The students’ arguments halted and all eyes turned to the staff table to see if the brewing riot there would come to pass. As a result, it was several moments before anyone realized that the doors to the Great Hall had been thrown open.

“Enough!” Dumbledore at last pronounced in tones of finality, his magic reinforcing the order. Hooch sulkily put down the bowl of porridge she had been about to throw at Pomfrey, while the rest of the faculty rather guiltily composed themselves. Snape and McGonagall exchanged a final glare, but then a shout from the end of the Hall made all Quidditch-related hostility evaporate.

“Headmaster! Is this the kind of behavior our children are expected to emulate?” Harry, along with the other students, craned his neck to see who had spoken. A tall, aristocratic man with white-blond hair strode down the aisle, a silver headed cane gripped in one hand. At Harry’s side, Draco gasped and hastily straightened his robes.

“Hey, he looks like you,” Harry whispered. “Is that –“

“My father,” Draco agreed tersely. He swallowed hard and watched apprehensively as Lucius marched up to the staff table.

“Good morning, Lucius,” Albus said pleasantly, twinkling at the elder Malfoy. “I find that a brisk debate is an excellent way to start the morning. Would you care to join us for breakfast?”

“Headmaster!” A second man, this one in a funny little bowler hat, angrily waddled in Lucius’ wake. “I demand to know what is going on here!”

“The public demand to know,” a skinny, bespectacled woman interjected smoothly, keeping pace at the small man's shoulder. “Do you have a comment, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore twinkled at them all. “Perhaps if you were to explain what brings you here at such an early hour, Cornelius, I would be able to answer your questions and provide Ms Skeeter's comments.”

Lucius wrestled back control of the group. “We are here, Headmaster,” he announced, “because of yesterday’s alarming events at the school!”

“Could you be more specific, please?” Albus twinkled some more. “Are you referring to the house elves’ running out of pudding, the alarming rise in missing socks, or –“

“Imagine my shock and alarm,” Malfoy continued, ignoring the Headmaster, “when I returned from a business trip abroad this morning and stopped by Minister Fudge’s office to brief him on it, only to learn that Aurors had been summoned to the school last night. Several senior boys were expelled and arrested! Why was I not informed of these events, both as a member of the Board of Governors and a concerned parent?”

“Perhaps because you were on a business trip abroad?” Dumbledore suggested gently.

“There I was,” Lucius proclaimed, speaking directly to the woman who was, Harry could now see, watching a busily scribbling quill, “peacefully seated in the Minister’s office, when an Auror came by and dropped off a report that made my blood run cold! Unforgivables had been used at Hogwarts! My own son was a target! How could such violence have been permitted within these hallowed halls?”

“You poor man,” the reporter cooed. “What did you do next, as a concerned parent and a member of the Board of Governors?”

“Naturally I suggested that we travel to Hogwarts immediately to obtain a full report from the Headmaster. I demanded that the Minister initiate a full inquiry into –“

“And I naturally agreed that we needed to learn exactly what had happened.” The little man in the ridiculous hat had finally had enough of being ignored. He took the reporter by the elbow and turned her to face him. “As Minister of Magic, naturally my first priority is the youth of our great nation. Learning that they had faced such a threat at what should be one of the safest sites in Britain was of course alarming, and so I set off at once, stopping only long enough to collect a Ministry employee whose children were also reported to have been involved.” He waved one hand back to the doorway.

“Dad?” Ron, on Harry’s other side, squeaked in surprise as the last member of the Minister’s party moved forward.

Harry looked on interestedly as Ron and his brothers jumped up and ran to the red headed man who appeared ill at ease.

“How did you feel upon hearing the news of Unforgivables being used at the school, Mr Weasley?” the woman pounced.

“I’m still waiting to have that rumor confirmed, Miss Skeeter,” Ron’s dad said firmly, looking up at the head table. “Good morning, Professor Dumbledore. I hope you will forgive our intrusion.”

