Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, March 1997 (21)

Harry opened his eyes. 

"Harry?"

It took a moment to respond; his throat hurt and he had to swallow first. "That's the second time you called me that," Harry rasped. "Bes' be careful... Might become habit."

"Not bloody likely," Draco muttered. "Though if you prefer, I could call you something more in keeping with your image-like... the Boy Who Lived in the Hospital Wing?"

With his lip curled, Harry slowly turned his head to squint at Draco's blurry figure. "How long it take you to come up with that one?"

"It's a gift," Draco said, gray eyes charting Harry's wobbly movements.

On the hunt for his glasses, the Gryffindor winced as he shifted about, his body dreadfully stiff and clumsy, like it hadn't been used in a while. Spotting the wire-rimmed frames on the bedside table he reached for them, except the farther he reached, the farther away the glasses seemed. With a groan of frustration he let his arm fall to the bed, then he shut his eyes and lay back, sucking in large gulps of air. When something landed on his stomach, he pawed about to find his glasses.

"Thanks," he said.  After putting them on, he settled against his pillows, breathing shallowly.

With Harry at rest, Draco split his time glancing at his Potions text and glancing at Harry. When Harry coughed-a harsh, drawn out barking sound-Draco filled a glass with water from the pitcher on the bedside table. Harry lifted his hand to take hold of the glass, but noting the boy's tremulous state Draco pulled it out of reach. Once Harry realized what Draco intended, he relaxed and Draco brought the glass back, holding it so that he could take a long draught.

After several refreshing swallows, Harry grunted his thanks, then let his head fall back onto his pillows.

"Hungry?" Draco said.

Harry waved his right hand in a ‘no way' motion. Food was the last thing on his mind; his head was throbbing, the unlovely result of the coughing spell.

"Pomfrey's going to be on you to eat something. You may as well spare yourself the speech: ‘Potter, you are a patient here and I don't take cheek from anyone, particularly a student! Running round here, half dead, it's a disgrace!'" Draco shrieked in a spot on impression of the school nurse.

Despite how knackered he felt, Harry couldn't help it--he laughed. It wasn't the first time Draco had made him laugh, though. In the days just after the Slytherin moved in to Snape's quarters, Harry had vacillated between his habitual desire to despise the boy as he always had, and to despise him a little less for Snape's sake, but his disdain waned over time on its own, mostly because being roommates, they slowly became used to one another's personalities, but also because Draco could make him laugh. Not that he actively sought to amuse Harry, but without the intense bite of hatred behind them, Draco's insults could be pretty funny.

One night, Neville and Ron had come down to the dungeons to revise for an Herbology exam. Inexplicably, they had wound up discussing the merits, or lack thereof, of Professor Sprout's beauty. Finding the topic disturbing and ridiculous, Draco kept quiet, save a few annoyed sighs, but then Neville claimed that the Herbology professor's looks were an acquired taste, "like a fine wine." Unable to hold his tongue any longer, Draco asked Neville if his Gran-the dispassionately outspoken and eccentric Augusta Longbottom-had fouled up at family feast and served him cat piss instead of wine.

In mid-crunch of a crisp, Harry nearly choked as he burst into laughter; Neville had reddened to the point of rivaling Ron at his most notably embarrassed; and Ron had looked at Draco with something akin to admiration at the crude comparison.

Now, though, Harry's tired smile broadened when Madam Pomfrey materialized from behind the drawn curtain. The boys' voices had traveled down to her office, alerting her of Harry's wakefulness, but Draco's shrill impression had drowned out her approach.

"I daresay Mr. Malfoy," Pomfrey said with a perturbed sniff, "Celestina Warbeck fans would have great difficulty distinguishing her screeching tones from yours."

"Begging your pardon, Madam," Draco said with a cool, but abashed nod. He shot a glare at Harry when the boy snickered.

"Yes, well... as for you, Mr. Potter, I shall bring you a tray and I expect you to eat." Pomfrey turned, mumbling as she bustled away. ‘Disgrace, indeed,' floated back to the boys. They glanced at each other, then broke out into simultaneous snorts.

Draco recovered first. "...Want to talk about it?"

Harry's easy grin faded, morphing into a sour, confused look; he knew exactly what Draco meant by ‘it'.

"No, Malfoy... Look, why are you here?"

"Ah, well, the Gryffindor babysitting pool doesn't allow for round the clock care, so I offered to take a shift. ...You've been here nearly a week."

"A week?" Harry squeaked, and bolted upright, grimacing against the fierce aches hollowing out his joints. "What time is it? What day is it?"

"Five o'clock, Friday."

"Bloody hell! I'm gettin' outta here!" Despite being weak as a newborn kitten, he struggled to free himself of the sheet trapping him so that he could swing his legs over the side of the bed. Draco rose to block his progress.

"Pomfrey's not likely to release you until tomorrow."

"I don't care! I want out of here now. I'm not sick!"

"Potter, you are sick!" Draco hissed. "You used an extraordinary amount of magic..."

Harry stopped struggling to look up at Draco's frowning face.

"...and you hurt the professor." When Harry's eyes widened in alarm, Draco raised a hand. "Not physically-but that stunt you pulled with nearly crashing him into the wall was bloody, fucking well out of order -"

Harry blinked in disbelief. "Oh, what I did was out of order?"

