Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

Hogwarts, February 1997

Hogwarts became a veritable fortress following the attack on Hogsmeade, but that did nothing to stop scores of frightened parents from swarming the castle once news of the attack broke. Dumbledore did his best to assure them that the utmost precautions were being taken to ensure their children's safety, but a number could not be swayed and they took their children home. Slytherin's numbers shrank by half, but not because of safety concerns; it seems the reported version of events inside Honeydukes offended more than one Pure-bloods' sense of fairness.

A review of the row included testimonies from Harry, Ron, Draco, Baddock and Crabbe. A panel made up of each Head of House and Dumbledore interviewed each boy separately. Unsurprisingly, Baddock's and Crabbe's stories differed greatly from Ron's and Harry's, but Draco's account tipped the scales in the Gryffindors' favor, leaving the panel to conclude that since Baddock and Crabbe had not actually attacked Ron and Harry, they could not be expelled-they would, however, face sanctions from the Board of Governors.

Crabbe, whose father was in Azkaban, and whose mother-in a bout of callous self-interest-fled the country just after her husband's arrest, was tasked (until the end of term) to endure nightly detentions with Filch in his office two nights a week, and minding the Thestral herd with Charlie in the forest three nights a week. The boy confided to Goyle that he preferred nights closeted with Filch in the caretaker's stale office to nights on the grounds with Charlie. Apparently the redhead doled out generous raps to the knuckles every time Crabbe frightened a Thestral foal: "S'not fair! Can't even see the bloody buggers, now can I?"

But Baddock, wanting nothing to do with the Board of Governors-'Dumbledore's nob suckers', he had viciously dubbed them-opted to leave school with his mother's blessing. Maddened by grief and anger following her husband's disappearance last August, Imelda Baddock, a Pure-blood and rabid supporter of Voldemort, was explicit in her disdain of ‘magical despoilers' that had ‘no more right in the wizarding world than a sheep shagging Muggle did.'

In a blistering exposé to the Prophet, she flatly rejected the claim that her son had threatened Harry and Ron. She cited a lack of ‘honest evidence' and claimed that her son had been a victim, too: "As usual Dumbledore is instigating a blatant cover up! What he doesn't want everyone to know is that Draco Malfoy stunned my son... on Harry Potter's order! Why, Malcolm could have been maimed or killed by all that flying glass as he lay there, helpless, yet they would paint him as a common criminal? I think not!"

She went on to avow that ‘no gang of Mud-blood lovers' would hold sway over her son's future, especially as she and her husband had long considered removing their sons from Hogwarts, as it had, under Dumbledore's ‘weak-kneed reign, devolved into a haven for degenerates.' She pointedly mentioned Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys as prime examples, but her family's fury had no shortage of targets.

"‘Lady Baddock's eldest son, Malcolm, claims that he and his Housemates had long expressed concern regarding the mental state of Slytherin Head, Severus Snape. The Potions master and erstwhile Death Eater's close association with the illustrious Harry Potter (a boy judged to be marginally unstable in the least and completely certifiable at best) helped spark this concern.'

"‘"I'd see them round,' young Baddock said of Potter and Snape, ‘whispering and carrying on. Before this term, they were always at each other's throats, so we were completely gobsmacked when Snape went and adopted Potter.' When asked his feelings on his flaky schoolmate, Mister Baddock stated: ‘Potter's got everyone snowed. There's something not right about him. I mean, blimey, he got the Head of Slytherin to adopt him!'

"‘And dear readers, really, must not all rational thinking witches and wizards allow room for the possibility that this syndrome, this mental contagion from which Harry Potter suffers-'"

"That gossiping, haggis-faced troll!" Ron raged, interrupting Neville's recitation. "Only Rita Skeeter would concoct something so bloody bogus and try to play it off as news! Why didn't she ask Baddock how the Death Eaters knew Harry was goin' to the village that day? They had two chances to attack Hogwarts students before then. Why that day? Bloody mummy's boy likely tipped ‘em off!"

Harry sat, pensive, happy to let Ron rant on his behalf. Used to being on the wicked end of Rita Skeeter's quill, he wasn't bothered by the stories in the Prophet-what did bother him, though, was the clear uptick in Snape's absences during the evenings. Harry worried, because though Snape tried to hide it, he was worried.

Since the attack, the man watched Harry constantly, as if his dark gaze alone could shield him from harm. At night, he had taken to coming into the boy's room. A solid, cinnamon and clove scented weight would settle next to Harry on his bed, and then he would feel his hair being stroked, his back being rubbed, or the covers being drawn up to his neck from their tangled heap around his hips. Luxuriating in the gentle caresses Harry never made a sound save a contented exhale as Snape's fingers lulled him into a deep sleep. Those nights, he let the man take what he wanted, what he obviously needed for peace of mind. Harry believed the night visits a silent exhortation for him not to worry. Fat chance.

Since the attack, Snape spent an hour, sometimes two, in staff meetings after dinner every night. He and Dumbledore in the corridors whispering heatedly became an all too common sight. Sometimes it was just the two of them, but most often they were accompanied by the other teachers, gesturing, looking deeply preoccupied and always, always whispering. Knowing he'd get a dark-eyed glare for his trouble, Harry didn't bother to ask about the huddles, but he had a sneaking suspicion they had to do with spying, more specifically, with Snape spying. He had no solid proof that Snape was leaving the castle-only a gut feeling, but if he was right, Harry had no idea how the man dreamed he could infiltrate Voldemort's ranks without being detected.

But, he aimed to find out.

*WO

Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, March 1997 (03)

"Where are you going?" Draco said, strolling out of the kitchen. He had a green bottle of mineral water in hand and a knowing grin on his lips.

Letting his fingers slip from the door knob, Harry gritted his teeth and cursed himself for having not been quiet or quick enough-then he cursed Snape for his ruddy sense of honor.

The attack in the village and the exodus of half of Slytherin from the castle seemed an omen, lending credence to the fact that sooner or later Hogwarts' inhabitants would be dragged into war. It was a feeling that overwhelmed everyone-including Snape. In the hospital wing, just after the attack, he and Draco had talked while the others slept. The conversation ended with Snape demanding that Draco move into his quarters. To Harry, Draco's hasty consent showed that he had little to no reservations about moving in; Harry had plenty, but he understood Snape's cautious attitude.