“We have nothing to apologize for,” Malfoy snapped dismissively. “We are here as concerned parents – though perhaps given your children’s reputations…”

“Oi!” One of the twins yelped indignantly, coming up behind their father. “We didn’t –“

“- do anything! And it’s not –“

“ – true that there were Unforgivables –“

“- flying around either! It was just Harry –“

The reporter, Miss Skeeter, swooped upon the last twin. “Harry? Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived? Was he involved in this? Did he use an Unforgivable?”

Snape stiffened and shot a sharp look at Dumbledore. This needed to be controlled. Now.

“Don’t you say that about Harry!” Ron yelled furiously, hurrying up. “He was just –“

“ENOUGH!” Once again the Headmaster’s magic surged through the air, and all conversation halted as a silencing spell rippled through the Hall. McGonagall settled back, looking smug, and Snape gave her a grudging nod of respect.

“Thank you, Minerva,” Dumbledore smiled at the elderly witch. “Now, as it appears that most of the students are through with breakfast, I suggest that you all head to classes.” He ignored the inaudible groans and disappointed glances as the children stood up to leave. “I would, however, like those directly involved in last night’s occurrence to remain behind.”

In short order, shepherded by the rest of the staff, the student body had reluctantly departed the Great Hall, leaving behind Professors Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall, along with Harry, Draco, Hermione, Jones, Flint, Wood, Bell, and all of the Weasleys.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore smiled, ignoring both the rapidly purpling Minister of Magic and Lucius Malfoy’s pale-lipped fury. “Now, Minerva, before you cancel your silencing spell, perhaps you would be so kind as to remind Ms Skeeter and our guests of the school’s policy of media relations.”

While McGonagall sternly lectured the others, Dumbledore walked over to Arthur Weasley. “Hello, Arthur,” he greeted the younger man cheerfully. “How are you?” An encouraging nod indicated that the silencing spell had been lifted – at least in this corner of the room.

“I’m fine, thank you, Albus,” Arthur replied, looked over his sons worriedly. “Are any of you hurt? Harry? Are you all right?”

Harry felt a warm glow at having Mr Weasley include him like that. “I’m okay,” he promised, joining in the chorus of the other boys.

“You have reason to be proud of your sons,” Dumbledore smiled. “They were quick to assist Harry, as were several other students.”

Arthur blinked in surprise, his gaze falling on the twins. “That’s… good to hear, Headmaster.”

The twins squirmed, knowing that their father was much more accustomed to having to come to the school to hear about their misdeeds. It was a lot nicer to have the Headmaster praising their actions rather than presenting a bill for damages and explaining their latest detention.

“I’m afraid I did have to admonish one of the boys, who got a little, ah, carried away by the excitement and used both inappropriate language and a particularly nasty hex in plain view of several faculty members,” Dumbledore said apologetically, though his eyes were twinkling like mad.

Arthur sighed. “Ronald,” he began, knowing his youngest son’s temper.

“Er, no.” Dumbledore shook his head.

“Fred? George?” Arthur turned to them. It was extremely unusual for only one of the twins to get into trouble, but it was, he supposed, possible.

“No.”

Arthur stared at the Headmaster. “Not –“

“Erm, yes, it was me,” Percy admitted awkwardly.

Arthur’s jaw dropped. “Percy? Percy was the one who swore and hexed someone? In front of teachers?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dumbledore said. “I was forced to speak very sternly to him and explain that such behavior cannot be tolerated in a prefect. If it happens again, I shall have no choice but to ask that he relinquish his badge.”

Now his brothers were staring at Percy as well. They hadn’t realized that he’d been threatened with the loss of his treasured prefect standing.

“You’d do that for me?” Ron gulped. “But being a prefect – that’s like something you’ve wanted for your whole life.”

Percy colored and shrugged, mumbling something incoherent.

Dumbledore twinkled at Arthur. “As I say, Percy was quite strongly provoked – the boy he attacked had just tried to Crucio young Ronald.” Now Arthur paled. Reaching out an arm, he pulled Ron close, while Dumbledore smiled and withdrew.

“Are you all right?” he asked again, running his eyes over his youngest son.

It was Ron’s turn to blush. “I’m fine, Dad.” He pulled on his ear, looking awkward. “Erm, it was Draco Malfoy who saved me. I mean, he was there before Perce and the twins arrived. He was the one who stopped the curse.”