"Yes, and if you ever do such a thing again, don't count on me being of any help to you! He's an absolute shambles. I thought he was bad after the attack in Hogsmeade, but this is something else. I've never seen the professor like this."

"'The professor' is a right bastard and just now I could give a good goddamn about him!"

"That ‘bastard' has been here at your side since Weasley and I brought you down here last Sunday! In fact, he never left until yesterday morning when Dumbledore forced him to go." Draco jerked his head toward the foot of Harry's bed. "I thought they were going to duel it out right here because he didn't want to leave. And all the time you've been unconscious, he was loath to let anyone touch you, even Pomfrey. He did everything!"

"I never asked him to! If I'd been awake I'd have told him to piss the fuck off! I don't need him!"

"Look, I don't know what he did -"

"That's right! You don't know -"

"- but whatever it was, he regrets it."

"Regret?" Harry snarled. "He doesn't regret anything! He's evil!"

Draco's gray eyes went cold. "You want to be more careful with who you call evil, Potter."

"You don't know what he did!"

"Then tell me! What did he do? Why are you acting like he -" Draco frowned, and flapped his hands, fishing about for the most ludicrous outcome he could think of, "- like he murdered your parents or something?"

Harry paled, lost his breath.

"Oh, Merlin." Draco swallowed. "Potter, tell me what happened."

Harry slumped back against his pillows and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. "Don't worry about it, Malfoy. You wouldn't understand."

"You... You really think he did something to your parents? That he had something to do with the Dark Lord -"

"All you need to know is that he's evil and I hate him."

"Stop being ridiculous! He adopted you, and you signed on with him, you agreed to it, so I know you don't believe what you're saying!" Draco pinched his lips together, speaking as if each word cost him a bit of his soul.  "You call him ‘Dad' from the safety of your dreams-or nightmares-depending on the sort of day you've had, for Merlin's sake!"

With no defense for the ugly truth of Draco's words, Harry flushed and lowered his eyes.

Draco continued. "You know what true evil is, you faced it as a baby and you've faced every bloody year that you've been here at Hogwarts..."

"Don't, Malfoy," Harry said coldly. "Don't pretend to know how I feel or what I've been through. In fact, just... go away."

Draco swallowed, his brow creased in a sad frown. "For what it's worth, Potter, I do have a clue of how you're feeling, and I refuse to believe Snape had anything to do with your parents' deaths."

"I really don't care what you believe." Harry sounded exhausted and completely unmoved by Draco's heavy tone.

"Potter, you -" Draco began, just as Madam Pomfrey returned.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter," she sang, drifting toward Harry's bed, a tray filled to the brim with food floating before her. "White potion before you eat." Directing the tray to rest on his lap she gestured to the vial. Once Harry emptied it, she said, "Take the blue one when you've finished."

She then fussed about, tucking his covers underneath the mattress, sandwiching him in so tightly he feared a loss of circulation to his legs.

"There," she said, slapping her palms over the foot of the bed, crushing stubborn lumps of blanket into flat planes. "Much better! Now... I let Professor Snape know you were awake so -"

She broke off, distracted by the muffled crunch of glass breaking. She turned, wand raised, anticipating having to clear up whatever mess Draco had made; instead, she saw Harry, ghostly-white, his hand gushing blood, jagged remnants of the potions vial sticking haphazardly out of his palm. Then all the empty beds on the ward began to clack, rattle, and roll, creating an eerie, percussive racket.

Within seconds, Draco lurched to his feet, tripping over his Potions book in the rush to get to Harry's side. With a fierce shove, he sent the tray of food flying, then gripped Harry by the shoulders and began shaking him, making Harry's head roll and snap. It looked painful, yet Harry sat unblinking, seemingly beyond all reason.

"Potter, stop it! Stop it! Listen to me, whatever he did, whatever it was, it-it was a mistake, Pot - Ow!"

The water pitcher and glass on the side table had shattered, with fragments exploding out to pierce all available flesh. When empty pitchers on other side tables began to break, one after the other, Draco slapped Harry-hard. Instantly, the beds stilled, and the three occupants' harsh breathing was the only sound in the cavernous chamber. With the blood red imprint of Draco's hand standing out in stark relief on his cheek, Harry sat staring at the Slytherin's bleeding face and neck.

"Oh my!" Madam Pomfrey gasped, lightly fingering the shallow cuts on her own face.

"Potter?" Draco leaned toward Harry, gray eyes bright with concern; Harry had not been spared the shower of glass either, with the right side of his face, neck, and arm sporting many lacerations.

Though Harry would rather have dueled Voldemort naked in front of the whole school than cry in front of Malfoy, when his eyes connected with Draco's, he burst into scalding tears.

"I can't!" He cried. "I can't!" His chin collapsed against his chest and he began to clutch at the sheets with his uninjured hand, wringing them in desperate clumps.

Horrifyingly out of his element in dealing with a sobbing Harry Potter, Draco kept quiet, stoically resigned to squeezing Harry's shoulders, oblivious of the stinging sensation of glass embedded in his own face, neck, and arm.

"Why?" Harry sobbed. "Why did he do it?"

