of Snape’s vocabulary.

So Severus was his parent now, kind of. That meant he was in charge, most of the time. And that he decided who Harry was allowed to see, occasionally. So…..there was something he needed to ask….

“Professor?”

As if he couldn’t see the boy looking up at him. Severus refused to roll his eyes. “Yes, Harry?”

The idiot child started biting his lip. Oh, how he wanted to hex away that habit….

“Did you have to tell them everything?”

He gazed down at the child. Was the boy truly fifteen? “I assume by ‘them’ you mean the forms I had to fill out.” At the boy’s nod, he replied, “Yes, everything I knew at the time. It will save us problems in future, particularly if Albus decides to contest my petition, and it helps to expedite the process. The Ministry gets very touchy about its children.”

Harry closed his eyes, suddenly very weary. “It’ll be in the paper by tomorrow morning.”

Severus said nothing. He could not deny the boy’s claim, as that would entail lying to the child. And, also, he was wondering why the blasted child was still sitting on his lap. Did he look like a chair?

“Can we tell Sirius and Remus?”

Well that certainly was a question to ask. He could feel his hackles rising, just at the mention of those two. Thankfully the boy did not see, those green eyes were still closed. And…quite tightly, actually. And why was the child so tense? And – Oh for goodness sake!

“Breathe child!” He leaned forward, rubbing circles in the boy’s back. “Harry you cannot do this! Forgetting to breathe every time you become upset is going to leave you with brain damage and me with heart failure very soon. I forbid you to scare me like this,” he said into the face that was quickly regaining some of its colour. “Do so again and you will be a very sorry young man, do you understand?”

Harry nodded, slightly breathless. It was still a novel feeling to have someone worried about him. He didn’t mean to stop breathing, honest. He was just terrified the professor would say no, and then forbid him from ever talking to his godfather and Remus ever again. It was nice though, that the man was worried he might someday hurt himself. He nearly smiled up at him, but then he reminded himself that the man might stop his hugs.

“Now, get off my lap.”

Looking at Harry’s slightly wounded, confused face, maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it. But still, he had been nice for the entire day. Surely he was allowed to be the Greasy Git some of the time!

“I need to be standing over there” he pointed towards the fireplace “to activate the Floo, or can’t your puny brain work that fact out for itself?”

At this sharp statement, Harry scampered off and settled onto the couch cushion he had previously occupied. He was tempted to feel offended by the professor’s sharp demeanor, but decided to see it for what it was. The man had been rather nice today, after all.

Severus strode over to the fire, and carefully cast a quick clean-up spell on his face. The boy could get away with a tear-streaked visage. He didn’t yet have a reputation to uphold, and the angst would surely earn the child sap points. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He was doomed to the company of Sirius Black and his damned werewolf for at least another four hours.

He shuddered. Oh, the price we pay for the ones we love.

‘LOVE?! What lo – Where the hell did that come from?’

‘Ah! He admits. Splendid, my dear boy! Absolutely splendid!”

‘I knew it! I knew you just had to love him, and now you finally know it as well. Oh, I’m so happy for you!’

‘S’about time, mate. That’s all I’ll say abou’ tha’.’

Appalled and newly enraged, Severus threw a handful of Floo powder into the grate and bit out the destination. When the fire finally stopped spinning, he didn’t even bother to put his head into the flames. He simply yelled, “Werewolf, get in here, and bring your stinking mutt with you!” and stalked off.

Damn the werewolf. Damn Black.

And damn the boy to hell.

Harry watched, reeling a bit, as Snape stalked out of the room and down the corridor, in the same direction he had escorted Draco in earlier. He bit his lip nervously, wondering if he should follow the man and apologize. He hadn’t meant to just blurt it out like that. And of course the man didn’t want to see Sirius and Remus: the three had never gotten along.

The sound of ‘whoshing’ interrupted his thoughts, and Harry turned back around to find a slightly bewildered looking Remus standing on the hearth. He only became more confused when he caught sight of Harry. Before he could voice the questions flitting trough his mind, Sirius, in dog form, toppled out of the fireplace, barreling into Remus and sending them both to the floor.

Harry giggled. Emotionally exhausted or not, that was funny. At the sound of childish merriment, Sirius bounded over and tackled Harry, covering the boy’s face with his doggie saliva.

“Eurgh! Sirius, gerroff!”

The dog gave the equivalent of a canine snigger and gave the boy some breathing room, before transforming into his human form and giving Harry a good once over with his eyes.

“Hey pup,” Sirius enunciated slowly, softly, his eyes strangely glittering. “How are you?”

“More importantly,” cut in the now standing Remus, “What are you doing in Snape’s rooms?”

Sirius looked around, surprised.”These are Snape’s rooms?” he asked incredulously. “Where’s all the black? And the scary potions ingredients? And the magically cured body parts?

Harry stared up at him wonderingly, then turned the same expression to Lupin, who was giving Sirius an odd look all his own.

Sirius, oblivious to the strange looks he was getting, continued to gaze around the room in wonder. Harry rolled his eyes at the man. Really, it wasn’t that shocking. So Snape’s rooms were done up in neutral shades of blue and beige, and all the wood was a really beautiful dark cherry, and there were huge artificial windows lining one entire wall and an artificial skylight opened up to the sky that they shouldn't have been able to see, and the place was slightly cluttered, in a well-lived-in kind of way, but was it really that surprising?

“Blimey.” Sirius was still gawking.

Harry guessed it was.

Remus walked over and settled on Harry’s other side, rapping Sirius on the head with a sharp “Pay attention!” as he passed. An arm snaked around his shoulders, and Harry felt himself tense. Not because he was afraid Remus would hurt him, but because he knew that while Sirius might be easily distracted, Remus would be sure to find out just why Harry, pubescent minor, was sitting comfortably in his professor’s rooms.

Why had he asked for this again?

True to form, Remus pressed him again. “Harry? Is there something you want to tell us?”

This time, Sirius began paying attention. “Yea, Harry. Why are you in the Greasy Git’s rooms?”

“He’s not greasy,” Harry protested weakly. “He’s really nice.”

Whether any of them thought he sounded a wee bit like a pouting toddler they made no mention of it. Instead he was graced with very pointed stares, and an eyebrow that said “Answer the question”, and Harry Potter sighed.

“He’s my guardian now.”

3…2…1…

“WHAT?”

Instinctively, Harry flinched, then angrily cursed himself for his weakness. They weren’t angry with him. Well, on second thought, and after a look at Sirius’ face, maybe they were, kinda. But was it really that bad? Really? He was safe now, shouldn’t they be happy?

The flinch and following quivering did not go unnoticed by Remus, but as Sirius was currently having a very wild tantrum in the center of Snape’s living rooms, he thought it prudent to calm the animagus down first, since he couldn’t very well get Harry to talk if he was terrified.

But Sirius wasn’t very easily calmed down.

Cursing softly under his breath, Remus pulled his wand, intent on binding and silencing his taller friend. He really didn’t want to, but when it came to Harry, it was impossible to deal with the man logically.

Before he could cast the first spell, however, he was interrupted by a sharp, “Comport yourself, Black!”, and turned to find Snape standing behind the couch he had just vacated, scowling fiercely.

While Sirius seemed to inflate himself and launched into an even louder, more violent round of cursing, Remus noticed a few things. For one thing, Harry had stopped his involuntary quivering almost immediately after Snape spoke. Secondly, Severus wasn’t snarling at them. Or really, at all. He was glaring at the seething animagus though, but other than that his expression was fairly neutral. The werewolf blinked. It boggled the mind.

Remus narrowed his eyes. Something was going on here, and he wanted to know what. And he wanted to know now.

With a flick of his wrist he had Sirius disarmed (the idiot hadn’t even gone for his wand) and silent, though that didn’t stop the man from making some very rude signs with his wildly gesticulating hands in anger.

Another lazy flick and he was bound to a chair, a very safe distance away from anyone he might want to harm, which at that moment included everyone besides Harry.

Satisfied that his friend’s position would have to do till they sorted this mess out, Remus turned his amber eyes onto the small teenager and possibly the most hated professor in the history of Hogwarts, and smiled.

“Well then, now that we have some peace and quiet, how about the two of you explain this situation, yes?”

Severus repressed the urge to shudder. When the wolf was just noticeable beneath the surface, Remus Lupin could be a very scary man.

Harry paled, and gazed at his older friend with wide eyes. He knew Remus and Sirius would be angry, but he hadn’t expected this. Remus was about to go feral. He gulped. How was he supposed to explain it? ‘My relatives beat me’ didn’t sound like a good way to start, since it would only enrage the werewolf further.

But, unfortunately, that was exactly what tumbled out of his mouth.

Remus’ eyes widened as he gripped his wand convulsively. “What?” he asked breathlessly. Severus, who had let out a string of expletives when the words had tumbled out of Harry’s mouth, sent the boy a glare and snapped, “Not another word till I say so, understood?” Harry could only nod warily and shrink further into his cushion. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. How had he managed to make everyone in the room mad at him?

Severus watched as the boy withdrew into himself, and could have hexed himself for his stupidity. The child was teetering on the brink of emotional instability and here he goes yelling at him. I'm not cut out for this!  At this rate, if the boy wasn’t taken away now, he’d cause the child to have mental break. Soon!

Wearily, Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Turning his attention to Lupin he spoke, in his trademark Snape whisper. “Mr. Potter has brought it to my attention that his previous guardians' treatment of his person left much to be desired.”

Harry snorted, and when Snape gave him a Look, he raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Much to be desired?” Harry asked. “Why don’t you be frank and say what you’re really thinking?”

Severus scowled at the boy. “Stay out of my head, brat.” Much to his horror, the boy grinned, and flopped back onto the couch. “Kay,” he said happily, “but Remus is waiting.”

The potions master’s scowl deepened. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut? His head throbbed. Hadn't the boy been upset just moments earlier? Rubbing his temples, he turned back to the werewolf, and, not giving anyone a chance to make a rebuttal, gave the two men a summary of Harry’s life so far.

Well, a detailed summary, anyway. He wasn’t known for sugarcoating anything, afterall.

~*~

At the end, he was faced with one highly uncomfortable teenager, a absolutely fuming werewolf (that he had had to bind and dose with a calming draught halfway through), and an apparently comatose animagus, and he wasn’t too happy about it. He had taken a vindictive pleasure in each one of Black and the werewolf’s flinches, though his stomach had knotted up uncomfortably when he noticed Black had tears running down his face.

There was no more to tell, except how he came to know all of this in the first place. He did so, just managing to explain about Harry’s reverse Legilimency, and it’s causes, when Sirius suddenly jumped up, crossing the sitting room in very few strides to pick up and cuddle Harry, who Severus had nearly forgotten was in the room, as quiet as the child had been.

Harry had sat numbly through the whole retelling, not even bothered by is guardian’s frankness. He couldn’t deny how very bad it had been, and neither could he begrudge the man for being so harsh. He got the feeling Sev was angry they hadn’t seen anything sooner, but then again, Harry had been very good at hiding.

And when Harry had asked for Sirius and Remus to come over, he had expected many things. Yelling, swearing, hexes and curses being thrown left and right (mostly from Sirius, he could admit) sure, but that wasn’t what he got.

What he got was a completely unexpected cuddle from Sirius, who had flew across the room and swept him up into his lap. Harry really didn’t mind the cuddle, especially when Sirius called him “My little pup” though he’d never admit it, but his fifteen year old dignity dictated that he protest.

“But Padfoot, I’m ok now, really,” he said, wiggling into a more comfortable position. “Sev’s got me now and he’s taking really good care of me, honest.”

Sirius pulled back to look into his godson’s face. “How can you be alright after everything you’ve been through? After everything those stinking Muggles did to you?”

“I dunno,” the boy shrugged, and Severus rolled his eyes. “It really wasn’t that bad, kinda. Really!” he insisted, under Black’s outraged, disbelieving expression. “they could only really hurt me when they hit me and didn’t feed me and stuff. I kinda stopped believing the things they said a few years ago. And every time they hit me or whatever I’d just remember it was almost over ‘cause I was gonna tell someone as soon as I got to Hogwarts,” he explained, twisting a bit of Sirius’ robes around his fingers. “It was only ever really, really bad when I couldn’t control my magic, or when I disobeyed or broke a rule….. ok, nevermind.”

Sirius let out something between a growl and a whimper, pulling Harry closer against his chest Harry, for is part, tried really, really hard not to smile, but it was hard. Sirius still wanted him! E had been afraid, in the tiny, seldom paid-attention-to part of is brain that his godfather would reject him because he wasn’t like his dad (because surely James wouldn’t let himself be beat up by some muggle). He felt a grin creep onto his face, and quickly hid it in his godfather’s chest.

Severus watched the sickly sweet scene through narrowed eyes, valiantly fighting the urge to sneer. ‘Sentimental Gryffindors, the lot of them.’ Sirius sat rocking slowly, Harry clutched tightly to his chest, his chin resting on the boy’s head. Harry was, of course, soaking up the comfort like a sponge, clutching the front of Black’s robes. Severus scowled. The boy had no decency! Hadn’t he clung to him like that mere minutes ago? That was the last time he comforted the brat, since he was so inclined to seek cuddles from hither and yon!

Remus shifted again in his peripheral vision, and Severus got the impression that the man was trying to calm himself. He was suddenly very uneasy. The full moon was only two nights away, and the beast lurked closer to the surface as the day drew near. If Remus became too angry…

“Lupin, I think it would be prudent for you to take your potion now, don’t you?” he asked silkily. Of course it wasn’t a question, or even a suggestion. His skin was already beginning to prickle. “If you will excuse me a moment, I’ll bring the usual dosage,” he continued, moving towards the hallway.

“Not just yet, Severus, but thank you,” Remus said tiredly. His voice had taken on a gravelly texture, his features lengthened just the slightest bit that only Sirius and Severus could only possibly notice. “But I’d like to know what caused the Dursely’s to fall back on their earlier treatment of my godson, if you don’t mind.”

Severus watched as Harry, who he had turned to watch, tensed, and wanted to hex the werewolf into the next week. “Potion first,” he snarled, turning away from them all.

“But Severus, I want – “

He whipped around to give the man his deadliest glare. “Potion. First.” He spun away in a flurry of robes before the wolf could protest further.

Barely a minute later, after taking a quick peek in at Draco, Severus returned to the sitting room, having been anxious about leaving Harry in the same room with an almost werewolf, even if Black was capable of handling it. When this statement fully registered itself to him, the Potions Master wanted to curse himself. ‘I must be losing my mind!’

Without a word, he handed the steaming goblet to Lupin and watched dispassionately as he drank it all with a grimace.

“Thank you, Severus,” Remus intoned softly, giving him a look that was both grateful yet strangely expectant at the same time.

Thoroughly disgusted with himself (and all of his guests for being there), Severus turned to his Harry, who was still hiding his face in Sirius’ robes.

“Harry,” he called gently, ignoring the surprised looks he was getting from two quarters. “Would you like to continue, or should I?”

At first, nothing happened. Severus was beginning to think the little brat was deliberately ignoring him. The clock ticked loudly in the corner. Snape frowned. ‘Why that little – ‘

“Harry  - "

But then there was movement. Harry extended one pale hand towards Remus, face still hidden from the world. He trembled slightly, a sight that caused a wave to go through Snape and a frown to conform his face while the werewolf took the proffered appendage, kneeling close to the pair and bringing the boy’s hand against his chest.

Fairly certain of what was going to happen and dreading it, Severus watched as Remus’ eyes glazed over, the faintest flicker of shadow images across those dark eyes affirming his fear. He fingered his wand restlessly, a strong stunner on the tip of his lips.

The boy had undoubtedly shown them a shorter sequence of events, as Sirius and Remus resurfaced nearly a minute later, ashen-faced and reeling in shock.

Severus frowned, not even in the mood to be particularly nasty. ‘None of them had better vomit on my couch’, he thought to himself as consolation. He was just about to remind them where they were when the love-fest began.

Literally.

Sirius pulled the boy closer to his chest while Remus leaned forward so that they both had Harry wrapped quite snuggly between them, and then the old troublemakers started to glow. First it was a soft, barely noticeable glow, but then they started rocking, and soon someone was crying and the three of the started to glow, Sirius a bright green and Remus a blazing blue and Harry some sort of mixture in between, and they got brighter and brighter till Severus had to shield his eyes, the light became almost painful in its intensity, and then it was gone.

Blinking furiously, Severus reached for his wand, not sure what he was going to cast, but feeling better with it ready all the same. The men were still wrapped around his ward, though Sirius and Remus were both looking at him.

Instantly he was on the defensive. “What?” he snarled.

“Nothing, nothing,” Remus said, disentangling himself from the mass of human, smiling slightly. “Nothing at all.”

Sirius gave him a wide grin and stood, Harry still in his arms. “I’ll go put this one to bed, yes?” Severus wanted to tell him no and demand that he put the boy down, but before he could Sirius was already past the sofa and turning down the corridor.

“Second door on the right, you imbecile,” he called irritably.

In the minute it took Sirius to disappear down the hall and hopefully into the right room, Remus gazed at the potions master with an undisguised amusement. Severus wanted to wipe the amiable smile off of his face with a slab of dragon spleen, if only he could waste the Galleons.

While his death glare was going head to head with Remus’ genial smile, there came a shout of surprise from the direction of the  bedroom,, and Severus was down the corridor in a flash.

He burst into the room, wand drawn, heart hammering and battle mask in place, to find Sirius standing, slack-jawed in the middle of Harry’s bedroom, gazing around him like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

Which only served to irritate Severus further. “What is the problem, you idiot?” he snarled, advancing on the animagus menacingly. “What are you screaming for?”

Sirius snapped his mouth shut long enough to give the dour man a reproachful glare. “I didn’t scream” he snapped indignantly. “I made a….. manly noise.” His gaze slipped to rest on something behind him and his face lit up. “Moony! Do you see all this stuff?

Severus whirled around to gaze at the other man, who was gazing around the room in much the same manner as his friend before. Severus growled. “Close your mouth, man, before you catch something!”

Remus obliged, is eyes still roving over the room, taking in every stitch of fabric, trimming and accessory, and Severus was sorely tempted to hex him into a bug so his eyes would fit better. He ignored it in favor of checking on Harry.

The boy was sprawled across his bed, fully clothed and breathing deeply. And Severus felt is scowl deepen. Black you idiot!  He strode forward, flicking his wand and sending the covers folding towards the end of the bed. With quick, smooth movements (because Severus was a naturally smooth character, not because he was trying not to wake the boy) he undressed his charge and slipped him into pajamas. And because the boy would freeze to death down in the dungeons if he didn’t, he spilled a pair of socks from the nearby dresser onto twin feet, and tucked Harry firmly into bed. Of course, in his own mind Severus called it ‘keeping the brat from catching his death of cold’ and ‘preventing the boy from giving himself a head injury’, but Remus and Sirius, who had stopped their gawping at Harry’s newly furnished room and now stood transfixed by the sight before them, saw Snape’s actions for what they were.  

When Severus finally turned around after adjusting the angle of the boy’s head on his pillow (not, though it looked so, caressing said boy’s cheeks), the two friends were still staring. Then, after a minute of gaping and being glared at, both men exchanged a look, and turned to him with wide grins.

Severus was not pleased.

After one last check on Harry, Severus spun out of the room in a flurry of black, scowl firmly in place on his face. Oh, but he was in for a long night.

He glared fiercely at the men sitting on is couch, both wearing far-too-amused expressions and seeming quite at home in his domain. He scowled harder. “One would think, that after witnessing your godchild being assaulted in such a fashion as the boy was, you’d be less inclined to wear such sunny expressions, or can’t the magnitude of the whale-boy’s transgressions penetrate those thick Gryffindor skulls?” he sneered.

Both smiles faltered, and Sirius’ face actually darkened for a few moments. “No, we Understand. Petunia and her whale of a husband will understand too, soon enough,” he said lowly.

“And that…boy,” Remus added in a voice so low it as barely more than a growl

Severus resisted the urge to shiver. He knew from experience that an angry Sirius Black was a sight nearly as terrifying as the Dark Lord, and that was saying something. He had spent time puzzling that out, naturally, and had decided that it was the madness in his blood. After all, Bellatrix was his cousin. And Remus, well, the man was frightening on a good day. The amiable persona he employed was a skillfully constructed ruse that nearly no one could see through. But when the man switched it off….it was easy to see how he could have been best friends with the likes of James Potter and Sirius Black.

Lupin, however, seemed to have pulled himself together. He linked his fingers together in his lap, fixing the potions master with a wide smile again. “Well, when Harry showed us how…nice,” here the smile grew wider, “you were to him, I must say I was greatly surprised.”

Sirius snorted. “More like shocked to death.” He looked at Snape from the corner of his eyes, lips quirking. “Who would have thought that the greasy git of the dungeons actually had a heart?”

Severus snarled at them both, causing them to chuckle, before sighing tiredly. This is what he signed up for the moment he decided to take custody of Potter. He resisted the urge to groan. I need a drink.

Several minutes later found our three men seated around the living room, all nursing cups of mead. Severus had added a rather large drop of firewhiskey to his mug, but that wasn’t to be common knowledge.

“I must say, Severus, I’m rather impressed with the way you’ve been handling Harry.” Remus ventured. When he got no response he continued, “You never had been one for patience, so – “

“That hasn’t changed,” Severus snapped. “I’m impatiently waiting for you both to remove yourselves from my chambers.”

Sirius grinned. “Oh, but we’ve got lots to talk about. Like those cuddles, for instance.”

Remus shook with laughter. “Oh yes, two in as many days. Good lord Severus, I do believe your mask is slipping.”

“And calling him ‘idiot child’. He quite likes that you know,” Sirius continued, much to Severus’ discomfort.

Unfortunately, Remus had caught on. “And taking him shopping, when you know no one has ever done that for him – “

“And calming him down when he had that little panic attack – “

“And letting him see us, of all people – “

“We have reason to be surprised, you understand.”

Severus only scowled. “I couldn’t very well force him to be miserable, could I? Anything I did was for my own benefit. There is nothing more maddening than a whiny child,” he sneered, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Sure you did,” Remus said, smiling.

“What I don’t understand is, “Sirius began, after taking a draught from his cup, “why you didn’t have custody of him in the first place.”

Snape gazed at him through narrowed eyes. “Perhaps this bottled of Odgen’s is a mite too strong for your deprived palette, Black, and has addled your mind some. Potter was placed with relatives, a family connection I do not and cannot hope to possess.”

Remus looked confused. “No, Sirius is right. Since the Dursely’s were Muggles, by law he should have been placed with you first, or at least asked your permission for him to be placed with them, even if at the time they still thought you were a Death Eater.”

Confused himself, Severus held up and inspected the whiskey bottle. “Perhaps this has been tampered with,” he muttered to himself. “Why on earth would the Ministry have to ask me for permission to place Potter with his relatives? Have you forgotten that little matter of blood? Besides the well-known fact that James Potter and I hated each other with a fierce, burning passion, we are not related!” he snapped angrily.

Sirius blinked blankly. “Because you’re his stepfather, that’s why.”

To say Severus was floored would have been a gross understatement. “What?”

“His stepfather,” Remus repeated. “You were married to Lily first, remember, for three years,” he continued softly. “She….left you, and about a year later she and James tied the knot.”

Severus closed his eyes, and willed himself to breathe. “We weren’t married.” The room was suddenly blazing hot and blindingly cold, and spinning wildly to boot.

“No,” Remus answered. “But you were sworn to one another. That’s about as binding as any piece of parchment that the Ministry could give you.”

Severus breathed deeply, focusing on keeping the memories from overwhelming him. It was true. His Lily, beautiful Lily had been his for three years. Three blissful years till it had suddenly came crashing down around him, and he still couldn’t pick up the pieces. “You’re wrong,” he whispered, suddenly feeling far much older than his years. “To be his step-father she would have had to marry him first, not second.”

“Even so,” Sirius contradicted, in an uncharacteristically soft voice, “you had a vested interest in his continued existence. All marriages, official and sworn, are registered automatically at the Ministry. They should have contacted you.”

Snape grit his teeth angrily, forcing down his rising ire lest he disturb the young man sleeping two rooms over. What he really wanted to do was wring someone’s neck and he had a sneaking suspicion whose it would be for this crime. Harry should not have grown up there. To know this after witnessing all that the boy had been through, and to find out that all of it, every cruel word and action could have been avoided was like adding gunpowder to a burning blaze. Two boys he told himself. Two beautiful boys he had failed. ‘I lost both my boys, and all because I let someone else tell me what was best for them.’

He hadn’t realized he had said anything out loud, but he had. Remus and Sirius gazed on him with expressions of sympathy so strong it nearly hurt, and Severus was instantly uncomfortable.

“No luck, then?” Remus asked into the tense silence.

“No,’ was his terse reply. No he hadn’t had any luck locating his son. Whatever protections Lily had woven over the boy to keep him safe was holding fast. That she had felt the need to keep the little one safe from him just like a knife in his heart, just as painful as the day she had left.

Clenching his jaw, Severus snarled internally at himself. He was absolutely pathetic. Here he was, very nearly close to weeping in front of two of his childhood tormentors. He must be going mad! Did he never learn? He sneered at himself. ‘Pull yourself together, man!

Where were those damn voices when he needed them?

Severus grimaced. Damn Black for telling him he was Potter’s stepfather. The thought had honestly never crossed his mind. Damn the werewolf for making him think of Lily, damn them all for making him think of –

Damn.

Ruthlessly, he gathered all those treasured, heartbreaking memories of a little boy with midnight blue eyes together and shoved them into the farthest corner of his mind. Layer after layer of mental shields rose up around them, sealing the beautiful snatches of a time behind the man’s best defenses. Deeper and deeper he pushed them, bring up layer after layer of his most impenetrable masks. Nothing would phase him again. He would not show such weakness in front of these men. Never.

Finally, when his mask was back in place, Severus looked up, only to find two pairs of soft gazes on him. “See something you like, gentlemen?” he sneered.

Sirius sighed, and shook his shaggy head. “On of these days you’re going to have to let someone in, Sevie.” He took another long drink from his cup. “It’s just not healthy to keep things in like that.”

Severus ignored him in favor of draining is cup and giving himself a refill. “Perhaps now that you’ve been watered and fed” he glanced distastefully at the thrice emptied tray Winky had brought in, “you would care to explain the ephemeral demonstration of hue and intensity you displayed earlier?” When neither of them hastened to respond, he tried a simpler tact. “You were glowing. Explain.”

Remus’ gaze turned thoughtful. “Glowing, you say,” he murmured. “I haven’t a clue what that could mean, do you, Sirius?”

“Not sure,” Sirius managed, reaching for a carton of biscuits that had just magically appeared on the table before him. “Were we a particular color, Snape?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “You were green, and Remus was blue, and Harry was a mixture of both.”

Sirius eyebrows furrowed. “Only thing I can think of is Claiming.”

Remus’ eyes lit up in recognition. “Indeed?”

Severus scowled. He hated being out of the loop. “Will either of you dunderheads explain, or will I ave to throw you out on your ears?”

Sirius grinned. “Patience, Sevie. Claiming is an old – “

“Archaic, really,” Remus interjected.

“ – pureblood ritual, used by families accepting injured or traumatized wizards and witches into their family line. It wasn’t a common practice, really, but one kept up in the smaller families, more likely to see someone hurting and help them.” He paused to munch on a biscuit, ignoring Snape’s glare at the crumbs he was getting on the sofa. “It was usually the head of house that performed the ritual, stating his intent to protect and care for the wizard as a member of his house, as he would any other of his family. The family aura was said to emanate from the head, covering the newest addition, and fusing with their personal aura,” he explained, while licking his fingers. Remus wrinkled his nose in disgust and threw him a handkerchief. After giving is friend a winning smile, Sirius continued.”If I’m right, then that means Harry is now part of three families, and from the looks of it, sole heir of each. Harry James Potter Lupin Black. Wow,” he said, blinking slowly. “What a mouthful.”

“His status has changed? Legally?” Severus inquired. One could almost see the gears turning in his mind.

“Yes, I believe so. Unless I’m mistaken, when you peruse the adoption documents in a few weeks time, little Harry should have three lasts names.”

“And you would each have rights to primary guardianship, I assume,” He enquired silkily.

“Well, not exactly,” Remus hedged. “Magically, Sirius would be the sole guardian, since my lycanthropy makes me unfit to care for children,” he explained, giving a wry smile. “But the law hardly ever recognizes magical rights any longer, so the fact that Moony had long before claimed Harry as his cub carries about the same weight as my claim as godparent. So, by law, since you signed for guardianship and were approved, Sirius and I are secondary guardians, to take over if ever you should become incapable, or unfit.”

“Indeed.” Severus sipped from is cup again, the cool liquid trailing a burning path down to his stomach. Oh yes, this was working out nicely. As heir to both the Potter and Black families, Harry had more political clout than he could shake a stick at, never mind his own for being The-Boy-Who-Lived. If this adoption ever came before a trial, the elder members of the Wizenmagot would be hard-pressed to discount it. Besides holding four seats in the house itself, and thus four votes in any matter presented, none of them were foolhardy enough to try and take Harry on. Te boy was simply too powerful.

And with a Slytherin like Severus Snape behind him, he was about to become a force to reckon with.

Early Sunday morning found Severus weaving his way to his bedroom potions cabinet, clearly drunk with a smirk on his face. Maybe those infernal Marauders weren’t so bad, he thought. A tad unsteadily, he pulled out an Anti-Hangover potion, downed it and wobbled to his bathroom. He was still considering the potential of making both men allies as he headed towards the shower, and so didn’t see the rather large lump curled up in the center of his bed.

Nearly two hours later (because he had fallen asleep on the toilet, but don’t tell him I told you that), Severus ambled drowsily from the bathroom and stumbled into his bed. Tomorrow he would reflect that for all his grace, he was incredibly duck-footed when drunk, but for now he was quite content to curl up next to the warm bundle of something under his covers, and sleep.

……

Clumsily, and fighting to keep his eyes open, Severus managed to rear back and yank the covers shielding the bed-invader back, ready to curse the offender into oblivion, only to have them reveal a very much asleep and un-curse-worthy Harry.

Absently, he felt all tension leak out of his body, while his brain tried to wrap itself around the fact that Harry Potter was in his bed.

Failing that, he settled for poking the boy soundly in the stomach.

Harry twitched, but remained asleep.

Severus poked his stomach  again. And his ribs. Harry squirmed, then snuggled into the sheets.

This was going to take forever, Severus thought. He shifted onto his haunches, and after a long minute of deliberation, attacked the boys sides, armpits and stomach, reducing said teenager to a sleepily giggling mess.

Once satisfied that the boy was sufficiently awake, Severus prodded him again. “You are in my bed, boy. Why?”

Having wrapped himself around a pillow, Harry answered, “Wanetosaythnkyu”, and promptly slid his eyes closed again.

After translating the mumble the boy had spoken (he was tired and slightly drunk) Severus poked the now dozing boy again. “Thank me for what, brat?”

Harry started awake, and after gazing at his guardian for a full minute (the boy was sleepy) trying to figure out why he was being awoken yet again, replied, “F’my room. And bed, and clothes and shoes and – “ Here he was cut off by a wide yawn, after which he couldn’t remember what he had been speaking about. Gazing up at Severus sleepily, he mumbled, “Go ‘sleep, Sev,” and buried his head in the pillow once more.

Severus stared at his charge for another few minutes. The boy was trying to thank him. He blinked, and stifled a yawn. Thank him for things every child should have. He frowned, then winced, as the action had given him a headache. Or maybe it was the ridiculous mound of boy asleep in front of him giving him a headache. But how could someone give you a headache if they’re asleep?

Grumbling, he decided he could deal with this particular issue tomorrow, after he had had a good nights sleep. Coming around the bed, he picked up the small teenager, who squirmed and furrowed his forehead and tried to tunnel into Snape’s chest, and carried him back to his room.

After settling and tucking Harry into his bed, Severus tramped back to his own, and threw the covers half over him. He would figure out what the devil was going through the boy’s head tomorrow. Right now, he needed sleep.

~*~

Sunday Morning

2:14a.m.

Some time later he swam back to consciousness, blinking heavily drowsy eyes into his dark bedroom, knowing something had woken him up but not knowing what. He shifted, about to rest his head again, when he felt it. A warm presence pressed up against his side.  He didn’t need a lumos to tell him it was Harry. He could feel it down in the back of his mind. He sighed and resigned himself to a few less minutes of sleep. Getting up, he roused the boy, using the method that had worked so well before.

“Up, Harry.” Getting the sleepily smiling boy out of the bed, he led him, half pulling, half pushing, back to his own bed, and saw that he was tucked in. After waiting to see that the boy’s breathing deepened and evened out as consistent with deep sleep, Severus spun on his heel and dragged his weary bones back to bed, sparing half a drowsy thought to curse whatever was troubling the boy’s sleep.

~*~

Sunday Morning

4:27 a.m.

Severus sighed, and pulled the covers back as the barely recognizable shape of his young ward blundered sleepily through his bedroom door. After putting the boy into his own bed the third time he had placed an alarm on the child’s bedroom door. It had woken him up twice. This was getting ridiculous. He was so sleepy, when he tried to open his eyes they rolled back into his head. Well, at least he could know why the boy refused to sleep in his room.

“Why won’t you stay in your bed, Harry?” he asked, voice soft with sleep and fatigue. Oh what he wouldn’t give to sleep.

“Toobg” came the muffled reply.

Severus’ eyebrows furrowed, despite himself. “What is? The bed? How so?” he queried, unconsciously drawing the boy closer to his side.

Harry made a slightly distressed sound as he tried unsuccessfully to press a hand over his ear, though Snape couldn’t see it. “Wide. No walls. Big space.” He pulled the pillow over his head. “Go t’sleep, Sev!”

He tried to glare at the boy for having the audacity to order him about when he was the one trespassing, he really did, but his eyes would not co-operate. Disjointed thoughts of Harry’s cupboard and drapes and his reputation if Black and Lupin ever saw him like this or is life expectancy if Black and Lupin ever saw him like this flitted through his mind. ‘No, no, no, this simply won’t do.’ He thought to himself. ‘I’m thinking too much.’ And with that, he sent himself off to dreamland, determined to affix some drapes to Harry’s bed at the soonest opportunity.

~*~

He rose at six, as he did every morning, and took a moment to survey his room. All of his ebony furniture was in the same place, the magical windows were offering false views of the grounds surrounding the lake, and he was in bed, just as he last remembered.

And there was also Harry. The boy was stretched out in the middle of the Potions Master’s bed, deeply asleep and unaware that he was being watched. Severus snorted. Harry was, much to the older man’s amusement, taking up most of the bed. His arms and legs were spread hither and yon in a way thank Severus knew they hadn’t been since before Lily and James had been murdered some fourteen years ago.

Shaking his head at his own mellow mood, Severus rose and completed his morning abolitions, contemplating effective methods to deal with his two boys in a few hours time.

Some minutes later, the potions master stood before his bed, pondering a problem. How to move the boy back to his bed? He had a personal aversion to levitating any human being, since he had seen some of the more horrid uses of the simple spell. That left waking the boy, something he couldn’t bring himself to do, Greasy Git or not, and carrying him to the child’s room.

After watching the child breath for another minute, Severus bent forward and gathered the boy in his arms. It would have been a simple gesture, really, except the child took the opportunity to press is face to Snape’s chest, wiggling a bit till he was curled around the man’s torso, instead of just laying in his arms.

Severus would have ignored it too, except something passed through him just then, something fierce and strong and burning coursed through every single fibre of his being, and one thought came to his for once, completely un-Occluded mind.

Mine.

~*_____*~

Harry awoke into that blissfully blank state of mind afforded to children and teenagers everywhere. Severus could tell by the blank look in the boy’s eyes when they opened, bright green and still glassy with sleep. The potions master tried his best not to scowl in jealousy, for his mind had a tendency to race before he was even aware that he was awake, if, indeed it stopped at all when he fell asleep in the first place.

The brat was smiling. Involuntarily, he felt a smile tug at his lips in response to the one the boy had now. Of course, what was so nice about seeing him first thing in the morning was beyond him really.

“I trust you slept well?” Severus asked.

Harry smiled, relieved for some reason that Snape was there. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he still couldn’t really believe everything that had happened. He wanted to, even did, mostly, but there was a small part of him that said this was all some elaborate dream, and that any minute he’d wake up to his Uncle’s fist connecting with his head.

Some of that anxiety had filtered through their link, unbeknownst to the boy, and Severus felt his chest tighten. Moving closer to the bed, he attempted to scowl at himself, to no effect. ‘Look at you! Turning into a bleeding heart over a pest that made your life hell for four years.’ All efforts were rendered completely useless as the man sat on the teen’s dark blue duvet, and made a gesture synonymous with the offering of comfort: open arms.

Fighting back tears that had suddenly decided that they wanted to be seen, and seen NOW, Harry scrambled from under his covers and into the man’s arms.

‘Well,’ intoned Three in a voice thick with emotional approval, ‘this is certainly a vast improvement from two days ago.’

‘Yes I much agree,’ Severus replied.

After a few minutes of sniffling into his guardian’s robes, throughout which Severus did nothing more than rub the boy’s back, Harry managed to collect himself enough to pull away and look the older man in the face (albeit with a rather prominent blush).

“Um, morning.”

Severus had to discreetly pinch himself to keep from smiling. “Good morning, Harry. Did you sleep well?”

Harry nodded. He really had had a good night’s sleep; no nightmares or anything. And he felt incredible. He hadn’t felt this good since….. yesterday morning. At this thought Harry grinned sheepishly, and rolled out of bed.

“Breakfast is in fifteen minutes,” Severus said, coming around the bed and pushing the already frowning boy towards the bathroom. “Wash up quickly, or Draco will devour the entire table.”

“Malfoy?”” Harry asked, incredulous.

“Draco”, Severus stressed. “I will not have any of that last name rivalry foolishness in my quarters, is that clear?”

Good heavens, the boy is pouting! “Did you tell Draco that, too?”

Severus eyed the boy fondly. “Rest assured, I did. Now, will you get dressed, or shall we postpone breakfast indefinitely?”

At this, Harry turned and scampered away, even as his stomach gave a loud growl of protest at the potion’s master’s suggestion.

~*____*~

Twenty minutes later, Severus sat at the head of his ebony wooden table, counting the minutes till one of his ridiculous boys broke the silence they had lapsed into since breakfast began.

Harry was practically inhaling his eggs, his nose was so close to the plate, and Draco had become inexplicably fascinated by the interior of his bowl. And not the porridge that was in it. Severus sighed.

“How long are you two going to perpetuate this awkward silence? Should I write this out in my daily planner, or are we going to have some kind of table conversation?” he asked drily.

Both boys had the grace to blush.  Draco had just opened his mouth (probably to point out something scathing about Harry’s attire, which consisted of the pajamas he had worn to bed) when there was loud knocking on the door.

Severus rose, pulling his wand from his sleeve. Surely Dumbledore couldn’t have roused the Aurors already. Or maybe it was McGonagall demanding to know if he had found the boy wandering through the night and had him drawn and quartered in his study. He stalked across his living space, robes billowing behind him, and considered the scroll.