Without Baddock to guide him about by the nose, Crabbe seemed disturbingly frayed round the edges. His mindlessness reminded Harry of something he had learned about jelly fish in primary school: a severed jelly fish tentacle was still venomously dangerous. He had seen Crabbe and Goyle scuffling in the corridor one day, with Crabbe shouting, "I'm gonna be somebody! I'm gonna make'em sorry for what they done to my dad! Draco, bloody Potter, all of of'em!" It was then that Harry began to think it not too farfetched that Crabbe had taken it upon himself to pick up where Baddock had likely left off as informant. When he shared what he had seen with Snape, the man simply nodded his head, a long finger to his lips.

While it made sense to have Draco out of Slytherin, it didn't mean Harry had to like it. He had hoped that they could work things the way they had while at the Hog's Head, with each keeping to themselves, but with their history, they knew how to push each others' buttons, and unsurprisingly, tensions occasionally boiled over-mostly because Draco had not lost his penchant for tattling.

Since moving in, the Slytherin had reported on Harry to Snape three times: once for spelling Draco's books closed (but only after Draco had spelled Harry's butterbeer to taste like wet dog); once for shrinking Draco's favorite, disgustingly expensive gray cashmere sweater (but only after Draco had hexed Harry as he was rushing to dinner, sending him flying into a trifle and a mound of giggling second-year Hufflepuff girls); and finally for spelling Draco's lips to swell up to the size of a bicycle tire inner tube (but only after Draco had spelled Harry's wandering hand to stick to Hermione's hind end in Potions). That entire episode had been a nightmare, what with Hermione's screeching meltdown and the class's lewd suggestions and wolf whistles. But even more appalling than having his hand attached to Hermione's bum in front of everyone had been seeing Snape's lips twitch in amusement while calling the class to order.

Unfortunately for Harry, Draco was not only a snitch, but had revealed himself to be as irritatingly meddlesome as Dumbledore and as much a worrywart as Hermione; he was just as smart too. It irked Harry that the boy seemed to spend at most an hour studying each night, yet he pulled out marks that had him nipping at Hermione's heels, making him second overall in their year. While Harry had always felt justified in thinking Draco's moral center-it if existed-was warped beyond all reason, he had never believed the boy to be stupid; he figured Draco knew that he was tailing Snape in the evenings, but Harry saw no need to explain himself. They were not friends.

After yanking off his Invisibility Cloak, Harry said, "Not that it's any of your business, Malfoy, but I was off to meet Hermione."

"Oh? Then why are you running round under that Cloak? You two planning on doing something in public that's best done in private?"

"Just because we share a room doesn't mean you can stick your pointy nose in my business, Malfoy!"

Draco laughed softly, a thing he knew irritated Harry. "Fine. I'll just let the professor know what time you left when he gets here."

Harry glared as Draco sauntered past into the sitting room, his soft-soled, handmade loafers whispering across the stone floor. Itching to shove the stout water bottle up Draco's nose, Harry followed, scowling.

"You're a right irritating arse, y'know that?"

"Mmm, and your insults are as inspired as your dreary taste in clothing," Draco drawled. "Now, are you leaving for this so-called meeting with Granger or not? I need to be clear on what to tell the professor."

With a smug smirk he planted himself on the sofa and crossed his legs. When his elbow crunched the newspaper folded over the arm of the sofa, he tossed it onto the coffee table, exposing the bold flashing headlines: Tip Leading to Alleged ‘Hostage House' a Bust! Lucius Malfoy Evades Aurors... Again! Ministry Continues to Look Inept!

"Good ol' Lucius still hard at work, eh?" Harry knew it was a completely low thing to say, but really, just who did Malfoy think he was keeping tabs on him?

"You want to watch your mouth, Potter," Draco said. His teasing expression had turned black. "You know absolutely nothing about what my father gets up to! You think you do, but you've no earthly idea."

Harry's snorted in disbelief. "Oh, right, because that wasn't him I saw in that cemetery the night Voldemort came back and killed Cedric; because that wasn't him last year in the Ministry trying to kill me and my friends for a worthless piece of glass, and because that most certainly wasn't him in that goddamned forest with his wand aimed at my Da- a-at Snape, damn near killing him, was it?!" They had never discussed that night and what Draco might or might not know, but his thinned lips was answer enough; Harry plowed ahead. "So if I'm so ignorant of all the evil your Pure-blood loving, house-elf-kicking, Dark Mark-wearing arse of a father ‘gets up to', please, enlighten me! I'd hate to wrongly accu-"

"Enlighten this!" Draco snarled and threw his half-full water bottle at Harry's head.

Harry ducked at the last second so that instead of connecting with his skull the bottle hit the wall, exploding green shards everywhere. Harry jerked his arm up to cover his face, but a stray sliver of glass managed to lash open the skin along the upper edge of his right brow.

"You bloody idiot!" he shouted. As he was straightening up to gauge the damage, the front door opened and closed. He and Draco locked eyes; Draco whitened to point of invisibility; Harry clapped a hand to his forehead, wiping furiously, hoping to staunch the bleeding, get rid of the evidence.

Snape's baritone sounded: "Draco? Harry?" Rounding the corner he startled at the crunch of glass beneath his boots. "What the devil -" He looked down at his feet, then over at Draco. Noting the boy's frightened expression Snape turned to Harry who was standing with his hand to his head, making a bad job of hiding the cut; blood was streaming down his cheek in slick rivulets.

"It's nothing," he said quickly in response to Snape's raised brows.

Disregarding the obvious lie, Snape pulled Harry to him and made the boy lower his hand; his expression darkened and he flashed Draco a look.

"Really, Dad, it's o -" At the gobsmacked look on Snape's face, Harry slammed his mouth shut.

"What did you say?" The man asked, sounding a bit breathless.

Harry's face burned as if heated by a thousand candles. Shifting his eyes downward he said, "I said it was o-okay." He then stared at Snape's shiny boots so hard he fancied he could see his face reflected in them.

"Oh, Merlin." Draco gagged dramatically and rolled his eyes. He stood up. "I'm going out."