Draco shook his head. Harry seemed to truly believe that Snape had had something to do with his parents' deaths; Draco couldn't fathom it.  "I - I don't know," he said, being honest, but also desperate to appease Harry, to keep him calm.

"Oh, gods, I hate him!" As Harry spoke, his skin became suddenly and unnaturally hot to the touch, as if his rage was trying to push its way out of his skin.

Draco gave a startled cry and let go of the boy's shoulders, then he looked down at his palms. They were tinged a rosy hue and warm, far from their typically cool, pale state. Then he looked back up at Harry. He had seen the boy angry, had even been on the receiving end of his anger, but outside of that boggling showdown with Snape nearly a week ago, he had never seen Harry filled with such blatant, frightening hatred. The damage Harry could do should that naked rage be unleashed was beyond Draco's imagining; Voldemort surely wouldn't stand a chance. Regardless, that hateful mask looked wrong on Harry Potter.

Copping a glance at Draco, Harry laughed, an empty, knowing sound that unnerved the Slytherin even more.

"Scared, Malfoy?"

Suddenly angry, Draco balled his hands into fists. "Your fits of temper are just that, Potter, fits! You're like an infant! Why don't you grow up!?"

Harry opened his mouth, a scathing reply at the ready, but what came out was: "Because it was all a lie-an awful, disgusting lie."

"...What was?"

"Everything," Harry said, "the adoption, last summer..." He lay back and turned on his side; he cursed when a sliver of glass burrowed deeper into his arm.

Madam Pomfrey moved like a shot, wand drawn to direct it over Harry's injuries. She did the same to Draco, then Summoned Murtlap Essence from her office and gently applied it to both boys' skin. She had witnessed her fair share of drama within these walls, but without fail, the most devastating occurrences seemed to always involve Harry Potter. The same could be said, she realized, of Snape when he was a student. Both wizards had experienced childhood trauma no child should be subjected to, but while they had hardship in common, they were also fantastically resilient, able to bounce back from most any trial. Though she had no idea what had gone on between the two wizards a week ago, she began to wonder if the strength of that resilience would hold true now.

When Dumbledore told Snape that Harry had been brought to the hospital wing, the man essentially set up camp next to Harry's bed, daring anyone to stupidly suggest that he leave. During the week Harry had been in hospital, his friends had all stopped by, offering-practically begging-Snape to take a break. Unsurprisingly, Snape refused, repeatedly, convinced that Harry would need something in his absence, that he might awaken, and ask for him, or that he might even-Merlin forbid-worsen in that time away from him.

When Pomfrey mentioned that he ought to be taking better care of himself, Snape calmly threatened to hex her senseless if she didn't stop trying to ‘bleed' his eardrums with her ‘wretched nagging.' Incensed, she opened her mouth to fire back with several colorful suggestions of where he could insert a great many potions vials, but then Snape, having already tuned her out, began plucking at Harry's covers, straightening them and tucking them around the boy as he mumbled softly to him. Then he began to stroke Harry's face, paying obsessive attention to the lightning bolt scar. She left him alone after that, though she did draw the line at letting him bully her or interfere when it came to administering care to Harry.

Dumbledore, however, had no compunction about approaching Snape. Leading the Order to combat Voldemort's gains swamped the old wizard's time, but he made a point to stop by each day to check on both Harry and Snape, knowing that as long as Harry remained asleep, Snape would not leave his side. Rooted at Harry's bedside, Harry's limp hand in his, Snape left only to visit the loo--but only after demanding that someone park themselves beside Harry for the quick minute he was gone. Four times daily Dobby popped in with trays laden with meals for him, but Snape simply picked at them, his eyes on Harry, anxiously primed for any sign of waking. Wringing his thin hands, Dobby eyed the Potions master, worried, as he asked after Harry.

"He's fine, Dobby," Snape told the little creature.

And basically that was true; Harry remained virtually unchanged, nourished as he was by various potions and spells, but Snape, he grew gaunter as the days passed, and his fuse-shortened to the point of dangerous because of concern for Harry combined with a lack of food and sleep-ignited on Ron on Thursday morning. In response, Ron thundered up to the headmaster's office, complaining that Snape had threatened to put his boot so far up Ron's arse, he would need a Niffler to dig it out if the boy kept insisting that he leave Harry. That was the final straw for Dumbledore.

"Severus, I would like a word with you, in my office, please."

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it here, Headmaster.  I'll not leave him." Voice raspy with fatigue, Snape's eyes remained glued to Harry's sleeping face.

"I want to speak with you about Harry in my office."

Inexplicably, Snape became frantic whipping around in his chair to face Dumbledore. "What is it? Has Poppy shared something with you that she hasn't told me?" Snape craned his head toward Pomfrey's office. "Poppy? Poppy!" He shouted. "Damn that blasted witch!"

Dumbledore inhaled sharply, frowning at the Potions master's mad behavior. Draco, who had stopped by to check on Snape, watched his Head of House, wide-eyed with a mix of disbelief, fear, pity, and a grudging embarrassment.

"Mr. Malfoy, would you mind waiting outside, please." Noting Draco's expression, Dumbledore spoke softly, but firmly, in an effort to get Draco to tear his gaze from Snape who was still craning his head impossibly, trying to see into Pomfrey's office.