Arthur turned and looked at where Draco Malfoy now stood by his father. “A Malfoy saved you? Did he know who you are?”

Ron grinned. “Yeah. But see, I was helping Hermione, who was helping Harry, and since Harry’s Snape’s kid, that makes him a snake, so since I was helping a snake, Malfoy helped me.” Arthur blinked, trying to process all that. He looked over to Harry. “So you were hurt too?”

Harry squirmed awkwardly. He still wasn't used to people caring about his wellbeing. “Not much. I mean, yeah, they tried to grab me, but you should’ve seen it, Mr Weasley – erm, I mean Uncle Arthur. Everyone came running and jumped on those guys, and then when it was over, and Draco told on Smythe, Percy went all mental and protective and it was only when that Slytherin prefect grabbed him that he stopped.”

“That pretty –“

“- and shapely –“

“ – Slytherin prefect,” the twins put in slyly.

Arthur stared at Percy again. “Wh-which prefect might that be, son?” he asked, a bit unsteadily.

“Davidellajones,” Percy admitted, very low and fast, staring at his shoes. “ShesstandingovertherewithHermione.”

Arthur glanced over to where the small Gryffindor was standing next to a tall, willowy black girl. Arthur’s eyes widened.

“She’s great!” Harry enthused. “She was even scarier than Flint, Uncle Arthur! And she nearly – erm – well, did something really mean to the one who had hurt me.”

“Really?” Arthur’s eyebrows were at his hairline. Well, now we know that Molly will like her. He eyed Percy thoughtfully, noting the half-embarrassed, half-proud expression. “Boys, let me speak with your brother for a moment.”

Percy’s eyes flew to meet his father’s, then dropped. He hunched his shoulders as if expecting a blow and shuffled a few yards over to the side. Harry and the other boys watched him anxiously.

“Uncle Arthur, you won’t be very cross with him, will you?” Harry asked nervously, remembering the man’s words about swats that sometimes lasted longer than a few seconds.

“Yeah, Dad,” Ron chimed in, looking worried. “He was only protecting me. Please don’t really punish him.”

“C’mon, Dad –“ the twins chimed in.

“- it’s not like it –“

“ – was one of our pranks.”

“Perce the Prat was actually –

“- protecting ickle Ronniekins.”

“You can’t be mad at him –“

“- for that.”

Arthur gently extricated himself and stepped over to Percy. Before he could speak, the prefect blurted, “I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have, but when I heard what he had tried to do to Ronnie, I just lost it. I know the Headmaster is furious and Professor McGonagall told me that if she heard me use language like that again, she’d use a mouth soaping spell, but I –“

“Son, calm down. Take a breath.”

Percy obeyed, then gave his father a sheepish look. “Sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve been in big trouble, I kind of panicked.”

Arthur grinned. “I know – thanks to the twins, I’ve gotten out of the habit of scolding one child at a time. Now then, are your professors very upset with you?”

Percy gave him a sidelong look. “Well… the Headmaster did threaten to take my prefect badge if it happens again. But he was twinkling the whole time and he must have given me about a dozen lemon drops, so it didn’t seem like he was very upset. And, erm, Professor McGonagall only yelled about the language, not about the boils or anything, so I didn’t think she was all that angry either. I mean, you know how she is, when she’s really upset, she doesn’t bother to yell, she just assigns punishments, so the fact that she just scolded me for a few moments…”

“… Suggests she’s not very angry,” Arthur finished. “Yes, well, you know that your mother and I are very proud of your record here at Hogwarts and your being a prefect means a lot to us.” Percy winced. Here it came. “But family is more important, and I’m delighted to see that you have your priorities straight.” Percy’s jaw dropped. “Now. Tell me about this Miss Jones.” While his son goggled at him, Arthur dug in his pocket. “Here, you must need a few galleons so you can take her to Hogsmeade.”

While Arthur was speaking with Percy, Snape caught Harry’s eye and gestured commandingly. So long as rabid journalists were around, he wasn’t taking any chances of the boy’s artless prattle being unsupervised.