"No, you're not," said Snape. The man's furious tone drew both boys' attention. "Once I finish tending to Harry, we're all going to sit and have a nice chat about the rules of this house, so settle in." He whipped out his pocket square and pressed it to Harry's wound. "Hold this," he said. He held Harry's gaze a moment before sweeping off to his lab.

Peeking out from under the edge of the cinnamon scented cloth, Harry glanced over at Draco. The boy had sat back down and laid his head against the sofa, pale brow furrowed in irritation. Harry went to go sit in the wing chair near the fire; his head was throbbing. When Snape returned, he sat on the coffee table before Harry where he cleaned and dressed the boy's wound. He also dosed him with a mild pain-relieving potion. Once he finished, he moved to sit on the sofa.

"Right," the man said, then gave a poke to Draco's thigh. Draco straightened immediately and looked around; his gray eyes were tinted red. Snape pointed to the floor and the glass fragments. "Explain."

Prodding his bandage, Harry said: "Could you not make a big thing of this, please? Really, we've sorted it out."

"Oh, have you?" Snape said. His tone was bland, but the caustic lift of his right brow spoke volumes.

"Well, look, you don't really expect us to get on every second of every day, do you?" Harry said.

Snape frowned. "You recall the assembly the headmaster called hardly more than a week ago regarding the Roxton boy, yes? You've been reading the papers?"

The Daily Prophet and an underground edition of The Quibbler, (Luna had cried silently in Ron's arms after the arrival of the first copy) charmed to arrive bi-weekly by Xenophilius since the holidays, spoke of the rising violence. Yet unlike the Prophet, The Quibbler hadn't ignored the disappearances of numerous children.

Wizards with a toe in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds were targeted for having established effective pockets of opposition to Voldemort in their communities. Muggles within those communities were mostly oblivious to the strange occurrences around them-a car swerving, nay floating, at the last minute to avoid a double-decker bus; fierce looking, almost wolfish men inexplicably repelled by a touch of silver to a bit of exposed skin; the draperies of the corner bread shop experiencing a peculiar outbreak of tiny black-haired creatures with vicious little teeth, a situation which strangely brought the constable around-he would spray the pests with an acrid smelling concoction, then gather the little beasts into a bag before tipping his hat to the bread shop's proprietor. On and on the oddities built up. Those Muggles who strayed too close to the truth of things either ended up Obliviated, or in the rare case, let into the fold. Those few often offered up their homes as safe-houses for Order members in need.

Touting the rebels as ‘foolish resisters to the inevitable', Voldemort struck deep into the hearts of their families by way of their children. The first child, a nine year-old Half-blood, went missing in December, plucked from his bed in his Muggle neighborhood. The child's father was a wizard who worked as an historical preservationist at a Muggle museum. Because of these Muggle connections, and because a missing child was not an anomaly in the Muggle world, no one, not even the child's family, believed his abduction to be Voldemort's work. For those same reasons, when two ten year-old Muggleborn boys went missing in January, the wizarding world still took no notice.

But in late February, just after the attack in Hogsmeade, Half-blood, and Pure-blood children alike became priority when six went missing-three in one week. The ensuing uproar of ‘The Lost Six' finally prompted the Prophet to follow The Quibbler's lead in reporting a connection between He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the missing children.

One of the missing turned out to be the five year-old sister of Pure-blood fourth-year, Ben Roxton. Hogwarts' students immediately rallied around the boy, offering their condolences or-for the more optimistic-well wishes. An American, Ben was soft-spoken and well-liked, his Southern accent going a long way toward endearing him to everyone in his House, Ravenclaw. Upon their arrival in Britain four years ago, Ben's Pure-blood parents had shunned all attempts to be drawn into Pure-blood only circles, and when Voldemort returned during their son's second year, they were quick to voice their fierce opposition to the Dark Wizard, but now they were paying a devastating price for that outspokenness.

"Yeah, but-" Harry said.

"But, nothing! There exists the very real possibility that Hogwarts could be attacked at any moment and I want you two prepared; I want you two to look after one another. You must." Snape paused to pierce each boy with a look. "There is a war going on out there. I will not tolerate one brewing in my own home as well."

"We are never going to like each other, sir," Draco said quietly, voicing Harry's exact thoughts.

"Well..." Snape said heavily, "that's a pity." He then rose and headed for his bedroom to take a rest before starting his shift patrolling the grounds.

WO*

Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts, March 1997 (15)

After days of fruitless ‘surveillance' beneath his Invisibility Cloak, Harry's heart leapt after spotting Snape stalking down the corridor toward Dumbledore's office. When the man rounded the corner and muttered the password, Harry quickly stole past the gargoyle before it sealed off the entrance. He then eased up the moving stairs, mindful of his proximity to Snape.

Snape knocked and the big door swung open to reveal a grim-faced Dumbledore seated behind his desk, an enormous pink quill in hand. Harry shot inside just as Snape pivoted to shut the door, but he was driven off balance when he stepped on a bit of his Cloak. In the bid to right himself, he grabbed the nearby cloak rack, his fingers gripping so hard they burned as he strained to prevent it wobbling. Luckily, Dumbledore had started to speak, leaving Harry to hope that neither wizard had noticed anything beyond the usual.

"Thank you for coming, Severus," Dumbledore said once Snape took a seat. "We need your inside knowledge of Riddle Manor to create a map. As you are the only one amongst us who has been inside..."

"This is to do with the missing children?"

Dumbledore nodded. "We now have reason to suspect that Tom is holding a number of hostages there, primarily the children that have gone missing since December, but access is limited. So many of us have gone to ground since the attack in Hogsmeade, thinning our ranks."

"You need more than just my memory of Riddle Manor, Headmaster," Snape said, irritation coloring his voice. "I must be included in the operations outside the castle. As you say, no one in the Order knows that place as I do."

"I cannot agree to that, Severus, not when you have Harry to contend with and -"

"And I'll not let his safety depend solely on arse-abouts like Mundungus Fletcher! Harry is the reason I'm doing this!"

"Of course, and with that in mind, are you really so eager to cast yourself back into such dangerous situations, situations that could in fact make him an orphan, again?"