Then, surprising everyone, Harry moaned.

All three wizards spun about to look at him, holding their breaths, waiting for Harry to open his eyes, but he simply frowned and reflexively squeezed Snape's hand before falling still. Entranced, they continued to watch him for several more minutes, but he never moved again.

"See!" Snape snapped, wrenching around to eye Dumbledore angrily. "You wanted me to leave! I would have missed that! I would have missed him waking up!"

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "Severus, he is not awake-point of fact, we do not know when he will wake. In the meantime, you must see to yourself! Since Harry fell ill you have not taught a class, taken a proper meal, and the ridiculous amount that you do sleep, slumped over in that chair is -"

"Harry needs me!"

"Yes, of course he does, but you cannot remain at his side day and night and expect to be helpful!"

"Do not presume to tell me how to care for my son, Albus, not when he needs me the most! I can do this. Just leave me alone! I can do this, I can. For him, I can. I have to..." Looking completely unhinged, Snape began to mutter repeatedly: "I have to. I owe him."

Snape's distraught state made Draco's chest hurt and his eyes burn as they filled with angry tears, and he wondered: What is going on? He thought back to the night McGonagall broke the news about Hagrid. Harry's behavior had been, understandably, strained, but then Draco had woken in the middle of the night to find the boy gone. Rising from his bed, he had padded into the sitting room, thinking that Harry might be curled up on the sofa or laid out on Fang in front of the fire. He didn't find Harry, but he did find Snape. The man was sitting, frowning as he stared into the fire, a long index finger running stiffly over his lips, back and forth, like a Muggle windshield wiper.

"Professor?"

"Yes?" Snape said, never ceasing his motions.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Draco. It's nearly 4:30, what are you doing up?"

"Potter's not in his bed."

Snape's finger stopped moving and he looked to stop breathing.

"I see," he said. Just as Draco opened his mouth to demand an explanation, Snape stood. The movement seemed to bleed him of energy so that when he released the armrests, without that stability to bear his weight, he wobbled a bit. He took a moment to steady himself, then turned to leave the room. Quiet, Draco trailed him into the hall, then watched the man shuffle robot-like to his bedroom and close the door.

Lost in that remembrance, Draco had failed to realize that Dumbledore had moved. The old wizard was edging soundlessly toward Snape, his long, thin hands stretched out, barely two feet from Snape's shoulders. But even in his depleted state Snape was too sharp, too well-trained, and far too paranoid to be taken by surprise. In a flash he was on his feet, wand trained unflinchingly on the headmaster. Draco's eyes widened and his hands jerked out as if to ward Snape off.

"Albus, if you touch me, if you try and put me to sleep, I will be forced to fight you." Snape spoke deliberately, with not a trace of the earlier mania in his voice. Dumbledore stopped in his tracks; he knew Snape meant it.

"Severus, you must rest!"

"Yes, I know..." Snape said with a nod. "I will... when he wakes up." Then he gingerly resettled himself in his chair, his dark eyes on Harry, always on Harry.

And now that the boy was awake, Pomfrey hated that, for all his stubborn dedication, Snape had missed it. But Draco had been at Harry's side, which surprised her. Like the others, he had frequented the ward all week, but she knew it was more for Snape than Harry. Still she had noticed a change in the boys' behavior before now. They looked to have managed something like a truce since becoming roommates, a change that struck her as a hopeful omen during these uncertain times.

"I'll fetch you another tray, Mr. Potter," she said, after clearing up the mess on the side table. Then she waved her wand like a whip, snapping the disordered beds back into place before eyeing Harry sharply. "I expect you to exert a modicum of control over yourself, understood?" When Harry bobbed his head up and down numbly, she marched off to her office.

Staring at a fleck of blood spoiling a fold in the sheet, Harry whispered: "I thought I was special."

Draco snorted softly. "To some in the wizarding world you are," he said, falling a hairsbreadth shy of not sounding bitter.

"No!" Harry said, though it was nearly a moan. "Special because he wanted to adopt me."

"As if you needed him for that," Draco said. Harry cast him an angry glare. "You know it's true. You're nearly of age. And you said it yourself, you don't need him; he can piss the fuck off. So, why are you so upset?"

"Go to Hell, Malfoy."

"Mm, original, that." Draco expelled a breath, communicating how put upon he felt. "Because I don't know what exactly is going on between you two, and because I care about him, and you mean a lot to him, I'm going to say this, but only this once: you're lucky, Potter. I know Snape, and he would never have considered adopting  you-a thing so... out of this world-unless he wanted to do it. When I found out, I was angry... and rather jealous."

"Jealous? Why?"

"I figured since he's my Head of House, it should have been me considering the problems I was having with my own father."

"What? Lucius cut you out of the will or something?"

Draco made a rude gesture. "You're an absolute troll, you know that? I know I've a reputation for being shallow, but give me a little credit for having an ounce of feeling where family is concerned! I would never disown my father over something as ridiculous as being disinherited! You know what he is... Disinheritance is the least of my worries."

"Yeah... sorry, so, what happened with it-you and your father?"

"Don't ask," Draco said flatly. "You don't feel like sharing, nor do I."

