When Harry next woke, it was to feel the gentle hand of a St Mungo’s medi-witch rubbing his back. He blinked and raised his head, realizing that he’d been drooling on his pillow. Except that it wasn’t his pillow, it was his professor. “Potter.” The man’s stern tones made it clear that he had noticed the puddle of drool currently seeping through his pyjama top.

“Good morning, Pr’fessor,” Harry said guiltily.

“Come along, boys,” the medi-witch said, professionally cheerful. “You’re the last ones out of bed this morning. Get washed and dressed – the others will be waiting for you.”

Snape gave her his best death glare – “boys” indeed! – but followed Potter to the washrooms at the far end of the wing.

Once their ablutions had been satisfactorily concluded, the medi-witch escorted them to a private meeting room near the Headmaster’s office. Entering the room, Snape found quite a crowd assembled around a long conference table.

Fudge was there with Bones, Skeeter, and, predictably, Lucius Malfoy. McGonagall and the Headmaster flanked a still-pale Poppy. A blaze of red caught Snape’s eye and he turned to find Arthur and Molly Weasley, the latter holding Ron on her lap. Next to them sat two unfamiliar adults, at whom Ron kept darting nervous glances. From the fact that they were hovering solicitously over Hermione, Snape deduced these were the Doctors Granger.

“Auntie Molly! Uncle Arthur!” Harry chirped happily from his side, then darted away as Arthur opened his arms wide.

Harry was hugged breathless by his honorary uncle, whose embrace effectively ended his worry that the Weasleys would blame him for Ron’s injury. “Oh, Harry!” The instant Arthur released him, Molly wrapped him in one arm, keeping Ron enfolded in the other. “Are you all right?”

“Yes’m,” Harry answered, once he had managed to get his breath back. Ron grinned at him, a bit shamefaced at being found cuddled on his mum’s lap. Harry grinned back, but decided that if Ron hadn’t witnessed him lying like a toddler on top of his guardian, he wasn’t about to say anything.

“Harry, come meet my parents,” Hermione called excitedly. “Mum, Dad, this is my friend Harry and his fa– uh – guardian, Professor Snape.”

“How do you do?” Snape had to admit the Muggles had excellent manners, and he wondered why the Weasley boy seemed so anxious around them. Ah well, who could understand the minds of children?

“Good morning,” Dumbledore twinkled at the final arrivals. “The elves have kindly laid out breakfast at the back wall, if you’d like to help yourselves. Then perhaps we can get started. I’m sure we are all interested in determining exactly what happened here yesterday.”

Harry instantly focused on the tables at the back of the room. “Ooooh, pastries!” he squeaked and made a beeline for the sugary treats.

Snape followed in hot pursuit and stopped the little brat before he had helped himself to a plateful of unhealthy items. “What have I told you about your eating habits, Mr Potter?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

“But I fought Voldesnort!” Harry whined. “Don’t I get a treat for that?”

“Only after you have consumed a healthy breakfast.” Snape filled the boy’s plate with fruit, eggs, toast, and a grilled tomato. At Harry’s glum expression, he relented slightly. “You may choose one pastry, but if I see you eating it before you have cleaned the rest of your plate –“

“I won’t!” Harry beamed, immediately choosing the biggest, gooiest item with the most sugary icing.

As Harry carried his plate back to the table, he was surprised to see nothing but healthy fruit on Ron’s plate. He would have expected the redhead to have piled on the sweets since it seemed unlikely that his parents would deny him anything today. Both kept stroking his hair or hugging him. Ron appeared simultaneously embarrassed and delighted by their behavior – after eleven years of being overshadowed by the twins or Ginny, not to mention the rest of his brothers, he was for once basking in his parents’ undivided attention.

As an only child, Hermione was more accustomed to her parents’ focus being on her, but the Grangers, while obviously affectionate with their daughter, didn’t seem to be feeling the same frantic relief as the Weasleys. It was hardly surprising, of course. As Muggles, they couldn’t really understand what the children had faced down the previous day, while the Weasleys were all too cognizant of what might have happened.