Snape edged forward in his chair. "You would play me as a coward who would hide behind the boy simply because our relationship has changed?"

"No, Severus -"

"Because were something to happen to Harry, should anyone dare to lift a finger to him -"

"Sev -"

"- safe harbor will be impossible to find here on earth and in Hell! Do not think to underestimate the lengths I will go to in order to protect my son!"

Harry clapped his hands over his mouth to stifle a gasp.

"Severus, you know perfectly well that I do not believe you a coward, and I know precisely how far you would go to protect Harry, but you must admit that your priorities now have a different weight about them, yes?" Dumbledore didn't sound particularly angry, but his voice had a pinched quality to it.

Snape swallowed and sat back, a silent acknowledgement of his overreaction. Dumbledore was right, of course. He did have to approach everything differently now that Harry was so central to his life. Chest heaving, he lowered his eyes, desperate to avoid the headmaster's knowing gaze.

After a moment, the old wizard asked softly: "How long have you viewed him as such, Severus?"

Snape shook his head and gripped his hands together, wringing them as if they ached. "I hardly meant it the way it sounded." The wonder in his voice made Harry's heart ache.

Dumbledore smiled, but it was tempered by a strong undercurrent of sadness. "I worry, Severus. Your love for Harry is plain, as is his for you, but-and you shall recall that I broached this with you long before you began adoption proceedings-denying him the truth about his parents' deaths will prove devastating."

"But you know that-" Snape began.

Harry frowned. Why had Dumbledore brought up his parents, and more concerning, why did Snape sound so desperate, almost frightened?

"Yes, my dear boy, I know that you regret it, but I also recall how self-serving an act it was. Were Harry to find out-"

Snape gaped, furious. "You would do that? You would undermine all that I have accomplished with the boy?"

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, making his blue-eyed gaze flinty."You presume too much, Severus, and quite wrongly. I simply meant that where Harry is concerned, I have learned my lesson, you apparently have not."

"Oh, please!" Snape spat. "Spare me your toothless platitudes! If you mean to tell him that it was I who -"

Just then the fireplace roared to life; Snape and Dumbledore whipped around to see who was calling.

"Arthur? What is it?" Dumbledore hurried to the fireplace to kneel before Mr. Weasley's disembodied head. Mr. Weasley opened his mouth, then hesitated. He was clearly upset, his reddened puffy eyes obvious despite the green flames.

"Arthur!" repeated Dumbledore, his tone sharp.

"Kingsley and Bill..." Mr. Weasley's voice cracked with grief as he looked at Dumbledore. "They - they found Hagrid's body."

All three wizards turned toward Harry's horrified gasp.

*WO

Hogwarts, March 1997 (15)

Hagrid's death sent shockwaves through the castle. Many students had witnessed the man emerge virtually unscathed from the onslaught of spells and hexes Ministry Aurors had inflicted upon him just last spring, but for those privy to his lineage, how a half-giant could be cut down was a curiosity. Harry had, perhaps naively, counted on it to keep the big man alive, but even a half-giant was no match for an ambush of six fierce river trolls.

The call to gather in the Great Hall went out just after curfew. Nearly deserted corridors filled quickly with pajama-clad students flooding confusedly out of their Houses. As Snape and Dumbledore had long since departed for Order Headquarters, Harry entered the Hall alone. Spotting him, Ron and Hermione began waving wildly for him to join them. He wove his way through the crowd to go stand in front of Hermione, then plopped his head on her shoulder.

"Harry?" she said, stroking his back. "What -"

"Hagrid," he croaked.

After a second's silence to let it sink in, Ron swore loudly and banged his fist on the table making the sleepy-eyed students around him jump in alarm; Hermione let out an anguished yelp, then started to cry. Many in the Hall turned to look, but then McGonagall called for quiet. Several students burst into tears at the news, but most just sat dumbly, a pall of disbelief and dread muting their tired expressions.

With the attack in Hogsmeade and Ben Roxton's sister going missing, Hagrid's death made the third horrific incident connected to the school, and in as many months. War now seemed closer than ever. Some students began to grumble about going home, saying that if they were going to die, they would rather be with family. Others spoke angrily of fighting, of defending themselves and the school.

Following the brief assembly, Harry journeyed with the rest of his House to Gryffindor Tower. McGonagall accompanied them to the common room and informed them that if they needed to talk, her quarters would be open for as long as necessary. Several approached her about leaving; she asked them to her office.

Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Ginny all turned to Harry. They wanted to know what he knew.

Circumventing the meat of Snape and Dumbledore's conversation, he told them what Mr. Weasley had said. Through her tears Hermione peered at him, certain he had left out pertinent details, yet she resisted grilling him in front of everyone; Harry was glad because his take on what had happened in Dumbledore's office was as muddied as the Black Lake's depths and he didn't want to speculate on its meaning; he wanted to wait until he'd talked to Snape.

A little after one a.m. Harry decided to go home. Ron and Hermione begged him to stay, but he wanted to see Snape. He had to know what all the cryptic double-talk about his parents added up to. Ron and Hermione offered to go with him, to keep him company, but he told them to get some rest. Hagrid's funeral was set for tomorrow afternoon.

*WO

Snape wasn't home when Harry arrived. Draco was in bed, but not yet asleep. It was only after Harry had settled into his own bed that Draco turned onto his side and dropped off.

Laying stiffly beneath his covers, brow frozen in a frown, Harry's thoughts fell back to the moment he was discovered in Dumbledore's office. He had dug his fingers into the cloak rack, needing to brace himself against the stabbing pain of Mr. Weasley's words. The rack creaked, giving his presence away. Pricking up at the sound, Snape turned and looked hard in Harry's direction. The bit of shimmery movement he saw might have been nothing, but the man's instincts told him that someone was there.

He ventured closer. Just steps away, the bright smell of the rain scented shampoo Harry begged Snape to make for him suddenly filled the man's nose. Like a prospecting blind man, he trailed his long fingers along the top and then the middle of the cloak rack until they connected with Harry's hands. There was an audible click as Snape swallowed. Though Harry wanted to jerk his hands away, he did not; he waited, breathless, as Snape took hold of the Cloak, pulling until his head was exposed. Harry would never forget the panicky dismay in Snape's eyes upon seeing him; in response, he had snapped his own eyes shut, frightened.