Ronald Weasley

His brows furrows further. What on earth was the Weasley boy doing visiting him at half seven in the morning? Feeling uneasy, Severus opened the door, only to be slammed into the wall behind it as a read-headed whirlwind flew past him.

“HE GOT OFF!! HARRY! LOOK!”

Fighting to see around the stars that danced before his eyes, Severus pushed himself back up using the wall behind him. The sight that met his eyes was one he’d never thought to see in his living quarters. Ever.

The Weasley boy was dancing some jig near the table, or at least he hoped he was dancing, since that  meant the boy was having an epileptic fit in is home, and he would have to help him. Harry was holding, well, clenching, really, a wad of parchment that Severus could recognize as a copy of the Daily Prophet, his copy of which lay still folded beside his coffee cup. Then, to his dismay, Harry let out a ‘Whoop!’ like he hadn’t ever heard before and joined the red headed menace in wiggling like he had something in his pants. Draco, he was mildly relieved to see, had at least some decorum. The blonde child stared at the duo with unmasked incredulity, before reaching across the table to delicately pick up the crumpled paper, to see what all the fuss was about.

Slowly, wary of the flailing limbs so close to his vicinity, Severus resumed his seat, snatching up his paper and sliding his cup of hot coffee away from the exuberant males.

The headline was enough to leave him speechless.

PETTIGREW ALIVE AND CAPTURED! BLACK CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES!

It was shocking. It was mind boggling. It was……quite frankly the very last thing he had expected to see in the paper in all his born days. When had this happened? HOW had this happened? Did the headmaster know? Why didn’t someone tell him? What would Harry want to do? Surely the boy would pack up his things to live with the blasted mutt?

He was interrupted by the beaming, slightly sweaty face of Potter. The brat.

“Sev! Can we call Sirius and Remus? Please? Can we, can we, can we? Please, please, please? I wanna know if he knows! I wanna tell him! Come on!” And the boy didn’t give him a chance to respond, pulling him from his chair and across the living space. Abstractly, in the back of his brain, the potions master noted that Harry was acting, quite appropriately, like an exuberant child. Severus had barely regained his footing when the brat pushed the jar of Floo powder into his hands, and stood looking at him with a blissfully hopeful expression.

Severus wanted to hurl.

 Instead, he narrowed his eyes, making a big deal of straightening his rumpled robes and composing himself. Draco had removed himself from the table, he looked around to see, and had seated himself in Sev’s favourite armchair. The incredible fact that he and the Weasley child weren’t at each other’s throat barely kept him from commenting on the appalling menace’s behavior.

Harry was now, predictably, worrying his bottom lip in apprehension, and the worry and uncertainty pouring from those green eyes quite effectively speared the dour man’s previously cold heart. Huffing slightly, he reached for the jar again, opened it and offered it to the child that was his.

“Your first lesson on Wizard communications, Harry,” Severus intoned. “The Floo system as been around for quite some time, dating back to before the Dark Ages. To reach your intended destination, one simply grasps a handful of Floo powder,” here he nudged the still gaping boy’s hand with the jar, prompting him to do as instructed, “carefully prepared by the Transportation department of the Ministry of Magic, casts it into an already blazing fire,” here his raised eyebrow had a more speedy response, “and clearly state your destination. Keep your eyes closed, arms and legs tucked close to you at all times, and do not move to step out until you have stopped moving completely” he ended sternly. He gave the little boy a prod closer to the fireplace, and watched.

After nibbling is lip for a further minute, Harry decided that “Remus Lupin’s rooms” would suffice, since, Sirius wasn’t an official guest of the castle and therefore had no designated room. The flames flickered emerald, and, after casting a quick look behind him to his guardian, Harry stepped forward, into the flames, and then after what seemed like endless spinning, out into a dark living room.

“Hello?” He called uncertainly. Though his previous excitement had abated somewhat, he still wanted to see his godfather and unofficial godfather. “Sirius? Remus? Are either of you up?” He had been so worried Severus wouldn’t let him come, and that he’d get a really long, biting lecture about disturbing his guardian during breakfast, but he hadn’t gotten it. Instead, Harry had gotten a lesson on how to use the Floo system properly, and though he had seen it used a few times before and had even used it himself, (with less than stellar results) no one had ever explained it to him like Sev had. Well, Mrs. Weasley had come pretty close….

A shiny nose poked out from behind a slightly closed door, and Harry grinned. “Isn’t it a bit early to be sneaking about, you mangy mutt?” Harry teased. There was loud barking as a large black dog came barreling toward him, tongue lolling, tail wagging and claws clicking on the polished stones floors. In a moment, Padfoot pounced, landing squarely on his teenage boy and liberally coating his face with doggie saliva. Harry’s screams of joyful protest and Padfoot’s loud yipping effectively drew Remus from his bed, and he stood for a moment in the doorway of his bedroom, watching the boy and his dog frolic about of the hearth.

On the other side of the fireplace, Severus straightened slowly, rolling his eyes at the green-eyed child’s exuberant squeals through the fire. Really, he thought to himself as he turned to address the two young men looking up at him, must the boy carry on so? Studying the red-head's easily decipherable emotions as they flickered across his face, and the ever-blank features of his godson, Severus posed a question.

“Shall we resume breakfast, then?”

“I’m cleared?”

The soft spoken whisper cut through the silence settled over the potion’s master’s kitchen, startling no one save the flames flickering in the fireplace.

Severus was, predictably, languidly sipping tea while flipping trough a potions journal, activities he had engaged himself in since Black, Lupin and Harry had stepped trough his Floo half n hour ago.

Never one to put up with much (any) hysterics, Severus had stuck the morning’s edition of the Daily Prophet under the former fugitive’s nose the very instant he had stepped through. Then, while the animagus stood frozen in the living room, had ordered the incorrigible brat to take a bath and tidy is bed, doing his best to ignore the werewolf in the room. Harry, ever eager to please and beside himself with joy, had grinned, snatched the professor up into a bruising hug and scampered off, while Remus looked on with what Snape thought was a far too amused expression.

Severus had narrowed his eyes at the man in warning, turned smartly on his heel and snapped back over to the kitchen table, from which Ron and Draco had previously been unceremoniously banished once they had cleared their plates (three times apiece), intent on finishing is morning cup. He had been joined shortly thereafter by Lupin, who was dragging a still stunned and gaping Black behind him. After settling the man into a chair, Remus had claimed another for himself, and had cordially asked Snape if he minded if he poured himself a cup of tea.

Severus had only grunted.

Remus had beamed, fixed is cup, and while he was fixing a plate for his best friend, had asked the dour man what he thought of the news.

Severus ad graced him with another grunt.

Similar attempts at conversation had been treated in much the same fashion, though with varying degrees of irritation or apathy being directed at the werewolf. It was into a particularly long lull in communication that Sirius had spoken.

“I’m cleared.”

Severus, surprisingly, had the good grace not to sneer. He did, however, fix the man with a rather sharp look that made him look rather like an impatient vulture. “You are. Shall we, move onto the next blindingly obvious statement, or must I resign myself to listening to this irritating repetition for the foreseeable future?”

Sirius, though, wasn’t paying Severus the slightest bit of attention. His face had morphed from that if intense disbelief to malicious glee.

“They caught Peter.”

Severus snorted and rolled his eyes. “I was wondering when you would get that.”

While Sirius descended to the realm of the insanely cackling lunatics to which he was born, Remus was sulking.

“What’s you’re problem now, Lupin?”

The werewolf pouted further. “Now Moony won’t be able to eat him,” the man replied. “He was really looking forward to it.”

Severus gazed at the man for a full minute, blinked and looked away. Sirius, however, was giving his friend a disgusted glare. “I can’t believe you’d actually eat Peter!” he all but shouted. “He’d – he’d give you indigestion!” he exclaimed, in a tone usually reserved for horrifying phantoms and terror-inducing dark lords.

Severus opened his mouth to scold Black about showing his stupid at his kitchen table, but was cut off by Remus’ derisive snort.

“I wouldn’t eat him human, you idiot. I’d never be able to swallow that filth. Let alone his girth,” he explained. Despite his logic, Severus as still worried. And with good reason. “Moony’d eat him in his rat form. It is clearly the more convenient route.” He nodded decisively.

Severus closed his eyes. He wasn’t listening to this.

“Well, yea-a-a-a-a,” Sirius dragged childishly, reaching to snatch up Remus’ teacup and peer inside, to Severus’ mixed irritation and amusement. “But that way’s hardly filling,” he continued, thoughtfully piercing a few scrambled eggs from his plate.

To Snape’s alarm, Remus actually snarled. “I’m not eating him for his nutritional content!” he roared, leaning towards Black menacingly. “I’m eating him for REVENGE!”

Black tilted is head to the side thoughtfully, absently tapping the tines of his fork against his teeth. After a moment of consideration, he shrugged. “Oh, well that’s fine then.”

Remus beamed.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. Idiots. He was surrounded by idiots.

~*_______*~

Meanwhile, down the hall and two doors to the left, the inhabitants of the Isle of Awkward Silence sat upon various pieces of furniture or the floor, twiddling their thumbs in abject discomfiture.

Harry, whose room they all occupied, was pretty much only semi-bothered by the quiet. True, it was equally awkward for him as it was for Draco and Ron to be here sitting in the same room together, alone, mostly because he still needed to explain to his best friend all the events that had led up to them all being here in the first place. And, really, that was way more explaining than he wanted to do. Ever. Not to mention the fact that Ron hated Draco about as much as he hated Snape, which…….according t this morning……wasn’t all that much….

Ron’s apparent non-hatred for all things Snape had Harry completely stumped, if he was honest about it. It was so sudden and ….so complete that Harry was beginning to become suspicious. And, to make matters even more strange, not only did the redhead suddenly not hate Snape anymore, but now he was refraining from making a fuss about the presence of Draco in is best friend’s room.

True, Harry thought it would be easier for everyone if Ron didn’t throw a Weasley-sized tantrum in the midst of all this unstable ground in the potion’s master’s quarters, but the fact the he didn’t even seem to want to throw a tantrum of any size in the midst of all this was ………unsettling.

Draco, coincidentally, was thinking much of the same thoughts. Why hadn’t Weasl – erm, Ron attacked him yet? Things wouldn’t usually escalate to a physical level without considerable provocation, he could freely admit, but the other boy could have at least called him ‘ferret’ in a derisive manner or something! He barely resisted the urge to huff in exasperation. If you leave it to Gryffindors, you were bound to have the rug pulled out from under you.

Repeatedly.

Ron Weasley had never been much for silence. It always left him with an empty buzz in his head. Neither had he ever been much for reading people. That was a Hermione thing something she did best and e thought was best left in her domain. Both things, among others, however, had changed over the past summer. As such, he spent the time Harry and Draco spent studying their fingernails or the floor, studying them.

Draco was a bit difficult, what with that blank mask he was so fond of wearing. But every now and then it would slip, and Ron could see that he was worried, a little bit, about something. Most helpful, though, in reading Draco was the things he didn’t have to read. For instance there was no anger, at least not that he could see, no lingering irritation at having to share breakfast in the presence of a ‘blood traitor’. Draco wasn’t even mildly disturbed at Harry being in the same room with him, and in pajamas, no less. In fact, every so often Ron would see is eyes travel over to glance at his dark-haired friend, heavy with some combination of uncertainty, hope and worry.

Storing that bit of information away for later analysis, Ron turned his focus to Harry.  Truthfully, he would have laughed if the room hadn’t been so tense. Harry was, above everything else, confused. Ron could think of a number of things that could be confusing his friend, but he doubted any of them were truly bothering the boy. Underneath the thick veil of confusion he could see a bit of worry and anticipation, and bubbling under the surface was something he ad rarely ever seen in Harry: happiness. It was written across his eyebrows and in his cheeks, and in the crack of the smile that tried to usurp control over his face every so often.

Ron smiled, then heaved a put-upon sigh; if he didn’t break the silence now they’d be sitting here till one of the adults came looking for them.

“Look, Harry, Draco. I realize that there are a lot of things that have happened in the past few days, or even this past summer that I have no knowledge of that have changed ….a lot with you two. Some of it I’ll probably know about later, some of it I probably won’t; either way is fine with me. But for now, how about a truce? We agree to not drive each other crazy or do anything to invoke the wrath of Professor Snape, and try to make this new situation work, for everyone. Deal?”

Draco studied Ron for a moment, hiding behind his blank mask as he considered the boy’s words. One thing he was certain of, this wasn’t the same Weasley he’d been going to school with for the past four years. This boy was under Imperious, of otherwise cursed, a Golem or someone’s idea of a good joke. Draco was not amused. But e was willing to go along with this charade for as long as it lasted. Then, when it was all done, he’d hunt down, torture and feed to his evil hairless otters the idiot who saw fit to make a mockery of his discomfort. Having reached his decision, Draco relaxed a bit. “Hi. I’m Draco. I’m slightly unhinged, so don’t leave any furry animals lying around, yea?”

Harry watched in shock as Ron offered a …….truce. His head spun. If Ron kept surprising him like this, he was likely to have a mental breakdown soon! He grinned a bit at Draco’s introduction. He never thought Draco could joke around like that. Maybe he’d been missing out on something all these years…..

“Um, yea, that’s cool Ron. I guess we could work on that.” He nibbled his lip nervously. “But I do have some stuff to tell you, only, it’s kinda hard to talk about. I don’t know if I can, right now but – “

“Harry, relax. I just said its ok. I’m not going to push you into talking to me, especially if it’s something that makes you that uncomfortable. Whenever you’re ready, mate.”

Harry sighed a bit in relief. That was good. Even if he did think he should tell his friend sooner, rather than later. “So, erm, how’s Hermione?”

Ron shrugged. “Dunno, haven’t seen her since she blew up in that class room yesterday, after you left, I mean.”

Harry instantly felt guilty. “Sorry, Ron, I really  - “

A pillow socked him in the face. Stunned, Harry looked up to see his best friend looking down at him and Malfoy trying not to laugh. “Apologize for what she did yesterday again, and I’m going to tell Snape.”

“But I already told him,” Harry answered, turning to look at the pillow lying innocently in his lap. “And you hit me with a pillow!”

Draco snorted. Ron gave him a haughty look. “Yes, well, you were about to make an incredibly dumb remark.” Harry pouted.

Suddenly, Severus was in the doorway. “Did I not tell you, child, to take a bath? And why it is that this bed is not made as yet? Perhaps you want your best friend to see you punished so early in the morning before I ban him from these quarters indefinitely?”

Harry pouted more, much to Draco’s and Severus’ private amusement, and stood. “No sir,” he mumbled, and, pulling a bundle of clothes from the drawers in his wardrobe, dragged himself to his bathroom and closed the door.

What Severus didn’t know was that Ron could see his amusement, as well as the other feelings for the boy he was supposed to be hiding. Taking a deep breath, Ron stood, and made his way to stand in front of his Potions Professor. Looking him straight in the eye, he said, “Professor, I’d like to thank you for helping Harry. I don’t know exactly what all that includes, but I can already see it’s helped a lot.”

Severus, for his part, managed to not look as shocked as he felt. Gratitude? From a Weasley? On behalf of someone else? To him? He was sure he was currently imagining things. However the sentiment couldn’t go unacknowledged. “Very well, Ronald.” He noticed with amusement that the boy’s ears turned pink. “But I assure you, gratitude is not necessary. This should have been done a long time ago.”

“What exactly is ‘this’, sir?”

“At the moment, Harry is my ward. In a few weeks time, hopefully, his status should be changed to that of my son,” he explained, and then waited for the fallout.

There was none.

Ron simply nodded. “That’s…unexpected. I guess I’ll have to wait to know why, exactly.”

An eyebrow rose. “Harry hasn’t told you?”

“No, sir, and I’m not going to push him.”

The other eyebrow joined the first. ‘Really, now?’ “Indeed. Tell me, Mr. Weasley. Shall I be gifted with similar displays of maturity from all of your siblings currently attending Hogwarts, or is this just a temporary variation from your personality?”

Ron grinned, and though Severus suspected it was more at the general implication of his words than fro actual amusement, he was still floored that the boy had actually understood him. ‘Will wonders ever cease?’

“It’s just me, Professor. Fred and George wouldn’t display a modicum of maturity if you paid them, and Ginny didn’t come back this year.”

Severus’ brow furrowed. “Forgive my intrusion, Ronald, but has your family’s financial situation become so perilous?” The Weasley girl, for all her brass, was a remarkably brilliant student. What was more, he was under the impression that her fees were being covered….

Ron grimaced, shot a look over his shoulder at the blond boy who was being uncharacteristically quiet, and then turned back to the professor. “Not exactly, Professor. You know of my Aunt Muriel?” Severus nodded. He had met the tyrannical woman far too many times for his liking. “Well she demands Ginny come up and see her for a few weeks every summer, and in return she pays her fees. This summer, though, she didn’t let Gin come back. Gin hates it, she really does. Aunt Muriel is always going on about proper pureblood female etiquette, constantly coaching her on how to land a good, rich husband, especially since she’s the first Weasley female since Muriel herself and Dad doesn’t make the salary she likes. The thing is, she’s holding Dad’s inheritance from him, and that’s what she’s using for Gin’s fees. She won’t give him any, of even lend him some, and that’s always been a major point of contention with Mum. That and she’s hell bent on Gin landing Harry, and goes on for hours the minute Gin insists she doesn’t like him that way. All we know is for some reason she didn’t let Gin come back this summer as usual, Mum’s in a twist and nothing Dad says to Aunt Muriel can change her mind. She’s even changed the wards so that he can’t get into the place to bring Ginny back.” The boy paused for breath and ran his hand through his hair. When he looked back up to the Professor, he was sporting a light blush. “I think I said too much.”

“No,” Severus intoned, deep in thought and silently seething. “You’ve said quite enough.”

With that, he spun on his heels and stalked back to the living room.

But he didn’t expect to see Cornelius Fudge perched in his armchair. No, he did not.

Severus fought the urge to frown. Just how many things was he supposed to deal with in one twenty-four hour period?

“If I had known that visiting you yesterday would have inclined you to return the favor, I do believe that I would have taken slightly less legal routes to obtain guardianship of the boy,” he intoned.

Cornelius, for his part, looked supremely unruffled, and even went so far as to pretend to feel insulted. “Then I suppose it’s just as well that I’m not here to see you,” he sniffed. Sticking is nose in the air, Minister Fudge trotted past his taller brother, over to where Sirius and Remus were watching the display with wary interest.

“Sirius Black, I am here in my capacity of Minister of Magic, to extend to you, on behalf of the ministry of Magic, its officers and staff, and the entire membership of the Wizenmagot, our humblest apologies and profuse wishes for your future in light of the revelation of your wrongful sentencing and imprisonment.” Pausing for breath, he pulled an official looking scroll from one of his many pockets. “And I’m also here in my capacity as Severus’ older brother to say the damned idiots shouldn’t have put you away in the first place.” He struggled with a disgusted expression for a moment, and then his face cleared. As a slightly evil looking Sirius looked it over with obvious glee, Cornelius explained, “That’s the official proclamation of your innocence, to be kept securely for future references, of course.” While Sirius and Remus gazed over the rather wordy proclamation, he made a show of pulling another scroll from another pocket, unfurling it with a snapping flourish to gain their attention. Two sets of eyes snapped up at the sound, and Severus rolled his eyes from his corner.

When the Minister remained silent, Sirius’ curiosity got the better of him. “What’s that then?”

“This is yours,” Neil said, handing the scroll over. “It’s a sum of all compensation given to you by the ministry, a sum I don’t mind admitting that I had a rather large amount of fun twisting their arms to get you,” he continued, not bothered in the slightest that he had to raise his voice over the gasps and gurgled stuttering the figures on the new parchment evoked. He studied his nails in a pure imitation of the elder Malfoy. “Just standard payment for unlawful imprisonment, violation of your right to a proper trial, multiplied by the number of years you spent in prison, the years you spent as a wanted fugitive, the price of the bounty on your head up till yesterday, and double the amount of prisoner’s tax the House of Black has had to pay out to the government.” He paused his nail inspection to look up with a smug look on his face. “Plus interest.”

Sirius looked like he was having trouble getting air into his lungs. Severus mentally pouted. All this time he had been trying to cause grievous harm to the idiot wizard without getting caught, and here his HUFFLEPUFF brother waltzes in, and has more success than he ever had. He huffed in frustration, and stepped forward.

“Black, since you seem to be having difficulties with your breathing already, perhaps you could make me eternally happy and die. I’m sure I’ll be perfectly content for the rest of my days with the knowledge that you kicked the proverbial bucket right here in my quarters.” He walked to stand over his brother and, on a whim, glared down at the rounder, shorter man. “Are you quite done yet? I’d rather like to get a start on my day, if you don’t mind.”

Cornelius pouted, and then grinned. "I thought you loved me, Sev?” he said, turning to wrap his fingers around one of Severus’ folded arms. “Do you truly want to get rid of me already?”

“Yes,” Severus sad coolly. Cornelius fell into a spectacular pout and Sirius snickered. “Very well, since you tire of my presence, I shall take my leave. But not before I see my nephew, and not before I extend an invitation to all of you to attend the Official Clearing and Reinstating of Status ceremony to be held one week from today, in the Ministry’s Grand Ball Room.” With a flick of his wand, thick square envelopes appeared in the air before all three men.

“Will we have to bring dates?” Sirius asked anxiously, plucking his invite from the air and looking the envelope over. “I don’t think I have time to find a date. I don’t think I could find a date.”

Severus rolled his eyes and ignored the envelope that was still floating before him. “Dates are not required, Black.”

“Not for the general audience, no,” Neil interjected. “But for you, Lord Black, as the guest of honor, and you, Severus, as guardian of Black’s godson, yes; you need dates.”

Sirius was looking supremely worried, while Severus scowled and snatched the envelope, which was insistently bumping into his chin, from the air furiously. “I shall not be attending, Cornelius.”

“Oh pish-posh, Severus,” Cornelius breezed. “Of course you will. I’ve even secured a date for you and everything.”

Severus paled, and simultaneously grew red with rage. His mind flashed back to his fifth year, when he had let his older brother talk him into attending a Muggle prom with sister of one of the then twenty-seven-year-old’s many girlfriends. Severus still held a grudge over that event to this very day. The night had been horrible, to say the least, and he had since learned that he should pick his own dates to any and every event from then on.

Not that he had had much opportunity to pick said dates, but that was beside the point.

“Just who did you assume would be a passable date this time, Cornelius Bernard?”

“There’s no need to go there, Severus Abaraxus Dominov!” Cornelius retorted. They glared at each other for a few moments, before Neil decided to be the bigger (and older, more mature) adult and looked away. Straightening his robes he answered the original question. “For your information, it just so happens that Miss Nerissa Ethridge has agreed to accompany you.” No one said anything about the slight blush that suddenly appeared on the normally sour man’s face. No one was ready to die just yet.

“And I suppose you want me to leave Harry here at the school while I’m out gallivanting, do you?” Severus snapped, trying for a sneering tone and only making it about halfway. No one mentioned that either.

“Of course not, Severus." Neil chided. “How cruel do you think I am? I know that new fathers have that need to always have their child close to them. Harry is, of course, invited, as is your godson, Draco, you silly man.” Neil shook his head like Sev had asked some ridiculous question, and then gestured impatiently for the man to move.

“Well, go on, call the boy. I’d very well like to visit with my nephew before I attempt to head back to the office, young chap.”

When Severus turned and stalked down the hallway after giving Neil his patented Death Eater Glare Number One:Supreme Force, the minister hid a grin. He only ever called his younger brother ‘young chap’ when he wanted to irritate him. So far, after thirty-some odd years, it still worked.

A few minutes later, a slightly wet looking, pouting Harry came trudging out of the corridor, followed by a smirking Severus and Draco, and a Ron who looked to be caught between amusement and indignation.

Neil didn’t know what had happened, and he promptly decided that he didn’t want to.

“Harry, child, how are you doing?” Neil beamed, settling onto the sofa and patting the cushion next to him.

“I’m fine, um, Mr. Fudge.” He shot a sulky look over at his guardian. “Though Sev seems to think I needed a lesson on washing behind my ears.”

All the adults in the room grinned, though quickly hid them as the boy looked around. Unfortunately, Harry saw them. “I do not! I’m perfectly capable of cleaning my own ears,” he insisted hotly.

“Sure you are, Harry. That’s why behind your ears were grey and sticky, unlike the rest of you,” Draco drawled from his position in Sev’s armchair.

Harry crossed his arms, and threw himself into the back of the couch. “Shove of, Draco. And you could have warned me. How was I supposed to know he’d throw a Mrs. Weasley?”

Severus was outraged. “I did not throw a Mrs. Weasley!”

Ron snorted a laugh, and grinned unapologetically up at his professor. “Yes, sir, you did.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Weasley, if I were you, I’d keep your opinion of such matters to yourself. Is that clear?”

The boy’s grin hadn’t been abated though. “Of course, sir.”

Severus humphed, and turned his glare to his brother. “Are you leaving now?” he asked irritably.

Cornelius sighed good-naturedly and turned a sorrowful gaze to Harry. “You see what I have to deal with?” The boy grinned. “And, for future reference, little one, the name is Cornelius, or Neil, if you’re not trying to sweeten me up for something,” he added, playfully wagging a finger at the teen. Cognizant of the still glaring wizard, Neil heaved himself to his feet, and trotted towards the Floo. “Severus, our mother would be sorely displeased with the way you treat your older brother, you know.”

The younger man had come to stand next to the Minister near the fireplace. “I’m sure she would be. Therefore it is most fortunate that Eileen is dead, do you not think so?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cornelius gave him a good-natured glare, and then turned to throw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. He was about to step in when he caught sight of something that made him freeze.

“Merlin, Severus, have you seen this?” The pudgy minister made his way across the room, all the while gazing at a rapidly more uncomfortable-looking Ron. “Those eyes.”

“Erm, sir?” Ron began tentatively, backing up a bit. “Are you alright?”

“Quite alright, my boy,” Neil replied, eyes locked onto Ron’s blue orbs, walking closer. “Quite alright.”

Inches away from the now incredibly nervous Ron, Severus had had enough. Walking briskly, he approached his brother, who was giving the teenager what he deemed a highly inappropriately searching look, and snatched the man back by the arm. “Just what do you think you are doing, Cornelius?”

The man stumbled back loosely, bringing wide brown eyes up to his taller brother. “It’s just, he has Mother’s eyes!”

Severus stared, uncomprehendingly at his brother for a moment, before the words sank in. Haltingly, he turned his head and sought out Ron’s eyes. Blue, far too dark to be normal, fringed with pale red lashes. The resemblance was…..unsettling…

“Do you see it?” The question came to him as if travelling through water, rippling and distorted until he could make sense out of it. And then he abruptly shook himself, and snapped back to focus. “No. No I do not.” He spun around quickly, towing the shorter man behind him. “I will see you in an hour. In the meantime, take a Clarity Draft, and sit still.” He spun the man to face him, narrowing his eyes as he willed the man to keep silent. Cornelius made no complaint. “Now, get out.”

Shooting his brother a mildly irritated and insulted stare, Cornelius conceded, but not before waving his wand in Harry’s direction. Giving the boy a wink, he scampered through before Severus discovered what mischief he’d wrought.

Harry, though, for the most part, was terribly confused. Severus had suddenly seemed real angry with his brother near the end, all because Ron’s eyes looked like their mother’s. He didn’t think it was something to be so put out about though, and mentally pushed that thought over to his guardian. What he got back was a snippy feeling, along with a little annoyance, though not directed at him. Harry tentatively asked if the man would explain, and got a firm, resounding ‘no’ for his efforts.

Slightly miffed, Harry pulled the tiny pouch that had appeared in his pocket a moment ago and peered inside, only to have to stifle a grin, and tuck the pouch away for later. Draco and Ron were giving him curious looks, and, because there were three adults in the room, two of which would highly object to the amount of sugar on his person, purely for the purpose of consumption, he said what he thought passed as clever code. “Toad cousin.”

Draco looked stumped for a moment, but Ron seemed to get it right away. Smirking, he mumbled something under his breath, before stretching, and looking towards the door. “Well, I should probably be going,” he said, to Harry’s shock, to Severus. “It’ll take me a while to explain where I’ve been so early in the morning and on a Sunday too.” He smiled ruefully. “Then it’ll be another hour of lecturing, followed by a whole day of stony silence.”

There was a loud “Oh!” from Draco, who, apparently, had just figured out Harry’s code. The green-eyed boy shot him an amused look, to which Draco responded, “Look, I didn’t take much Muggle science classes, did I?”

Grinning, Harry turned to look for his godfather, carefully avoiding his professor’s general direction. Sirius and Remus had their heads bent over a large sheet of parchment that they were writing on, alternately scribbling something for the other to see and crossing something out, much to the other’s annoyance. Amazingly, though, there was no yelling, or even any genuine anger. Harry supposed it had to do with knowing someone your whole life. He knew, and mostly didn’t like to think about, that when he grew up (well, more likely if he grew up) he’d want someone who knew and loved him like his dad’s two best friends loved.....

Wait….

“Remus, Sirius?”

No matter how busy the two men were a second ago, Harry’s voice had the power to clear their thoughts and focus their attention solely on him. Suddenly, he was a bit nervous. This really wasn’t any of his business...

“Are, um…” Geez, this was hard. “Are you two together? Like, um, in love?” Harry kept his eyes steadfastly focused on the chair of the sofa he was sitting in, idly fingering a button on his shirt. He didn’t see Severus’ evil grin as he sat himself in his armchair, (that Draco, sensing his impending doom, had just vacated) or the blank looks Remus and Sirius were giving him.

Harry blushed harder, feeling very stupid. “’M sorry, I know it’s none of my business…”

Sirius shook himself. This was his pup. “Harry, pup, no. While Remy is still on the fence about men, I personally prefer the curvier, soft, dele- " he paused at the looks Remus and Snape were giving him. “I like girls,” he amended, nodding emphatically for good measure.

Remus though, wasn’t done. “How do you know I wanted him to know that?” he asked, slapping Sirius on the back of the head. “Who says I wanted three of my students to know, let alone SEVERUS!”

Sirius looked sheepish. “Sorry. You don’t have a crush on Severus, do you?”

Remus massaged his temple. “No, you idiot.” He suddenly looked weary, though, and Sirius was concerned.

Severus, seeing that Harry was beginning to become upset for seemingly upsetting his godfather, decided that commenting on the matter would not be the best option right then.

“Black, Lupin, I have an errand to run. Harry, you can either stay here or head up to Gryffindor Tower with Mr. Weasley. Draco, you may inform the Slytherins that I will meet with the entire house in one hour and fifteen minutes exactly, and have everyone assembled by the time I get there.“ He spoke to each person in turn, meeting their eyes to make sure his messages hit home. “When I return to these chambers in an hour, I want them empty. Do I make myself clear?”

Sirius rolled his eyes and Remus smiled good-naturedly. “Yes, Severus, perfectly clear. Come on, Sirius.”

Sirius stood, and started shrinking his parchments with a thoughtful look on his face. As the boys prepared to head out, (after Harry had stolen a warm, soothing hug from Severus, firmly relieving him of the notion his guardian was mad at him) Sirius seemed to make up his mind.

“Draco, may I speak to you for a minute?”

Everyone froze, and Sirius rolled exasperated eyes. “I’m not going to eat him! Go on; get out, all of you. An hour, I remember. SHOO!”

Finally, with much suspicious backward glances, everyone cleared out, leaving Sirius and Draco alone.

The first thing Sirius realized, when he turned from scowling at the door, was that he was faced with the trademark Malfoy mask. He nearly cursed himself. How could e have forgotten that the slightly relaxed kid from earlier was the Heir to Malfoy Manor, capital letters and all? Heaving a sigh, he decided that the best way to break it down was a head on assault.

“Hey, kid,” he said cheerily. “Let’s sit down, yea?”

Clapping the boy on the shoulder and steering him towards the living area, Sirius braced himself for what he was going to do. After all, this could end very badly, as Remus had pointed out.

Once seated, he took a minute to study the blond boy’s face, and was oddly satisfied to se a bit of uncertainty there. Good. There was a lot of hope then.

“Look, Draco, I’m going to jump right into it, ok? Sev told us about the Slytherins defecting from the crazed pureblood ways, and I realize that that puts you, and all your friends in a bit of a sticky position. Now, your godfather, Remus and I have come up with a plan, kind of, though Sev still thinks its bullocks and is going to blow us all to hell.” The boy was looking confused, so he decided to get back to the point.

“What I wanted to talk to you about was your status as a minor in our world. I know you know that when push comes to shove and the crap it’s the fan, Severus should get custody of you. I also know that you know that your father can kick that law out the window so fast everyone who matters will doubt it was even there.” The boy had paled, but nodded. Sirius wasn’t sure he was supposed to be worried, since he hadn’t a clue if silent Draco was good or not. Either way, he still had to plow on.

“Now, the only other way to keep you away from him, and by extension, Mord Voldikins, is for a Head of House to claim you.” Another nod. Maybe this would go alright. “Your mother is my cousin, first cousin, I think, and since she married into a pureblood family and followed all their little rules, she was never disowned. Though my parents acted as if I was no son of theirs, I was never formally disowned, and as the last living member of the house of Black, I can claim you as a blood relative, and as such you’d be entitled to everything I have, much like you are with your father, I guess.”

Sirius had never thought a kid could unnerve him, but the piercing look Draco Malfoy was giving him nearly gave him the willies. “It’s just a suggestion, really. I know you love your godfather and I’m not trying to take his place, but I figured you’d appreciate the chance to cover all your bases, like the Muggles say.”

“I don’t know what that means, exactly, but I think I understand,” Draco said. Though his voice was soft and heavy with a mix of emotions Sirius was glad to hear, the boy had spoken, and wasn’t pitching a fit, so that was good news. “But what about your brother? No one knows if he’s dead or not.”

Sirius shrugged, and was hard-pressed to suppress a grin. The kid had as good as said yes! “True, no one knows where Regulus is, or if he’s even alive. But I’m older than he is, so it doesn’t matter.”

Draco nodded, and took to fiddling with his fingers. This was good. This was very good. Besides the fact that what Sirius said was true, and that he presented a very good case, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black was just that: Ancient and Most Noble. Draco knew the Malfoy’s were filthy rich, even by pureblood standards, but the Blacks…….if he wasn’t mistaken, the Black’s owned more land than the Queen of England, in and outside Great Britain, and had so much money they could finance the entire wizarding world for five years before feeling the pinch. That was money.

It was also bad.

Somehow his bottom lip found its way into his mouth, and Draco began to chew. If there was one thing his father had taught him, was that money equaled prestige, prestige equaled decorum and dignity. Draco hated decorum and dignity. He’d had fifteen years of it being beaten into him, and had decided that when he dropped his father, he would drop all his stinking rules and strictures with him. Being the heir to the Malfoy fortune had been a major point of contention with his very existence, one he was determined to remove, once and for all. Not matter what the cost.

Silver eyes met blue. “Will I be your heir?” All traces of uncertainty gone, Draco’s voice was hard and clear, a change that took Sirius by surprise.

Damn.

“Harry is my heir, through means of an ancient magical ritual called Claiming.” He nodded as the boy’s eyes grew wide. “I knew you’d know what that was. I can’t take that title and its accompanied privileges from him, but you know I won’t – “

“No, no! That’s fine, really,” Draco rushed, practically deflating with relief. He didn’t have to be an heir anymore. To say he was happy about it would have been like saying Hagrid was tall. This was absolutely brilliant.

Sirius watched the boy slid down into the sofa in amusement, silently congratulating himself on a job well done. There was still the official bit left to do, but really, this was good enough for him.

No point putting it off though. “Can I take that as a ‘yes’, then?”

Draco sat up so fast Sirius thought someone had flipped a switch. “Yes!” The boy blushed, rearranging himself so his bum wasn’t half off the seat. “I mean, yes, sir.”

Sirius grinned, and stood, coming to stand in front of the fireplace. “Come here, then.”

A tad nervously, Draco stood and came before his soon o be guardian, looking anywhere but the man’s face. But that was silly. This wasn’t his father. Screwing up all his hope and courage, Draco raised his eyes, slowly, slowly, half expecting to be hit for his presumption.

Finally, he found the same blue wyes from a few minutes earlier, and nothing happened. Well, nothing except a warm something trickled down his back. ‘Maybe this really would be good.’

What Sirius saw in those silvery grey eyes made him mad all over again at the way is parents had chosen to live. ‘Damn pureblood garbage.’ No child should look that fearfully hopeful, if that was even how he could describe it. And then something had lit up the boy’s eyes when they met, the flames from the fire flickering across the child’s face, and quite suddenly, Sirius understood what Severus might have been feeling when he found Harry.

Because he really had found Draco. And he’d help the boy find himself.

“Give me your hands.” Once he held the smaller digits in his own, he let the magic flow. Though the magic was simple, the power behind it could consume someone with the wrong intentions. Draco knew this, and had to fight the lump that rose in his throat and the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes as the warm, pulsating force washed over him. Sirius was serious. Honestly and truly serious. One tear fell. Then another. How was it that in all his years of living with his father, he’d never felt wanted, and within ten minutes of being with his mother’s estranged cousin, he suddenly felt home?

“I Sirius Orion Black, Head and last remaining member of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, do hereby on this day, now and forever claim one Draco Narciso Malfoy as my ward and blood relative, to be henceforth recognized by blood and magic as a member of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, entitled to all rights and privileges the name affords. Do you, Draco Narciso, accept?”

He took a shaky breath, face wet and far beyond caring. The ritual didn’t call for declarations of care and affection; this wasn’t an adoption, but at the same time, it felt like it was. He wasn’t stupid; he knew Severus loved him. But the man was in an odd position, as a former Death Eater (though Draco had always had his suspicions) and as his father’s friend. Sirius was free of all that. Fr the first time in forever, he had someone that wasn’t connected to someone else, wasn’t using him for their own gains and actually wanted him around. Sirius wanted him. Sirius was his.

“I Draco Narciso Malfoy, do hereby completely accept you claim of blood and guardianship, and claim my maternal title as my own, to be known henceforth and forever as Draco Narciso Black….”

Twenty minutes later, Sirius Flooed an emotionally exhausted Draco to his and Remus' rooms, amazed at how heavy a fifteen-year-old could be. When the boy awoke, they had an expedition to embark upon. Apparently, pureblood scion that he was, Draco had never even heard of peanut butter. Sirius, suitably enraged had vowed to fix it immediately.

Draco had promptly fallen asleep, and Sirius had caught him.

After setting the boy onto the transfigured sofa, Sirius reclined in his armchair and smiled.

And when Severus, in a full on rage, and a certain redhead Flooed in an hour later, his chambers were empty.

Chapter Fifteen

From his chambers near the bottom of Hogwarts, Severus strode through the old castle, brushing past students and colleagues alike, to reach the edge of the grounds and approach the Apparition boundaries. Once he crossed it, he thought of the coziest home dwelling it was ever his misfortune to visit, and with a sharp ‘Pop’, was gone.