There were two chairs between the Grangers and the Weasleys, and Snape steered Harry towards them. Once they were settled, Albus beamed.

“And here we are, all together, safe and sound. We should give thanks for -”

“Yes, yes, thank Merlin and all that,” Fudge interrupted testily. “But what I want to know is what happened? All these rumors of Dark Lords and murdered professors and vampires and killer squashes are going to cause a panic soon!”

Harry looked at his guardian. Vampires?

Snape sniffed and rolled his eyes. Fudge was such an idiot. He kept his attention on his own plate.

“Yes, of course, Cornelius, and that is why we have invited you and Madame Bones. Lucius is here as a representative of the Board of Governors, and Ms Skeeter will ensure that an accurate –“ he gave the reporter a sharp glance and she looked sulky but nodded “- account is made available to the public.”

Albus turned politely to Harry. “Harry, my boy? Perhaps you would be so kind as to begin the tale? Your friends suggested it was your story to tell.”

Suddenly Harry wasn’t so hungry anymore. He put down his fork and gave worried glances at his friends. Were they mad at him? But both Hermione and Ron shot him encouraging looks, so he took a deep breath and tried to figure out how to explain things so as to avoid getting anyone into trouble. He knew it was an all but impossible task, but at the very least he wanted to avoid landing Ron and Hermione in the suds with him.

“Harry?” Dumbledore prompted.

Harry sighed and gave Professor Snape a guarded look from beneath his fringe. He had a pretty good idea that his professor wouldn’t be fooled by any evasions, but he was going to give it a try anyway.

“Erm, well, we were in Charms when Hermione – ah – told Professor Flitwick that she wasn’t feelin’ well, and so –“

“You were sick, Hermione?” Hermione’s father interrupted, looking at his daughter with concern.

Hermione reddened as all eyes turned to her, and she gave her mother an anguished look. “Mum…”

“Hm? Ah!” Mrs Granger understood the silent Teen Girl Speak and nodded to her husband. “It’s all right.”

“Oh? Oh! Right.” Mr Granger quickly dropped the subject.

“Uh, yeah,” Harry felt guilty for embarrassing the girl like that, but he hadn’t really seen any way around it. From the glare Hermione was shooting Ron, it was the redhead she was blaming for the original suggestion. “So anyway, once class was over, me ‘n’ Ron got permission to bring her books to her, an’ when we got to the Infirmary, Hermione was there, waiting for Madame Pomfrey –“

“Oh, dear!” the medi-witch exclaimed. “I must have just missed you when I went to Hagrid’s. I’m so sorry, dear, but why didn’t you use the magic bell to let me know you were waiting? I would have returned at once! Didn’t you see it on my desk, with the little sign explaining how to use it?”

“Erm…Y-yes, but it wasn’t anything very urgent, Madame, and I didn’t want to trouble you if you were taking care of someone who was really ill,” Hermione lied uncomfortably.

“So, when we got there, I – ummm – I said I’d go look to see if Madame was down behind the privacy screens. Hermione hadn’t wanted to peek, and I saw Professor Quirrell was there.” Harry tried to think how best to tell this next part. “And – and then Ron thought he’d, erm, play a trick on Hermione and so he – ah – yelled that there was a troll coming, and I guess Professor Quirrell heard him so he jumped up and –“

“Wait.” The icy word, coming from the adjacent chair, made Harry wince. Quailing, he turned to his professor.

“Y’sir?” he asked hesitantly.

“You are omitting a key part of the story, Mr Potter. Perhaps you can explain why Professor Quirrell’s turban was found Stuck to his bedding?” Snape’s snapping eyes informed Harry that he hadn’t been fooled one iota by the carefully crafted story.

Harry gulped. Right. He never did get around to canceling that hex, did he? “Ah, well…”

“What difference does that idiot’s headwear make?” Lucius snapped. “What I want to know is where He Who Must Not Be Named came from!”