Freshly healed, Madam Pomfrey rounded the corner to set a new tray on Harry's lap. When it became clear she wasn't leaving until Harry at least picked up his fork, Draco said, "I'll make sure he eats something." 

"See that you do, Mr. Malfoy. And the blue -"

"- is for after."

Pomfrey sniffed at Draco's haughty tone and turned on her heel. Just as she disappeared into her office, the doors to the ward swished open. Ginny Weasley gasped loudly.

"Harry! How long have you been awake?" She ran to stand at the foot of his bed.

Harry remained mute, morosely poking his food with his fork; Draco looked at him and then at Ginny and said, "About an hour or so. You come to take over?"

"I can. I just dropped in to see who was here. I thought it was Ron's turn."

"Longbottom stopped by, said the idiot had detention with your brother. Something about overfeeding some valuable Bugbears."

Ginny tossed her hair over her shoulder, laughing. "Typical."

Harry sighed, and laid his head back against his pillows. "I don't need anyone to sit with me. I'm not a baby."

"You certainly do a bang up impression of one." Draco scowled. "You need to eat something, you moody arse, even if it's just that chicken leg!"

Ginny huffed softly. "Merlin, such a mother hen, you are."

"Have a care, Weasley."

"Well, simply for the sake of argument, Harry," Ginny said, hoisting herself up to sit at his feet, "Malfoy's right." She shot the Slytherin a withering look when his expression turned smug.

"I did not say that Charlie went easy on you because you're his brother!" Hermione said, as if for the hundredth time as she and Ron burst through the ward's swinging doors.

"Well, he didn't!" Ron blustered, red-faced in trying to make his point. "He made me clean up all the exploded ones and bloody bury them, too! That snow was up to my waist!" He leveled his hand at his hip, wanting Hermione to be clear on just how deviously high the snow had been, but her attention was elsewhere.

"Oh, Harry! You're awake!" She rushed over, and bent down to kiss him lightly on the lips. She then slipped her mittens off and began to stroke his face and hair.

He closed his eyes at her touch and held her to him when she tried to straighten up. He gave a sigh of content when she settled against him, her breath huffing deliciously warm against his neck. Between her caressing his hair and whispering in his ear, it wasn't long before he began to drift off. Then Ron cleared his throat, loudly. Hermione sat up, face flushed, and eyes bright.

"Er, s'good to see you're back with us, mate, but uh, you planning on eatin' any of that?" Ron pointed at the tray of food.

"No," Harry said. Ron reached for the tray.

"Oh no you don't, you human Crup!" Draco swatted at Ron's hands.

"Oy! Malfoy, bloody -"

"Potter needs to eat!" Draco snarled.

"It's been nearly a week since Harry's last real meal, Ron," Ginny said. "Don't be such a pig."

"Blimey, sorry mate," Ron said sincerely, though his eyes were still on the steaming tray of food; he'd worked up a fierce appetite digging in that snow.

"Go on, I'm not hungry." Harry turned his attention back to Hermione who was searching his face, gauging his mood. As he reached to trace the soft outline of her lips, red and plump from kissing him, Ron and Draco began arguing. Just as the rowing crescendoed into an all-out war of colorful expletives, and snarls, Dumbledore entered the ward.

"Children." The wizard's commanding voice cut easily through the din.

Red-faced and harassed, Madam Pomfrey appeared.

"That's it!" She declared. "Potter is no longer allowed more than one visitor at a time! He's not eaten -"

"No thanks to the bottomless pit!" Draco glowered at Ron.

"Thut it, Malfoy!" Ron said, around a mouthful of potato. "He thaid he wathn't hung -"

"I need to have a word with Harry." Dumbledore interrupted.

"But -" Ron began.

"You may visit him later-one at a time."

Ginny gently tapped Harry's foot, then jumped down from the bed. "Bye, Harry."

"I'll be back in a bit, okay?" Hermione whispered before giving him a soft peck on the lips.

"Cheers, mate," said Ron, raising a chicken leg at Harry. He then elbowed Draco in the shoulder to get him moving.

The blond scowled up at Ron, but surprisingly, he didn't retaliate. Before leaving, he shot a crisp nod at Harry.

Dumbledore pulled up a chair. "Harry, I have spoken with Severus." Harry rolled his eyes as if he could care less, but his stomach took a nose dive at mention of the man. "I regret terribly what transpired. You were not meant to find out in such a fashion," Dumbledore said.

"Oh? How exactly should the subject have come up? As a bedtime story? Over dinner? ‘Oh yes, Potter, there's a bit of a sticky situation I forgot mention... I killed your parents!'"

When Dumbledore gave no immediate response, Harry went on. "I s'pose I shoulda listened to you, huh? When you were fighting the adoption? Why didn't you just tell me why you didn't want me to do it? Why do you always have to be so bleeding cryptic with everything? You knew that just saying no wouldn't make me change my mind, but telling me that he'd killed my parents would have stopped me cold."

"I have made a mountain of mistakes where you are concerned, Harry, but ultimately, it was not my place to tell you-it was Severus's. But, I can understand his thinking as he had no reason to think that secret would see the light of day. Harry, he never expected to fall in love with you, to want to adopt you, nor to have you agree to be adopted. Having said that, I know you, and I know that despite everything, you can find it in your heart to forgive him."