A second later, he was standing in the Weasley’s modestly busy front yard. It was mostly the same as it was the last time he was here, on official Order business, with its cabbage patch and sturdy chicken coop. True, said chickens had a bit extra pomp in their step than he thought was strictly necessary (or possible), and the cabbage patch was a tad overgrown, but Severus told himself that the Weasley’s had simply become more lax with chores as their brood grew older.

The gnomes, however, were a different story.

About twenty pairs of eyes were staring out at him from within the shade of the garden’s various plants. Severus had never understood why people complained about gnomes, since they had always given him an extra wide berth. Much like they did now. He made his way to the Burrow’s front door under an intense, constant watch of beady little eyes, and for once he was truly thankful for his Dark Taint. Because Severus wasn’t fooled; he knew that if he had been even a slight fraction of a shade more of a Light Wizard, those gnomes would have swarmed him, then and there.

The door was unlocked. Clenching his jaw, Severus pulled his wand from its holster up his sleeve and ventured stealthily into the house. Small and cramped as the building was, he soon reached kitchen, and was not pleased by what he saw.

Molly Weasley sat at the worn, round table, a teacup and half-eaten plate of breakfast before her. Her usually fly-away hair lay flat and limp on her shoulders, and she looked as if she had lost her entire brood, thinning as she was.

“Molly.”

Three dazed blinks later, the woman’s pale blue eyes finally reached his. What he saw there nearly broke his composure. Guilt. Raw, uncontained guilt practically poured out of Molly’s eyes, and Severus had to strengthen his Occlumency shields against it lest he be consumed.

And, as such, he was in a fouler mood because of it.

“Stop this insipient wallowing this instant, woman!” he snarled in a roar, striding forward into the room and sending his robes snapping. “Blaming yourself for your aunt’s fanatical strictures helps nothing!”

She simply stared at im for a minute. Severus seethed. When he felt he could take no more, Molly finally spoke. “But, Severus. It’s my fault. Gin-gin,” she sobbed into the apron tied around her waist, “my Gin-Gin didn’t want to go, Arthur didn’t want her to go, but I made her, Severus. I insisted. And now, and now – “

But Molly couldn’t finish. She leaned forward to rest her head on the table and sobbed into the apron, and Severus clenched his jaw, calling on every shred of patience within his lean frame.

“Molly, you will stop it this instant.”

In the back of his mind, Snape was immensely pleased that his angry Professor voice still worked on parents. He didn’t allow himself to rejoice too much over this, simply because he wanted out of The Burrow as quickly as possible, at all costs.

Because really, all this emotional nonsense was too much for his newly defrosted heart to bear. In five minutes flat, Molly had changed from a near comatose pile of flesh to a weeping bundle of tears, and Severus was not pleased.

And so, he proceeded to tell her so. He reviled her for her carelessness, leaving the door to the house unlocked and having all the wards lowered. Suppose he had been a Death Eater, he demanded. How did she think she could defend herself if she sat weeping at the kitchen table.  He demanded to know what kind of Gryffindor sat back and let others clean up their messes. Did she think self-pity exempted her from the duties of a mother? Same madwoman had her daughter, her one and only daughter, first female born to the family in three generations, held captive in some distant moor, and she chose to weep? How dare she? HOW DARE SHE!

Twenty minutes later, Molly showed the Potion’s Professor to the living room. Hr eyes were red and puffy, but that was the only evidence of the sorry state she had been in less than an hour earlier. There was a determined glint in her eyes, and the old pep was back in her step. All around them The Burrow was alive. Curtains and rugs were shaking themselves out, rags were flying onto and through every imaginable surface and even the dishes were washing themselves. Severus couldn’t help but feel a bit satisfied, and smug, as he picked up the Floo powder from the mantle.

“You will remember what I said,” he intoned, eyes trained on the fire.

“I will, Severus.” She hesitated. “Thank you.”

With a shout of “Weasley Manor!” Severus was gone.

*&^*

In a swirl of green, he was standing in an overly decorated, stuffy room that housed the fireplace and not much else, a room the older, wealthier families referred to as the “Floo Room”. He immediately decided that he didn’t like it. For one thing, the rom was virtually empty, save the heavy rose colored drapes and the tall stand near the fireplace holding a glass urn full of floo powder, and yet the room was stuffy, the air thick with a musty, heavy scent that was greatly grating on his nerves.

Not even waiting for someone (usually a house-elf, but the Weasley Manor had none) to acknowledge his presence and escort him to his destination, Severus took quick steps out the room and then down the corridor, following a high, nasally voice that he knew far to well, for all the one time he’d heard it.

At the end of the long, door-less hall, Snape turned into a large, brightly lit room, clutching his wand in his hand tightly. His nerves, which were treacherous to tread upon on a regular day, were strung taut and strained.

There, sitting on a couch, face pinched and pale, back ramrod straight in a way that looked uncomfortable even to him, sat Ginny Weasley. Her eyes never left the patch of floor that she had devoted herself to, not even when the high-pitched, wheezy voice rose to screaming and a fat, be-ringed hand slapped down on the arm of an armchair facing the girl.  It took a minute for Severus to discern exactly what the hidden woman was screaming about, but when he did his disgust propelled him further into the room, into the flickering orange light of the fire.

“Enough!” he hissed in a way that made Death Eaters cringe. He would never admit it, but this particular hiss was what earned him an audience, and by extension, audition, with the Dark Lord and his Inner Circle. But that is a story for a different day, and so Severus firmly returned his thoughts to the disgusting matter in front of him.

Ginny’s eyes snapped up to gaze at him in horrified amazement, mingled with something he assumed was relief.  Before the girl could think to open her mouth to ask a rhetorical question that would only have irritated him more, Snape snapped out “Go and gather your things,” and gave the girl a look so fierce she popped up and scampered out of the room.  Muriel Weasley, large, round woman that she was with beady little eyes sunk into her flabby face, stared after the girl in amazement, leaving Snape to rightly assume that she hadn’t seen so much life out of the child in weeks, if ever.

But the old woman was soon enough over her shock and turned malevolent eyes towards the Dark Wizard before her, as if anyone could look malevolently up at Snape at his worst. Muriel gave it her best, however, and Snape sneered down at the sheer futility of the action.

“Muriel,” he stated, ice dripping off his words as they left his lips. “It’s never been a pleasure to see you, and I highly doubt it ever will be. Yet here I am, ye – “

“Just what rights do you and your filthy half-blood ways have to be standing in my parlour?” Muriel shrieked. Her flabby face was an awkward shade of puce, and Severus brain distantly wondered if she was in any way shape or form related to Vernon Dursely. As it would have been severely inappropriate (as well as potentially detrimental to his health and well-being) to ask this pureblood if she was related even convolutedly to a Muggle, Severus pushed the suspiciously Three-like thoughts away (again) and drew his wand.

“I think,” he said silkily, raising the ebony rod and gliding closer to the rapidly reddening woman, “that perhaps you should keep your mouth shut.” With a nasty slicing motion of his wand, Muriel’s mouth was gone. Eyes bulging, the woman grabbed at her neck, twitching and shaking her little legs, taking great lumps of air as she tried to scream, but to no effect. Severus smiled a nasty smile. “I beg of you, kindly desist these theatrical displays before I remove another vital cavity from your person.” He glided closer, so that he could lean ever so slightly over her chair and she would have to crane her neck to gaze at him. Predictably, she did, and Severus smirked, a frightening sight when you considered his history and miniscule temper.

“Can I correctly assume that you are prepared to comport yourself in a manner befitting a upstanding member of the magical community?” he asked, speaking in a voice that one would use with an errant two-year-old. For a minute Muriel did nothing more than stare hatefully up at him. Then she raised one flabby finger and pointed at her face. Severus’ smile widened. “Not just yet, you evil harpy. You’ve been a rather naughty little girl, haven’t you? And we still have a little matter to discuss.”

Just then, a flushed Hinny Weasley rushed into the room, and the look of utmost panic that lit her eyes from within have way a second time to relief. It irritated Severus to no end. Just what had this woman done to break this child so? “Go to the Floo room, and Floo to my quarters. Now,” he snapped. The girl didn’t need to be told twice, as she turned and disappeared from view so fast Severus very nearly began to doubt she had ever really been there at all.

Here Snape braced his arm against the back of Muriel’s chair, causing the woman to glower and shrink away from him. “From this moment on you will refrain from causing your nephew and his family undue grief and misery, or you will surely have me to answer to. And since I have no compunction whatsoever to have to deal with you in any manner after today, I’ve taken a few precautions in securing my will is done.” His eyes, usually bottomless pits of black, glittered strangely in the firelight, and something like fear flickered across Muriel’s face before the hatred once again was prevalent.

He flicked his wand, and a length of parchment unfurled from thin air in Muriel’s face, so close she became cross-eyed trying to look at it. “You will sign,” Severus enunciated. When the woman gave him a clear “I never sign anything if I don’t know what it is, you dunderhead” look, Severus cast on a veneer of patience and explained “It is a contract, binding and compulsory unto blood, that states that you, Muriel Agatha Weasley, will provide your nephew, one Arthur Weasley, with the sum of his inheritance in full and any interest accumulated since the time he ad been declared heir, before the last day of this month of the present year. In addition, you will remove whatever hexes and curse you have placed or have had placed on any member of his family, or else risk having them removed by an outside source and rebounded upon you. Now. Sign.”

A blood red quill appeared in the air next to the agreement, and Muriel’s nostrils flared with repressed rage and she fought to control her breathing. Disgusting as he found the site, it was also quite amusing, and Severus was hard pressed not to snort in laughter. After an indeterminable amount of time, pudgy fingers grasped both the quill and parchment out of the air, and Muriel sketched her name in wide, awkward script. As she finished the last loop, the parchment disintegrated, fine white ash falling to cover the woman’s lap.

Severus straightened up, satisfied. Or, at least, half-satisfied. He still had one more piece of business to attend to with Muriel Weasley before he could leave these halls forever.

“You won’t recognize this, I know, but I feel like taunting you with the bottle nonetheless,” he said, twirling a small glass bottle between his thumb and forefinger. “What I am about to do is highly unethical and illegal if not expressly decreed by the Wizenmagot, but that hardly matters to me; I just want you to feel the helplessness of your situation.” He smirked. “Now, you may be thinking to yourself, ‘he’s going to poison me with that potion, but I have to drink it, and in order for me to drink it he has to give me back my mouth, throat and vocal cords, and when he does that I’ll just whip out my wand and stun the bastard, then hustle him downstairs to torture later.’ Don’t look at me that way, Muriel, I know it’s true; I am the foremost Legimens on this side of the planet, after all. But the flaw in your plan, Muriel, is this; I do not have to return your oral cavity to your person to administer this potion. I can simply do this.” Three sharp tapping motions later, the potions bottle was empty and Muriel wa s green with fear. Or perhaps she was already beginning to feel the change.

“Be thankful that this was just a harmless personality altering potion, and not the poison I had originally intended. Either way, however,” he smiled, “your time on this earth is limited. Unless, of course, you invent a magical means of introducing sustenance into your system without your mouth. Muggles have a way of doing that, but I doubt you’ll be interested.” Already Muriel’s face was relaxing into something that wasn’t entirely evil looking, and her eyes gazed at Severus with intense dislike instead of burning hatred.

“I shall take my leave if you, Muriel.” Snape said, already striding towards the door. “Do try not to pitch yourself over and unsuspecting balconies will you? Life as a pleasant Weasley is not as bad as you think, I promise.” And with that, e was gone, stalking down the long door-less hallway towards the Floo room, leaving a different Muriel to contemplate potentially murderous options by which to rid the world of Severus Snape.

*&^*

The Floo room was not empty, as he had anticipated. In one fell swoop, Severus was simultaneously relieved that he would not have to worry about a Weasley poking around his quarters and anger that the last of an irritating brood had the all to disobey him. Hinny must have sensed the fire in his gaze as it settled on her bowed head because she rushed to explain. “I couldn’t touch the Floo powder. Nor the Floo, Professor,” she said softly, still bent over what Severus could now see was her hand.

Not giving the briefest thought to what he was doing, he stalked across the room and took hold of her arm, pulling the limb up until the badly burnt digit was clear enough for him to see. He nearly swore. Second degree burns, at the least, and all he had on him was basic burn salve. It would heal the skin and tissues, yes, but nerve damage was what he was worried about. Shaking his head angrily, more at himself for not being properly prepared than at the way Ginny was burned in the first place, Severus conjured gauze and made sort work of wrapping the girl’s hand. It bothered him slightly that she hadn’t made a sound throughout the ordeal, not even the slightest whimper in pain. One close look at her eyes showed why: she’d slipped into shock.

Agitated, he spun his gaze around, lighting on the fireplace briefly, before they spun once more to latch onto the exposed skin of Ginny’s wrists. What the –

And suddenly a fit of impotent rage gripped him, his vision flared red and then black and before he knew it he had spun around and was stalking towards the entrance of the Floo room, chest heaving and wand clenched tightly in his hand.  How dare she, that repulsive, ghoulish excuse of a woman! How DARE she –

He was cut off however, by the sound of a small, pained gasp. He spun around, and his anger dissipated. Ginny was crouched on the floor, shakily and painfully trying to regain her footing. Cursing himself a fool for dropping the obviously damaged child, Severus retraced his steps and helped the slight girl to her feet. “Hold onto me, Miss Weasley. We’ll have you at Hogwarts shortly.”

He caught a glimpse of the thick, black rune drawn on the girl’s skin, and in the resulting spike of pique, Severus cast his Dark energy out to grasp the wards Muriel Weasley had on her Floo and tear them down. With whipping winds rather like a hurricane, the spells all fell, and, not giving himself the opportunity to turn back to the parlor and show the elderly woman just why he was a death eater, Severus picked up his student and Flooed home.

The trek up to Gryffindor common room was spent catching up with Ron, his best friend. When they had dropped Remus off at the Defense classroom (and subsequently discovered the man was back to teach this year, which sent Harry and Ron into ecstatics over the possibilities) Ron had led them through the longest route to Gryffindor Tower, and though Harry noticed, he said nothing about it.

Soon enough though, the turned the corner and were faced with the Fat Lady, her pink satiny gown shining like she’d been repainted. Harry, ever polite, complemented her on her vibrant colour and gleaming frame, and she was so busy gushing about how nice a young man he was that she let them in without even asking for the password.

He wasn’t sure just what he was expecting, but his shoulders slumped in relief as he walked over to their usual seats and no one said (or looked) anything out of the way. Hermione, though, he noticed, gave Ron a contemptuous look from where she sat on the girl’s staircase, sniffed and turned back to the book in her lap. Ron gave Harry an exasperated look, to which the dark haired boy grinned and waved him in the direction of his girlfriend. Harry felt something tighten in his stomach as he realized Hermione hadn’t even looked at him, but he ignored it in favor of greeting Neville, who’d just flopped down in the armchair next to him.

“Wotcher, Harry.” The boy said, grinning widely.

“Hi…..Neville…” Harry said. Neville was…..different this year. The boy grinned wider as Harry blinked, and blinked again. “Wow, Neville. You look good.”

Neville and Harry both blushed, but before it could get awkward, Harry saved them both. “So, how was your summer?”

Neville grinned. “It was really good, Harry. Thanks for asking. I managed to get my Gran off my case for every little thing and had a bit of fun, me and Uncle Algie. Took me flying a lot, and then we went to somewhere called The Bahamas, and it was absolutely brilliant!” Harry promptly decided that Neville was absolutely dying to tell someone about his amazing trip, and that he could stand to listen to it. Besides, it was starting to sound real awesome.

“ – And you can swim in the ocean, Harry! The waters absolutely bloody brilliant and clear and it moves! Its nothing like the lake we have here, it’s a bloody force of nature and – “

Harry grinned, letting the boy ramble on, listening with half an ear to the vibrant descriptions of something called ‘Junkanoo’ and conch salad. He was also half paying attention to the common room, absently noting that there were seven first years staring at him in awe and various groups of students around the room whispering and sometimes pointing in his direction. Any other start of year, this would have been routine, but as Harry had just mysteriously showed up after no one had seen him since the platform two days ago, the common room was abuzz with whispered possibilities of his whereabouts.

He ignored them, though, for the time being, preferring to listen to Neville excited telling of a colorful festival called Junkanoo….. Harry grinned. It was odd, but not bad, to see Neville tis way. He knew he shouldn’t ask, it would be very rude, but he just couldn’t not know.

“Um, Neville?” he blushed. “What happened this summer?”

Neville grinned easily and shrugged. “I dunno, exactly, really. I just kina told my Gran I was Neville.” At Harry’s confused look, he explained. “My Gran’s always been, I mean, for a far back as I can remember, Gran’s always compared me to my dad. Always.” Harry gave the boy a sympatheric look; he knew what that felt like. “This summer, though, it kinda got worse. We went to visit my parents at St. Mungo’s like we usually do, but Dad’s …. “ he trailed off.

Arry swallowed with sympathy. He didn’t know what to say, He’d lost his parents such a long tim ago, he couldn’t even remember them. “He’s taken a turn for the worst?” he asked cautiously, all of a sudden aware that they were having this very serious discussion in the middle of the common room, the contents of which maybe no one was supposed to hear.

Neville nodded though, as if pulling himself back together. “They’ve given him a few more months, at best. Gran took it real badly, she did. And ‘course that meant she took it out on me. Suddenly everything was too difficult for me to handle, and I couldn’t hardly do anything without her knowing. Plus I had to sit and isten to her talk for hours about my dad and how good his grades were, his favorite sports, subjects, hobbies, how he could have gone on to be just about anybloodything he wanted,” here the boy rolled his eyes, drawing a smile from Harry, “until one day I just snapped. Told her my name was Neville, not Frank, and that I and’t any intention of becoming him either, thanks.”

Harry stared at the boy, wide-eyed. “What did she say to that?”

At this, Neville winced. “She burst into tears, that’s what.”

Harry grimaced in sympathy. “Cripes. That must have been rough.”

Neville nodded. Yea, but it was worth it, in the end. She laid off me a fair bit, then Uncle Albie came by and we left for our trip! All in all, not a bad summer, aye?”

Harry nibbled his lip. “Yea, but, your dad…”

Neville’s smile faltered a little. “My dad’s been sitting in St. Mungos for most of my life, Harry. I barely know the man. What I see when I visit him and Mum are people who’ve lost themselves. I’m not sad he’s going to die, I don’t even think I can be. I’m relieved, even. For someone so powerful as Gan makes him out to be, dying would be a mercy, I think. And I’m sure if he could se and understand what’s going on in his head somewhere, he’d tink the same thing.” The boy turned to look towards the fire. “Don’t et me wrong, I love him and my mum, I do. But I can’t help but feel it would have been better for us all, Gran included, if they ad both died that night. “

Neville fell silent, lost in his thoughts, leaving Harry to think that over.

A thick, pewter cauldron hissed angrily from its perch near the bedroom door, and Severus, with practiced ease, removed the potion from the flame, and returned to the bed.

The pale, feverish red-haired female lying prone on the down feather mattress didn’t stir as he re-wet the cooling cloth and applied it to her forehead, and Severus was not pleased. He had been working to remove the hideous, magic draining rune from the child for the better part of two hours. His meeting with the Slytherins had been momentarily postponed, and there was a charm on his quarters to remind anyone seeking him of some other important task that needed to be done. He needed all of his concentration and expertise in the Dark Arts for this, and still it was proving far too difficult by half.

Gathering his magic, he stuck out at the ugly marking again, denying himself even a sigh of relief as it uncoiled itself from the girl’s magic just a little bit more. Stretching his neck, Severus allowed himself a moment to reassess the situation once more. No matter how he thought of it, the simple fact of the matter was that Muriel Weasley was an unmitigated cold-blooded monster. Not only had this rune latched onto and stifled the girl’s magic, but somehow, and this was the bit that enraged him to no end, that evil little cretin had linked the rune’s destructive magic to the girl’s fertility.

Standing, he prepared to attack the rune again. His fury acted as a major catalyst for his Dark magic, and though he spent years suppressing it, when he opened himself to his Dark taint it slipped on like a well loved glove. He was hard-pressed not to swoop out of the dungeons and back to Weasley Manor. Truthfully, only one thought kept him from doing it.

Albus.

No matter how angry he was at the man, or how confused the man made him, no part of Severus could bear disappointing him, in any way, shape, form or fashion. He could handle being disappointed by the old geezer, certainly; it was how he ended up in this situation, was it not? But he could not bear to do anything to soil the image his redemption held of him. Or, at least, the image he thought the old man should hold of him. Albus had always remained steadfast in saying that he had given Severus a new slate, while Severus, well, Severus just couldn’t believe it.

So Severus tamped down on the natural inclination to rip Muriel Weasley (oh, the name!) to shreds, and channeled all that energy into removing the twisted bit of magic from the slight teenager in his charge. Four more hours he worked, until finally, finally, with one final tug the rune’s magic dispersed and the black marking disappeared from the girl’s skin. He barely had chance to think with satisfaction that the rune was about to attach itself to its caster before Ginny began waking up.

Severus’ brow furrowed. The potion he gave her should have kept her out for at least another hour…

Slightly glazed brown eyes opened on the world, shifting from side to side drunkenly before the settled and cleared on the Potions master.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, hoping against hope that all those bedside manner lessons Poppy forced him into would come in handy now.

The girl opened her mouth with some difficulty, but the effort to keep both it and her eyes open were too much, and so they slid closed. After a minute of trying to regain her voice, Ginny managed “Like crap,” and Severus suppressed a smile.

“That is to be expected. Any ailments in particular?”

Ginny slowly shook her head, before opening her moth to speak. “Don’t blame Mum.”

Severus was not amused. What was it with ridiculous children defending their less than competent adults? He had just prepared himself to ask just that when the child’s weak voice stopped him short.

“She couldn’t get to me.”

“She didn’t try,” he snarled, forgetting for a moment that Ginny was a weak, sick child recovering from a terrible ordeal.

Sharp brown eyes flew open then, full of fire and anger. “She did.” The flames on the candles scattered about the room all flickered as if moved by some intangible breeze, and Severus neck prickled. Ginny, though, was not done.
“She was…at the gates, banging and fighting the wards forever.’ Her eyes slid closed, and a tear glistened in one corner. “She couldn’t get in, no matter what she tried, and Aunt Muriel was just laughing at her. I begged her to stop, to let Mum in, but she wouldn’t. She just laughed and laughed, and said she was so glad the wards finally had some magic to feed off, since she was afraid they might have fallen any day.”

Severus reeled. Vacuum wards were ancient, and outside of the Egyptian tombs, the only documented use of them in modern times were by the goblins who first built Gringotts, using them as part of a massive protective shell for the building and again on select vaults. That Molly Weasley had fought them….

“And then she passed out.” Ginny’s hoarse voice was thick with tears, and, Severus, forgetting his lessons, reached with his handkerchief to wipe her eyes. “She stood out there, throwing spell after spell and magic, trying to break down the wards, and then she didn’t have anything left.” A soft sob sounded, and Severus cursed his melting heart as it tugged within his chest. “She was out there for hours. Hours. I was so scared she was going to die out there.” Somehow the girl had ended up sitting, and was leaning against his arm. “It felt like weeks, but it was only a few hours till Dad showed up with Bill. They took Mum home, and I don’t even know if she’s ok.” The crying began anew, and Severus found he didn’t have to pray for patience.

“There, there, child. Hush your tears, your mother is fine. I spoke with her just this morning,” he murmured comfortingly. It only seemed to make Ginny cry harder, out of relief, he supposed, and Severus found he could do nothing to stem the flow.

Soon enough though, Ginny relaxed and slipped into slumber. Using every ounce of self control he possessed, Severus gently lowered the girl to the bed and stepped away, barely refraining from shaking himself in disgust. ‘Blasted girls and their blasted tears and blasted CRYING ALL OVER HIM!’

Regaining his composure, Severus collected his brewing paraphernalia and departed the room, thinking to himself he had just enough time to make one last trip to the Burrow before dinner, and still have time for his house meeting afterwards.

It was a very grim Severus Snape that picked up the Floo powder that afternoon. He had quite a few things to say to one Molly Weasley.

~&~

Sirius started, blinking blearily and sitting up in Remus’ armchair. For a minute, he was confused. What had woken him up? And then he heard it.

A giggle.

“Draco?” He turned in the chair, looking around the room for the blonde teenager. After making absolutely certain the boy wasn’t there, he made his way to the kitchen, hoping his new charge was only doing something remotely dangerous on full moons.

Draco wasn’t in the kitchen, nor the small pantry. Something thick and suffocating started to creep into Sirius’ veins, and before he knew it he was calling for the boy at the top of him lungs.

“Draco?”

“Yeah?”

Sirius spun around wildly, just in time to see Draco emerge from a closet, ratty notebook in hand. “You wanted me, sir?”

The panic subsided, and Sirius scowled. “None of that ‘sir’ nonsense, you, or I’ll hit you with a tickling charm.”

Draco paled, and Sirius swore under his breath, rushing towards the boy anxiously. I didn’t mean it, Draco, honest,” he reassured, wile Draco hid his face in the broad shoulder in front of him. “It was just a really bad joke.”

“I don’t like tickling charms,” the boy mumbled, the notebook he had been reading dangling from his fingertips.

“Ok, no tickling charms, got it.” Sirius, for all his slightly calm demeanor, was calling himself every foul name he could think of. Of course, using magic of any kind on one’s child was bad form, and he should have known that the boy might have experienced some unpleasantness from even the mildest spells out there. After all, hadn’t he?

Draco had been of the opinion, one heavily supported by his father, that hugging was a sign of weakness, and as such was never allowed to hug either of his parents, not like his mother would have wanted to, anyway. But now, he figured he’d have to reassess that opinion. Hugging Sirius seemed to be …very nice…. Plus, he didn’t have to fear the man had any ulterior motives for offering comfort like this. Experienced prankster he may be, but Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, and cunning and ulterior motives were not their forte.

“What were you doing, anyway?” came a question over his head.

The book!

“I found this,” he began, slipping out of Sirius’ embrace and holding the book up for inspection. “I don’t know who these guys were, but they sound awesome,” Draco said, grinning.

Sirius frowned in thought. What was this old thing? And then the names of the ‘guys’ as Draco called them came into view, and he gave long, heavy groan.

Draco had just discovered the Myriad Brilliant Works of the Purveyors of Mischief, Messer’s Padfoot, Wormtail, Moony and Prongs.

“You foolish, guilt-ridden, self-effacing Gryffindor!” Severus roared, pulling himself out of the still-spinning Floo connection. “I suppose it made perfect sense to omit the fact that you had completely drained your magical core at Weasley Manor from your little sob-story yesterday, did it?” He bore down on the woman, eyes blazing white fire. He wasn’t simply royally pissed off with the Weasley matriarch, really. It was more along the lines of wanting to rip the woman’s head off and lob it into a cauldron of Skrewt acid.

“How could you be so stupid? Casting spells so soon after experiencing magical exhaustion is tantamount to attempting suicide! Are you completely daft?” It was a real effort not to whip out his wand and hit the woman with a body bind before flinging her through to Hogwarts. “Have you NO THOUGHT for your children?” he hissed.

Molly, who had been sitting quite peacefully in an armchair near the fireplace, knitting, as usual, was floored. She sat gaping at the normally dour man as he ranted and raved, waving his hands about, before his last comment caused her to gather her wits.

“Now Severus, that was completely uncalled for,” she said, glaring at him fiercely from under her rather limp, dull mat of hair. “It’s been three weeks since that incident, and I feel fine!”

Her eyes instantly widened, and Severus nearly smirked in triumph. Boy, had she just dug herself a hole. 

“Really, now?” he asked silkily, clasping his hands behind his back smoothly and donning a frighteningly amicable expression. “Feeling fine, are you?” His eyes flitted about the room, noting the way light seemed to be being sucked right into the walls. Despicable. “Cast a spell.”

“Surely – “

“Oh come now, Molly,” Severus said, stepping closer to stand over her chair, still wearing that cheery expression. “Just a simple Lumos, and no harm done, right? Because you feel so fine.”

The older woman hesitated, and then produced her wand. She stared at it for a minute, to Severus’ secret amusement, as if she were trying to persuade the birch stem to produce a beam of light or else. Severus cleared his throat loudly, enjoying Molly’s discomfort. “Sometime today, Weasley.”

After a minute more of preparation, Molly finally deflated, tucking her wand away and holding her knitting close to her chest. “I can’t do it, Severus.”

“Obviously,” he bit back, now annoyed with the woman for wasting his time. He raised his wand and produced a travelling bag. “Anything you want to carry with you to Hogwarts should go in here. Just say what it is you want, and it will come to you. I will be in the kitchen.”

Severus flapped into the kitchen, content for the moment to fume, and then release Molly Weasley into the tender care of one Poppy Pomphrey.

The kitchen was bare and dark, not at all like he was used to seeing it. It was also frightfully still, ass if even the air was frozen in shock. He snarled, and paced back to the hallway, and, spying the gnomes peeking in at him through the windows, back into the living room. Molly was just waving the last of her things into the bag, and impatiently, he snatched it up. “Idiots, the lot of you,” he grumbled as he extended a hand for the woman grasp. When she stumbled, he sent the bag through the Floo ahead of im, and caught the woman more firmly. He said nothing, but the glare Molly saw on his face when she looked up at him was enough. Meekly, she allowed herself to be led through the Floo, and never saw the worried backward glance Severus shot at the room before they spun away.

And neither of them saw the sole, dirty gnome standing in the hallway.

*&^*

Severus Snape strode purposefully down the hallways, feeling tired, irritated and spread a bit too thin. Molly Weasley was enduring the lecture of her life at the ands of the school’s mediwitch, Ginny Weasley was fast asleep and recovering nicely, he had just summoned Sirius and Draco to the Slytherin common room, and Remus, well, Sirius was supposed to et a hold of him. He was currently on his way to the Gryffindor common room; he had a certain green-eyed menace to fetch.

But there, sitting on the stairs outside the tower, was her. The Granger. He felt his wand hand twitch. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to hex the hair off the little know-it-all’s inflated head.

‘Come, now, mate. Let’s think about this for a minute.´ Two tried to reason. ‘If you hex the girl, Dumbledore will fire you win a heartbeat, remember? It’s in your contract, not hurting the students and what not…’

‘I can modify her memory. No one would ever know who did it.’ He thought back, standing there, unaware that he looked like a rather creepy creeper, watching a teenage girl so intensely.

However, Three took it upon herself to inform him.

‘Severus! Stop staring at her that way! You look exactly like the man she accused you of being yesterday!’

And then, Severus was livid. How dare that voice, her voice, address him by his first name in his head! The impertinent brat! Before he knew it, he was stalking forward, his robes whipping around his legs, intent on giving the girl a bitter piece of his mind.

“Granger!”

The frightened girl jumped up, whipping out her wand and looking around. While at first he was pleased tat she at least had learned the importance of always being ready, in the deepest part of his mind, of course, he was further irritated that she would see him as a threat.

“Well, what have we here?” he asked silkily, stepping close to glare down on the much shorter student. “Someone practicing magic in the hallways? I do believe that that is against the school rules.”

The child had the audacity to square her shoulders. “No, sir, I was not.”

His nostrils flared. “Of course you weren’t,” he conceded mockingly. “You were actually just waiting, weren’t you? But for whom?” he asked curiously, circling the girl like a predator with live prey. “Who on earth would Little Miss Good-two-Shoes want to curse, so badly?”

“I wasn’t going to curse – “

“You will be silent.”

But apparently, she would not.

“You horrible man!” Hermione all but shrieked. “How dare you walk around accusing people of doing horrible things without any proof, you – “

“Why, Ms. Granger,” Severus said softly, holding the girl’s gaze. “I could ask you the very. Same. Thing.”

The girl paled, but held her ground. “I don’t need proof,” she whispered fiercely.

“No?” Severus asked, raising one dark eyebrow. “How so?”

“Because Harry loves you now, when three days ago he hated you. Feelings don’t just change that way for no good reason.”

“And your ‘good reason’ would be that I molested him?” His voice was dangerously low, and only sheer will power kept him standing stock still, when he wanted to reach out and strangle the girl.

“What else could possibly have him singing your praises, Professor?” she spat. The venom in the word surprised even him, though he didn’t show it. “Harry has always looked up to you, even when he claimed to hate you. Any decent person could look at him and tell he’d been mistreated, and then you come around, feed him a bit of twisted affection and viola, Harry loves you.”

“Well done, you incredibly dense child. Once again you have managed to come to the wrong conclusion with a multitude of facts.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Have you talked to Harry this summer?” he asked, ignoring the way she took offense with him using the boy’s first name. “Have you bothered to ask him what happened between he and I yesterday?”

“Yes, I di – “

“Has it ever occurred to you that you were wrong, and that I simply helped the boy? That molestation and magic of the like are so very, very vile – “

“Don’t talk to me about vile. You were a Death Eater – “

“Yes,” he growled, at the end of his patience and unable to prevent a sliver of his magic from escaping his control and fizzling in the air around them. “And you would do well to remember that, Ms. Granger.”

He was standing so close the girl’s trembling disturbed his robes. Giving her a polite nod that was anything but, Severus strode up the tower staircase, intent on collecting his ward.

Teenaged ward? Check.

Billowing robes? Check.

Fearsome scowl? Check.

List of snakes? Check.

Satisfied that he was ready to face his house of snakes, Severus strode along the school’s hallways, mindful of the shorter male behind him, heading for the Slytherin dungeon common room. He hadn’t yet heard from Remus, nor Sirius, but hoped for their sakes that neither of them was running late.

Turning yet another corner, he felt a suspicious tug on his robes. He turned and gave the nervous looking boy a glare. “The last time I checked, you were neither blind, not incapable of maintaining your balance,” he growled softly. “For what purpose have you attached yourself to my robes?”

Harry, for his part, ignored the man’s tone. His worried green eyes locked with his guardian’s black ones and a bit of the anxiety plaguing him since Snape had announced their destination leaked away. Yet, he was nervous anyway. “What if they try to spell me?”

Severus raised one dark eyebrow. That was his problem? Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he asked silkily, “You do realize tat I will be standing in the very same room, do you not?”

Harry blushed, but relaxed. Sev was right. What could the Slytherins possibly do to him with their Head of House standing in the room? Encouraged, he trotted along obediently behind the grumbly professor, thinking curiously that this wasn’t the way he had used to come down to the snake pit in his second year.

Severus raised an eyebrow at the wayward thoughts skittering across his mind. “I find myself intrigued beyond measure with the possible reasons why a lone second year Gryffindor, or any Gryffindor, for that matter, would want to gain access to the Slytherin dorms.” He mentioned easily. “It would be rather like dropping live prey into a piranha tank, I think.”

Harry blushed and shivered. That actually was a pretty accurate description. He really should learn to keep his thoughts to himself; there were quite a few things he didn’t want his guardian to find out, about that incident and more.

The trek in the dungeons stopped quite abruptly, as Severus came to a sudden stop in front of an empty patch of wall. Harry, who had been rather preoccupied with keeping his thoughts to himself, crashed into Snape’s back, prompting another fit of furious blushing and stammered apologies. Severus rolled his eyes, spelled the door open and guided the boy in by his head. Once inside, he fixed the boy with his sharpest ‘Desist-that-blathering-at-once’ look, and was promptly satisfied when the child’s lips snapped shut.

“I take it you are finished,” he asked mockingly into the silent room. Harry pinked once more, and gave him a shy “Yes, sir.” Severus stared at the child, resisting the urge to be amused. ‘This child will be the death of me one day.’

‘Yea’ri’ht, Sevie. As I’ you’d let ‘im.’ There was loud smacking of lips, followed by the sounds of more munching.

‘Indeed’, thought Severus. ‘Two, what are you eating, up there?’

There was a sudden silence, before the voice spoke again, in seeming awe. ‘I, I dunno.’

It figured. Refusing to acknowledge that he had just responded to and asked a question of an annoying voice in his head, Severus returned his formidable mental facilities to the task at hand.

Motioning Harry into a seat, he said, “Lupin and the mutt should be here shortly. I shall need a few minutes alone with my house before you all come in.” To himself he added, “And begin the ruckus.”

Harry shifted and picked at his robes nervously. “But Professor Snape, why are we meeting with the Slytherins?” he asked, wishing he already knew the answer.

Severus was hard pressed to hide his amusement. Professor Snape, was he? After invading his bed and crying all over him, he was back to professional terms, was he? Inwardly, he smirked. Fixing the boy with his most Professor-ish expression, Severus slipped into lecturing mode.

“For centuries Slytherin house has been accused of producing and encouraging dark wizards and the dark arts. Mainly it began when narrow minded witches and wizards saw something they didn’t like and decided to label magic, shunning anyone and anything that did not fit into their description of ‘Light” magic.

After a time, the House of Snakes did begin to turn out wizards with an inclination to use magic for their own gain. Centuries later, Tom Riddle attended Hogwarts and the Dark Arts became synonymous with Slytherin house for a very real reason. Once it got out that the terrible Lord Voldemort had been in Slytherin, the house was doomed to a reputation of darkness.

However, as you know, my entire House has expressed their desire to turn their backs on the ways of their predecessors. Slytherin house as a whole refuse to join the Dark Lord.”

At Harry’s wide eyed look, he gave the boy a glare until his face regained its normal arrangement. “They are in serious need or immediate protection,” he continued, “as well as a plan of action for their continued safety once off school grounds.

Think of them what you want, but the students of Slytherin house are just that: students. Children. Even though a few of the elder may have already reached their majority, they are all subject to their parent’s will and directives.”

“You mean they’d force their kids to take the Mark?” Harry asked, shocked.

“For many ‘purebloods’,” he emphasized,” receiving the Dark Mark and serving the Dark Lord is an honor. Others do so out of fear and a desire for power. A few who have chosen to align themselves with neither sides of this war have lately been subject to many pressures to choose a side, and quickly.” One hand strayed to rub at his sleeved forearm. “The Dark Lord grows impatient.”

“Is he hurting you?” Harry asked into the brief silence, eyes full of concern and a hard protective light. The room chilled just a slightest bit, and Severus felt Harry’s magic shift. He would have to teach the boy to bring that in, he ruminated. But back to the matter at hand.

“He is not. He doesn’t know of nothing yet.”

Harry sighed, and then worried his lip. “But he’s going to, soon, thought, because you filed paperwork at the Ministry.” He paused, then softly asked, “Can’t you get it removed?”

“No,” Severus answered tiredly. “Dumbledore could not remove it.”

“Did e actually try?” At Severus’ blank look, Harry elaborated. “Did he actually attempt to remove it? With a spell, rune, charm or something or did he just tell you ‘It cannot be done, my boy’?” he finished, mimicking the old wizard’s calm, I’m-terribly-sorry-more-can’t-be-done-deal-with-it voice.

Severus, conversely, was speechless. Harry was right. Albus hadn’t attempted to remove the Dark Mark. He had just sat there, after Severus had spilled his entire sob story, and spouted some nonsense about Tom Riddle ruining his soul and using the blackest of Dark Magic to create the Mark, rendering it impenetrable and blah blah blah. But he couldn’t tell the boy that. No doubt he’d spend countless hours hunting down the answer in the school’s library, or even the office of the Headmaster himself, if the fancy took him.