Albus gave Harry a disconcertingly knowing glance. “I suspect the two things are related, Lucius. You see, when I examined the late professor’s turban, I discovered that it contained layer upon layer of shielding charms. It was being used to hide something very powerful and very Dark.”

Lucius frowned, trying to work it out, while Fudge looked blank, Bones blanched, and Skeeter whispered excitedly to her automatic quill.

“Er…” Harry gave up. He was going to have to admit at least part of the plan. “Well, I might have, erm, hexed his turban while he slept,” he confessed, his gaze firmly on the table top. He heard Snape’s furious inhalation and cringed, waiting for the scolding of his life.

Before his professor could speak, however, the voice of the Headmaster was heard. “But why, Harry? You have never before shown much interest in either pranks or Professor Quirrell. Playing a trick upon an ill professor is quite unlike you, my boy.”

Harry blushed bright red. He had never thought of it like that, but if Quirrell had been just a weird and smelly teacher, his action in scaring the poor man while he lay in his sickbed would have been a truly despicable act. “I – I – um…” He glanced pleadingly up at his guardian. “I just knew something was wrong.”

“Boy Who Lived Blessed With Second Sight,” Skeeter sighed rapturously. “Detects Dark Lord Despite Shielding Wards!”

Snape gritted his teeth. Leave it to that interfering woman to get it wrong. But he was uncomfortably aware that Harry must have picked up on his loathing for Quirrell and – given the boy’s nature – decided to “help”. Who would have guessed that children could be so perceptive? Vowing to do a better job of hiding his own opinions, Snape glowered at the brat. “We will discuss this later, you and I,” he promised chillingly.

Harry drooped. Well, at least his professor wasn’t demanding answers right there in front of everyone or taking away his flying privileges while the reporter lady took notes.

“Please continue, Harry. We will assume that you had some sense that all was not as it seemed.” Albus nodded at him.

“Um, okay, so anyway, when Professor Quirrell got up so fast, his turban was pulled off, an’ – an’ there was a second face sticking out the back of his head,” Harry quavered sickly. The memory of that awful sight was still too fresh.

Fudge’s jaw dropped, and Lucius’ eyebrows soared to his hairline. Amelia Bones lost her monocle. Minerva choked and Albus looked very, very grim. The Weasleys were both hugging Ron, their faces pale, while the Grangers, despite their quite obvious confusion, picked up on the atmosphere in the room and grasped Hermione’s hands tightly.

Harry glanced nervously up at Professor Snape. The man’s face was a severe mask, as always, so it was a surprise when his strong arms reached out and pulled Harry onto his lap.

After the initial shock – and the relief that he wasn’t being pulled across the man’s lap for a public walloping – Harry relaxed and leaned back against his professor’s chest. He was surprised to feel the man’s heart hammering away. Could his professor actually be worried or upset?

“Pr’fessor?” he asked, wide eyed.

“Foolish child!” Snape snapped automatically, tightening his grasp around Harry until it rivaled the Weasleys’ hold on Ron. In all his worst imaginings, he had never, ever thought of this. Possession? Partial corporeal manifestation? No wonder the boy’s scar had prickled whenever Quirrell had walked by! And what immense power it must have taken to maintain the two souls in one body – to say nothing of shielding the Dark Lord’s aura from the school’s wards.

Poppy shuddered. “Now I understand why his body was consuming itself. To think that – that abomination was working here, walking the halls, teaching the children!” She wrapped her arms around herself, as if suddenly chilled, and Minerva placed a comforting arm about her shoulders. "He wouldn't let me touch his turban, but I just assumed it was some fetish or that he was going bald!" Poppy wailed. "I never guessed..."

“There, there, Poppy,” McGonagall soothed. “It’s just as well you don’t remember anything.”

Poppy shook her head. “Not a thing from the moment I left Hagrid’s hut until I woke up with the St Mungo’s staff around my bed,” she explained, sniffling, to the others.