Harry obediently trotted over. “Stand by me unless I tell you otherwise,” his guardian ordered sternly. Having Harry safely corralled, Snape looked over at the other students. The Weasleys were with their father. The older students – Wood, Bell, Flint, and Jones – stood in a knot, and Jones had taken the Gryffindor know-it-all under her wing. That left Draco.

Draco stood near his father, waiting for him to break away from the Deputy Headmistress. Only the boy’s pallor revealed his anxiety, but Snape knew Lucius Malfoy’s explosive temper all too well. It was too much to hope that the boy hadn’t experienced it firsthand, and judging from his expression, Draco had indeed learned to fear his father’s displeasure. “Come along,” he snapped at Harry. Potter wasn’t the only child with brutal relatives.

He stepped over to where Draco stood at attention and placed one hand on the boy’s shoulder. Draco flinched, then visibly relaxed when he saw it was his head of House. Harry grinned and – as oblivious as always – nudged the other boy. Draco managed a weak smile before turning back to await his father.

Finally McGonagall turned away from the visitors with a satisfied, catlike smirk, and all three exploded into sound.

“How dare you treat me like an unruly child!” the Minister fumed.

“Hogwarts Gags Guests – Silencing Spell Mutes Minister,” Skeeter muttered to her quill, ignoring Fudge’s gasp of dismay.

“Now, wait! You don’t want to write it like that!” he argued, tugging her to one side.

“Draco,” Lucius began silkily, the knuckles white on his cane. His son swallowed convulsively and Snape could feel him tremble.

“Lucius,” Snape interrupted.

Malfoy’s eyes snapped up from his son, then narrowed as he saw who had addressed him. “Severus,” he acknowledged.

“Hi!” Harry, feeling happily secure in his proximity to his guardian, stuck his hand out. “I’m Harry Potter, Mr Malfoy. I’m one of your son’s friends.”

Lucius blinked. “You… are?” He shook Harry’s hand rather absently.

Draco bit his lip, suddenly hopeful. His father had given him orders to befriend Potter and Lucius had been irate when Draco had confessed their unpromising encounter on the Hogwarts Express. Maybe this turnabout would please his father?

“Excuse me.” A new voice from behind them made them all turn, and Draco saw how his father’s expression darkened when he saw who it was.

“What do you want, Weasley?” As always, he pronounced the name with contempt.

“I wanted to thank your son, Malfoy. He saved my youngest boy from a Cruciatus.” Arthur stepped forward and held out his hand to Draco. “I’m Ron’s father, Draco, and what you did was very brave and honorable. My family and I thank you for helping Ron.”

Draco glanced nervously at his father, but purebred manners won out. “You’re very welcome, sir,” he said, hoping his father wouldn’t erupt over his shaking hands with a blood traitor.

Arthur smiled at him. “Maybe you’d like to come visit us at the Burrow over the hols? Ron tells me you like Quidditch – we usually have enough players to field two teams.”

“Erm, thank you, sir.”

Arthur turned back to Lucius. “Your son is a credit to your family, Malfoy.” He held his hand out. “You must be very proud of him.”

Lucius stared at the outstretched hand then glanced around the room. Virtually every eye was upon him. He swallowed hard. Weasley was a low level Ministry employee, a blood traitor who opposed the Dark Lord, and someone of absolutely no social ranking. But he was also a pureblood of impeccable – if impoverished – lineage and someone who was both well liked and well respected within the Wizarding world. Publicly insulting him would do Lucius little good and might alienate other, more powerful, wizards. “Er, thank you,” he said, choking the words out as he gingerly accepted the man’s hand.

A bright flash nearly made him groan aloud. Of course that bloody reporter would take a picture of this. “Two ancient families reconciled thanks to the heroism of the Malfoy scion!” Skeeter hissed at her quill, then focused on the dark haired child in front of her. “Harry Potter – do you think Hogwarts is too dangerous for you? Do you go in fear of your life? Is The Boy Who Lived living in fear?”

Harry blinked. “Huh?”

“The child is happy to be here. His only fear is for his upcoming exams,” Snape put in coolly, draping one hand over the boy’s shoulder and pulling him backwards to stand against him.