Harry, however, didn’t need answers; Severus’ silence was enough. He wanted to tell Severus that Albus had a habit of saying things couldn’t be done without trying, something he knew from experience, but all that came out was, “Would you let me try?”

The question dragged Severus forcefully from his circling thoughts, and caused the man to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Harry, we don’t have time for this – “

A knock sounded at the door, and the visitor parchment indicted it was Sirius and Remus.

“Later, then?” Harry pressed as Severus stood from behind his desk and headed towards the door.

“Harry, it is entirely far too dangerous for me to allow you to attempt, Severus continued, opening the door and ushering the two men in. “Hundreds of things could go wrong.”

“He’s right, pup,” Sirius chimed in cheerily.

“Absolutely,” agreed Remus.

“What if I have someone there to help?” Harry asked, following the man as he headed for a second door Harry hadn’t noticed earlier. “Siri and Remy can be there and make sure nothing goes wrong, right?” he asked, turning to give the two men his most pleading stare.

“Of course we’ll be there, pup.”

“We’ll help you if you want us to, Harry, you know that.”

Severus was suddenly furious. “Fine!” he roared, eyes flashing. The candles in the room all shuddered and flared higher in response to his magic. “You want to attempt a magic that could potentially drain your magical core, Mr. All Powerful Mage, sir, so be it! But none of you are attempting anything until I think you have done enough research!”

With that, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

 *&^*

On the other side of the door, eighty-odd pairs of eyes flocked to their head of house, and Severus snarled.

“So.” He met each and every fearful pair of eyes, and was pleased. Even faced with the impending wrath of their Housemaster, his Slytherins did not flinch, did not fidget. They stood tall and stoic in the face of danger, showing nothing but Slytherin pride even the threat was one of their own. Severus looked on his snakes, and was proud.

“So.” He strode slowly into the room, stretching out his magic to douse the fires and candles en route. “So, my children, my little adders and vipers.” The already dimly lit room was pitch black by the time he made it to the front of the room, facing the dais where his students stood, year by year. “So.”

“Deception and disloyalty; traits we are often accused of. Never thought I that against my person these may be used by my own kind.” The words hung heavily in the dark stillness. Not a stitch of cloth rustled, not a single breath hitched.

“Lumos Salazaar!”

Pale light flooded the room from the grimy chandelier above them. Only, the grime had disappeared, leaving a dazzling crystal and gemstone ornate fixture, whose jewel-toned lights dappled the heads of Slytherin’s children.

“Why did I call on Salazar’s Light, you wonder?” Severus continued in a falsely cheerful tone. “Simply because fires have been used for centuries as a means of communication, and even the most innocent flame can emit messages. To those of you who don’t know, the Headmaster’s familiar is a fire phoenix. Need I say more?”

“No, sir,” they chorused, solemnly.

“Oh very good, you’re in the mood to answers questions. Here’s another: Have I taught you nothing?” Silence met his words. “Have I not taken the time to explain to you the way things work around this castle? NO one but these first years should say ‘no’.”

Dropping his pleasant veneer, Snape continued. “Perhaps those were too difficult for your mental facilities to muddle through. Poor dears. Try these: Since when do Slytherins practice betrayal? Why would you expect someone to help you with something monumental when they have previously shown their unwillingness to help you with even the smallest of difficulties?” With each question his voice became steadily lower until he was speaking in nothing more than a whisper. “Or how about this one: Why would you think someone who has helped you, protected you, willingly and fully from the very beginning would be unable or unwilling to help you now?” His students remained deceptively quiet.

“WELL?” he roared. “I demand an answer!”

“Please, sir,” said Whitby plaintively, a seventh year boy with copious freckles. “The thing is, you’re a Death Eater and – “

“Have I ever been a Death Eater to you?” Severus asked in a voice that could melt stone. “To any of you? All of you, answer me!”

“No, sir.”

“Then what have I been to you that would make all of you so completely unwilling to ask me for help this time?” he asked, angry, exasperated and tense.

As one the students, even the little first years who had only heard stories before this fateful meeting chorused “Father”.

‘What?’ Severus was floored. Of all the answers he had been expecting, this was not one of them. His shock warred with the anger that had been fueling him before, and he tucked the newest emotion away in favor of asking, in a voice far to shaky for his liking, “So, then, my children, why not come to me?”

“We didn’t want to disappoint you,” Whitby explained softly. “At least, we wanted to postpone it for as long as possible. We figured you’d be filled with pride at the idea of us following in your footsteps, like our parents, and that you’d be royally disappointed if we didn’t.”

Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And you weren’t all just terrified I’d turn you over to the Dark Lord for treason?” he asked coolly.

Whitby blushed, but held his gaze. “Some of us.”

Eyes closed, Severus turned to the ceiling and clenched his jaw in exasperation. “Merlin save me from idiot children,” he groaned, before fixing his gaze on his House once more. “I am severely disappointed in your lack of trust and judgment, but my pride at your decision overshadows all else at the present moment.

A collective wave of relief swept through the room, and a few students even felt the need to cheer, though they were swiftly silenced by their peers. Only one tiny first year braved the impending silence to pose a question.

“So, you’re not going to turn us over to the Dark Lord, sir?” he asked, wide eyes reminding him of another boy with a penchant for asking rhetorical questions.

“If I were,” Severus replied, waving the door to his office open, “why would I bring help?”

Remus, Sirius and Harry walked in, and the bedlam began.

Monday morning came far too quickly for Harry’s liking. The meeting with Slytherin had gone on till dinner, and even when they had all separated for the meal, eaten, and he, Severus, Draco, Sirius and Remus were down in Severus’ quarters, ideas had still been thrown around and rolled over among them. Harry and Draco had finally been chased to bed after Sirius let slip a wide yawn and Severus was jolted from his torrid thoughts, somewhere near one a.m. After dosing them both with something called a Resting Potion, Snape snapped them off to bed, and Harry had been asleep before he ever saw his bed.

It was the first day of classes, and Harry didn’t want to go. Moreover, he wasn’t anywhere near ready. Before he even had time to roll over and brush his hair, it seemed, Severus and Draco were rushing him out of the rooms.

“You’re going to make us late, Harry!” Draco bellowed from down the hall. Harry was desperately trying to dry his hair before putting on his school uniform, having just taken to shortest shower in the history of hygiene.

“Stop yelling, boy!” Severus shouted from his bedroom. “This is not the residence of uncivilized hoodlums!”

“Morning!” called Sirius loudly, stepping out of the fireplace in long, elegant dress robes. Harry tugged once more at his tie, before racing out to greet his godfather.

“Whoa,” he said, coming to stand next to Draco, who was fingering the wide cuff of the man’s robes. “You’re all dressed up, Siri. Important family business?”

Sirius grinned, running a hand through Draco’s hair. “Well, yes. But I’m also gonna do some gloating, haggle a few Ministry employees, get in Lucius’ way, that sort of thing.”

“Be careful,” Harry and Draco said at the same time. The blonde sent him an annoyed look, and Harry just grinned. He might have been upset that Sirius and Draco were sort of making their own family a few days ago, or anytime this past summer, but now, he didn’t really care. He had Severus, and that evened it out. Besides, it wasn’t even like Sirius wouldn’t be around. Really, he and Draco were practically brothers. The thought sent him giggling into the couch.

“What’s so funny, Potter?” Draco asked. He had always known the Gryffindor was mad…..

“We’re brothers!” Harry burst out, and the look on Draco’s face sent him into another wave of giggling.

“What do you mean, we’re brothers, Potter?” Draco asked, slightly alarmed. “We aren’t related in any kind of way!”

“Oh yeah we are,” Harry laughed, reaching for his new book-bag. “Sev is adopting me, making me his son, and Siri is adopting you, making you his son. And Sev and Siri are both our godfathers, which is like second fathers, so these two guys are basically adopting each other’s kid.”

Draco snorted in amusement. “Only you would think of that, Harry.” He watched the boy laugh on the couch, face red and eyes squeezed tightly shut, and suddenly found himself laughing as well. Who would have thought, Draco and Harry, sworn enemies for four years, would be brothers, sharing the same quarters and getting along civilly with each other?

Severus stormed in, scowling. “Why haven’t you two left for classes yet? Have you forgotten Harry still needs to eat breakfast?” He shifted his gaze from the stupidly giggling children to the amused animagus standing near the fireplace. “Just what is the cause of so much amusement?”

“Nothing,” Sirius answered, eyes twinkling. Severus growled. “Harry just deduced that he and Draco are brothers, since you and I are both adopting each other’s godchild.”

Severus eyes narrowed. “Is that so,” he intoned. “And what does that make you and I?”

Harry and Draco stilled, gazing at each other. After seconds of silent staring, they both burst into renewed laughing, holding their stomachs. Harry rolled off the couch, tears rolling down his face, gasping for breath.

Severus was not amused.

*&^*

Twenty minutes later, Harry and Draco were headed for the Great Hall, both wearing slightly sulky expressions. “I hate Stinging Charms,” Harry murmured.

“Yea, well, I hate swats,” Draco answered, one hand sneaking behind him to rub his tender derriere.  “Even if Sirius only gave me one. My bum’s had a rough summer.” He settled his brow into a more displeased stance and began to brood.

Harry snorted. “Sorry, but that was funny.”

“It was not, Potter!” Draco snapped, scandalized. “It’s very serious!” Harry only laughed harder. Draco growled, and stormed off.

Inside the Great Hall, the usual order of things had been thrown out the window. There were Slytherin lower years at every table, some talking amicably to their tablemates, while others seemed to be the focus of lots of negative attention. For a minute, Harry wondered if Step 1: Integration of the Slytherin plan would work or flop. He nibbled his lip, thinking of everything riding on the snakes getting along with the rest of Hogwarts, and frowned. It had to. This plan had to work, because people’s lives depended on it.

 Brow set in a stubborn line, Harry strode into the Great Hall, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the dip and then swell in conversation at his entrance. Looking around, Harry saw Draco had stopped to talk to talk to a group of first years getting a hard time at the older end of the Gryffindor table, but only seemed to draw attention to himself. As the slim fifth year walked off in the direction of the Slytherin table, one of the seventh year lions reached out and spun him around roughly.

“Hey!” Harry called, stalking over. Whispering rushed up and died down all around the room as Harry approached the would-be confrontation. “Leave him alone, Connor. He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?”

Connor, a quiet boy with wicked looking eyebrows, rose from his seat, towering over the two fifth years. “Other than being a great, stinking ferret ponce, no, he hasn’t. What’s it to you, Potter?”

“Quite a bit,” Harry said, reaching up to tug at his hair. “All the snakes are off limits from here on out, got it?”

“No, I don’t,” the older boy sneered. “What’s the matter, Potter? Sneaking around with the Greasy Git all weekend make you go soft? Since you’ve been taking the Head Snake up the –“

He never said anymore. Quite suddenly Connor was suspended high into the air, a large brilliantly blue ball of fire hovering around him. The temperature of the room had dropped, crystallized frost creeping up the windows, chandeliers and walls. Harry wasn’t paying any of this the slightest bit of attention, though, as he was concentrating on not wringing the seventh year’s neck.

“Harry,” Draco called, tugging at his shoulder. “Harry, let him go.”

“I’m sick of people thinking the worst of Professor Snape, Draco, I really am.”

“Yeah, I know, “Draco answered, leaning close and looking up at the frightened boy. The entire Great Hall was eerily silent and still, whether in fear of awe, Draco didn’t know. “Until a few days ago, you were kind of one of them.”

“I never thought he’d do that, not to anyone!”

“Well, fine. But most people, when they decide someone is evil, they won’t put anything past them, got it?”

“It’s stupid,” Harry whispered. Above them, Connor shifted, and Harry let him drop a few feet before catching him. “Why does he let them?”

“He’s got a job to do, Harry.” Draco whispered back. “Remember, that whole spy business? It’s important for his image that all the nice, innocent children of the Light think the worst of the mean old Greasy Potions Professor, because everyone knows he was in league with You-Know-Who,” Draco mocked. When Harry didn’t respond, he sighed. “Let the idiot go, Harry. You’re scaring the firsties.”

Silently, Harry dropped the older boy back into his seat, ignoring the shouts of alarm around him. “Stop badmouthing Professor Snape,” he warned, then turned on his heel and stalked over to the Slytherin table without waiting for the boy, or anyone else, to reply.

“Great going, Potter,” was the first thing he heard as he sat down. Across the table, Pansy was sending him a look that was positively poisonous, her dark wavy hair fanning our around her pale face. “That was so low key, I’m sure none of the professors sitting at the head table saw that.” Around the table, students eyed them and shifted nervously. “And just maybe the Ministry official posing as a Professor went completely blind during that entire show!”

“Shut your face, Parkinson,” Draco mumbled, sitting down and pulling a platter of sausages towards him. “He was defending Snape.”

“I don’t care who he was defending!” the girl hissed. “He’s going to blow this whole plan and get us all killed!” The third years closest to Pansy slid away from her in trepidation, eyeing the trembling silverware in fear.

“I meant what I said last night.” Harry looked up from his plate to meet the girl’s eyes. “I promised to protect you all from Voldemort. I will protect you all from Voldemort. Trust me.”

“I have no reason to trust you, Potter,” Pansy spat, leaning across the table to get in his face.

“That’s true.” He speared a sausage from Draco’s plate and looked up at the livid girl. “Make one up.” And with that, he turned back to his breakfast.

In a fit of pique, Pansy slammed both hands against the table, snatched up her bag and stormed out of the Great Hall. The students, who had all gone back to frantic whispering the minute Harry took his seat, increased their chatter with every step the girl took.

“Smooth, Harry,” Draco said, coming up for air from his plate and dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“Shut up, Black,” Harry mumbled, stabbing his eggs viciously.

Draco grinned. “Touchy, are we?” At Harry’s glare he said, “Don’t blame me. I’m not the one who held a seventh year up in the air and threatened to impale him with his own wand a few minutes ago.”

Harry frowned. “You’d think a professor would have come to give me a detention by now.” He turned to look at the blonde boy, which he found much easier than looking up to the head table.

“Well, yes, but they’ve been sitting there staring at you and talking amongst themselves using their deeply-disturbed-but-contemplative looks. Probably trying to think about the best way to approach you. That has to count for something, right?”

Harry sighed. He was the freak once again. Couldn’t he do anything right?

Draco sent his friend a concerned look. “Sev isn’t up there,” he pointed out helpfully. “He hasn’t come to breakfast yet. And neither has Lupin. Neither of them knows of your horrible breakfast fiasco, so you’ve got at least two hours to think of some kind of excuse, if you plan it right.”

“Look, let’s just get to class, yeah?” Harry said tiredly. “The sooner we get that over with, the better.”

“Anxious to get rid of me, are you Potter?” Draco asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I can’t wait to have a bit of thinking time for myself, yes,” the dark-haired child answered.

Draco scoffed. “I don’t believe you.” He ran a hand over his robes primly. “You know you’ll be lost without me. I’ll be the only thing on your mind till you see me at lunch,” was stated with the boy’s patented self-important air.

“You wish, Malfoy.”

“I don’t have to. I know it’s true.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the blonde teen. “Come on”, he said. “We don’t want to be late for Potions.”

Grabbing up his bag, Harry rushed out of the Great Hall, turned a corridor on skidding shoes, and ran smack into another person.

“Oomph! Sorry,” he hurried to say. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going – “

Harry trailed off, noticing that the person he’d bumped into was not at all behaving like a hallway collision victim usually would.

First of all, she held a hand up to her head, where she’d hit it on the floor when he’d bumped into her. Secondly, she peered at his robe front, gave a bright smile and said “Right on schedule.” Harry watched bemusedly as she pulled a square of parchment from her pocket and made a tick using a Muggle pen. “Nine o’ three: get run over by rampaging Gryffindor, check. Splendid!”

She tucked the pen and parchment away and fastened her large amethyst eyes on Harry. “Hello there.” Her face split into a grin. “In a hurry were we?”

“Uhh … Yea. I, uh, need, to, you know, get to class, um, or I’ll be, um, its bad, you know, if I’m, uh, not in class, when, uh, it starts, uh, see.” Harry didn’t know why, but he felt funny. Why couldn’t he string together a complete sentence? He blushed harder.  What the hell was going on?

“Uh, huh. “ She folded her arms over her chest, and raised one of her slender shoulders. “Maybe you should get going then?”

“Right.” Harry nodded enthusiastically. “Yea, I mean, you’re right. I’ll be going. So I won’t be late.” He couldn’t seem to get a handle on his head. “I’ll see you later.”

She nodded, still smiling serenely. “Ok. Bye.”

“Bye.”

A pause. Then,

“It might help if you actually got up, though.”

Harry looked down.

Bad move.

On the fourth day of September, seconds before his first class of the school term began, Harry James Potter got his first up close and personal view of the front of a teenage girl’s white cotton uniform short.

His face was on fire. “Oh buggering hell.” He hastily rolled off of her, pulling both of them to their feet and then quickly letting go of the arms he had used to haul her up. “I’m so, so, so incredibly sorry. I never should have done that. I didn’t mean to do that. Honest.” He held his arms out in front of him, palms facing her. “I’m so, so very sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was rushing and you were there and then suddenly we were both here and then you started talking and then I forgot honestly ‘cause you were so comfortable I didn’t think I was squishing you.“ His eyes widened as he listened to himself.  “Not that I liked laying on top of you, or anything, because I didn’t, I don’t like laying on top of girls, not, I mean, that there was a problem with the way you feel or anything, its just that I – “

It took a moment for Harry to realize that’s his mouth was moving but no words were coming out. Finally piecing everything together, he nearly collapsed with relief. ‘O sweet Merlin, Henry and Circe, bless whoever was the brilliant soul that cast that Silencing Charm.’

“I thought it was about time you shut up.” The girl eyed Harry thoughtfully. He wasn’t sure what to make of her standing so close to him, seeing as he refused to look at anything save the corridor floor. All he could see was her shoe standing just on the edge of his peripheral vision. “I suppose whoever cast that Silencing Charm must really like you, to keep you from making a bigger fool of yourself like that. “

She sighed, and Harry saw the edges of her robe flutter. “Can you point me in the direction of the Headmaster’s office? I’m afraid that now we’re both quite late for our respective engagements.”

Harry nodded to his feet, and pointed along the corridor he had just exited. “Back down that way, when you come to the Great Hall, double back onto the next hallway and follow it to the stone gargoyle. The password is ‘peppermint patties.’

His head snapped up then. What happened to the silencing charm? The girl said nothing, but raised a single elegant eyebrow. It made Harry’s insides melt. She stepped around him, and gave a tiny salute.

“See you then. Try not to run over anyone else on your way, will you?”

And before Harry could think of a reply, she as gone.

*~*~*

Snape’s raised eyebrow when he walked into class five minutes late made him want to sink into the floor. He ducked his head and scurried into the seat Draco had saved for him. He didn’t look around the class, but he was sure Hermione was giving him the evil eye. He frowned, pulling out his text. It wasn’t his fault she wanted to act that way. He hadn’t done a thing wrong. Why should he apologize?

He tried to ignore the nudge Draco gave him with his elbow as he began preparing for the lecture, but nearly fell out of his chair when the blonde boy made it a sharp jab. Shooting the boy a glare, Harry righted himself in his seat and set out his books and ingredients for the lesson. After nearly two minutes of Draco’s insistent staring, Harry muttered, “Tell you in Charms” to both him and Ron and finally had a bit of space.

Rolling his eyes, he tried to pay attention to the lecture the professor was giving. This year wasn’t like any of the years before. He was actually going to like Potions, he could feel it. Professor Snape wasn’t out to make him look like a fool, and the Slytherins were actually being civil, in their own Slytherin way. And even if the Potion on the board looked like some advanced experiment created by some ancient Egyptian mummy, this year was going to be better.

Half hour later, and Harry was sure this was the worst Potions class in the history of Potions classes. The professor had told them to pair up, and, as planned, every Slytherin had attached themselves to a Gryffindor. Draco had been peeved though, because Blaise Zabini made it to Harry’s other side before he could even blink, leaving him to partner with Ron. From what Harry could see, though the two boys were actually paying extreme attention to the instructions, their potion was issuing blue smoke and an acrid stench that made their eyes water. Snape swooped in from nowhere and waved the stink away. Hermione and Pansy weren’t having much better luck, and from there the whole class went downhill. Snape was stalking up and down the class, peering into cauldrons and gracing their owners with his surliest of sneers. Only Neville seemed to be impervious of the man’s attitude, which was a wonder in itself. But the fact that Neville’s potion was closest to the indicated color it should be at this stage was enough to clear the man’s surly expression even for the briefest moment.

While Snape was bent low over Neville’s assignment, murmuring questions to the boy, or comments to himself, Harry wasn’t sure, he turned back to his and Blaise’s potion, and for the third time that lesson found the boy staring at him.

“What?” he asked, exasperated, looking over his shoulder to make sure Snape was still occupied.

“Nothing,” Blaise answered, going back to powdering the newt’s tails needed for the next step. “Your Muggles, though, and Dumbledore, I just can’t believe it.”

Harry tended the fire under their work nervously, wondering how much of a baby would he look like if he called the professor over to offer the other boy a distraction. “Don’t believe it, then. I don’t need you to,” he mumbled, taking the ingredient from Blaise and pouring it in carefully. The concoction was still some awful shade of purple, when it should be almost a green-like blue, and Harry was worried. He didn’t need Blaise to add to his problems, really.

“But you’re the old man’s Golden Boy. Harry Potter, The-Boy-Dumbledore-Would-Move-Heaven-And-Earth-To-Please –“

“Well he didn’t, did he?” Harry snapped, fixing the boy with flashing green eyes. Unbeknownst to him, every flame in the room had gone out in the wake of his fit of anger. Jars and vials trembled on their stands, and tables and chairs, including those holding students, were slowly, slowly inching away from his and Blaise’s work area. “He didn’t do anything when I told him I didn’t want to be there, and he didn’t do anything when Professor Snape told him what was happening to me, alright? I don’t want to talk about this, and I don’t want to hear you say anything else about me, or Dumbledore, or ‘my Muggles’, got it?”

“But why didn’t he?” Blaise pushed, ignoring the fact that their potion was bubbling ominously next to him, or that Professor Snape seemed to be trying to reach them but couldn’t make it past a barrier of some sort. “He’s done nothing but love you since you got here, and now suddenly nothing? How does that make sense?”

There was a chilly silence in the room for three seconds. An incredible burning rage filled Harry from somewhere, flooded into him and crawled out of the pit of his stomach to leak into his blood and the walls shook and the floors shook and suddenly every single cauldron in the room exploded. Animal bits ad gunk oozed down the sides of the invisible dome, and Severus privately thanked every deity he had ever heard of that Harry was, even unconsciously, guarding them.

“What part of I don’t want to hear anything else didn’t you understand?” The question was low, and gravelly and fairly tingled in the air, and Blaise finally realized the danger he was in. Harry was absolutely tense, one hand clenched fiercely around his stirring rod, every muscle in his body clenched and ready to strike. “He does not love me,” he bit out, just as the walls began to shake. “He has never loved me.”

The floor trembled, as did the ceiling, shifting silt and dust so that it fell through the air softly, giving the room an otherworldly look about it.

That idiot. That bloody idiot! Didn’t he understand what he meant by leave it bloody well alone? Harry shivered, liquid fire crawling up his spine. He didn’t want to hear about Dumbledore and all of his lies. He didn’t want to hear about the old man at all. It still hurt too deep. That he knew, he knew and hadn’t done anything, hadn’t said anything – Harry couldn’t think about it. He shivered again, trying to force his magic down. What had Sev said last night? A thread of thought hovered out of his reach, before slipping away completely. Chills coursed through him again, and Harry gave up.

‘Sev?’

Tobias Snape had never been a man of patience, and it was a trait that was passed on to his son in spades. Severus was fairly shaking with suppressed anxiety by the time Harry’s timid voice broke into his mind. Damned brat. Didn’t he know better than to cause such a stir on the first day of classes? And so soon after the breakfast fiasco Minerva was raving about. Severus was tense, his forehead throbbing. What he needed right now was an extra-strength headache potion, but he was unlikely to get it any time soon.

He had gone from apathetic at having to teach yet another class of dunderheads today, to shocked beyond all reason by Longbottom’s potion, to scared out of his mind when potions ingredients and unfinished assignments started to react all around the classroom. His one source of relief was that the students were all being moved to safe distances around the perimeter of the room. All save one, and when Severus Snape was done with Blaise Zabini, the boy would wish he had never heard of Hogwarts with such a fervent passion it may even come true. But, for now, he had a volatile, untrained mage to calm down. Oh joy.

‘Yes, child? I’m here, do not worry, but I cannot reach you. You need to calm down so that your magic will stop blocking me.’

‘Can’t calm down, Sev. Blaise is an idiot.’ Harry clutched the desk with a death grip, and the trembling of the classroom increased two fold. ‘Get everyone out of here, Sev!’

The potions master nearly graced the boy with a death glare. Did he think he was an idiot, content to stand and gape while danger loomed eminent? ‘You are blocking the door, idiot boy.’

Harry gritted his teeth. This was just incredible. Here he was having an incredible magical tantrum, and he couldn’t even get everyone out to safety. Bloody brilliant. Someone shifted next to him, and Harry tensed, causing an entire wall of shelves to plummet to the ground.

“Bloody hell, Potter,” Zabini whispered. The boy shifted again, and to Harry the sound was like nails rating on glass. “You’re going to bloody kill us all, aren’t you?”

Harry snarled, releasing the desk and spinning on the taller boy. “No, but I’d really like to hex you right now.” The air around him had taken on a faintly bluish tinge and crackled, something that made Blaise’ eyes widen fearfully. “Why you couldn’t just shut up like I asked you, I’ll never understand.”

Blaise was backing away, one hand reaching into his robes for his wand. “Y-you don’t want to h-help us, y-y-you’re g-going to k-kill us! You’re going to kill us all!” the boy screamed.

Around him, shards of glass and wood rose into the air and whipped into a furious tornado above his ward’s head, and Severus swore in every language he knew. He was going to KILL Zabini! He as going to wring his bloody neck! Spinning around, he came face to face with the Granger, and felt his anger peak.

“Get out of my bloody face, little girl, before I make you regret being born,” he snarled, and was half surprised and half peeved when she ignored his ire and had the gall to address him.

“The barrier is gone. I’ve started moving the students out, but you need to calm him down.” The wind had whipped locks of her thick hair into her face and eyes, but the girl paid it no mind. “You work on that, and I’ll keep Zabini from being murdered, yes?”

Without another word, the Gryffindor darted around him and into the fray. It wasn’t till she was halfway to the two students did he realize she had pulled him down to her level, and that he was bent over awkwardly. But the girl was true to her word. The class was near empty, both Slytherins and Gryffindors edging out slowly, rather than making a mad dash for the exit. It was smart, he supposed, though he wasn’t sure to award credit to his snakes for sharing their sense of self-preservation with the lions, or to Granger for instructing the students to leave slowly. Either way, it was unimportant at the moment, as he had to keep Harry from destroying a bit of Hogwarts.

Carefully crossing the distance between him and his rather small boy, Severus stowed his wand (where had that come from?) and moved to cut off Harry’s view of the Slytherin, who was resisting the Granger’s every attempt to remove him from the classroom. Sparing the pair his most contemptuous look, Severus turned to his ward, who was burning a hole through his chest with his eyes.

“Here, child, look at me, let’s see of we can calm you down now,” e murmured, risking a limb as he reached out and brushed the boy’s hair out of his eyes.

Still shaking, Harry clenched his eyes shut. He couldn’t let Sev see, he COULDN’T! It would hurt the man, to know the boy he had accepted as a son was hurting over the lies of someone else. When the man brought both hands up to cup his face, he had to bite his lip to keep from sobbing. No! No no no no no!

What the devil was wrong with the boy! “Hush, child. It’s alright. Cease this ridiculous display and relax,” Severus murmured soothingly. Harry’s face was scrunched up in anguish, he assumed, and the tiny fledgling bits of his heart contracted at the sight. “I’m right here, Harry, right here. Just relax.”

But Harry seemed intent on doing the exact opposite. When the boy started shaking his head a split second after his face crumpled, Severus had had enough. “Come now, “he said, stepping close and pulling the boy against him. “Stop this nonsense.” Severus didn’t’ know just what had set the Gryffindor off, but he just wanted this episode over with. In the past weekend alone he had probably seen more tears than he had in all his life. Something was obviously bothering the child and the quickest way to find out what it was was to get the boy to stop crying. “Let it out, child. Nothing here can hurt you.”

And then, Harry cried. He buried his face in the taller man’s robes and gave vent to all his confusing thoughts and emotions. The guilt he was feeling over feeling so comfortable with Snape who had been his enemy, in his own mind, for years, guilt over not seeking out the Headmaster to hear his side of the story and guilt over not being able to write Dumbledore out of his had and heart, even though the man had clearly done the same to him coursed through him and over him and finally out, in the form of hot salty tears. Worry over what the Weasley’s would say when they found out Snape wanted to adopt him, what the papers would say about his guardian when this all got out, what Mord Voldie would do to Sev when he found out, what the DE parents would start doing to their kids….it all crashed over his in a blinding wave. He wasn’t afraid about someone hurting him; he was terrified of him hurting someone else! He’d turned the Potion’s classroom into...into….he didn’t even know anything bad enough to be compared to what he did today. It was horrible, and all Harry could do was cling to his Snape and sob his heart out.

And while Severus carded his fingers through Harry’s hair, and Harry cried all of his frustrations into the man’s shoulder, Hermione and Blaise stood behind them, one shocked and the other mystified, but both unwilling to disturb the sudden peace that had fallen on the classroom. For as soon as Severus had pulled Harry close to him, the room’s trembling had ceased, and the howling mass of glass and wood that had spun angrily above their heads had fallen softly, harmlessly to the ground.  

The sounds of hurried footsteps sounded down the corridor, and Severus mentally swore he would hex the first person that broke the silence. Hermione, it seemed, though, was not a know-it-all for nothing. With some quick, quiet wand work a silencing charm blanketed the room, and with one last glance at the dark haired pair in the center of the room, she yanked the still reeling Slytherin around and frog-marched him out of the classroom.

What became of them and who they met outside the door of his classroom, Severus could not find the strength to care. He shifted, rubbing his chin against the top of Harry’s head, and sighed. There was absolutely never a dull moment when Harry Potter was around. Never a single one.

Harry woke up, warm, groggy and alone, much to his displeasure. He made a distressfully annoyed sound as his fingers sleepily wormed their way across the wide mattress, searching for another warm presence for him to cuddle up to. As it was, there was no other warmness with him, and both he and his fingers were greatly displeased. With a sleepy pout on his face, Harry clumsily kicked off his blankets and rolled onto the floor. It was another minute before he convinced his lower limbs that yes, he wanted to be using them and yes, there would be dire consequences if they did not cooperate immediately. Said limbs were severely unimpressed, but acquiesced to his demands anyway. Minutes later, Harry drunkenly stumbled into the living room, managing to take a few more steps before he walked into something warm and solid. Justified with his actions, he wrapped both arms around the something, and promptly decided that cats were really onto something, what with rubbing their heads against people like that.

“Good afternoon to you as well, child,” came an amused voice from somewhere above his head.

“Mfglurp,” Harry responded, pressing his face closer to the warmness he clung to.

“My, what a wonderful vocabulary you have.”

“Nghtf.”

The voice above him chuckled, and long fingers ran through his hair. Harry smiled as the sound rumbled up from under his head like a laughing mountain, if mountains could laugh.

“Is there a particular reason you are out of bed, Harry?”

Since speaking was a skill he simply was not capable of at the minute, he used the link between their minds, which was fortunately wide open. An image of Harry rolling over and then blindly searching the bed drifted between them accompanied by vague annoyance, confusion and the slightest stirrings of fear. His brain was still foggy, not even remembering how he made it out of the potions classroom, let alone waking up all alone in a strange bed.

“I see,” the voice intoned, still amused. “Are you hungry?”

“Merglp,” Harry enunciated, shaking his head slightly.

“You want to return to bed, I assume.”

“Yugmf.”

“Very well,” Severus said, tightening his arms around Harry’s shoulders. Somehow, Severus was able to get them both back to Harry’s bedroom, without one or both of them ending up in an undignified heap. Not that it would have mattered to some small fifteen year olds. Harry was asleep on his feet, with only Sev’s arms and perhaps a bit of his magic keeping him upright. Sev snorted, and swiftly, deposited the smaller body onto the dark blue sheets. Said smaller body was not about to be abandoned again, however, as its two hands tightly fisted and twisted in the fabric of the potion’s master’s robes. After trying in vain to release the boy’s hands (which he suspected were reinforced with magic), he sighed and settled himself on the mattress. What else did he have to do, anyway? Get yelled at by McGonagall, who probably thought he was killing her little lion? Endure a scathing lecture from the old coot, and then be blinded by that thrice-damned twinkle and have to resist the urge to commit murder? He glared at the top of the boy’s head as Harry curled in on himself and snuggled into Sev’s chest. He would stay right here and be cuddled to death (he suppressed a deep shudder) and delay the inevitable fallout.

For a while, at least.

He awoke hours later, to the sound of annoying buzzing in his ear. He raised a heavy hand to slap at the annoying bug, only to find that it had somehow lodged itself within his head. With a start, he jerked upright, realizing too late that he had a very nasty crick in his neck and that he had been acting as a human pillow to one small teen, and thus his body was therefore asleep, even after Harry gurgled and rolled away from him.

Snarling, Severus rose rather ungracefully from the bed and stalked (read: stumbled) towards the door to his quarters, intent on blasting the idiot foolish enough to wake him into next week.

When he threw open the door, without even glancing at the visitor’s parchment, much to the dismay of voice number Three (‘What kind of spy are you?’), he very nearly made good on his private threat. For there stood Hermione Granger, bushy hair all a-frizz and not looking the least bit intimidated by Severus’ Death Eater Glare No. Seven: Have-you-completely-lost-the-little-sense-The-Creator-saw-fit-to-imbue-you-with-you-festering-pile-of-dung-seasoned-meat?

“Good afternoon, Professor,” the Granger said politely, and knowing just how un-politely she wished to say it, it was all Severus could do to reply in kind, even if his tone was a bit clipped.

“May I come in, Professor Snape?” she asked quietly. To the girl’s credit, her face was a blank mask. Several scathing remarks flitted through the potions master’s head, several of them sure to reduce the girl to tears and most revolving on the current state of her sanity, asking to be let into, in her opinion, a child molester’s personal rooms. The other more (or less?) ethical part of his brain was mourning his rather large change of heart; he would have ferreted into her mind from the minute he saw her standing there, and determined the risk to himself and his various missions. As it was, he stood there, inwardly chewing on his options. His quarters were heavily warded and fortified to his advantage, many of the items bound to his core and his alone, should he need to protect himself.

A cynical voice asked just why he felt the need to protect himself from the freshly minted fifth year before him was possible, and Severus inwardly scoffed. Though Hermione Granger was a witch of slightly above average magical power, she truly was the most brilliant witch of her year. Severus was willing to waver there had not been a witch so unaccountably brilliant since the days of Rowena Ravenclaw herself. What she lacked in sheer magical power she made up for with lightning quick and clever thinking. Severus realized that even with his thirty odd years of life, years of spying, and all the other years of experience he had gathered in the time he had been alive, the Granger might very well present him with a real challenge in a duel.

And that got him thinking.

Well, one part of his mind, anyway. The part not occupied by Two.

No, that part of his brain had come up with a slightly more plausible reason for protection from the short fifth year.

Severus possessed a library.

One he knew beyond a doubt surpassed the Headmaster's own private library that no one ever had access to anyway. Severus shuddered. That, right there, was oodles of possible reasons for maiming his person.

Why was he even considering letting the Granger in, again? He already had one ruinous teen loitering about the place, and one was ENOUGH, thank you very much (thought Harry was far from ruinous, or the loitering type). But what was one more? After all, he had TWO teenaged boys frequenting these rooms, so of course said rooms would be getting a lot of mileage. Why not get used to it sooner?

WHY GET USED TO IT AT ALL?!?!?!?! Severus let out a growl of frustration, which quickly turned in to a lusty purr of satisfaction. He had had the entire argument in his head, with HIMSELF! Not with any of those stinking voices! In the resulting flow of good mojo, Severus swept the slightly miffed girl into the room and onto a couch, before disappearing into the kitchen to fix some tea. No need to upset the Granger’s sensibilities, right? And not need at all to pass up such a PRIME opportunity, right? Severus Snape was, after all, a vengeful man.

Thankfully, because his good mood was gone and he was itching to cast a hex, the Granger started talking the minute he passed the threshold from the kitchen.

“I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” she stated as he set the tea service down. “After all, you and I are hardly seeing eye to eye at the moment.” Severus made no motion that he had heard her, preferring to fix his tea and sit comfortably in his favorite chair, but inside he was spitting insults. How dare this frizzy monstrosity begin a conversation in HIS rooms? Was she lacking brain matter? Not ‘seeing eye to eye’? They were practically at each other’s throats! Well, if he wanted to be truthful, which he didn’t, he had actually done all the threatening, taking an already bad situation and making it horrible, to be further worsened by his status as an adult, and the difference in their gender. If a certain twinkle-eyed headmaster ever got wind of this……. Well, let us just say it was both good for his health and longevity and not a coincidence that the tea had been spiked with something….and he had drank the antidote. Not that he would have needed it anyway. He was a spy, and not stupid.

There was an amused, disbelieving snort. ‘Says you,’ chortled Two.

Severus ruthlessly crushed the offending voice and its opinions, and did his damnedest to tune in to the prattling girl before him.

‘Goodness,’ he thought, ‘how does she wrap her brain, let alone her tongue, around these words? Floccinaucinihilipilification, REALLY? He shifted, pulling his cup closer and taking another sip. If this girl did not hurry up, he was never going to get any peace. He gave her a baleful glare when a break in her moderate rant was only to pause for breath, and found himself with no more patience.

“Was there a particular reason you chose to invade my quarters tonight, Granger?” he asked. The girl stilled, giving him a look that said she would very much like to tell him where to stick his attitude, but fortunately did not.

“May I see Harry, sir?”

Well, that certainly was unexpected. “You want to see Harry,” he stated, just for clarification.

Hermione nodded solemnly, fingers entwined on her lap. Severus fixed her with an unreadable expression for the longest minute known to mankind, before rising to stand in front of the fireplace.

“What on earth made you think that I would allow you to gaze, unfettered, on my son whilst he slept?” he asked silkily. “What makes you think I should, Granger? Do you have any idea how much you hurt him?” he asked, before charging in without waiting for an answer. “Let us just forget, for the moment, that you accused someone he trusts and cares about of the most heinous act of twisting ever stumbled upon moronic human beings that predeceased us, and focus on the fact that you refused to believe him. Now, taking into account that the bloody idiot Gryffindor is about as transparent as the owelry windows on a good day and on others he tells you and the red head virtually everything, how do you suppose it feels to have someone you trust, someone who knows you intimately, refrain from trusting your words, for reasons unknown to you?”

Granger’s eyes were closed, and her fingers were gripping each other so tightly they seemed about ready to snap. He was sure she was chanting some ridiculous Muggle calming mantra, one that he planned to shatter in an instant…..