"Forgive?! Why do you care if I forgive him or not? I figured you'd be glad I'm away from him. Frees me up so that you can try to get your hooks into me again, but you know what? I won't let you! I may be screwed up, but I'm nothing like him. I don't call my friends Mud-blood; I won't join up with a madman who kills for sport! And I don't hold grudges that help me justify killing a family!"

"Harry -" Dumbledore interjected, but Harry was on a roll, determined to excise the anger feasting away at his insides.

"Forgive! Did he forgive you for not sticking up for him after what happened in the Shrieking Shack?" Dumbledore blanched and drew his lips tightly together. Buoyed at having found a chink in Dumbledore's armor, Harry continued. "Sirius tried to play it off as kids being kids, but you let them get away with murder, or something close to it, because it gave you power over him, didn't it? Turned him into a conniving, lying, fraud ‘cause that's all he's ever been, isn't it? It made him the perfect spy, eh?"

Swallowing, Harry said, "If you cut yourself, I can fix it. Did you know that? Didn't think so. He was all too happy to keep that secret from you! He also believed that you feared my powers. I never did, though, because you are the most powerful wizard I..." He stopped suddenly, sucked in a deep breath, and closed his eyes, tight. "Why couldn't you have saved them? All of them? Why does it have to be like this? WHY?!"

"Oh, my dear boy!" Dumbledore whispered.

Harry clapped his hands over his ears, desperate to block out the anguish filling Dumbledore's voice. Instead, all he heard was: ‘It was I who told the Dark Lord. It was I who told the Dark Lord. It was I who told -‘

With a groan, he collapsed over the side of the bed, wanting to escape that pain, but Dumbledore was sitting there, a hurt and ruined expression on his tired, old face; Harry decided to make it count because, why should he and Snape be the only ones to suffer? Dumbledore had known, had held the truth back, just as Snape had. No matter how he tried to rationalize it, he had known, and had chosen to say nothing.

Looking every inch the predator stalking a juicy bit of prey Harry said: "I used think you could do no wrong, even when you made me go back to Surrey every summer. You knew I hated it there, but I bore it, thinking you knew best. But you didn't, did you? So Da -, Sn -," Harry growled, "so he betrayed me and you tried to get him to tell the truth. Well what of your betrayals? You can't be all squeaky clean... or, maybe you can since it's always him you send to do your dirty -"

"That's enough!"

At the sound of that voice, Harry nearly fell out of the bed. Snagging the mattress's edge to stop himself crashing headlong into the flagstone, he whipped about to see Snape standing at the foot of the bed, pale, livid. Digging his nails into the mattress so hard it hurt, Harry was overcome with wanting to either throw himself into the man's arms or call forth the Killing Curse; he settled for breathing heavily and looking as though he had just discovered dragon dung in his mouth.

"No, Severus..." Dumbledore managed. "Harry's feelings are quite understandable,"

"Especially as I don't tend to enjoy the company of bald faced liars or cold-blooded murderers," the boy spat, straightening up to face Snape. "I should have left you to die in that forest."

"Harry!" Dumbledore roared.

Harry ignored the old wizard's shocked and angry expression, but the tight pang of guilt and hurt on Snape's face made it hard to breathe, bringing Harry's own guilt and hurt for having caused that emotion to the surface. But it didn't matter. It couldn't because Harry wanted to stay angry-he needed to stay angry, if only to crush that tiny spark of love and neediness Snape's presence wrought. If he let himself, he could almost feel Snape's fingers lightly scratching his scalp, and rubbing his back; he could almost hear that soothing, silken baritone telling him that everything would be okay, that he was safe. But the overriding emotion just then was an undeniable emptiness. Another family turned to ash, because how could he forgive such a betrayal?

The blood had drained from Snape's face; Harry curled his lips into a vicious smile. He thought, or rather hoped the man might keel over in a dramatic swoon, but Snape kept his feet, his jaw and shoulders squared for more abuse. Annoyed, and ashamed, Harry banished the food tray with a wave of his hand, then made a show of straightening his covers.

"I'm tired," he said, clasping his hands together so that they couldn't betray their trembling.

"Of course..." Dumbledore said. "Let us leave him to rest, Severus. He is obviously not feeling himself just now." Dumbledore stood, then reached to touch Harry's shoulder. As soon as his hand landed, he hissed and snatched it back, cradling it against his chest.

"Albus?" Snape stepped around the bed to stand next to the old wizard. Dumbledore stared at Harry, astonished.

"It is nothing..." he gasped.

"Let me see." Snape took Dumbledore's wrist, then gently prised open his hand, revealing an angry red, blistered palm. "What -?" Snape's eyes snapped onto Harry who shrugged unconcernedly.

"I told him I was tired."

"Harry -"

"DON'T call me that! Just. Get. Out."

Of all the times for Snape to use his name, of all the times Harry had thirsted for his given name to fall from Snape's lips, he couldn't bear the sound of it just then-not when the man sounded so heart-broken, so horrified. When the door swished closed behind the two wizards, Harry buried his face in his pillow and unleashed a mournful wail. 