“It – it was pretty awful,” Hermione spoke up. “We had all just seen V-Voldemort, and Madame Pomfrey, that’s when you walked in with a big pumpkin that you said Hagrid had sent to Professor Quirrell.”

“Ah, Hagrid – always so thoughtful,” Dumbledore said fondly, oblivious to the impatient glare Lucius sent his way.

“Yeah, Madame – you were sayin’ something to the professor as you came in the door, and your hands were full, and as soon as he saw you, he – well, they – cast a spell at you,” Ron explained. “Blimey! It was this awful black light coming straight at you!”

“He said ‘Duro’,” Hermione put in, and Poppy turned grey.

“He was trying to kill me then,” Pomfrey whispered, half to herself. “I didn’t really believe it…”

Snape huffed. Naïve nitwit. Voldemort was a Dark Lord. Did she really think someone earned that title by just being unpunctual or inconsiderate? Dear Association of Dark Lords, I would like to apply for membership. Please advise as to your entry criteria. Do you actually need to murder scores of people, or can you just use a really nasty stinging hex on them? Is ‘Crucio’ an absolute requirement, or could I get by with insulting someone’s parentage and telling them that their taste in clothes leaves much to be desired? I also make a point of picking out the good Bott's beans and leaving all the bogey- and vomit-flavored ones for other people. I have invented a curse that gives someone several painful paper cuts – do I get credit for that?

“Yeah, it was a good thing you were holdin’ that pumpkin,” Ron chimed in. “The curse hit that and turned it to stone, but the power of the curse was still strong enough to knock you flying. You smashed some chairs an’ everything.”

“And then Quirrell said some nasty things to us, and Voldemort –“ Hermione ignored how most in the room flinched at the name “- was talking to Harry, and Harry said something that made him really angry.”

Now all eyes were back to Harry. “I – er – I – “ he stammered to a halt, embarrassed.

An awful suspicion blossomed in Snape's mind, and he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. “You called him Lord Vol-au-vent, didn’t you?” he asked resignedly.

Lucius audibly choked, while Bones fought back a grin.

“Er, yeah,” Harry admitted.

Fudge seemed torn between horror and reluctant admiration, while Skeeter was actually squirming in her chair with glee. “Harry Potter Refers to Dark Lord as Flaky Pastry. Hero of the Light Sneers in the Face of Death.”

Albus’ eyes were madly twinkling. “And then?”

Hermione spoke up before Harry could. “Ron was ever so brave!” she exclaimed. “While You Know Who was distracted, he tried to fight him.”

Molly whimpered and clutched Ron tighter.

“But Quirrell threw him against the ceiling and then let him fall. That’s how he got hurt,” Hermione finished, sending Ron a look that left him blushing. The redhead could be a bit of a prat sometimes, she thought, but he really was a true Gryffindor.

Snape narrowed his eyes. Taking on not one but two Dark wizards armed with nothing but a new wand and insane bravado? The boy was indeed a true Gryffindor.

“And then?”

“I was too scared to move for a few seconds, and Voldemort kept talking to Harry. It looked like he was hypnotized or something.”

Harry nodded. “He did something and I felt awful. All alone and hopeless an’ I knew he was gonna kill me. But then he said something else an’ I got mad.”

Now all the adults (except the Grangers) were staring at him in astonishment. The boy had thrown off Voldemort’s mind control? Grown wizards, including trained Aurors, had not been capable of such a feat!

“What did he say that made you angry?” Snape managed to ask, his voice stilted. Just how much power did this child have? He caught Lucius giving him an assessing look. Potter could hold his own against Voldemort himself, and here was Snape, oh-so-blithely scolding him and smacking his bum?

Harry looked awkward. “He – he said something mean about my parents. But that made me think about you an’ then I din’ feel alone anymore,” he admitted his voice dropping so that only Snape caught his last words.