“Please, Professor. May I please just see Harry?” Her voice had caught at the end, and Severus hid a smirk.

“Please?” he said, rolling the word over his tongue like he had never experienced anything quite like it in all his days. “Please? My dear girl, are you begging? Are you truly begging me, Greasy Potions Master Dungeon Bat, for something?” He gave her a wicked chuckle. “My, my, how the mighty have fallen.”

The Granger’s eyes bored into his with an intensity that would have done a hunting cougar proud. It amused him, greatly, that he could rile her up so, especially since she could do nothing about it. He took a step forward casually, before swooping down to lean threateningly over the smaller student. “How painful was it for you to finally realize that you are no longer in control here?” he snarled in a deadly whisper, his dark hairy swinging forward to obscure his face.

“Very,” the Granger whispered. “Believe me.”

Severus smirked a terrible smirk, and slowly stood. After gazing down at her amusedly for a minute, a minute in which the Granger tried and failed to hide her discomfort, he gestured grandly to rise.

The walk down the hallway was silent, not that the dark man cared one whit. He supposed he could make some light banter about just how well cared for Harry was, but that would be rubbing salt in a wound one did not fully realize was there. And so, he led the way to Harry’s room in silence, aware that the Granger was taking in every. Single. Stone. That lined the hall. It was a bit unnerving, her intensity, or would have been to any other but himself. Or maybe Dumbledore. As it was, Severus just filed it away for perusal.

With exaggerated movements, Severus approached Harry’s door, and with a deep, solemn bow ushered the Granger into the room.

To say Severus was disappointed with the girl’s reaction would have been a severe understatement.

The Granger gave the room one cursory glance en route to the bed, but made no comment. Standing next to the rumpled covers, the fifth year gazed down. Steadily. It was a full dissatisfied minute before Severus watched her face pucker in confusion.

“You detect a cause for concern?” he sneered.

The Granger’s arms folded snappishly before she answered. “Harry never sleeps like this,” she said, barely above a whisper.

His sneer deepened, and his eyes rolled of their own accord. “What, precisely, is ‘this’, you dunderhead? Like he is not going to be attacked in the middle of the night? Because I assure you, this is how he is supposed to sleep.”

Hermione turned to glower at the Professor. “I know that. I’m only saying that the type of psychological healing and recovery needed to bring him to this level of subconscious freedom could not have happened in little over thirty-six hours.”

“Really?” Severus asked, feigning curiosity and leaning against the doorjamb. “What do you suppose happened, then?”

The girl glared at him rather like she would have liked to dunk his head in bubotuber pus. Severus stared back smugly. “I don’t know what happened," the Granger managed. “I only know that something did. Something beyond him just looking up to you, in that subconscious way he did.” Her gaze shifted from contemptuous to thoughtful, and it almost seemed as if she were talking to herself. “But that has always been the case. Something incredible must have happened. Something’s changed.”

Severus sneered. “I can assure you, Granger, that Harry’s state of slumber is directly indicative of his state of recovery.”

The Granger turned back to gaze thoughtfully at her sleeping friend, her freckled face a swirl of different emotions. Severus knew, without having to pick her brain, that the foremost of these was bewilderment. As in:’How on earth had she missed this?’

It was a question that Severus would only be all too pleased to answer for her, with his usual spark and humor, of course. If only she would ask! He sighed internally. The Granger did not seem to want him blessed opinion in this matter. Or any, really.

So sad for her….

“Are you quite done, Granger? I realize the sphere of your world is limited to your two Gryffindor counterparts, and as one is out of commission, so to speak, for the present moment you are rather at a loss, but I do have work that needs to be doing,” he said, his face an emotionless mask. “In plainer terms, you incompetent she-child, Get. Out.”

He watched in satisfaction as she spun around, sputtering, and calmly made his way to the living room, knowing she would follow. And she did, near silently huffing and puffing at the sheer ludicrous assumption that she was incompetent. He came to a stop at the door, and turned, watching in smug satisfaction as she finally seemed to realize she was struggling for words.  “I told you once before, did I not” he began in a silky whisper, “that it would be most unwise to anger me? What you are experiencing is the very tip of the iceberg.” He smirked as she drew herself up, got right in his face, and proceeded to poke him forcefully in the chest. “Yes, I am a conniving, loathsome, abhorrent little devil, I know. My mother would have been so proud, don’t you think?”

The Granger chose to meet his eyes and send him her fiercest glare. Which, considering the source, was actually very good. She would come a very long way under his tutelage. After all, he could not let this amount of raw power and brains slip through his fingers without contriving a way to twist it for the boy’s benefit, could he? Of course not. And since the girl was one of the boy’s friends in the first place, even though they had had a tiff, it only made his self-appointed task all the more easier. But really, where did she learn to hold a glare this way? He was almost jealous! His glares had not been nearly as effectual at this age. He pondered this new dilemna as the girl continued to rant and rave in her mind. He would give her a book on Occlumency at the end of their first lesson, he decided. Whatever natural blocks she had were completely nonexistent when she was angry.

His thoughts were cut short as the girl, ripped open the door, only to be brought up short at his next words. “You will report to my office Friday evenings at seven, Granger.” Her bushy head whipped around and her eyes burned fiercely with a question that most likely sounded something like ‘Why the hell would I do that, you nasty son of a dragon pox-infected squid?’ but he chose to believe was ‘Why, and for how long, sir?’

“Until I say otherwise, Granger. The purpose will be explained when you arrive.”

With a primal scream of fury, the Granger stomped out into the hall, slamming his thick oak door behind her.

Severus really did love his students.

The second day of classes didn’t start out nearly as eventful as the past few days. Severus was, well, not pleased. He was actually more than a little suspicious. So much so that he wore a vest under his teaching robes. It never hurt to be too careful, he’d learned. 

He’d roused Harry from his bed (why the messy haired nuisance couldn’t wake himself up at a descent hour was beyond him, really). The entire affair had taken some fifteen minutes, including a summoned bucket of water that magically turned to ice before vanishing out of his hands. He’d stared at the ceiling in exasperation, convinced that there was an easier way to do this and that the deities that governed the universe were content in him enduring this torture. He’d thought enviously of Molly Weasley, who had to have oodles and oodles of experience in this area, and vowed to corner the woman at his earliest convenience and demand that she divulge her secrets.

Having made his decision, Severus bodily lifted the teen from bed and carried him, upside down, into the kitchen before delivering a swift poke to the boy’s side.

Not quite the smartest thing to do.

Harry jerked, (and) Severus’ grip on the slim form slipped. The sleeping teen began a hasty headfirst descent to the cold, unrelenting dungeon floor. Heart racing and hands frantically grasping at the fabric of the boy’s clothes, Severus was stunned when Harry did some kind of magic ninja roll and blinked up at him sleepily from his position on the floor.

Sirius, in dog form, had promptly rolled out of the fireplace and immediately attacked his defenseless godson. Feeling satisfied with the boy’s suffering, Severus stalked over to the table, only to be attacked as well by a familiar head of blonde hair, and the body that went with it.

He looked down into the sparkling eyes of his godson. “Draco.”

“Hi Uncle Sev!” the boy cried loudly. Severus closed his eyes painfully. Draco had been born one of those unnatural types of humans: morning people.

“Dragon,” he said, fixing the smiling boy with his stoniest expression. “I have yet to consume my morning cup of tea. Do strive not to make either of us regret this more than necessary, understood?”

“’Kay,” Draco cried cheerfully.

Severus scowled. Any move geared towards removing the once-Malfoy from his person was similarly thwarted, and met with a carefree chuckle. He prayed for patience. Only two days with the mutt and his godson was already corrupted beyond measure.

“I am not corrupted beyond measure,” Draco laughed. “Siri’s sill got a ways to go.”

Severus blinked. Had he really said that out loud? Groaning, he hobbled over to the table, Draco still attached, and quickly fixed himself a cup of tea.

Sirius and Harry chose that moment to descend upon him in truly heinous fashion. Harry somehow managed to entwine his arms around his torso, despite Draco’s longer arms doing the same. Severus glared down at his two boys and growled.

They giggled.

Sirius, now as a human, gave him a cheerful grin as he sidled past on his way to the head of the table, where he pounced upon the unsuspecting plate of pancakes sitting there with a disturbing amount of ferocity.

Severus sighed heavily. Life was so unfair.

~^-^~

Being Harry, Harry decided, was so unfair. He’d been beaten and abused by his relatives for most of his life, marked by a deranged madman at only a year old, had said madman attempt to kill him three times in four years and endured a series of other unfortunate events it would take too long to detail, and now this.

He sprinted down one corridor and up another, panting hard and nursing a slight stitch in his side. He needed to find his guardian before that idiot Corbin did anything stupid.

And before Severus ripped the man’s throat out because Severus Snape was livid.

This morning’s classes had all gone on without a hitch, despite the wary looks on the faces of most students, who had all undoubtedly heard about what happened the day before. Zabini was still in hospital, Harry had learned, jumping at the slightest sound and terrified of his own shadow. Despite the boy’s complete disregard to Harry’s feelings, said teen couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the Slytherin student. It had to be hard to be under so much pressure and worry and then to suddenly have your supposed salvation turn up in the form of a kid no older than you. It was a stretch, but Harry could almost identify with Zabini. Not that he would ever say it out loud.

The other Slytherins all seemed to be sporting gleeful expressions (as much as they allowed themselves) and the general synopsis was that He-Was-Excessively-Evil didn’t stand a chance.

They’d been having a great lunch (in which the first years had somehow procured a table for themselves and set it up in front of the hall), when that bloody idiot had strolled up holding some colorful egg, demanding he touch it.

Harry simply looked at the man for a minute as if he were speaking French, shot a look at his guardian who was glaring fit to kill someone, and promptly asked Draco to explain.

From the Ravenclaw table, Draco had asked him how the hell he was supposed to know, and suggested he ask Granger.

Before Harry could even formulate a reply, Blondie the Pain was speaking.

“This is a Power Egg, Potter,” he had said in that reedy, pompous voice he had that made Harry want to smash things. “It measures the magical strength of a magical human, mostly for census purposes,” he had continued.

“So, Hogwarts is doing a census?” asked Harry.

“No, Potter,” Corbin had countered, looking amused. “A few concerns have been raised about your rather tenuous magical control, however. And in order to properly determine a mentor to instruct you in gaining more control over your magical power, we need to determine your power level, you understand.”

“What if it’s wrong?” Harry had asked curiously, shooting a look at the Potions Professor. The man took one look at his face and stalked over to the headmaster.

“It is never wrong,” Corbin said haughtily. “This is a magical artifact! It has been housed at the Ministry for centuries where it has been handled with the utmost care and deliberation.”

“O-kay,” Harry had replied, bemused.  “But what if there’s no one suitable to mentor me here at Hogwarts?”

William Corbin McDaniel III gave him an oily smile. “The Ministry of Magic is most delighted to be of service.” With that, the Power Egg was thrust into the air towards him and Harry, curse his Seeker senses, reached out instinctively to catch the valuable magical artifact before it met its tragic end.

There was a flash of white light, accompanied by a low, deep thrum that reverberated through the castle. The pieces of glass visible between the Egg’s elegant wrought iron design were all rapidly blinking through every color on the spectrum, and the Egg itself glowed a clear, piercing bright blue.

“Well, well, weeeelll, Mister Potter,” Corbin had practically purred. “Aren’t you just… special?”

So now Harry was beating a hasty path to the Headmaster’s office where Dumbledore, who had given Corbin a look so ugly it had made Harry nauseous, had insisted they take the discussion.

And, of course, as always, they’d all decided to leave him out of the loop.

Not that he doubted Snape would tell him everything the minute they were back in their quarters, or anything. The thing that irked him, was more the fact that they were, once again, making a decision about him, without him. A niggling something crawled to life in the center of his chest as he thought about Snape, sitting in the circular office drinking tea and chomping on lemon drops while deciding the fate of his education. Something hard, slippery and ugly sprung to life in his chest and Harry tried hard not to think about it. He understood that Severus was his guardian now and was supposed to be making the decisions, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Especially when whether or not he was to be expelled was the hot topic.

He turned the corner at full speed and ran smack into someone, landing on his bum, and had to fight down the feeling of déjà vu.

Professor Snape towered over him, arms crossed and glowering. “Running in the halls is against school rules, you realize,” he said softly.

Harry reddened, and picked himself up. “Yes sir, but I wanted to be there for the decision.”

“Ah,” Severus said, letting his arms fall to the side, somehow making him seem more imposing. “Then it is very unfortunate that a decision has already been made,” the man continued, sneering.

“What?” Harry wanted to know. He looked at the taller man in disbelief, and a bit of betrayal.

Severus stepped closer, placing steadying hands on the boy’s shoulders. “The decision had already been made by the time I had reached the Headmaster’s office.  Apparently, Professor Dumbledore had informed Corbin of his intention to instruct you en route. I – “

“The Headmaster’s going to be teaching me?” Harry cried, paling.

“Ostensibly, yes. He will be instructing you on controlling your magic, and even some advanced techniques for spell casting if you wish.” Long fingered hands squeezed his shoulders, and Harry made himself take a steadying breath. “However, your Head of House and I both leaned on him, and you shall continue to take your regular classes with your year mates.”

That was good. That was very good. Harry shivered. Right now he wanted nothing more than to press his forehead into his man’s shoulder, and forget about anything that wasn’t related to breathing, but he made himself stand straight. He was worried about spending so much time with the headmaster, yes, but that was no reason to fall apart. He was a teenager, all of fifteen, and he had faced much worse in his short time on earth.

He settled for tentatively brushing across the link they shared, and nearly melted in relief when he received a gentle stroke in return. He could do this.

He could.

~^-^~

Severus had just settled into his desk with the latest potions journal when the Floo chime sounded. Severus growled, and made his way to the living room, wondering who would be foolish enough to call on him. 'I thought I had a terrible reputation,' he thought idly.

 "Hello? Hellooooooo?" A far too cheery voice was propelling itself into his rooms, and Severus was not pleased.

"Is there a problem, Madame?" he asked in his snarkiest tones.

Large blue eyes blinked blindly before answering. "Hello, sir! I am looking for Mr. Severus Snape. Is he there?"

With a flick of his wrist, his wand was securely in his hand. "And who might you be?" he asked his voice edged with danger.

A blinding white smile greeted him. "I'm Madame Perky Merryweather! From Wizarding Family Services, you understand. Shall I call at another time?"

"There is no need," Severus replied, wondering how much he was willing to bet Neil had assigned this particular woman to Harry's case simply to annoy him. With a murmured word, Madame Merryweather was able to Floo through. Severus was not amused when she tumbled through the Floo to land sitting on her rump, nor was he amused when, having realized her position, the cotton haired woman threw her head back and laughed heartily at herself.

"Oh, I can never do that right." she chuckled, getting to her feet after politely declining Snape's offer of help. She was quite nimble for an old bag, he mused silently. "After ninety-five years of doing this, you'd think I'd get the hang of it!" She straightened with a mighty clap of her hands. "Mr. Severus Snape, I presume?"

Severus inclined his head just so, wand still held at the ready. "Might I ask why I was given no notice of this meeting, Madame Merryweather?"

“You weren’t?” the woman cried, scandalized. “Oh, that naughty little boy, Cornelius! Just you wait till I get my hands on him,” she muttered darkly, hands on her hips and her bright eyes promising retribution. Severus found himself amused, despite himself.  “Mr. Snape, I am terribly sorry. I was assured by the Minister that he would make certain that you had received my notice, as he had business here at the castle with you himself. Do accept my sincerest apologies. Shall I call at another time?”

Hadn’t she already asked this? Severus found himself not caring, too much. “There is no need to reschedule, Madame Merryweather. May I offer you a cup of tea?”

“Oh yes, yes, please.” The little woman bounced a bit on her feet, and Severus turned away quickly lest he say something rude.

Having a house-elf really was convenient, Severus thought to himself as Winky popped back in with a tea service.  He gazed thoughtfully at the social worker from over his teacup, and merely raised an eyebrow as she looked up from her tea and beamed.

“Now, since I’m sure you’ve got a terrible amount of work to do, I shall do my endeavor best to make this as quick as possible.” She shuffled through a stack of paper she’d pulled from her pocket and enlarged, all the while making ‘hmmm’ and ‘mmmhhmmm’ noises.

“Well I see everything is in order with the paperwork. May I ask you a few questions?”

Severus nodded readily, placing his teacup in the table next to him.

“Very well then. Now, considering the evidence of inappropriate care the child has experienced, how do you plan on handling punishments? Abused children tend to test boundaries rather harshly, you understand.”

“I do, and I do not believe that it will pose a problem. Harry and I have already established a rapport that transcends such issues.”

Madame Merryweather gazed steadily at the potions Professor over her tiny little glasses. “Do you truly expect me to believe that, with the history between you two?”

Severus gazed steadily back. “Yes.”

Madame Merryweather ‘hmmmm’ed, and made a brisk, slashing movement on her notes. The tiniest thread of unease wove itself into a knot in his stomach, but Severus squashed it before it could take root.

He fielded questions for what seemed like forever, until finally Madame Merryweather seemed done.

“May I have a tour of your home, Master Snape?”

“Certainly, Madame Merryweather,” he intoned. He wasn’t sure how to respond to her change in his address. No one outside of the Potions Master’s Guild addressed him as Master Snape. Was that a good sign? Did that mean that she was pleased with what he’d answered?

 He led her through his rooms in a bit of a daze, unconsciously answering questions and opening doors like some kind of gentlemen (Two snickered), before he heard the front to slam and a loud ‘THWUMP’, and rushed to see what was the matter.

Harry beat him to it.

“SEV! HERMIONE APOLOGIZED! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?” the boy shouted at the top of his lungs. Severus raised his eyes to heaven, not stopping his stride. Behind him Madame Merryweather chuckled, and furiously scribbled on her notes.

Severus turned the corner to get an armful of small teenage boy. He looked askance at the blushing child, who murmured an apology, but made no move to get farther away from him.

“What have I told you about shouting in these rooms, Harry?” Severus asked, using his not-so-dangerous voice.

‘Um…not to?” Harry asked, looking at his shoes.

“Mmmm.” Severus stepped to the side, and introduced their guest. “Harry, Madame Merryweather. Madame Merryweather, this is Harry.” He looked to the slightly non-plussed boy and explained.  “Madame Merryweather has come to evaluate us as per adoption procedures.”

He hid a smirk as Harry turned a bright red and began stuttering apologies. Yes, that would teach him to yell around with no thought to other people’s eardrums.

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?”

Thursday, September 14th, 6:15 pm

Continued from Chapter 26 – End of Weasley dinner

Sometimes he surprised even himself.

Dumbledore hummed quietly, the tip of his wand trailing across the liquid silver surface of his pensieve. His plan, only one of many but closest to his heart and so held closest to his proverbial vest, was working flawlessly. Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely certain it could be considered the sameplan, since he had so little to do with it’s progress, or even implementation. He’d known that it could achieve the success it had, in his rather conceited heart, with his devoted nurturing and string-pulling, but his pawns were practically doing all the work for him. All that was left for him was to say and do the right things at the right moment and everything would work out flawlessly.

Just as he had intended.

He’d barely had time to think of anything with all he had seen in the boy’s memories, both boy’s, really, but in the space of half an instant it had all come together, the answer to one of his most pressing concerns presented itself to him before a background of screaming children. His children.

Even now he felt the sharp pang of guilt at having missed the signs not once, but twice. Still though, he was making amends. A bit too late in his personal opinion, but late was better than never, he thought.

He may have a knack for causing and even ignoring problems, but he was unparralelled in his ability to correct them.

Expect with Aberforth. The man simply would not forgive him!

Still, it wouldn’t do for anyone, his boys especially, to find out now. Severus, bless his soul, would throw a tantrum to rival merlin himself, and then proceed to ruin everything that had been accomplished so far. Albus loved the man like a son, but there were days when he sorely wished to hex the man for his stubbornness. Or take him over his knees. The child.

Harry, the dear boy, would try to fix it all, running back and forth between them, hoping for a amicable resolution. Clearly his upbringing with the Dursley’s hadn’t been all for naught.  It may be cruel, but it was also practical. The boy know had a number of useful skills other young wizards and some witches his age did not. Try as he might, Dumbledore could not help but grant that redeeming notch to the Muggle family.

He’d keep that thought away from his boys as well.

He shifted, stilling the motions of his wand and calling up the memory of the first night of term. Merlin, but Severus was furious. He hadn’t felt the man loose his magic in… actually, he hadn’t ever felt Severus loose his magic. He studied the little ghostly face of his adopted son and resisted the urge to shudder. Perhaps his acting was too good, but Severus looked truly furious, ready to eviscerate him. And powerful he may be, Dumbledore did not doubt for a minute that the younger man would have managed it, somehow.

And that was good. Very good. Voldemort did not know what he lost when he allowed Severus to walk away from him. The wizarding world wouldn’t know what hit it, figuratively and literally. His boy was most comfortable pulling strings and setting plans in motion from behind the scenes. Rather dangerous in his own right, but Dumbledore knew where Severus’ heart was.

With Harry.

Harry, who clearly didn’t trust him anymore. As much as it had hurt, and Morgana did it hurt, he was glad the child had pulled away from him and even moreso that he had latched onto Severus. Albus knew with certainty that regardless what Severus felt or thought he felt, he would make sure Harry did his job. The man was no fool. Even if they never spoke again Albus had every confidence that Severus recognized and appreciated the very willing and malleable weapon at his disposal. At the very least the man would help and make sure Harry killed Voldemort for his own selfish reasons; the man was a Slytherin, after all.

A sharp, ornery tendril of thought invaded his mind, scattering the thoughts of his magnificent plan. Albus stifled a smile and sheepishly turned towards his desk, and the angry familiar on top of it. Fawkes sat atop a rather scattered pile of paperwork, giving his wizard the very best lethal glare a bird could manage. He currently looked two times his normal size, courtesy of his furiously puffed-up plumage, his tail feathers standing tall and fanned out in his agitation. Beady black eye met periwinkle blue in a staring contest of the ages. Irritated with his human, Fawkes squawked, flapping his wings and setting bits of parchment afloat. Albus couldn’t help it, he chuckled.

“Fawkes, my dear friend, have I ever shared with you my suspicions of your relation to a rather flashy mundane bird called a peacock?”

The phoenix was not pleased. With an amplified sqwuak he disappearned in a swirling flash of flame, molten hot phoenix fire turning the pile of  paperwork into a burning pyre.

Groaning to himself in the now empty office, Albus battled the flames in the only way he could, vanishing the contents of his desk, not even considering attempting to save the paper. He’d ask Minerva for copies later, when she started speaking to him again. Clearly she and Fawkes were on the same page: they did not approve of his plans. Minerva didn’t even know about most of them, including the one concerning his boys. All she knew was that he had failed with Harry just as he had with Severus and the cat animagus was the furthest thing from pleased.

Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered. His plan was working and had all sorts of interesting little by-products.  Muriel Weasley suddenly dropping off the face of the earth, the Weasley seat suddenly reappearing in the Wizengamot, their magic and gold finally allowed to flow freely. Draco Malfoy renouncing his father and coming under the care and control of Sirius Black, who was so entwined in Harry’s life there was no chance of any of them going dark. Clearly his machinations were more good than bad. He should treat himself. His special lemon drops were still where he’d left them, protected from Fawkes ire…

Oh, but there were people at his door. Dumbledore’s eyes took on a merry twinkle as he magically shut the pensieve cupboard and settled behind his rather scorched desk.  Just the people he wanted to see. How fortuitous.

There was another sharp rap on his door and Albus smiled. That would be Minerva, clearly angry about something, probably having to do with Mr.’s Potter and Finnegan next to her. He doubted it had anything to do with Mr. Longbottom, but figured he was there for a reason. There was Ms. Granger there as well. Interesting indeed. But what in the name of Merlin was Corbin doing here. Albus hadn’t seen the man in days, and was quite content to continue in that fashion for the rest of the term. He wasn’t looking forward to this visit anymore, but he had to let them in before Minerva, or Harry, who was furious, really, blasted his door down.

“Come in, Minerva.”

He was gratified to see his ‘omnipotence’ still irritated the dour Scotswoman, and took special care to twinkle merrily at her before greeting the rest of the party.

“Mr. Potter, Finnegan, Longbottom. Ms. Granger. Mr. Corbin. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Potter and Finnegan have been fighting.”

Albus stifled his intrigue in order to present a gravely disapproving face to his audience. He’d expected that the young mage would one day begin testing his boundaries, acting out and whatnot; he just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.  “Harry, my boy, I’m very disappointed with you.”

“Actually, sir,” said Neville, “Seamus started it.”

Of course the Irish boy had started it. Harry wouldn’t start a fight if someone paid him to. He’d have to play this all very carefully.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Longbottom, I expected more of my fifth year students, Mr. Potter especially.”

“I don’t really see how that’s fair, sir, you expecting more from harry than anyone else, but Seamus threw the first punch when he’d been insulting and taunting harry about Professor Snape and he wouldn’t respond. And Harry only ever hit him once, when Seamus called him a freak.  When Hermione and Professor McGonagall walked in, Seamus was still hitting him.”

Albus dearly wanted to twinkle at the boy. Clearly all of Augusta’s misgivings were for naught. Neville had matured into a splendid young lad, with courage enough to challenge even him. Minerva obviously approved, if her barely hidden smirk was anything to go by. If the Gryffindor point balance didn’t sky-rocket after this meeting, Albus would eat his beard. “Is this true, Professor McGonagall?”

“It is. I’ve brought them here because no matter the cause, Muggle dueling is prohibited at Hogwarts.”

“Well then.” Albus sat back, running his fingers through his beard, gazing disapprovingly at his students. “Ms. Granger, do you have anything to add?”

She seemed to struggle with herself a moment, no doubt a direct result of Severus’ influence. Albus sighed a little in his mind. There was a lesson there to be learned, and a good one, which is why he hadn’t interfered despite it debatable legality, but Albus wished the man he loved like a son had chosen a  different way to teach it. After a long minute, the girl managed a tight, “No, headmaster.” Ignoring the curious looks the girl received from her classmates, Albus cleared his throat, punishments decided.

“Very well A week’s worth of detention for both of you with Caretaker Filch. Harry, you will stay behind – “

“Now Albus, don’t you think you’re being just a little bit lenient?”

Albus blinked, the remainder of his sentence lost to the abyss. Had that annoying Ministry creature just used his given name? “I beg you pardon, Mr. Corbin?”

The little blond man preened under Dumbledore’s disbelieving stare. “These young men are in direct violation of Hogwarts school policy. Muggle dueling is strictly prohibited, has been from the time of our ancestors. Surely a stricter penalty is needed, do you not think so?”

“But it’s their first offense!” Longbottom was certainly not pleased.

“True, but that does not change the severity of that offense, does it?” the man asked smugly.

“No, but as the victim, Harry shouldn’t have to suffer so strident a punishment for an act that someone one else started.” Hermione Granger gazed at Corbin as if she wouldlike nothing better than lower his head into a vat of bobotuber pus.

“Be that as it may, the innocent must sometimes suffer for the guilty, isn’t that right, Headmaster?”

Even the thought of agreeing with the annoying man left a bad taste in his mouth. “Indeed. What did you have in mind, William?”

“Well,” the man droned, “if I were in charge of discipline, I’d make sure the strictest penalties were enforced without going overboard. Fighting, for instance, would be punishable by a week’s suspension from classes, at the very least. “

“But you’re not in charge of anything at Hogwarts, are you?” Neville spat.

“No, Mr. Longbottom, but I am.” Albus ran his fingers through his beard quietly. They’d all given him much to think about. Not about the punishments, because he knew what he’d do, but the consequences of his actions would have to be such that the cascading effect would mesh seamlessly into his plans. Granting Corbin a position he so un-subtley hinted at, would engender a sense of co-operation between the school and the Ministry and further a wedge between he and Severus, who had complained countless times over the years that he should be in charge of discipline. A further wedge wasn’t needed between he and Harry, but driving the child further into Severus’ arms could only be a good thing at this point. Finnegan was a practical non-entity, but he would surely take word of all the office’s happenings back to Gryffindor. The previously divided house of lions would all rally around their hero once more, if not against him then against Corbin. He didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty of setting the man up this way.

It was his own fault, after all.

“Mr. Potter, I am severely disappointed with you. Your week of detention still stands as well as a months suspension from school, including all extra-curricular activities. You’ve lost Gryffindor house 250 points and will pass in an essay to me at the end of the week on the benefits of self-control. Please take a seat. The rest of you are dismissed.”

“But sir, that’s not fair!”

“Harry didn’t do anything!”

“Ms. Granger, Mr. longbottom, unless you want to lose your house another 100 points I suggest you return to your house immediately. Mr. Corbin will escort you. “ merlin, but he sounded cold, but it worked. Minerva was giving him a look that could melt stone and Corbin looked far too smug for anything good to come out of this mess.  The three Gryffindors looked nothing short of mutinous, and Albus decided a little more couldn’t hurt.

“And Mr. Corbin, perhaps you can prevent a repeat of this incident from happening in future?”

“Oh yes, Headmaster.” The man was practically salivating. Joy. “Oh yes indeed.”

There was a definite, louder than usual ‘snap’, heralding the exit of three of his students, but Dumbledore paid it no mind, bidding the Ministry interloper a good day and turning his full attention to one Harry Potter.

The boy still had not taken a seat. Dumbledore considered that insisting he did so would be overkill, and highly dangerous to his health, and so he pretended not to notice.  “You have not attended your Theory of Magic classes in more than a week, Mr. Potter. I want to know why.”

Harry looked to be fighting back all his anger with every fiber of his slim being. At long last, right when Albus had decided that another verbal prod or two would not be amiss, he spoke. “I don’t have a reason, sir.”

Albus doubted very much that the child lacked any number of reasons not to return to those lessons, but kept that to himself. “I see.” He studied the boy, taking in the rather sickly looking palor of his skin, the beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and along his slightly upturned nose, took in the thick static of repressed magic in the air around them, and stifled a smile. “You will return to this office every morning at 9 am for the length of your suspension, weekends included, and afterwards every Tuesday and Thursday evening in addition to the regularly scheduled sessions. Compliance is mandatory. Do I make myself clear?” He’d spoken in a soft voice, one he’d cultivated for use on stubborn Ministry or Wizengamot officials who had somehow forgotten who they were dealing with. He was pleased to see it infuriated the boy further.

The temperature of the room dipped startlingly, then rose, his robes suddenly uncomfortable in the near visible heat. The teenager before him trembled ever so slightly, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to say a word.  Perhaps he’d done enough for the day. Perhaps not. Either way, Dumbledore dismissed his favorite student, and was slightly disturbed to see twin imprints of the child’s footprints in the stone floor in front of his desk, and that the heat stayed with him for hours.

He tried not to feel the guilt that was threatening to cloud out every conscious thought. It was for the greater good, he told himself. They would understand in time.

He soon became aware of another presence in the room.  Minerva stood before him, lips pale on her stony face. Their eyes met in silence.

“I do hope you know what you are doing, Albus Dumbledore, for your own sake.”

With a swish of fabric and the close of a door she was gone. Albus let her, closing his eyes with a sigh against the pain and the hot, sluicing waves of Harry’s anger.

He hoped so, too.

~*~*~*~

Sirius and Remus’ Rooms

Same Day and Time

He was becoming such a baby.

Draco lay staring at the ceiling, the steady ‘thump-thump’ of his guardian’s heartbeat beating a steady tattoo on the side of his head. Occasionally, a hand, much larger and rougher than his, would swing into his field of vision before descending in a truly heinous fashion to grab onto his nose. He’d have to wrestle the fiend for freedom, true, but most of his existence was disturbingly placid.

He awoke in the morning to Sirius attempting to inhale his coffee and Remus lurking about in rather worn pajamas, that were soft and smelled like chocolate cookies and chamomille,  eat breakfast and then head to the Great Hall for seconds. The diet Lucius had kept him to had been dumped, and draco enjoyed eating until he was full, and then heading off to class with housemates that were admittedly less uptight than they were had been. After classes had ended he’d return to his room and if Sirius wasn’t in, which wasn’t often, return to the Slytherin common room until Remus came looking for him. Otherwise he’d find the man stretched out on the couch surrounded by what seemed to be hundreds of papers. He’d sit with him, doing homework or just studying or laughing at some dumb thing Sirius said or did until Remus made them eat dinner. Then, he’d have Sirius all to himself, much like he did right then.

There was no father to live in fear of, no dark lord to fear would walk in and begin throwing curses, no empty rooms and platitudes in place of care. There was only Sirius and his awful sense of humor and hugs and Remus. The sheer normalcy of his present life held him near constantly at the end of his rope and he would find himself, in quiet moments, suddenly drowning, suffocating on the swell of thick, airless air, struggling to surface, until those arms would wrap around him, pulling him up and holding him close and that ‘thump-thump’ would seep into him, calming him down, and he’d spend hours, but never long enough, secure in that embrace.

He was such a baby.

The hand rose again, swaying high above his head, and Draco gazed at it suspiciously.

Sirius chuckled. “Draco, you think too much.”

“I do not.” He most certainly did not pout, not in the slightest.

“I’m not sure I believe you. You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Draco didn’t answer beyond grabbing the fiend from the air and torturing it, pulling on fingers and trying to bend the whole thing into a fist. There was no real need to answer Sirius when they were like this, no danger to avoid by always having a clever come back or mindless obeisance. He was safe here, always.

It boggled the mind.

“Sirius?”

“Mmhhh?”

“I should be studying.”

The evil hand swooped down, instantaneously capturing his nose and Draco squeaked, Writhing and yanking at the fiend trying to dislodge it. Sirius laughed, wrapping an arm around the slim teen’s form lest he fall to the floor. “Save the homework for Remus.” He removed his hand, and Draco froze, curious grey eyes turning to his guardian. “I’ve got a better idea.”

Draco scowled, entirely too upset that their game had suddenly ended. “If this isn’t the secret corridor that leads past the six year hufflepuff girls dorm and into the kitchens you promised to show me, I’m not interested.”

Sirius scoffed. “It is not. Food and girls, is that all you ever think about?”

“Yes.”

“Bloody teenager.”

“That’s what tenagers do, Sirius, or didn’t you know?”

“No. But it’s good to know we’re in the same boat, you and I.”

Draco quirked an elegant eyebrow. “Sirius, I am a teenager. What is your excuse?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Sirius’ eyes had rounded to the sze of saucers.

Draco tamped down on a giggle. “Enlighten me.” The arms around him tightened, bringing him flush against the man’s chest, head right below his chin. And then, Sirius began to sing.

“I’m fo-o-o-r-e-e-v-e-e-----r yo-o-o-u-u-n-n-g!”

“NO! Noooo!”

“Fo-r-e-v-e-r y-o-o-u-n-n—g!”

“Let me go you maraudering fiend!”

“For—eve-e-r yo-o-o-u-n-ng!”

“Release me! Release me this instant!”

“I-I’l-ll sta-a-a-a-y – “

“Remus! Remus help!”

“For-e-v-e-r y-o-o-u-u-n-g.”

“You twit! Let me go! You’ve damaged my eardrums.”

Sirius laughed, releasing him and Draco slid to the floor, hair mussed and face red and barely able to breath through his giggles. Sirius was insane, absolutely stark raving mad, but he loved it. There was no fear here, no standards.

Remus’ disapproving voice drifted over them suddenly. “You’ve only just had dinner. Quit rough housing. Sirius you should know better; Draco is delicate.”

“I am not.” Sirius burst into another round of laughter behind him as Draco whipped around, indignantly staring at his new ‘uncle’. “I am not delicate.”

“If you say so.” Remus’ voice was terribly snooty as he said, “But I’m not the one who had an allergic reaction to cotton pants.”

“Oi! Remus, quit ribbing my kid. We Black men are made of stern stuff.” Sirius grinned, waggling his brows at his friend and Draco inwardly groaned. “Not our fault our bits liked to be wrapped in silk, now is it?”

“But what type of silk?” Draco asked, enjoying the exasperatedly annoyed expression on the werewolf’s face. “Because I’ve become used to an aromantula-and ice moth blend, and Muggle silk will no longer cut it.”

“Ice moth, you say. I wasn’t sure I’d like that one, and I figured it was a lot of trouble to go to for a pair of pants after all.”

“If I ever have to do any purchasing you’re both wearing polyester or nothing at all.” Remus spun away, shaking his head as he went.

“I’m not entirely sure I should have a problem with that!” Sirius shouted after him.

Draco groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I did not need that image in my head, Sirius.”

“You’re not Sirius. I’m Sirius!”

“Oh come on!” Draco reached for a couch pillow and successful managed to thwap the man across the head with it. “I thought you had something to show me?”

“Well, yeah, but you’ve gone and called Remus. Now he’s subconsciously listening to hear if we get up to anymore mischief.” He gave the boy a sidelong look. “However if you could manage to get rid of him…”

Draco snorted. ‘I thought you told me the Marauders were fearless?”

“I did!” Sirius agreed, sliding along the couch in an attempt to see where Remus had gone to. “But our fearlessness is completely useless against one another, especially if it’s Remus, since he has fear down to a science and can render our fearlessness completely fearful with fear in a fearful – “

“Alright, I get it.” Draco swung the pillow again, dancing away from a retaliatory aim when he missed. “I’ll try. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I have all faith in you, Grasshopper.” Sirius called after him.

Remus was almost always in the small bedroom turned office turned library at the end of the bedroom hallway when he wasn’t  in the living room helping he and Sirius with work or in the kitchen chocolatizing (to use Sirius’ word) something or other. Draco was glad for the routine, and even more so when he realized that both men did it for him. He’d confided, after one of his attacks, that sometimes he’d wander the entire manor for hours looking for parents that weren’t there. It was particularly awful when he was younger and the portraits andsculptures would cast severe shadows along the halls that terrified him, drove him to tears until he ran into the biting irritation of his father, or his mother’s sharp annoyance. Remus made sure to be on one place at a specific time or where Draco could see him, and Sirius made it a point to always be visible. There was a clock in his bedroom with hands for all of the people in his life, Siri and Remus, Severus and Harry, with time-places like ‘Home’ and ‘Loo’ and ‘Library’ in case he needed them. Anything outside of home was ‘Out’ and he’d refer to the larger clock on the mantelplace. He’d never seen anything like it, had been terribly touched when they’d set it up.

Remus sat in a rather squashy-looking armchair, at least six books opened around him.

“You look busy.” Draco stood leaning against the doorframe, still unsure about disturbing his elders.

“Not as busy as I look. Not anymore, anyway.” Bright amber eyes rose to meet his. “Double-checking the list of spells I’m giving you upper years for defense. Did you need something?”

Oh, right. He’d forgotten. He threw on the face he’d seen Sirius use not two days ago to great success. “We-e-ell, sort of.”

Remus was amused. “Really? Like what?”

“Ice cream?”

Remus laughed, closing the book in front of him. “Now how are you going to convince me that that’s a need and not a want?”

“Uhm?” draco hadn’t exactly thought this far. “Because it’s good for you?”

“Try again.”