"Harry..."

Harry shook his head because he didn't know that voice. Void of any of its typically soothing silky inflection, this voice was a shipwreck, battered and beaten. Harry reasoned that if he didn't know this voice, then probably none of what he had heard was real.

"Harry." That voice again. "Look at me. Please."

Slowly, Harry's eyes fluttered open, but the most he could manage was to focus on Snape's mouth. Then Snape-or the white-faced, thin-lipped, broken-looking creature pretending to be Snape-started talking. Something about how presently, he and Dumbledore were needed to go help collect Hagrid's body, of how they had to then attend an emergency Order meeting to divine what had gone wrong with Hagrid's mission. Harry tried to follow the stream of sounds, really, but he could only stare blankly. Things only came into sharp focus when Snape took his face in his hands, applying a gentle pressure, entreating Harry to look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry." The man whispered.

Harry blinked and then jerked back as if Snape had struck him. The motion unbalanced him and his feet tangled in his Cloak so that he crashed to the floor. Snape knelt to help him up, but Harry shook his head because he didn't know, didn't know if the apology was for what he had heard, or for what he hadn't. Snape seemed to shatter at Harry's reaction, and the boy felt a tweak of satisfaction, because he knew that whatever Snape was apologizing for, it was nothing good, and that whatever he had to say by way of explanation for that apology, was going to hurt-he'd read it in the man's expression; he'd come to know all the man's expressions and this one made him want to get away, made him want to escape the suffocating grief filling that room, filling him.

Hagrid was dead. Hagrid was dead and Snape knew something about Harry's parents' deaths.

*WO

Two hours after Harry got into bed, a soft rustle of movement sounded outside his bedroom door. Snape. Harry exhaled in a flood of relief for what felt like the first time in all of the long hours the man had been away, but that relief vied with the dread of learning what could prompt an ‘I'm sorry' from Snape-words the man would utter as easily as he would allow Neville to lead a Potions class.

When Snape pushed open the bedroom door, Harry quickly squeezed his eyes shut. For several silent moments, Snape stood poised, his hand resting lightly upon the door knob as he peered into the room, bluntly lit by the waning fire in the fireplace. As Harry lay there, a ragged sigh filled the room. His curiosity got the better of him and he slit his eyes open to see Snape-the man who had brazenly defied and deceived the Dark Lord for more than a year-hunched and broken against the door frame, his face in his hands. Mere feet from Harry, Draco's soft, easy snores lent a sense of normalcy to what felt like an obscenely abnormal moment.

‘I know that you regret it. I also recall how self-serving an act it was.'

Harry wanted desperately to go to Snape, to ask what Dumbledore had meant. He had replayed that conversation in his mind over and over, and it still added up to senseless babble. Snape's apology had something to do with Lily and James, but what about them could unravel the Potions master so?

After a time Snape pulled the door closed, having offered up no soothing backrub, no gentle caresses to Harry's hair, and no whispered exhortations that all would be well. Perhaps because of that, sleep taunted Harry. Restless and unable to rid his mind of the sound of Snape's depleted sigh, he silently fled the dungeons for Gryffindor Tower just before sunrise.

Hermione left her bed for his where she drew his bed curtains and curled up beside him, ignoring his half-hearted pleas to be left alone. Eventually he fell into a thin, troubled sleep, his face pressed to her breasts as staticky remnants of Snape and Dumbledore's talk ran rampant in his head, fragmenting his dreams.

*WO

The Great Hall, Hogwarts, March 1997 (16)

For the funeral, Filch had cleared the Great Hall of the four large dining tables. Rows of wooden folding chairs now filled the chamber, separated down the middle by a large aisle lined on both sides with oversized pumpkins. Where the High Table normally sat rested an enormous Gryffindor-red coffin, Hagrid's moleskin coat draped across it. The tip of his pink umbrella peeked out from one of its numerous pockets.

Arriving early to get seats at the front, the subdued sixth-year Gryffindors shuffled up the aisle, Fang padding alongside Harry and Hermione. Harry took the aisle seat while Hermione sat to his left. Ron, Neville, and Seamus took the accompanying seats. Dean remained standing until Lavender and Parvati were seated before taking his own seat.

Unsurprisingly, students had gravitated to their own Houses, quartering the room as they did when the dining tables were present. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were on the left side; Hufflepuff and Slytherin had settled on the right.

"Potter?"

Harry jumped. He twisted in his seat to find Draco looking down at him.

"The professor and I are over there." Draco nodded across the aisle. All the seats were nearly filled, but some students continued to mill about, trying to find spots next to their friends.

Snape sat next to the wall, anchoring the first row of Slytherins. He was leaning over, whispering something to a tiny second-year, but the moment Harry spotted him the man looked up. Harry's eyes narrowed in alarm: Snape looked haggard, but that was hardly surprising-last night had been beastly. Regardless, Snape's eyes roved Harry's face so intently, Harry worried that any moment the man would rise up to scold him and order him to bed. Horrified at the thought of how easily he could succumb to that, Harry swallowed and quickly looked away.

"Fine," he managed, then turned back to face Hagrid's coffin. After a moment, Draco heaved an angry sigh then left to rejoin Snape. The man's eyes were on him, Harry knew, but his problems could wait an hour. He owed his attention to Hagrid.

Eyeing the big red box that held his oldest friend, Harry imagined Hagrid would have preferred to be eulogized along the edge of the Forbidden Forest near his hut, but a crippling blizzard held the castle's denizens hostage. Deep mounds of snow blanketing the school's grounds and surrounding towns and villages, coupled with vicious winds strong enough the strip limbs off the Whomping Willow, made being outside unfit for man and most beasts.

When Harry blew out a shaky breath Hermione took his hand and entwined her fingers with his. She was crying. Harry leaned toward her to rest his forehead against hers, wanting to give her a brave smile, wanting to comfort her as she had done him last night, but he could only sigh sadly. They parted moments later when a hush fell over the Hall.