Snape swallowed hard and forced his expression to remain unchanged, but Harry could feel his arms tighten protectively, and the warm feeling blossomed in his chest again. However mad his professor might be, and however much he might scold, Harry knew that he still loved him, and the hug just proved it. Professor Snape was acting just like Ron’s and Hermione’s parents, as Harry's sharp eyes could attest.

For the first time in his life, Harry didn’t have to watch his classmates be cuddled by their parents and feel alone and left out. In fact, Professor Snape was even better than Ron and Hermione’s folks – hadn’t he stayed in the Infirmary with Harry?

“So then he used some ‘secum’ thingy on me,” Harry continued at the headmaster’s gentle prompt.

Snape went rigid. “Sectumsempra?” he asked, his voice wavering just a little.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Harry was impressed. His professor knew everything!

Snape shut his eyes, using his Occlumency to force away the unwanted image of what that spell – his spell! – might have done to Harry.

“But see, I was mad then, so I pulled my wand – those holsters are great, Pr’fessor! – an’ used Protego.”

“Your shield charm withstood the Dark Lord’s Sectumsempra?” Lucius gasped. Skeeter shuddered in ecstacy and whispered to her quill.

“Yeah. Erm, I mean, yes sir, Mr Malfoy,” Harry quickly corrected himself, not wanting to appear ill-mannered in front of Draco’s dad. Draco said his father was a real stickler for that sort of thing. “And then he said some rude things, so I was rude back, an’ he told Professor Quirrell to grab me so he could take me to some chamber and –“

“Harry. He said he wanted to go the Chamber? The Chamber of Secrets?” Dumbledore leaned forward urgently.

Harry shrugged. “He just said ‘the chamber’. I’m not sure which one he meant.”

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a look. If the Dark Lord knew where Salazar Slytherin’s hidden Chamber was…

“So then Quirrell tried to grab me, but when he touched me, it burned his skin,” Harry continued, oblivious to the looks on the adults’ faces. “Voldevont said that it was something to do with my mum and told Quirrell just to AK all of us.”

This time it was Arthur who whimpered and dragged Ron away from Molly and onto his lap. “Dad!” Ron protested, happily indignant.

“But I figured that if it hurt him when he touched me, it would hurt him when I touched him, so I grabbed him,” Harry explained simply.

“He started to burn up,” Hermione added. Ron was being held too tightly to speak. “You could smell it – I mean, he smelled awful even before that –“

Dumbledore nodded. “He had been using garlic to try to mask the odor of death and decay that clung to the remnant of Voldemort’s soul.”

“- But after the turban came off, it was just disgusting. Then when Harry grabbed him, you could smell the burning flesh.” Hermione looked ill, and everyone in the room independently decided to have a salad for dinner that night.

“It was working. He was screaming and he fell to one knee,” Harry put in.

“And it didn’t hurt you?” Snape demanded.

“I wasn’t burned,” Harry answered cagily.

“No, but there was something wrong,” Hermione butted in, oblivious to Harry’s groan of annoyance. Why did girls always have to ruin your story?

“I could see that he was hurting Harry, so I – erm – I ran forward and, uh, I sort of… kicked him?” she ended uncertainly.

“Oooh, did she ever!” Harry crowed, his moment of pique over. “She kicked him right in the bollocks!”

“Blimey, did he yell!” Ron managed to put in.

“Boy Who Lived Saved by Girl Who Kicked You-Know-Who You-Know-Where,” Skeeter hissed.

Hermione beamed, rather taken with this new title.

“And that pulled him away from me, an’ I was feelin’ kinda dizzy,” Harry took up the tale again, “so it was a moment before I could grab him again.”

“He was draining your magical core,” Snape said furiously, giving Harry’s shoulder a little shake. “You foolish, idiotic child!”

“Is that what it was?” Harry asked in surprise. “It felt like there was a part of me that was getting pulled into Him.”