Drat. This wasn’t nearly as easy as Sirius made it seem.” Well, today’s the fourteenth. I’ve been here eleven days, so maybe we could have a sort of belated ‘Yay Draco’s Family’ celebration, just the three of us? And I slept straight through last night, so we could celebrate that too, I guess?”

“Hmm.” Remus stood, straighted up his books and walked over, running a hand through draco’s messy hair before squeezing his shoulders. Draco couldn’t help but take it as praise. “Work on making statements instead of asking questions, and ask Sirius to help you with the puppy eyes, and maybe then you’ll have a chance of manipulating me.” Draco pouted, his cheeks flaming red. “Buck up. Sirius still can’t do it. What flavor did you want?”

“Wha - ?”

“Ice cream generally comes in several flavors, some of which are rather extreme. Did you have a preference?”

HE was still going to go? Even though draco’d failed? The lack of standards, unbendable rules here threw him and left him grasping for words. “I-I don’t know. Fa- Lucius only ever let me have vanilla.”

“Hmm. I’ll pick something then.” Another gentle run through his hair. “Try not to blow up the castle, alright, child?”

Draco flushed, ducking his head. “K.”

A minute later Remus was gone, and Draco was pressing his face into Sirius’ shoulder. “He’s gone for ice cream.”

“Yes!” Sirius’ arms came around him and squeezed. Draco couldn’t help but smile. “I knew you could do it.”

“He said I needed to work on the puppy face.”

“Bah, don’t worry about that. He’s been telling me that for years.”

 Fingers threaded through his hair, and Draco closed his eyes.  “Has it ever worked?”

“On Remus? Never ever. Everyone else would all for it hook line and sinker, especially when both me and James teamed up, but Remus would just look at us and shake his head.”

“Oh.” His voice was soft and small, teenaged fingers curling into the fabric of the man’s shirt. “I thought I’d just failed.”

Sirius sighed, and shifted, half-turning to lean against the arm of the couch. “There’s nothing wrong with failure, Eggy?”

“Eggy!” Draco’s head shot up, eyes wide and horrified. “Why would you call me ‘Eggy’?”

“Well, you’re a dragon, aren’t you? A little one. Baby dragons come out of eggs, right? Hathclings. So am I supposed to call you hatchling? Hatchy? Nope, no thank you. It was ‘Eggy’ or ‘Shelby’ like shell-baby, so take your pick.”

“How about dragon?” He stressed the original translation of his name.

“Nope.” Sirius shook his head, eyes closed. “You’re not full grown yet.”

“But I’m not an egg, either!”

“hey, who’s the parent here? I am. And that means I gets to decide what to call you, and I’ve decided when we’re alone I gets to call you Eggy.”

Draco fell silent at this, mulling those words over. “So, only when we’re alone, then?”

Sirius considered him, grey-blue eyes roving over his face. “Well, I might let it slip in front of Remus – “

“No! I mean, no.” Draco shifted, suddenly nervous. The problem with Sirius was he couldn’t ever tell when the man was angry, and so never knew how to phrase his sentences. “I mean, I like Remus, I really do. He’s great. But he’s not, I mean, I’m not his egg though, am I? I mean I sort of am, sort of, but – “

“No, you’re right.” There was a smile in those eyes that hadn’t been there before, and Draco wondered at that. Could he really make the man that happy? “You’re not his egg. Not really.”

Draco squirmed, a pleased little tingle flaring to life in his stomach. He was Sirius’ egg. As silly as it was it pleased him.

“Got your wand, Eggy?”

Ah! Back to the point of this whole thing, before Remus got back. “In my pocket.” Silly Sirius, distracting him with silly nicknames, as if they didn’t have better, more mischevious things to do.

“Good. Now, the spell I’m going to show you is a lot like that eavesdropping spell you found the other day, but James and I never wrote it down, because Remus would have skinned us alive. It’s basically for your eyes, and let’s you see through – “

“Walls!”

“Try clothing. Female clothing.”

“Oh. My. Gods.”

No one ever said Sirius would be a good influence.

The Weasley’s had finally, finally left his rooms, the house elves done clearing the table and Severus just beginning to bask in the wonder that was complete and utter silence when his front door slammed open with enough force to jostle paintings all around the room and the most oppressive feel of freezing heat, if that were possible flooded his senses a full minute before three teenagers entered his rooms.

Well, two teenagers and one furious young mage.

Severus sighed. As alarmed as he was he could not help but be grateful that it was only Harry, albeit a truly furious Harry if the stray magic was anything to go by, instead of a revenge seeking Voldemort, or worse still, Dumbledore. A confrontation with either was bound to be long, drawn-out and messy and vastly inconvenient, but Harry he could deal with.

“I’m sure you were not given that much homework, child.” He said softly, walking up to the small teen he could now see was being held down by his two classmates.

“It was Professor Dumbledore, sir.” That came from Longbottom, who somehow wasn’t catatonic at the thought of facing the Great Dungeon Bat in his own rooms. Severus wondered if he would ever get used to this new, confident Neville Longbottom.

He was less surprised to know that Dumbledore was the cause of harry’s distress. He’d figured that sooner or later the headmaster would attempt to push Harry’s limits again. Perhaps the old man had a plan, beyond feeling out harry’s magical strength so as to gauge the boy’s potential against Voldemort. Perhaps it was something all the more sinister. Severus didn’t know. What he did know was that if harry didn’t calm down soon he’d have smooth walls instead of the layered stone he favored.

“Very well. Thank you for ensuring Mr. Potter returned safely. You may both return to your common room.”

“But sir – “

“I assure you, Ms. Granger, I am more than capable of dealing with my son in this state. Do you truly need a second dismissal?”

Severus watched her flounce out of his rooms, not forgetting to slam his door shut. She would attempt to make him pay for that at their lesson tomorrow, he was sure.

Neville shifted, resting Harry’s bookbag on a nearby table. “Good night, sir.” He murmured. “Take care of him, alright?”

Severus wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to answer. “I will, Mr. Longbottom.”

Soon he was left alone with his teenaged ward. No amount of hair-stroking, shoulder-shaking or cheek-tapping caused any response and Severus frowned. If the boy was so wrapped up in his thoughts then he should at least be able to feel some of that distress through their link, but it was alarmingly silent.  Frowning harder now, Severus maneuvered his floating son to sit in front of him on the couch, pressed his potions stained fingers to the boys temple and sought out their odd mental connection.

And his head exploded with sound. Screaming winds and breaking glass, angry shouting and a heavy, unintelligible bramble of noise clashed all around him and for a moment Severus was lost, lost in the near tangible anger filling his son’s mind. It was only a moment, however, and soon he gathered himself and recommitted himself to the task at hand. Harry was in here, somewhere, and he had to find the child, and bring him back. Without melting the castle.

It did not take him as long as he feared to locate Harry’s mental projection. The child seemed to sense him, his mindscape twisting and turning in a dizzying series of dips and dives to bring him to what seemed to be a molten lava whirlpool, sucking in the scattered angry thoughts and sounds in a mindbending display.

Harry was at the bottom. His hands were somehow four times their normal size and pitch black, and with them he packed and pressed the tail of the whirlpool into a molten ball of heat, turning it over and over in his hands as the swirl above collected more and more of his anger. The area around them was barren, the ground covered in sand and ash for what seemed like miles. Harry didn’t appear to notice him, but Severus didn’t believe that to be true. The boy had led him here, after all.

After a long minute of standing and watching the molten ball grow bigger by the minute, Harry finally spoke.

“I hate him.” The voice was soft and echoey as if Harry were made of wind and smoke or was speaking to him from the Great Beyond. Severus didn’t like it one bit.

“I highly doubt you do, child,” he replied. “But it is perfectly acceptable to want to.”

Gravity, or some thought-variant of it, seemed to press down on him and for a second Sevrus thought he would suffocate, before the world reoriented itself and he was back on the couch.

Harry was crying on his chest.

“I hate him!”

“That’s alright, Harry.” Severus soothed. “That’s perfectly fine.”

“I hate him! Why does he have to be so mean to me? I didn’t do anything. Seamus was picking on me!”

Really? The Finnegan boy was the cause of all this. He briefly remembered hearing something about his mother attempting to keep him out of school this year, before Harry began to kick.

“It’s not fair! I didn’t do anything, and now I’m suspended. I hate him so much! I wish his beard would fall off!”

Severus staunchly tamped down on the urge to laugh out loud. As precarious as the situation seemed, amidst Harry’s very obvious distress and Albus’ various manipulations, the fact that Harry’s ‘hatred’ ran so deep he would inflict a lack of facial hair on a man who was making his life miserable just tickled him in ways it probably shouldn’t just then. “There, there. A suspension is nothing to cry about. Mr. Finnegan will come to regret his actions by the end of the week, I assure you, child. Calm down now. Let’s not make ourselves ill.”

“But I have to see him. He’s making me go to lessons everyday ‘cause I’m suspended for a month.” Angry teenaged fists beat against his chest. “I didn’t do anything! Why am I the only one being punished?” He broke off in a sob, heaving his frustrations against the potions master’s chest. Gradually, gradually, the temperature in the room righted itself, and Severus sighed, rubbing circles in the child’s back. He did not know what game Albus was playing.

But he would find out.

Potions Master’s Office

Thursday, September 14th, 6:15 pm

Nerissa Ethridge was a feisty, feisty thing.

Severus sat, rather sulkily in his office chair, thinking. He surreptitiously ran potions stained fingers lightly over the still smarting area of his face before dropping his hand quickly to the quill on his desk, hoping the blond woman hadn’t seen him rubbing his cheek when she’d looked up from fixing his tea.

From the smile on her face, he’d say he was fairly unsuccessful.

Damned woman.

She had floo’d into his office some twenty minutes ago. In hindsight, he considered that he shouldn’t have given her permission to enter his rooms. Before he’d even had a chance to ask after her health she had landed a sound slap to his face.

His first instinct had been to draw his wand.

Not that he had intended to do anything with it, since Severus Snape was not the woman-beater his father had been, but years of working with Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy had taught him that if you drew your wand and looked menacing enough when they were getting on your nerves, chances are they’d lift their skirts and flee.

Apparently Nerissa Ethridge was made of sterner stuff.

“Do you have any idea what happened to me three nights ago, Mr. Snape?” she had asked as he attempted to glare a hole through her rather fine head. “After you shoved that rather pointy portkey into my stomach?”

His already bad mood had soured further. “That was a portkey to a secure location; I was thinking only of your safety. If you have come here to be ungrateful – “

“Do you remember where this ‘secure location’ happened to be?”

He’d sneered. “A Prince family home in Cornwall – “

“Wrong!” Severus had blinked then, the only sign he would give that the rather loud voice from her rather small body had shocked him. “I ended up in a room in a brothel on Knockturn Alley, Mr. Snape. A room that happened to be in use, Mr. Snape. Would you care to explain?”

Severus had been so shocked he’d lost all his decorum and asked, in a rather undignified squawk, “What?”

“What? There are several ‘what’s I’d like explained, actually. What on earth were you thinking, portkeying me away like I am some kind of damsel?” The amount of vitriol she packed into that one word had shocked even him. “What right do you have to control my movements? I am a grown woman! I have been for quite some time, as a matter of fact. What did you expect me to do, once I’d reached this ‘family home in Cornwall’, hmm? Wait for you to remember I existed? It’s been three days! I realize that your duties here and Harry would keep you very busy but some consideration, Mr. Snape, would have been very much appreciated.”

He mulled that over. Had it really been three days already? Merlin. “I am sorry, Miss. Ethridge. It was not my intention to offend.”

She stared at him, hand still on her wand. “No. It never is with you men, is it?”

Severus swallowed the biting retort that burned his lips, mainly because the only real experience he’d had with women were here at work and with Lily, neither of which he felt equipped him for the type of battle he would have started had he spoken.  Instead, he fished for some information. “I trust you managed to escape that room without much difficulty?”

She gave an unladylike snort. “Escape? Why would I have had to escape? Tell me, Mr. Snape, did you read The Prophet at all over the past few days? Remember any news at all about Knockturn Alley?”

She was baiting him, he knew, but for the life of himself Severus could not find the will to be bothered by it. Much. He’d made a rather large mistake here, after all. He lowered his wand and cast his mind back over the papers he’d read since the Ministry Fiasco. The regular Auror raids, a fire rather close to Borgin and Burkes the Dark Lord hadn’t been happy about, a group of men apprehended by a wizarding citizen for carrying out sex acts with a pair a female minors, a robbery, dementor sighting -

“You’re thinking far too much, Severus. “

In truth, he wasn’t. Or maybe he was, but not in the way she probably thought he was. She had appeared in a brothel room, just like that group of men had been apprehended in. Merlin, but the woman had managed the single largest citizen’s arrest in Wizarding history.  His eyes flashed up, swiftly cataloging her petite frame and perfectly coiffed hair piled atop her head. He couldn’t see it. “You cannot seriously expect me to believe – “

“I do not care what you believe, Mr. Snape. The fact is I did subdue and secure all twelve of those men and had energy to spare to slap that silly little bint that dared attack my hair because I was spoiling her holiday fun. And that was after one of those bastards hit me with a bludgeoning hex in the back.” Severus had paled, taking a half step forward before stilling himself even as she waved him off, annoyed. “Of course you’re worried now. All the danger’s past, hasn’t it?”

“I am sorry, Miss Ethridge. I saw the Death eaters throwing spells and my first instinct was to protect – “

“Oh I already know all of that, you idiot. You’ve got chivalry written straight across that stately nose of yours. That is not what I’m pissed about!”

Severus’ brow had furrowed in confusion over that very same stately nose. “Then what – “

“What the hell are you doing with a portkey directly into a private room of a brothel? You told me you were celibate!”

Her face had been red suddenly, the color high on her cheeks and her blue eyes blazing with an intensity that would scare lesser men, and sometimes Cornelius Fudge himself, but despite all this and the fact that the wand held in her hand, though pointed at the stone floor, had emitted bright red sparks against her liquid grey robes as her voice rose, Severus found it in himself to through his head back and laugh. Of all the things she could be angry about, she’d chosen something so inconsequential…

She slapped him again then, closing the gap between them in one swift move. Severus had caught her hand, could not help the tightness of the grip he held her impossibly slim wrist in, the humour gone and fire burning in his eyes. “You do not want to assault me again, Miss Etheridge. It would be most unwise.”

“Do not threaten me, Mr. Snape. I will not tolerate being treated like some stupid little maiden you can pat on the head and dismiss. I was under the impression that we would be truthful to each other, since we neither of us appreciate falsehoods.” Though her gaze never wavered and she never flinched from his ire, the bright blue pools of her eyes had shimmered just slightly with a film of tears. “Am I wasting my time?”

Inexplicably his gaze had softened, the grip on her wrist loosening enough that her hand slid into his, and Severus, reserved bachelor and father of one, gently brushed a kiss to soft pale knuckles. “You are not,” he had murmured softly, never breaking eyes contact. “Forgive me, Nerissa, I meant to disrespect. It just seemed amusing at the moment that of all the things you could be angry about, of all the reasons you have already given, you chose something I view as inconsequential and easily explainable.”

She had sniffed then, her little nose adorably pink all of a sudden. “It is not inconsequential,” she insisted softly. “But explain anyway.”

“For the purpose of keeping up appearances, so to speak, I was sometimes required to attend Death Eater ‘socials’ for lack of a better term. Lucius Malfoy had a thing for loose women and bequeathed” an eyeroll to express how he felt about Lucius’ bequeaths, “all of his closest friends, in as much as the man had friends, with portkeys to different brothels for our personal use. Once or twice a group would all go to one person’s room, and with enough alcohol in their systems and a few well-placed confundus charms I was able to avoid taking part in the ‘revelry’ myself.”

Another sniff. “And you’ve never…?”

Severus had graced her with the tiniest of smiles. “I have never, nor do I want to.”

“Oh.” She shifted, and a stray curl bounced up against his shoulder. He thought he should have felt odd, standing less than an inch away from a beautiful young woman, holding her by only a hand near his chest, but he couldn’t find the will to, and so discarded that thought.  “Why did you keep it, then?”

His eyebrows had risen slightly as he slipped into lecture mode. “Aside from the half-dozen rare blue diamonds, the cluster of jewels is worth well over fifteen thousand galleons. The diamonds, white gold and steel pearls make it a very pretty bauble, if one appreciates those sorts of things. I had it stored away, in case I ever needed something to hold over Malfoy’s head, or a hefty trade for a goblin.”

It was Nerissa’s turn to be confused. “Then why’d you give it to me?”

Severus had blushed, as much as he was able, and found their intertwined hands very interesting. “I am certain I had cast my own portkey spell on it before I gave it to you, but I did not test it. I suppose Malfoy made them all somehow un-reroutable.”

“Severus? That hardly answers my question.” The light amusement on her soft voice gave him strength enough to raise his eyes.

“I heard my father once say to my mother, ‘Precious stones for precious souls’. I felt it fit.”

He didn’t think he would ever get used to or understand how one hundred and one emotions could flit across a woman’s face, but as Severus watched Nerissa’s face brighten and simultaneously darken with a blush seconds before her head came to rest on his chest , Severus decided he wouldn’t mind trying.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She had then decided that he needed tea. He’d been finishing up a pot when she’d floo’d in, having just put Harry to bed, but Severus wasn’t brave enough to contradict her.

“The Department of Law Enforcement is being delightfully heavy-handed with those offenders, would you believe it?” she asked as she stood to pass him a cup. “I suppose we have young Mr. Snape  to thank for that.”

“Indeed. The Ministry often never gets more work done than when they have a shiny figurehead they need to be seen upholding.” His tone was bitter from past experiences, but truthfully Severus was rather relieved his new… ‘lady-friend’, he supposed to correct term was, steered clear away from any more emotional discussions. He also felt he should not be surprised. In the short amount of time he’d known her the young Miss Ethridge, all of twenty-eight years the previous May, had proven herself remarkably adept at making conversation, or, more accurately, navigating conversations with him. Perhaps it was a class taught at that preppy little school she had attended in lieu of Hogwarts. He imagined something like ‘Social Graces 101 – How To Keep a Conversation Going With a Snarky, Unsociable Pariah’ or something along those lines. “The young females?”

“Physically healthy, absolutely fine. Both weeks away from their seventeenths, you know. Not that that makes any difference, though I suppose DLE wouldn’t be so hard on their male party-buddies if they hadn’t been Muggles.” She peeked up at him from the rim of her cup, eyes sparkling, waiting to see his reaction.

He did not disappoint. “Muggles! Are they mad? Bringing teenaged Muggle girls into the seediest area of magical Britain? Exposing us to two foolhardy children!”

“Oh, relax Mr. Snape. The girls thought it was all great fun – “

“Great fun! I hope they’re parents showed them ‘great fun’ before they were Obliviated.”

“Oh, they’ve been removed from their parents’ care, haven’t I told you?”

“No. You have not.”

“Well if you’d just let me finish the story…” She trailed off with a smile.

Severus glared.

She gave a small laugh. “Oh alright. Turns out their parents are into all sorts of things. The DMLE brought the Muggle police into the investigation, and they found pounds of natural hallucinogens of some type in the parent’s luggage, and that got them all excited so they did some more digging. Do you know what a ‘swinger’ is? But anyway, the parents are all swingers who bring their partners around their kids. One of the girls confessed she teamed up with her mother once.” She had lost her smile, her voice low and terribly sad. “They’re such young girls, too.”

Severus studied her as she fingered the handle of her teacup, eyes staring unseeingly into the depths of the jasmine-mint infusion she’d insisted on. There were enough clues for him to piece together at least a partial history of the young woman before him, and none of what he surmised was happy. Or pleasant. It did explain a few things, however.

Her irrational flare up over the brothel room could be attributed to a former relationship spoiled by infidelity, the fear that he had lied to her from the same. The look in her eyes as she spoke about the two Muggle girls brought to mind something Severus did not want to think was experience, personal or otherwise, but he could not be sure until she told him herself.

He would, could wait.

“This all sounds suspiciously like inside information.” He said casually to his cup. “I was not aware that the DMLE were so free with their investigations…”

Her smile was back, if smaller than he would like. “I have a friend in the department I asked to keep me up to date.”

Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “This friend wouldn’t happen to have a particular fondness for the color blue, would he?”

Nerissa startled into a laugh, nearly upsetting her tea. Severus took a sip of his, smug. He wasn’t half bad at conversations either, it seemed.

Chapter 28

It hardly seemed possibly, the speed with which time passed and seasons changed. For Severus it was particularly unfair, for September slipped smoothly into October and if it hadn’t been for a few well-placed calendars he would not have noticed at all. Harry, however, felt the change in the wind, and took to spending a large amount of time in his room. Severus didn’t blame him, could hardly, since his own major tantrum was what had the boy’s classes with the Headmaster extended by a further month. Harry had assured him he didn’t blame him, but Severus was all too adept at blaming himself.

When he had the time to spare that was. What with classes, detentions, patrols, monitoring Granger and the Slytherins and something new and scary called ‘family time’ Severus was swamped, barely ever having a spare moment for himself. And really, he could blame it all on Harry.

He’d heard Flitwick complain in hushed tones to McGonagall about coming across a rather indecently dressed pair of Gryfindors one night after a late staff meeting. Severus didn’t have to wait for the man to name names, since he expressed his reluctance to strip the students of their prefect badges so early into their fifth year. There were only two fifth year Gryffindor prefects, and Severus knew just who they were.

And so he volunteered to do the next weeks patrols, intent on finding the two miscreants, less their petting go any further and then they somehow think it prudent to supplant ideas into his son’s head, and then he’d have to deal with wild magic at all inopportune times and that’s was just something Severus was not prepared for, thank you very much. Find them he did, on his third night out, and fifth, and seventh, and each time he gave them a lecture so scathing he was sure they’d be permanently red in the face, but he found them again and again for weeks on end. He was very, very tempted to hit them both with a celibacy spell, which not only kept one from wanting to commit various acts of indecency, but removed the desire to be intimate from one’s make-up indefinitely. The only problems were that it was a dark spell, and one that was easily noticeable, especially in a school full of hormonal teenagers. Merlin help him.

He almost suspected Ron was planning something, mainly getting into Granger’s pants. Why else would the boy, all six feet two inches of him, would spend hours upon hours crammed into a tiny library chair, bent over books most fifth years couldn’t be bothered to look at. ‘Wizarding Geneology’, ‘So, You Want to Know Where You Came From?’, and Wizard Family Ties: Birthmarks and Traits’ had all been checked out after an afternoon of intense study, and a prickling sort of anticipatory heat crept along the back of his neck every time Severus thought about it. The boy was searching for something. Severus didn’t know if he hoped the child would find it.

Whatever had happened to the child over the summer had changed him, and Granger liked it. Especially since Ron spent more time reading than he did anything else. His grade marks had made a complete turn-around, and Ron was more focused, both in class and out of it, than any of the teachers had ever seen him. And the Granger was lapping it all up, especially since the boy could rattle off obscure facts about wizarding geneology that she wouldn’t know about. Now that Severus thought about it, she probably dragged Ron out of the common room, away from his books, to have a quick hop in a broom cupboard. Her mind was certainly dirty enough. Severus would know, he’d been there.

To her credit, the Granger was a stellar student. She did the readings, and more, completed all assignments above and beyond expectations and could adequately perform any incantation given in under three attempts. To Severus, she was a horrible student.

It wasn’t that she didn’t do the readings, because she did, or that she didn’t complete the assignments he gave her to her already high standard, because she did, and Severus freely gave her the extra credit her work deserved, even if he didn’t tell her about it. It was just that she was too good. The work she handed in to him, the theories she came up with and expounded upon when asked would give wizards with specialized masteries great burning ulcers of shock. And she was a fair hand at the practical aspect of their lessons, and her spell repertoire had expanded greatly over the past few weeks, and though she was an average on the power scale, what she lacked in power she made up for in creativity and incredible improvisation. She was a fascinating, incredible puzzle, adjectives that could be either positive or negative, depending on how much she irritated him during a lesson. It could not be denied that she was brilliant, Severus wasn’t that stubborn, but she was in a way that it was scary. The last person he’d met so unaccountably amazing was one Tom Riddle, before the rituals had taken away the remainder of his sanity. That the girl was only fifteen made it all the more remarkable. She had a mind so ordered and precise Severus wondered, while lazily ignoring the girl’s attempts to shove him out of said mind, if it was even human at all. But her temper flared, clouding everything over with a red kind of fog, and proved she was.

She could consume and regurgitate entire passages of information, and understand exactly what she was saying. He wondered why she studied so much, and in pushing around certain thoughts and memories found his answer. And a new type of fear. Hermione Granger wanted just what Tom Riddle wanted: greatness. She was, at fifteen, as determined and brilliant as Tom Riddle had been in his late thirties, but more knowledgeable, less insane and infinitely more dangerous. Severus had hidden his fear as best he could, and grudgingly allowed the girl to sense the smallest smatterings of approval from his thoughts. He’d teach her, he’d said, connect her to all the right people, and with her knowledge, his cunning and Harry’s fame, there was nothing she could not do, he’d said to her. But he’d be careful. He was going to keep her close to him, keep her on the good side of magic. She would be great, yes, but he would make sure she stayed good.

He’d never forget the day he had randomly cast a cutting spell followed by an incendio in her general direction as he waited for her to create a month’s worth of false memories, an advanced technique, for certain. The girl had calmly transfigured a chunk of stone from his floor into a sheet of clay which his cutting spell ripped through, before banishing the pieces towards him, straight through the fire. He’d been assaulted with scores of tiny shard of hardened clay that not even his hastily cast shield spell could completely protect him from. Of course, he’d taken points for damage to school property, since the transfiguration had been permanent, and the girl had had the audacity to tell him she loved him. He was beginning to regret the speech control potion he’d slipped her. He would love to hear to hear some of the thoughts she had about him enunciated.

Not that he was going to remove it. No matter what Dumbledore said.

Furthermore, in his monitoring the Slytherin students, who were having far more success with mingling with the other students than he thought possible at this stage, he noticed Draco. Draco spending long hours in the library. Draco talking to house-elves. Draco spending hours pouring over books. It seemed Draco had given himself a project. After weeks of surveillance, the most Severus could figure out was that the brat was working on some type of massive feeding spell, and his mind immediately went to Black and his pranks. Enraged, he had marched his way into the man’s rooms and demanded an answer. When he found out Draco was working on whatever he was working on completely unassisted, Severus had become so alarmed he’d dropped into a chair, before demanding Black pay more attention and make sure Draco didn’t blow himself up.

“I know what he’s doing, Severus. I’m not completely daft. I’m watching him very closely. I just want him to see that magic can’t do everything.”

Severus had watched the man fiddle with his papers for a moment. “Any thought as to what brought on this sudden interest? He’s been researching nutrition and Muggle biology, of all things. I caught him trying to make a Never-Ending potion last week, in class, no less.”

Sirius had shrugged, eyes on the wall. “Harry. He, Draco and Ron had a bit of a fight, sort of. Harry, he’s short, and he knows it, but he doesn’t like when people notice it, or make fun of him, which Ron and Draco sort of did. Friendly teasing from all of them, I’m assured, until they got to Harry’s height. Harry jinxed them both and ran off, and they came to me to reverse it. Neither of them understood why he was so upset, or why I told them it was likely that Harry wouldn’t get much taller, so I explained.” Severus had looked thunderous. “But only a little bit.”

“And Draco thinks he can fix him.”

“Well, not per se. He knows he’s still a kid and he hasn’t got the control probably needed, but he figures he can do the theory.”

“When will you tell him that what he is attempting is not possible. The human body cannot metabolize quickly enough for what he is intending.”

“My dragon is a determined little bit,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair and meeting Severus’ eyes. “He swears that magic has a way. Am I supposed to tell him ‘no’? Crush his dreams? Don’t think so. I’ll be here when he needs me, for advice or to patch him up, but I’m standing behind him, no matter what he wants to do with his life.”

Severus had thought that level of sentiment was a bit nauseating, and so fled the scene. He hadn’t heard anything about the fight itself from Harry, but did notice the child sulking around their quarters more. He had put it down, before, to Harry seeking proximal comfort needed to contend with Dumbledore’s lessons and had left the child to it. After his talk with Sirius, however, he made sure to spend more time with the child, and added an additional calcium supplement to the boy’s daily potions routine, and told the child so.

Also, the adoption papers had come back, all signed and sealed and official looking three days before Halloween. Severus had stared at the parchment covered end to end in official seals and had smiled an honest smile. Harry was his. His son, officially. The Ministry of Magic knew it, and soon, so would Voldemort and all his cronies. The pain would be worse. Their lives would be in more danger. They’d have to step up their plan with the Slytherins. But Harry was his. Harry James Potter Lupin Black Snape, ‘heir to the Potter, Black and Prince lines of both magic and prestige’ so the papers said.

Now, now the games could begin.

He’d went to find the boy to show him, a frission of nervous energy springing to life in his stomach, but couldn’t find him in either bedroom, or the study, and the bathroom was innocently empty. He began to panic, speeding down the hallway, before there was a muffled thump coming from his storage room, and he forced his heart to calm.

Harry was not exactly banned from the storage room, nor was he exactly given free reign there either. Severus had known that sooner or later the boy would end up in there, since a bored Harry equaled a curious Harry, but had hoped the child would last a bit longer. He crept up to the door, and peered in.

Harry knelt on the floor, elbow deep in a chest Severus hadn’t looked at, thought of, in more than a decade. It was made of pale wood, nearly new and was more than a foot wide and covered in dust. It was filled to the brim with baby toys and clothing though, and that caused his heart to clench in his chest. Of all the things Harry had to find, it had to be this.

Ronin.

Harry was oblivious to Severus’ anguish though, and cheerfully pulled a bright orange octopus out of the trunk. For a moment Harry simply stared at the thing, before inexplicably thwapping himself in the face with the plush toy. Severus could only watch as the boy’s face brightened before the octopus was crushed against his chest, and the trunk slammed closed. Harry seemed to be muttering to himself, but the only thing his new father heard was “go find Severus” before the door swung open and surprised green eyes peered up at him.

“Sev! Look what I found!”

There was a tightness in his chest, one he could not think away or ignore. Severus could only stare down at the concerned little face and breathe. A corner of his mind was screaming, screaming that the boy had trespassed, had opened a can of worms he could not begin to close back and Ronin, Ronin, Ronin, Ronin, he hadn't thought the name in years because it hurt, a slicing sort of pain that ripped through his heart and all the way through his entire body, and then he was on his knees, Harry's panicked face inches from him, hands patting his cheeks and a high pitched sort of noise in his ear...oh. Harry was screaming.

“Sev! Severus! Sev! Are you alright?? Winky!?”

There was a single 'pop' signaling the arrival of their house elf, and before Harry could say another word Severus was being levitated, his stomach giving a sudden, angry swoop, and then the walls passed, taking him to his bedroom, it seemed, then he was on his bed, and Winky had spelled a calming draught into his system, he could tell, because his heart slowed down, though he hadn't noticed it racing, and the creeping black edges around his vision cleared away and breathing became easier, though he hadn't noticed he'd been fighting for breath, but that was fine, everything was fine, except Harry was still looking panicked as he crept up onto the bed next to him and wiped his face. Why was the child wiping his face?

“You were crying, Sev. Are you alright? Did Voldie do something to your mark again?”

Gradually, Severus came back to himself, the fog that had settled over his mind, a sort of paralyzing panic that shut him down, ebbing away. Severus had shifted experimentally, found his hand still worked and reached for his son's hands. The boy struggled for a moment, trying to twist his wrists free, but Severus had stopped him. “I am fine, Harry.”

Harry's eyes were accusing. “People don't cry when they're fine.”

“True. I wasn't then, but I'm fine now. You gave me a shock, earlier.” He looked around, only to find Winky had disappeared, and a tray of tea and biscuits, the ones he liked, on a table at the foot of his bed.

“How did I give you a shock? Did I scare you?”

“You did not, child.” Try as he might, Severus could not bring himself to ignore the plush toy still clutched to Harry's chest. He wondered at that, briefly, that a fifteen yer old boy would become so instantly attached to a child's toy, but put it aside for further analysis later, when he was completely himself. “I wanted to tell you that the adoption papers have returned. Signed and sealed.” He met suddenly bright green eyes. “You are officially my son.”

Harry's grip on the octopus tightened. “Harry Snape?”

“Among other surnames, yes.”

“Is that why you were crying? 'Cause you're happy?”

Severus smiled, and pulled the boy closer. “I am very happy, Harry. I get to keep you, and give you detentions forever if you break curfew - “

“Hey!”

“But that is not why I was crying.”

“Then why were you?”

Severus blinked, ran a hand through the mess that was Harry's hair. “I used to have a son.” Harry looked up at him, eyes instantly full of questions. “I do not know what happened to him. His mother took him away from me when he was little, barely two years old.”

“Why!”

“She found out I was a Death Eater. She was a muggleborn, she probably thought I was bidding my time, and that I'd hand them over to the dark lord.”

“But you were a spy!”

“Not always, but by that time I was. I hadn't told her yet. I wanted to keep them separate, keep them safe. I knew she would not have taken it well; I did not know she would go so far.”

“Couldn't you just get her to bring him back? Or go get him yourself? He's your son!”

“I don't know what she did with him. I came home one day and the flat was empty, none of their things anywhere. It was like I'd been living by myself for the past three years, but I hadn't. I searched everywhere, in all the rooms, there was nothing, nothing anywhere, but this toy, right here. I was running around the place for an hour before I thought to go find her. And then I went to the Ministry to find her, but no one would tell me where she was so I left, came home, and sat on the floor for an hour. I couldn't understand it. I'd been sitting there for hours before she came by. She knocked on the door, then let herself in. She spoke to me like one would a scared animal, and had no memories of our life together or of Ronin. As far as she knew the last time we'd seen each other had been at our graduation. I begged her, pleaded with her, I cried, I didn't care if she hated me, I needed my son. He was mine, only a little boy. She said I should go to St. Mungo's, because the dark magic I'd been dealing with had addled my mind. She said I had always been a death eater, since before the end of our seventh year, and nothing I said would convince her otherwise. She told me she hoped I never had a son, because merlin only knows how I'd mistreat him.”

“How could she! She was your wife!”

Severus smiled, ignoring the tears on his face. “Technically, we were not married, but anger and fear make people do and say things they normally would not have. I want to hate her, I do, but I loved her, still do. She gave me both my boys.”

Harry's damp eyes widened at that, the facts adding up in his mind. “My mum?”

Severus nodded. “Lily. A year later she was married to James Potter. It took me a while to approach Remus with it, and he later brought Sirius into it. They thought I needed mental help, and would try diagnosing me in turns. It wasn't until I revealed a rune-locked memory charm on both of them and Dumbledore that they believed me. I showed them my memories and after Dumbledore verified that they were real, they tried to reason with Lily.”

“It didn't work.”

“No. She insisted that I'd Confunded them all and wanted nothing to do with it. Dumbledore couldn't break into her mind and James was throwing a fit, and so they let it go. I tried everything, but I never found him.”

“You stopped looking?”

“There was nothing else to be done - “

“How could you! He's your son and he was only a baby!” An angry fist slammed into his abdomen, and Severus winced, snatching the offending hand to him. “You could have found him!”

“I have tried everything!” He gave the boy a little shake, internally damning himself for his tears and for starting this conversation. “There was no method I had not tried. Every point me spell, finding and retrieval ritual and even the deepest, most dangerous of Dark magics I've tried, but she has hidden him, used her incredible knowledge of the Department of Mysteries probably to hide him and in fifteen years I haven't seen or heard anything about him, didn't even know he existed until now!”

“Until now?” Wide, hopeful green eyes peered up from him. Severus loosed his grip on the boy's thin shoulders lest he leave bruises, and forced himself to calm. The calming Draft had worn off, it seemed, and his heart preformed acrobatics in his chest. “You know where he is?”

Severus shook his head. “No. No I don't. I have an idea...”

“Then go get him! Go try! It might really be him and then - “

“No, Harry, stop!” His eyes had somehow clenched shut on their own and it was hard to breathe, hard to do anything around the crushing wave of hope he'd been trying to squash and stomp out and ignore because it was too much, too much to hope that it was really the child he'd been hurting for for so long and he couldn't bear it if it wasn't, if everything was just a bunch of coincidences that did not add up and Severus couldn't take it …

“Oh. It hurts.”

And then thin arms were wrapping around his neck and a slim body crawling into his lap and Severus squeezed his child, his son, the one he could hold and cherish and not have to let go of,grateful tha he did not have to say anything else.

They had stayed like that for hours, Severus occasionally running a hand through Harry's hair and Harry drifting in and out of sleep, his head filled with a new mystery and the knowledge that he had a family, someone who wanted him and maybe even needed him, and a brother he had to find.

And Severus never saw the thin blonde child that stepped away from his bedroom door. 

And Merlin, but the Weasley’s were calling him ‘Uncle Sev’. It was bad enough that the twins thought he could be assaulted with hugs in the middle of a crowded hallway and no amount of taking points could dissuade them (Minerva put them all back immediately, the fiend) but Percy, Percy Weasley of all people, tumbled out of his fireplace one evening after Harry had gone to bed.

“Oh, Uncle Severus! Uncle Severus, please! I’ve done a horrible, horrible thing!”

Severus had stared at the young man pacing across his hearth and sighed. He was doomed to a life full of people, it seemed. “You had better stop your blathering if you want me to do anything at all, Percival. Have a seat and calm yourself.”

Percy had dropped into the armchair directly opposite and nearly slid onto the floor. Winky, as usual, popped in with a teas service and with a snap of her fingers had the young Weasley seated properly with a steaming cup in his hands. There was a reason he liked that elf.

After giving the man, child to him, really, a moment to gather his wits, Severus posed the question. “what is it, exactly, that you’ve done?” Random plausible thoughts ran through his mind, of Percy somehow selling a bit of sensitive information to Death Eater informants or losing a large amount of the Ministry’s funds in a gambling binge, or even misfiling a for another that would cause a year’s worth of work to fix but would cause a war if left untouched, but nothing prepared him for Percy’s answer.

“I got Penelope pregnant.”

And while the young man across from him dissolved into great, unappealing sobs, Severus froze, the words echoing over and over in his mind. ‘I got Penelope pregnant.’ So this was what his life had been reduced to. Babysitting children and counseling young adults on the foolishness of his actions. Had he been so cruel? Must he suffer this way? Apparently so, because Percy was still crying.

“Percival, cease that racket this instant!” The boy blinked up at him through watery eyes, bottom lip trembling with the sobs he restrained within him. Severus resisted the urge to sneer. “What is it exactly that you want me to do?”

It wasn’t completely unfeasible for the young man to come to him for help, Severus realized, now that his brain had regained function. He was a Potions Master. As unsightly as it was to the public he was able to brew certain concoctions that could handle an unwanted pregnancy. He didn’t think Percival, as a Weasley and thus a rule, would want to terminate said pregnancy, but he didn’t know Penelope Clearwater that well to know if she would think the same way. She had been a remarkably cool girl in his dealings with her, but that was no great judge of character, it was probably her best attempt to be civil in the face of his not-so-civil-ness. However he could prolong a pregnancy, halt it for up to three years, give them enough time to get married and build up some savings. He wondered if it was a direct result of him getting Muriel to release the family Magic. If Percy had only just found out, that meant Penelope would have had to conceive around the first wave of resurgence. The Weasley twins had been locked in a private ward for three days here at Hogwarts and both Bill and Charlie had come to him in the middle of the night begging for healing potions for their partners. Bill in particular had been close to tears. Severus didn’t want to think about it, but it was so interesting. Apparently Weasley fertility was linked to their magic. Merlin, he would need to check on Molly. And suggest pregnancy tests to all the boys. And make sure Ginerva was alright.