Dumbledore had emerged from one of the side doors behind the dais. Coming to stand in front of the coffin, he gave a single clap of his hands. Sharp inhales of surprise and awed murmuring filled the chamber when the Hall's magnificent windows melted away, providing a crystal view of the blustery swirl of snow outside; but the murmurs turned into terrified screams when a hulking shape blotted out the sky. Fang acknowledged the familiar latecomer with a deep, mournful howl. Hermione, recovered from her initial fright, reached to grab hold of his collar when the dog started for the window.

"Let him go," Harry said.

Once free, Fang trotted over to the window, then stood whimpering until a hand with a palm the size of a Mini Cooper poked through. Fang gave it two soothing licks then lay down, somberly eyeing Hagrid's coffin.

"Y'reckon Grawp's all right out there?" Ron whispered.

"‘Course," Neville said, with a watery sniff. "Dumbledore'll have cast some sort of spell to protect him from all that cold."

Despite the probable warming charm, the giant sported a wildly distinctive scarf and matching cap that only Hagrid could have knitted. Harry imagined it must have taken all of last year and a mountain of yarn to make the multi-colored set. Watching the sad eyed creature run a hand under his bulbous nose, snuffling and keening for his half-brother, Harry jerked his gaze away lest he start sobbing as well.

Then Dumbledore began to speakabout Hagrid's humanity, his kindness. Conversely, the fearsome image of the half-giant filling the hut-on-the-rock's doorway as rain and wind lashed out at the night was what came to Harry's mind. That was the night he had been saved.

Moments later Dumbledore signaled to Firenze who had been standing near the Hall's entrance; the centaur trotted up the aisle toward the dais. Snape, along with the other Heads of House, also rose to make their way to the dais where they formed a tight circle around Hagrid's coffin.

A long moment of peaceful silence graced the Hall until a haunting baritone arose from within the circle. The opening note, rich and strong, wound through the vast chamber sheathing everyone in its grief. Many that had sat dry-eyed throughout Dumbledore's remarks now wept openly as the note swelled.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione gripped Harry's arm.

He turned to her, but she nodded, wide-eyed, at the dais. Harry looked up. It was Snape that was singing; after a beat, McGonagall, Firenze, Dumbledore, and Sprout's voices joined in, each fluidly harmonizing to create a wondrous, heart wrenching melody. Flitwick piped out the tune on an ancient looking recorder, accompanied by Firenze strumming a lute.

Harry closed his eyes, lost in the unfamiliar tune. Ron later told him that it was a wizarding lament-another tidbit of wizarding lore Harry had no idea about-but it hardly mattered, for nothing could have expressed his feelings of loss more perfectly. After a moment, the voices and music that had joined Snape's voice stilled, leaving him to sing alone as he had began. As the last note faded, Harry tried to swallow against his anger and the uncertainty rising within him. He knew it was wrong, that it wasn't Hagrid's fault, but he was angry. The half-giant had promised to come back, and now, when Harry knew, without question, that he would need the man's buoyant presence the most, he was alone.

Dumbledore announced: "When the weather clears, we shall move Hagrid to the Forbidden Forest. Until then, he will rest on the fourth floor in a private room." He stepped down, indicating an end to the service.

"Harry, are you coming back to the Tower?" Hermione blew her nose into the wad of tissues she held.

"No, not right now. I have to go to the dungeons, get something straight."

"Oh... I hadn't wanted to mention it because of... everything, but what's going on? With you and Snape? Why did -"

Spotting Snape ushering Slytherins out of the Hall, Harry took her hands in his, gave a quick peck to her lips and said, "After I've talked to him, I'll tell you." When she opened her mouth, he quickly added, "Hermione, I really don't know what's going on. I just need to talk to Da - talk to the professor. I'll see you later."

"...All right," she said. Harry kissed her again before breaking away to approach Snape.

"Sir," he said, battling to keep his voice even, "could we talk, back ho - in your quarters?"

A muscle jumped in Snape's jaw and he nodded stiffly. "Yes... we do need to talk."

*WO

Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, March 1997 (16)

The trek through the dungeons seemed to last an age, but once they reached Snape's sitting room, Harry wasted no time.

"What do you know about my parents' deaths?"

Snape froze, as if taken off guard. Then he slumped, a resigned, hollow look making his sharp features look ghoulish.

"What?" Harry said. "What is it?"

Snape's Adam's apple bobbed jerkily as he swallowed; Harry imitated him, trying to breathe around the constrictive lump in his own throat. Then Snape opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Snape speechless? That portended nothing good and Harry's stomach twisted in on itself; he had to will himself not to vomit. Then the door opened and closed. Draco breezed into the room, then stopped when he caught sight of Harry.

"Potter. Did you -" Picking up on the strained tension, he took a moment to take in Snape's and Harry's pale faces. "What's happened?"

"Malfoy, get out." Harry choked.

"What? Don't -"

"Draco, be quiet!" Snape inhaled sharply. "This is something you've both a right to know."

"NO!" Harry shouted. "I don't want him here!" He and Malfoy might no longer be on the verge of hexing one another senseless at the slightest prompting, but the Slytherin definitely did not have the right to find out something devastating about Harry's parents at the same time he did!

"Fine," Draco said, staring at Harry's bloodless face. Though he was clearly bursting to know what was going on, he left the room. Harry waited until he heard the bedroom door click closed before turning back to Snape.

"Well?"

"I - The Dark Lord -" Snape inhaled deeply, then straightened up to his full height with his shoulders drawn stiffly back, as if bracing for a strike. "It was I who told the Dark Lord about the prophecy. I overheard Albus interviewing Sibyll for the Divination post. Later... too late, I realized..."

He stopped, having either run out of words, or the breath to continue, but it didn't matter; Harry hadn't heard anything beyond the word ‘prophecy.' Turning inward, tuning out the world, he wondered how he could not have known? God, he'd been in Snape's memories, he'd - ‘Occluding is as natural to me as breathing, Potter...' Of course! Snape had let Harry see what he wanted Harry to see, never wanting him to know the evil he had done!

Snape had marked Harry and his parents for death. Snape had tipped off Voldemort and Voldemort had come to Godric's Hollow with murder on his mind. SNAPE!

Harry blinked and reality fractured, taking pieces of his mind along as he began to rage, scream, and howl with grief for his lost parents, for the life he should have had, for the life of which he had been so ruthlessly robbed.