Hermione continued, “So I called to Ron to do something, and –“

“- And I saw the pumpkin. I thought maybe Harry could use it, so I levitated it, an’ then he yelled for me to send it over, so I grabbed a piece of the broken chair an’ I pretended it was a bludger an’ knocked it to him.”

“Quidditch Prodigy Helps Boy Who Lived Defeat Dark Lord,” Skeeter whispered to her busy quill.

“And ‘Mione Stuck him to the floor an’ he was so busy insulting her, he didn’t see what I was doing. So I brought the pumpkin over on top of his head and then I let it drop,” Harry finished quietly.

There was a moment of silence as they all pictured that in their minds. Then “Pumpkin Power – The Boy Who Lived’s Secret Debt to Vegetables.”

“Oh, for – “ Minerva had had enough. “One more absurd headline out of you, Miss Skeeter, and I will transfigure your chair into a cactus!”

“Hmf!” Skeeter sniffed in outrage, but Snape noted she cast a silencing bubble around herself.

“It was at this point that the faculty and I arrived, having been summoned by the castle’s wards,” Dumbledore explained to Fudge. “I believe that the moment the turban came off, Voldemort was revealed and our newly strengthened wards were triggered. No one but a Dark Wizard of enormous power – that is to say, Voldemort – could have engendered a reaction quite so strong, so of course most of the faculty rushed to confront him. A few seconds after Quirrell’s demise, Voldemort’s shade, for lack of a better term, left the body. I don’t know if it was looking for a new host, but with all of us right there, it fled.”

Fudge puffed out his breath, eyes big. “This – this –“

“- Is extremely concerning,” Bones cut in smoothly. “Though it would seem that, with the departure of He Who Must Not Be Named, the issue is moot, at least for the moment.”

“Yes!” Fudge grabbed the lifeline. “Exactly! Be sure you put that in the paper,” he said to the reporter. “You Know Who is gone. The public need not worry. We have everything under control.”

Skeeter nodded and mumbled – inaudibly – to herself, as Dumbledore got to his feet, signalling the end of the meeting. The rest followed the Headmaster's example and as the handshakes and farewells took place, Snape glanced over at Lucius. How would these events sway the man's allegiance?

Lucius contented himself with giving Snape inscrutable looks while Fudge and Bones took their leave of Dumbledore. Soon the others were gone, leaving only Hogwarts staff, students, and parents behind. Lucius had, predictably, declined the opportunity to speak with his son, claiming an important business meeting back in the city.

“Perhaps your parents would like a tour of the school, Miss Granger? And Mr Weasley, a few things have changed since your parents’ days – why don’t the three of you accompany the Grangers? Then perhaps you can join the school for lunch before you depart,” he suggested to the adults.

The Grangers and Weasleys agreed, and Minerva offered to take them around. Albus escorted a still-convalescent Poppy back to the Infirmary, leaving Snape and Harry alone.

“Are you really mad?” Harry asked unhappily.

“What do you think?” Snape retorted. “Pranking the Dark Lord, indeed!”

“I didn’t know it was Him,” Harry protested.

“Oh, so pranking a professor is acceptable behavior?” Snape sneered.

“No,” Harry admitted, flushing, “but it’s not dangerous. It’s just – y'know – naughty.”

“If you imagine that you are not going to be disciplined for your outrageous conduct –“

“But I didn’t mean to do anything dangerous. I mean, it was Quirrell,” Harry argued. He didn’t want his professor to think he had deliberately defied his most important precepts. “We thought he was just strange and stinky. You didn’t know he had Voldevert in his head, did you?”

“Of course not!” Snape huffed, insulted. Did the brat imagine he would have allowed such a threat to remain in his vicinity?

“Well then I don’t see why you’re mad that I didn’t.” Harry felt rather bold, arguing with his guardian like this. He would never before have dared to protest, but he had a suspicion that Snape wouldn’t mind.

“I suppose you’ll again suggest the Headmaster is to blame?” Snape demanded, privately rather pleased that Harry was no longer behaving like a whipped puppy, cowering away from punishment. Obviously those impudent Gryffindors were rubbing off on him.