He sounded like a mother hen. Which was saying something, because he wasn’t even speaking.

“Could you – “ Percy’s voice had cut through all of Severus’ thoughts and he brought his mind back to the moment. “Could you tell my parents?”

Severus had looked at the young man in front of him, wide teary eyes looking at him with a look so imploring he really couldn’t bring himself to say no. Damn Harry Potter, softening his heart. He found himself nodding before he realized he’d made a decision. “Alright.” He stood. “Stay here.”

Severus had cast a nonverbal sticking charm to the seat of Percy’s chair, then strode over to the fireplace. The Weasleys had relocated to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place after being summarily attacked by their own garden gnomes of all things. Severus hadn’t had a chance to go out to the house and clear it out, being the resident Dark Arts specialist he was the only one that could, and so they’d made do with what they could in Sirius’ house. When he flooed in, Molly had been cleaning.

In truth, she was always cleaning something, so much so that Severus thought that was her default function, when not cooking or looking after anyone else or breathing, molly cleaned. Even if It was after ten at night and there was no one coming to the house, Molly would clean.

“Molly,” It was his standard greeting, since the woman absolutely refused to acknowledge his presence if he addressed her as ‘Mrs. Weasley’, even though it was her name. “Is Arthur at home?”

“Good evening Severus! Would you like some tea? How have you been? It’s been a while since we last saw you; I do hope our boys aren’t causing trouble?” Molly bustled around the kitchen, somehow taking Severus’ over robe without him realizing it and pushing him into a chair. “What brings you here so late at night?”

“Percival. And on that note, could you and your husband floo through to my rooms? I left your son there and I’d rather he not worry himself sick in my presence.” Severus stood, regaining his over robe and stalked back towards the fireplace. Molly fretted behind him.

“Percy? Goodness, what has that child done now? ARTHUR! We need to leave. Go ahead, Severus we’ll be right there, Arthur’s just in the den. ARTHU – “

Severus had flooed back to his rooms, ears still ringing, to find Percy staring at the ground between his knees, looking like a dead man. Severus sighed, and poured himself more tea. “Your parent’s will be here shortly.”

Percy’s gulp could be heard across the room. “They’re coming to kill me.”

“Of course not. They don’t even know yet.”

“Wha – “

Percy’s panicked exclamation was cut off by the sound of the floo sounding, and Severus watched Percy’s face, the blaze of the firelight burring bright green and then back to orange as the Weasleys senior settled in. The young man looked as if he’d been shot, and hadn’t realized it. Then he found his voice.

“I thought you said you’d tell them!”

Severus almost laughed. “I did. I never said where, however.”

Percy swore, struggling to get out of his seat, and Arthur cleared his throat. “Good evening, Severus, Percy. Molly said you needed us here immediately?”

“Yes, you son here, has managed to get himself into a bit of trouble.” Severus would later freely admit to having fun, tormenting them all this way, but at that moment he really didn’t care.

“How so?” Molly had asked, after settling herself in Severus’ own armchair. “Percy’s never been in trouble a day in his life.”

“Quite. However, he seems to have impregnated his significant other, and is convinced you are going to kill him. If you do, please refrain from getting blood on my chairs, they are vintage.”

To his disappointment and Percy’s visible relief, both Weasley parents had sighed, and smiled.

“Is that all?” asked Molly.

“Conceived around the twenty-eighth, son?” asked Arthur. While Percy just sat and nodded dazedly, Severus tried for some answers.

“I suppose this has something to do with the releasing of your family magic, Arthur?”

“Everything, actually. Had I known…had I known.”

Severus had been suddenly uncomfortable. There was no need for the man to blame himself, especially when Severus was the one who caused it all. “My apologies, Arthur. If I had known the side effects I would have consulted you first.”

“Nonsense, Severus. You’ve done this family a great service. A baby is nothing this family cannot handle.” The man sighed. “It’s my fault, truthfully. I never expected to receive the family magic, so I never prepared the children for it. I do hope everyone is alright.”

“I am sure everyone is fine. Bill and Charlie contacted me around that time for healing drafts. I have not heard from them since, so I assume all is well.” He would have mentioned that he’d infused all of his ‘personal’ drafts with phoenix tears, because he never knew just what and how much Harry might need and phoenix tears made everything more potent, but he hadn’t thought he needed to.

He had left the Weasleys to their conversation, and went to check on his own son.

He could not imagine having to give Harry the talk, and had silently thanked every deity he could think of that Prince family magic did not run along that vein.

And to make matters worse, Remus had taken to staring at him oddly. Severus would have ignored it indefinitely, had the man not made a request of him one night after dinner.

He, Sirius and Remus had commandeered the chairs and Draco, Ron and Harry had arranged themselves on the floor. The boys had all apologized to each other, and all books had been confiscated for the evening, everyone was full and sleepy from dinner and the calm hung over the room like a curtain. Then Remus spoke.

“Severus, why don’t you tell us a story?”

“No, Remus.” The boys had giggled, their game of exploding snap temporarily forgotten. Severus ignored them, and would have all night had Remus not persisted.

“Oh come on. The one with the sad man who lost his baby.”

Instantly, Severus was alert, fathomless black eyes locked on calm amber, every muscle in his body taut against the request. “No.”

“But Severus – “

“No.”

The room had filled with tension then, the children looking at each other in askance and Remus looking at him sadly as if he was some condemned animal holding onto the last strings of life. Which he wasn’t.

He'd told that story once already, and was never doing it again. Ever, if he had to. Severus was a strong man, he knew, who lived in the present and planned for the future, and did not, absolutely did not live in the past.

But Ron’s story nearly undid him. It did not help that the red haired child had given him a long, long look before he spoke.

“I can tell one. It’s a really sad one Mum used to tell me sometimes when I was younger.”

“Did someone die in it?” Draco asked, silver eyes bright and eager.

“No. You’re so weird.”

Draco pouted, while Harry looked between them in amusement. “If it’s sad, should we all get blankets and pillows and hot chocolate?”

Draco perked up. “Can mine have peanut butter in it?”

Before anyone had chance to answer there was a singular ‘Pop!’, and a large tray covered in steaming mugs of hot chocolate appeared on the center table and thick bundles of blankets appeared next to everyone. Severus eschewed his bundle on principle, and tried to ignore the prickly feeling crawling up his spine as Ron settled into his blanket-nest, and looked ready to start. On a whim, he rose.

“I have potions to attend to.”

“Please, Professor, could you stay?” Ron’s soft, clear voice cut through his feeble attempts at escape, and Severus found himself sinking back into his armchair, hands slipping to the sides of his thighs and gripping into the fabric there. And Ron’s story began.

“Mum used to tell this to me and Ginny when we were younger. She changed it up a few times, but it was always the same beginning: There once was this beautiful baby boy living in a far off country filled with fairies and dragons and magic. This little boy was only a baby, could barely walk, and had the most beautiful curly red hair any mother could want. And his mother loved him very much, and so did his father. They loved their baby boy so much that they took him with them everywhere: to the shops, to the river, into the forest, but never, ever out of their city, for it was very, very dangerous. This baby and his mother and father would have lived happily ever after, except for a terrible tragedy one day.

Baby’s father had to leave the city for work. He was a beast slayer, the best in the land, and when the dangerous beasts crept into the city and scared the people who lived there or stole heir livestock, the king would call for baby’s father to go out into the land and hunt the beast down. So one day, as usual, baby’s father left to go to work. He was supposed to come back in a week, just for supplies, if he hadn’t found the beast, but a week came and went, but no father. Another week, and still no sign. After yet another week, baby’s mother had had enough. She decided that she would go into the land and find baby’s father, for both she and baby missed him terribly.

Now baby’s mother was a witch, a very powerful witch. She could cast spells and calm the weather and she didn’t even need a wand! So when people heard she was going looking for baby’s father, no one was worried. Except, no one wanted to keep her baby! It turns out baby was very upset when not with his mother or father, and would scream and cry and refuse to eat or sleep until they came for him. No one knew how long baby’s mother would be gone, or if baby’s father would come back, and no one wanted to be stuck with a fussy baby! So baby’s mother decided that she would take the baby with her to find baby’s father, and she would protect him with her magic. After all, she loved her baby, and if no one would keep her baby safe for her then she’d just do it herself.

Baby’s mother waited till baby was asleep one night, and then wrapped him in his warmest blanket, and packed a little bag filled with all the food she’d need for a week. Before she left their little house she cast every kind of protection spell she knew over him: spells to keep his little toes from getting cold, one to help him see in the dark, one to take him away from danger if she couldn’t help him. When she had cast all the spells she knew how, baby’s mother set off into the forest, searching for her baby’s father.

She searched for him for three days, going deeper and deeper into the forest, before she came across the beast. The beast was a huge thing, towering far, far over her head with straggly, matted fur and huge curved horns sticking out of his head. He had teeth the size of mother’s arms and stood on two legs like a human but had a tail as long as the road in front of their little house in the city. Mother saw the beast before it saw her, and she stood behind it quietly, watching as it moved around the little space she thought it had made its home. While baby’s mother was looking, she saw, way back behind the beast and half covered by little bushes, baby’s father, tied to a tree! A huge smile spread across mother’s face, for she could now save baby’s father and they could go home and live happily ever after, but just as she was about to cast the spell to free him, baby let out a shrill cry.

Poor baby! He’d been asleep after a short lunch and noticed his mother had stopped walking so he woke up, and what was the first thing he saw when he opened his little blue eyes? A great hulking monster with giant horns and a tail. Little baby was terrified, and did what any scared baby would do, he cried.

But the beast heard him, and spun around. When he caught sight of baby’s mother and little baby crying in her arms, he let out a bellow that made little baby’s ears hurt, and charged at the, Baby’s mother did some quick spell work, freeing baby’s father and then silencing baby so she could concentrate on casting and with a quick flick of her wrist she sent the beast tripping backwards, where it hit its head into a tree. But before she could congratulate herself on a job well done and quiet her terrified baby, there was another roar, this one from behind her! Baby’s mother turned around and nearly fainted! There was a huge beast just like the other one only bigger and hairier and with many more horns running right at her and then it jumped and came down, down, down and mother didn’t have time to do anything, and then there was a soft ‘pop’.”

The room was silent, the fire crackling in the grate, for all of two seconds before Draco, eyes wide and hands clutching at the blanket around his shoulders burst out, “What happened?”

“Yeah!” echoed Harry, who had scooted up against Severus’ legs and was clutching at the man’s pants. “I thought you said no one died!”

Ron smiled, slightly sheepish. “But baby didn’t die, and neither did his mother. She found her arms suddenly empty and dropped to the ground, thinking she had dropped her little baby. The beast passed right over her head, and crashed into the first, smaller beast. Baby’s father had moved, climbed up into a tree and shot at both beasts with all the arrows he’d taken with him. Baby’s mother got back up, realizing that her spell had protected her little baby, taking him away from the danger since she could not help him, because the beast was too close for her to keep him safe. She used her magic spells to help baby’s father fell both beasts, and when they were both dead and not moving, told baby’s father what she had done.

Now baby’s mother was expecting his father to be angry with her, because their baby was gone and she didn’t know where he was, but baby’s father was quite pleased. He embraced her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll find him,” he said. “We’ll never stop looking.”

And baby definitely was safe. In a puff of blue smoke he appeared, still crying his eyes out, on the doorstep of a tall, hand-built house that looked as if the owners had added on as they went, in the middle of the night, still wrapped up in his blanket. After a few minutes, a little woman opened the door and was shocked to find a little baby crying on her doorstep. Where had the baby come from? There was no one around their house for miles. She picked up little baby and tried to calm him down, but bay would not stop crying. She made him a bottle, rocked him back and forth, sung him a lullaby, and nothing worked! Finally, the little woman gave baby a little bit of her childrens’ sleeping potion, and even though baby spit most of it back out, he finally, finally, stopped crying and went to sleep. The little woman decided that since no one was around outside to claim the baby, and if no one came to claim the baby in a week, she would adopt him and raise him with her other five children. There was another baby in her tummy, but the mother didn’t know that yet. Soon, she’d have seven children! But that was fine, since she loved children anyway!

It’s been years and years, and baby still lives with his new little mother and his new brothers and sister and new father, and he’s mostly forgotten his little mother and his brave father, but they haven’t forgotten him. Baby’s mother and father are still out there, looking for him, hoping to find him one day so that they could bring him home.”

“That’s sad!” exclaimed Draco.

Ron laughed a little, pulling his shirt up over his face and wiping his eyes. When he pulled it down there were two little wet marks from his tears. “I said it would be.”

“But what happens? Will baby’s parents ever find him?” Harry looked very upset, his green eyes moist behind his glasses.

“I don’t know Harry. It’s just a story.”

“You were right. It is a very sad one. Siri! Tell us something to make us laugh!” Harry demanded, unconsciously snuggling into the side of Severus calf. Severus did not seem to mind, he’d barely moved at all.

In truth Severus had barely even been aware of anything around him anymore. His mind had stuck on the baby in the story, the little mother and on how much information Molly Weasley had correctly guessed at.

But no, he wasn’t thinking of that, wasn’t going to torture himself with the possibilities of this scenario and he was going to bed, right now, dammit, he wasn’t going to sit here and look at that red hair any longer…..

…Any longer……

It hadn’t been till days later that he’d thought to check to see if Ron, although two years away from his magical majority, had been experiencing any changes ( or difficulties, he prayed for difficulties, something he could actually talk about) with his magic. It had taken him the better part of three hours, but he’d finally found the boy holed up in a hidden corner in the restricted section of the library. Severus would have handed out a detention on the spot, had the child not been sitting in an alcove, staring into space. The look of complete bewildered resignation on the child’s face, if it were possible, caught the words right in Severus’ throat. It had been a moment before he could speak, and another before his attempts caught the boy’s attention.

Ron’s eyes, when they finally locked on him, were clear, yet clouded with a impossible mixture of emotions. Severus felt his heart lurch and that tingling crawl up his spine. Ron opened his mouth, once, twice, a third time before he could speak.

“I need to speak to you, sir.”

Severus had nodded, unable to form words under the heavy impact that simple sentence had on his heart. “Whenever you are ready, Mr. Weasley. My door is always open.” And he’d spun on his heel and fled, knowing beyond a doubt that Ron hadn’t been experiencing any effects from the Weasley magic.

No. None at all.

Harry had a plan.

It wasn’t a very good plan, but it was a plan nonetheless.

He had been thinking about Sev’s story and Ron’s story and figured there was a link between those stories, somewhere. He just had to find it.

Sev had lost his son. Ron had, according to the story, been separated from his parents. It looked as if Ron was Sev’s son. But Sev’s son had been nearly two years old when he’d gone missing. That would mean Ron would have to be the same age as the twins. And that couldn’t be right.

Or could it? He turned a corner without looking, lost in his thoughts. Ron had always been taller than anyone in their year. Even Dean Thomas, who had shot up over the summer and was nearly as tall as Snape himself, wasn’t as tall as Ron was. And Ron was doing the shaving charm regularly, when most of their year were still counting their strands. Except Millicent Bulstrode, but that was a separate case.

He was just turning another bend when he smashed into someone.

“Ouch!”

“Serves you right Potter.” Draco glared at him from the floor, a notebook strewn next to him. “Now my head hurts.”

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“Clearly it’s a hazard to our health, so stop.”

Harry glared for a moment, before deciding that it wasn’t worth it. “Here.” He offered the blonde boy a hand up, a tiny little pleased surge flowing through him when Draco actually gripped his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. “What’s with the book?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Draco said snottily even as he draped a companionable arm over Harry’s shoulder.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” harry chirped, then grinned at the glare Draco shot him.

“Your impertinence is unflattering, Snape.” Harry’s grin stretched wider, before shrinking altogether. Draco noticed, and sighed.  “I’ve been thinking about that as well.”

“I have an idea….it’s as far-fetched as it is reasonable, considering we all have magic, but do you want to hear it?”

“Let’s find somewhere more private Potter, lest the whole castle be privy to our plots.”

“K. There’s a room on the seventh floor that’d be perfect.”

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I am not confident in what a Gryffindor believes to be ‘perfect’ but lead the way, let’s see what we have to work with.”

Harry gave Draco a smug look. “I can bet you its perfect.”

Draco scoffed. “Sure, rub your endless supply of money in my face; I knew you’ve wanted to.”

Harry’s face fell. “No! That’s not what I mean at all!”

Draco snorted, and threw an arm around the shorter boy’s shoulders. “Relax, Harry. I was kidding. No hard feelings, I promise.”

Harry worried his bottom lip, gazing speculatively at the taller boy. Draco rolled his eyes, and pulled him along.

“Snape, I mean it. I don’t want your money, or resent you for having it. Whatever mad little plot you’re thinking up in your head, stop it. Stop it or I’ll sic Sev’s butterflies on you.”

Harry’s face creased over in confusion. “Sev has butterflies?”

“I didn’t think he’d be a butterfly person, but if he has you should stay away from them.”

Harry and Draco spun, the latter clutching his chest, to find Ron standing in the hallway behind them, the door to a classroom swinging shut slowly. “Though, I’m just guessing, of course. His butterflies could be perfectly reasonable,” Ron continued.

Darco’s eyes narrowed. “What were you doing in that classroom?”

“Studying.” Ron shifted, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes. Draco smirked, and Harry wondered at that. Ron looked pretty composed, though his ears were a little red, now that he thought to look for it.

“Studying what exactly?” Draco asked, sidling forward along the wall. Ron took two steps to his left and blocked the way.

“Transfiguration, if you must know.” But Ron couldn’t meet Draco’s eyes, and the blonde boy grinned.

“You should be ashamed of yourself Ronald! Human transfiguration is strictly prohibited, you know that. If Hermione wanted to test her non-verbal engorgement charms –"

“Shut it, you prat!” Ron had gone a bright red, even as he locked Draco in a headlock. Draco cackled madly from where he fought to free himself, and Harry watched it all with an amused expression.

“Alright, alright, get off me, you big brute!” Ron released him, and Draco stumbled a few feet away, still giggling. “You can tell Hermione to come out now. There’s no need for the ruse, we know what you two were doing.”

“What? What were they doing?”

Two pairs of eyes turned to harry, who looked back at them with an expression of such earnest confusion they didn’t need to ask if he was serious. Ron and Draco looked at each other miserably before shrugging.

“We need to go somewhere private for this discussion,” Draco finally said into the silence. He shot a glare at Ron and narrowed his eyes. “Both discussions.”

Ron sighed, and nodded. “Alright. Seventh floor corridor, then. Follow me.”

“What is with you Gryffindors and this seventh floor?”

Ron and Harry shared a smug grin and led the way.

Behind them, A slim, bushy haired prefect slipped out of a classroom, her hands folded over her chest, disapproval and suspicion written on every line of her face.

When the boys had moved a suitable distance away, Hermione Granger followed them up.

Three floors below and a little to the right, a small first year whimpered and stifled a sob with his bloody hands. His vision tunneled, flickering in and out once, twice and finally fading to black completely as he slumped against a suit of armor. The tall brunette standing over him flexed his fingers, then turned and left the hallway.

Little Brendan Ackles didn’t get up.

"Alright you two. Sit!"

Harry and Ron flopped into squashy armchairs near the Room's fireplace, broad grins on their faces. Draco glared at them from where he stood pressed up against the door.

"What is this place? Do Gryffindors have access to all secret bits of the castle?"

Ron scoffed. "Not unless you're Fred and George. This is the Room of Requirement - "

"That's a horrible name. Terribly plebeian," Draco sniffed.

"We'll, I didn't name it. As far as we know it been here from the beginning of Hogwarts."

"How'd you find it then? You and Granger need a place to snog on peace?"

Ron pinked, but didn't back down. "Fred and George showed me once. I showed Harry."

Draco was suspicious. "How do we know this place is safe? A room that can become whatever we need is just a bit too convenient, don't you think? Why if its reading your mind?"

"Well, it has to in order to know what we want, right? Mate, this is Hogwarts - "

"And Hogwarts has always been safe? What happened to never trusting anything if you can't see where it keeps it's brain - "

"You're being unreasonable - "

"No, you're - "

"Oy!" Ron and Draco spun, both red faced and breathing hard. Harry stared at them a moment longer before folding his arms across his chest. "I thought we were here to talk? If you guys would rather shout at each other I can go find Neville or something."

Both boys flamed red, eyes dropped to the ground. Draco moved first, picking up his book from where he'd dropped it on the floor and smoothing a hand through his hair. "I apologize. I am unused to others not ceding to the Malfoy paranoia. Trust does not come easily to me when it comes to magical artifacts an matters of sentience. Please forgive me." He didn't meet either of their eyes though.

Ron stared at him a moment, frowning. "When you do that pure blood thing it makes you seem like a ponce, Draco. It was just an argument, not the beginning of a blood feud. C'mon, before Harry makes us hug it out."

Harry grinned, eliciting smaller smiles from his companions. "That was going to be my next suggestion."

"Fiend," Draco muttered genially as he flopped onto a chaise lounge across from them. "Now let's get down to business. Harry, where do babies - "

"Draco, wait." Ron fidgeted. "Maybe we should talk about the other thing first. This," he shot Harry's slightly pale face a quick look, "this one might take a while. It's a lot more complicated than you think."

Draco shot them both long considering looks, and nodded into the silence. Harry tried not to fidget but he couldn't help feeling like he'd avoided jumping off a cliff without his wand or broom.

"Harry?" His head snapped up at the sound of his name, and he found both Ron and Draco staring at him. "You start."

For a minute Harry didn't know what the blonde was talking about, until he met Ron's eyes and felt a surge of remembrance. That was it! Answers!

"Well, I've only got a theory, mind you. And it's at fetched and insane and you'll probably laugh at me..."

"I probably won't," Ron said, smiling. His hands were frantically rubbing at each other though, and Harry knew he was nervous.

"OK. Uhm. Sev told me my mum was bonded to him before James and that she broke it off real suddenly one day. He doesn't know exactly what happened, but their son, Ronin," he peeked up to see Ron staring into the fire, tense and still as stone, "Ronin was about seventeen months old when he disappeared. One day Sev left my mum and Ronin at home while he went to work, and when he came home that night everything about their life together was gone. He'd brought home a chest of stuff for the kid, toys and blankets and stuff, but there was no kid. No Lily. Everything looked like it did before my mum moved in, cold and dark and plain. He went out trying to find her, but no one, no one remembered he and Lily had ever been together, let alone a son.  He went back home and I dunno, she came back and tried to reason with him. He begged her to give him back his son but..."

By that time Harry was fairly chocked up. Draco was a still as a statue on his lounge. Ron sniffed, dragging a hand through his hair and it stuck up where he'd touched it.

"You said you had a theory?"

"Uh, yeah." He cleared his throat. Sev's story was very sad, and he couldn't imagine living for so long in so much pain. "He said my mum worked in the Department if Mysteries, so maybe she did some kind of spell to make everyone forget about her and Sev and the baby? And I don't know..."

"I'm, I'm not the right age though. You two think I'm his son, but I'm too young."

"Are you?"

Two pairs of eyes shot to Draco, who stared hard at Ron. "I don't think either of us really thinks so."

"You're mad."

"The department if mysteries has a time turner. Maybe more than one," Harry ventured. "Maybe my mum ..."

"It's plausible..."

"Draco - "

"No, no Ron, listen. Your family just got their inheritance, right? Sirius told me, turns out Remus can smell," he shot a look at Harry, "IT."

"Sirius told you?" Ron asked, smirking.

"Fine, I eavesdropped." Ron snorted. "But everyone got it except you."

"You don't know that," Ron said, but there was no heat in it.

"Fred and George had to stay in the hospital wing for two days. You didn't even know."

Ron paled, dropping his head to his hands. "Bloody hell."

Harry shifted, confused. "How's that prove anything."

"Because a Weasley would have gone through the inheritance,” Ron muttered, head in his hands. “A Weasley would have felt it, regardless of age."

"So you're not a Weasley, then. We sort of knew that." Harry scooted forward in his seat. "How does that prove you're older?"

"It doesn't. Draco's just good at guessing."

"Putting the dots together."

"True."

"But - "

"Harry, there are things about magic, I mean wizards always claim their kids. Always. There are no magical people who don't know who their parents are."

"Goblins test for that, don't they?"

"Yes, but they don't always have to. A wizard child that goes beyond their first show of magic without being 'claimed' by their parents or even one parent develops a sign."

“A sign?"

Ron stood warily, dragging a hand down his face as he did so. "Like this." Up went the tail of his shirt and Harry was left to peer at the boy's pale chest, even as his stomach did an uncomfortable lurch to his knees. He ignored that, though, choosing to focus on the task at hand. This was Ron, who was safe, and currently had a shiny tattoo on his chest.

Harry had, as a teenage boy, wondered if wizarding tattoos were any different from muggle ones, and though this wasn't exactly a tattoo he figured it was close enough for him to say a definitive yes. The skin across Ron's sternum glimmered in the flickering light of the room's fireplace. A dark, oily substance seemed to sit on top of his skin, stretched out and in the shape of a raven with its wings outstretched perched atop a cauldron.

“It showed up over the summer, after mum and dad told me everything,” Ron explained.

“Everything?” Draco  murmured, standing to get a better look at the  red-head's chest. “can't have explained everything if they didn't know...”

“They explained everything they knew, and a lot of what they guessed. The story mum used to tell was pretty much her way of bracing me, she said.”

Grey eyes met swimming blue. “Did it work?”

Ron glared at nothing in particular, tears spilling from his eyes and trailing down his face, teeth clenched tight as he shook his head.

Harry squirmed, unsure whether he still had best friend privileges, or if brotherly privilege trumped them and he was still in the clear. He knew Ron, and as uncharacteristic as this show of emotion was, he knew outright acknowledging it would set the boy back, or off, and they'd never get to the end of this. So though he was brimming over with nervous energy because Ron was Snape's son and his brother, Harry knew the best course of action was to keep going.

“So, this tattoo is a family seal or something?”

“Not family, no.” Draco turned, letting Ron pull his shirt down. His  grey eyes were sparking with something Harry couldn't put a finger to. “They're unique to every wizard. There's a well documented case in one of the old Malfoy patriarchal journals about a woman who had twelve children that all sprouted birthmarks shortly after showing magic. None of them were for her husband, but each was for one of his brothers. It was quite the scandal.”

“Malfoy?”

Draco sniffed. “One of the lesser vassals.”

Ron snorted, and Draco refocused his attention on the boy. “You've checked the books already. You’re far too calm to assume otherwise.”

“Yeah, yeah I did. And the day I put all the pieces together he found me in the back of the library.” Ron shifted, half turning to look into the fire. “I think he knew. By the look on my face. I think he may have suspected, but when he saw me, and what I was reading, he knew.”

“Then what the bloody hell are you waiting for!” Draco stared at Ron as if he'd sudden;y grown two heads, incredulity written across every line of his aristocratic face. “If it's just a matter of revealing that you know your true parentage when he also knows it, I don't see a problem. Why are you here? You should be in his quarters?”

“It's not that simply, Draco - “

“The hell it isn't! Ron, the man's - “

“Draco! Shut it!” Harry stomped his foot for good measure, pushing down the pulse of magic trying to break through his skin. “It's not that simple!”

Draco looked between them for a breathless moment, eyes wide and genuinely confused. “But, he's your father. He's yours. I don't see - “

“I have a father, Draco.” Ron said softly. “The only one I've ever known.”

“But -”

“Draco, Sev's spent all these years thinking he'd never see his son again. You know how he can get. He's locked everything about that part of his life away into the deepest part of his mind. Imagine suddenly finding out that your son, who you never thought you'd see again, has been safe and cared for all this time, and under your nose for four years. Imagine what he's feeling inside. His little boy, loved by this entire family, but his. Now imagine Ron. The only family he's known, only to find out he's not one of them and that his real father is one of his professors, and he's seen some of what he's like as a dad to someone else, and a part of him wants that, needs that, even, but it feels wrong, because what about the parents he already has?” Harry stood, acutely aware that both boys were staring at him, but he couldn't be bothered to meet their eyes. Some of their conversation, or some of what he felt about their conversation had somehow bled over to Severus' side of their mind connection and the man's emotions, memories concerning his son, Ronin, were filling his head. He blinked, surprised to feel a trail of tears roll down his face. There was pain, like nothing he'd ever felt because it was so conflicted, like a jagged rock twisting and grinding against his heart. He didn't know how either of them faced it.

“I guess I shouldn't be surprised you know me so well.” Ron’s voice was thick, even as he shuffled into Harry's line of sight. “Didn't think I was that easy to read though.”

Harry gave him a weak smile, forcing Sev's pain away as best he could. They'd have to work on separating their minds better, because Harry didn't like the feeling of channeling someone else. “Older and wiser, I guess.” He considered Draco, who looked thoughtful. “Alright there, Draco?”

It was a moment before Draco spoke, and Ron used the time to dry his face and settle himself. Harry could tell he'd made a decision though, simply by the slant of his shoulders. He made a note to hug the boy when this was all over. Brotherly privilege.

“I didn't think about the family you were leaving, Ron, and I apologize. I couldn't fathom waiting in your situation, but I realize I hadn't really considered your situation. When Sirius approached me, the only concern I had was not being his heir. I'd been bred for that life, and I hated every moment of it. But beyond that, my family wasn't ideal...nothing compared to yours. You've got brothers and a sister and parents that obviously care for all of you. I've never known that.” He reclined on his lounge, watching the fire. “It's almost surreal, to think that you've already got one loving family and about to walk into another one.”

Ron grunted. “Somehow, I feel a 'but' coming along.”

“You're right.” Draco's smile had no light in it. “They love you, and you obviously love them, but they’re not yours.”

“What do you mean? Of course they are.”

“No, they aren't and never have been. How many times have you looked at your family and felt like the odd one out? Like you didn't belong?” His silver eyes were piercing. “How many?”

Ron had paled, his lips gone to a thin line, but harry kept himself quiet. He had heard Ron at least three times over the past four years that he didn't feel like a Weasley when compared to everyone else. He knew Ron was remembering those times, and every other time he'd thought it to himself. Draco had a point.

“You don't have to answer. There's nothing wrong with not feeling at home in someone else's house. Nothing at all. You love them, and they love you. You've spent your entire life there, built an entire life with them, but they're not home.”

And once again, Ron was crying. Harry did scoot a little closer to him then, and settled for wrapping an arm around the taller boy's waist, since his shoulders were far out of reach. And when Ron broke down at Draco’s last words, he wasn't even mad.

“You need to go home.”

An hour later and Harry was very, very tense.

It wasn't as though Ron and Draco were intentionally trying to make him uncomfortable, but the topic at hand was not one he wanted to hear about.

He had been fine as they explained where babies came from, and how muggle pregnancies and births differed, like two witches or two wizards being able to conceive and have a child with no problems and how magical pregnancies usually involved a reduction in the parents' magic. He wasn't sure how that worked, but apparently it was a longstanding magic thing, and there was a whole line of defensive and charmed items for the expecting parents.

It only became uncomfortable when they brought up the ways babies weren't made, the ways doing-the-baby-making-thing could hurt or harm someone and that's when his stomach decided that it liked knots better than none and his palms decided they needed to sweat. And Sev was blocking him, which meant either he was deep in potions or Ms. Etheridge was over, a direction his brain did not need to take him in , especially with flashes of Dudley's pale flabby skin breaking his concentration every so often.

“Harry, are you listening?”

Draco's eyes had gone soft, Harry's mind idly noted, the flinty silver now more of a dark, molten mercury, and that was bad, wasn't it, because it meant that Draco was feeling things for him, and if the Ice Prince of Hogwarts could be moved to emotion for some one other than himself, clearly Harry was pathetic. Either way, he nodded in affirmative, even though he hadn't heard a word Draco had said after 'penetration'.

Ron said something to the blonde teen over his head, and Harry turned to find that he was pressed up against Ron’s side. How that had happened, Harry didn't have a clue, but he wasn't moving, not an inch. Ron was warm and safe, but mostly warm which was something Harry dearly needed since he was cold, right down to his fingertips and he knew the fire was still blazing in the grate across the room but he couldn't feel it, not at all, so he'd suck up all the warmth Ron had to give. Brotherly privilege.

And when Ron wrapped his arms around him and pulled him even closer, Harry went without complaint. If Ron wanted to keep him warm and away from the conversation he really did not want to hear or think about ever again in life, then that was fine with him. Except Ron was speaking to him, and he didn't like that.

“Harry, I know you can hear me.” Harry shook his head in the negative anyway. “Remember that day Hermione accused you of sleeping with Snape?” Harry didn't answer, but his magic did, blasting something against the far wall that fell to the floor in pieces. It lashed out at the room around them, much like it did inside his chest, but Ron was still speaking, so he had to listen. “I know Sev didn't hurt you. But who did? Who hurt you?”

But he didn't want to think about that, he didn't, so he shook his head, trying to shack away the awful memories that were clawing their way out of the recesses of his mind. He didn't want them, those memories, wanted them out of his head and so he pushed, shoved them away, anywhere but in his head and for a second he thought he was free, blissfully free, except something pushed back, and Ron's voice was in his ear.

“Not like that Harry. You need to say it. I know they hurt you and it was awful, beyond awful. I know you're confused and you don't want to think about it, but you have to let it out, Harry. You have to let it out the right way or it'll poison you, too.”

And he was right, harry knew it, felt it reverberate through his magic down to his core because his magic was angry, so very angry and it wanted to lash out, wanted to hurt and break and tear apart and it was only a matter of time before it did to him, in him, and then he'd want to rip and tear and kill others and that way lay madness, his magic whispered, even as it whipped and howled around them, latching onto any and everything in the rom save the three of them sitting on the couch as it vented his pain. Tried to. Wanted to. Harry couldn't think around the building pressure inside him, bubbling higher and higher, so very eager to burst forth and destroy...something, anything, anything at all.

“Harry? Just give me a name, mate. Who hurt my little brother?”

And then there were tears, because someone wanted to fight for him, someone was on his side, he had family willing to comfort him and make sure he was alright, and this was family, not them, not him, and Harry gripped Ron's shirt tight in his fists and let go.

“Dudley.” The word was a soft, shaky whisper nearly lost to the howling of his magic as it shook the very walls of the castle. The sentient building reached out but Harry's magic quieted her before alarms were raised. He wanted Sev, not Dumbledore, but not now. Now he had Ron. “Dudley and P-Piers. T-They beat me up, and laughed at me. Mrs. Figg had just given me these trainers, they weren't new, but they were almost new and they fit, and Dudley had Piers run me down and they took my trainers but my trousers fell, Dudley's old trousers were always too big and I didn't have the belt anymore. Vernon took it after he beat me with it last time. But they laughed at my pants and P-Piers grabbed me, said I'd be good for a round, and he laughed and I fell, and Dudley told me to get lost. But they came back later, at the house, Dudley sent his mum out for ice cream and when she was gone he sat on my back while P-Piers did... I dunno, something went up my...bum and it hurt and they laughed and when they were finished they locked me in the cupboard under the stairs till they were done and then P-Piers left and Dudley dragged me back upstairs to his room and he t-took off his p-pants and t-told me to suck h-him and when I said n-no he punched me, and then he sat on my chest with his t-thing  in my face and I said, I screamed 'STOP' and then he did. He just stopped. I couldn't get him off and when his parents came home t-they s-said I did it, I broke him. He couldn't move, or blink or anything, only breathe. The doctors say he's a vegetable and Vernon, Vernon hates me,” he clung to ron's ironclad grip, unaware that he'd started sobbing or how to stop. “He beat me and he cut me and  he said I was freak who killed his Dudley because my thing won't work and I tried to tell him, I t-tried to tell him that D-Dudley had hurt me, that he'd let P-Piers hurt me, but he never listened, never listens to me.”

There was an almost peternatural silence as he sobbed into Ron's chest. His magic had calmed, mostly, still whipping soundlessly through the room, but the more he cried, and screamed, and mumbled unintelligently into Ron's shirt the better he felt, the jagged rock that had been sitting in his chest since the summer smoothing over and going away.

When he opened his eyes some time later, he was numb. Calm, but numb, warm and calm and Draco was holding a furious bound Hermione at wandpoint.

He blinked at that. The room had changed since the last time he'd seen it. He and Ron, whose chest he had been using as a pillow, were in a recessed alcove of some sort, one devoid of light and filled with the light sound of wind. It reminded him of flying, the wind rushing past his ears, which he assumed was the point. Draco and Hermione were in the 'main' part of the room, the part with both lights and the roaring fire. The couch they'd sat on earlier was nowhere in sight, but it may have become the bed he and Ron were on now, he didn't know. He did know that he was comfortable, and warm and safe and that all he needed was Snape to be puttering around in the background and it could have been the perfect setting.

Minus the prefect at wandpoint.

A hand settled onto his head, rubbing through his hair before settling on the base of his neck. “We should get up now, mate.” Harry nodded, but only because it was Ron, and Ron was safe, and would take care of him, would take him to Snape. He stood from the bed with difficulty, his limbs not agreeing with the change in direction, and swayed for a moment before Ron steadied him. He had a moment longer to soak up Ron's Ron-ness before the older boy was leading him forward, into the light.

“It's about time!” Hermione snapped, unfolding and then refolding her arms. “I've been waiting for more than an hour!”

“Less than half, Granger. Don't try my patience.” Draco drawled.

“What's wrong with Harry?” She ignored the blonde, eyes racking over Harry's shorter form trailing behind Ron. “He's been crying.”

“Harry's fine.” Ron made sure to tuck the shorter boy under his arm before they got closer to the door, and Harry made sure to let him do the tucking. “I just need to get him to Snape.”

“Snape? What on earth would you need to bother that gloriously dedicated and talented professional for?” she sneered.

“Hey, that's my godfather, Granger and I'd appreciate if you'd speak of him with some respect!” Draco glared.

“I'll speak of him how I please, like I care what you think - “

“Well he's my father, Hermione, and I'd appreciate the same.” Ron said over his shoulder. He half turned to look at her, feet away from the door. “Or don't you care what I think either?”

She stared at him a moment, visibly fighting not to speak. Then, “You're sure.”

“I don't think I can be more sure. Or less. Blood tends not to lie.”

“But Ron, he's fantastic!”

“Please don't fight me on this.” Ron's voice was soft, low, calm. It cut through Hermione's words like a sword. “Anything on earth, but not this.”

Her lips pursed, arms coming to fold across her chest. It was a moment of tense silence that followed, and Harry began to fidget. This reminded him of the old fights Ron and Hermione used to have, yes, but there was a different light to it, a different darkness almost. He didn’t like it.

Ron sighed. “We can talk about this later. Harry needs to get to bed.”

“Which is a nice way to say stay away from us, in case you didn’t realize,” Draco snapped.