Skeeter’s eyes widened, and the magical camera flashed. “Why is The Boy Who Lived being protected by Slytherin’s Head of House and students?” she demanded.

“I’m sort-“ Harry’s explanation that he was sort of an honorary Slytherin broke off as Snape’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“He was sorted into Gryffindor but has ties to Slytherin as well,” Snape said shortly, though he doubted that the witch would let it go at that.

Skeeter frowned. “What ties? No Potter has been sorted into Slytherin for six generations, and even his godfather was Gryffindor, no matter what the rest of the Blacks were.”

“Godfather?” Harry’s ears perked up.

“Are you terrified at the thought of your godfather coming after you?” Skeeter asked, swiftly stooping to Harry’s eye level. “What are your thoughts about his escape? His betrayal? Do you think he’s coming here to – eeek!” Her interrogation of the child ended abruptly as Snape grabbed her by the elbow and bodily dragged her to the side of the room.

“You will not mention the boy’s godfather to him, or I will terminate this interview and floo to the Quibbler’s office with Potter. Do you understand?” Snape hissed, nose to nose with the reporter.

Her eyes blinked rapidly behind her spectacles. “Does that mean that if I don’t mention the Azkaban break I can interview him?” she pressed.

“Very well.” He released her arm and stepped back. Skeeter gulped down a breath and straightened her robes.

“What business is it of yours anyway?” she demanded shrilly, regaining her composure rapidly once Snape was no longer looming menacingly over her.

“He’s my guardian!” Harry piped up helpfully.

Skeeter, Malfoy, and Fudge all froze, staring at Snape, who sneered back, hoping the sudden hammering of his heart wasn’t audible.

“What?” Fudge exploded. “On whose authority?”

“Death Eater Given Custody of Boy-Who-Lived!” Skeeter sounded positively orgiastic at the proposed headline.

Malfoy started for his son, blood in his eye, and Draco threw up his hands in supplication. “I owled you, Father! I told you all about it!”

Lucius halted; his son’s sincerity was too patent to doubt. “Obviously your dear mother didn’t see fit to pass the message on,” he ground out from between clenched teeth. He shot a calculating glance at Snape. “You have been busy, Severus.”

“I demand to know who is responsible for this!” Fudge ranted. “That boy is supposed to be with Muggle relatives! Who decided –“

“I did,” Dumbledore said quietly, but the power in the calm words halted all other conversations.

“But – but – but I’m the Minister,” Fudge said, almost plaintively.

“Yes, and you are much too busy and important to be involved in such minutiae as individual child placements,” Dumbledore agreed pleasantly, speaking slowly and distinctly for the reporter’s frantically scribbling quill. “Furthermore, as the person who was responsible for the boy’s placement a decade ago, it was only logical that I took charge when new arrangements were needed.”

“Headmaster! Why were new arrangements needed?” Skeeter called out. “Are you confirming that the boy was with Muggles this whole time? Were they unfit?”

Dumbledore exchanged a look with Snape. “Ms Skeeter, I can confirm that for several years Harry lived with relatives who happen to be Muggles. However, circumstances change, and it recently became clear that Harry was not going to be able to stay with them any longer. New arrangements had to be made, and it was with great pleasure that I learned that Professor Snape was willing to take up Harry’s guardianship.”

“A Death Eater entrusted with The Boy Who Lived?”

Dumbledore lost his twinkle. “Professor Snape was a spy among the Death Eaters, Ms Skeeter. His wartime service record is distinguished and has been confirmed by several others besides myself.” His gaze was like blue steel. “I am certain you are not suggesting that either Minister Fudge or myself would permit known Death Eaters to teach at Hogwarts?”

“Of course not! Perish the thought! How can you even suggest such a thing?” Fudge squawked, outraged.

Snape felt Lucius’ sardonic eyes on him but refused to glance his way. “Pr’fessor, what - ” Harry’s confused voice reached him, and he stooped to speak softly into the boy’s ear.

“We will discuss this later. No questions now.”

Harry bit his lip, then nodded obediently.