“Well, isn’t it his job to make sure we’re safe? An’ to pick the professors who teach here?” Harry pointed out reasonably.

“You are trying to obfuscate matters,” Snape declared. “The issue before us is your atrocious behavior. How do you think your friends feel, knowing that you used Miss Granger’s indisposition as an excuse to attack Quirrell? Don’t you think she feels hurt by your mendacious expressions of concern?” Harry’s lack of reaction convinced him that his suspicions were well-founded. The whole thing had been a set up and the other two had been co-conspirators right from the start.

Snape felt a bit misty eyed – his ward’s first plot, and it was quite the Slytherin one. Nothing like the ‘in-your-face’ antics of his father and godfather. This was sneaky and subtle and Harry had even managed to fool both Dumbledore and McGonagall as to his motives and confederates. The boy had real potential.

He forced down his feelings of pride and scowled at the brat. “Do not imagine you will go unpunished, Mr Potter. The other parents may be so faint with relief – and blind to the real goings on – that they will excuse your peers, but you are not so lucky. I have no intention of permitting you to misbehave with impunity and grow up to be an irresponsible nincompoop.”

“Awwww,” Harry pouted, even as inwardly he exulted at this further evidence that Snape cared for him. He’d even said “other parents”, like he really felt like Harry’s dad.

“You will have detention every day for a week, Mr Potter. With me, since it seems that no one else is capable of seeing through your little deceptions." Perhaps by the end of the week, he would no longer have this overwhelming need to keep the brat within eyeshot at all times. If he did, he would just have to find another excuse to assign more detention. "You had best bring plenty of quills and parchment, as you will be writing numerous essays. If you are so determined to enter the struggle against the Dark Lord at such an early age, you will need to begin serious study of strategy and tactics.”

“Cool!” Harry exclaimed. Then at Snape’s narrowing eyes, he quickly corrected, “Uh, I mean, that’s not fair.” He struggled to think of something to complain about. “Erm… if no one else is getting punished –“

Snape raised an eyebrow. “I would be happy to assign Miss Granger and Mr Weasley a week of detention, if you insist. Mr Filch can always use assistants.”

“No, no!” Harry hastily backpedaled. “It was all my idea. You’re right.”

“Hmf.” Snape eyed him. “Perhaps several hundred lines of ‘I will not prank Dark Lords’ would be appropriate as well.” Harry groaned. “That will be enough of your histrionics, young man. Come here.”

Harry sighed, doing his best to keep up appearances. He hopped out of his chair and stepped over to where Snape had pushed his chair away from the table. “Just one smack, right? For disobedience in breakin’ the rules an’ pranking a professor. ‘Cause I really didn’t know about the danger,” he reminded his professor anxiously. Was Professor Snape furious with him?

Snape was still haunted by images of Harry’s broken, bleeding body – tortured and left for dead in the Chamber of Secrets, staring sightlessly upward after an Avada Kedavra, sliced to pieces from his own spell – and he couldn’t help pulling the boy to stand between his legs so he could run his hands over the boy’s shoulders and arms. He wasn’t about to cuddle the brat – Potter would hardly welcome being pawed by a Snape, for Merlin’s sake – but he just had to touch the boy to be certain that he really was alive, fit and whole and well. He’d been more shaken by the children’s recitation of events than anyone had realized, even himself, but now that he was alone with Harry, the possibilities of what could easily have happened were making him tremble.

Harry looked at his guardian quizzically. Snape’s eyes were even more shuttered than usual – maybe he was really angry? Not only at Harry’s actions with the DADA instructor but also at his arguing and backtalk? Harry bit his lip. Maybe he’d protested too much? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected to be punished, and after all, he had achieved his objective. He now had a week of one on one time with his guardian, and from the sounds of his assignment, they’d have plenty of things to talk about.