Harry was out in the corridor before he realized that they’d moved, and was aimlessly staring at the passing walls when a frantic portrait caught his eye.

The small, bald man in the painting was mute, or at least he would have been since he did not have a mouth. His long brown robes were speckled with dirt and mud and the dirty, stark background of his portrait told why. The desert stretched out wide and dry behind him, but Harry couldn’t see much of it because the man was waving frantically at him.

And pointing.

“Ron?” His voice sounded low and slow to his own ears, but it got Ron’s attention, and so Harry pointed, and the little painted man burst into silent tears.

“Blimey, what’s the matter with you?”

The portrait didn’t speak, but pointed desperately down the hallway, waving his little arms near off his body.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Draco murmured from his other side, and harry couldn’t help but agree. His stomach was doing that funny thing it did when he was close to an Episode, as he’d heard Sev murmur to himself, and figured his best bet was to get to the man before one did indeed take place.

“You want us to follow you?” Ron asked. The portrait shook his head in the negative, holding up seven fingers then pointing down. “Seven down? Seven floors down?” The portrait continued to cry, but nodded, then began to mime what Harry could only assume was a small person with a stomach ache.

“Someone’s hurt in the dungeons.” Draco’s face had gone to stone, and Harry looked away, trying to shove the roiling feeling in his stomach away. Someone had hurt a Slytherin, a small Slytherin, probably one of the firsties. A cold breeze seemed to pass through his skin, and Harry shifted closer to Ron, who put an arm around him, even as they started to walk.

“We’ll take care of it. Go alert some of the other portraits, will you? We may need help.”

“He can’t speak, Ron. The other portraits won’t let him into their sceneries. Thank you though, Dilbert. We’ll take it from here.” Harry hadn’t noticed Hermione standing with them, and practically plastered himself against Ron’s side at the sound of her voice. It wasn’t like he hated her, or was afraid of her. No, harry was scared for her. She was a trigger for his anger and confusion, and his magic had practically lurched forward at the sound of her voice.

Ron had an iron grip on his shoulder, so that was fine. He could trust Ron. Ron was family.

“Don’t either of you know a shortcut downstairs?” Draco’s voice had an edge to it that made Harry’s stomach, already upset, turn with agitation. He needed Severus, and he needed Severus now. He couldn’t understand how the man couldn’t feel him poking at their mind barrier, until he remembered Sev had spent the evening before entertaining Ms. Etheridge, and hadn’t wanted harry to eavesdrop.

“Fred and George didn’t share all their secrets, mate. We’ll have to run for it.”

“What about the map? Harry, don’t you – “

But harry didn’t hear her. The map. His dad’s map. Four friends building something together all through school. The closest friends. Betrayal. The map. The marauders. Harry grabbed a fistful of Ron’s shirt and pulled, unaware that he’d bent over at the waist and had his eyes clenched shut. He only realized that something was different when he felt Ron’s hands in his hair, and the boy shouting at his girlfriend. “ – saying things that upset him. Merlin, Hermione, you’re brilliant, but you’re the dimmest when it comes to seeing what’s right in front of you.” Ron’s hands shifted, and Harry forced himself to breathe. “Harry, bud, I’m going to put you on my back, alright? We’ve got to get downstairs, and I can get you to Sn-Sev quicker that way, alright?”

Harry nodded, and felt Ron maneuver him onto his back. Draco mumbled something and some sort of harness thing wrapped around his back and thighs before a sticking charm stuck him to Ron’s back, and then they were moving. Harry held on, tucked his head against Ron’s shoulder and focused on keeping the magic begging to course through him at bay.

They were four floors down when the stray thought crossed him mind that Ron was a lot more fit that he’d thought possible. More Snape-gene benefits? That would be interesting. He didn’t know Ron to be particularly concerned with fitness, since wizards didn’t seem to care about it in general, and the little exercise they got from Quidditch and spell-casting wasn’t enough to keep Ron, and Draco, he realized, in good enough shape to run down seven flights of stairs. The idle ramblings of his brain soothed him a little, enough so that he was aware of when they hit the dungeons, simply by the change in the air.

Ron stopped, panting, and harry squirmed in his harness. He was not a baby, which was exactly what the harness reminded him of now that he was aware enough to think about it. Draco cancelled his spells and Harry slid to the ground, only opening his eyes when his magic gave an angry pulse.

“Up there. He can’t move.” He didn’t even question how he knew, but he did, and Ron took one look at him before nodding. Harry stood where he was, counting and then trying to list all the potions ingredients he knew. They weren’t in a part of the dungeons he recognized, but that could be because he was only looking at one spot because he needed every inch of his concentration to not slip into crazy-Harry mode. He was still numb, in that the messy emotions he’d released on Ron were still held at bay, but he was aware enough to know that there was trouble coming.

Up ahead, Draco hissed, even as Ron dropped to his knees, gently gathering the small limp body to his chest. The child's face was bruised and bloody, the slim wrists broken and bruised under discolored skin. Draco whipped out his wand, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. Someone had attacked one of his snakes. He sent a splash of magic down the hallway, the most detailed identifying spell he knew. It came back to him blue, the shade of a tall figure, no more than a blurred shadow, indistinguishable because of the hood pulled over their head. He snarled, his magic jumping in his veins and sending sparks around his wand. Ron cast a partial body-bind on the form, while Hermione watched. Before he could properly form any annoyance at the girl she drew a short, sharp line from the little boy’s head and linked it to a series of spells she cast down the hallway. Draco wanted to sneer in annoyance, but he couldn’t bring himself to deride someone for trying to help one of his snakes, especially when she looked beyond furious. Years of humiliating and irritating the girl had shown him what to look for and the light in her brown eyes was definitely not one he’d wish to see pointed at him. He shivered in the breeze, and pulled his robes tighter around himself. Hermione’s casting had frizzed out her hair, even more than usual, and he almost missed Ron’s tall form stand with the child in his arms.

“You shouldn’t move him. It’s not – “

“It’s better than letting him lay on the freezing cold floor. We’ve got to get him to Poppy.”

“Not Poppy, Snape. Slytherins don’t use the hospital wing. Granger, what do you have?”

The girl was practically vibrating with restrained fury, and her hair waved dangerously in the air. “Sixth year ravenclaw. There are hair strands on the floor, I’m waiting on – “ There was a flash of blue from the ground, then a string of floating symbols appeared in the air before her.  She stared at them, even as the temperature in the hallway dipped, and Hermione shivered, folding her arms across her chest, her wand clenched tightly in her hand. “Daville Scopeton. We need to get a professor.” She turned. “If Harry – “

Hermione froze as if struck and Draco turned to the end of the hallway, only to find a pale, floating Harry. His blood ran cold, and he felt himself take a half-step back. Unlike the other times Harry had ‘maged-out’ as he called it, Harry’s face was completely calm, his eyes bright and cold and hard. “Harry?”

The green eyes didn’t move from the small beaten form in Ron’s arms. Draco tried again, and resisted the urge to shiver. Something was not right. Harry stared hard at the slytherin first year’s small, pale face, and then he rocketed up the stairs, a high, gusty wind whipping through the corridor, and Draco’s stomach dropped.

“Bloody hell.”

Granger spun, Ron’s voice breaking her out of her trance, a stasis charm flying from her wand to the child in Ron’s arms. “Get him to the great hall quickly, but be gentle.” To Draco she said, “You know the fifth law of Luviere, correct?”

Without waiting for his reply, she took off down the hallway, leaving Draco to catch up.

As he pelted down the hallway, Draco felt his stomach clench. Granger should not know about the fifth law of Luviere. Granger should not know about any law of Luviere. They were Dark Magics. Sure, they were the basics, but it was still dark magic. Granger should be trying to report him to Dumbledore on the assumption that he knew any of them. The world had suddenly been tipped on its head and nothing made sense.

But he could worry about that later. Right now, he had to make sure that Severus found Harry before the teen killed someone.

He hated Thursdays.

Thursdays were always terribly days, bound to be certifiably dreadful from start to grisly finish. He had four double potions classes on Thursday, one after another, and besides that he had mostly Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs on Thursday. The lower years. Something, if not everything, was bound to go wrong , terribly, terribly wrong, and he’d be left to clean it all up. It was designed to kill him, he was sure.

At least he had had a good Wednesday. Harry had demanded cuddle time. He had no problems acquiescing, since the boy had to deal with Dumbledore (he’d offered to step in and tell the old geezer where to stick his punishments but Harry had mystified him with a stubborn “No.”) and so he’d spent most of the previous day acting as a human pillow and blanket for one small teen with a weakness for treacle tart (He’d brewed teeth preserving potions beforehand. Harry’s teeth were not going to be ruined). He’d monitored his classes from the couch by use of an enchanted portrait that hung over the chalkboard, and after assigning the first dozen detentions via enchanted chalk had been pleased that the little brats worked even better than if he were actually in the room. If he used that as incentive to spend more cuddle time with the Brat-Who-Was-His, than whose business was that but his?

Nerissa had stopped by the previous evening as well. Apparently she’d taken to charming Neil’s files to hide from him, nothing important, but enough to annoy the man. Severus told her she was beautiful. They’d had tea and biscuits. He found out she was ticklish. It was glorious.

But Thursday had dawned, and Severus knew from the start that it would be bad.

The morning had gone perfectly, which was indicative enough to have him eyeing his roast beef lunch suspiciously. He wouldn’t put it past fate to have a poisonous mushroom in the meal so he’d be up for the rest of the week brewing antidotes. And it’d be a particularly stubborn strain, too. He didn’t even want to eat, nervous as he was, though he’d never admit it to anyone. McGonagall clucked at him from his left, Corbin sneered at him from his right, and Severus dearly wished he hadn’t been reformed because he’d dearly love to curse them both.

He felt the chill before he saw the cause. He shivered, even as the glass all fogged over and crystallized. Some excitable child screamed “Dementors!” which started a minor panic and Severus sneered as Dumbledore rose to his feet, a wave of calming magic coursing form him. Severus pushed it off though, because something was nagging him, something at the back of his mind, something he should have paid attention to…

He blamed his potatoes. There were speaking to him.

And then Harry burst through the double doors, three feet off the ground, a silent, invisible wind whipping around him and through the room, sending hair and robes and other debris swirling through the air. Severus thought a simple retrieving spell would free the cutlery from the whirl, but the knives – they were all knives – all stayed, swirling around and around, glinting in the candlelight like a school of fish, rocketing over to the Ravenclaw table and diving down, down, down…

Dumbledore’s shield blocked the attack, but the damage had already been done. Panic reigned, children screaming, spells rocketing around the room as terrified children tried to shield themselves and accidental magic rolled through the air. Severus was moving, though, signaling to his prefects that they keep all the snakes at their table and calm, and headed towards his son, who’d risen higher into the air and whose magic was an angry tornado with him at the center.

The boy’s mind was a blur of disjointed, angry thoughts. Furious thoughts, thoughts so coated with blind rage that they choked the potions master even as he pushed through the crowd of screaming children and tried to understand just what had set his son off this time.

A child. Slytherin first year. Attacked by a sixth year Ravenclaw. That would explain the knives. Merlin, but his child was furious. There wasn’t even the thin veneer of disassociation that was usually a part of the child’s episodes. Harry was fully conscious, and fully in control of his magic. He hadn’t thought so, truthfully hadn’t thought it possible that the child could control all of the power at his disposal without years of training, but Harry had proved him wrong.

He watched in awe as Harry ripped through the Ravenclaw table, a bowl carving a name into the surface. He couldn’t read the name from where he stood, but he did realize that Harry hadn’t simply gone mad. Something, something had happened.

Behind him, the great hall doors burst open again, The Granger followed closely by Draco skidding to a halt, the tables of the great hall all jumping into the air and dissimilated into teeny, tiny pieces. Dumbledore stood in the middle of the room, ineffectually casting containment and even distracting spells at the small teen – Merlin, Harry was tiny – even as the table shards, tiny slivers of wood, swirled through the air like a wave and dived at a tall, dark haired teen hurriedly casting shield spells. Dumbledore magicked an iron dome into being at the last second, deflecting Harry’s attack, the impact reverberating around the room like the sound of hail on a steel roof, and the sound shook Severus from his stupor. Harry wanted to kill someone. This was no time to gawk stupidly.

He reached into the recesses of his mind and pulled the boy’s consciousness to him. Harry did not stop, sweeping the center of the room clear but for the tall Ravenclaw, the force of the boy’s magic hard and resolute, shoving him and everyone else backwards. What seemed like a shimmering dome of water separated the two of them from everyone else, and Severus felt an insane thrill of pride at his boy’s prowess.

FOCUS! Three shrieked.

He gave Harry’s mind presence a tight squeeze, only to receive a mild head-butt to the chin in return. ‘Stop it, child. This is not the road you want to go down, I promise you.’

Harry seemed to shudder, both in their minds and in the air. ‘He beat up a first year. Left him in the dungeons to die. Doesn’t he deserve the same? Doesn’t he deserve something?’

‘It is not up to you to exact justice, little one, or revenge.’

‘Who will, then? Dumbledore?’

At the side of their little meeting between their minds, Severus felt Dumbledore making an effort to batter down Harry’s dome. It frightened him, the ferocity with which Dumbledore cast; if Harry collapsed from exhaustion – surely his little body couldn’t take much more – the old man’s spells would obliterate him.

‘Yes, Dumbledore. I know he hasn’t been fair to you, but a child has nearly died. He must take it seriously. Give him a chance.’

What felt like a sneer crossed Harry’s mindscape, and then the Ravenclaw was expelled from the dome, tripping over a fallen bench and slamming into a wall. In his place went Dumbledore, sucked through the wall he’d been casting at without ceasing. The elderly wizard rolled to a stop in a heap of robes, then used magic to right himself. His eyes, used as they were to twinkling, blazed with a fury Severus had never seen. He looked on from Harry’s point of view and felt the boy’s magic give what could only be described as an annoyed huff.

‘Let the aurors in. And don’t let Scopeton get away.’ Before he knew it, Severus stood in his own body, and there was a mighty wail from the wards.

He had never thought much of his position as the secondary ward holder, but feeling the full weight of the school’s wards, Dumbledore’s share somehow having been shunted from him, left him staggering and panting for breath. So the old man wasn’t as frail as he thought he was.

“Expelliarmus!”

Through a thick haze covering his vision, Severus saw the Granger disarm Scopeton, whose wandwent fling into the air. With more effort than he though necessary Severus sent a blast of enegy at the airborne focus,sending it away from the girl’s outstretched hand. The look on her face was one short of murderous, and Severus truly didn’t trust her not to  snap he wand in two.

“You-a I-a bind-a now-is – “

“Granger what are you doing!” Draco screamed. “That’s a student!”

“Yes, but he’s not alone. Come-is out-is him-is now-a.”

Severus spun, swearing loudly, shoving the Hogwarts consciousness out of his mind and dropping ever one f his shields, letting the wards drop as he raced to correct the girl’s blunder. A pitch black frothing mass of magic ash rose from the shuddering Ravenclaw like a legion, forming a hollow disembodied skull over the amassed students.

Granger staggered back, her face pasty white before he reached her, casting his own containment and binding spells. Stupid girl! She should have known better. There were students here, children. Dark magic was not cast in the presence of children, not unless they were to be corrupted, or sacrificed. It was not done. To cast a Dark spell amidst children, young or old, terrified or not, prime vessels for the angry spirit shouting obscenities over their heads was enough to warrant a cell in Azkaban. Did she want to end up like Bellatrix Lestrange? Had she learned nothing? Was she truly the next Dark Lord?

And then Severus gave a small, smug smile, the heady, euphoric rush granted by casting Dark Magic overwhelming his senses. His thoughts calmed in one fell swoop, and with a saunter that would make Lucius Malfoy weep, he crept forward. He was all powerful. Unstoppable. Indisputably magnificent. What had he to fear?

The spirit above writhed in his hold, bucking and twisting in rage and Severus laughed, amused beyond reason at the absurdity. This shade, this flimsy imitation of life, of magic, sought to best him? He chuckled anew, twirling his wand between his fingers as he absently banished his outer robes to his rooms with a thought. “You will bow, Legion. And then you will taste death.”

The spirit screamed, throwing itself against his hold. “I am and I will be! The blood in my veins arks me as ruler supreme! You cannot kill me, fool! I cannot die! I am! I am!”

Severus chuckled again, genuinely amused. Why had he waited so long for this? Denied himself his true worth, his full potential, what for? With a sharp downward twist of his wand, Severus dragged the spirit forward, its furious raging mixing with the terrified screams of the children nearest him in a glorious cacophony of grace.

With a bang, the great hall doors burst open behind him. There was a swear and then a reducto aimed at his back, followed by stunners. Severus sneered, neatly sidestepping the first volley of attacks and negligibly doing away with the spirit. It took a few extra twists, since he wasn't about to use the spell aloud and have the Aurors nail him for dark magic, but it was done, and with a screeching and wailing and gnashing of teeth the loathsome Legion was gone, the air bereft of screams and filled with shouts of "No!" "Stop It!" "He saved us!" It took a moment, a spare one, in between the curses and stunners he had to avoid, to see that the children were yelling at the Aurors, and that less and less of the wizard police were firing at him.

At long last it was only one still firing, before Bones emerged from the recesses and yanked his wand arm down. Severus gave the man a smirk over the approaching stunner, standing still and letting the spell's magic wash over him...and dissipate. 'My,' he thought to himself, 'I do love being powerful.'

Bones, though, had questions. Damn. "You say he saved you?"

A Hufflepuff, a tall, trembling Hufflepuff, stood from the mass of students huddled against the wall. "Y-yeah. He saved us from the...thing. We'd be dead if he hadn't stopped it."

Bones looked between the student, Snape standing calm and collected and the glimmering dome still separating Harry and Dumbledore, before refocusing on the student. "What exactly happened here?"

There was a cacophony of gibberish as all the frightened children fought to get their words in and Severus sneered at Bones genially. She should have known better. It was another minute of futile shushing before she finally had to bellow "ENOUGH" at the little snots, and then the single Hufflepuff spoke.

"Uh, we were having dinner, same as usual, and then Harry floated - "

"Floated?" Bones asked, eyes flicking again to Harry's weaving form.

"Uh, yeah. HE wasn't touching the ground at all, and he made everything spin and the knives dive at that one kid, from Ravenclaw - "

"Scopeton. His name is Scopeton." Draco said neatly, absently readjusting the cuffs of his shirt. "You may want to write that down, Madame Bones. And bind him."

The Hufflepuff nodded, and with a flick of her head an Auror moved to bind the student where he sat limply against a wall, shivering. "GO on."

"Ah, well, Harry came in completely furious and tried to kill Scopeton, but Dumbledore got in the middle of it and then they started fighting, only Harry put up this barrier so none of us would get hurt, and - "

Bones eyes were narrowed. "Did he say that?"

"N-no, no, but - "

"Please, Aunty, we could feel it." Susan Bones shuffled into view, slightly pale but unharmed, and Severus couldn't help the wave of satisfaction as his mind and magic sought out the students around him. Terrified, a little hungry or put off their food whatsoever, but none of them hurt, not a inkling of dark magic on them. Damn, but he was good. He tuned in again when Bones seemed to be getting angry. Better pay attention.

"We had a student attack the headmaster, and you're telling me it's not his fault?"

"Please, Madame Bones - "

"Harry isn't in his right mind, Ma - "

"He had a reason. "

Severus felt his stomach clench at that voice, and turned despite himself to the Great Hall doors. There, an impossibly small bundle held in his arms, stood one red-haired teen by the name of Ron. It bothered Snape on a deep emotional level that his mind refused to call the child Weasley.

"I'm not saying it was a good reason, but Harry's not dumb, and he's not off his rocker" this was said with a glare in the Granger's direction. "But Scopeton did this," he said, gesturing gently to the bundle in his arms, "and I can't blame him for wanting to take it out of his hide."

"You think he should have attacked Dumbledore?"

"Harry attacked Dumbledore?" Ron's red eyebrows were lost to his bangs. Auror Bones motioned to the dome, and those dark blue eyes widened in shock. "Bloody hell, mate."

"Launguage, Mr. Weasley."

"Uhm, should I finish saying what happened?" The Hufflepuff seemed confused, and that was only fitting. He was supposed to be recounting the events of what had happened over dinner, but the fog was starting to clear from Severus' mind, and  he was glaring straight through the brat's head. The imbecilic child took that to mean he should get back to the story. That was the problem with the Puff's. They couldn't read his silent looks like his snakes could.

"Yes, please do. This is going to take a whole lot of paperwork, and I may as well get the full story."

"Uh, well, while Professor Dumbledore and Harry started fighting, Scopeton was trying to run away, only Granger pointed her wand at him and said - "

Here, Severus lost all pretence of caution. He glared so hard at the trembling Puff that even the students behind him felt it, shuffling and looking anywhere but at him. The stocky boy gulped, and floundered. "She told him to stop, but he didn't, and this huge black things came out of him and - "

"Mr. Donahue! I am shocked at you!"

Severus felt his heart lurch. "Minerva, do shut up! The child has been through an ordeal and has seen enough. Let him finish, lest we all have to suffer for his inability to do anything correctly and I commit an act worthy of Azkaban." He hoped to look he gave her was meaningful enough, but he doubted it. There was something to be said for Gryffindors, and reading between the lines was not it. Still, she subsided, and Donahue completed his tale.

"Uh, yeah, and the black thing was gonna get us, except Professor Snape stepped in and caught it in a webby thing, the spell was wicked fast, and he fought it, and banished it just now." His grey eyes flicked between Bones and Snape. "He did good. It was coming right at us, and I don't know what it was, but I'm pretty sure it could have hurt us."

"Worse. Scopeton was being possessed, and had the spirit touched any of you it would have split into separates and possessed only Merlin knows how many of you. You'd have been dead in minutes. Thank you, Donahue. One hundred points to Hufflepuff for the preservation of justice. I assume, Madame Bones, that you are done with the children?"

Her eyebrows in her hair, Bones nodded. "I am. I may need to summon Donahue again for more details, but for now - Good heavens, child! what is wrong?"

Severus swore to high heaven in his head, for Granger had fainted. Still conscious, yes, but deathly pale and bleeding heavily from her nose. He should have known. In two strides he was knelt by her side and shoved away a trembling Draco, supporting her head and weaving a restoration spell over her disguised as a diagnosing charm. "Over worked. Magical core depleted. What stupid thing have you been doing behind my back, Granger?"

He gave her a glare fit to flay a dragon beneath the curtain of his hair, ready to stun her unobtrusively lest she try to be noble. "I was, I tried to get into the dome?" Merlin, but was she asking him? "I wanted to try to calm Harry down?"

Thankfully, everyone around took her questioning tone for head damage, and Madame Pomfrey had bustled her up into a stretcher and out of the hall before Severus could think of a way to let the child know that her cover story was sufficient but that he was going to murder her as soon as she was well enough. Madame Pomfrye and the other members of staff were all giving him looks though, and Severus couldn't decide if they were pleased, proud or predatory. It made him irritable. Thankfully, that was fine.

"Prefects! Gather your house-mates and retire to your common rooms. There will be no deviations. I want a headcount completed in fifteen minutes and reported via house-elf to me no less than a minute after that. Dinner will be completed only after that, so do. Not. Dally. Dismissed."

With perfect calm, he sauntered over to where the teachers and aurors were gathered, uneasily noting that several aurors peeled off and followed the children out the door. Corroborating the story. clever. It tied his stomach into knots. Ron and the tiny child were gone, Severus assumed to be bustled over by Poppy, and he gave a silent sigh at the night he was about to have. "Madame bones, I request an hour before I peacefully follow you to the Ministry. The child's name must be obtained and his parents notified and collected. It seems as if Dumbledore will continue to be occupied for some time," here he paused to look over his shoulder, where his son and the Headmaster seemed to be having a staring contest, but he wasn't that naive, "so it falls to me to see this done."

"To you, Severus?" Minierva asked.

"Unless I am mistaken, in which case feel free to correct me, please, but as the holder of the wards, since the headmaster is indisposed, I am the pseudo headmaster until he can be reinstated. If the Hogwarts by-laws have been altered since I was employed please do tell me. I'd rather not deal with parents." He sneer was completely genuine.

Minerva smiled a little too knowing. "No no, you're correct. My mistake. I would have thought the wards would have been passed to Filius."

"Heavens me, Minerva. I don't have the magical fortitude to hold them!" Flitwick beamed up that them, an extra twinkle thrown Severus' way and the wizard glared right back. "After Albus, Severus here is the only one who has the capacity to hold them in stasis, let alone reinstate them after they'd fallen."

And that gave Severus pause, because he hadn't remembered reinstating the wards. He remembered a barest sliver of thought as he faced the aurors and the spirit was gone that he should close the school up lest some idiot think to invade them, but beyond that... was he truly that powerful?

"Professor Snape, while I would love to take you into the Ministry to file your statement, there is no need to, as that can be done here, or in your office. If you don't mind I'll be taking your statement personally, due to your history - "

"Am I not to be arrested?"

Amelia Bones had the temerity to smile at him. Severus was too confused to glare back. "For using dark magic? No." At Severus' suspicious look, she grinned. "According to the law, the Headmaster, even pseudo-headmaster, can cast any magic deemed necessary to ensure the safety and security of his staff and students, up to and beyond the Unforgivable Curses."

Severus stared, dumbfounded.

It explained so much! Dumbledore's disregard for people's well-being, his blatant use of spells, all of it, even the way he played with people's lives, he could justify by saying it was to protect his students. As a matter of fact, the damned old wizard did justify it that way. 'The greater good' suddenly made sense. And to think, he thought the man was untouchable, only to find he actually was. 

"Professor Snape?"

He blinked, only to find a sympathetic Minerva gazing at him. He mustered up a sneer, to which she smiled, and spun away on his heel. Madame Bones had transfigured a set of chairs and a small table into being and was gazing expectantly in his direction, the wash of the dome lending a violet tint to her hair. Shaking himself, Severus strode over and settled himself across from her, pretending to examine the way the dome lit his skin blue. He determinedly did not meet her eyes, not willing to chance her seeing how her revelation had shook him, because really.

There went his escape plan.

He had been all set to go to the Ministry, break out, grab Harry and disappear. Truthfully, it hadn't been that clean cut. He still hadn't decided if he was going to drag the Granger along with them or kill her in her sleep, and if he was willing to keep in contact with Ron, and by extension the Weasleys, and if he'd stop by Neil's office or not on the way out to let him know, "I've been arrested for using dark arts in front of children and I'm going back to the scene of the crime to grab my son and disappear into the night. Take care!", but the basics, the basics had been set in stone.

Sort of.

Madame Bones was smiling at him. He could tell by the way his scalp tingled. He peeked up through his hair and glared. She was beaming. "Is there as reason for that repulsive expression, Madame?"

"Well, I think so. It's not often I meet a former Death Eater, even a spy, that is willing to take the fall for a misguided teenager and lose his career, the life he'd set up for himself, to keep that child from the horrors of Azkaban. I'm impressed."

Damn and Blast! How did she know? Severus glared harder and ruthlessly resisted the urge to sulk. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh come now, Severus. I know enough about the Dark Arts to know that firstly, a spirit possessing a body doesn't just come out because it feels like it. There are bindings in place. Something had to draw it out, and I know enough about you that you're too damn stubborn, if nothing else, to let a spirit get out of your control. No, an inexperienced spell-caster drew the spirit out, there was a problem in the incantation, perhaps the pronunciation, and the spirit got out of hand, you dropped the wards and took over."

Severus did not gape, but he was close. Madame Bones smiled. "It helps to have a Legilimens on staff. Especially one trained specifically to work with children."

The Auror standing behind her bent at the waist and smiled. "Hey. Sorry about your plan. Didn't mean to blast it all to hell."

Severus glared, and then transferred that glare to the bit of table directly in front of him.  "Are you going to arrest her?"

There was silence for a moment. Severus did not look up, mind furiously working to pull threads of thought together. If he could convince Bones that Granger just needed guidance,  he could have provisional custody, perhaps more visits with her parents, create a program to show her where she'd end up if she continued on this path -

"No, I don't think we will."

He just barely managed to not visibly deflate in front of them both, and was glad of it when the American wizard spoke.

"In all my years of Legilimency, I've never seen a mind work like yours."

Severus stiffened, eyes narrowing to slits and boring a hole in the man standing feet away from him. "Kindly stay out of my head, unless you want to lose yours."

The man grinned sheepishly and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Sorry. But it's, its attractive, you know. All minds have a sort of voice, and yours is just MUSIC, pure stealth and death and a protective streak to make a dragon jealous. I only wanted to get close, but you, you pull me in."

Severus shifted, unsure just why the description made his face heat the way it did. "Just, stay away." The wizard nodded, and he refocused.

Amelia looked between them. "What was he thinking about?"

Severus glared, furious, and then doubled it when the wizard answered. "He, he was weaving a web. I mean, he was thinking of ways to keep the girl safe, out of Azkabizy. Provisional custody, mentorship, visits to Azkaban and St. Mungoes, laying out a correctional plan in the space of seconds, bloody beautiful." He flushed under the weight of their stares, and backed up a step. "Sorry. I'll leave you two to it, alright?"

Severus watched the man leave, the Great Hall doors closing behind him, in a bit of a stupor. Madame Bones took pity on him. "He thinks you're cute. Got his potions mastery this past year after hearing how you were only sixteen when you got yours. It's not his best subject, and the US' Auror standards are a lot more specialized than ours, but he got it. You're a bit of an idol to him. Oh come now, don't do that." Severus had made a face, and was pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's a sweet child."

"Madame Bones, at the risk of never getting this statement taking under way, I will remind you that I am a professor at one of the few schools in Britain. I have my fair share and then some of love-struck children to look after, and do not need another added to that. And I hardly think he's a child."

She smiled at him. "He’s barely nineteen. His training started five years ago because his talents were making life near impossible. He had a choice of the Department of Mysteries or Aurors, and picked fighting crime. He calls himself ‘The Mage’ when he thinks no one listening; something to do with a comic book. He's adorable."

"Asinine."

"Perhaps. Shall we begin then?"

"We shall." He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "Do you want the true story or the one I made up."

"Let's stick to the fake facts and add a few things. There's no need to ruin the child's life." She was quiet a moment, fingering the dictation quill already laid out between them. "Why would you do it, though? Why protect her? It hardly fits your MO as the 'greasy bat of the dungeons'."

Severus ignored the question, but when she continued to stare at him expectantly, he sighed. "I don't have a reason, I just did. She's a child. I can see all that she can be, good and bad, and I don't want her to make the same mistakes I did. She has the potential to be the greatest threat the wizarding world has ever seen -”

"Surely you're joking?"

He stared at her levelly. "I never joke. Hermione Granger is a great witch. She needs to stay great, perhaps become greater, but stay far, far away from the dark."

"And you think you can help her do that?"

"Who else will? Who else will look at her and see all of her potential, not just the nice bits, the dark, the ugly, the fearful? Who else will see it and think to avert it? How many will ignore it, or worse, try to cultivate her to the other side? Who else CAN? If you've never walked the shadows yourself you can hardly keep someone else from doing it. This isn't dreamroot, or cannabis, it doesn't work that way. The dark is a near irresistible pull on one's soul, it ignites and sets ablaze the darkness already in each of us. It is nothing to play at. If I don't do this, no one else can."

By the end he was panting, and it took a moment to realize he had moved to stand. Drawing himself together, Severus regained his seat, motioning for the recording to begin.

“I do not have all day.”

~_~

It was late. Later than he had ever intended it to be. This had gone on longer than he had wanted it to. There were things he had to say.

The problem was, Ron didn't know how to say them. Especially now, when his...his best friend was locked in some sort of epic staring contest of the ages with the Headmaster, both their hair and clothing whipping in an invisible wind inside the dome Harry had thrown up hours ago, and the man he wanted to talk to was quite clearly completely focused on his...son.

It made him feel all weird. To know what he knew and that he held their lives, all of them, in the balance. Ron had never asked for that type of responsibility.

It had seemed simple enough, over the summer. He sort of figured, always had, that he was different from his siblings. Their hair had always been just a shade or seven lighter than his, but he put it down to one of those things that just happened. Everyone in their family's eyes were either brown or dark brown, Arthur being the first in generations for the light hazel, according to Aunt Muriel...who wasn't his aunt any more. Blimey, that felt good. He'd had this dark, piercing blue for as long as he'd known himself. His mother, Molly Weasley, had told him he was special. He supposed he was, but not in the way he'd been led to believe.

Somehow though, he'd always known he was different.

And when things started changing for him over the summer, the growth spurts, the magic shifts, the voices, he'd taken it in stride, as much as possible. He wasn't a Weasley. Uncomfortable, but easy to swallow. His parents were out there, somewhere, and probably didn't know he was alive. Of course he'd chosen to find them, both or just the one, it didn't matter. He was a Gryffindor, and as terrifying as it was, learning you weren't who you thought you were and having to find that identity all on your own, he had grabbed the challenge by the horns and devoted himself to serious studying.

And, of course it lent itself to other areas. He'd been completely consumed with being 'good enough' and so had lit into his school books with a fire that would have made Hermione jealous if they didn't fancy each other. Honestly, if he'd known that all he had to do to get her to look at him was study more, he'd have done it a long time ago. She was completely barmy, and maddening, but he loved her, and thought there were days she made him want to rip his hair out, he was stuck. Gloriously, immovably stuck.

But he'd discovered things, not only about wizarding genealogy and family magics and identities, but about himself, things he liked, and were determined to keep at, make better. Like he was more intelligent than he gave himself credit for. He wasn't stupid, like he thought. Words looked weird to him, sometimes letters got confused, and that he'd learned, at age seven, to use his magic to turn those letters and words around the 'right' way meant that he had a wealth of control and focus only seen in Masters.

He was chuffed, to be honest.

And that confidence boost had lit into other areas. he wasn't so awkward any more, didn't make so many excuses. All of a sudden he was taking responsibility for things, doing chores without being asked, helping his dad out in the shed, talking to that cute Muggle in the shop in town... It was as if he was a different person, but even better, because it was him, all him, just improved.

He learned that he liked reading, when he realized he wasn't stupid and that it was okay to read ahead, or pick a harder book because the grade-level books, mostly written for Muggleborns and magicals who didn't have family libraries, confused you on things you've known back and front since you could talk. He learned that it was okay to have an opinion, and that he didn't need to feel guilty for sticking to it. That didn't seem like a big change, but it was. In a house where he was the youngest, because Ginny was in a league all her own, only girl and all, he had often grabbed onto an opinion, an original one, and held onto it with all the tenacity of a crab. He'd get picked on a little by the twins, depending on how ticked off they were, and scolded by his parents, but he'd held on, even if he thought he was better off agreeing with everyone else. His stubbornness was inherited, he realized now, but that didn't make the lesson any harder, or sweeter, to learn.

His magic was different, and that was before the voices in his head started. Thankfully he was able to find books in the old Prewett collection his mum kept in the attic about Occlumency, enough at least to drown the voices out, but the deeper applications of it, the world-building, the traps, it all evaded him. Another thing for them to potentially bond over, he guessed.

Except he didn't know if Snape was in the mood to bond. Sure, the man had said that he was available any time, but Ron couldn't help but think that this was a phenomenally bad time.

But after seeing those parents in the hospital wing, how the mother had cried quietly over the kid's bed but the dad had pulled the little unconscious body close, had lit something inside him. So what if it was a bad time for Snape. He'd had seventeen years without his father. Didn't he deserve a minute? He'd given harry weeks with the man; why should he have to wait more?

It had been the day after the returning feast that he first suspected Snape was his father. Aside from the general feeling of home the man seemed to ooze, there was a resemblance. In their hands. He noticed it in passing once, and since spent time daydreaming about them. He had always had odd hands for his family; long, thin fingers, a double-jointed thumb, thin, short nail-beds. Snape had those exact hands, except slightly wrinkly and discoloured, no doubt due to hundreds of hours brewing. There was also the matter of their hair. It was odd, yes, but Ron was semi-desperate. He did not have his parents thick, flyaway hair. His had always been thin and limpish, which is why he kept it cut short. It wasn't oily by any means, but Ron had begun to think that neither was Snape's, but long hours over a cauldron full of heaven knows what could do anything to hair, he guessed.

And then there was Remus. He had managed, just barely, to get the man to not tell him outright, but it had been a close thing. Ron had still been doing research, or pretended to be, because he'd come to conclusions and the mark on his chest had shown up, in separate pieces, in three separate books and he'd gotten cold feet, or something, and had backed off the search for answers.

Other than that, there had only been a gut feeling. One he'd held onto, couldn't get rid of. And when he heard Snape's story he was six different kinds of ready to confront the man then, but Harry needed him, so he'd stepped back. It wasn't like he was desperate.

But he was now. Standing in the doorway of the great hall was kind of creeper material, but he didn't have much of a choice. Snape cut an imposing profile, one long, dark line of black against the shimmering blue of the dome in the otherwise dark Hall. As much as Ron knew the man wouldn't hurt him, he was still a little apprehensive to get any closer.

"When you are done watching me, child, you may come closer. I don't bite on Thursdays."

He'd jumped, but only a little, when the man's voice floated over to him. He had to admit, it was kind of creepy, in a cool way, the way Snape knew he was standing there. He struggled with himself a moment, absently running his hands over the Weasley sweater he'd pulled on minutes earlier, before stepping forward into the circle of light to stand beside his father.

"Uh, sorry about that. Good evening, sir."

"Good Evening, Ron. I do remember giving instructions that no student was to leave their common rooms." The man's voice was mild, but Ron had gotten into enough trouble in his lifetime to know a reprimand when he heard one. Not that he cared.

"Lucky for me, then, I've been in the hospital wing this whole time."

Dark eyes flicked over him, and Ron half-turned, a small smile on his face. Snape rolled his eyes. "Have you eaten?"

"I have. A house elf tried to brain me with a plate of sandwiches. I've got a hard head though, thankfully."

"Thankfully."

Was it him, or were they almost bantering? Ron ran the question over in his head, before deciding that it didn't matter. They were talking, which is more than he thought he'd be able to do months ago. He stared at his best friend, little brother, pain in the arse through the dilating dome. "How long do you think they'll be in there?"

Snape took a moment to answer, those eyes boring over him a moment. "I do not know. This is nothing I have ever seen before. If I didn't know any better I'd think they were having a staring contest and that Harry was winning, but...wishful thinking, I suppose."

"Yeah. dumbledore's old though. He's got to blink sometime."

Snape gave what was most definitely a snort, and Ron smiled. "Mr. - As much as I know you are fond of Mr. Potter, I do not believe that was the purpose of this visit."

"No, you're right, it wasn't." This was awkward. "i wanted to talk to you about your son?"

It seemed like an eternity before Snape answered him. "You don't mean Harry."

"Uh no, not Harry. The other one. Ronin?"

It was possible that Snape could hear his heartbeat, Ron was sure, because it was pounding so loudly in his chest it seemed as if the whole castle could hear. "Ronin." Pitch black eyes locked with his. "What about him?"

His mouth was suddenly dry, words having flown from his mind. Ron blinked up at his father a moment before he croaked. "I'm him."