*WO

Hagrid's Hut, Hogwarts, March 1997 (22)

After repeated demands from Pomfrey that he, "Take it easy," Harry-instead of going straight away to Gryffindor Tower as promised-suffered the lingering cold and snow to make his way to Hagrid's hut, and Charlie.

"Harry!" Charlie's brilliant grin dissolved into a frown once he got a proper look at the boy. Harry stood on the hut's steps, teeth chattering, head uncovered, and legs coated with snow as vicious blasts of wind rocked him back and forth.

"What in bloody hell you doin' out in this mess?" Charlie scolded. "And with nothin' on but your school robes? Get in here, get in here!" The redhead quickly shuttled Harry inside the toasty hut and shut the door. Then he grabbed a large rug off the bed to throw around Harry's shoulders. "You must'a just left the hospital wing, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Harry sniffled as Charlie dragged his big hands up and down his arms and back, warming him, nearly lifting him off his feet with each vigorous pass.

"Well, what -"

"I need your help, Charlie."

"Anything, Harry," Charlie said. His blue eyes (so like Ron's) crinkled with concern, clearly wondering what had upset the boy so to drive him out into this bitter weather.

"I need to talk to Aberforth Dumbledore."

Charlie's face went slack and his hands fell from Harry's shoulders. "How d' you imagine I'd know how to get in touch with him? Shouldn't you be asking the headmaster -"

Harry's face flushed with anger. "No!"

"Harry -"

"He's in the Order, isn't he? You can ask round, can't you? He went into hiding after the attack in Hogsmeade!"

"He is, I can, and I know he did, but Harry -" Charlie ran his thick fingers through his hair, acting as if Harry had asked him to conjure a boatload of heroin for him to snort.

"Please, Charlie! It's important... I wouldn't ask otherwise." 

When Harry's eyes flooded with tears, Charlie laid a hand on his cheek and stroked gently. For all of Charlie's rough and tumble image, he had the softest nature and touch of anyone Harry knew.

"Bloody hell, Harry... What's goin' on?"

"I just-I really need to talk to him..." Harry swiped a hand beneath his nose, hoping Charlie would just give in, and save Harry seeking out another Order member for help. Plus, Harry figured Charlie had to know where Aberforth was. At Christmas, the old wizard had mentioned how often Charlie stopped by for a pint after a rough day of teaching; they became friendly during those visits.

Charlie's jaw muscles worked as he considered the distraught boy before him, then he heaved a sigh that said, "Aw, to Hell with it!" Turning to the mantle above the fireplace, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder, then knelt down and tossed it into the fire.

"The Glass Hoof!"

Seconds later, Harry heard: "Charlie Weasley! Wat in blue blazes yeh -"

"Hey, Ossie," Charlie said quickly, hoping to staunch Ossie's propensity to chin on about nothing in particular. "Look, uh, is Aberforth around?"

"Around? He ain't like ter be out gallivantin' about, now is he?" Ossie, the Glass Hoof's Watchman, wheezed with laughter.

Charlie forced out a chuckle. "No, not likely at all, but I need to speak with him. It's important."

"Importan', eh? Yeh ain't -"

"Ossie, is it Luna for me?"

"Nah, Xeno, it's a Weasley-Charlie! Says he needs to parley with Ab -" Ossie was again interrupted, this time by a raspy voice Harry recognized instantly. He fell to his knees beside Charlie just in time to see Aberforth nudge Ossie out of the fire.

"Aberforth!"

There came a harsh gasp and then, "Harry?"

Quick as a Snitch, Harry darted forward as if to climb through the fire into the old wizard's arms, but he was thwarted when Charlie grabbed him about the waist, both he and Aberforth breaking out into simultaneous shouts of "No!" Once Charlie settled Harry back, Aberforth, sounding a bit breathless, said, "Charlie, I know this might be a bit out of order, but I'd like a word with Harry alone."

"Bah! ‘Course. I've got to mind the Skrewts for a bit, anyway. Good seein' you, Ab."

"And you. Thank you, Charlie."

Charlie gave Harry a hearty pat on the back and got up to leave. As soon as the door closed, he said, "Did you know that -?" Without waiting for him to finish, Aberforth nodded. Harry gaped, outraged. "Everyone knew, but me?"

The old wizard shook his head. "Only Severus, Albus, and me, and I only knew because my brother conducted Sybill's interview at the pub. I recognized Severus when he came in, but ever since he'd taken up with Riddle, he'd made himself scarce - I rarely saw him. I... I had a bad feeling when he stumbled in that night. He fairly stank of desperation and he looked a little mad. He made his way upstairs, but it wasn't long before he ran out like the Grey Lady was after him..."

"I bet! He couldn't wait to let Voldemort know about the prophecy!"

"The night your parents died, Severus went to my brother to confess all. Then and there, Albus demanded, as a sort of penance, that Severus spy on Voldemort for the Order. He agreed, of course, but afterwards, he came to me, out of sorts, devastated at what had happened in Godric's Hollow, knowing that if not for having shared that prophecy, Lily would be alive."

"Devastated, huh? More like bloody relieved Dumbledore took him back! The only reason he turned spy was because he burned Voldemort by running to Dumbledore after burning Dumbledore by running his mouth about that stupid prophecy! You think Voldemort would have taken him back for a second chance if he'd known?"