*WO

Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts, March 1997 (16)

Two third-year boys sitting on the sofa nearest the fireplace swore loudly when Draco's head suddenly materialized in a flash of green fire.

"You! Go get Granger!"

The boys stared at him, unimpressed with his anxious, not to mention, annoyingly entitled tone.

"What do you want with Hermione?" The boys turned to look up at the scowling redhead standing behind them.

"As fun as it would be to have a go at you, Weasley, I don't have time! Go get Granger!"

A fierce snort preceded the question: "Did your Pure-blood parents skimp on lessons in etiquette, Malfoy?"

"I told you I don't -" Draco jerked his head to the side, nearly out of the fire. His voice was muffled as he spoke to someone on his end. When he turned back, a growing crowd of Gryffindors was grumbling about a crazed Slytherin in their fire. "Ginny, please, just go get Granger!"

The boy looked positively frantic, and he'd used her name. "...All right."

Ginny sprinted across the room and up the stairs to the sixth-year girls' dorm.

"Ginny! What -" Hermione began.

"Malfoy's in the Floo!"

"Malfoy? Whatever for?"

"He asked for you. He looks... frightened."

"Harry..."

In the fire, Draco was turning his face out of the fire and then back, searching for Hermione. When he spotted her, he shouted, "Granger! Take this!" He threw a package at her, landing it at her feet, then he jerked his head out of the flames.

Hermione snatched up the package: Floo powder. She quickly flung a handful into the flames then stepped into them shouting, "Snape's quarters!"

*WO

Hermione stepped out of the fire into madness.

She knew this room, had been in it enough to know that everything save the sofa, chairs, and tables was flying about pell-mell. She cringed as vases and vials connected with a wall to shatter with a deafening crash, repair themselves, then begin the violent, destructive journey again. She managed to stay clear of the majority of objects, but cried out when a thick potions encyclopaedia nailed her on her hip.

Rubbing at the tender spot, Hermione looked over to see Snape and Malfoy standing side by side, staring at her. But in a chilling moment of clarity, she realized their eyes were not trained on her, but on something behind her. She turned and there stood Harry, pressed against the stone wall, sweating and trembling like a lamb to slaughter. Looking into his wide eyes, Hermione had to stuff a fist into her mouth: Harry's pupils had devoured his brilliant green irises, giving him the hollow, lifeless expression of a scarecrow. Trying desperately not to cry, Hermione stepped toward him.

"Harry..." She touched his cheek; it was like ice. Then, as if warmed by her touch, he whimpered; she wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, Harry, darling," she whispered, tightening her grip.

For a moment he tensed, then suddenly sagged against her. As he went, so did the whirlwind of objects, crashing to the floor where they lay in an untidy shambles.

"Potter," Draco said, stepping carefully over the mess until he reached the Gryffindors, "what in bloody hell are you playing at?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry rasped.

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione asked, moving her head back to see his face, but Harry would not meet her eyes.

"Nothing..."

"‘Nothing?' Are you kidding me? Harry -"

"I don't want to talk about it! I mean it Hermione!"

"Fine! But you made a huge mess of things down here!"

Harry reared back. "Oh, I made a huge mess of things? Are you talking about this room or my life? Because I can tell you I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THIS ROOM!"

Snape spoke: "Harry..."

"DON'T!" Harry screeched, crazed; he began to tremble again. "DON'T YOU DARE! YOU FUCKING BASTARD! DON'T YOU EVER TALK TO ME AGAIN! EVER!" A rank chill rolled off him in bitter waves.

Undaunted, Snape began again. "Harry, I -"

Then it was all Hermione and Draco could do to stop Harry attacking the man. Snape-as if on autopilot-stepped forward to approach Harry, to comfort him, but Hermione shouted, "NO!" shocking the man into stillness.

"GOD!" Harry moaned. "How you must have hated them..." He looked up at Snape, green eyes swimming with hatred. "Is it because she didn't want you? Is that it? Did you think you should have been my father? Did you think she'd ever let you lay a hand on -"

Before Harry could think to avoid it, the back of Snape's hand connected with his face, hard, rocking him backward, bloodying his lip.

"How dare you!" "What the hell?" Hermione and Draco yelled together.

Harry brought his fingers to his mouth; looking down at them, he saw that the tips of them came away red. Snape had never raised a hand to him, not even when Harry was certain he deserved it, but things had changed. He lifted his eyes to meet Snape's mortified gaze, a gaze that quickly transformed to one of terror as the man flew across the room in a hard rush of magic.

Hermione and Draco screamed as Snape jerked to a stop just inches from the cream colored stone wall. Draco made to rush to the man, but Snape croaked: "NO!" Draco froze and watched the man hanging, weightless, resigned. He whipped around to face Harry.

"Potter! Goddamnit! LET HIM GO!"

Harry ignored him.

"Harry!" Hermione cried.

Harry ignored her, too.

"Could'a killed you just then," he intoned flatly, gaze directed straight ahead at Snape. "Wanted to, wanted to so bad my hands hurt. But, I'm not like you. I could never be like you! I'm glad, so glad you're not my fath -"

Hermione clapped a hand over his mouth to silence him. Listening to him chilled her to the core as every word was thick with the darkest loathing, but Harry shook her off, gratified to see Snape looking as if he wanted to die. In a burst of vindictive inspiration, Harry knew what might just send the man on his way.

"Where is it?" He began to look about.

"What?" Hermione asked, dumbfounded.

"Where... Accio parchment!" A blizzard of random parchments flew at Harry, coming from all corners of Snape's quarters to strike the boy in the face, chest and stomach. Not spotting the one he wanted, he yelled: "No! Accio stupid adoption parchment!"

"Oh, Harry, no!" Hermione cried.

Seconds later, Harry's face lightened with a wild, terrible glee as a gold colored sheet embossed with bold black lettering floated to the floor. Ignoring Draco's angry, disapproving hiss, Harry beckoned with his finger, sweeping Snape back to his original spot by the chair, positioning him so that the parchment lay in the chasm between his and Snape's feet.

"Look at me," Harry rasped.