He turned slightly and leaned over his professor’s thigh. “I’m ready, Pr’fessor,” he offered, hoping that his willingness to accept what was coming to him would outweigh his earlier protestations.

Snape gritted his teeth. He knew he had to swat the child. It was an expected consequence for his misbehavior. Harry obviously was prepared to accept it. And the brat had deliberately taken on the Dark Lord – or at least a DADA instructor, not that that was much better. But right now, all he wanted to do was hug the little fiend and feel him breathing and hear his heartbeat and reassure himself that Harry really and truly was fine.

But Snape had plenty of practice in not doing what he wanted, so he raised his hand and gave the wretch a sound slap right across the seat of his trousers.

“Ouch!” Harry shot upright, grabbing his bum. It didn’t really hurt much, but he didn’t want his professor to think he wasn’t doing a good job. Professor Snape was trying really hard; Harry needed to help him gain confidence.

Snape cursed himself. Too hard! Obviously he still didn’t have a sense of what was an appropriate, admonitory tap. He had thought he’d been being suitably gentle, but of course, he was comparing everything to his own bastard father’s treatment of himself, and obviously he was still getting it wrong.

Harry rubbed at the smarting spot and wondered if he should cry. He was 11, after all, and it was just a single smack, so he decided it was okay to remain dry eyed. “Erm, Pr’fessor?” he ventured cautiously. His professor still looked awfully grim and grumpy.

“What?” Now the boy would surely want to go and whine at the Headmaster or Weasleys about how unfair and cruel he had been. Or perhaps he intended to ask Poppy to heal his backside?

“D’you think it would be okay if we joined the others on the tour of the castle?” Harry looked up at his guardian hopefully. Now that he had a parent of his own – sort of – he really wanted to show him off, and taking part in such an obvious parent/child activity was the sort of thing he had always dreamed of doing.

Snape frowned down at him. The brat actually wanted him to come along? Surely he had misheard. Why would Potter want to be accompanied by the greasy bat of the dungeons?

“Pleeeeeease?” Harry begged, forgetting to feign discomfort.

“Oh, very well,” Snape huffed. He was in absolutely no condition to deny the brat anything. He just wants me to go along with him so he has an excuse for missing his morning classes, he told himself. That must be it.

Harry’s face lit up. Grabbing his professor’s hand, he pulled him out of his chair and dragged him towards the door. “What will you have me read in my detentions?” he asked curiously. “Will I have to write essays on everything, or can we talk about some of them? Can I loan the books to Hermione and Ron when I’m done? Where do you think Voldewhatsit has gone? Did you see Professor Flitwick flying yesterday? Can you do that? Can you teach me to do that? What was the spell that Quirrell used on the pumpkin? What would it have done to Madame Pomfrey if the pumpkin hadn’t been there? Do you think Hagrid will be upset that he was being nice to Voldesnort? What about…”

Snape grumbled as he was tugged along. Little monster. He was only permitting this because it was obvious the boy was traumatized. Potter would never want to be seen with him in public if he weren’t suffering from delayed shock. Better to just let the hysteria run its course. And, maybe, to enjoy it just a little bit while it lasted. Once the boy came to his senses, he’d doubtless be sulky and furious about his detention – as what child wouldn’t? – but just for now, he could pretend that the boy actually liked being with him and that the guardianship would last beyond Black’s exoneration.

Snape knew in his heart of hearts that he would never be able to compete with the mutt. Black was funny and lighthearted and charming. Everything he was not. And beyond that, Black had the imprimatur of Potter’s parents. Of course the boy would want to honor them by living with their choice for his guardian.

Knowing that Potter would want to live with Black didn’t mean Snape wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to keep the boy, but it just meant that if he succeeded, Harry would be bitter and resentful at being kept from his godfather. And if he lost, it meant that he’d never see the child again as both Black and Harry would view him as the enemy. Either way, Harry would never again laugh and smile and pull at his hand the way he was doing right now. Not that it mattered. Not that he cared about the brat. But now, just for a few moments, he could imagine what might have been…