Aberforth sighed. "Harry, lad, I understand how you're feeling."

"How could you? He betrayed my parents! He got them killed!"

"When a family member does something so hurtful, so far outside the realm of comprehension, it can be a hard thing to swallow," Aberforth said. Harry snorted, his stomach roiling and burning at Aberforth's use of ‘family member'. "Yes, Severus's behavior at the time was abominably selfish, but he made amends, as best he could."

"Of course you'd defend him!" Harry burst out. "Well, he doesn't deserve it! I hate him!"

The lines deepened around Aberforth's eyes as they searched Harry's. "You've every right to your feelings, Harry, but, you don't mean that... You don't hate him... Do you?"

Harry opened his mouth to shout, "Yes!", but nothing came out.

Nodding in that all-knowing way that seemed annoyingly inherent in Dumbledore men, Aberforth said, "Before this summer, Severus would have borne your hatred and not thought a second about it. Now it would utterly destroy him to hear you say such a thing."

"Good," Harry spat. "Because I mean it... I do!" He raised his eyes to glare at Aberforth, but the most he could manage was a confused cocktail of pain and confusion. Aberforth remained silent, letting Harry work things out-a tactic Snape had learned last summer at Soth-ince and had since shared with the barkeep.

After several minutes of fierce, inner debate, Harry whispered, "He adopted me... Why would he do that?"

"Why indeed?" Aberforth said softly.

Harry grimaced at the smile in the old wizard's voice because, like Aberforth, he knew precisely why Snape had adopted him.

"Harry, Severus thought long and hard about it, wondering if it was the right thing to do, especially as he hadn't told you the truth of what he'd done. But when you agreed, he was willing to risk it, hoping that when the time came-if the time came-he'd have the strength to tell you his darkest secret."

"Why not tell me straight off?"

"Would you have wanted to be adopted, then?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"You have been listening, haven't you? He KILLED my parents!"

"Unfortunately, Severus played his part, Harry, but Voldemort killed your parents." Aberforth paused, squinting. "You know, before you two popped into the pub last August, I hadn't seen Severus since that night in 1981. He kept his distance all those years believing I thought ill of him, but I didn't and I was overjoyed to see him. And to see him with you..." Aberforth shook his head. "Even then his love for you was obvious. In September, when he came to me speaking about adoption -"

Harry started. "September?"

Aberforth's gaze softened. "Oh yes. You two weren't speaking because, well, because my brother can be an arse of a know-it-all, but Severus couldn't seem to help himself when it came to you and I did nothing to discourage him. He and I talked a lot during that time, with you the shining topic of every conversation. He told me all manner of things about your life, such as your first Quidditch match of the year, even showed me the Snitch you magicked to him." Aberforth uttered a warm, rusty laugh at Harry's sheepish expression. "Of how you had begun to spend nights in his quarters, of your crush on a young witch and how you'd finally gotten the stones to ask her out. And he worried for you constantly because of some little snot-nosed hooligans in his House... When he first mentioned adoption, I begged him to tell you the truth so that you could have your feelings about it, no matter how devastating.

"But, Severus... well, he never expected to fall in love with you, Harry," Aberforth said, echoing his brother's claim, word for word. "He never expected that you'd feel the same, either, and he certainly never imagined himself a father to you. You come with more difficulties than most-none of which is your fault, of course-but know that Severus never took taking you into his home, into his heart lightly."

Harry sneered. Aberforth had to stifle a chuckle because it reminded him so much of Snape.

"Harry, Severus allows few people to get as close to him as you have. For you, he has bared his soul because, lad, he loves you... more than anything."

"No he doesn't!" Harry shouted, as if saying it loudly would make it true, would cancel out the thick emotion in Aberforth's voice and the hungry pounding of his own heart at hearing Snape's feelings for him spoken aloud. "No, he was too worried about his own hide to be concerned about me! He kept what he did secret because he knew I'd hate him for it, that I wouldn't want a thing to do with him, and I don't, not anymore!"

Confounded by Harry's mulish attitude, Aberforth pierced the boy with a glare. "Tell me, since last summer, has Severus ever made you feel unsafe, uncared for, dare I say, unloved?"

Harry frowned. "That's not the -"

"IT IS!" Aberforth thundered, making Harry jump. "If you intend to throw away all that you and Severus have managed to build, I expect you to be able to answer a simple question!"

"No!" Harry ground out, furious that Aberforth had the gall to ask him so emotionally loaded a question, and that no matter how much he longed to say ‘yes', it would be a lie: Snape did love him and exactly as Aberforth had stated-more than anything.

Harry pounded the hearth with his fist. "But he lied, for months, years, even!"

"Yes, Harry, because like you, and like me, Severus is human, imperfect. Look, I get that you're angry and hurt, but before you cast him away, heed me when I say that time with those we love can be fleeting-particularly when they put themselves in the direct path of danger."

"I reckon my mum thought the same before Voldemort cut her down," Harry spat, oblivious to Aberforth's cryptic tone.

The old wizard sighed at Harry's deadened gaze, clearly of the mind that there was nothing else to be said, that Harry's mind was made up about Snape.

"Then do what you must, Harry."

"I will," Harry said, green eyes glittering. "I always do."

*WO