Skeeter quickly changed her strategy. “My apologies for jumping to conclusions,” she offered nonchalantly. “But why Professor Snape? He is a bachelor, isn’t he? What qualifies him to be Harry Potter’s guardian?”

Snape hoisted one eyebrow and gazed at the Headmaster challengingly. Good question.

Dumbledore smiled. “Severus Snape was a contemporary of Harry’s parents. They were all classmates here at Hogwarts together, and Professor Snape was a childhood friend of Harry’s mother. Who better than an old friend to raise her orphaned child?”

Harry and both Malfoys were now looking at Snape in surprise, and he was ready to strangle the Headmaster with the man’s own beard. How dare he share such private information with the entire Wizarding world?

Lucius’ eyes narrowed. “I don’t exactly remember James Potter and Severus Snape being close friends, Headmaster, and I too was at Hogwarts for part of their schooling.”

Dumbledore waved a negligent hand. “Severus and Lily were always closer than Severus and James, Lucius. But you know how schoolboy rivalries flare up and die down.” Snape barely managed to control his snort of rage. His persecution by the Marauders, casually dismissed as a “schoolboy rivalry”? “But when times were grim towards the end of the war, that is when people’s true natures were revealed. No one did more than Severus Snape to try to safeguard the Potters while they were in hiding, and I am sure they are deeply grateful to Severus for the care and affection he is showing their son.”

Now Lucius was regarding him with naked suspicion, and Snape was practically incandescent with rage at the Headmaster’s blatant manipulation of the truth. Yes, he had done his best to safeguard the Potters – after realizing whom he had betrayed to Voldemort by sharing that bloody prophecy. Yes, he had, technically, been a member of the Order along with the Potters – but they had never seen each other, since his true allegiances couldn’t be known by anyone but Dumbledore. But worst of all, how could Albus just blurt out that he was showing “care and affection” to the brat as if he actually liked the wretch? No wonder the little monster’s eyes were shining like stars! And it was all because of the Headmaster’s creative massaging of the facts. What was he supposed to do with the boy when the actual truth came to light?

“So I take it that Professor Snape has your full confidence, Headmaster?” Skeeter asked, her quill writing busily. At Dumbledore’s nod, she turned to the Minister. “And you, Minister? How do you feel about this?”

Fudge swallowed, feeling trapped. Of course he didn’t want some hook-nosed, unphotogenic nobody to have control – er, custody – of The Boy Who Lived, let alone someone whose wartime record was, at best, open to interpretation. On the other hand, it appeared to be a fait accompli, and to overturn it would mean taking on Albus Dumbledore. He rubbed his hands together nervously. Better to chuck the whole thing onto the old coot’s shoulders – that way, if there were a problem, he had plausible deniability.

His decision made, he moved smoothly into press mode. “Well, Rita,” he said, smiling widely, “as you have heard, as Minister of Magic, I am unable to give personal attention to every child custody case in Wizarding society, even for such a child as The Boy Who Lived. I place my trust in our agencies to ensure that our children’s welfare is carefully supervised, and of course, with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore taking personal charge of this case, I will accept his word that he has found an appropriate guardian for little Harry.”

Skeeter stooped to where Harry was frowning in indignation over that “little Harry” crack. “And you, Harry? What do you think of your guardian? Did the Headmaster choose wisely?”

Harry glared up at the reporter. “It wasn’t the Headmaster’s choice,” he snapped, sounding remarkably like the Potion Master. “It was mine. I asked Professor Snape to be my guardian.”

Skeeter blinked. “You did? Well. Er, Professor, this is unexpected, but it appears you have the support of the Minister of Magic as well as the head of the Wizengamot and The Boy Who Lived.”

“He also has the support of our family,” Arthur Weasley put in. “We were friends with Harry’s parents and have long had an interest in the boy’s welfare. We have missed him these ten years and have been delighted to renew our acquaintance with him since he began at Hogwarts. And we have seen him with his guardian and consider Professor Snape an excellent choice for the role.”

“Another testimonial,” Skeeter said, though the speculation in her eye failed to match her bright, cheerful tones. “My, my, Professor – you must be a truly remarkable man to receive such accolades.”