Slowly, Snape raised his head, black eyes shimmering with a pain so deep Harry wavered, but that moment of weakness was followed by the incredulous thought of How dare he! How dare he look so wounded and wronged! HE did this! Murderer! MURDERER! He had set James and Lily up, making them, like all game animals, ignorant of their part in the hunt, a hunt from which there was no chance of escape, no chance to truly fight back.

Despite his own rage and despite the pain evident in every cell of Snape's body, Harry felt obliged to retain eye contact with those dark eyes, eyes he had come to love; it took all his strength to form the word: "Incendio!"

Instantly the parchment began to crackle and pop. As it began to curl and blacken, Snape closed his eyes, then he fell back against the chair. In counterpoint Harry leaned forward, eyes wide, lips thinned in a pained grin. He had made the fire deliberately intense, so it didn't take long for the sheet to disintegrate. When the flames began to wane and sputter out, Harry spat at the mess. He then tried laughing at the smoking ruin, but it came out a sob.

"Oh, my God! I was so stupid! I was so stupid!" Harry began to pound his temple with his fist, making a horrible, hollow thunking sound until Hermione grasped it in her hand and kissed it.

"Oh Harry, about what...?" she whispered.

"Everything, everything!" Harry said, then his mouth filled with water-that tell-tale sign that his stomach was about to empty itself. "I got to go."

"Where?" Draco asked, clearly of the mind that Harry needed to be in bed, under heavy sedation.

"Anywhere... A-anywhere bu -" Harry gulped, then he heaved and vomited.

Hermione struggled to reach her wand, but Draco was quicker and spelled the mess away. Hermione murmured her thanks, then gripped Harry about the waist to help him away from the wall, but without that support, his legs buckled underneath him. Unable to bear his weight by herself, Hermione looked over at Snape. Pale and boneless, he didn't move. She turned to Draco; he too looked to Snape. The man gave a nearly imperceptible nod and the boy moved to Harry's other side, reaching down to pull Harry up.

"Thank you," Hermione said, searching Draco's face. He shook his head, indicating he had no better idea of what had brought this on than she. He then cast a worried glance at Snape whose dark eyes followed them until they were out of sight. Then the man dragged his weary gaze back to the scattering of ashes at his feet.

*WO

Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, March 1997 (16)

"You know, the Floo, Potter? In wizarding circles it's known as an exceptionally expedient source of transport." Draco grunted as they staggered their way through the castle, imperiously ignoring the many odd glances.

"I didn't want to use his."

"Yes, I rather got that..." For a second Draco considered leaving things there, then thought better of it. "So, what was all that nonsense about, then? Why did you burn -"

"Drop it Malfoy!" Harry growled, his head drooping.

Hermione glanced over at the Slytherin and lifted her eyebrows. Draco lifted his in turn.

"Stop talking about me..." Harry muttered.

Draco rolled his eyes and gripped Harry's waist tighter as the boy began to flag. When they finally reached the Fat Lady, the portrait was opening; Ron stepped out.

"There you are! Harry, what's goin' on? Ginny said -"

"If you'd get out of the way," Draco sniped, "we could take him up to bed. In case you hadn't noticed, he's not up to standing here just now listening to your prattle!" Harry's head now hung limply against Draco's shoulder. "Nor am I for that matter!"

"Malfoy -"

"Stop it!" Hermione hissed. "Just shut up, both of you! Come on Harry..." She pulled him toward the entrance, leaving Draco no choice but to follow.

"Where do you think you're going?" Ron snarled at the boy.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped. "Leave it!"

"Do make up your minds!" The Fat Lady huffed.

"You shouldn't even be here, Malfoy. Move... I'll take him." Ron shifted to insinuate his bigger body in front of Draco, trying to upset the Slytherin's balance so that he had no choice but to let go of Harry, but Ron hadn't counted on Draco's wiry strength. Effectively blocking Ron's progress with a quick jerk and a swift heel to Ron's shin, Draco won out.

"You touch him again Weasley and I'll hex your arse back to the Middle Ages where they made sport of connecting the dots on repulsively freckled redheads!"

Ron could only glare, white-lipped as the blond boy pushed past. When the portrait began to swing closed, Ron cursed and limp-stomped inside to follow.

*WO

Once Harry was settled in his four-poster, Draco said, "I should get back, see to the professor."

"Of course," Hermione said. "Thank you, Malfoy."

Ron snorted nastily when Draco dipped his head in a perfect, dignified display of Pure-blood elegance.

"Malfoy?"

"Potter?"

"Thanks... um, for... you know..."

"Eloquence will forever escape your grasp, won't it?" Draco smirked then his expression sobered. "When I asked what happened, I wasn't just being nosy."

Harry shrugged, then gave a reluctant nod when Hermione nudged him. Draco opened his mouth as though to say something, closed it as if he thought better of it, then turned to leave.

"Malfoy, wait..." said Hermione. "I'll be right back, Harry." She jumped off the bed to walk with Draco to the door. He stepped back to let her exit the room first.

"Slytherin sleaze bag!" Ron growled, looking as though he longed to punch something, namely Draco.

Hoping Ron wasn't winding himself up for some longwinded diatribe about the jillion ways in which he could murder Draco, Harry rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He immediately wished he hadn't. The image of a dark-eyed man decked out in Death Eater garb, spiraling toward a roiling mass of evil, flashed through his mind. Harry cried out and instantly Ron was beside him, clutching his shoulder.

"What is it, mate? You need Pomfrey?"

"No," Harry managed, trying to stifle a groan as a stinging pain shot through his scar.

"...Snape?"

Shaking his head, Harry had to quell the mad urge to laugh at Ron's restraint in saying Snape's name, but then pain flared, again, white hot and blinding.

"Gaah!"

"I'm goin' to get Dumbledore." Ron rocked the bed as he got up.

"Don't!" Harry's hand shot out to grip Ron's wrist.

Then, body bowed impossibly, Harry screamed as his scar split open. Blood coursed down his face, clouding his vision as it flowed into his eyes; Ron cried out as Harry twisted his wrist.

"Bloody -"

"Weasley! What's - Merlin, Harry!"

"Get Pomfrey, now!"

"Snape, too!"

Harry wanted to scream, ‘No!', but instead fell into darkness.

*WO