“He is!” Harry answered, not liking the witch’s sickly sweet comments. “He’s brilliant. An’ he’s got everyone in Slytherin and Gryffindor looking out for me. And when those four boys tried to jump me, everyone helped out. Hermione stopped them when there was no one else around, and then Draco and Ron went and got help, and then Draco saved Ron from the Crunchy thing – “

“Not 'crunchy', 'crucio'!” Draco hissed.

“Erm, right, crucio thing while everyone else stopped the others. And Professor Snape’s got me a room and clothes and a broom and –“ Harry finally stopped as Snape’s grip on his shoulder tightened painfully.

“That’s enough,” Snape said quietly, though internally he was fuming. Little monster! After all Albus did to try and gloss over his Muggle relatives’ neglect, the little idiot starts spouting off about being given clothing and a room, revealing how much he appreciates such basic necessities.

Happily, Skeeter appeared to be sidetracked. “A Malfoy and a Weasley working together. My, my – what is your reaction to all this, Mr Malfoy? Haven’t you known Professor Snape very well for many years?”

Lucius regarded Snape steadily. “Have I known Professor Snape? That’s an excellent question, Ms Skeeter. It is certainly true that we were both at Hogwarts for a few years.”

Harry beamed. “And they were friends then, and now Draco an’ me are friends now!” He slung an arm around Draco’s neck, and Skeeter instantly took a picture. “C’mon,” Harry urged, pulling Draco towards the other students. “Come meet the others who helped in the fight.”

Skeeter, scenting a front page story, followed. “So these are the brave students who helped foil your attackers, hmmm?” Fudge trotted after the reporter, unwilling to have her attention move away from him.

Dumbledore followed to provide introductions, leaving Snape and Malfoy alone, staring at each other.

“Well, well, Severus. So you really were a traitor,” Lucius said, his voice quiet but full of deadly malice. “I should have known better than to trust a dirty little half-blood like you.”

“And if you were such a loyal servant, Lucius, shouldn’t you be rotting away in Azkaban as a martyr to the cause of pureblood superiority rather than pleading Imperius and disavowing your Lord?”

Lucius’ glare should have incinerated him on the spot. “What kind of game are you playing, Severus? How much longer do you expect to be able to cower behind that old fool Dumbledore? When the Dark Lord returns, His wrath will –“

Severus yawned. “Oh, Lucius, you sound like a teenager. I had expected more from you.”

Malfoy blinked in confusion. “What?” How could Snape be so immune to his most threatening manner? Didn't he fear Voldemort's vengeance?

“Look at the Headmaster, Lucius. He is, as you say, a very old wizard. Powerful, yes, but Time is more powerful than anything else, and how many more years do you imagine he has left?”

“But then what are you doing? When the Dark Lord returns –“

“Lucius, the Dark Lord is hardly in his first blush of youth. Yes, he’s younger than Dumbledore, but so is most of the Wizarding world. I’m disappointed in you. We were both little more than children during the first war, but now – I had hoped you’d grown up.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lucius demanded.

“As children, of course we must follow another. But times change. People grow up and come into their own power.”

Lucius snorted in derision. “You really imagine you’re powerful enough to stand against either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord?”

Snape sighed. “You have so little vision, Lucius. Does Narcissa have to explain the Daily Prophet to you every morning?” Ignoring the other man’s rising fury, Snape continued, “Dumbledore’s power is waning as the years march on. The Dark Lord was already defeated once by a mere baby. What do you think will happen as that child ages?”

Malfoy shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Lucius, the Dark Lord has already been defeated once. When he returns, don’t you think he stands a good chance of being defeated again?”

“But that was just a fluke. A random chance.”

“Think like a Slytherin, Lucius," Snape said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Do you truly believe that a Dark Lord at the height of his powers can be defeated by ‘a fluke’? And if he can, was he ever really as powerful as you believed him to be?”

“So you prefer to ally yourself with the old man? Why?”

“The old man is here – the Dark Lord is not. And the old man will not be here forever. When he dies, there will be a power vacuum regardless of where the Dark Lord may be. Who do you think will take Albus’ place as the Defender of the Light?”

Lucius followed his eyes to the messy haired child eagerly assisting the Headmaster with introductions. “You can’t believe –“

“Don’t be naïve, Lucius. Would you ever have been able to drag a reporter of Skeeter’s stature out here if ‘The Boy Who Lived’ hadn’t been involved in last night’s fracas? The Wizarding world has already accepted him as Dumbledore’s de facto successor. The Dark Lord will have no choice but to defeat or suborn him upon His return. That child will be at the nexus of Dark and Light Powers for the foreseeable future.”

Lucius sneered. “And by being a good little lapdog to that old coot, you hope for –“

“Haven’t you realized by now that I’m not a particularly good little lapdog for anyone?” Snape demanded silkily.

“You mean you’re grooming the Potter brat in order to present him to the Dark Lord?” Lucius struggled to understand.

“Lucius! Be a man! You are a wizard in your own right, not a teenager who has to join an older child's gang. Dumbledore’s power is on the wane. The Dark Lord is missing and will have to rebuild his forces after He returns. Why would I ally with either group?”

“You’re setting the boy up as a third power?” Malfoy breathed, his eyes widening. “Merlin, but you have a pair on you!”

Snape allowed the trace of a smile to flicker on his lips. “Let us just say that when the Dark Lord returns, He may find that His biggest challenge is neither Dumbledore nor the Ministry.”

“And the boy?”

He shrugged dismissively. “Is a boy. He requires guidance and a firm hand. I provide that.”

“And the Headmaster?”

“He tries to provide his own guidance. As I expect the Dark Lord to do when He makes His reappearance. We shall see who will win control.” Snape looked sharply at Malfoy. “And you, Lucius? What is it you wish for? Will you remain linked to a losing team or ally with the side that has already won once before?”

Malfoy gave a superior little smirk. “Well, now that I understand that you’re not speaking of that twinkling idiot, let's just say that I am newly intrigued. You are playing a very dangerous game, Severus. If Dumbledore knew you were setting yourself up against him…”

“What makes you think he doesn’t?” Snape purred. “He is old, not senile. Tired, not weak. He has his views of how to prepare the boy. I have mine. If I do not prevail in this, then I do not deserve to prevail in the battle either, do I?”

“What do you want from me?”

Snape shrugged. “Tomorrow’s paper will demonstrate that your heir is within Potter’s inner circle. When the Dark Lord returns, that may be good, or it may be bad, depending on His mood. The instant I refuse to hand over the boy, I will be targeted, but your position is not likely to be so clear cut so quickly. It would be… interesting… to learn about the Dark Lord’s plans.”

“You want me to turn spy?”

“No, Lucius, I want you to continue doing what is best for the House of Malfoy. Would you not agree that keeping all your options and potential alliances open is in the best interests of your House… and your heir?”

Both men turned to gaze over to where the students had been assembled for a group picture – one that would grace the front cover of the next day’s Daily Prophet. Harry, Ron, and Draco stood at the front, laughing, with their arms slung around each other’s necks. Hermione was next to them, a little apart, until a smiling Harry reached out and grabbed her hand. Then she beamed, moving closer. Directly behind the first years stood the three stern faced prefects, arms crossed, while the grinning Weasley twins flanked them on one side and Oliver and Katie mugged for the camera on the other. Hermione glanced backwards once, and Jones reached out a reassuring hand to pat her shoulder, then nudged Percy and gave him a slow wink. Percy’s brilliant blush was immortalized forever by the camera.

“I never imagined you to have this kind of ambition, Severus,” Lucius said slowly, turning to regard him closely. “That in itself is impressive. Consider me… cautiously interested for now.”

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement, his eyes still on the children, laughing and grinning for the reporter’s camera. It’s not ambition, you pureblooded simpleton, he thought to himself. It’s desperation and protectiveness. Wait until some psychotic puts a target on your child’s head and we’ll see what lengths you’ll go to in order for him to grow up safe and well. I’ll make a pact with Merlin himself or a demon from Hell if that’s what it takes to protect that brat. By comparison, cobbling you, Dumbledore, Black, and Fudge into an unwitting alliance and getting Skeeter to print the tale that I want is child’s play.